A new dawn for Street children in Uganda

By Gertrude Tumusiime

Victoria Hall at Serena hotel had been filled to capacity by 10am last Thursday, when Uganda joined the rest of the world to celebrate the Day of the African child. The biggest number of the audience was made up of children, but while school children made up a good number of the audience, Street children were also a significant part.

The celebrations were to mark the 21^st edition of the African Child, a day celebrated internationally to remember the South African children who were killed during the apartheid while they tried to advocate for a racism free education.

For some reasons, the day’s celebration in Uganda was the first of its kind.  First, the theme of the day, “Altogether for action in favour of street children” was over emphasised as the day brought together many street children like never before, they were the masters of their own event.

Shortly after the occasion had kicked off, the street children’s voice was amplified when a group of more than thirty street children took up the platform to read out a Memorandum they had prepared, to the house that had gathered.

In the document presented by one of their representatives, the children demanded for their full rights and freedoms, demanding that government, and other stakeholders place their issues as priorities. 

“We want the policemen to stop beating us, harassing us sexually and asking us for money, we want the government to improve the conditions in kampiringisa, and we want them to get us better places to stay other than taking them to remand homes.”

Those were some of the demands which opened the wells of mercy from the audience, in that they clapped in appreciation of every demand put across by the children.

The venue was another point of uniqueness of the day, different from what had always happened over the past years when the day was celebrated outdoors, in places like play grounds, this time, it was Serena Hotel, a renowned high profile zone. 

It was the first time for many of the present street children to come to Serena hotel, in fact one of them remarked “ I have always wanted to come to this hotel for the rich people but today  I am here, and I am so happy I feel like the rich people.”

The minister of gender who was also the chief guest, Hon Saida Bbumba justified the choice of Serena as a venue, as a step to show the street children that they are as important as the other privileged people.

“My dear children, bringing you here was to make you know that you can leave the streets and live a good life like that of Serena”

The celebrations were honoured by other dignified guests like, the of state minister for youth and children, Ronald Kibuule, the minister for disabled and elderly, Suleiman Kyeibakoze Madaada, the chairperson of the National council for children, Mrs Louise Biira Bwambale, the representatives from UNICEF and USAID, the commissioners for youth and children from the ministry of Gender, Labour and social development, and Bobi wine among others.

Through their statements to the audience, they all spelled hope for the Ugandan street children.

In his statement, Hon Kibuule pledged the readiness of government to work with the different stake holders to combat the influx of the street children especially on the streets of Kampala.

While she launched the National strategic programme plan of intervention (NSPPI 2), a five year plan to guide the operations dealing with orphans and other vulnerable children, Hon Bbumba promised the street children a better life than the one they are living now.

 “You are our children and we are your parents, we went to help you, when we call you, do not run away from us, come to us because we want to change your life” she told them “do not worry you will put on the jeans and the nice shoes and you also be like Bobi wine.” She added

And when it was Bobi Wine’s turn to inspire the children, the house was filled with applause. When he hit the platform with his song, ‘Ghetto nazigala’ in which he inspires youth to stop drug abuse, the hope could be seen in the eyes of the excited street children who got on their feet and crowded the stage to sing and dance along with him.

This year’s celebration put special emphasis on street children because of the prevalent problem of street children in Uganda and the major aim was to try to find solutions to the influx as soon as possible. Available statistics magnify the problem.

Bobi Wine entertains the children.

Some of the children presenting their memorandum to the house.

A street child during the celebrations. 

School children eagerly enjoy moments during the celebrations at serena last thursday.

The UNICEF report of 2005, indicates that Uganda has approximately 10,000 street children in towns of Uganda, 89% of these being boys while 11% being girls.

The situation is at its peak with karamoja children posing newer problems as many of them are flocking the streets of Kampala to find a better life. However, with hands joined together, the different stakeholders are determined to define a better life for the suffering Ugandan child.

tumusiimetrudy@yahoo.com

Seven old year begs for a living

Okello Chris

By Gertrude Tumusiime 

He was dressed in extremely dirty clothes, a white-brownish t-shirt and a small pair of navy blue shorts, bear footed, his face was pale as though he had been smeared with ashes, his head also looked like one crammed with flour.

