Nkwagala

I don’t even know where to begin it’s been so long.  I’ve taken my two week break from teaching and am doing our mission work.  As much as I love those children I really need a break from school.  I’ve been trying to serve as teacher –to children who struggle with English, a disciplinarian- to children who have never had one, nurse –to children with AIDS, as a mother – to children who have never had one, and as a lunch lady – to children who have no food or money.  That can really take a toll on your body.  (Mom –I wish you were here to rub my back!) 

 Because of our dilapidated facilities at school the students are placed with people in the community (kind of like foster parents) during the night.  If you think the foster system in America has some bad stories - it’s nothing compared to these. A few weeks ago I typed up three different letters to the guardians of my students.  One letter was for the students that have been really struggling.  One letter was for the students who are doing okay.  And one letter was for the students that are really excelling in my class.  I’ve been working primarily with students ages 9-13.  As I’m trying to teach them things like participles, regular and irregular verbs (and how to conjugate them), some of them can barely write their name.  I gave each student who are really struggling a date and time for their guardians to come and meet with me so that we could talk about how we both could better suit the student’s needs.  The second letter to the students who are doing average was to encourage their guardians to support them in their academic progress.  The third letter to the few students who are excelling and performing strongly was what I was most excited about.  I planned a little banquet last Friday to give them all an award and to speak about each one of their strengths in front of their guardians.  Day after day not one of the parents with struggling students showed up.  On Friday I sat in our “auditorium” with my long written up speech and awards in my hand –completely alone. It is frustrating to be trying so hard to help these students and have no support from anyone else.  Not the other teachers, not the head master, not their family. 

 After school I got to visit the home of Musimbi,of one of my brightest P4 (primary 4, kind of like 4th grade) students.  The place he calls home is a small mud hut with a straw roof.  It’s the same exact thing as what the majority of the people in Uganda live in.  As we came closer to their hut I saw a tiny old woman sitting just inside the front door.  She couldn’t speak any English and I can only speak a little Samia (Swahili and Luganda).  As I looked into her eyes, she couldn’t look into mine. She was completely blind.  Her bright white eyes were not the only thing holding her back from properly taking care of this little boy. She had chiggers and literally couldn’t walk.  From years and years of malnutrition and neglect she had to crawl around on her hands dragging her body on the ground. No wonder no one came to any of my schedule meetings. As I peered into the small mud hut that served as their kitchen, bedroom, and living room, tears filled my eyes as my own room flashed into my mind.  My own room that is bigger than this whole hut is.  My own room that sits empty except for a few weeks during the year when I’m home for break.  My own room that has electric lights, internet, and cable.  Now I know that the whole world can not afford the American dream. However, the good thing is that there is another dream...and it’s not Martin Luther King’s.  It’s the Lords dream.  His desire.  His command.  For us to live among the poor.  Why is my room empty when there are so many people who need a place to sleep tonight? 

What can I do to help her? What can I do to help Musimbi?  What can I do to help the other 132 children at school?  What can I do to help poverty?

I know what I don’t need to do.  I know what hasn’t worked.  It’s not an trading of goods.  Not even an exchange of service.  It’s not sending a few nonperishable food items to the food bank, it’s not sending them my old clothes that have gone out of style, or even a few sweaty days of building a playground at a school in a third world country.  They get what I give them, and I get a good feeling and maybe even something nice to put on my college resume.  Now sometimes this can be great and both are momentarily satisfying but unfortunately there is no revolution, no transformation, no change.  It’s a dangerous process that won’t stop.  The rich need to be unchained from macro-charity and distant contributions.  That only provides us with an excuse for our apathetic life styles of good intentions but rob us from the gift of relationships.  

This is not a “you need to teach a man to fish instead of just handing them out” speech because believe me - I know sometimes people just need to be handed a fish.  However, when that man is eating the fish I gave him for dinner, I want to get to know him over dinner while he’s eating it.  

I know Jesus intended for us to have relationships with those in poverty.  He says, the poor will always be among (with) us.  Not just in a far away place like Africa, not just in Mexico, not just in Haiti – but among you.  Am I living among poor?  How often do I feed them, take them to the movies, love on them? I could always make the excuse, “I’m in college! I am poor myself!” But I know this isn’t just not being able to eat out every single night of the week, or not being able to go on the cruise for spring break.  I’m talking about the - I don’t have a home, or food, or shoes poor.  How many homeless friends do I have?  Because guess who was homeless - Jesus.