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
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
1 comment:
Ellen, this was so sensitive a blog...Not only do I have tears,but those tears are streaming.The enormous losses of the children with whom you are working are one reason to try to contain your tears until after you have left the schooland are walking down the dusty, rutted road.Your life has been made more sad, and more rich. You have given the children a taste of honey. The teachers at the school know that there are witnesses all the way in Canada. You have added grit and wonder. Thank you
Post a Comment