He dangled his hands back and forth as he moved up hill towards the direction I was coming from. He murmured as he by passed me, and this drew my attention to him.

I wondered where such a young boy was going at this time of the night because it was coming to 7pm, and it was already dark. 

I grabbed his tiny hand and gently pressed it in my palm; I bent forward to compensate his height and I looked into his eyes, in return, his sharp white eyes looked straight into mine and then he coldly smiled. I then asked him where he was going.

 “I am going to work” he replied, I got so curious about this young boy and what he was going to do as he had said. This prompted me to go into deep conversation with him. 

When I asked him what he does and where he works, he told me he works in town, at KPC sometimes in Wandegeya. 

“How do you work?” I asked, “I go and sit there, and I do like this and they give me money” he replied as he gestured with his hand, swinging his palm up and down as if to beg. He then told me that is what he does to get money for food.

“When I get money, I take it to my father and he buys food, if I don’t bring, we don’t eat”

I now wanted to hear more of his story, it is now that I remembered to ask for his name and he told me he is called Okello Chris, he stays down in kyebando kisalosalo (a wetland between kamwokya and kanyanya) 

I asked Okello to come with me home and he kindly accepted. He is a charming and talkative boy, his conversations too are interesting.

“I am hungry “he told me as we slopped home, “I did not go to work during day, so I was going to get money to buy food” he added

I got so touched, we went home, not so far from where I had met him and here, it would be so easy and convenient for us to chat without any interruption.

When we got home, like a lost sheep okello looked at everything around as though he had never seen any of the kind. Everyone at home was wondering where I had got such a dirty boy, but I told them he was my friend I had met along the way and decided to bring him home.

A plate of food before Okello was like the biggest blessing of that day, he ate the rice as if he had never eaten before, and he even got morale to converse more.

He tells me of how, he stays with his father and tells me his mother died and then he talks about ‘my mother asks me for money’, generally; he confused me as he talked about his parents, he seemed not conversant with what  he was talking about. I even thought he was lying to me when he kept on switching from this to that.

I decided to have him go back home since it was late and made an appointment to go with him to work the following day.

Walk to work with Okello

A few minutes past 8 am, Okello was on my door, he had honored our appointment for today. He was neater now, except he was still putting on the same dirty shorts he had yesterday.

He found me set to leave home, in a few minutes, we were on our way.  Okello had told me the previous night, that he walks to work every day, unless he is going with his ‘father’ who is lame, they use a taxi. Unfortunately, today he was not going with him, it was me.

As we walked to town, to me Okello seemed like a city born, he knew almost every route, he would tell me to pass here and not there.

He talked all the way, from Mawanda road, through katego road, via Mulago until we got to Wandegeya. By the time we got to there, I was panting, but he was still strong to continue.

When we reached Wandegeya, he told me today he was going to work here with his ‘father’. He led me to the direction that goes up to Makerere university main gate. 

One, two, three steps away, Okello shouted “look there is my father” I looked to where he was pointing and could not see a man there, I asked him “where is he?” he still pointed to the same direction as we moved closer, but where he was pointing was a lame begging woman, seated down, right in front of Total petrol station.

Soon, we were standing before the woman, and Okello said “this is my father” I wondered and then remembered how he was talking about mother and father and mixing the two up. I understood it must be a problem with speaking Luganda.

An interaction with the smiling old woman Okello calls his father revealed to me that she is the Grandmother, who also begs for a living. So I got the little I had and religiously placed it in her palms and told her, I would go to see her at home.

The old woman smiled all through the conversation, she did not say a word given the language barrier between the two of us. 

Now, I asked okello to come the following evening after work to pick me and take me home.

I left them in order not to interrupt their work and moved aside, I stood somewhere around their work zone, watching Okello doing his job, begging. Some people dropped coins into his hands while others merely by passed him, he ran from one car to another asking for money, he looked sharp at his work, he ran after smart people walking at the street to ask for ‘Kikumi.’

I realised he goes through a lot to get a coin, and after collecting enough, he rushes to the grandma’s position and gives her the money to keep.

Standing and watching okello work was too tiresome, after about 2 hours, I could not wait anymore, I left and waited for him fulfill our next appointment.

