Want to help?

If you'd like to help support either the OCA Computer Centre or the African Child in Need Street Kids Centre, you can do so by donating to an organization called Chi-ki Children's Charity.

Click here to see the three payment options available (sending a cheque, depositing directly into the Chi-ki bank account, or online via Paypal). Simply note where you would like your money to go: the options are African Child in Need or Orphans for Christ Computer Centre. (If you're submitting a donation via Paypal - please make sure you e-mail Sylvia the name of the project you'd like your funds earmarked to, so that they're applied accordingly!)

Donations to the computer lab help pay for teachers salaries, rent, educational supplies, and electricity. Donations to the street kids centre go directly towards school fees for the boys (approximately $600 per boy per year), food and hygiene supplies, and the centre's rent.

Chi-ki is a registered charity and tax receipts will be issued for contributions in Canada and/or the United States.

Canadian Charity#: 837976273RR0001
USA: 501(c)3 EIN #: 30-0394759

Additionally, GuluWalk has a walk every year in 17 cities in Canada, 28 cities in the USA and 14 cities globally - this is an 11 km walk to raise funds for abandoned children of Northern Uganda. This year's walk is on October 25th, 2008. In support of the victims of the LRA conflict, of those who commuted every night to escape abduction, of the 1.5 million who are still displaced today, collect your pledges and get walking - you can walk solo, join an existing team, or create your own team.

I'll be at the Toronto Walk - email me if you'd like to join my team. GuluWalk is an endeavour of a charity called Athletes For Africa, and has already raised $1M in support for the children of Northern Uganda in previous years.

Leaving Africa

We have a really emotional day today - most of us go to visit the street kids home at Nsambya one more time, to say goodbye to the boys. It's quite a big deal, and the boys have practiced a traditional African song and dance which they perform for us. They have put paint on their bodies (likely paint we donated!) and they've made crowns of out cardboard boxes. It's nice to see them dancing to something other than 50 Cent: they seem younger, softer, more vulnerable - much more like the children they still are.

Nick takes a video of them yelling "THANK YOU SOFTCHOICE!" at the top of their lungs. Milton makes a speech about how much we mean to the boys and to him, which has my eyes starting to water a little, and then Nick talks about how much getting to be a part of their centre for a short while has meant to us. He lets the boys know we want to raise money so that they can go to school. He reminds them that Milton is a role model for them, that they should continue in his path and follow his example. He says that he knows they may have done things they don't feel too proud of, but that they should forgive themselves for the bad things they may have done in the past, and understand that life and love are about giving. That they should approach the future with this in mind. The words are well spoken and remind me of something you'd hear in church, except that Nick somehow manages to keep any religion out of it.

At this point Milton starts sobbing softly and holding onto to Nick. Watching this grown man weep is pretty moving. He just doesn't know how he can express his gratitude, he tells us. Then the boys start hugging us all, really tightly. One boy Phillip, puts his head in his hands and starts crying. These are tough street kids. I can hardly believe the scene in front of me.



When a taxi pulls up to take us back to our hostel, we are all mess of emotions. Even once we are inside the vehicle, the boys and all the neighbouring kids come up to put their hands up against the windows. I open my window and one of the boys hands me his cardboard crown. Amy is bawling in the seat in front of me - I give her shoulders a little squeeze, and put the crown on her head. And, then just like that, we drive away for the last time. Or maybe not, I don't know. Maybe some of us will be back to check up on our friends at African Child in Need. And at the OCA Computer Centre. And the babies and toddlers at the Sanyu Home. I hope that I will see them all again.


I have to figure out how I can continue to support these great people when I get back home, how I can share their stories with those who aren't lucky enough to have met them firsthand. I'm not sure what the answer to this is yet, but I feel sure there is a way.

In just over an hour another taxi will arrive - this one will take Jenn, Eric and I to Entebbe airport, where we will begin our journey home. I can't believe our last few hours are actually here. I'm going back to where there is consistent power and hot water; where the roads are maintained and there's organized public transit; where bathrooms are luxurious in comparison; where garbage is collected; and glass and plastic recycled. But I'm also going back to a place where everyone always wants more stuff, and bigger and newer and better stuff, and it's all about getting that stuff, and what you become when you have it. And that's going to be a bit depressing for me, I think. I hope that I'll be thankful everyday for the simple things.

