Church is finally over. It’s not that I hate it, but I hate it. It’s always so hot, and there are always 7 kids sitting on top of me, and some of it is in Lugandan, so I can’t understand it and they always ask for so much money from people who don’t have any, and say things like, if you give, God will give back to you. And I think that’s true in some ways, but the people who have nothing are thinking that they’re all of a sudden going to be rich, get a car, or have a phone… it’s misleading. Anyway, this was our last Sunday, and I sang a song and played guitar as a special number for the service, and everyone wanted to talk to us, and say goodbye, it was very moving actually, and quite an amazing day, but looking back I see my total impatience, and how temporal I was being. Because at the time I didn’t want to talk to everyone, I didn’t want to hear more sad stories from people who thought I could give them money, I didn’t want to exchange emails with people who thought I was going to be able to get them a visa to come to America. I wished I could just leave and go back to the guesthouse, but I realize now that I would rather be at that church in a swamp in the middle of Nansana, Uganda than anywhere else most days.
Susan and I started rallying all the children into our taxi, but it always takes a fifteen-minute task an hour in Africa. This Sunday was different than other Sundays I had been a part of, this Sunday, Ritah had not been sitting on my lap. I know no one is supposed to have favorites, but Ritah is my favorite. She has the brightest smile in all of Uganda, and the best dance moves. I saw that she had been sitting on a woman’s lap at the back of the church in between her brother Matthew and sister Recheal. Recheal was holding a baby of no more than 8 months, and I was informed that the woman was their mother. The baby Recheal was holding was the newest addition to the slew of kids Ritah’s mother had birthed.
Ritah’s youngest years were spent semi-normally, her father made enough money to support their family of three kids and a wife, and they lived comfortably in Uganda, but when he died, his kids and wife were turned out of the house by the father’s family, and were forced to live on the streets, begging, and nomadic. One day, Ritah’s mother couldn’t take care of them anymore. She just up and left her three children to fend for themselves on the streets of a slum. I have a three year old little brother which is how old Ritah was when she was first abandoned and I can’t imagine just leaving him on the side of the road somewhere. His angelic face upset and distraught, crying and screaming for me, needing food, and wanting to be held. Just walking away with no explanation, and no appropriate goodbye, as if there is such a thing… I guess she shows up around church maybe once a year, but has AIDS now and is fading very quickly.
We loaded up the taxi, kids hanging out of the windows, everyone on top of each other. Shane and Susan were already inside covered in children, and we were just waiting for Ritah, Matthew, and Recheal. The mother forcibly handed Ritah, who was clutching so tightly to her, to Matthew as Recheal handed the baby back. Ritah’s tears began to stream. Matthew tried to comfort her and tell her that it was going to be ok, but he gave up and looked at me discouraged and helpless while the flood from her eyes continued. Matthew put Ritah in my arms, and she screamed and sobbed on my shoulder. The Mother waved goodbye and began to walk up the hill with her new baby, abandoning her three other amazing children once again. I got into the front seat of the taxi, and became deaf to the noise that involves rides with 30 kids as I listened to Ritah’s screams, sniffles, and scattered breaths. I looked back at Shane and Susan who were also crying but silently, and my emotions overcame me and I started to bawl with 5 year old Ritah who had just felt ultimate rejection. At that moment she would have rather gone and lived on the streets with her mother, than come home to a family of friends, with a bed, and a meal. She saw that her mother left her but took the baby, and she didn’t know why.
I couldn’t believe what I just witnessed. It was my last Sunday, and it hurt knowing that I was going to leave Ritah too, but I wasn’t going to just wave and then take off… I was going to hold her and tell her how much I loved her, and how beautiful and precious she was. But this woman was her mother, she wasn’t just supposed to leave her child, the most gorgeous and talented little girl in Uganda with complete strangers, to figure out life on her own at 5… without a kiss, without a promise of return, without any feeling of acceptance or love. And as Ritah now clutched me, her tears drenching my shirt, and my tears drenching her head I came to the disappointing reality that this is Africa, and there’s nothing I can do to make Ritah’s mother come back, to stop Ritah from crying, or to promise her that I won’t leave her like everyone else.
