“F”… is for Food Poisoning

I have been reluctant to eat the meat here. I am not assuming that the meat in the United States is any better prepared or processed. Okay, never mind, I will assume that, only because here in Uganda I see the livestock out my window, so I know the manner in which it is handled. If you believe the saying that, “you are what you eat”, and I eat the meat here…then I would be a cow; a cow that ate a milk carton, poop, and half a shoe.

I don’t want to be poop and half a shoe.

So, I refrained from eating things that walk until two nights ago. Dinner was cooked for us. I hesitated when putting that tiny morsel of beef on top of my rice and posho, but it was the size of a cube of cheese. It looked up at me and in a squeaky voice said, “Lauren, I am just a wee tender bite and I look juicy…eat me.” Oh, alright.

Big mistake. Three hours later, I was hugging porcelain. My body became an accordion, compressing and bellowing, but not releasing beautiful music. I heaved and I hoed. I squeezed and wrung myself out to dry.

A few days later and ten pounds lighter, I weakly stumbled out the door and went to Sanyu Babies’ Home. I heard about this place online (one of the few places you can find on the net). There is a noticeable difference that being on the web will afford an organization. The home had a surplus of volunteers and was the cleanest and most well-endowed place I have come across. They take in babies found in garbage heaps, taxi parks, and that have been left on the side of roads. I walked through the cheerfully painted rooms and greeted the little itty bitties; the month olds and the year olds. I got to the room with all two year olds and a toddler in a chair reached out to me. I gave him my finger and he used it to pull himself off his seat. He stood and clung to my shins stabilizing himself. He began to sway back and forth, requesting a slow dance with me. I obliged and sang to him.

Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you
If you’re young at heart

And if you should survive to 105
Look at all youll derive out of being alive

Then here is the best part

You have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart

I was unaware, until that moment, that I knew the lyrics to any Frank Sinatra songs. After our dance, he left me for a narcissistic two year old who was by the mirror, staring at her reflection. Fine, leave me for the younger woman.

After I left Sanyu Babies’ Home, I went to Molly and Paul’s School for the Disadvantaged. I had promised to help them out when I had free time. School begins in February in Uganda, so they needed all the help they could get with preparing for classes. Most schools here are similar to non-profits. They do not get funding from the city, as our American schools do. They fundraise through various means to cover the cost of tuition for children and teachers’ salaries. When the money is not raised they lay teachers off and send kids home. Sad.

For lunch I took a break and ate at nearby restaurant. In the background there was an old television playing a made for T.V. movie, some sappy inner city school drama. You know the scenario- white teacher goes to an inner city school and tells the kids to put down their fists and pick up their books. Blah blah blah, it ain’t easy being a thug…blah blah blah, happy ending. At least the students in that movie have a blackboard, writing utensils, and a roof over their school. The students in that movie had a choice- to learn or not learn. In Kampala, so many children sit at home wishing they had that choice.

When I returned to the school I sat with some of the teachers and made learning tools by cutting the alphabet out of old cardboard boxes. The headmistress was astonished I could freehand the letters without the need for a ruler. She pointed this out to the others. I quickly hid my letter “h” under some scraps. I had messed up the letter’s arch and it now looked like a hieroglyphic. I didn’t want her lose faith in my talents.

We used every scrap piece of cardboard on the table. Nothing was to go to waste. It’s funny, coming from a world where the longer a job title is the more valuable people feel, I was humbled to be sitting there cutting the letter “j” out of an old stained banana box. I kept cutting, knowing my letter was indispensable.