Helping Orphans

The sun-exposed village of Mwaraha sits below a patch of eucalyptus forest on the top of Bunasaba, a foothill of Mt. Elgon in Eastern Uganda. Only subsistence farmers live there. Domestic animals roam freely, matooke trees sway in the slight breeze, and men lounge in the hot afternoon sun. The only road to Mwaraha is a small trail on the ridge of the mountain, from which the view of farm patched countryside in the valley below is dotted with mud huts and glaring tin roofs. Nabutsale Agnes and her six grandchildren live in one of those mud huts. Looking from above, one sees the concrete outline of two coffins. In Uganda, these six children are considered orphans – one or both parents have died.

One hot afternoon in February 2008, I joined a small group of volunteers hiking to Nabutsale’s home to bring the children clothing. Nobody was home when we arrived. The hut had just two wooden chairs in the front room, a few clothes on the line, and a cow in the back yard. A couple chickens scurried off as we approached. The neighbors gathered around us. After our greetings, they stared at us, and we stared at them – a typical exchange for strangers who are mutually fascinated by each other, but have reached their limit of communication. Suddenly, a naked little boy came bouncing around the corner. He shook our hands and the neighbors laughed. Then he went to fetch Nabutsale from her field.

Nabutsale’s eyes lit up when she greeted us. She looked ancient and worn. Her florescent patterned dress was tattered from the fields and her hands were leathered. But she was gracious and grandmotherly. Her entire life revolved around rearing children in the face of poverty.

She was delighted at seeing clothing for her grandchildren. She embraced the awkward bundle close to her chest. She bounced her shoulders and whooped her voice in traditional song and dance, an unexpected energy from a woman that had only moments ago seemed so feeble.

Nabutsale left a strong impression on me. Her belongings were few and the children under her care were many. They had little access to medical care, clean water, and proper nutrition. They were susceptible to infectious diseases and likely victims of the disastrous impact HIV/AIDS leaves behind when it takes lives.

While in Uganda I saw things I had only read about in books. I saw how poverty a traps a family and halts its ability to thrive. I saw bellies burgeoning with schistosomiasis and small legs covered by welts from mosquito bites threatening malaria. I smelled babies who, after a night of high fever, vomiting, and convulsions, had been bathed with Imperial soap before coming to the health center. I saw adults with abdominal pain one day, then dead a few days later. I went to Uganda to teach in a primary school and manage a health center for the Arlington Academy of Hope. I left with a new perspective on humanity, global health, and the challenges facing the world I live in.