Enjala Enuma

In the Western world we are never idle. We check email, text message, watch American Idol, read a novel, and contemplate metaphysics-all at the same time. But here, in the “Pearl of Africa”, the electricity goes out at 5pm and entertaining ourselves becomes difficult. We gather around a single candle and after we exhaust all our usual conversational topics we digress to quintessential elementary games- 20 Questions, I Spy or What I would Spy if I we had electricity?

Those are my nights. Exciting, right? The daytime over the past few days has not faired better. We have had some time off, so we busied ourselves by going to some tourist attractions. I would not really call them attractions, per se. We went to what might have been a museum. The jury is still out on that one. I think we were the first visitors in a decade. They had one section dedicated to… the Olympics? And all that was exhibited were a few high-gloss 5X7 pictures from the most recent Olympics in Sydney. Why these pictures had enough historical value to be placed in museum is beyond me.

We also went to Entebbe Zoo. But I refuse to talk about the zoo. I’d rather delete this blog altogether than talk about how silly the little monkeys were. Your blog reader consolation prize topic will be…

ORPHANS!

First there’s Irene. She is an older girl, maybe fourteen years old, and loves to bring me things. And I love to receive them. Yesterday she gave me beautiful jewelry and a purse that she handmade. She sells these items on the side to help pay for her schooling fees. After overcoming our astonishment at her fine craftsmanship, Kelli and I immediately commissioned her to make all our souvenir gifts for friends and family. Subsequently, this commission will pay off her tuition for a year. This is a picture of Irene in the red dress. I look like a leprechaun in this picture, it’s okay, I am dealing with it.

Next, there’s Emma. I am not totally sure if it’s Emma or Emmer, boy or girl. Most of the children have shaved heads and it becomes hard to discern sex. In most cases, I would look at what one is wearing to point me in the direction of gender. This method does not work here. Most of the children have only a few outfits and if a boy receives a donated shirt that fits but also happens to have a big pink Barbie face slapped on it, then the big pink Barbie shirt he shall wear. I have nicknamed Emma, “The Mayor”, because she/he is a tiny little Napoleon that has no idea of her size or age. She bulldozes her way into a group of children and blathers as if she dictating an important decree. She will then leave abruptly to go attend a council meeting, or do cartwheels. Everyone, no matter the age, listens to her. I listen to her. She will sit me down and proceed to go on a ten minute diatribe in Lugandan, all the time knowing that I do not understand a word she is saying. I just nod and smile. Nod and smile.

(The Mayor is on the far left)

Another kid that makes me smile is Little Matt Damon. I don’t know what his actual name is, but if Matt Damon ever shrunk to the size of a 9 year old and was African, he would look exactly like this kid. Sometimes when I watch him dance in the school yard, I feel like I am watching a scene from The Bourne Identity.

Finally, there is David Livingston (aka The Yes Man). He is not an orphan. He’s a 6 year old that lives next door to us. He thinks the proximity of our homes gives him full rights and permission to enter our abode whenever he pleases. He will casually stroll into our bedroom in the morning. I requested that if he is going to barge right in, he might as well do the polite thing and make me some morning coffee. I get the feeling that my request might have fallen on deaf ears, because unfortunately all he can say is “yes”. Since I am a woman that does not like to hear “no” our friendship is blooming.

Besides David Livingston, there are bunch of neighborhood kids that knock on our door. Not because we are really fascinating, but because we have 180 computers in our living room and they want to play games. We are trying to set up a Computer Training Center for disadvantaged youth. However, we have yet to raise all the funds for the space and desks for the program, so they sit in our living room. Lots of little boys come by to play computer games. One day, after they had finished playing and left, I found this on the ground….


Um, all I can say is…no. I don’t want to imagine why these boys had this picture. And by the number 14 at the top it looks to me like a trading card. Can I trade Rika the spandex fitness instructor for your Ursula the Norwegian massage therapist?

I love kids.