A day in Bunabumali, Uganda
March 16, 2008
4:13pm. Down pouring rain falls on the arrogated tin roof. Eight children in colourful Sunday clothes sit on a reed mat with backs against the wall. Little foam and rubber sandals in a line. Mostly everyone of the two dozen in the room are silent, even children on mother’s laps. Thunder rolls around us. Rain has stopped. Roster calls.
Ester and I walked an hour hand in hand to here from the family farm, with brothers Norman and Matthew, and sister, Joyce, a few minutes behind. Norman stops often to say hello and shake hands. He could be president of the district. Everyone knows him, greets with a smile, and often calls him “papa”, as a sign of respect, even though he is only 29.
We are at uncle Samuel’s house. Joyce and Matthew appear to be bored out of their minds, totally disengaged, looking at their cell phones. “My aunt is saying she wished you carried your hula hoop.” Ester translates. We all Laugh.
A lady walks around washing our hands with a tin mug of water and wash basin. We are served tea in hot milk and chalpits- a thick oily tortilla bread. “I served my children. This is the balance.” said Norman returning the plate of chalpits to the table.
“Joyce, I really like that scarf around your head.” I commented on the olive green and gold silk trimmed in pink.
“It is nice?” she responded bashful, in a small, sweet voice. We all Laughed. Norman is retying the scarf.
“Who is trying to reach you?” I asked Mattew as his phone goes off a third time in a fun little whistle tone. He answered, “Someone just disturbing us.”
Norman rode a bike a mile and a half to Tom’s, a pharmacy at the intersection to the village and Mbale, to see if my batteries have finished charging. There is no electricity in the village. Our friend Lester tried charging the video camera battery on his small solar panel, but it didn’t work.
Norman came back from Tom’s saying the power still has not been on. It has been a couple days without power. The generator a couple miles away that Norman was thinking about using, he now says could fry the battery, so he left the batteries at Tom’s.
Out the window I see Norman has a choir of kids singing and clapping. I’ve come out to watch. Many eyes watch me— children and parents. Norman has kids in a circle singing songs learning numbers and the alphabet in English.
I instructed him to line the kids with hands on shoulders, and then then can all sit on the lap of the person behind. I taught how to play Clap’n’catch, using two balls made of plastic bags, that kids use for playing soccer.
Now they want a photo. They have a gift for me and want a family photo. We got the family photo, but when the time came for the little boy to hand me a large hen, and two little girls gave me eggs, the battery was dead.
This Morning, I saw a girl named Doreen who died of Aids. I was sitting on the bed with her. Her eyes were closed and tissue up her nose. She was with us the day I arrived, singing and clapping to welcome me. Her mother has Aids. This was the last of her three children to die - at age 7. It was the first time I have seen a dead person outside of a casket.
This morning, a boy with a deformed hand played Frisbee. He has a single finger and a thumb on the left. He threw the Frisbee perfectly from the first throw, better than the other kids.
We will walk back to the farm soon.
