And just like that … the rain had finally stopped. I was beginning to think it would never end. I could take a walk along the road without the splatter of red mud as evidence of my journey. It seemed to rain twenty hours a day and when it wasn’t raining, it was about to. I strongly dislike rain. It was beginning to affect my attitude. I must admit, I did not care for Uganda.
All I could do was think about last month, my favorite month of the race. My mind was distracted by memories of Pastor Fatier, Richard, Vanessa and Geoffrey. Secretly, I missed the four-and-a-half mile walk to church and the nightly power outages when you could see every star in the sky. I missed the quietness of the village and wanted to go back; back home. To say I was angry would not have been an embellishment. I was tired. Tired of packing, tired on moving on, and tired of goodbyes.
We passed though the rickety gate to get into the schoolyard. A tiny goat stood along the side of the building, his head hung with discontent. “I concur”, I mumbled under my breath. The spray-paint on the outside of the door read “P5”. We had reached the classroom; I had to bow to prevent hitting my head on the exposed wooden beams. I took my seat in a plastic chair in front of the room. The children were seated in rows on wooden benches. I didn’t count, but in contrast to the tiny schoolroom there may as well have been a hundred. Realistically, there were maybe fifteen. They had no desks, only a second wooden bench positioned in front of them, the same height as the one they were sitting on. They were forced to lean completely forward just to reach their notebooks. Their pastel-purple shirts and grey bottoms were stained with far more than their morning breakfast. As they completed their assignment, they sat silently. Their eyes darted every time they would meet mine. I peered around the room; it was as if I was looking for an escape route. But if it were for them or me, I could not be certain. Tired of playing the cat and mouse game with their chocolate brown eyes, I turned towards the chalkboard. You know, the kind they used to have when we were in school. It was filled with equations that Einstein would have trouble solving. “Maybe I could just sneak off to the toddler class” I thought. “That will be more my speed.”
I could hear whispers behind me. I listed intently but couldn’t identify one single thing. At this point not a word had been exchanged. No introductions, nothing. I wasn’t even sure they could speak English. Since I had a better chance of learning their language than I did teaching them geometry, I decided to find out. I abruptly stood up and the ones in the front row cowered. The white man had made the first move. I chuckled. I didn’t mean to startle them. It was that simple smile that made all the difference. Their faces lit up and I’m not sure if you have ever experience a room full of cheerful African children, but I can tell you there is nothing like it.
I’m not sure if it was the end of the rain, my team calling me out of my funk, or the extra-large smiles from a tiny classroom; but whatever it was, I am thankful. I may have lost an entire month. I made a choice. I chose to love even when it was difficult. I decided to step outside of my comfort zone and take a chance.
Each day that I went back to that tiny classroom, the condition of my heart began to change. I went from wishing I were back in Rwanda to trying to figure out how I was going to leave Uganda, my home.
