A Day in the Slum (WARNING: This one is hard to digest)

I held a child in my arms, that was no older than 5- who had been raped less than 24 hours before.

I listened to her mother tell me the story, the awful story. 

I listened to child's little giggle as she sat in my lap and I wondered for a second if her innocence was taken. I wondered for a second if there was ever a moment in my life that I would not be thinking of this very second. I wondered if I would ever forgive the man that did this to her. I wondered how Jesus does this. How He listens to every single word we say and how he hold us when we are scared, or worried and how He still loves the man who did this to her. 

We prayed for her and as I held her, I buried my face in her back and I cried because no child should ever have to endure anything like that, ever. 

If this is too heavy- it only gets heavier. 

Benjamin House is starting a sponsorship program in the slums of Uganda. Right now we are working in Katanga, this was featured on our documentary - Katanga is a place that is in the middle of the city. Its surrounded by sewage drains and trash. When it rains the drains fills up and go into their homes, I say homes- they are smaller than a bathroom in America, they have holes in the ceiling for air flow and they do not have power - the mothers in this area are single and they care for up to 9 kids, their is hardly any income. The only kind of income usually comes from their children selling things on the streets- bananas, avocados, sugarcane- mind you - these kids are between the ages of 5-14 - they will never know a childhood because its either taken from them or they work to get school fees. 

Wrapping our American mind set around that is nearly impossible. Literally, I'm sitting in my house, on my computer, under my fan, listening to music and weeping while I write the hardships of these people -- but it does no justice. I am just another person trying to open the eyes of people who can't see these things, can't sit on an tattered, wet couch and listen to a mother weep because her daughter has HIV. 

In Uganda when people welcome you into their home, you go in. When they offer you a seat, you take it. It's rude not to. Have you ever seen a movie that takes place in Italy, like on the cobblestone roads, that super thin? Imagine that, now take away the cobblestone and the tall buildings, but add trash and sick animal, kids running everywhere and a literal sewage drain right next to it. Now turn the corner, walk towards the back and there are homes, tin walls, tin roof, concrete floors, some dirt floors, laundry handing over the street so you have to duck - that is the best description I can give.

I turned the corner and a mother held out her hand to escort me into her house. It was dark, pitch black- she told me to sit on the chair, a straw chair that I was scared I would break. I sat down, Alejandro sat in the chair right across from me - the chairs were so close that we couldn't sit with our knees in front of us. The mother got a mat out and rolled it on the floor-- the 3 Ugandans that were with us, sat on top of one another while we listened to her story. Her daughter came from behind a sheet, which was draped over the bed. She sat in the door frame. 

The mother started telling us about her children, we only had one registered in our sponsorship program. She has six children, two are in the village- meaning they are old enough to be on their own, so they moved to a village to be farmers. Two others go to school, One is a baby and the other one is fourteen years old. 

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I'll never be able to give this story the voice that it needs.

I asked the mother why the fourteen year old was home, the mother started weeping while she explained that they are both HIV positive. They have to take medicine that requires them to eat and drink, they have neither of those necessities. She explained that her fourteen year old daughter didn't go to school because she was ridiculed for being 'more developed' due to the medicine. Her mother went on about how the child, asks why she has it and the other don't, why did she get this disease that keeps her isolated and scared of the world. Her mother just cried, I could feel her guilt and shame, I could feel the weight of her heart- literally beating out of her chest. As I sat on a straw chair and listened to a mother tell me her regrets, I cried as I tried to wrap my mind around not having income, not having food to take with medicine, not having good health, not having all of my family together under one roof and then I realized that this was their life. This was their normal. 

Jimmy, our project director, asked me to say something encouraging. I told the mother that this wasn't the end her life, that her story would change, that good things were coming. Then I looked at the fourteen year old girl, who the same age as my baby sister, and I told her that she was beautiful, smart and that she would be successful. I told her that she is not defined by her sickness- then I pulled out a sponsorship form and told that baby that she is going to school. She wants to do hair. She wants to make people feel pretty, because she never has. What love. I'll never understand--

We left there and went onto another sponsor child's house. What you should know about this child is that she is the happiest child I have ever been around. A certain someone taught her Spanish, so now she greets me in Spanish because she thinks all muzungus (white people) know Spanish. We laugh and then she tells me to sing her song because someone also told her that I could sing, that poor child may have her heart broke when she realizes that I cannot hold a tune in a bucket. She also, tells me to not wear my hair up because it makes me look old, that I am 'young and beautiful, wear it in a style' is what she says. This child is so full of life that you would not think her living conditions would be what they are -- I walked into her house, she was at school (when these kids are in school, it means that they paid for their fees- which means they are working the streets selling things) -- Her mother sat me on the couch, and the Ugandans piled on top - She sat on the side of her bed and began her story. Three words in she cried, her mother was a street child. 

Her mother abandoned her when she was young, she left her with a relative who was abusive  - so she ran away. She lived on the streets for ten years, got pregnant with our girl and then moved to the slum because a woman gave her 80,000 shillings (200 dollars)  to buy a home. She had more children while living there and then she took in three children off the streets because she knew how hard that life was. She now has nine children living in a home that is the size of my kitchen back in America and her uncle lives with them. She too has HIV and just like the last story, she cannot afford food to take with her medicine. She works at a bar to get rent paid for and the kids work on the streets to get money for schools fees and food. 

Before we left, we spoke encouragement into her life and I told her she was a good mama. They are. They care for their kids, they don't leave them and they give them the bed when it rains and their floors flood with sewage water. She cried, got on her knees and raised them to Jesus. Before we left, we prayed for her. Something else- when you open the front door to their home, a mosque is within arms reach. I placed my hands on her and began to pray- in that moment I felt warfare. I battled the enemy for this family and I am going to continue to battle the enemy for this family. 

This slum is ours -- that sounds like a dance movie. It's not - its real life. Most of Katanga is Islam and you can feel it right when you walk back onto the little aisles that lead to their homes. I am here, saying that I will fight with everything in me for these families and these kids. 

The government here in Uganda, is going to plow over the slum in a year. He gave his warning, but where do they go? They have no jobs, they have no qualifications, they have no family - so they return to the streets. They go backwards. The kids get separated in to orphanages or prison. They won't have an identity. So what do we do? Sit back and let their lives just go by because "its not our problem" -- 

I can't unseen what I saw today, I can't unseen the fourteen year old telling me with tears in her eyes that people make fun of her because of HIV, I can't unseen the mother who weeps at the thought of her children ending up on the street, like she was. I can't unseen the sewage water. I can't unseen the dirty bodies. I can't unseen the visible sicknesses. I can't unseen the homes that are soggy from last weeks rain, I can't unseen the trash. I can't unsmell the smells. I can't and I won't.

I do not know how we could ever fix this massive problem. 

Misquito nets to avoid malaria.

HIV medicine that can be taken without food.

Clean water.

Sponsor kids. 

But then what happens when they are all homeless? What's next. 

I want to start a gofundme page to raise money to build them an apartment complex, but there are 10,000 people living in that particular slum. So for now, I am going to tell you that for the next few hours- I will be here on my floor crying out to Jesus, and asking Him what I am supposed to do. Join me? (I mean not on my floor because I'm on the other side of the world, I'm smelly and I'm about to ugly cry) But, join me in asking Jesus what we need to do- 

This is for them.