"I am thinking about all of the love these people have.” --Agnes, a student sponsored through Outside the Dream.

After Elizabeth and I completed our week of teaching at Awegys Secondary School, we spent a couple of days with two girls we are sponsoring, Brenda and Agnes. Brenda is partially sponsored by my daughter Alison, her boyfriend, and a friend of theirs. Agnes is sponsored by my husband and me with support from my students. I only wish my students were there to see Agnes opening the gift they sent her: a photo album they had made of their lives.

It was night. The four of us, Agnes, Brenda, my daughter Elizabeth, and I, were preparing for sleep. White mosquito nets were drawn around Brenda and Agnes as they sat in their bed recounting the day: taking a shower for the first time; a seated breakfast of Ugandan tea, eggs, and toast; learning to swim; shopping in a chaotic labyrinth of market stalls for items we wanted to ensure they had before our return to the U.S.; and discussing the women’s emancipation movement in Uganda. I listened to the girls’ hushed voices, their rich black silhouettes muted by the white shroud that surrounded them.

I thought of their lives. Agnes, an extremely bright fifteen year old orphan whose mother died of AIDS in 2007. Her father no longer lives with the four children and visits infrequently. The children fend for themselves by digging in their garden. Agnes tells me she and her sister Jackline console one another when discussing the difficulties they face--among them: poverty, lack of electricity and running water, disease, a fifty percent unemployment rate, a deceased mother and absent father, an unknown future, and loneliness. It comforts me a little to know they at least have each other to hold onto.

Brenda, a seventeen-year-old orphan from the North who speaks bitterly of the twenty-two year long war that has reared an entire generation of children. After her parents died, Dennis, her kind uncle, brought Brenda south to live with him, his wife, and three children, in a dank cement room 10 X 10 in size on the grounds of Kigo Prison. His room is one in a row of many whose families work and live on the prison grounds perched above Lake Victoria. He is a man of little material means but profound spiritual faith. He prays to god that Brenda’s sponsorship will last through secondary school. He prays to god that goodness comes to Brenda’s sponsor.

I thought of how inspiring these girls are as they both work diligently to be first in their class at school. Agnes dreams of becoming a doctor, and Brenda, a nurse. I thought of how they share one dim light bulb in the girls’ dorm but always manage to complete their homework. And how they walk to fetch water from a stream. And how they wash their few clothes by hand, leaving them to dry on the bushes. And how they welcomed us to Awegys school with an original song the first day, then bade us farewell the last day with another song. I thought, I want to give Agnes her gift now.

So I unzipped a black suitcase and pulled out a large, striped, pink photo album. I parted the mosquito netting and, sitting down with the girls, offered the album to Agnes, “My students made this for you.” Agnes opened the album. Big red, yellow, and green words bounced off the page saying, “For Agnes.” She smiled. So did her eyes.

Together, Brenda and Agnes read each page. They traced the outline of Melissa’s handwritten letter, and pointed to Shelley’s photos wondering who the people were. Noticing braces on both the girls, Agnes asked what they were, so we explained the purpose of braces…an American norm that suddenly seemed frivolous. Agnes questioned, “How do they eat?” and added, “I wouldn’t be able to eat sugar cane with those.” The girls continued reading the album. Slowly. Then they reread every page marveling at the designs and colors. “They are good artists,” said Agnes, smoothing each page with the palm of her hand.

Agnes closed the album and flipped it upside down, sideways, and then on its edges. She examined every inch—inside and out—of the gift, as if unable to comprehend it. She grew silent and gazed off. I asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Silence.
More silence.

Then Agnes whispered, “I am thinking about all of the love these people have.”

Brenda smiled softly, “God is great. Did you ever think you would be in this situation? God is good. Be happy, Aggie.”

Agnes pulled the closed album to her chest and wrapped her arms around it.

And when I went to sleep that night, I, too, thought of the love these people have.