I can't wait to share my stories with everyone. I can't wait to give Mike a giant hug and start at the beginning of my adventures here and not shut up until my throat hurts and my eyes are heavy. I can't wait to cuddle with Siris and Senor Snuggles; to call up friends; to sit at my favourite table at the Communist's Daughter and take in a little live music.

Goodbye Uganda, with your red, red soil and your loving people - I hope I'll be back one day to see what you're up to. I remain eternally grateful for these last two weeks, and I don't want to forget a single part.

Michael writes us a letter

Michael is one of the older boys living at African Child in Need. He slips a handwritten letter to Stephanie today and she shares it with us:

Hellow

I just want to say that plz thank you vary much and your team, for having left your families and decided to come to Uganda, to have fun with us and buying us mattresses, bedsheets, pillows and the beds. I also thank u for all the money you spent on us and transport from your home countries. I say that we have never had this before but because u loved us that's why you did all these for us.

I pray that may God bless you and pay you back everything and I promise that we shall never forget you for what you've done for us. I say that thanks a lot for all. I know I shall miss u and u shall miss us but through God the almight we'll meet again.

Yours happily
Micheal Heys Kiyingi

I try to figure out what strikes me the most about this letter, and I think it's the part where he talks about how he hopes that we are paid back for everything. How utterly sweet of him. Because what Michael doesn't realize is that we've already been paid back, that we are different forever because we have met him and the others, because of what we've been a part of here.

An eye opener

This evening, the group who were volunteering at the babies' orphanage tell us about something they witnessed en route to their volunteer site. At the side of the road they saw a young boy being manhandled across the street, while he was crying loudly. They assumed, of course, as any westerner would, that this was a father disciplining his son. Later, the team saw the same boy alone, his face freshly bloody. Christine, the group's guide for the day, explained to them that street children are beaten all the time for stealing. And that often street children are beaten when they haven't even actually stolen anything - they are beaten because it is assumed that they've stolen, or that they will steal.

Christine further reveals that this one particular boy was lucky that he was so young. Older children, she tells them, those about twelve or thirteen years, would be beaten or stoned to death if they are found to have stolen from local merchants. She tells the group horrible stories of mobs burning homeless thieves to death in crowded markets. And the sad reality - mob justice goes almost entirely unpunished in Uganda.

This is why African Child in Need exists - because street kids have few options available to them. Starve or steal, really. And a child who is forced to steal to survive is really risking their life, just by being on the streets. What Milton's done - giving these kids a place they can feel safe - is incredible. And though our stomachs turned when we saw how dirty, how barren, how all around awful the living conditions were on our first visit to the centre, we now truly understand. What little they have in that centre is far far better than being left alone to fend for themselves on the streets. Talk about humbling. Hearing this story, even second hand, from the mouths of our friends makes it all the more real.

Hot dogs at Teen Town

Today my group goes back to Teen Town - the dorky name we've come up with for the street kids home in the slums of Kampala. "My group" changes all the time, which is actually really nice - I'm getting to spend time with different people and changing it up a bit.

On the way there, we stop to go shopping - to buy supplies to make a ton of hot dogs, and to the market to pick up a stove, some charcoal and pots. The stove that Betty is currently cooking on is small, worn, and almost rusted through - it shouldn't be this hard for her to feed 18 boys each night. Back in Montreal, Stephanie's branch held a fundraiser in their office that raised a handful of cash, and with this we want to cook the boys lunch and see what we can do to upgrade the kitchen.


When we arrive, of course, the kids are thrilled to see us. It is the first time Michon and Dean are seeing the place and meeting the boys, and they have the same look on their faces that I'm sure I did when I first set foot in here. Betty nearly loses it when she sees the stove and the cooking implements.



