Up Another Level

I was looking over my electronic diary yesterday. I smiled at the August 15 entry:

“Other recent stuff: kids done with school, now on holiday. Got report cards – R and B doing okay, in the 70s, but Agnes not doing well - around 50. Def need tutor.”

Agnes was barely passing P5 this summer despite having taken P6 twice already in the village; despite being a 16 year old squeezed into a class overflowing with 10 and 11 year olds. I was worried about her morale. Would dejection slink in, poisoning her passion for learning? Would sincere appreciation and elation for her second chance at school fade as failure and embarrassment loomed?

How strong was she? How strong is a girl forced out of her home by her parents to marry a man decades her senior? How strong is a girl who has endured suppressive poverty, sleeping in the dirt of a mud house, barely attending school, usually not eating enough, most often going without medical attention? How strong is a girl who cared for her four younger siblings, feeding them, washing them, watching them, guiding them, while tending to her mother as she wasted away and succumbed to AIDS?

Agnes was not unlike other Africans, taking her life in stride, not questioning the unfair and the uncontrollable, doing what had to be done; surviving.

But passing exams and levels were not requisites for life. Could Aggie persevere in the face of obstacles not necessary for her very existence? How strong was she?

During the last holiday in September all of the children, except little Rachel, went to school for private tutoring five days a week. The teachers all remarked on their improvement when they began the school term a few weeks later. The kids continued to receive coaching by their teachers in the form of extra nightly assignments through the fall term. This past week put the months of labor and learning to test: it was exam time.

“Mommy! Mommy! I got a 93 in math!” Aggie told me excitedly a few days ago when I was visiting the kids in their home.

“What? That is fantastic Aggie!”

“And English. 76.”

“Very good, Aggie. Very Good.”

Aggie floated back to the food she was preparing for her younger sisters and brother, happily bending over the charcoal stove the size of a child’s stool, tending to the sauce bubbling in the pot. A bright smile spread across her pretty round face.

A couple of days later I went to visit the kids again at their new place in Nkoko. As per usual, I was greeted enthusiastically; screams, hugs, running, laughter.

“Mommy. I am going to P6,” Aggie said in her stilted, but perking English.

“Very good, Aggie.”

“Mommy! Me P1!” Sylvia exclaimed to me thumping her chest.

“You are going to P1?”

“Yes!”

“Very good, Nabu. You have done very well and you have worked very hard. You couldn’t even count to ten before, but now look at you. You can count. You know your letters. A,B,C, what. You can add and subtract.”

“Mommy. Two plus three is five.”

“Yes, Nabu. Two plus three is five.”

As I spoke to Sylvia, the other children started yelling their new levels to me.

Mommy! Me P3!

Mommy! Me P3!

Mommy! Me Top Class!

“No, Rachel. You are not going to top class. You are going to middle class.”

“Mommy! Middle class!” Rachel shouted smiling, thumping her chest like Sylvia had.

“Yes, middle class.”

I turned to Aggie.

“So your teacher said you passed?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said through an enormous grin.



“She can’t,” Mama Ester later told me. “She can’t know yet. They only know if they passed when they get their report folders on Tuesday.”

I laughed. All of the kids thought they passed, but apparently they couldn’t know for sure yet according to Ester. It didn’t matter though. I had been talking to their teachers. I knew my kids were passing. Tuesday morning would just confirm what I already knew.

Tuesday morning, this morning, offered another bag of surprises. I was at the snack shop putting out another fire: the power had been turned off for nearly 24 hours; no electricity meant food was going bad and little could be cooked on charcoal stoves; it meant we were losing a lot of money.

Get me the contract with our landlord. I need to talk to him again about getting our own meter. He can’t deny us after not paying his electric bill and forcing us to lose this much money.

Cooks. Next time tell me when food is starting to spoil. I can bring it to my refrigerator at home. We threw out too much.

Has the town council paid for yesterday’s delivery?

We already used 8 bags of flour? How?

I was sifting through a lot of chaos with my staff. Ugandans aren’t known for their strong planning skills; the weight was falling on me. I was working hard to get us more efficient, to make us more profitable. Managing through the web of cultural differences was delicate and navigating African contractual obligations was yet another lesson in gratitude: no, there are basically are no real contracts with landlord, you just draft up something small. And yes, they can turn off the power for days.

