Home Visits to the Sponsor Children

By Deb Tetz:
     Come on a walk with us through the village and into the homes of some of our sponsored children.  The children we sponsor form the backbone of the work that FH does in the village of Marare.  Here we are priviledged to glimpse the hope and progress that our gifts are making in the lives and families of these kids and the community as a whole.

     Meet Joan (pronounced JoAnne), Lana's sponsor child, a happy, slightly chubby gal, pleased as punch to show us her family's tippy tap.  Four generations live in this home, the grandmother a particularly strong leader in the community.  This family hosts a Cacsade Group once a week in their home;  a group of 12 women taught health and hygiene lessons.  Each of these women in turn teach the lesson to 12 of their neighbors, a huge impact of 144 people!

     We walk over to sit on a stool in the dirt front yard to visit with Sarah and her father, Sarah (Vilay's) child.  After a big hug upon first greeting, Sarah barely speaks or even looks up during our visit. Occasionally she gives a shy, tiny smile.  We are surrounded by a crowd of curious children.  We leave with Sarah's hand firmly glued into Sarah's for the rest of the afternoon.

     Sumin, Ingrid and Elson's sponsor child, is a young girl with a sharp mind.  Only in P4 (primary grade 4), she confidently reads her letter aloud (in English) without help!  Quietly and with determination in her voice, she tells us she will study to become a doctor.  i have no doubt.

     Esther, our sponsor child, is a phyically beautiful child, as are all of her 5 siblings.  Calmness, elegance and shy thankfulness emanate from her.  Their home is clean, with simple added touches to make it homey.  Clearly, simplicity and beauty are not the sole property of the rich and priviledged.

     And then there is Kezia, from the home that breaks your heart.  I've seen lots, but I've never seen anything like this.  This is the face of poverty.  Marlene and Frank, I'm convinced that God has particularly appointed you to love and care, support and pray for this child and her family.  Your compassionate heart is huge, and they need everything you've got, maybe more.  We have no wifi, only paid internet ($$$/minute) so i can't post a photo, but i will attempt to paint a picture for you.  Kezia comes from the most basic home imaginable, buried deep within the muslim part of town.  They couldn't even provide a stool for us to sit on in the yard for the visit, so Kezia ran over to the neighbors and borrowed three.  A set of twin boys, perhaps 15 months or so, tottered around the yard, sickly and scrawny, about the size of an 8  month old.  The dad, an ex-military man, and Tim exchange salutes.  Kezia, the oldest of 6 children, is shy and slight, calm but seeming to carry the weight of the home on her shoulders.  A young mother figure to her siblings.  She looks small and young, about 8 or 9 years old, but she is likely much older, probably 10 or 11.  She hopes to become a nurse, and she seems to have a natural compassion  born of hardship.  The mother, hanging on by a thread, barely has the strength to offer hello or thank you.  But it's there, unnspoken really, just a nod, but a thank you from the heart.  During our brief visit, as the youngest twins were  fussing, she alternated between holding them and dragging them roughly along by the wrist through the dirt.  The father stood straight and aloof nearby; she was on her own.  I search her eyes for a small sliver of hope, but cataracts obscure what i am praying to find.  Is it the lack of support and freindships in this far muslim corner of the village?  Is it a harder road for the wife of an ex-soldier?  A young woman, not yet 30, her body ravaged by sickness, overcome with weariness.  Can she get better?  A short visit, perhaps 10 minutes or so, with mom struggling to hold it together, just because we're there.  "Guys, we should go......come on, this is too hard for her"   A shrug of relief, almost imperceptible, that she didn't have to pretend that all is ok.  This is Kezia's reality.