We explain about the hot dogs - that they are not actually dog - which takes some convincing, especially for the kids who speak mainly in Luganda. We teach Betty and Milton how to cook them, and introduce everyone to mustard. So weird that something as simple as mustard is fascinating and needs explaining over here. The kids, once they know they are eating pork and not dog, go crazy for the hot dogs. We make sure to save some for those boys that are in school during the day.


The boys proudly show us their new beds - I guess some of our group, on a previous visit, have printed off some digital pictures for them, because each boy has taped a photo of himself to the wall by the bunk that he's claimed. The boys have also been creating some art - there are pencil drawings, self-portraits, or pictures of each other, also taped to the wall. Some of the boys are really quite talented as a matter of fact.

Instead of drawing himself or one of his roommates, one boy Ibra has drawn a picture of Osama Bin Laden, which is more than a little disturbing. It really makes me think that kids who miss out on a lot of love and learning at an early age are so vulnerable to 'evil'...it makes me understand how people fall prey to gangs, and cults, or the Taliban - they're all just searching for family, these outcasts. They want to belong somewhere. They are the perfect prey. These kids have been surviving all these years - in many ways they are tough as nails. When I see this drawing, it dawns on me how much these boys need counselling, one on one time, so desparately.

We wander to a music store nearby and pick up some CDs (all pirated) for the boys. One is 50 Cent, which we know will be a massive hit, and we are right. The boys go apeshit for it, and while the smiles and the dancing that ensue are inspirational and the happiness is real - I can't help but think there should be more to life than just hanging out with a ghetto blaster. These kids need structure.

One boy grabs my hand and asks if I am coming back tomorrow. I know that I'm not (back to teaching at the computer lab for me!), but I try to play up the fact that others from our group are. I tell him they are planning to make spaghetti, to play football with the boys, but his eyes have already dulled and I can feel him starting to withdraw. And wow, do I feel like a piece of crap. It makes me wonder how us leaving Uganda is going to affect these kids - they'll be back to the one meal a day they knew before, hope diminshed, very little to look forward to. I wish so much that we can do more for these boys.

In the taxi on the way back to our hostel at the end of the day, we are stopped for several minutes in traffic. A young boy, no older than four or five, stands outside our back window, at the side of the dirt road, hand outstretched. He says nothing, but watches this taxi full of mzungus intently. Dean finds a couple of coins and hands them to the boy through the open window. The kid remains pretty expressionless - he clutches the shillings in his palm and turns away - revealing a small infant, wrapped in a shawl, tied to his back. Three of us gasp. I see Dean tear up a little. It is unfathomable - this child, barely more than a toddler himself, in charge of a baby. What is his story? How many others like him are just down the road, ahead, around the corner? Nobody speaks for the next ten minutes. As our taxi rolls along we all simply stare out the window, glassy-eyed, transformed.

Operation Bunk Beds

Eric, Jenn, Jigna, Amy and I are on a mission. We need to buy mattresses, sheets, pillows, pillow cases, and bunk beds for eighteen boys. We need to rent a truck that will get carry all of this to the African Child in Need Centre. We are hoping to accomplish this all in one afternoon. We do not know yet Kampala well -this is only our second full day here - but it seems straight forward enough, at first. The logistics, however are difficult. Kampala is crazy - crowded, busy, confusing. Traffic is insane, and stores are sometimes nothing more than small stalls, tucked away inside larger complexes. We don't know the first place to begin our search. Thankfully, we have Lillian.

Lillian is one of the volunteer co-ordinators helping our group while we are in Uganda. She is a friend of Anthony's, a kind woman, about our age. She takes us under her wing, and agrees to be our chaperone on our afternoon adventure.

First we hit the bank - because it's hard to find anyone that takes credit cards in Kampala. We get roughly $2000 worth of Ugandan Shillings (which is an obscene amount of cash for a group of white people to be carrying around) and we proceed to follow Lillian through narrow streets and hidden markets. She brings us to vendors that she buys from regularly, people that she knows, haggling on our behalf the entire time. She is a machine! On top of everything, she's constantly making sure that noone in our little group gets lost in the crowds, noone is a target for thieves, and that we are buying good quality stuff at good prices. With her help we are able to procure eighteen mattresses, sheets sets and pillows in fairly short order. Then, once we hire a truck, we and our new mattresses and bedding are off to find and haggle for the actual beds.