This isn’t acceptable!

Then. Brightness.

Aggie came to the shop door face glowing.

“Hi Aggie! How are you?” I welcomed her with relief.

“I’m fine.” She was wearing her school uniform. She had a pale pink folder in her hand, which I recognized.

“You got your report folder?”

She nodded happily and made a slight gestured indicating she wanted me to see it.

“Let me see.” I opened the front page with the teacher’s notes on her test scores and his comments on her performance.

“93 in math. 76 in English. 48 in SST. 40 in Science. Very good Aggie.” I searched for the note saying she passed. I didn’t see it. Other notes filled the page: Balance all subjects. Buy one ream of paper. Term starts January 1.

There it was: Promoted to P6.

“Promoted to P6! Very good Aggie!” I hugged her and kissed her forehead. “I am very proud of you!”

Aggie smiled and tuned from me slightly, biting her school sweater folded in her arms. She was bashful; unaccustomed to attention, unfamiliar with praise.

She was shy, but she was strong. And she was moving on.

Bread and Butter

My sister and I can, on occasion, share the same mind.

“Natalie. I think it would be fun if my kids and your kids were pen pals,” Melanie had said to me a couple of months ago.

“Yes! That is so great! I had envisioned forming a partnership with teachers in America and developing a lesson plan about African culture that included the kids communicating with one another.”

And so a couple of months ago my sister Melanie, a school psychologist with LA Unified School District, printed pictures of my African babies and made presentations about them to some of the classrooms at her elementary school. I, in turn, told my kids they now had friends in America that would be writing to them.

The children’s reaction to one another thus far has been slightly surprising and certainly comical. My kids’ faces lit up when they learned they had new friends from the enigmatic land of Obama and streets of gold; they were excited, but in their reserved Buganda way. From my sister’s description, however, the American schoolchildren are absolutely thrilled and intrigued by their new African friends; my little Ugandan orphans have unexpectedly become superstars at an elementary school in Watts.

“They come up and ask me about your kids all the time and want to know when they are getting their letters! They ask every time they see me!” Melanie told me about her schoolchildren. “I made my first presentation ten days ago to one class and when I went back yesterday, they remembered everything I told them. They are so interested. They keep asking all kinds of questions.”

I received the first set of letters from the Americans a few weeks ago. I began reading them at the quiet internet café in Lugazi during a lazy afternoon; I soon began receiving curious stares from other users sitting behind out-dated, massive monitors in response to my outbursts of laughter. The Americans’ letters were filled with phrasing and questions only designed by the mind of a child.

My sister’s description of the second-grade class’ reaction was equally amusing, as well as poignant and eye-opening:

“Although I didn’t write these questions down the kids wanted to know why Sylvia had short hair and why people in Africa don’t have shoes. We talked about money and food and this led into an interesting conversation about how the students at our school waste their food during lunch time. It was very interesting to see their expressions change. Before I came in the kids were bouncing off the walls. And then we started talking and they were so interested, and their expressions became very serious. They want to see more pictures so I’m bringing in the poster board we used for Rachel’s fundraiser.”

I collected the American letters to my children and organized a meeting with me, the kids and a translator, and began capturing my kids’ responses. Some words were lost in translation, sometimes my kids would go on long tangents; it was taking longer than expected, and my schedule was full. A few weeks had passed and my kids and I still hadn’t finished our letters.

“Natalie. I know you are busy, but my kid are still waiting for their letters and keep asking about them,” Melanie had written to me in an email last week.

Sorry, I’ve been busy, but here they are.

Below are the best of the exchanges between the Africans and Americans. The American letters are written first, and my kids’ responses are bolded with my explanations and notes to my sister parenthetically written.

Best of Sylvia (paired with a second-grade class)

Rebecca- How do you buy a tooth brush?

My Mama Muzungu and Mama Ester buy me toothbrushes now. We didn’t use toothbrushes in the village. We didn’t brush our teeth.

Jaidyn- How do you get on a roller coaster (The teacher asks him if he thinks they have roller coasters, he says ‘yes’, and she says maybe they don’t so what can he ask Sylvia instead…) Do you have roller coasters?

I don’t know what roller coasters are.

Daniel- How many languages do you speak?

