Monday, September 28, 2009

A friend I miss



Meet Mujuni. He is one of my favorite people in the world. A boy of about 4 or 5 years, he has trouble forming words, he has chronically infected and pus-filled ears, a distended belly, and a tiny butt which improbably holds up a ragged pair of shorts. When he has shorts. He sometimes wears a dirty cardigan, sometimes a ratty t-shirt, and sometimes no pants. His infected ears and general state of dirty-ness give him a smell all his own - I can tell when he is at my door just by the smell, and I can tell whenever someone else has been holding him.

When he first showed up at my neighbor's house months ago, he was terrified of white people and would often sneak up behind me to touch my leg, only to flee in terror, arms and legs flailing wildly, when I would turn around. But slowly he warmed up, and by the summer he was a regular fixture in my house, running around like he owned the place, dancing to music, playing with Doug, Tim, and I, and exclaiming "ngeee!" at just about everything. As I would appraoch my house, he would see me from a distance, raise both arms over his head, wave, and run with beaming smile and awkward stride into my arms.

But his story is sad. His parents were very young and unmarried when he was born, getting him off to a bad start. His mother eventually married another man who didn't want to raise another man's child (this is a very common scenario), and his father was either unable or unwilling to raise him. And so he found himself staying with his mother's relatives, who happen to be my neighbors. Sometimes I would find him standing alone in the yard, crying softly. As I would take him in my arms to comfort him, some other friends said to me, "Mujuni is want his mom."

When I returned from my travels in August, after dropping my family at the airport and then going to Kenya, I was excited to see him again. However, upon arrival I was told that he had gone to live with his father's family, about an hour and a half walk away. I was truly saddened to hear the news - I guess, until that point, I hadn't realized how much joy Mujuni brought to my life. But I miss him terribly. His constant presences was sometimes a nuisance, but I love him. So, not long after getting back, Sarah, Ashley and I made the trek out to visit him one day. He was quiet and shy, barely making a sound the whole time we were there. It was sad to see, after he had livened up so much in the preceeding months. For his sake, I hope that he regains the vitality he had found in his time here. Selfishly, I wish he would come back and stay here again so that I could see him, but I realize that it is probably best for him to be with his immediate family. Gonja sometimes tells me that he'll be back soon, which makes me excited at the prospect of being with him again, yet saddened that he has such a volatile family situation.

He is a wonderful, sad, adorable, sickly, loving, happy little boy. And his story is one that is repeated over and over here, where unstable family situations make life volatile and difficult for children.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Instability




A recent experience with my neighbors has me thinking about illness, marital problems, and the destabilizing effect that these things have on children. I’ll preface this by saying that I realize these are issues all over the world, but they have become more obvious to me here, and I think that some things about this place can make them more acute.

I write frequently about my neighbors Saulo and Majili, and their children, my good friends Gonja, Charity, Gloria, and Nighty. Well, when I returned from my travels last month, Gonja told me that his mom was very sick and admitted at a private health clinic. I went with him to visit her, took a few gifts, and a few days later she returned, seemingly coming out the other side of a serious case of malaria. But not long after that she was gone again, and this time I was told that she was at her family home, about an hour and a half walk away, to recover and receive more treatment. I began to worry as the days wore on. The kids were really struggling without their mom around, both from a lack of someone to cook for them and the absence of her caring presence. I began cooking for them regularly and helping them buy food. With school not in session, they practically lived in my house, having no real reason to be at home during the day. I was quickly exasperated at their constant presence, especially as I was attempting to work on med school applications, but I tried to keep in mind that they were especially needy at the time, and that it was a wonderful chance for me to show them love.

About a week ago, when I returned to my house, I saw the kids walking with packed bags. It turns out that Gloria and Nighty have gone to stay with their mom, while Gonja and Charity were going to stay around for school. But soon, they began making a daily commute from here to their mom’s house – they got their bikes in reasonable working order and rode out there every evening, and back here for school every morning. But now I haven’t seen them in several days, so I don’t think they’ve been in school this week.

Yesterday, when I was walking by a large group of women at the health center, I heard my name and instantly recognized Majili’s voice. She was there to see Scott, apparently having some lingering health problems. I was so glad to see her, and hopeful that she would be returning soon so that her life and that of her family could return to normal. However, it soon became clear that this wasn’t just about sickness. Apparently, the reason she is staying at her family home has more to do with her complaints about the home that her husband has provided her and the ways in which he cares for her. Leaving the family alone, or taking the kids with her, seems to be her form of protest.