We find the bunk beds eventually, let Lillian work her magic again until we get a good price, and then end up hiring an even bigger truck to load and deliver the bunk beds, bedding, pillows and mattresses. It feels good to hand over the money - the vendor is beside himself. This is probably his biggest single deal in a long time. And, we're not carrying a huge wad of Ugandan Shillings anymore, which is a good feeling also.


Just as we are loading the bunk beds into the truck (or rather, our hired help is doing the loading), a car pulls up beside us. They're white people, which is weird, and upon closer inspection we realize they are our white people. Out step Ian and Stephanie who had arrived to strangely enough, pick up bunk beds for Milton's Street Kids Centre. Talk about a communication snafu! Turns out, they'd misunderstood that we'd be handling this - they thought we'd planned it for later in the week, and they'd wanted to surprise us by getting it done right away. They'd actually negotiated pricing and put on hold the beds that we had just purchased. Thankfully, though, they hadn't handed over any money yet. Talk about serindipity. We team up to get the beds over to the Centre, adding a seventh bunk so that Milton can take in three more kids right away.


We hit another snag when it becomes obvious everything won't fit in one truck. Luckily white people are basically dollar signs to the locals and we don't have to look too hard for a second car. Word is spreading about what we're doing and who the beds and mattresses are for, plus we have Lillian, so noone is really trying too hard to rip us off, even, at this point. We hire a pick up truck to transport the extra bunk bed, the mattresses, and ourselves to our final destination. Jenn gets to ride up front in with the driver, but the rest of us will have to ride in the bed of the truck with the goods.

And what a ride! The beds are tied to the back of the truck with simple twine, and the mattresses are tied on too. There are seven of us (Amy, Myself, Steph, Ian, Jigna, Eric and Lillian) all crammed into the back of the pick up. I am squished into a ridiculously small space in a ridiculously uncomfortable position. As the truck starts to move, we are clutching onto the beds, the sides of the pick up, and each other; hanging on for dear life. The roads are bumpy and uneven and we're being jostled left and right. Our hired driver doesn't even seem to be taking it slow. We are facing backward, so we can't even see the road ahead and what we're about to face. The cargo doesn't seem that secure, and I watch the twine loosen a little with each bump we take. There are times I think the entire truck, beds and all, is going to tip over and crush me underneath. We have to yell at the driver to stop on three separate occasions because Lillian is worried about us: our collective comfort level, and our overall safety. She feels responsible for our group, and this probably isn't how she was envisioning our afternoon together. Even the locals are looking at us as if we are crazy when we head through a tunnel- through which we probably have an inch of clearance, or not even. I hear the bunk beds scrape across the sides of the tunnel, and watch the top most mattress rip a little. Deep breaths. My heart is beating faster than I thought possible. I am terrified, but this is probably the most exhilirating ride I'll take in my life - better than any roller coaster I've ever been on.

Once out of the tunnel, the road evens. We all breathe a little sigh of relief. The scary part seems like it's over. We will make it there in one piece. Things start to look familiar - we are close. Local kids are chasing our pick up as we drive by, waving and shouting things we don't understand. We feel like we are celebrities in a parade. Our harrowing almost half hour ride is coming to an end. We've asked Milton not to let the boys in on our plans, and naturally, we're excited to surprise them when we show up. I'm not sure what the boys think about us coming to visit them. They've clearly had visitors in the past, and I'm sure they expect some hand-outs, but I have no idea what is typical. It still seems like they have next to nothing.


We arrive at African Child in Need and are suddenly surrounded by activity. We can barely even get out of the truck as we are mobbed by the boys from the Centre and random local youth, swarming us from every direction. Everyone is helping to unload the truck, the little ones take the pillows, while the older kids help to lift the heavy stuff. Everywhere, everyone is smiling. Milton meets us by the now empty truck and he has tears in his eyes. He takes turns hugging us, and wow, does my heart feels good.