I know one language. I know Luganda. I am learning English.

Carlos- How do you get food?

If I get money, I buy food.

Mariani-How did your mom die? (Do the kids talk about their mother? Maybe a good opportunity to talk to Sylvia about it, and the other kids. The class was also very curious about how they live on their own without an adult so this may be something she could talk about too.)

My Mummy died of malaria. (The mother actually died of AIDS, but Sylvia and Rachel don’t understand.)

Alex- How do you grow food?

I use to grow sweet potatoes and bananas. For a sweet potato, you dig a heap of soil and take sweet potato stems and then push them in the soil and you cover them and they grow. To grow a banana, you dig a hole two feet deep and put in fertilizer then the banana sucker in it and cover with soil. I don’t grow anything now. (May want to explain that they don’t grow anything now that we’ve taken them out of the village.)

Adriana- Do you have cars?

No we don’t have cars. We just foot to school.

Nicole- What kind of food do you eat?

When I lived in the village I ate beans and vegetables and pohso. Now I eat rice, meat, posho, beans, matoke, sweet potatoes and fish. My favorites are fish, meat and rice. (When they lived in the village they grew their own food, which the children helped grow. In fact, the children weren’t going to school because they didn’t have money and they were needed to work their land. Also, matoke is a dish native to Uganda made of boiled unripe plantains and posho is a spongy white dish made of maize flour.)

David- Do you have a lot of friends?

I have a lot of friends. My friends are Peanut, Melie, and Nalwadda . At school I have friends Odoconyero and Sheppard.

Virgina- How do you get money?

Sometimes my auntie gives me money for breakfast at school. My uncle Godrey use to give me shillings, but now a-days not so much. (Right now they have money to buy clothes, food, shelter and go to school unlike before because of the donations I have received. Before their father paid for the few items they owned with the surplus crops he sold at market. Although, of course, he wasn’t buying much because the kids didn’t have shoes, had just a couple of clothes, hardly ate, didn’t go to school, to the hospital, etc.)

Eric- Do you guys celebrate Halloween in Africa?

We don’t celebrate Halloween. I didn’t hear of Halloween until now.

Daniel- How is your behavior in school?

I have good behavior. I share with my friends and I greet my teachers and aunties. I kneel and ask “how are you?” (In Uganda children, and occasionally adults, will greet their elders by genuflecting before them and sometimes holding their hand.)

Jose- How do you make friends?

I stick on them and just befriend some of them. (This is hilarious!)

Rebecca- What kind of chairs do you sit in at school?

We sit on small benches. We call them desks. (There are usually at least one hundred kids in a class and they sit cramped on long benches next to one another.)

Adriana- How do you get to school?

We walk to school.

Alex- How do you play with your brother?

We play hide and seek and sometimes football (soccer).

Jaidyn-How do you celebrate Jesus?

We celebrate Jesus on Christmas Day.

Erick- Does it snow on Christmas?

It never snows in Uganda. (It lies on the Equator.)

Alexandra- How do you buy shoes?

We never had shoes until when Mama Muzungu came and now she buys us shoes at the market on Wednesdays with Mama Ester. I like the ones she bought me recently cause they are so easy to wear I don’t have to tie them. (May want to explain that muzungu means “white person” in Africa and that she calls me and Ester her “mamas” out of respect as many children call caretakers that aren’t actually their mothers “mama,” or “mommy.” Also may want to tell them that most Ugandans don’t buy items at regular stores, but at open air markets. Also, I just bought her shoes that Velcro, which I am sure she had never seen before so doesn’t know what to call them.)

Andres- Do you have to take the baby (Rachel) to school?

We walk with her to school. (Rachel isn’t really a baby – she’s 4 and is in nursery school – kind of like preschool in US.)

Evelyn- How do you celebrate Christmas?

We go to church and then eat good food like meat and chicken.

(Incidentally, I recently asked the kids if they ever ate meat before in the village and they said only on Christmas. Also, the meat here is different in Uganda in that it’s a huge slab of cow they just cut in any old way for you; it’s not nice pieces of meat like in the US. It costs about $2.50 a kilo, which is enough to feed a family.)

