Eeee, it's been a long time! Have just returned to Kasambya after six weeks away in Sorotti and Hoima. Time in Hoima has been good – it's great to see KISS looking so healthy there. The two main focuses of my time in Uganda are formation of our team of employees and working at strengthening our pastoral provision – and it was very encouraging to see both of those things coming on in leaps and bounds in Hoima. The time that Asaba spends with the kids after school is so precious and such a rare find in Uganda – it's a time when the kids can come and just be kids – a place where they are so valued and where they can really flourish and be themselves. We have a group of four nine year old girls there who declared that they had composed a song. Expecting something which sounded like it had been composed by a group of nine year olds, we were absolutely astonished when we heard what actually came out of their mouths! Moments like that make me so so determined to support the team here to provide more and more opportunities like that for these kids to come and discover something of who they are and what they can achieve. Just fab!
I had an interesting experience last week at Luzira, Uganda's high security prison. Luzira has an alarming reputation of horrendous conditions and extreme ill-treatment of prisoners. The prison is situated in the most unnervingly ironic setting I have ever experienced; the various buildings of the prison are set within a well kept, luscious green compound with a stunning view over Lake Victoria. If it weren't for the air of eerie silence and the feeling of suffering that hung in the air and on the faces of those lucky enough to leave the walls of the prison, I would almost be inclined to describe the place as beautiful. Unsurprisingly, it was a struggle to get into the prison. There was checkpoint after checkpoint manned by guards of varying levels of authority and consciousness. The first checkpoint was easy enough – I had to surrender my phone and my money and declare my intentions and I was allowed to enter the compound. My intention was in fact to visit the father of one of the lads who is supported by KISS – he has been inside since 2003 without trial, accused of murder. Consequently, this young man who we support is left as the head of the house – he takes sole responsibility for his 8 brothers and sisters, working tirelessly in a maize mill, earning 50p-60p per day to try to keep his siblings in school. The second checkpoint was the best one. It was manned by a plump, seemingly disinterested policewoman. She pointed at a blackboard and instructed me to read the message, which I did with due care and attention.
“No!” she rebuked. “Read it Loudly. To me.”
I forget the exact wording now, but the message scribbled on the board concerned female attire – it stated that women were not to enter the prison if they were wearing alluring clothing – there was to be no tight trousers, no mini-skirts and no skirts with extensive slits up the side.
“Don't you see?” She asked. “Your trousers are VERY tight!”
A small part of me died inside in the struggle to conceal both laughter and pride.
“No, officer,” I said as calmly as I possibly could. “These trousers are very baggy, officer.”
She beckoned me (and my combat style three quarter length shorts and all their pockets) into her office. The office was bare, but for an old chair which had been removed from a taxi tucked into the corner beneath the window. After a lengthy discussion as to the exact nature of my trousers and their relative tightness, and after a suggestion or two that I ought to give her a lot of money, she eventually gave in and let me pass. Checkpoints three and four passed without much eventfulness or offence. Checkpoint five proved to be my downfall.
“Sorry, madam, I cannot let you pass here,” stated the guard in khaki uniform with red belt and matching red beret.
“Oh? Why is that?” I enquired, close to tears through the frustration of it all.
“You are too foreign, madam.”
“Too foreign, officer? I'm not sure I get you.”
“If you are foreign, like you are, you first need to go to the Uganda Prison Headquarters on Parliament Avenue and ask them to write you a letter. Then you can come in, even if you are foreign.”
No amount of arguing was going to change this guy's mind. He was not going to let me in, foreign as I was. I gave up, holding back the tears, and waited just outside the building while the young lad went in alone to visit his father. It might be said that there is a lot to hide in there.
I'm now back in Kasambya – and I now have electricity in my room! It's such a luxury – I take so much pleasure in boiling my kettle and making cups of tea (the powdered milk does it a slight disservice, but I applaud it all the same). I've also recently bought a box of cornflakes in Kampala – again, the powdered milk does not quite do them justice, but I am cannot describe the delight that overcomes me when I sit in the morning sunshine on my doorstep with a cup of tea and bowl of cornflakes!
Please visit the brand spaking new KISS website http://www.kiddiessupportscheme.org/
