A Day in the Life: Millions of dirty shillings
(This might very well be an ongoing series of entries, giving a quick view of what my life looks like in Uganda. If you like it, let me know and I'll write more.)
I'm sitting in a mud hut in eastern Africa. My chair used to be bolted inside a van, the passenger's seat I guess, but now the rocking steel frame and hot leather are reserved for the master of the home, or the guest of honor. In front of me is a small wooden table covered by a pink lace and dirty stacks of money - millions of Ugandan shillings. The lace always makes me smile, laid out to give the room its only sense of formality or class.
A woman comes through the door, pushing aside its lace curtain. Her curly black hair is buzzed and a scar from an old machette wound shows on her chest. Her clothing would be a canvas of bold, vibrant color if it weren't faded by poverty and the strong equatorial sun. She drops to her knees near the table and waits as I count out her money. I pick up several 20,000 shilling bills, a few 10,000s, maybe a 5,000 and a couple 1,000s. She signs her name with great care, like a second-grader. I remember that she couldn't sign her name four months ago.
She smiles when she finishes and I hand her the money. Eye contact. "Apoyo matek," I say, thank you very much. "Apoyo benne," she responds, her smile widenning. They still find it amusing when I thank them as I give them money. To me it only seems right.
She tucks the money into her blouse and leaves to call the next woman, and I start counting again: 20,000, 40,000, 60,000...
I'm sitting in a mud hut in eastern Africa. My chair used to be bolted inside a van, the passenger's seat I guess, but now the rocking steel frame and hot leather are reserved for the master of the home, or the guest of honor. In front of me is a small wooden table covered by a pink lace and dirty stacks of money - millions of Ugandan shillings. The lace always makes me smile, laid out to give the room its only sense of formality or class.
A woman comes through the door, pushing aside its lace curtain. Her curly black hair is buzzed and a scar from an old machette wound shows on her chest. Her clothing would be a canvas of bold, vibrant color if it weren't faded by poverty and the strong equatorial sun. She drops to her knees near the table and waits as I count out her money. I pick up several 20,000 shilling bills, a few 10,000s, maybe a 5,000 and a couple 1,000s. She signs her name with great care, like a second-grader. I remember that she couldn't sign her name four months ago.
She smiles when she finishes and I hand her the money. Eye contact. "Apoyo matek," I say, thank you very much. "Apoyo benne," she responds, her smile widenning. They still find it amusing when I thank them as I give them money. To me it only seems right.
She tucks the money into her blouse and leaves to call the next woman, and I start counting again: 20,000, 40,000, 60,000...
posted by James at 23:08
3 Comments:
Please do (continue).
Jimmy Carter said:
The measure of a society is found in how they treat their weakest and most helpless citizens.
He continues:
As Americans, we are blessed with circumstances that protect our human rights and our religious freedom, but for many people around the world, deprivation and persecution have become a way of life.
James, I think that you alone are helping to increase the measure of our society. I wish there were a million of you. If there were, the United States (and civilization as a whole) would be far better off.
Mandy, will do.
Aaron, thanks bro. That's the best compliment I've received for quite some time. I am encouraged on a day when I need it.
(But a million of me? I'd be wary to see two.)
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