July 14, 2007

It has been just about a week since we arrived in Kimbejja, our new home for the next weeks. While we are still acclimating, our time so far has already been an adventure. From the evening Beth and I spent eating the most delicious houmus and tabouli I have ever tasted in Dubai, to the four hour long journey through various street side markets in Kyaliwajjala, Banda, Kireka, and Kampala, every day has been memorable.

My thoughts continue to bounce from one issue to another; experiencing and understanding the culture, witnessing the impact of AIDS on children who have been orphaned, music, poverty, education, art, perseverance, porridge, respect, school fees, shoes, dancing… Currently, my thoughts have been focused on the role of music and creative arts interventions/activities in the AIDS epidemic, here in Uganda.

Right now, the house we are staying at has been converted to the bi-weekly HIV/AIDS clinic for the children and caregivers of the Namugongo community, funded by an initiative of the USAID Joint Clinical Research Center. Before coming to Uganda, most of the reading I did praised this country for its decrease in HIV rates through education campaigns, stigma reducing media and the availability of resources. In the short time we have been here, I am experiencing the effects of such efforts. Coming from the US, where it is often taboo to talk about HIV and AIDS with children, I found myself having to adjust to the environment here, where schools have posters on walls and signs in the ground with such sayings as “There is no cure of AIDS,” “AIDS can kill, take your medication every day,” “Having sex with a virgin won’t cure your AIDS, leave the children alone,” and “Abstain from premarital sex.”

At first, I found myself hesitating before talking about HIV/AIDS and music, wondering what was “appropriate” (something that is always in your mind when working with children in the states). Yet, it is pretty clear how educated and aware the children of the Namugongo Fund of HIV/AIDS, as well as other pertinent issues: education, corruption, and poverty. They speak freely and openly about the realities of life for them in Uganda, uncensored and authentically, often using music and dance to share the messages.

Our first experience with the kids, at Tim’s focus group, we were introduced to Super Charger, a Ugandan pop musician, who lives positively with HIV and educates the children through his lyrics. His songs, which are extremely well known to children and adults, not only bring a room full of moms, grand-moms and aunties to their feet, they educate about making appropriate choices, being faithful to your partner, and the disease itself. To me, this is like magic. Super Charger has taken his life experience, his passion, and talent, and used it address one of the country’s most pressing issues. It’s just amazing. The children sing and dance to quite a range of messages, and left me with one song…

I sing because I’m able

I will sing again tomorrow

I will make myself a better morrow

I have hope and faith for tomorrow

Lindsey

There are brilliant, shining, palpable moments of joy and optimism every day. Whether it is the smile of a stranger, a decidedly witty comment, or just getting up in time for the sunrise, every day is filled with tiny moments that make our time feel a bit lighter than it might otherwise. Above all, the greetings we receive walking to and from work are without parallel.

I have never felt so warmly received in my life. No matter what time of day I leave the house, I am greeted by a thousand smiling faces. Cheers, waves, and unabashed enthusiasm mark seemingly every encounter. Like white gold dropped along the red earthen path, smiles of children and adults alike enrich our leisurely commute in town.

The welcome is assuredly open-armed and full-hearted. I have not seen another white person in the area since my arrival, so our skin color is certainly a novelty as well as a reason for the attention lavished upon us. Children announce our presence with song, thanking us for visiting, and telling us to come back tomorrow when we finish.

A step further, we are obviously not your standard tourists. In fact, I would say the annual tourist population to this part of Uganda is somewhere in the vicinity of zero. So then, what does it mean to be a white person in this part of Africa? I think it inherently signifies a social contribution. We have been here for a while now; interacting with children, community leaders, care-givers, teachers, and nurses on a daily basis. Our efforts, I think, have become known to the town and I believe that much of their excitement is that they acknowledge our work and are grateful for it.

Deeper still, I imagine a bit of wonder that we, a group of young Americans, have somehow stumbled upon this oft-forgot corner of the world. This is a hidden part of sub-Saharan Africa where men, women, and children have been dying from a horrific disease for more than twenty years; where incomes have plateaued to a point just below the amount needed to survive; where starvation, unemployment, and death are the norm; and where foreign aid is still years, and miles away from reaching here. Although it doesn’t have the desolate qualities of an abyss, economically there is little other way to describe it. Perhaps their unequivocal enthusiasm is as simple as pure amazement that someone has realized they exist.

Kiob (Robert)