Smile. Child Smile!
Once we set our feet in Kotido, everyone welcomed us, "Welcome to Karamoja." It was further backed up by the statement, "You are no longer in Uganda. This is Karamoja." It was at this moment that I understood what panic mode is. I had escorted a friend to donate foodstuffs and clothes to a select community. The long journey most definitely reminded me of my high school days. We set off at midnight from Kampala with our fingers crossed to be in Karamoja in the next 15 hours. My previous article talked about our local buses that load every cow, sheep, cat, and donkey and travel like cargo. In the next 5 hours, we were in Mbale, my hometown, where we had a stopover to pick up more passengers and drop off a few. For context, only two buses go to Karamoja in a 2-day phase. So if you miss catching these trips, you wait till the next couple of days.
Lil hen didn't know Christmas was the next day. One of the few hens on the bus with us.
An attempt to use private means is highly discouraged as that is not the safest decision for a region with cattle rustlers and gun-owning individuals on the rampage. A couple of hours later, we were in Soroti, which sets off the long dusty journey in a beautiful landscape. By this time, I felt like someone was hammering my lower back. But the trip was just starting. Once out of Soroti, we branched off to the murram road off the Soroti highway. In between dosing phases, I would occasionally wake up and be awed by the beautiful landscape in the different districts we were traveling through. The flat geographical land is characterized by scanty trees and breathtaking rocky hills at a distance, seemingly engulfing the area. Unlike the other towns we passed through, this was now different, with more grass-thatched houses commonly known as manyattas and a few drops of a modern structure. Looking below the bus, whenever we stopped, kids or teenage looking like individuals would be gathered around the bus asking for water bottles. A situation I could not comprehend fully. The homesteads seemed relatively scanty as well, just like the trees. The vegetation was brown, and we learned once we got to Kotido that they had not seen any rain for the past 3-4 or even 6 months. Surprisingly upon arriving, it drizzled for roughly 5 minutes, raising that pleasant soil smell when the rains have just kissed the earth. We were told that if we were born then, we would have been called Nakiru to mean rain, and they went ahead to call us Nakiru because it was a blessing to them.
In the town center at the busiest petrol station.
Mary, a chief in the community and wife to the Local Chairman, welcomed us. She had booked us into a hotel which I was eager to see given the living conditions I had already seen within those few minutes of arriving. We had offloaded at the busiest petrol station in town, which had an interesting technique. It had one pump where fuel was pumped by rotating a movable wheel. We arrived at 3:00 pm, and the bus had to proceed to the next district, which took an additional 3 hours to arrive at their final destination. This is the same bus that makes a return journey the following day before 6:00 am. Our hosts informed us that we had to carry out our activities as soon as possible lest we risk our lives. We quickly sorted the donations and dropped off our luggage at the booked hotel space. We jumped on "bodas" and set off to Lodera village in Losilang Parish. We were going to reach out to a community whose houses had burnt down two/three weeks back. We had terms to follow;
Mary the Chief (Left), Shirley May (Centre), and the Local Chairman observing the burnt-down huts.
We had to be there latest 5:00 pm because of the insecurity in the region.
The route we were using would soon become a crowd of cows as the herdsmen would return their cows to the community kraal closer to town and guarded by the government.
The route is a good hideout for cattle rustlers, and they shoot to kill (hard to type that, but facts are facts)
We had to be out of there at the latest 6:00 pm lest we risk becoming martyrs.
After that shock from the town, which I can describe as small as Mulawa trading center in Bulindo. Dusty, old buildings with Total petrol station outstanding as the closest to development structure for an area to even be referred to as a town. I wasn't ready to receive the shock in the community we visited. Most kids were naked as long as they had not hit puberty yet. One homestead comprising 9 manyattas had burnt down to ashes, including their granaries. The elderly men were seated on tiny stools known as kara tunga in groups under leafless trees, playing a local board game. Most women were lying under the hedges that had become their new homes since the fire gutted their homes. Naked children ran around while others aimlessly sat staring into thin air with lines of dried tears on their sullen cheeks. The neighboring homestead members joined in as we donated the items.