Best of Agnes (paired with a fifth grade class)

Dear Agnus,

My name is Porsha Harrell and I am ten. I’m in the 5^th grade and I want to know about you. I have one brother and one sister. There name is Trevon and Ijan. I am in football, basketball, and volleyball. I watch TV. I like Disney channel and BET. My favorite show is The Game and That so Raven.

I have saw you before in a picture. I will send you a picture if you want me to, just tell me. Is Uganda fun to you? Do you have a brother or sister? How many kids do your mom have? When you send me a letter tell me about yourself.

Your Friend,

Porsha

Please send a picture. Uganda is fun. I have one brother and four sisters. I like playing with my friends a lot. I love my sisters and brother so much. Most of the time I am reading or in books.

Dear Agnus,

I like riding my scooter down a big hill. Also I like doing tricks on my scooter. Then I started to like sports. I am ten years-old. I am a boy and my name is Justin. What about you? How old are you? What do you like to do?

How are your brothers and sisters doing? I hope you don’t get sick. Do you have a lot of animals? Do you like animals? Are you active?

Your Friend,

Justin

I am sixteen years old. I like studying and playing. My brothers and sisters are doing well. We don’t have animals. I like animals. Yes, I am active. Do you like animals? What do you like to do?

Dear Agnus,

“Hello”, my name is Ricky Sebastian.

I am 10 years old. I like school because I want to get a good job. Then I would like to go to college and be a basketball player. My favorite subject is Math because I am good at it and I like drawing and coloring and play basketball, videogames, and I am sometimes lazy or I watch TV.

Do you have colleges? Do you guys have something to play? Do you have a favorite sport? Do you have any plans for schools? Do you like schools? Are there colleges in Uganda? What do you like? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite sport? Do you have any friends? How many sisters do you have? How many brothers do you have?

Sincerely,

Ricky Sebastian

After Senior Four, there are colleges and you can go to college. Yes, we play football and netball. My favorite sport is running and netball. My favorite color is red. I want to go up to university. Yes, my friends are Birungi, Lillian and Brenda. I have three sisters and one brother. Thank you for being my friend and for writing.

Best of Richard (paired with a special day class - ages vary)

Since the letters sent to Richard were identical, Richard sent the following message to his friends:

My leg is feeling better. I love basketball and school. I love all of you because you are my friends. I feel good when you send me messages and I would like a photo of you. Uganda is interesting because it has water sources, a wet and dry season, and you see wild animals like monkeys in the village. I like to garden. I want to study up to the university so that I can get a good job so I can look after my parents. I want to be a lawyer. My favorite meal is rice, chicken and matoke. Matoke is special cooked bananas that are only in Uganda. I like to play football, but I can’t play because of my leg. When my leg is better I want to play again. I love all of you very much and thank you for the interesting messages and I hope they keep up. God bless you.

Best of Rachel (paired with a kindergarten class)

Because of her age, Rachel sent the following message to her class:

I like to play with my sisters and my brother Richard and my Mommy Natalie. My sisters are Sylvia, Beatrice, Agnes. I like to jump.

Best of Beatrice (paired with a fourth grade class)

Dear Beatrice,

Hi Beatrice I am a boy. My name is Marco Vargas. I am 9 years old. I love to play basketball. I like Pokeman. That is my number one thing I like. I collect Pokemon toys, cards, books, and I play it with my friends. I have a brother and a sister. My best friend is Anthony he is going to write to you. He is in my class. I love the color red. I also like lions, monkeys, and sharks. Have fun Beatrice, good bye.

Sincerely,

Marco Vargas

PS. I will like writing to you.

My favorite color is red too. I fear lions, and I like monkeys and there were some small ones in my village we would make fun of. I like you Vargas and want to talk to you again.

6) Dear Beatrice,

Hi my name is Jayzon. I like sports. I am 10 years old. So I like to play games and watch TV and I also like to be nice to people. I collect seashells at the beach. The most thing I really like to do is play with my dogs teddy and princess, they are good dogs they only bite if hold their nose. My favorite food is tacos with water. Water helps my body get strong muscles. I love to eat. I don’t like to eat a lot of junk food. My question was what happened to your parents?

Sincerely,

Jayzon

In fact, I like all the same things as you. I like playing with dogs that don’t bite, but won’t touch dogs on the nose. I like eating, but they don’t have tacos in Africa. But I think I would like eating a taco. (After I explained it to her.) I like to drink water and drink it 3-5 times a day. My mom died. My mom was taken to the hospital and had no help and died. My dad is a gardener in the village. He plants tomatoes. (May want to explain that the father is incapable of taking care of them because he is ill and too poor.)

