Center D Breakfast Program: Bulindo
The wildlife was plentiful on the journey to Breakfast Center D in Bulindo as we found our “boda boda” motorbike racing roadside goats and literally weaving in and out of a herd of cattle, some with impressively large horns.
It is 6am, and other than the cows and goats, the only signs of life our small headlight is able to catch in the darkness is the occasional face of a child making his and her daily trek to school. We head down this road for a time that was difficult to determine. While I was still half asleep, my mind racing as it was quickly calculating the fairly good odds of hitting a large pothole and being thrown into several different directions.
We were dropped off at Mother Care Primary School. While Breakfast Centers B and C had friendly signs, no Center D had no such greeting. As it turned out, perhaps this was the least of their concerns, as we soon discovered that the center exists in the absence of a sheltered container.
Winnie runs Center D. She appears to be in her mid to late 20s, and upon moving to the area several years ago, she had discovered the plight of orphans and vulnerable children in her area who suffering from hunger, disease, and mistreatment. Winnie and her husband began Breakfast Center D in May 2006 by cooking porridge in a small brick room connected to her home.
Initially Winnie reported to the program “about each new child whom I thought should enter the program, but after a while they just gave me a list to complete because there were just so many orphans that needed breakfast …”
From the current resources in place, it appears the center could handle the 60 children Winnie said the program began with. “We have 60 cups and that was fine when we served porridge to 60 children. Now we have 193 children and we still have 60 cups.” Consequently, when the first children arrive at the center for porridge, some as early as 5:45am, they take their porridge, and then quickly rinse out their cup so that another child may use the cup for their porridge, opening up the possibility of spreading sickness.
Six small wooden benches are provided for children to sit on. While the 193 taking porridge are staggered throughout the morning, at any given time there is often not enough seats for children, and several were observed sitting in the dirt in order to drink their porridge. This is to speak nothing of what this unsheltered center does when it rains.
Over the course of the morning, I met a small boy, “J,” whom I had noticed walking to the center with a young woman who could have easily been his sister or mother. I introduced myself to the pair, and she confirmed that she was, in fact, the mother to the five-year old J.
Throughout the visits to the breakfast centers, most of the children were at least slightly intrigued by the attendance a white person visiting the center. Their eyes express a curious interest in who this obvious outsider was. J’s eyes were different. As he sat with his mother in silence, J had a blank, glazed over stare that did not speak “tired” as much as “sick.” When I asked him his name, his whispered reply was so faint I question whether he heard it himself. He appeared undernourished, his protruding knee joints seeming to not fit the rest of his smaller frame. After I had made introductions with J and his mother, I went about meeting some of the other kids … when I heard a coughing and turned around to see the tiny frame of J hunched over, his mother at his side, coughing and puking out all the porridge his small body had just taken in. I turned to Winnie the volunteer. “Malaria,” she sighed.
It is 6am, and other than the cows and goats, the only signs of life our small headlight is able to catch in the darkness is the occasional face of a child making his and her daily trek to school. We head down this road for a time that was difficult to determine. While I was still half asleep, my mind racing as it was quickly calculating the fairly good odds of hitting a large pothole and being thrown into several different directions.
We were dropped off at Mother Care Primary School. While Breakfast Centers B and C had friendly signs, no Center D had no such greeting. As it turned out, perhaps this was the least of their concerns, as we soon discovered that the center exists in the absence of a sheltered container.
Winnie runs Center D. She appears to be in her mid to late 20s, and upon moving to the area several years ago, she had discovered the plight of orphans and vulnerable children in her area who suffering from hunger, disease, and mistreatment. Winnie and her husband began Breakfast Center D in May 2006 by cooking porridge in a small brick room connected to her home.
Initially Winnie reported to the program “about each new child whom I thought should enter the program, but after a while they just gave me a list to complete because there were just so many orphans that needed breakfast …”
From the current resources in place, it appears the center could handle the 60 children Winnie said the program began with. “We have 60 cups and that was fine when we served porridge to 60 children. Now we have 193 children and we still have 60 cups.” Consequently, when the first children arrive at the center for porridge, some as early as 5:45am, they take their porridge, and then quickly rinse out their cup so that another child may use the cup for their porridge, opening up the possibility of spreading sickness.
Six small wooden benches are provided for children to sit on. While the 193 taking porridge are staggered throughout the morning, at any given time there is often not enough seats for children, and several were observed sitting in the dirt in order to drink their porridge. This is to speak nothing of what this unsheltered center does when it rains.
Over the course of the morning, I met a small boy, “J,” whom I had noticed walking to the center with a young woman who could have easily been his sister or mother. I introduced myself to the pair, and she confirmed that she was, in fact, the mother to the five-year old J.
Throughout the visits to the breakfast centers, most of the children were at least slightly intrigued by the attendance a white person visiting the center. Their eyes express a curious interest in who this obvious outsider was. J’s eyes were different. As he sat with his mother in silence, J had a blank, glazed over stare that did not speak “tired” as much as “sick.” When I asked him his name, his whispered reply was so faint I question whether he heard it himself. He appeared undernourished, his protruding knee joints seeming to not fit the rest of his smaller frame. After I had made introductions with J and his mother, I went about meeting some of the other kids … when I heard a coughing and turned around to see the tiny frame of J hunched over, his mother at his side, coughing and puking out all the porridge his small body had just taken in. I turned to Winnie the volunteer. “Malaria,” she sighed.
