The Neighborhood I

I have been trying to put into words the neighborhood surrounding the hilltop that I am staying. I could describe the children, some naked, others in their one, torn outfit, yelling Mzungu! Mzungu! (white person) as I travel past. I could describe the rich colours that make walking around a new corner sometimes wonderful; the non-manufactured “yards” with lush plants and vibrant flowers are beautiful and seem more lovely than the ones at home. I could describe the houses, either built with bricks and cement or mud and sticks, covered by branches or a tin roof. These houses, while each unique, are similar as you walk inside, most with dirt floors and a handful of rooms. I could describe each of these things further. But, I would rather spend time focusing on some individuals, my neighbors whom I have started to get to know. This is William.



He is around 80 years old, old enough to be my grandfather. (as I am writing this I realize that my grandfather is also named William. Hi Papa.) He has lived in and around this area most of his life. I met him one day as Geoffrey and I traveled to screen houses that we would bring supplies to. From the first moment of we met, he has been overjoyed to talk and share with me. The only problem is that he only speaks Lugandan. So, when I walked with him to his house a couple of weeks ago our conversation consisted of: Hello! How are you? Where are you going? And him singing different Lugandan songs interspersed with me pointing out different objects to translate.

William is not able to support anyone anymore as he is battling with his older age. This is his home, which he lives in by himself.





Here is what his main room looks like when I am sitting inside. He thankfully has nets, a water sanitizing system and, as you can see, a comfortable bed to sleep in. However, from the moment I step inside, it is harder to breathe as William does all his cooking on a fire that is in the room next to his bedroom. (Culturally, most people cook inside their house. However, with a new generation emerging, this practice is changing and people build separate cooking shelters.) William sits on his bed as we talk through his neighbor. He asks me about Canada, family, the children. I ask him about Uganda, family, and his heath. Uganda has changed a lot since he was young and he believes it is for the better.

As I mentioned in the outset, William is always happy to see me, explaining how it is an honor to have visitors, especially a mzungu. He and his daughter, who lives next door, insist that I take gifts of avacado and eggs whenever I leave. It would be very rude to refuse but I am finding it difficult as different people are giving me gifts, many not expecting anything in return. I try to give most of them away to people that need the food.

Luckily, the last time I went to visit, William’s neighbor, whose English is quite good, dropped by. I was able to ask a few more questions as we got to know each other. William has six sons. Five, tragically, have died of AIDS and one, also tragically, poisoned himself. A I said, he has one daughter. Her name is Ruth and she lives next door with her husband. She really wanted me to take her picture.






I found out, through all of this, there were a number a grandchildren left, unable to be cared for. But, luckily three of these children were taken in and actually living here at the children’s home! The two boys that are living here, Wasawa and Kato (literally: the older twin/younger twin), are great kids and two of my favourite. Kato



always has a smile on his face. When I chose teams for football (soccer) I usually try to get him on my team as he fights hard to get the ball and is the first one back to help out defend. I also love the fact that every time I pass to him and he turns it over or misses his shot he makes sure to say, “Sorry Uncle Shaun”. I keep trying to tell him it is fine..but he just doesn’t want to let me down.

Wasawa is a bit more reserved but also always has a huge grin. He is always willing to help and all the boys seem to like and respect him.



The third grandchild that is at the home here is Harriet, a beautiful, inspiring girl who is in the fight of her life with AIDS. I am going to hopefully write a separate blog just about her soon.

William’s family seems to be more of an exception than the rule with hardships. However, every family living in this area has been affected by AIDS one way or another. The reason why many of the kids are here is due to losing family members. This is one of the reasons why I enjoy exploring the neighborhood. Everyone has a story and, more and more as I am finding out, everyone is connected.

A couple of stories…

I traveled a half an hour into the bush to teach at a small church a couple of weeks ago. It is a unique experience to travel off the main drag as the roads are narrow, always dirt, and at every turn I’m sure that we are getting lost. But, amazingly, the boda (motorcycle) driver always seems to know where his is going and can find even the more remote locations. So, on that day, after I had finished teaching, I took a boda back to zunguay, the area I am living. The driver began to take me a completely different way than I had came (first red flag!) and the children began to look at me in shock (second red flag!). But, to my surprise, we ended up on the back side of the hill I am living what seemed like a full 15 minutes less than it took me to get there. I knew I had to use this boda driver again.
Also, traveling in the bush is unique in that the farther you go in the less likely it is that some of the locals have seen a Mzungu before, especially the younger children. The same night, there was one child, as we zipped past, that I could tell was staring at me and thinking as hard as he could. I heard, as we were just about to move out of earshot, probably the only English he could remember from school,

“Good Morning Mother!”

It was 7 pm….and, no, I am not his mother.



Some people in this area speak of their “good friends” from Canada. However, considering that almost everyone that was here on the trips were only here two weeks I am unsure how good of friends they were. That being said, the people here seem to remember a lot of details, almost memorizing everything the Canadian mzunugu said to them often exaggerating details. I was walking up the road one day when a boy said hello and began to speak with me in English, asking about his good friend Pastor Jon from Canada. I told him how Jon and his family was doing.

He then asked, “If I moved to Germany, would the people there kill me?”

“Umm…excuse me?”

He said, “There was this other friend who wanted to take me back home to Germany with him.”

“O.K.”

But, he went on, “My mom said that if I went with him, they would kill me.”

“Um….”

He continued, “What do you think? Would they kill me?”

“Um..why would the want to kill you?”

“That’s what I thought! I think my mom is lying to me. See you later!”



More to come….