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