7) Dear Beatrice,

My name is Jeff Garcia and I’m nine years old on November. I’m going to be ten and I’m the only son in family. I don’t have brothers or sisters so is only me and my mom. Where your dad and mom? I don’t have a dad because they were divorce and I hope you have a good day.

Sincerely,

Jeff

In November I will be 11 years old. There are four girls and one boy in my family. My mom died and my dad is in the village. I have a good dad, but he isn’t able to afford the things we need. I am sorry you are missing your dad.

8) Dear Beatrice,

My name is Joshua Castro. I am 10 years old. I like to play soccer, basket ball, kick ball, and baseball. Here in United States it’s fun. What do you do in Uganda? Do you play? Can you walk? Do you see wild animals?

Sincerely,

Josue Castro

I like basketball, but I don’t get to play it because there is no ball. I go to school, do chores at home and play. Yes, I can walk. I have seen a lion and elephant in the zoo. I see pussycats, cows, monkeys, rabbits and big snakes in the village. (She didn’t go the zoo until last month when I paid for the kids to go on their school trip to Entebbe, which is a three hour drive from Lugazi. I actually don’t think the kids had ever been anywhere besides Lugazi and their village before.)

9) Dear Beatrice,

Hi Beatrice my name is Jasmine Cartagena. I am nine years old. My favorite game is tetherball. Tetherball is a pole and a ball and you have to hit the ball. Your life seems interesting to me Beatrice. I have some questions to ask you. What is it in Uganda? What grade are you in? Would you like to live here? Can’t wait to hear from you. Please write back. J

Sincerely,

Jasmine Cartagena

I have never seen tetherball. I like your character. I want to sing you a song “Bread and Butter.” It means you are my bread and butter. Uganda is beautiful. What makes it beautiful is it has music and wild animals. Yes, I would like to live in America. America is very interesting to me. Everyone is happy and has fun. (Beatrice actually sang this song in Luganda as we were talking about Jasmine. The song is one kids here sing about their friends.)

Baby Kevin

Ester's sister, Carol, lives on the soothing banks of Lake Victoria about an hour’s drive from Lugazi. Carol will stop by and stay with us for a few days, sleeping on the decaying foam mattress in the tiny room pushed up against our kitchen. Her presence ushers in a bit of reprieve from the chaos that can occupy our house; she’ll clean the kitchen, wash the dishes, prepare dinner, launder clothes. And she doesn’t come alone; usually accompanying her is her daughter, Baby Kevin.



“How old is Baby Kevin now?” I asked Carol last week. It had been a couple of months since I had seen her and the child.

Carol’s brow furrowed.

“She’s… she’s about a year.” She paused and looked up. “She’ll be a year on the eleventh.”

“The eleventh!” I exclaimed. “That’s tomorrow!” I grabbed the fat-faced child puttering at my feet and brought her to my chest.

“Baby Kevin! Did you hear that? Your birthday is tomorrow! What do you want to do?”

The baby stared at me blankly.

“Do you want to go clubbing in Kampala? We can get drunk and dance all night!”

The baby remained expressionless, pawing at the air. Carol laughed.

“Don’t worry,” I said to Carol. “I don’t think she wants to do that anyway.”

The next day passed without a wild party, even without cakes or cards; although it was not without the usual experiences unusual to America.

Baby Kevin sitting on the edge of our kitchen counter four feet above a concrete floor playing with a sharp knife

Ugandans generally don’t recognize birthdays; my kids don’t even know the dates marking their entry into this world. Agnes last week told me she was fifteen.

"No, Aggie. You are sixteen. You turned sixteen in May,” I had to inform her.

And so just as Aggie’s, Baby Kevin’s special day went uncelebrated.

The day following her first birthday, I journeyed with Baby Kevin and Carol to their home and saw for the first time the shores of the mighty Lake Victoria, source of the Nile, the greatest lake on the continent.

