I’ve been up at the college campus in rural Mityana these past few days, and have had a lovely time. Catching up with John, chatting with college students and staff, exchanging Ugandan and UK food thoughts with the catering students, going for lovely rural walks, and getting some writing done. It’s been a very beautiful few days in many ways.
The room where I was staying was up near the nursery classes which, together with the primary classes, are also situated on the campus, and allow learning to take place from age 3 upwards. As a result I have been having a daytime background soundtrack of 3 – 5 year olds at play, and learning through song and repetition (loudly!)
It wasn’t long before I noticed that the other sound that I frequently heard from the classroom was that of one particular little child crying. Not all the time, but enough for me to wonder, and feel concern that maybe the child was a little too young for being in the classroom and would it be better if the parents waited until he was a bit older?
I asked John about the child, and when I heard the backstory to this child, I realised what a naïve and over-privileged thought it had been on my part.
The child is three, and has some older siblings (not sure exact ages). About 4 months ago, his mum took the same journey that many other older girls and young mums are increasingly taking from this part of the world. She signed up with a ‘domestic work’ agency and went to Dubai to work in the house of some rich family. Hopefully she is with a nice family who treat her well, with respect and dignity. Hopefully she hasn’t been syphoned off by the agency into the alternative worlds of sex-trafficking, or other sorts of slavery.
Anyway, when she went to Dubai, the child and his siblings were left in the care of the dad and the grandmother. The dad admits he doesn’t know how to look after the kids very well, so it all remains on the grandmother, who is elderly, and doesn’t have the physical ability to care for them very well. Apparently, the children have already needed to receive deworming treatment due to eating food that wasn’t very well prepared.
Life is therefore very tough for this little lad – and it’s not surprising that he is so emotionally vulnerable and prone to crying. He wants his mum, and he doesn’t understand where she is, or why she isn’t coming home. Her phone has been taken away from her by her employers, so there is no contact except once a month when she is allowed a 30 minute call. In the mind of the child, he interprets that as the mum not wanting to speak with him, so increasing further the trauma of her not being there.
Knowing all of this, it’s clear that being at school, where the child gets some nutritious food, is in a caring environment, has access to running water and hygienic sanitation, and has the chance to learn, play and sing with the other children – that’s definitely the best place for him to spend the majority of his waking days.
I asked John if this lad was the only one in the nursery who’s mother is in the Middle East, and who is living this very tough childhood. Apparently he’s not. There aren’t many others, but it is an increasing number. And the number is increasing across the nation, and particularly in schools that serve the very low-income communities – both rural, and urban shanty-towns. These are the communities where the decision to become an economic migrant and leave your young family behind in the pursuit of wages that will help the children to go to school is a decision that seems like a no-brainer. A very sacrificial and painful no-brainer, but with no employment options in Uganda, what else to do.
What response to make in the light of this? It’s one of those situations where you just feel helpless, and at a loss to know what to do. No amount of money would be able to sort it out, this goes so much deeper than money. The expectation by the households in the Middle East to have domestic workers is so ingrained that it’d take generations to turn it around. And whilst Uganda is unable to provide employment at the quantity or quality required to keep the women from going overseas – well it’s kind of not surprising that so many of them take the risk.
So, what can I do? I can pray – for those women who go abroad, that they will be safe, and treated well and honourably. For those families left behind, as they navigate life without the key mother figure being present. For the households who employ the women, that they will treat the women well, fairly, and with respect. And for the community services, like John’s school, who provide any sort of safe and caring space for the children as they process the pain and sadness and confusion of living life without their mum. And as the school continues to support the child and his family, I am humbled to be linked to the school and therefore in some very very small way, to be linked to the future of the child.
As I watch the children playing together, and see the little lad having a happy time with one of his friends, I am reminded that you just never can tell from looking what might be going on in the background of those lives. God knows though, and that is enough. We do what we can, we treat all of the children with equality and fairness, we don’t judge or make assumptions based on outward appearances, and we leave the rest in the hands of the Lord.
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