Scrap on the Streets

One night Moses K. shared with us the despondency of street children.  “They will scour the land for scrap and then try to sell it to get money.  With the little money they earn, they will buy food or water for themselves.”  Scrap, as Moses K. talked about was the leftover, unwanted, broken pieces of metal that street children scooped up and sold to anyone with a listening ear.  Scrap, as the world sees it, are the leftover, unwanted, broken children who now live on the streets as a result of broken homes, wars, and the AIDS epidemic, especially in Uganda.

And I met them.

On Wednesday morning while I was in Uganda, I went on an adventure to explore the countryside and more of the town of Masaka.  Curious about where a particular road wondered, I followed it.  I thought and hoped it would circle around and become a back way to Masaka (I was wrong about this and ended up walking quite a few miles out of the way!)  On route, however, I saw a little boy who was dressed in rags.  He approached me carrying a pouch.  “Do you want to buy?”  He spoke in ragged English.  When he opened his pouch, I saw scrap pieces of metal and immediately knew him to be a street child. 

“How much?” I asked. 

He misunderstood me, thinking that I asked him how much he had, and pulled out a handful of coins (worth very little).  I espied a 200 shillings coin and pulled out a 2000 shillings bill.  “I’ll buy that coin for 2000 shillings.”  I said.  His eyes grew wide.  We traded. 

And as I went on my way, he kept saying, “God bless you, sir!  God bless you!”

Later that evening, Moses K. and I walked down to Nyendo so I could again participate in feeding the children.  A handful of four to five children sat waiting for their food, which consisted of mere porridge and a few pieces of white bread—hardly sustainable or nourishing!  As I recorded a few of them and their stories, a couple more trickled in from the streets for the free meal.  For a little while we stayed there but then Moses K. led the children and I to the place where some would sleep for the night.

Fred and Ronald #1 (there were two named Ronald) held my hands as we wove through the byways and back streets of Nyendo.  We squished through mud, jumped over puddles, and wove our way through the alleyways of Nyendo until we reached the shelter Little Hands of Hope rents for 11 of the street boys.  It is a room we visited early in the week: small, maybe 3 paces in width and a little over four in length.  Eleven children, possibly a few others, will stay the night there and then return to the streets when morning dawns.  One mattress, a few rugs on the cold cement floor, and a mosquito net are the only items to grace the otherwise barren room.

 

The building where 11 of the children will stay for a night

The inside of the house where 11 street children will stay

Some of the street children Little Hands of Hope feeds

 

But Fred would not sleep there that night or any night.  He was older, somewhere in his teens perhaps.  He then led us further and deeper into the town through a maze of streets and people to an old brick building filled with trash.  Some street children would sleep there for the night, using darkness for covering and trash for blankets.  Then, Fred took us deeper, as if bringing us to the heart of life on the streets, to the place where he and perhaps others would sleep that very night.  In a little concave of houses, he showed us a bare porch, his bed for the night.  A concrete slab built into an adjacent building provided a temporary bed for other street children.  

Moses K. became nervous, perhaps because it was ‘dangerous’ for a white person to be out and about after dark.  Who knows? 

So I returned to the comfort of a retreat center in the nun’s convent with the stinging thought that several children ages 6 and above would endure another night on the streets.  Home, clean water, food, sanitation, someone to tuck them in at night and say, “I love you”—these children have none of these things.

The Ministry of Little Hands of Hope seeks to bring a touch of God’s light and love to the many children by a simple meal.  If you feel God’s tug on your heart for these children and desire to help them, click the above Little Hands of Hope to see more of its ministry in Uganda.

A Meal a Day

Off to the right of muddy dirt road some twenty-thirty minutes from down town Masaka, a white sign welcomed us to the Butale Mixed Primary School.  Beyond the natural guardians of a handful of banana trees and a mango tree robust with baby mangoes sat the public school.  Chances are when you hear ‘public school’ you very well might imagine the school you attended as a child; however, I assure you, it is not a replica.  Instead, before my eyes, a long brown-stained building stood with open doors and windows; a metal roof latched onto the top and parts of it were rusted.  Inside faired no better: the walls were bare concrete with wooden benches and desks that sat two or three students at a time.  This is a public, government school.  I hear private schools are better in Uganda. 