The boys work fast - thirty minutes later, not only are the shiny new bunk beds set up, but the sheets are fitted, and the pillows are laid out. Each boy has claimed their individual bunk, and we are already taking the after pictures. Magic. One boy actually rubs his eyes, saying "I can't believe it. I can hardly believe it's true." And I can hardly believe it either, to be honest. That I'm here in Uganda, that I'm a part of this, that I have had such an incredible, important, whirlwind of a day. I want this feeling to last forever.

Day Two: The Street Kids Centre

After a quick stop in downtown Kampala to exchange our US dollars into Ugandan Shillings, my small group - coincidentally my flightmates on KLM from Amsterdam - heads to the Centre for Street Kids in a district called Nsambya. A man named Milton who started the Centre and who is honorary "Uncle" to the boys, meets up with us at the bank. He's a kind man, eager to meet us all, to learn our names. He's so thankful we're here to visit his boys, and he makes us all feel safe and comfortable immediately.



Together, we take a taxi only 5 minutes or so, and we feel like we're in a different world when we get out. The streets are so narrow, we can't drive up to the centre's gate. It's dirty, crowded and Milton guides us through back alleys till we arrive at the home. He explains to us that eighteen boys technically live here - meaning they come home each night to sleep there - but that several others drop in and out each day. Currently two of the boys are in school, but that's all he can afford right now. He says he wants to bring in more kids, but that he has no room and no money to pay for a bigger space.





Once we all duck through the small gate you can see in the picture above, we get a glimpse of the centre. It's small and filthy: three main concrete rooms for the boys. The first is full of benches and has a small chalk board on the wall; the second is almost completely bare; the last is empty also save for a few tattered mattresses strewn out on the floor. This is where the boys sleep each night. Eighteen boys, on six or seven old and mildewed single foam mattresses. We are horrified, and this is not lost on Milton. He tells us to feel free to take photos, and we do, feeling like jackasses the whole time. We probably all have lumps in our throats by this time. I do, anyways. I knew we'd being seeing some hard things, some extreme poverty, but as soon as it's in front of me, I realize I'm not prepared for this.



There's also a small office for Milton, an even smaller kitchen where Betty, a nice woman whom the boys call their aunt, cooks the one meal per day the Centre can afford to provide the boys. Behind the centre, there is a small outhouse, and a tap. There is no shower, which we could have guessed from the stench of body odour that we notice as soon as we set foot in the place.

Milton herds us into the main room where many pairs of eyes give us the once over. He explains to the boys that they are very lucky to have some visitors. Who knows what these kids are thinking. Milton wants us to get to know the kids, to hear their stories and get a chance to ask questions.

He sets the five of us up in his little office and has each of the boys come in, one by one, to spend a few minutes with us. Amy, Eric, Jigna, Jenn and I ask questions that they answer, about who they are, how long they spent on the streets and how they ended up there, how they came to be living here... It feels like a very awkward panel interview and we do our best to make it less awkward. We don't know yet what we should be doing with the boys, anyway, and we are eager to learn about them.

As the boys talk, we notice their stories starting to repeat themselves. A mother dies and a father remarries. The new stepmother has too many kids of her own, and mistreats the new husband's boy till he runs away. Or the stepmother practices witchcraft, and kicks the boy out, convinced he is evil. Or the boy is accused of something, and forced out. Or both parents die of AIDS, leaving the children to fend for themselves. Sometimes the boys are less than ten years old when they find themselves on the streets. On the streets, they are beaten up, chased away, mocked, and ignored. They are assumed to be criminals. It is dangerous, they tell us, to simply be a street kid. They avoid eye contact with us as they talk, and their voices are steady, unemotional. This is life for them. It is simply how it is.

These boys are incredible - despite all they've been through, they still smile wide as they tell us their dreams. They want to become professional pilots, mechanics, engineers. They want to go to school. We ask them what questions they have for us, imagining that they'll want to know what we studied in school, how we know each other, what our company does, what North America is like. They don't care about that though. One by one, each boy asks us the same one thing: what are we going to do to help them? And we don't yet know the answer to that.