Walk with me..... as I "Share the Love" around Kampala...
....as soon as I get off the taxi/bus in downtown Kampala, I start walking...I reach in my pocket to make sure I have at least three coins for the first few blocks....
The first man I meet is about 30 years old, he is seated on the ground with a plastic plate in front of him. He doesn't look up at anyone as they pass, but stares vacantly, his hand open on his knee, his lower legs are missing. I palm a coin and stop, I crouch down to his level and place my hand in his open one. "Jabale Ssebo," I say. His eyes dart at me, his hand tightens on mine and sudden;y his face is filled with light as his mouth widens in a toothless grin. "Webale Nyo," he says as he grasps my hand with both of his. The coin passes from me to him. I look at him and say "bless you dear" and "I'll see you again", and I'm on my way.
A little further down the road, I always find at least two children, sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk. They look to be around three or four years old - but they may be 6 or 7 year olds who are malnourished and with a failure-to-thrive. There eyes are dull and blank, their scant clothing hangs loosely on their tiny bodies and they are covered in the dust and grime of the city. They wave their little hands at the hundreds of adults that hurry past, step around and over them, in the hopes of any spare shilling. I palm a couple of small coins, crouch down beside them, take their wee little hands and smile my most loving smile. I touch their tiny bald heads, murmuring blessings and calling them sweethearts. These children do not smile, no light reaches their eyes - they stare at me, and at most, look a little confused.
Walking up the block I turn right and move up the hill. The next person I meet on the busy sidewalk is a man in his 40's. He has no legs and walks on his hands, which he places in a pair of old sandals to protect them from the rough ground. He is always ready with a toothy smile, and we chat and bless each other before I continue up the street.
The streets and sidewalks are crowded and bustling, so sometimes folks I'm use to seeing have moved - either to find a bit of relief I the shade, or to find a place where they will not be stepped on.
a few blocks up there are a few people that I always see...A younger guy, maybe in his 20's with a big smile and bright eyes...And although he still has his legs, they are useless and lay damages and limp at his side. The lady up the street from him a Grandma (JjaJja) an she is without her eyes She is sweet and her smile is warm...I always linger a little longer with her and speak close to her ear with a much love as I can expresses she cannot see me and my smile or eye-contact are of no use.
As I reach the centre of downtown again I turn right and up a bigger hill. At the top of this first hill there is always a gentleman seated on the corner crosswalk - he is literally stepped over all day long - there is never a coin in his plastic plate. I step out of the crowd and crouch down beside him. As usual I have palmed a coin, and there are the greetings, smiles and blessings - and I'm moving up the next hill.
At the top of this hill I always find a Grandpa (JjaJja) who is blind, and needs a cane to walk. He showers me with blessings and thank-you's that are too much for me to take - knowing my small coin will help very little if at all, in the grand scheme of his life. I can't help but think of my Grandparents and how it would break my heart to see them in such dire need...So I shower these elders with love and blessings and show as much respect as I know how in this culture.
Ok, turning left and up another hill - there is never anyone here...But as I hit Kampala Road, I find people everywhere. There are a few whose names I have come to know, as this is the road I have walked every weekend on my way to the Post Office, Book Store and Internet.
First there is Frances - he is maybe in his early 20's and his whole frame takes up approximately 2 feet by 3 feet of space...He is like a little human pretzel. He is always smiling and friendly and we always chat for awhile at the side of the walk before I continue down the road.
In front of the bookstore that I frequent, I always find Rojabba - he is in his 50's and is usually laying on the ground in the shade. His body is about the size of that of a 10 year old...His legs are distorted and he cannot walk. He is nonetheless always beaming at me with a snaggle-toothed smile, often he has already spotted me when I am still half a block away. He is charming and sweet and I feel he blesses me more than I bless him.
kampala road is scattered with people in need. Some are fro Sudan and have amazing scarification designs on their faces., There are many Grandma's and Grandpa's...There are many mothers with children and tiny babies. It is not uncommon for one of these mothers to try and give me her baby "take...take...Take..", they plead and all I can do is look at their precious baby , whisper a prayer, give a small coin and walk away...While my heart breaks into a million pieces.
Some people are badly burned, some are missing all fingers and toes...Many have limbs that never developed properly. Many of the people I meet do not speak Luganda, but speak Tribal languages that I have never heard. It doesn't matter - the language of love is universal - so we talk and gesture and smile and hold hands and look at each other hoping our eyes show what is in our hearts.
Those eyes that change from dull and vacant to sparkling and shining are the best part of my day - those toothless grins and tight clasping hands are priceless and precious to me.
"Wounded people who have been broken by suffering and sickness ask for only one thing: a heart that loves and commits itself to them, a heart full of hope for them. " Jean Vanier
"Everytime you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing." -Mother Theresa
"Love one another deeply, from the heart." 1 Peter 1:22
....as soon as I get off the taxi/bus in downtown Kampala, I start walking...I reach in my pocket to make sure I have at least three coins for the first few blocks....