I swim along with African rhythms more fluidly with each passing day, appreciating its gifts. Here is a life without presents, ribbons, blowers, parties, cakes and cards. A place without the excessive or even, at times, the needed. But it's a life, in some ways, that is more vibrant; through it's lack it instills a sense of reality and gratitude; forcing you to appreciate what's below your feet and in your arms.

Carol with Baby Kevin at Lake Victoria

The Outreach Snack Shop

In addition to the Maama Muzungu Poultry Farm, I have establish another business in Lugazi on behalf of the kids. I am pleased to present the town’s first snack shop, The Outreach Snack Shop.

kids playing in front of TOSS

Me in front of TOSS

The snack shop opened for business last week and we are still ironing out a few procedures and protocols, and are in need of some equipment to make our kitchen more efficient, but the business is off to a great start and the community response has been overwhelming. As I pass through town people will yell Good work! Thank you for the shop!

Sharon preparing in the morning

The community has embraced the establishment in part because there is nothing else like it in Lugazi. Snacks are sold in town, but are done roadside by sole proprietors carrying plastic containers of their homemade products, or at a table at the open-air market. And the quality of product already on the market is generally pretty low: chapatti (similar to tortillas) covered in grease, samosas with little filling, pancakes left too long over the flame. The Outreach Snack Shop, unlike its competitors, has a trained cook and two cooking assistants, a salesperson and a delivery girl wearing uniforms; fresh products displayed behind a custom-made glass case and warmer; snacks served in paper bags soon to be bearing the logo I designed, rather than in old newspaper as is customary in here in Uganda; and a beautifully designed and painted shop with a separate kitchen next door. Judging from the community’s reaction and our sales thus far, I believe we will be able to grow as planned and purchase tables and chairs for the area at the foot of our store, creating the town’s first patio eatery as well.

our fantastic head chef, Florence

I never thought I would be a small business owner, much less one in Africa, and am more than busy learning to be a shop owner, stabilizing the business, sorting out my visa (finally got it approved!), overseeing the poultry farm, trying to still take photos and blog and of course spend time with the kids. I brought them to the shop a few days after we opened and told them it was theirs. Eyes wide, mouths age, they stared at the paintings on the walls and at the food behind the case, not knowing what to say. Then I gave them another surprise: I put large photographs of them on the store wall next to the entrance. They were ecstatic!

Even though its been several days, each time they visit the shop they still point at their pictures and exclaim their names: Ogola! Nabu! Rachel! Aggie! B2! Peanut!

kids playing in front of shop with their pictures behind on the wall

Beatrice getting her first snack at TOSS

The Ugly Ducklings

The cramped, poorly lit, partially-powered living quarters for the kids and Ester in Namengo had reached the end of its short life span; it was time to move.

“How much does a three bedroom place cost?” I had asked Ester a couple of months back.

“Maybe one hundred (shillings),” she replied. One hundred shillings a month is about $50.

“Okay. We need to get you all into a place that has at least three rooms. You can select it since you will be living there, but we need to keep the rent at one hundred.”

We told the Balazas we were moving out October 31. On October 30 we still hadn’t found our new home. Normally I would be worried, but after living Africa for seven months I wasn’t; I let the slow current of life, uncomplicated and unconcerned, move me now.

“I have to go to Kampala and sort out my visa and do some work on the faster internet connection there. Can you all work with Ester in finding a place and moving the kids?” I had asked Godfrey.

No problem.

I returned the evening of October 31. They had secured a new place for the kids, but they hadn’t been moved. Yes, the kids had seen the new place already. And yes they liked it.

“Okay. Let’s move them now,” I said.

We pulled up to the kids’ house in a pick-up truck as the thickness of darkness fell. There was a flurry of excitement; kids running in and out of the home, dancing, singing.

We began moving items out the house: a small coffee table and benches, two bed frames, a tiny cupboard, a few bags of clothes, a handful of kitchen items; it didn’t take long. Some items would fall from grips landing in the sloppy mud saturated from heavy rains.

The last stool was placed in the truck and the boys drove off as me and Ester walked with the kids who moved with joyful anticipation.

After about fifteen minutes we reached the house. I was pleased. It was much nicer than I imagined. It was two large rooms, but one room had been converted into two. It had a small washing area – no running water, but a small private space with a drain for bathing. It had a tap that at least worked in the mornings at the doorstep, which meant the kids would have to walk less to fetch water. It was well lit. It had real windows and a sturdy door.

kids at new doorstep


“Do you like it?” I asked the kids.

