I love to play with these kids. They work hard at chores, study hard for classes. It feels so good to share play. Especially the older girls — Rachel, Esther, Eve — they don’t usually play, so when I lead them to the field, they play wholeheartedly. With the middle and younger ones they are so desperate for a turn with the frisbee they get too aggressive. I have been trying to get them to share, but it is hard with my limited Luganda.
Yesterday, Cossima — about 10 years old — took the lead in including the younger, slower children. He felt so good when I praised him to Maama Victoria.
Many of the older kids play football (soccer). Their soccer ball is a round bundle of rags, tightly wrapped together, but always trailing a few shreds. Why didn’t I bring 6 soccer balls? How many of us in the U.S. spend $600 for hockey equipment, or $1,000 for ski gear. If Amazon worked here I would have ordered soccer balls, shoes, clothes — one boy had no pants today and had stretched his torn t-shirt to cover himself.
I am broken wide open today. The needs are so vast. Many of the children who have shoes have ones three sizes too big. I have seen one boy the last two days whose shorts were to big so he always had to use one hand to hold them up. Yesterday many children had their foam mattresses in the hot sun to “kill most of the bugs.”
How can I, with my wealth, be a neighbor to these children? Why am I more deserving of material comforts than these?
Bread is a rare treat. As I ate my breakfast this morning, it occurred to me that probably none of the children have every had toast and jelly. (By the way, Maama cooked our toast over the fire this morning). Today I want to empty my wallet and bank account and give them all mattresses and toast with jelly. I don’t know how to be myself today, to be neighbors to Hillary and Violet and Francis and Benson …
As I sit quietly, an answer comes. I don’t have to figure out large answers today. I am not to be a savior. I need to be present to each person I see today. I need to live in my broken-heartedness. Maybe tomorrow I will know more about ways to help. Maybe tomorrow I will have a larger, clearer vision. Today I only need to see the child in front of me. And wait. With hope.
Faithfully,
Steve