It was a Wednesday.
I fell in love in front of a classroom of students. Can anyone explain it, really? The way that there is an impulse suddenly traveling through all of your insides, beating and surging and propelling itself and creating new cells everywhere it goes, cells that are entirely different than the ones before it.
On this particular day I was in charge of both 4th and 5th grades (normally I just commanded the 4th grade troops). All huddled together in one room, rubbing elbows with each other, they gave me the warmest welcome, as they were accustomed to doing. When I asked them how they were doing they chanted in a unified chorus "WE ARE BLESSED." Fair enough.
I asked them why they were blessed. Why would they say that, other than that they've been taught and trained to? I heard a trickle of answers about education and having food to eat and getting a good night's sleep. In an impromptu speech, I told them why I was blessed.
"It's because I get to be here with all of you. I get to share in your life and soak up all of you like a sponge. And then when I leave, I get to take pieces of each of you with me and bring them all the way to Canada."
It wasn't particularly dramatic or revelational, except that the words leaving my tongue turned around and pounded on my heart. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at all of the life that was looking back at me. These kids have the same dreams as the ones in your life. Their needs are far different though. Most of them eat only one meal a day, and yet I was still showered (almost daily) with gifts of avocado, chapati (similar to a flour tortilla), watermelon, and bananas. They give all that they have. The play soccer barefooted and smiling. They want to learn so badly, but they also want to watch cartoons.
It wasn't an instantaneous love. The thought of being responsible for an entire classroom burdened me to the point that I looked past them and to the task ahead. But as the days continued, I became less concerned with mixed fractions and more concerned about making them laugh. We played a lot of Hangman. We multiplied our way through numbers as well, but mostly we did a lot of singing and dancing. We ran outside and sat in a circle and looked at God's creation and realized that we were the best part of it all.
I taught Christian and Muslim kids alike. Neither more precious than the other. All bursting with potential and curiosity.
Because of them, I love Uganda. And I know that you would, too. This school has many needs, but just as many dreams for the future. Simple things like pens, notebooks, shoes, and food are among the things that this school does not have enough of. Kids come to school hungry and sometimes a meagre portion of porridge is all that can given. But the director believes that one day the school will have five acres of land with good soil to plant their own food for both consumption and profit. Currently the director provides the kids have their own chickens and goats with which they are able to pay for some books and maybe a uniform.
Yesterday was our last day with the kids. They finished their second term and won't return until mid-September. My lips were scratched and sore from kissing all of their heads, their coarse hair making me have to rub my face the same way as when my dad would kiss me with his beard. In the closing program, the director reminded the children not to walk by themselves or walk at night since this is the time when people will be looking for children to sacrifice. As in, kill on some kind of altar to some kind of god. This isn't unheard of. Kids have been snatched up on their walk home from school for some kind of witchcraft ritual. These kids face death constantly, most of them orphans or having only one parent. But Liberty Preparatory School is a safe haven for these children and the director and his wife are advocates for them beyond their education.
One of my squad leaders wrote a blog about this community and the director of the school and how you can help bring Heaven to this little piece of earth in the pearl of Africa.
www.mariellemoguel.theworldrace.org
