Elizabeth's Post - July 8th: Savior and Sanyu

Posted by Elizabeth
Pictures to come!!

On Saturday my parents and I went to Budo Junior School (where Savior attends) to donate some materials and hold a workshop with the kids. Along the way, there were a few curveballs thrown at us. Based on the supplies we had brought from home, we had requested twenty-five students. We entered the large classroom (which also serves as the school’s chapel) to find seventy-five students waiting. The power was out at the school, so we couldn’t do the activity we originally planned. And the school’s materials were limited: no maps, no overhead projectors, no computers to use, some of the kids didn’t even own writing utensils…we had only some limited craft supplies that we had brought 8,000 miles in a suitcase, some chalk that crumbled in the afternoon humidity, and our ideas. Hmm. It's a wonder, what you can do with just those things.

And thank goodness for my mother.

We scrapped the original lesson plan and she improvised, handing out flowers picked from the school grounds to each table of students. She did a simple descriptive exercise with them based on the flowers. At first, you could tell the kids were thinking, “Who are these crazy bzungu?” (Bzungu means white people. You hear it a lot here.) But eventually, we won them over. :) We did a basic poetry workshop with them, my mom directing, and my dad and I moving throughout the tables of students to answer questions and just help out where needed. Then, we showed them how to make “star books” out of folded printer and construction paper. They loved it! And a lot of the kids were incredible writers, too. I mean really, really amazing. It’s fascinating to see what kids will do when you give them a little confidence and the materials to do it. It was also interesting to see the way a different cultural sphere influences one’s writing. For example, there was also a lot about the Ugandan countryside, crested cranes, city streets, poultry farms, markets or the Sahara desert. Many of the kids wrote about home or their parents (many are orphans boarding at the school).

We returned to our hotel with Savior and his friend Sanyu, who had gotten passes to leave the school for the night. Both are twelve years old. Savior has no living relatives and Sanyu was orphaned at the age of seven. (Her sister--age twelve at the time --raised both Sanyu and the five-month old baby. Their ages are now seventeen, twelve, and six. All are currently in school.) The kids spent the night at our hotel and the next morning watched television and made more “magic” star books in their hotel room. Savior wrote a letter for my mom’s students, and Sanyu wrote something to post on the blog.

We also gave Savior his early birthday gifts, and gave Sanyu the gifts we had set aside for her. I will never forget the way Savior’s face lit up when he saw his birthday card, or the way Sanyu traced the fur on the stuffed animal we gave her to take back to her six-year old sister, Sarah. “It is beautiful,” Sanyu said. We gave them each a teddy bear, which they hugged tightly to their chest. (Courtney, Savior read your letter and says “Thank you.” He loves the bear.)

Then my mom and I took them shopping in a commercial district of Kampala. As my mom put it, “it ain’t Target.” The blocks were a dizzying maze of small stores, or malls made up of hole-in-the-wall stalls selling clothing. Blankets were spread out on the sidewalks to display the watches, candy, sunglasses, or clothes for sale. My mom and I quickly got the hang of bargaining with the storeowners. It was hard to believe, though, that we were shopping with twelve-year-olds. Both were right up front at the stores, haggling with the shopkeepers for lower prices. We told them to pick out whatever they needed, and they picked out jeans, sponges for bathing, a soap dish, handkerchief, shoes, socks, underwear, umbrellas, suitcases for a school trip, and hooks so they could hang their laundry to dry. And let me repeat, these kids are twelve years old. When I was twelve, I probably wanted CDs or books or toys, because my parents took care of the rest. These kids wanted underclothes and a way to better dry their laundry. They didn’t even have sweaters to wear if they were cold. And the sad thing is, they are among the fortunate.

When we returned to the hotel, the kids were so excited to show my dad what we had bought. Sanyu spent most of her time folding and packing the clothes she had picked out for her little sister, Sarah, and kept biting her lip and looking up at me with a big grin. “Sarah’s suitcase,” she said, holding up the little “collector’s item” package that originally held a stuffed animal. On the way back to the school, my parents stopped to buy them some sandals. Sanyu asked to borrow my dad’s permanent marker (most kids stitch or write their names on everything to prevent theft). He gave it to her and watched, expecting her to label the shoes with her name. But instead of writing her own name, she carefully marked the sandals “Sarah.” She is still taking care of her six-year-old sister.