today was our saturday gathering: we have about 100-150 children on saturdays, and do a bible story, give them nutritious (polite way of saying: NOT tasty!) porridge for breakfast, break into groups to do a more in-depth bible study/accountability group, and do music/drama/dance, and then give them tasty, and nutritious rice and beans for lunch.
today’s in-depth lesson (once we split the boys and girls up): sex (there is still a very high rate of AIDS here and very young girls becoming pregnant (and thus, young, SINGLE, mothers)). the girls in the group ranged from 8 years old to 15. i talked with them about AIDS, other sexually transmitted diseases, pregnancy, heart issues that come with having sex, and God’s law. to demonstrate the heart loss that comes with sex, i called one of the home girls up, (swabullah who is 13) and gave her a sheet of paper. in the demonstration for each guy that she had sex with, a large piece of the paper was torn and thrown away, until after just three tears she was left with nothing but a tiny scrap. i want them to understand that there is a bond that is made, formed, a connection that is so strong that the breaking of it is absolutely wrenching when two people have sex. i want them to know and believe that they are indescribably special, beautiful, worth only one man being with them. i want them to know that their hearts are a prize that is only to be held by God, until marriage, because the alternative, the heart break that comes with it, i cringe with pain of my own at the thought of them having to bear. but sadly, here, many of the women think that if they have sex with a man, he’ll stay and take care of them (provide food, a roof over their head, etc). this never happens. instead, the men leave to go to another woman once this one either becomes sick with AIDS, or pregnant. leaving behind a trail of sick women, who are single mothers, unable to provide for and feed the child, both then are hungry, in poverty, the girl grows up without a father figure, and the cycle repeats itself.
at the end of the discussion/lesson they asked questions. one of the 10 year old girls asked “what do you do if you are very young, our age, and your parents are making you get married, for money”. i was somewhat ill-equipped to answer this. see, i’m not actually in the main city of kampala, but on the outskirts, in a village district called “busega” and am not completely knowledgable of all the legal/illegal things that occur within their culture. i had a female translator for this session so i let her answer that, as she grew up here, she knows the culture more, and the legal availabilities to children. i later asked deborah (my female translator) how old the men are that the parents force these young daughter to marry are (young = 8-12), and the answer shocked me: 40’s-50’s ( i was thinking she’d say: 20’s, 30’s at the most (which is still NOT acceptable). i’ll be 30 on the 29th of this month, and am therefore old enough for these girls to be my daughters. that motherly instinct in my heart broke. (i would like to think that i would let myself starve or turn my own self to the streets before i auctioned off my 10 year old to someone old enough to be her father or grandfather) my heart cried out: how could they?!!! this righteous indignation began to rise up in me, and all i could do as deborah was talking to her was drop my head and pray. i want so badly to protect them, to make a way so that desperation does not take precedent over what is right. but i can’t. everyday i think about the contrast of lives: the lives of these children here, and the lives of children where i once called home. i don’t have any answers, or even any profound statements to follow up this short story of today.
on my way home yesterday, trapsing along on the same dirt road i do everyday, i heard a sad cry in the distance. there are sad cries, and cries of pain, highly distuingshable to my ears, and possibly every female with a motherly desire in her. as i continued walking, i saw a tiny little guy walking, shuffling his feet along the dirt toward me. i soon saw that he had one hand on his head, rubbing it, and his sad cry grew louder as i came closer. i came to him and bent down, eye level with his which were full of large tears. and he immediately walked into my arms, burying his little head in my chest, one hand still on his head. not yet well-versed enough in the luganda language to communicate with a 3 year old, a man who was near by walked and i asked him what was wrong. the man shrugged his shoulders and casually said “he must have been beat. his parents beat him”. all i could do was hold him, rub is back, and tell him in my best lunganda that he is good. i love these moments of embrace. i do not love the tears, the hurt, the suffering, the sadness, but, that even on a dirt road, on my way home, that i can still embrace and love, and nurture the sad heart of a child in need.
--fast forward to this morning, when the 100-150 children from the community come, and guess who came running into the tent, jumping into my arms as soon as we saw each other: my dirt road friend! we cuddled for a good 30 minutes until i had to go to the front to do the large group bible story. this is love, to hold, to support, to offer a place of security, though it be only a perceived security: the sadness in these hearts can be soothed with a simple embrace.
we often get so caught up in trying to do the big things that we neglect to see that such a simple small thing, may be the biggest thing to somebody.
love.
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