Giving a Sandwich, Getting a Life

My first brush with poverty was unexpected…

The drive from Entebbe airport to the Red Chilli hostel in Kampala was full of interesting things to take in. More than anything, I felt the fascination of a new place, breathed the equatorial air and absorbed what little I could see in the midnight surroundings. At first I wished it were light, then I realized how much of it would have been lost on me anyway, that maybe it was a blessing to be offered only a fraction of what there was to absorb that first night.

Still, there are things I remember… The dim lights in the countless shops that were nothing more than shacks with a few shelves on the wall. The people – men, women, children – that apparently didn’t sleep at night. The rolling hills. President Museveni’s new home in Kampala standing in sharp contrast to the conditions in which so many of his people live, even in Kampala, which is relatively opulent compared to the North. The palm trees. The sprawling city. The stickiness… Our kind driver, Kiganda – an endless fountain of knowledge!

As we made our way through the sprawling city, our “hunger” got the best of us, and we pulled out our snacks. The others hadn’t appreciated the curry chicken salad sandwiches from the last flight and had stashed them away in their bags. I didn’t think they were so bad, so I took one of them. I hadn’t taken two bites when we found ourselves stopped at one of the two traffic lights in Kampala facing a beautiful little girl and her even younger sister reaching up to our open window asking for food. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so hungry. She took the sandwich and some other snacks with a smile and a thank you.

With a half-eaten sandwich, I had somehow purchased a piece of my soul that I hadn’t known was missing…