 

The School at Butale

Yet despite its unhealthy appearance, eager Ugandan children with their chocolate skin and deep brown eyes poured out of the classrooms with white smiles.  These children or at least many of these children are orphans.  Some walked a considerable distance from their ‘homes’ to come to school.  So why were they so happy? 

Could it be the visit of a ‘white person’?  Perhaps, but something more was afoot. 

We arrived at the Butale School shortly before lunchtime.  Classes were dismissed and the children walked and some ran down a grassy slope in back of the school towards a small, brick, square building that (if I remember correctly) had no roof on it.  This was the kitchen.  Inside the kitchen, a few people stirred a cauldron of bubbling white stuff.  What potion were they mixing to feed four hundred plus children? 

Porridge.  Porridge made of corn meal, perhaps a little sugar, and water.  This was their school meal, and for many the only meal they received a day.  These four hundred plus children lined up with a colorful array of bowls or cups to receive what looked like thick milk.  And they were grateful! 

A line full of Ugandan children waiting for food

 

In a translated interview with Moses K., the children shared their thankfulness for a single meal at school because they could then concentrate on their studies.  Talking with the principal.  And indeed, since Little Hands of Hope started to feed the children at this school, much has improved.  In a type written letter from the Head Teacher (what I would call a principal), a list of the ‘situation before’ verses the situation after Little Hands of Hope started to feed the children lunches went like this:

Before:

1) Pupils used to dodge classes because they were hungry

2) We had a high rate of dropouts

3) Children used to be sickly all the time

4) Children with HIV/AIDs and were on ARVs used to find it hard to study without lunch

5) Education performance was very low characterized with failures in the school

 

“The positive impacts of [your] intervention of lunch program into our school”

1) Pupils are no-longer dodging classes

2) Pupils are no-longer drop out i.e. from 320 pupils to 440 now in the school

3) Sickly and HIV/AIDS children are now living positively in the school and learning is now real to them

4) Education achievement has improved from 30% passing children to 82% of this year.

 

This is the ordinary power of a simple meal and a full belly.  A meal a day = health, concentration, a desire to be in school, passing grades, and in due time receptiveness to the gospel because they will see love in action. For more information about Little Hands of Hope click here.

Ugandan Children at the School

   

A Scent of Uganda

          For thirty-some hours I traveled over land and sea by air and land to reach Uganda, a southeastern African nation.  The stale air of our KLM Dutch airbus quickly gave way to the balmy Ugandan air filled with a peculiar scent as I exited onto the accommodation ladder.  By peculiar I do not mean a horrible stench; rather, it is a unique smell associated with the country.  If you have ever traveled to other countries, you might understand what I am talking about. Each country seems to have a unique scent associated with it that simply is that country.  Katie Davis described it this way in her book: “I took a deep breath of the air that smells what I can only describe as ‘Uganda’ and let it fill me with the joy of being in the place God has called me.”[1]

            Words might fail me if I try to describe the Ugandan scent to you, especially since we as humans have associated words with certain scents, fragrances, and odors.  For instance, you welcome the very pungent but sweet fragrance of a rose or the warm, buttery-chocolate aroma of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven.  However, you very well might run away if you saw a skunk and caught a whiff of his ripe odor or feel queasy when you open a gallon of spoiled milk.  Rose, chocolate chip cookies, skunk and spoiled milk all, if you have smelled them, call to mind a scent associated with each of them, whether a pleasant or unpleasant smell.  So instead of attempting to describe it, you will simply have to travel to Uganda to discover the scent.