So not only do the children suffer from their mother’s sickness, they are caught in the middle of marital conflict. It has affected their nutrition, their education, and undoubtedly their emotional health. None of them have been around for several days, and my house has been eerily quiet. That has been good for med school applications (which are tantalizingly close to being finished), but I’ve missed them a lot. I hope that stability returns to my neighbors lives sometime soon.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Why does it always have to be snakes?

Snakes have been a big part of my experience in the last few weeks (I’ll try to blog about something else soon, but it’s an.... exciting part of life here). After several snake encounters early on, I hadn’t seen many in recent months. Then, about a month ago, on the day that I received a package from a good friend that included, among other things, a note hoping that “creepy, crawly creatures” were staying out of my house, I was called into my house by one of the kids, telling me that Tim had seen a snake inside. It was apparently hiding underneath my kitchen cabinets, a small black snake – I was picturing one like I had almost stepped on months ago. So Tim, Charity, and I stood around, waiting for him to come out, machetes and sticks in hand. A neighbor came by, and I decided to show him how the snake couldn’t be inside the cabinet, since there’s no way to get from underneath to inside. I crouched down and opened up the cabinet to show him, only to be startled by a hiss right near my face. I looked up, and there on the top shelf of the cabinet, about a foot from my face, was a small cobra, head up, hood open. I sprung backwards, heart racing – I probably could have bench-pressed a truck, I had so much adrenaline pumping. With help from my neighbor Bihwa, we quickly had him out on the floor where he was an easy target. This is, of course, instantly blog-worthy material, but you will understand my reluctance to post anything about it, as it occurred only a few days before my family’s visit. Luckily, there were no snake incidents during their visit.

Even this story had an endearing moment. Being the naturalist that I am, before we threw the body away I wanted to have a look at it, especially to examine the fangs – it’s not everyday one has a chance to look at a cobra (for which I am glad, to be sure). So I grabbed two knives to use as probes, and went outside to see the dead snake. When little Charity saw me a horrified look came over his face and he shouted, shrill with terror, “Nathany! You are eat?!?! You are eat?!?!” as he saw me approaching the snake with silverware in hand. It was adorable. I did decide to hold on to the snake, however, and I took it to biology class the next day to dissect with Caleb, Jack, and Julia. I bet that not many students can say that they have dissected a cobra.

Just a couple days ago, Gonja spotted a snake in my rafters, which we quickly dispatched of. I don’t think this one was poisonous. While I’ve always liked snakes, the fact that so many here are dangerous has changed the calculations in my mind. I figured I was getting pretty good at this.

So, when Sarah told me the other day hat she had just seen a snake in the rocks by her back door, I thought it was no problem. Just to be safe, I called over a couple of Ugandan men, and grabbed a machete and several sticks and went over to her house. I was a little nervous digging through this rock pile with my bare hands, but we soon found the snake. That was when I realized that I really wasn’t quite as prepared for this as I had thought. There in the rocks was a 5-foot cobra, none too pleased that we were turning his home upside down. I can’t really describe the vehemence with which these two men attacked this snake. The man versus snake battle has a primordial quality here – it is reminiscent of the biblical struggle. They are mortal enemies; people will throw more energy into killing snakes than just about anything else I’ve seen, and there is an obvious glee when people have come out on top of this life and death struggle. They live to fight another day. So, sticks came smashing down on these rocks, splintering into dozens of pieces. Sparks flew off of my machete as it clanged down around the snake. I quickly realized that the greatest danger to myself was no longer the snake, but rather getting in the way of these men who were bent on destroying it.

They made short work of it, but it was a big, black reminder of how precarious life can be. As I thought about the delight people take in killing snakes, it occurred to me that people in the US don’t like snakes either, but it’s different here. Here, if it gets away, it could easily end up in someone’s house that night, which is a dangerous situation with people many sleeping on the floor. There are enough dangerous snakes in Bundibugyo that I think people probably see killing a snake as possibly saving their child’s life. And in many cases, it probably is. I’m lucky enough to sleep in a permanent house, in an elevated bed with a mosquito net. But it was another reminder of the many ways in which people’s lives here are often perched on the edge of a precipice, where any number of small misfortunes or common struggles can push them over the edge. The Babwisi have, in general, little margin for the unexpected.