Notes from: April 19, 2012

Solomon (next to Morris) home village.  Talking to his Aunt.

Sometimes you just admit defeat and call it a day.

My life felt like it made sense today.  Driving down red dirt roads in a 4x4, across fields, through ditches, sun in the sky, deep into the land outside of Lira, passing smoke rising, babies and more babies chasing goats and playing with sticks, old weathered faces, mud home after mud home, I was with Morris as he went about the work of resettling street kids in their home villages.  Assessing the home environment, trying to figure out why the child left, seeing if there is family is willing to take care of the child if they got help with school fees.  Today, we met Solomon’s aunt and uncle and his sister and learned that his mom was killed in an LRA attack just after his sister was born and his Dad is blind and lives somewhere in Kampala.  His Aunt and Uncle were raising him but had no money for school fees.  At 9 years old Solomon has been trying his hand at living on the streets and making his way in the world.  Where we were today there was no connection to the outside world.  This is a place where there is no phone network.  People walk or ride bikes.  They farm the land but it’s a harsh, low bush, hard soil with little water.  There is no electricity, no medical care, no place to fix your vehicle, just land, endless African land. 

Walter one of ATIN's first street kids: resettled here.  Going to school, raising chickens

Walter, one of the first ATIN graduates. Gets a T-Shirt

Then back in town I hung out with the kids at ATIN AFRIKA.  There are now 17 street kids living at ATIN.  They discovered a football in my vehicle and it quickly became there’s.  Late in the afternoon they all walked me back to my room at the Lira Hotel so I could get some water and I felt that rare feeling of having my insides and my outside in tune.  It doesn’t hurt that they greet me like I’m world famous so I tend to feel quite good about myself here.  The sun was beginning its final descent today, chickens pecking by the road, warm air cleansing me as I arrived on a boda bringing dried fish, g-nuts, and tomatoes to the home for a special supper.  As dinner was being prepared the watchman Dennis shared part of his story with me.  I listened as if sitting before royalty as he recounted his abduction by the LRA and the two years he spent under their rule.  After every stomach was happy again we had singing and the learning of songs around the table.  A good day in Africa is unbeatable.

 17 Kids off the street in Lira and living together.  Remarkable energy in the compound.  These kids can eat.  I was asking them what their favourite foods were and I discovered that there is no such thing as food they don't like.  The matron 'Grace' pointed it out to me that these are not like kids who grow up in homes where they have some choice in the matter.  They eat what is there and the love it.  Posho, rice, beans, matoake, cassava, sweet potato, irish potato, fish, chicken, greens, that about completes their entire diet.  The little one 'Lamek' eats like its his vocation, like he's taken a solemn vow.  He destroys his food tearing apart the toughest sinews of chicken with his bare hands.  I had to wipe pieces of chicken off the top of his head the other day.  By the way if matron wants chicken for supper the kids will make short work of the juiciest looking pecker in the yard, feathers fly everywhere, and 'wall la', chicken's ready to cook.