            However, I will describe a different Ugandan scent to you.  Uganda is known as the Pearl of Africa due to its lush countryside and multiple lakes spotted throughout the land.  Should you climb a mountain, a picturesque and panoramic beauty awaits you.  It is a proverbial sweet scent.  But now travel down into the marketplaces and alleyways of the cities and you will quickly discover a different scent.   One of the Ugandan men whom I met, Moses K., said that 46-49% of the country’s population is 14 years old and under!  It is a very young nation.  Out of this vast number of statistics, over one million children are orphans.  If they have relatives who desire to care for them, they are among the fortunate few; however, if they do not, which is the case for most, they will leave for the streets in hopes to escape the pain of broken homes. 

Broken homes.  Sigh.  They are quickly becoming the norm in Uganda (and the USA!) due to a recent war in the north and the AIDS epidemic that has ravished large regions of sub-Saharan Africa.  Sad to write, very sad, but I think necessary to do so:  I noticed an AIDS prevention billboard promoting safe sex, not abstinence, and perhaps even more sorrowful was the sponsor of this ad.  It was an organization from the USA.

What then is the answer to the plagues of poverty, the rise of broken homes, and the leftover orphans as a result?  The answer: “For we are the fragrant aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing” (2 Corinthians 2:15).  Just as a rose is known by its sweet fragrant scent, so also are Christians known by their fragrant scent of Christ-likeness.  Thus when a person acknowledges our love or patience or self-control, they catch a whiff of the aroma of Christ Jesus in us.  It is when we as Christians live out of the glorious reality of Christ in us, that we love and give and serve and heal and speak and bring the good news of hope to a broken world, whether here in the States or abroad in Uganda.

 

And part of what the ministry Little Hands of Hope is all about is to be a means of promoting the aroma of Christ to the multiple orphans in a poverty-stricken land like Uganda. 

A View of Masaka in the Ugandan country-side

 

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[1] Davis, Katie.  Kisses from Katie.  (Howard Books: New York, 2011), 93.

A Text to the Unexpected

Sometime during the New Year’s Eve party in 2014 as I played ‘telephone pictionary’ with some of my fellow co-workers and friends, my cell phone chimed and alerted me to a text.  In this technologically bound society most people would not think this odd or strange but I did.  I wonder who sent me a message before the New Year? was my initial thought.  Normally, I do not receive an abundance of texts, except from work or around holidays when my family will wish a “Merry Christmas” or the expected “Happy New Year,” which would fall a couple hours from then.

I snuck my hand into my pocket, pulled out my cell phone, and read the text: “Jeff, I’m not sure if you are on Facebook but my wife and I wanted to know if you would like to go to Uganda with her.  Little Hands can flip the bill…leaving in March.”  I reread the text to make sure I understood the entirety of it.  It came from my best friend from college, Tom Johnson.  About a year ago, his wife, Kristen, journeyed to Uganda, saw the needs of street children and orphans, and began an organization called Little Hands of Hope to feed and care for such children. 

Now I was strangely invited to Uganda.

Uganda?  Somewhere in Africa, I knew, but couldn’t place the exact location. 

March?  Three months away.

“Ok…let me pray about it.”  I typed back on my cell phone.

Uganda?  Surprise.  The invitation to Uganda flew under my mental radar as a country to consider on the edge of a New Year.  Unexpected.  Unforeseen.  This small text would later grow as I first prayed and then accepted the invitation, traveled to receive my shots, and blossom into a ten to twelve day adventure in Uganda. 

This small text began to chart the course of the New Year for me and would leave a pensive aftertaste in my mind and heart during the weeks that followed it.  Such is the reality of small things though.  Small things or words often change the course of our lives or affect them greatly without our knowing. They come in unnoticed and uninvited but decide to stay with our conscience and linger with our minds, dinning with them until they set up residence in our hearts. 

Yet it is not the nature of a small thing or word to remain such.  A small acorn when planted will grow into its destined oak tree in time and with the proper conditions.  A small word can affect a child greatly, whether for good or bad.  A small thought will produce an action.  A small action has the ability to produce a habit, which will quickly become a lifestyle if left unhindered.  Indeed, as the Prophet Zechariah said centuries ago: “Who dares despise the day of small things?” (Zechariah 4:10)

And so the adventure to Uganda began with a text on that cold New Year’s Eve…