Poverty

The sights and sounds that greet me at the stone quarry and slums are not unimaginable or surprising, mostly because stories and pictures from others partially prepare.  Little children running barefoot on rocks and dusty ground, scampering over ditches cluttered with litter.. curious yet guarded faces peeking around corners of shacks or curtains...women caring for and feeding children in completely inadequate kitchens, worse conditions than basic camping... the occasional distended stomach of the young suffering from malnutrition and the hernia protruding from the side of a two year old boy...even these sights don't astound, though great sadness and questions grow. 

We enter a stone quarry, the work site of about 50 women who self contract and break rock into small gravel size, with tools little better than hammers. They sit on the dry reddish ground, reducing the size of the stone with steady swing. Their children sit nearby, some joining their mothers in the mindnumbing task which occupies their day. These women and children are not slaves, they are not forced there by any human or organization.  Rather, it is the only job available to them...and so they take it up in order to survive, to buy food for their families.

I greet one woman and squat beside her, looking for a tool so I may help join the process and ease her load for a moment. Seeing none, I swallow my guilt and watch, listening to the local language spoken between the woman and the social worker at my side. The woman smashes her index finger, drawing blood.  Regardless of the damaged finger, she will continue to smash stone until the large bucket is full.. about the size of a 3 gallon bucket, a days work will likely yield about 200 shillings, close to 10 cents.

She is one of many widows, who have lost their husbands.. mostly to Aids.  A great number of them are living with the virus themselves, as well as some of their children.

We are accompanied by two pastors and a social worker.. who introduce us to the widows, show us a few homes, and a couple businesses. Despite their desperate situation, the women hold hope. A few have been able to get money for small business start up costs. This allows the women to get out of the quarry and make enough to survive, though still in very impoverished conditions. As I watched, one woman sold a piece of maize for 10 cents - the entirety of a days work for her in the quarry

If one can envision a large camping situation, the slums of kampala seem to be livable...until you realize that there's a family of 10 living in a but the size of most American bathrooms. Which you could almost excuse considering the whole environment and economy and even culture. But then the many holes in the walls and ceiling prove the structure completely not waterproof.. even the slightest rain will create a mini flood and mudslide in the "house" and add further misery to the conditions. Uganda is generally dry, so one may hope for rain.. but after seeing the water soluble homes of over 4000 people, I wonder if the dry weather is a blessing.

Beyond the primitive, at best, conditions I find myself struck by the growing awareness that people are working whatever job they can find in order to survive.  There is no social security or department of public welfare for people to tap into. The beggars on the street in kampala are not men and women receiving social security income, but panhandling to get more .. more than likely to spend on drugs. No, the beggars on the streets of kampala is a two year old girl, kneeling in the dirt on the sidewalk of a main road, hands stubbornly raised and palms open waiting for money. No parent is in sight, but surely she's been told her role...sit and hope for money to be placed in hour hand, no dolls or make believe for this precious little one.

With humility we walk into a widows home...as we stand in the small space, I see a little toddler hiding shyly in the corner. As I squat down, she sits beside me and holds my hand gently. In the other hand she holds a yellow duck stuffed animal toy. Tears come to my eyes for this little one. Her world surrounding is full of drugs and prostitution, breaking, breaking rocks, and fighting to survive.

Poverty. Wide ranging and debilitating poverty. 

May we always be reminded of these people as we walk over gravel on the way to our merry life.