Fighting for Survival in Uganda

I was always interested to travel and see the world. But there is something that attracts me to the third world countries. It is not the curiosity, but I believe there is something all of us can learn from these countries.

Having said that, if you ask me what my favorite destination is, I will tell you without any second thought…. I don’t have a favorite destination but I love going to Africa.

I decided to swap one of my flights with a destination that seemed very exotic to me, and it was Kampala, Uganda. Soon after, I received an email from a good hearted person
who informed me that there are many orphanages in Uganda, and if we want to contribute with anything, the children will be grateful. Immediately I decided that this will be something I want to do since I had never visited the orphanage before. I bought two big packets of chocolates, so I can offer to the children, and I took all toys I had in my house to offer it to them.

The day has finally come; I arrive Uganda, all anxious. As soon as I enter the room, I call the reception, which sends me a driver immediately. I think of every detail like what to take with me, what to do… what I don’t think of was how to dress. As a result, here I am standing in a rainy muddy day, dressed in white.

The driver sees me, and he bursts into a loud laughter. He is a young man, around 28 years old, nicely built with a kind face. He asks if I have another outfit to change into. How could I? I hardly had any space for my stuff, because I carried so much to giveaway. He tells me laughing that I will surely be bathing in mud today. The mud, however, is a beautiful red – like saffron. The whole journey, he looks at me time to time for a good laugh. I wonder if he thinks I am a spoilt brat who knows nothing about hardships and real life.

Finally we arrive at the area where the orphanage. What should I say… I am speechless. People are living so poorly. The houses are made out of wood, very small and tiny. There are no streets; it all looks like a maze. And I think it can’t get any worse but then I arrive at the orphanage.

A woman with a pleasant smile takes care of the orphanage and she greets me warmly. The rooms are small but very clean. The first room she shows me is the infants’ room. I instantly want to cry, and I can’t stop my tears. I am crying internally because I don’t want others to see my emotions. In a stony room on the floor, are 5 to 6 babies and all of them no older than 8 months. I feel cold because it is cold but these babies lay flat on the bare floor to play. In the corner, there is a discolored white small bed. They were not crying, but you could see the suffering in their little eyes. The babies need love and affection and you can see them longing for it.

The caretaker tells me that their mothers either died during childbirth or the parents had HIV. I can’t describe what I felt. I leave the toys I brought in that room to add some color to the sadness that seeped from the walls.

One particular baby catches my attention, and I ask for permission to hold him. I hold the baby throughout the time I am at the orphanage because he doesn’t let go of me. He places his tiny hands around me and is holding tight with his legs around my waist. He cannot speak but his actions are louder than any words. It’s like he has chosen me. If by any chance I try to put him down, he instantly begins to cry. My heart cries with him thinking that I will have to leave him here and I will not be able to take him.

I go to the other room, but the children are playing outside. One of the ladies calls them so I could give them the chocolates. Next thing you know, I am surrounded by children. I give the baby I am holding to one of the ladies, but I can hear him cry as soon as I leave him. They all take candy one by one. What amazes me is that they keep moving aside to give other children the chance to get the chocolates. Would we behave the same way if we were in such desperate situation?

 All of them crave for a touch, a hug, and a smile. One boy grabs me with his hands and I cuddle his face. They shyly come and seek attention. Something inside of me screams and I feel good for nothing. I wish I could turn their lives around forever.

Shortly after, I am informed that it is dinner time and the children must eat. I am granted permission to be around the children a little longer in a small kitchen where children are eating. There are no chairs, only carpets on the floor, two fairly long tables but really low and a big cauldron on a corner where one old lady is making portions of food for them. All children are nicely seated on the floor, and the eldest goes and takes one plate at the time and gives it to the youngest one and so on. After dinner they all line up to sing a prayer that really makes me have goosebumps.

There are two things that are stuck in my head since that day. One is the grip of the baby around me which I strongly feel even now. The second is some words of a 14 year old girl there who asked me with a low, sad voice, “I want to see the pictures you took. Can you send them to me?” I tell her I will give them to her personally next time. She then replies to me, “They all say that but nobody comes back, they all come and go. You won’t be any different.”

She is right. I leave the same day with sadness and ache. The driver jokingly tells me that he is impressed my clothes are still white. I try to fake a smile.

The memory of the little baby still haunts me from time to time. I never went back, but I have sent the pictures to the driver so he can give them to the girl.