"Mazunga! Mazunga!"

I've now gotten me feet wet--and very muddy--in the schools of Kampala. When I arrived at my first school yesterday, a primary school on the outskirts of town, the children crowded the car yelling "Mazunga! Mazunga!" which is what they call white women here. It's a compliment, apparently, and it's one of may compliments I've underservedly received here. 

I've learned that some of the kids think that we, the white people that visit, are angels. They also think we don't eat or use the bathroom, and that we can heal them. I guess that's because the only time they see white people, we're giving them clothes, supplies, and trying to help them in some way. It's nice at first, but then you begin to feel guilty for all the attention. I feel like Madonna or something, only I'd never actually try to take any of these kids home with me. Or would I...

Teaching was a humbling experience to say the least. The classes are HUGE--around 50 to 90ish students packed in a room the size of our regular classrooms. The kids always stand to greet you, and say things like, "Welcome Miss teacher. We are blessed with your presence today." They are captivated by whatever I say, and repeat as much as they can. They are surprisingly bright compared to our students, probably because they're in school for about 10 hours a day.

While I'm here, I'll be going to a lot of different schools, teaching isolated lessons as a sort of guest speaker, unless I decide to go back to certain schools. So far, I've taught four classes for around an hour each, and I've just been reading to them, asking them questions, and doing some simple English instruction. The teachers are appreciative of the break, and the kids enjoy me as a sort of novelty. I'm not sure if they're really learning, but it's fun for everyone. 

A lot of them simply want to hug me and touch my skin. One girl named Florence was very upset when I left, and wanted to know when I'd be back again. I gave her a bracelet that I was wearing, and told her to hide it and keep it for special occasions. She shoved it down her tattered dress and ran off into one of the dorms. I cried a little watching her because I knew that that $5 Target bracelet was probably the nicest thing she owned. 

Tomorrow, I'm spending some time with an acrobatics troupe that I met the second day I was here. Many of them are students at a school in one of the slums called St. Janan Secondary School. If you're on Facebook, you've seen pictures of the talented kids there, and my friend Patrick, one of the acrobats. They are truly an amazing group of kids.

Patrick is 20 years old and still in secondary school, which is pretty common. His father was killed by rebels, and he was left to take care of his mother and I don't know how many siblings. He works with the little kids a lot, and is a father figure to many of them. He's from the north, where there is still a great deal of conflict, and has had to drop out of school several times because he's been unable to pay his tuition.  I'm very excited to say that one of the other teachers here is giving him the $120 it will take for him to finally graduate. He wants to continue his work with the acrobatics group, go on to university, and eventually work for the UN. I feel really honored to have met him and all of his friends.

I already feel at home here, but I miss you all. Keep me updated on your lives as well, and if you want to check out St. Janan, go to http://stjanan.net/lumu.html. You can even contact the director and find out how to donate, which I highly recommend. 

Best, 

T