Fauzia, La Princess, Adam, Rafia, Laalla, Adam, Owen, Wazwa and Kathu- RG Orphanage, Uganda. Wonderings of a lifetime.

Fauzia, La Princess, Adam, Rafia, Laalla, Adam, Owen, Wazwa and Kathu- RG Orphanage, Uganda. Wondering of a lifetime. 

Warning: long post. Names of children have been changed. 

When my children were born, I knew one thing. I really wanted them to have an attitude of gratitude. I really felt like service to another human is not just a kind  thing to do but the right thing to do. My Mummy and Papa taught me that by being so. They never preached to me about social service but really every action of theirs spoke that. They welcomed numerous people into our house when I was little- acquaintances of friends and friends of acquaintances who were new to the city of Bombay and needed a place to live. Some stayed with us for days, many for months and some for years. Papa even gave one of them a portion of his business when he retired. My parents welcomed children who ran away from their village homes and wanted to try making a life in the city. My Mummy worked tirelessly in Asia’s largest slum, Dharavi for years, going door to door encouraging mothers to immunize their children, encouraging them to eat green leafy vegetables and giving them instructions on how to keep their infants’ ears clean. Outside of work, she ran from pillar to post to find wheelchairs and crutches for children with polio. Papa would chat with little servant boys who did dishes in restaurants that we ate at on vacation in Mysore or Puri and next you know, he’s giving them the shirt on his back or a few extra rupees. Mummy would ask me to take chai and biscuits for the laborers who had toiled in the hot sun all day laying the gas pipeline near our home. She and I would sit and make the babies of the laborers smile while they sipped on the chai during a much needed break. 

Most of all, my parents never talked of these actions. They never blogged about it:) they never boasted about it. Mummy and Papa have probably put 7-9 children through school and sent some off to trades school after. All without a fuss. 

I was inspired by what I saw and learnt from Mummy and Papa. They were (and always will be) my heroes. 

Now it’s my turn- my kids, I hope, feel inspired by what Todd and I do for our less previledged friends, relatives and strangers. Since Manali’s first birthday, we’ve visited and shared toys, books, clothes at orphanages, homes and hospitals- so much so now the children have a place at home where they keep a pile of things to give the orphanage. Just in case:)

When we were planning a vacation in Africa, I reached out to few refugee centers and children’s homes. My friend had connections to a small orphanage in the outskirts of Kampala. 

We spent the last few days living and working at the orphanage. 38 children. Ages 0-18. Muslim children, catholic children. Little ones from South Sudan, some from who knows where. Two sets of cuddle-ble twins. About 8 months old. 

According to the social worker, some were dropped off there by the local police after finding them abandoned on the streets of Kampala. Some were dropped off by their own mom who was paralyzed after child birth. One little one infected by HIV. Each one alone and yet always together. Each one ticklish, giggly, and tantrum-ish. Like kids are.

I spent the night on a hard but sturdy bed, with 14 other little ones next to me, including my own. The bedsheets smelt faintly of urine. There was a blue plastic bucket that was placed in the middle of the room, if kids wanted to ‘go’ at night. The older ones in the room, meaning 8-10 year olds were in charge. They made sure blankets covered the itsy bitsy toes and that the giggling was shushed at lights off time. I lay there in the darkness with eyes wide shut. Wondering. Wondering a lot of things. How? How did we as humanity allow for little ones to be so alone? Why did we not support the unwed teen to bring a baby into this world with dignity and pride? What’s Kato and Wazwa’s favorite milkshake be, if they could ever taste one? Is La Princess still hungry? I was told she refused to eat the porridge they fed her..she’s from a part of Uganda where they drink tea for breakfast, not some yucky thick milky slush! So the 6 year old has been demanding black tea. Why did I not live up to my aspiration to adopt a child? How did me and mine get so lucky? Why did Mr. Rafiq return to Uganda after the Idi Amin era to start an orphanage, leaving behind a hedonistic lifestyle in London? What is the mosque next door think of this orphanage that welcomes children from all crawls? What did the macroeconomists finally decide about aid to Africa? Should I support this orphanage financially? Does it make a difference? Who will remember to give the one HIV positive child his medicine? Will they forget? Which one of these little ones will go on to develop the app that eradicates malaria? Will it be Laalla who will play soccer one day? ...her calves look so strong when she climbed that tree in a jiffy. What makes Manali have that deep empathy for other children that she, who is usually put off by the slightest weird texture, to use her dress to wipe little Imran’s runny nose and rub his cherubic face and cajole him to eat more? Will Manav ever understand the joy he brought to the little boy’s spirit when he made a choice to give Imran the only pair of slippers Manav had and was wearing? 

Not many answers. Just wondering. Because isn’t that what travel should make you do? 

We left the place, sobbing out of immense sadness and with immense gratitude for the Mamas and Papas who care for them day in and day out- some for very very little money. Some out of religious altruism. Some like the social worker who said, this is the exact job she wanted to do some day. We left with a hope in our hearts and a promise to live our lives with an attitude of gratitude. And for Manali to come back here as soon as possible!