“Yes,” they all said, eyes dancing, faces glowing.

“Mommy! Mommy! Burungi!” Rachel called to me holding out her arm, her thumb extended up. She did this all that night and the next day; burungi meaning good in Luganda.

Rachel smiling in new home


As we unpacked I pulled out a bag of purchases from my trip to Kampala: small reading books. Undoubtedly the first my kids had ever owned.

“Look, I bought these for you guys so you can read and practice your English.” I said holding up the colorful, hardbacks: The Three Little Pigs, Jack and the Giant Beanstalk, Snow White.
I began reading the story of The Ugly Duckling.

Rachel stood transfixed; staring at the pages filled with pretty sprawling drawings and neatly printed words. Sylvia caught onto the story’s pattern. I flipped the page to the cat and the duckling

“Go away! You are ugly!” She chanted before I had a chance to say it.

“Yes. You are right Sylvia. The cat says ‘Go away! You are ugly!’ And look. See. The duckling looks different,” I said pointing to the picture. “It’s bigger. And it’s not grey anymore.”

Her eyes widened and she nodded her head.

I flipped the page again to the duckling with the swans.

“Look. See. The duckling grew up and is beautiful. And it has lots of friends who love it.”

The girls paused considering the story with content. They then began pulling other books from the bag. I looked up and the older kids were already reading.

“Mommy. Mommy. This one is good!” Agnes said holding one with photographs of everyday objects and foods with English words printed below.

“Yes. Aggie. It is good.”

Aggie reading new book


kids playing in yard in front next to their home - home in background not theirs - theirs is located behind it

The Maama Muzungu Poultry Farm

I have been trying, really trying to not let down my handful of dedicated blog readers: mom, dad, Heather and the mysterious Pole that checks the blog daily – THANK YOU!

I love writing for the blog. I love taking pictures for it. I don't love the actual posting of it though. It involves burning files to a DVD then going to the internet café and hoping that the electricity and internet connection are functioning, both of which are off for a minimum two hours daily at times completely variable: first thing in the morning, early afternoon, late afternoon, dusk, bedtime.

My walk to the café is filled with trepidation. I look inside at the owner sitting behind his computer, trying to read his face, attempting to discern from his body language and facial expressions if the network is operating.

“Is it on?” I ask.

“Yes, nyabo,” the operator will often say.

The ensuing relief is at times quickly distorted into frustration and exasperation when the power and/or internet will suddenly disappear midst a blog posting or picture upload. Or maybe the internet won’t actually go out, but will be so slow as to render it worthless. Do you remember the last time it took you fifteen minutes to open a single, basic html page? Was it in 1996?

My dedication to the blog has also been compromised as of late due to the amount of time spent putting my kind donors’ money to good use. I am ecstatic, elated, excited about what my friends at TYOM and I have accomplished and what lies ahead. I sense we are resting at the threshold of something very promising.

Our hard work has paid off with a series of developments the last couple of weeks that certainly bear revealing. So, with no further ado, I am pleased to present to you our first major accomplishment, The Maama Muzungu Poultry Farm.

The Maama Muzungu Poultry Farm is the first of a couple of businesses I am developing, the proceeds of which will go to my children.

MMPF received its first batch of 300 day-old chicks two Thursdays past. The birds will be reared for the next two months to be sold for meat during the holiday season when consumer demand for poultry products is high. I can hardly wait for our first big profit!

MMPF’s current operations are relatively, but we have plans for rapid growth. On order for December and February are another 600 chicks.

Shamim in front of farm

Meet Sharif, MMPF’s first full-time employee. Sharif was chosen amongst a large pool of applicants because she performed well in the interview and because she is known in the village as being kind and hard-working. We also wanted to employ a vulnerable woman and Sharif qualified as she was jobless, shillingless and raising a three month old baby boy alone; the father of whom bolted at two weeks of age.

The first time I met Shamim I instantly liked her. She smiles shyly, speaks softly, moves thoughtfully.

“And she loves the chicks,” someone told me. “It’s so important that they love the chicks. They need to to care for them properly.”

You've now been introduced to the Maama Muzungu Poultry Farm, but don’t go anywhere! I have a few more introductions pending….