FOR THE CHILDREN ,TURN THE WORLD AROUND

March 11, 2010.

I think about this past month and it's all jumbled together; faces, people, experiences. I feel so full and so alive. The tears are leaking out of me as there is no place inside for any more emotions.
Photos of the zebras of M'Bruru flit through my mind like a silent movie. The shacks of Namuwongo overlapping with the Monyonyo Commonwealth Resort. The contrasts are neverending. Uganda , a land of opposites, the land of the have and the have-nots. Like the smiling and crying masks of the theatre.
Ellen of Africa has gone home to Canada , to the land of non- frizz hair and Starbuck's banana smoothies, leaving her mark here on the children ,on me. I have journeyed on to Israel and even as I walk along the dunes beside the Mediterranean Sea, I speak of nothing but the children.
I see Michael, always eager to help, his shoes caked with mud and his skinny legs covered with scrapes.
Doreen, who's "Uh, uh" at times say more then any words as do her beautiful brown eyes.
Christine, who's clothes are rags but she wears them as if they were silk and fur.
Julian, whose demons darken his eyes as the morning progresses.
There is Hillary, with the accent on the second sylable of his name. His pink jacket confuses us until he demonstrates his left hook and we are reminded again that he is a boy.
I see Charles with his brilliant smile lighting up the room during the power outages.
Then there is Gloria who is the bossiest and feistiest girl from all the boys. She has the intention to break away from her Namuwongo heritage and I am certain that she will.
Provia, whose beaming face and an arch of an eyebrow were her main forms of communication. We need to find her a sponser to be in P2 because even sick, she was able to complete everything perfectly before we even finished explaining it.
Shamim always trying to keep up with her sister, Provia's example and successfully setting her own high standard. Both of them living with therecent loss of their father.
Daniel with his new shoes and his new found voice, who is slowly breaking through his fog of pain.
Maureen, so proud of her gold earings, so obsessed with the scab on her forehead and the moles on my arm.
Jacob determined and focused on getting his "s" to go in the right direction, doing brilliantly after only a few weeks back from break. His mind set on not to be outdone by the new girls.
Hussein, fitting in, making new friends, playing and running despite the fact that his oversized rubber sandles probably belonged to his dead father.
Isma, Mohammed striving to copy his letters and finding a smile despite his hollow belly. Rainy days often meant that porridge was late or didn't happen at all and this was particularly hard on these two brothers.
The courage and the spirit of these wonderful children is something we can all learn from.
I can still see their faces before me. I can still feel their arms around me. I can still hear their voices, mingled with that of Teacha Joyce.
"Hello, hello."
"Hey, hey."
"Where are you?"
"I am heya."
" Are you fah?"
" Not to far."
" Come and play."
"Not today."
"Then when?"
' Another day."

With love and gratitude, Doreen

PARTEE

Party, party, party, What a morning it was. Teacher Joyche made decorations and arranged to have all the children from pre-primary join us. Tables and benches were carried down the hill. The children sat silently and motionless(40 of them) waiting. The Headmaster gave a little speech and danced, the VP. danced with her daughter. Then we-the teachers danced. All to the wonderous music of Raffi. The children sat very still. When we took photos they smiled.
Then we served them the banana pancakes and juice Doreen and I had arranged for. The children were exceptionally polite. Then they came to us one at a time to say thank-you. We didn't cry!
Then they were let loose and boy oh boy did those kids have a great time dancing and jumping with us. It was a fabulous party.
Before the party Headmaster, Mr. Ocoth, gave us each a letter of gratitude and a gift of beautiful beaded flipflops. Tears filled our eyes. For me it was most difficult to say good bye to all the teachers we had grown to appreciate. Each of them wanted to know when we would be back. A very difficult question to answer.
My photos holds the story of the courageous children of the Namuwongo slum. My soul will always hold the feelings and special memories of this amazing month. I will never forget, I will never regret.
This is Ellen of Africa signing off with love.

TAKING PICTURES WITH MY HEART

March 3,2010.
One more day until we say goodbye.
I walk around savoring each smell, each sound and each emotion. The morning starts with the chanting of the alphabet and the accompanying games all to encourage learning. The room is filled with joy as we work our way towards break. There is porridge today so the children are recharged and eager to return to work as we move into the numbers section of the day. Christine and Provia , two of our newest students, are given their own math workbooks, courtesy of the photocopier. They are thrilled and breeze through their first page. The pride on their faces is worth all the frustrating bargaining that transpired in order to settle on a fair price.
We all pile out into the "yard" to capture a group photo for our pen pals in Canada. Teacha Joyce gets them into an organized group, her national pride as fervent as that of the Canadian Hockey Team. In order to loosen them of their serious posture, I sing them a verse of Teacha Ellen's "Hockey Pockey". I capture their laughter as it erupts on film.
I see everything with such clarity, as if it is happening in slow motion. I watch the chickens cross the road, hear all the greetings from the children passing by, and feel all the appreciation through the hugs and handshakes given by the staff . Each time someone murmurs ,"I'll miss you," tears spring to my eyes.
I am full;full of love, gratitude and sadness.
I am taking pictures with my heart.
Entry by Doreen Horen

AND SO.....

And so we begin our final days here at St Henry's School Muyenga with the children of The NLP. My emotions are about as controlable as a room full of bouncing ping pong balls. I am on the edge of tears when Mohamed with quivering lip whispers "porridge" to me. The rain has meant no fire and therefore no porridge and I know this little boy and his brother, another of our students, may do not have food at home. I ask Joyce not to let them go home until they are given lunch, which will be late because of the rain. Why doesn't the weather understand that our children do not carry snacks in backpacks? Cloudy is fine, downpours shift the universe.
Their english is improving everyday, their ability to focus is great (most of the time). Their academic progress has been grand considering that Joyce has only been in the classroom for 3 weeks.
And me? Well I have begun to have more trouble than usual sleeping. Last night I dreamed I was adopting two 2yr olds from Namuwongo. I miss home and my family very much but I don't know how to say good-bye to these children who have had so many losses in their lives. Have they built up some barrier to departures? Do they have attachments to us or do the realize we are only here for a short time. The teachers say they themselves will miss us. I fight tears. A former student in High School died from malaria on the week-end. I fight tears. The dead goat. I fight tears. I phone one of my daughters-in-law and I fight tears. How will Doreen and I leave the school grounds and get back to the hotel on the last day when we will both be blinded by tears.

"For everything there is a season under heaven"
Ellen of Africa

JUST ANOTHER MONDAY MORNING

March 1, 2010.
Too much rain causing rivers of orange mud. A dead baby goat in the middle of the road hit by a negligent car or boda boda. The porridge late because of soaked firewood. The children hungry and complaining of empty bellies. Yet,we're still dancing and singing round the room to Raffi's "Banana phone".
"What's a banana phone?" asks Teacha Joyce. I'm not sure what Ellen tells her. I'm glad it' s not me.
We've arranged with Mary, Michael's grandmother , to make us 8o of her special banana pancakes for our parting celebration on Thursday. I am crying already, though I promised Ellen to try and wait until the walk home after school.
The penpal letters are finished , complete with drawings and accompanying photos. Relationships have been ,only to be broken. It's difficult being in the moment when there are only 3 days left to teach, to learn.
The children's faces and the lessons learned will linger ,slowly becoming woven into the fabric of who I am , who I am becoming.

Entry by Doreen on March 1, 2010.