On a small island in the middle of Lake Victoria, Uganda, lives an Australian named Andrew and his four “adopted” children. Adopted in quotes because the children either didn’t have parents, or their parents gave them to Andrew, but there wasn’t any formal paperwork done. They simply live with him, and he takes care of them, and they, him. Everyone has their chores and works together to keep food appearing on the table, and shelter safely overhead.
Some days, the children go to school on another island. School isn't a consistent, Monday-Friday schedule, in part because society on the islands doesn't operate on a consistent, Monday-Friday schedule. Parents don't go to an office; there isn't a robust economy that depends on reliable childcare. Sometimes, the families don't have the money to pay the boat to get the children to the island with the school.
Sometimes, they need reliable working bodies to fix what's broken at home.
There is no power on the island. Life exists with propane tanks for cooking and a wood burning stove for hot showers. Andrew had managed to set up solar panels for the lights in his tent and our rooms at night. I say managed, because money is tight, and solar is expensive, but power is a necessity today, even if just for charging phones to communicate for supply runs on the mainland.
Getting to and from the islands is no small task. First you take the ferry, and then a scooter across the main island to catch a local boat, which makes many stops, because in total, the Ssese Islands are 84 islands. It's an all-day affair, which means that most locals coordinate supply deliveries amongst each other to cut down on the hassle.
Sound on 🔉 the local boat operators plopped a giant speaker in the back with the bags and played the best beats for the 3+ hours I sat baking in the sun. ♨️
Andrew relies mostly on donations from people he knows to fund anything that they need that they can’t grow or build themselves. That's also how he's funding the expansion of the school, so that children can sleep at school if they are having trouble at home, and meals can be provided to those in need.
The condition of the local boats isn't always the best or safest, especially as most locals don't know how to swim.
But school had mostly not been happening for two years when I visited. Uganda closed the schools during the pandemic, and then Uganda's teachers went on strike when the government wasn't paying them. When we took the local boat to the island with the school, most of the kids were hanging out on the property. A few teachers were hanging out there too. It felt like everyone was on recess, which feels like exactly the right word, in all its definitions.
Scenes from the school. Click any image to view larger.
One of the older boys, who was responsible for showing me around, discovered that I played soccer, and organized a game. When we got to the pitch, I noticed that all of the kids playing were boys. The girls hovered on the sidelines watching. "Girls play netball," one of the boys said, catching my eye. No one said I couldn't play though, so I did. The girls watched with interest, and whispered to each other. Ten or so minutes later, I noticed that any time my team got the ball, they'd scream and holler. I wish they had joined in the match.
I wish boys and girls didn't treat each other like islands they couldn't visit.
Only one of Andrew's children is a girl, Sumi. I noticed one afternoon that the boys left her out of their card games, so I pulled out a deck that I had with me, and taught her a few. She asked me if I wanted to go on a tour of the island and meet her family. I said yes. I met her mother and her sister, and other people in the town. She took me to a neighbor, who gave us mangoes to share with the boys. Sumi smiled at me as she counted out enough for the boys, and then gestured to join her in eating the rest.
The man who gave us the mangoes lives on the island, while his children live in Kampala. "It is better for their schooling," he said, "but I stay here to harvest and make money to support them." Click any image to view larger.
The island was where I learned what mangoes are supposed to taste like.
Sumi's English wasn't very good, so we spent most of our afternoon in silence, and smiling. I was mesmerized by the beauty of the rural life, and the abundance of fruits and vegetables that grew there. Everything I tasted had so much flavor. I felt nourished from the perfectly ripened avocados and cassava she prepared for breakfast, a meal which she called "simple" and not fit for a "Mzungu" (white person). I shook my head and assured her that this was much better than "Mzungu" food (which in Africa, is a lot of packaged, preservative-laden goods, such as bread). Sumi laughed in disbelief. I could tell that she was trying to work out what was wrong with me every time she saw the shock of delight cross my face. My reactions to her life did not square with her own concept of her life.
Dinner and breakfast on the island, prepared lovingly by Sumi, with my help of course, until the onions made me cry, and she, laughing, took over.
What I remember most is how surprised she was that I thought her life was worth appreciating.
Her life was hard too, in ways I won’t go into here. And I think the hardness of her life made it hard some days to see the beauty of what she did have. I understood. I struggled with it too. After all, I was on a journey to heal the wounds of my own past so that they ceased festering pus into the present. I did not have the remedy to either of our troubles. All I could offer was a reminder that there was beauty right in front of her, calling for her attention. Whether she felt safe and cared for enough to soften into appreciating it, I do not know.
One day, Andrew took us and the dogs – island strays he adopted as well – on a trek through the jungle. We emerged from the bush onto an improbably beautiful white sand beach. My jaw dropped as he told me of his dream to open an eco resort “for all budget levels,” he envisioned, “and to support the local people with jobs.”
This IS the life.
We got in the water, and started splashing around. “This is the life,” I commented, beaming.
Sumi tried the words in her mouth. And then with a smile, she repeated it over and over while she splashed in the waves. “This is the life, this is the life, this IS the life!”
I cannot heal the wounds of Sumi’s past, but I think, in that moment, she tasted what life might feel on the other side of healing.
Then, a herd of wild cattle came stampeding into the water. “Time to go!” Andrew shouted, sprinting toward the shore.
And the moment was over.
Gratitude Practice
This week, I invite you to try this exercise to cultivate gratitude. Pick one day where you put on your travel goggles. Go about your regular daily routine, but look at everything that you do from the perspective of someone who has never experienced it before. What beauty do you see that you haven't seen before?
If that feels hard, then try this: Pick something in your town that you haven’t done before and go do it. Maybe it’s as simple as trying a new coffee shop. Really allow yourself to take in the experience.
You don’t have to go to a foreign country to appreciate the beauty that life has to offer.
Whatever you do though, don’t go to the grocery store and buy a mango. That you definitely have to go to Uganda for. 😉 🥭