Okello’s takes me to his home, I discover the source of the crawling street dwellers

Okello is a faithful boy and a good time keeper, keeps appointments because by the time I retired home the next evening, he was already waiting for me.

It was about 8pm, Okello took me through a lot of shortcuts from kamwokya, through Kifumbira slum and we finally arrived at a Pentecostal church called Passover harvest, in kyebando, kisalosalo.

Besides the church, is a very big trench, almost a small river, is carries dirt of all sorts, it is stinky, Oh God! You cannot handle standing there for much time, although this is expected of a slum.

There is a wood bridge over the trench; it helps the people cross to the other side, and soon as we cross the bridge, we are in Okello’s compound. It is a line up of many small rooms (mizigo). 

We arrive at the room in the corner; here we find the grandmother and another lame man sitting on the bed. The room is tiny and stuffy, with only two beds supported by bricks, I was told to avoid water from washing away their property in case it rains, as the place over floods.

There is a small table with a candle lighting near the wall, a charcoal stove boiling milk, clothes are hanged up around the room, ashes are kept just gathered in the corner, generally, it is a living room, bedroom, and kitchen.

Yes, they were happy to see me but we could not communicate apart from smile at each other because they do not understand English yet I do not speak any of the languages they know. Grandma kindly offered me a seat and immediately sent for someone else I did not know.

Soon, a man came in crawling, he was also lame and he spoke some English so he could help translate our conversation. Here we were engaged in a deep conversation about Okello with the grandmother, Lillian Akite as she introduced herself. The conversation was aided by the man who just came in.

“Okello is an orphan” the translator told me, “the mother died a few years go and the father was in the army, we have not heard from him for along time, we don’t know where he went” he added.

I came to know that Okello had grown up in the hands of this Akite, who is lame, a street woman and begging to earn a living. Okello has never gone to school. So I asked Akite to let me take okello and have him begin school.

She gladly accepted and asked me to see the chairman so that I can sign that I am taking the boy, it was a big relief to her, seen from the smile and excitement on her face.

All was set for me to pick Okello at a later date but when I was leaving, I started wondering what could be wrong with people here. I realized many more lame people lived in this confinement. Some sat at their verandahs to watch the beautiful moon.

When I asked, I was told they were so many more lame people staying there. But since it was late, I decided to go home and return another time to pay a visit to the community.

Okello goes to school

He had never been to school, his first day at Arena for Christ nursery school was full of excitement, it seemed as though he had been there before because he made noise and was conversant with every body even though he did not know anything. 

On his second day, Okello, escaped from school, the teachers called me, but I could not find either, as I was still looking for him, my neighbor called me and told me he had seen the boy in Wandegeya begging, he was with his grandma again.

He must have missed her, because she is his everything. I have resolved, I cannot have the boy in day school any more, I want to place him in a boarding school, he will probably transform better.

tumusiimetrudy@yahoo.com

The story of the child who was shot during the recent kampala riots

Her big, round, and bright eyes, depict the innocence in her, Her little palms firmly hold a balloon, blown from a surgical glove, gently playing with it as she presses it against her mother’s face. Her little body lies on a small bed in ward 2C in Mulago hospital.

Although both her legs (the left one bandaged) are tied up, she still has a smile on her face as she plays with her closest friend-her mother.  I can hardly get a word out of her when I extend my greeting; she simply looks at me in awe.

“She stares at everyone who comes here; because so many people come so she can’t differentiate between the doctors and visitors and yet she fears doctors. That is why she gets scared.” Her mother, Nabukenya Annet tells me. 

It is exactly a week when, Patricia Namugumya, 3, was shot amidst confusion as police confronted protestors in Namasuba Kikajjo, along Entebbe road. This incident was one of the famous ones that rose public concern about police brutality during demonstrations.

Nabukenya lives and works in Namasuba kikajjo. She mothers 2 children, Namugumya being the 2^nd and youngest.  She fries cassava to earn a living. She is currently in Mulago nursing her Child who was shot by Police during the riots over Besigye’s death rumour.

