All summer I anxiously awaited the trip to Uganda, where I could meet that smiling little girl I had chosen to sponsor. A picture and a brief description was all I had to make a connection. Ten years old, Adongo Lillian Josephine , lived with her mother, had a twin sister, and her father died of HIV in 2010. That's all I knew.
On our first day in Bukedea, I asked the adults at the Carepoint if they could help me find the 10-year-old I so desperately wanted to meet. As I waited in the concrete office located in the back of the Carepoint, I suddenly became nervous. I hadn't really thought about what I would say or do when I met her.
I didn't have time to think about it then, as Adongo and her sister Apio came around the corner. Both very shy, I asked the translator to explain that I was Adongo's sponsor, and that my friend Kristen Jorgenson was Apio's sponsor.
I was overjoyed to be face to face with them. I must not have been able to hide my excitement because Mama, a Carepoint employee, told me to go ahead and hug them if I wanted. So I did. I hugged the children I had been praying for. I hugged the kids whose lives I had had an impact on from thousands of miles away. I took some photos with them, and asked if I could come to their house the next day; to to tell their mother I would be visiting.
Their land was right next to the Carepoint. I was glad for that. I hated hearing about how far away some of the kids lived and how far they had to walk each day. I met Adongo's mother, a short woman, with a smile as sweet her daughters'. She welcomed me and others from my team as we approached their property. She thanked me with hugs and clapping when she found out who I was.
The caregivers at each house we went to would be sure to place us in a shaded spot, with a chair, even though most of the time they had to go find extra chairs at a neighbor's hut. The greetings were tough for me, because I didn't like being forced to sit on a chair while they sat on the dirt. They also got on their knees to shake our hands and kiss our cheeks. A cultural, but nonetheless, humbling experience. This was the same at Adongo's house.
Her mother, Christine, was widowed. I found out more of their story as we sat under the only tree on the property.
The father was a polygamist, like most nonChristian men in Uganda. He had two wives, each of whom had several children, amounting to nine in all. Since the father died in 2010, the two women continued to live on the same land. They care for one another and their children as one family. They gather and sell firewood and they farm to survive. With nine children, there are a lot of mouths to feed. Providing enough food is clearly a struggle.
The children proudly showed us the inside of their hut. These small brick buildings have no windows and sleep more people than they should.
I was glad to meet my girl and her family. Before we left, I sat in the dirt, placing my hands on them as I prayed to God, thanking Him for the opportunity, and for these women who care for their children. I was relieved to see that my little Adongo wasn't starving. She wasn't being abused, and she had a caregiver who clearly loved her. These are such rare circumstances among the Ugandan children.
The rest of the week I picked my girls out of the crowd at every activity, watching their personalities come through. Jump-roping, dancing, playing netball, I was surrounded by these little ladies and their friends. Adongo's smile was contagious, and she has such a sweet spirit.
My favorite memory from the entire trip was the time I spent inside the Carepoint, just dancing with Adongo. Her small black hands held mine as we jumped around to the African tribal music filling our ears. Time slowed down as I soaked it in; smiling and laughing, I could have stayed right there forever.
Loving my time with Adongo, the day we had to leave was looming in the back of my mind. With another village waiting, our last day in Bukedea was by far the hardest day of my whole trip. Tears flowed, but maybe not for the reason you might think.
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