The first man I meet is about 30 years old, he is seated on the ground with a plastic plate in front of him. He doesn't look up at anyone as they pass, but stares vacantly, his hand open on his knee, his lower legs are missing. I palm a coin and stop, I crouch down to his level and place my hand in his open one. "Jabale Ssebo," I say. His eyes dart at me, his hand tightens on mine and sudden;y his face is filled with light as his mouth widens in a toothless grin. "Webale Nyo," he says as he grasps my hand with both of his. The coin passes from me to him. I look at him and say "bless you dear" and "I'll see you again", and I'm on my way.
A little further down the road, I always find at least two children, sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk. They look to be around three or four years old - but they may be 6 or 7 year olds who are malnourished and with a failure-to-thrive. There eyes are dull and blank, their scant clothing hangs loosely on their tiny bodies and they are covered in the dust and grime of the city. They wave their little hands at the hundreds of adults that hurry past, step around and over them, in the hopes of any spare shilling. I palm a couple of small coins, crouch down beside them, take their wee little hands and smile my most loving smile. I touch their tiny bald heads, murmuring blessings and calling them sweethearts. These children do not smile, no light reaches their eyes - they stare at me, and at most, look a little confused.
Walking up the block I turn right and move up the hill. The next person I meet on the busy sidewalk is a man in his 40's. He has no legs and walks on his hands, which he places in a pair of old sandals to protect them from the rough ground. He is always ready with a toothy smile, and we chat and bless each other before I continue up the street.
The streets and sidewalks are crowded and bustling, so sometimes folks I'm use to seeing have moved - either to find a bit of relief I the shade, or to find a place where they will not be stepped on.
a few blocks up there are a few people that I always see...A younger guy, maybe in his 20's with a big smile and bright eyes...And although he still has his legs, they are useless and lay damages and limp at his side. The lady up the street from him a Grandma (JjaJja) an she is without her eyes She is sweet and her smile is warm...I always linger a little longer with her and speak close to her ear with a much love as I can expresses she cannot see me and my smile or eye-contact are of no use.
As I reach the centre of downtown again I turn right and up a bigger hill. At the top of this first hill there is always a gentleman seated on the corner crosswalk - he is literally stepped over all day long - there is never a coin in his plastic plate. I step out of the crowd and crouch down beside him. As usual I have palmed a coin, and there are the greetings, smiles and blessings - and I'm moving up the next hill.
At the top of this hill I always find a Grandpa (JjaJja) who is blind, and needs a cane to walk. He showers me with blessings and thank-you's that are too much for me to take - knowing my small coin will help very little if at all, in the grand scheme of his life. I can't help but think of my Grandparents and how it would break my heart to see them in such dire need...So I shower these elders with love and blessings and show as much respect as I know how in this culture.
Ok, turning left and up another hill - there is never anyone here...But as I hit Kampala Road, I find people everywhere. There are a few whose names I have come to know, as this is the road I have walked every weekend on my way to the Post Office, Book Store and Internet.
First there is Frances - he is maybe in his early 20's and his whole frame takes up approximately 2 feet by 3 feet of space...He is like a little human pretzel. He is always smiling and friendly and we always chat for awhile at the side of the walk before I continue down the road.
In front of the bookstore that I frequent, I always find Rojabba - he is in his 50's and is usually laying on the ground in the shade. His body is about the size of that of a 10 year old...His legs are distorted and he cannot walk. He is nonetheless always beaming at me with a snaggle-toothed smile, often he has already spotted me when I am still half a block away. He is charming and sweet and I feel he blesses me more than I bless him.
kampala road is scattered with people in need. Some are fro Sudan and have amazing scarification designs on their faces., There are many Grandma's and Grandpa's...There are many mothers with children and tiny babies. It is not uncommon for one of these mothers to try and give me her baby "take...take...Take..", they plead and all I can do is look at their precious baby , whisper a prayer, give a small coin and walk away...While my heart breaks into a million pieces.
Some people are badly burned, some are missing all fingers and toes...Many have limbs that never developed properly. Many of the people I meet do not speak Luganda, but speak Tribal languages that I have never heard. It doesn't matter - the language of love is universal - so we talk and gesture and smile and hold hands and look at each other hoping our eyes show what is in our hearts.
Those eyes that change from dull and vacant to sparkling and shining are the best part of my day - those toothless grins and tight clasping hands are priceless and precious to me.
"Wounded people who have been broken by suffering and sickness ask for only one thing: a heart that loves and commits itself to them, a heart full of hope for them. " Jean Vanier
"Everytime you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing." -Mother Theresa
"Love one another deeply, from the heart." 1 Peter 1:22
posted by Lola | 1:16 PM
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