She was holding her child and she witnessed her being shot and so she has the story to tell but as recounts the fateful day her child was shot, emotions somewhat drive her back to the scene although now she can smile a little bit as she speaks. She says;

The night prior to that day, my daughter had fallen sick; she had flu, cough and a high fever. In the morning, we woke up normally; I started my business of cassava frying as usual.

While I was attending to my stall, frying cassava, I heard over radio that demonstrations were in Kisekka market.  I continued with my work because our place was still calm. By this time, Namugumya was inside the house sleeping, since she had been weak the whole night. 

After a little while, I heard that a group of youth was blocking the roads around and that the demonstrations had reached Namasuba. We started quacking as we had noise of protestors increasing. A few minutes, the same group by passed us protesting and that they were going to burn down the police station at kikajjo. But police came after them unblocking the road and firing bullets.

As police fired at the boys, they in turn threw stones at them. And soon the situation kind of went out of hand. When the crowd started becoming too rowdy, police threw a teargas canister in the compound, near my stall; I ran into the house and locked ourselves in (house is by the road side).

Teargas had already filled the house, I was suffocating, my child was suffocating too, so I decided to get a piece of cloth, dipped it in water and tried to protect my child from the irritation and soothe it.

But the more I did it, the more she suffocated, may be because she had flu and cough. My child was suffocating to death, while I was also dying of the teargas. So I decided to run out of the house to get fresh air that could save my child’s life and mine.

I carried Namugumya on my side, trying to shield her from the tear gas, while I also suffocated badly, trying to run, but to wherever I did not know.  As soon as I had reached the corner of the house, a police man standing at the opposite end put up his gun and shot my child.

He might have intended to shoot me since I was the only one there running, but when he shot, the bullet instead got the child. I cried even before he shot, he looked at me and I cried aloud, then he ran away, there was a nearby Patrol vehicle which he boarded and ran.

I was lost in deep confusion, not sure of what to do next, my child was bleeding to death, I simply cried shouting for help but before I could notice, some man I did not even know came and grabbed my kid and rushed it away. I sheepishly followed him to see where he was taking the child. 

We finally arrived at the nearby health centre; the nurse quickly dressed the wound with cotton and asked us to rush the kid to Mulago. The Centre’s ambulance asked us for 100,000 up to Mulago, I did not have the money, there were many police vehicles but they all refused to help us. Finally, the man looked for a Bodaboda, onto which we sat and rushed to Mulago, but by this time, I was worn out and worried my kid might die. 

As soon as we go to mulago, Namugumya fainted and they put her on oxygen. However, the doctors worked tirelessly on her, a group of them were around her and comforting me. At around 5pm, she was off the oxygen and conscious again although she still had a lot of pain. Doctors then took her to the theatre for the operation, and removed the bullet. 

At the end of the story, Nabukenya breathes heavily in relief and says, “And here we are.”

Namugumya’s X-ray results indicate that the bullet passed through the bone and caused two simple fractures. The reason why the doctors tied up Namugumya’s leg up was to ensure quick rebuilding of the bone.

Apart from crying when she feels pain, Namugumya is greatly improving, according to her mother. She is still on medication and they are waiting on the doctors for the final word. 

However, the one week spent in hospital has not been so easy as Nabukenya says “I don’t work now, yet I have to buy the prescribed medicine and food”

Nabukenya believes that the government has abandoned them, and has not given them any help and she says one of her uncles tried to sue Government, but Police said that Government had provided medicine and food for all the victims, something she disagrees with.

 “But since I got in here, I have never received any food from the hospital, not even a piece of posho.”

She calls upon the government and people of good hearts to render some help to her because she is a single mother, who apparently cannot fend for her children and herself yet she is not sure of when she leaves hospital to go home and work again.

The Journey Begins

My blog is inspired by the fact that there are so many children in Uganda who are helpless yet we all ignore them. These children are orphans while others are not orphans but are typically vulnerable. some have parents but are still vulnerable. Any child who has not been able to access the privilledges that he or she is entitled to is vulnerable. the future of the Ugandan child lies in the hands our hands. it is a collective responsibility that all of us must hold to help the Uganda Orphans and vulnerable children. Lets hold together to better the life of the underprivilledged Ugandan child.