On acting parental

Yesterday I was invited by one of the young boys we sponsor in school to attend his primary school’s “Parents’ Day” celebration. This boy came into our lives when his father was selected as one of our Mother and Child Survival Project’s nursing students, a program we had in the late 90’s to train the top secondary school graduates in the district (pre-CSB!) in community health for a year and then sponsor them in schools of nursing, laboratory science, and even a few in teacher training college. Sadly this boy’s father spiraled downward with alcoholism, failed out of school, destroyed his marriage, and ended up back in Bundibugyo. The redeeming aspect of the story is Ivan, whom we befriended, and is now one of our kids’ closest friends. His mother is long gone and remarried and his father has shown signs of change . . . But I knew I’d be the only parent-figure for Ivan so I went. And I stayed, through almost six hours, knowing that with my front-row seat of honor I could not graciously disappear, and that I care about Ivan and wanted him to feel supported (Jack lasted just over two hours but deserted me). Like most official functions this one limped off to a late start—I came an hour after the stated time and was the second parent there, though by the time the festivities started there were probably a hundred and fifty adults and scads of kids. Like most official functions, there were a series of speeches by those in charge, calling upon parents to support the school, to be sure their children don’t miss days, to buy the official socks and ties and shoes so they look smart, to donate reams of paper, etc. And like most official functions, the speeches were followed by entertainment. This time each class, from nursery and P1 up to P7 presented songs and dramas.

The theme of the day was to fight child abuse, a worthy topic in this place. My personal favorite moment was when the top girl in the school gave her speech. I was sitting by her father, who is a big man, meaning he has multiple wives, a steady job as a government primary school headmaster in another part of the district, political connections, etc. Everyone is amazed and enjoys the fact that a girl can speak English, boldly. She listed examples of child abuse (beating children with a cane which is a common form of discipline, failing to provide adequate food and clothing). Then she launched into causes of child abuse by saying: the first is polygamy. Well, the audience went wild. ALL the big men laughed and laughed, that nervous laughter. I was the only female seated up front among the local councilmen, school administrators, police, etc. I’m sure that most of them have more than one wife. The women in the audience clapped and cheered the girl while the men laughed and shifted about in their chairs and joked with one another. It took several minutes to restore order. Her father shook his head, smiling, pride and guilt mixed together? Do they feel guilt? I’m not sure. I sense that there is an awareness that the rest of the world thinks polygamy is backwards and uncivilized, but real men go ahead and make their own rules. Clan, progeny, power, and respect are more powerful motivators than feeling out-of-Kampala-style still in this place. Still there must be hope. If a girl can put that in her speech in front of over a hundred people, many of them community leaders, including her own polygamous father, there must be hope. I know her family and know that the polygamy of her father has caused painful rifts. The happy illusion of many wives cooperating is mostly that, an illusion. In real life there is jealousy, betrayal, and not enough money to go around. I don’t doubt that one endpoint of that path is indeed child abuse.

Sadly Ivan’s moment of glory came in his class (P6) play, a drama demonstrating the problems of alcoholism and how it leads to neglect and abuse of children. Ivan played the alcoholic father. He’s a good actor, and more than any other kid all day had the audience’s rapt attention and gales of laughter. I was proud of his courageous acting, and his skill, and his English . . .but my heart broke with the knowledge that he was playing his own father, that most of what he was demonstrating he had probably personally experienced at home. Do 6th graders in the US dwell on alcoholism, AIDS, and child abuse when they play-act? I don’t know, but I see the value here, for children to express through drama the brokenness of the world, and to be affirmed in their hope that what they see is not all there is, that there is another way to live. And I see the value of children being the ones to change culture, to explore through dramas different ways for people to relate, and to safely express that to their elders on parents’ day. Another alcoholic medical worker (nursing assistant) friend was in the audience, one whom I’ve had heart to heart talks with before. So I’m praying that the day served not only to honor students but to challenge the parents.

I got home just in time to get organized for our team’s extended summer prayer time, another almost six hours of laboring through the petitions of the Lord’s Prayer and lifting up our Ugandan partners, our fellow missionaries, and our heart-felt needs to the returning King. A long day, yes, but one in which the Kingdom inched forward I believe.