I wondered why they could not host this other homestead as it looked for the way forward, only to learn that most hutsteads have a minimum of 5 children as family planning is not a thing. Once the families were grouped, this made more sense, and it was more painful when children-led families were called upon; this one family had an autistic elder sister taking care of her siblings as their parents had passed on. We did our best to learn how to greet and share at least a smile with the community. I was so overwhelmed by my own empathy that I did not even understand what was happening. Still, I had to keep my head up as it was my first free gig as an amateur photographer and learning point. A number of items were handed over to the families as quickly as possible since we had to set off for the town. Upon leaving the community, we were informed that they would likely get raided as the information travels fast when acts of goodwill are done in any community. The neighboring community probably attacks to also benefit from the donations. So it was imperative that as soon as they received the foodstuffs, they cooked as soon as possible and had a decent meal before the rest was robbed.
Kara Tuga stools for the elderly men in the community.
If I told you that on our journey back to town, I secretly prayed a thousand times as I was worried about getting killed, would you believe it? Once in the town, we were reminded that the people you smile with during the day are not your friends at night, and anything can happen. I stopped breathing at this point. I wanted to leave, but the only way out was the bus. Did I mention that army roadblocks heavily characterize the journey? It felt like I was not in Uganda and was unsure of the following day. That evening we got to learn that 24 cattle rustlers had been shot.
Meanwhile, on our way to the donation drive, we met two cattle rustlers who had been arrested and were now being herded by the army to where I don't know. The latest one was advised to be out on the streets is 7:30 pm. We had to grab a quick warm meal. I ordered for rice, and everyone laughed. I was told hotels there don't prepare rice as it's a meal for the weak. It is like each response was a scare to my being in Karamoja. Funnily enough, I had always desired to visit this region. We were curious to know how the nightclub nearby operated, yet the area had such a high level of insecurity. "It is all in the technique of your movements," they responded. One has to create distractions and know the sneaky routes around town.
Families gather around what was formerly home, and it remains home regardless.
By 7:30 pm, we were in our room. I hate showering with cold water, but it is like that day; even an ice bath would have been acceptable. The whole town was silent, and I would panic at any slight sound outside. Never had I experienced a magnitude of mosquitoes as I did that night. I spent three-quarters of the night awake playing phone games to distract myself. Efforts to sleep were also futile as it was very hot. I soaked my towel in water and covered myself later in the wee hours of the night, and by morning it was dry. Quite interesting that human waste is not a rare sight by the road paths. I actually witnessed two grown men helping themselves by the road. When we inquired, we were told that easing yourself isn't a crime since the body functions did not wait for you to get to the latrine. In the long stretches between communities, we would see a few fully grown individuals walking in Adam's suit. I thought I had seen my country well enough, but I wasn't prepared for this. We inquired about school attendance and were informed that it is definitely upon the child or family, but it is not a big deal. Most boys are groomed to become herdsmen, while the girls are groomed to birth children. A truth that I couldn't dispute after we had interacted with families with as many as 10 children, yet the parents looked young. The people felt more attached to the Turkana of Kenya, who they interacted with at Karenga. I was surprised that Kiswahili was the second most used language in the town.
An elder in the community.
"Welcome back to Uganda." The entire bus chorused once we left the dusty road and joined Soroti road. I could finally breathe! We had set off as early as 6:00 am with the same bus now on its return journey. Respect to all the leaders and intellectuals that have braved the conditions in this region to beat all odds and make it in this ever-changing, brutal world. Once we got out, I could clearly think, but my conscience was not at peace and maybe will never be at peace with how the regional disparities in the country are real. Growing up in Kabale, Western Uganda, I had been blindfolded to know how the other regions are. Of course, I had traveled to other regions but never been to the North Eastern part. I had only heard stories that I rarely even paid heed to. Some definitions lack meaning when you visit some areas. Basic needs, for example, felt like they should be referred to as bare minimum needs. I can't really blame the region's low development and poor conditions on anyone. Still, the concerned stakeholders have a significant role in getting the region to the same standard as other regions in the country. We can blame the climatic conditions or geographical location, but we can't have people subjected to certain living conditions. Some days I scroll through the pictures, all I can offer is a prayer and hope for these people.
Youthful woman, youthful man. Young couple with their children.
Do you know how we say that playing in the NBA or the Premier League is a pipe dream for our local athletes? Basic needs and simple amenities are a pipe dream to these people, yet they are in the same country as us. Take some time off after this broke and dry January to extend a hand of support or help to someone in a lesser position than you. Indeed, we can never be equal, but even one day's heart-felt warm smile can brighten someone's life.
A special shout out to Shirley May for this initiative to feed at least a homestead, and thanks to all the people that contributed towards the drive.
Just a reminder; people who visit orphanages, special needs homes, and impoverished homes do it out of the desire to give back to society. The year has just started, and there are thousands of people within our own communities who will treasure even a smile for a day. Be that smile!
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