Today I walked. First I took a taxi into the city, then I walked. I alone for the first time. Like a single granule of salt tossed into a pepper shaker, so also I found myself as I emerged into the bustling streets of Kampala.Not wanting to draw attention to myself like a lone wildebeest preparing to wade across the Nile, I quickly entered the heavy flow of pedestrians scurrying about like ants near the nest. I had a general idea of where I wanted to go but unlike most days, today was about the journey, not the destination.
Kampala, like many African cities is bereft of street signs and markings. Only one who has spent ample amounts of time in the city can navigate through the maze of streets, avenues, alleyways and pathways without getting terribly lost. Walking becomes an extreme sport in which only the bravest of souls should attempt. Unfortunately for those who have grown up where pedestrians take the right of way, ignorance is not bliss but a trip to the hospital.
Most people here have learned over time to become oblivious to the muck and mire all around them. Confining oneself to comfortable locations it becomes easier and easier to move from point A to point B without seeing everything between the cracks. It wasn't until I began walking that I began to see inside the gutters as it were. For example (just one of many), on three separate occasions I witnessed men who lived similar lives to seals with no water to be found. Their calloused hands tirelessly pulled their bodies along the dusty sidewalks as their limp, skin and bone legs dragged behind them. My heart weakened as I watched one man move along the sidewalk in aforementioned manner but was caught off guard by what happened next. The man stopped and lifted his arm in front of him. Expecting to see an open palm outstretched to the passerby's, I saw an exuberant wave as a look of giddy excitement came across is sun parched face as he caught a glimpse of a friend somewhere in the ensuing crowd.
This is one of the many things I have come to love about the people of Uganda. The most impoverished of people are found to have a resilient heart and a hopeful spirit able to carry them from one day to the next. Their joy remains steadfast even when the simple pleasures of life are few and far between.
Ironically it seems that the purest of joy is found in the most desperate places. Those who have never felt the strain of extreme poverty, and sadly even those who have risen from it, exploit the lowly in their quest for prosperity. At some point in the past hundred years a beast crawled out of the Atlantic and began wandering through the land of Africa. This beast put on a beautiful mask and began luring lost souls in droves as it moved from border to border, village to village. There remain fewer and fewer lands left untouched by the ferocious beast. Only time will tell of their impending doom. There are free who remain unscathed and free from the trance brought on by the seductive dance of the beast. It has grown so large that it can no longer dwell on the land. Instead it spreads its wings and hovers in a dark cloud over all of Africa. Sometimes I ask myself, "Where did this beast come from?" "How did it get here? And who has been feeding it?!?!" I have since come to the startling realization that I am not free from blame.
There is hope however. It is found in the eyes and hearts of the children. Most of whom have seen horrendous things; things only found in our worst of nightmares. The people are strong and adaptable. Although the beast is growing stronger every day, the lay person is beginning to pick himself up and raise his voice. Pray that they can withstand the flames of the beast and ward him off. Be cautious as well, however, as you may find as I did, that you are throwing snacks to the beast to feed on.
|