     Jacob, a fine strapping 18 year old, Dave and LaDawn's sponsor child, was a complete surprise.  All of the other children we visited were young and we had no clue how this one was going to unfold.  Darryl offered to take the lead for Jacob's visit.  As we stepped into the well kept yard, we were surrounded by the mom and dad singing and dancing over us!  In delight.  With pure joy.  And neither Jacob or his brother were embarrassed.  Really, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.  We were ushered inside, the first time to be offered this honor in 13 visits, for the home visit.  It was warm and breezy outside and it was stifling hot in the airless room, so we sweated our way through a marvelous visit.  As it turned out, Darryl and Jacob were already well acquainted from 2 days on the volleyball courts.  A great natural athlete, he had watched and absorbed and stuck right with Darryl to learn what he could from this cool old guy who could hit the ball hard.  Shy and polite, he let us know his future plans; starting vocational college next week for house construction, a 2 year program.  Jacob's parents were so appreciative, joy and thanks overflowing!  They could not say enough about the positive changes that FH has brought to their community and indirectly, into their home.  And not one word was in English!

Matthew 25:37-40
Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?  When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?  When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'   The King will reply, ' I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

This is Marare.  These are the faces and stories of the people.  This is our honor to share in God's work. 
Blessings from Marare.
Deb

Day 2 in Marare

We are woken up at 5:30 AM by a Mercedes car alarm on repeat, the first world tones shattering our third world dreams. Today is our first day doing home visits to sponsor children. This makes me nervous. I was never very good in other people's houses in Canada, much less entering homes of such a wildly different culture.

The rain has created puddles in the small dirt paths leading of off the main road in Marare. I stare at my shoes as I step carefully around the mud and try not to think about all the cultural mistakes I will make today. Small children follow close behind, running up occasionally to touch my arm or my hand. I do not mind this but have trouble responding. There is much laughing, smiling and staring, but little other interaction. My funny faces and English words remain unanswered.

The sponsor child visits are very strange to me.  A few chairs are brought out of each home, and the sponsor child sits down with us very nervously. Parents stand close by, and Food for the Hungry staff translate for those who do not speak English. We try to relax and ask the same questions we would ask of any school age child, but home lives here are so different that I have trouble connecting. For each child I ask questions until I find something in common with them. This makes me feel better.

Each visit takes between 10 and 20 minutes, but the walks in between are much longer. While we walk we talk with the staff about the village and the vegetation. So much vegetation.  I make noises and funny faces at the many farm animals, but they do not repond any better than the children. About halfway through the morning I realize that I did not talk much to strangers either when I was young. Kids are the same no matter the culture or location. Then I decide that I like home visits. I will return tomorrow and work on better funny faces in the meantime.

In the afternoon we return to the school field to play volleyball with Darryl and the kids. 2 nets and a lot of rope have created 10 small courts. 7 of the volleyballs are used for volleyball. 2 volleyballs are used for soccer. The offical netball is used for soccer, and 1 volleyball is used to play netball. Darryl is at the top of his game, and everyone is burning calories at unprecedented rates. Drills are performed and skills are mastered. Kids open up, as kids do with sports. Our energy runs out at about 6 PM and we head home. I have forgotten all the cultural mistakes I made.

Day 1 in Marare

Our journey from the Entebbe Airport to the village of Marare was long and full of jet lag, but filled in many of the blanks for me. I cannot say I understand Uganda completely, but the drive gave me much more appreciation for the complexity of living here. We are truly in someone else's world.

36 hours from our first step into the airport at Entebbe, our bus stops outside the school in Marare. Sarah says it has changed, but I don't see it. I see the red dirt where hundreds of feet play all the time. I see a few chickens content to dodge kids in the school yard, and a garden of beans peeking out from behind the school. I see a chain link fence strung between red steel stakes, a cordon around the community's bright future.

The village leaders beam proudly from the school entrance, and the women and children run to greet us. Summer vacation is still wrapping up, so we are ushered inside the school auditorium. Introductions commence, and it takes all of my senses to remind me that this is real. Maybe it's the jet lag, but everything seems surreal. Soon I have a new name, democratically chosen by the crowd of people sitting at the desks. I'm proudly told attendance numbers and shown innumerable physical improvements over the past 4 years. And then we drive off for lunch.

After lunch is when the real fun kicks in. The community netball team has been waiting to play with us. We use a volleyball and try to learn the rules as fast a possible. Sarah already seems to know them, but I am hopeless. One liter of sweat later we switch to volleyball. No net, but a lot of enthusiasm. We run less but laugh more. There is so much talent here that no game will ever be exempt from this field. This is Marare.