Out my window I see torrents of rain falling. And blowing. I barely made it back to my new quarters at St. Jude Children's Home before the downpour came. I had already had one drenched ride through a rainstorm on the back of a motorcycle (boda boda) recently and although that first one was a rather fun way to welcome 'rainy season', it wasn't an adventure I wanted to repeat today.
When I hired the boda -- after negotiating the price, of course -- I was headed from St. Mary Lacor Hospital, where I had some tests run, to the One Mango Tree fair trade compound, six or seven miles away. I needed to drop off the keys I had accidentally brought with me when I moved out yesterday and pick up my laptop that I had left there. But, no sooner had we started down the red dirt road than a serious windstorm developed. I had noticed the dark clouds gathering but I had judged we could beat the rain. Wrong. Suddenly, the wind blew so hard the boda driver had to stop a couple of times, semi-blinded by the thick, swirling dust. My eyes were closed during the worst gusts but I could almost feel the dust entering my nostrils.
Clearly the storm was intensifying, so a quick change of plan allowed me to be dropped off at St. Jude. As I entered the orphanage gate, the small children were running and squealing, chasing the swirling leaves and racing for the mangoes that were being blown off the tree. Just then the rain began, and they scurried away to shelter and I escaped to the sanctuary of the lovely private room they have given me to use during my volunteer weeks or months at St. Jude. Because the orphanage is outside of town, the trip by boda is fairly expensive, not to mention bumpy, dusty, and risky, so I had only been coming once or twice a week since January when I first found St Jude; now I can be here every day. I also like the rural village setting.
Yesterday when I arrived with my luggage, I was greeted by 16-year-old Grace. She had been assigned the task of welcoming and orienting me. Grace and I had established a quick rapport the first time we met so having her be the one to welcome me was especially heart-warming.
Touring the Facility
My first visit to St. Jude had included a tour but this one was more complete. Grace showed me the pigs, ducks and goats; two gardens where the children help with the growing of maize, greens, and plantain bananas; the peaceful chapel -- a round thatch-roof building with hand painted religious murals; the bright blue and white dorms and cottages where children live with their "mother," as the caretakers are called; and the rather bleak dining hall, where I was invited to eat anytime I wanted the traditional meat of beans and posho. I did choose to join them for the evening meal, but Grace warned that it would be late. The firewood was wet and cooking had barely begun.
All children above the age of five or six help with chores. There are four groups of mixed age and ability, rotating between kitchen duty, compound maintenance which means sweeping the bare dirt areas and picking up the inevitable litter, gardening, and helping tend, feed and bathe the infants and youngest children. (St. Jude cares for 22 little ones under the age of two --- lots of crawlers and toddlers everywhere!)
Grace and I --plus several staff and children who came to chat with us -- sat outside the dining hall. Darkness had fallen. We were experiencing either a power failure or a planned rationing, which is called 'load shedding' here and happens often. St. Jude is fortunate to have solar power as a back up, but it is used judiciously and had not yet been turned on to dimly light the dining hall and outside areas. Or even the kitchen. I peeked into the stark, high-ceiling cooking area and saw kids and their adult supervisors cooking huge pots of chopped greens (the local name for it is 'bo') and even larger pots of posho. Posho requires vigorous stirring of maize meal into boiling water until it reaches the stiff consistency that can be easily shaped with fingers into bite size balls for scooping up the soupy beans, or on this day, greens. It tastes better than it sounds, well usually. The only light was coming from the cooking fire, making for a cozy if not efficient environment. The semi-darkness didn't seem to bother the cooks and after a while, kids small and large were trotting back and forth, placing on of the dozen tables their platters of posho and bowl of beans or greens -- enough for everyone assigned to sit at that table. Dim lights had been turned on.
History of St. Jude home
This morning an Italian Catholic priest came to visit and pass out sweets to the young children. He was quick to tell me his personal story of living 40 years, on and off, in Uganda, and of his arrest and deportation under Idi Amin. The dictator had aligned himself with Islam and saw Christians as an enemy to his iron-fist regime.
The bloody history of northern Uganda figured in the rapid growth of St. Jude home after it was founded in 1982 by Sister Benedetta, an Italian nun . Even before the onslaught of atrocities committed by LRA rebel leader Joseph Kony, 1986 to 2004, political unrest and conflict in the north had resulted in many abandoned, disabled and orphaned children and Sister established basic huts to house and care for them. The home operated informally for 15 years; now it is a non profit, registered children’s home recognized by the Gulu Catholic Archdiocese as well as the Ugandan government. Sister Benedetta died in 1992 and now the Home is under the direction of Brother Elio Croce. Operations are financed largely by individual supporters in Italy and other private donations.
In 2010 St. Jude has about 160 children, of whom more than 50 are disabled and living in the organization's separate Consolation Home section. St Jude has a primary school for the orphans and children from the surrounding community; approximately 350 children, from kindergarten up to Primary 7 level, attend the school.
Already I have heard a few of the sad stories, the life experience of some of the young men who grew up at St. Jude and now return to visit their 'home." I don't yet know the stories of most of the younger children housed here in 2010 but I am eager to get acquainted and to share love and friendship with these beautiful little survivors who rush with outstretched arms to greet and be hugged by any visitor.
