The Request

I sat in a wooden folding chair on a covered concrete pad facing a dusty hard pan clay street. A tall, thin young Ugandan girl walked up to the railing and her dark eyes rested on me. She might have been thirteen or fourteen I thought. In her hand was a white piece of paper folded up about credit card size. “I have something for you,” she said. She waited as I unfolded it and read it. Our eyes met again while my mind whirled. Had I been in the USA, I was thinking, this would be a come-on for money. In essence, it was an ask for money, and we had been warned a hundred times this would come. The note said I was her last hope. Were I in the States, I would have bet her father or pimp would beat her brutally if she returned home without the cash. But this was rural Africa, and what the girl asked for was to get back into school. In the US, that alone would have told me it was a scam.

I mumbled something about needing my glasses and fled inside the guest house to hunt for someone to guide me. In the tiny kitchen, I thrust the piece of notebook paper under Flora’s nose and asked, “Is this legit?” Her dark eyes widened as she read. “It could be,” she said. “I don’t know.” And those dark eyes looked into mine again. Talk about feeling lost and helpless. I couldn’t send my young guest back into a beating, and I didn’t want to feed a scam. I couldn’t even wrap my mind around such a thing as a bright young girl not being allowed to finish high school because she couldn’t pay overdue fees.

In rural Uganda, high schools are far apart. Few students get to attend them. First of all, this area is a culture of subsistence farming — all is done by hand and ox plow. No electricity, no running water. It costs a bit more than a goat to pay for school fees for one child per term. There are three terms a year. Also, the mode of transportation is walk, walk, or walk. Yes, there are bicycles and dirt bikes to hire, if you have the money. Most money is saved up to buy food in the dry season when nothing grows. If you are a teen who wants to finish high school, you do farm chores, walk the miles to and from school, do farm chores, and then the sun sets. (Five-thirty sunrise, sunset on the equator.) No electricity, no running water, no time for lessons. On the other hand, if your parents can pay, you can board near a high school so that you can actually do the reading and homework by electric light. Boarding is another goat per term. Six goats per year per teenager, families are typically big, and help is needed in the fields. Everyone celebrates when a boy is born, and my friend is a girl. I guess her dad figured she wasn’t worth it, as he apparently got a job, moved away, and lives with someone else now. These things I did not know at the time. All I knew was (let’s call her) Lily asked for help to get back into school.

“Take it to Papa,” Flora suggested. “Papa” is the honorific given to the head man in a group. I rushed like a mouse in a maze to find the towering Ugandan man who led our time in Africa. I found him in an overstuffed chair in the parlor. He quietly took the paper as I stumbled over my questions. He finished, looked up at me, oh, those dark eyes again, and waited for my questions. “Is this a legitimate request?” I asked. My heart stopped when he immediately answered, “Most likely.” He let that sink in. “In fact it is a typical situation here that students here cannot finish high school because of the cost.” I replied, “So you are telling me that for a hundred dollars I can change this girl’s life?” Those dark eyes nodded. I breathed deeply and returned his nod.

It was Friday evening and on Monday, we would check with Lily’s school to verify her status. I had to return to the veranda and tell her that we would check out her story, but the answer was no until then. Silent tears welled in her dark eyes. My chest thundered with sadness and fears for her. I think we both went to sleep heavy-hearted that night. Later on I found out her story was accurate, but also the future of her country hung on teenagers like her and her fellow students. So we asked Lily to come back in to talk with us. She was actually sixteen. Papa asked tough questions, laid out strict rules. Lily nodded without hesitation to each direction. Again, this was no American teenager. At the end of our conversation, the lights dancing in those eyes and the smile that lit her face was brighter than any darkness. My heart sings when I think of her.

All these teens need is a chance.

If you would like to contribute to building a youth hostel near the local high school, please visit givesendgo.com/ugandayouthhostel

This campaign is unpublished.

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