edeninafrica.org

Dear sister EDEN
Hoping that life is fine .
THIS saves inform you that the ECYE program is trying there best to
see that we start vocational skill training [bead making ]mean while
waiting for the sowing machine which you promised as ,
Here attached is the photos of the bead training
your consideration will be highly welcome ,
Thank you in ADVANCE
IN GOOD SPIRIT ..
AMODING SARAH WITH THE GIRLS AND THE BEAD TRAINER,

l am back from Africa safe & sound & in love. What an amazing & awesome journey we had. We successfully constructed ( by hand, no power tools ) homes for 23 people.
You were with me though out…
l thought of you in the six hour hot, over crowded, bumpy, dirt road bus ride from the capital Kampala to the addressless quaint tiny village of Muterere, l could not take my eye from the window in fear l may miss the crossing of livestock or baby goats or vivid color clothed ladies walking along the road with huge yellow plastic containers filled with water on their heads, we passed lush green open undulating grasslands and banana and sugar cane fields and papyrus swamps, and we crossed the great Nile river.
l thought of you as l unceasingly mixed earth and cement and well water with a hoe and a spade, then carried 20 lbs buckets of the Machanga from the mortar pit to the timber and rope scaffolds where other volunteers waited for the mixture to seal in the bricks.
l thought of you when we gratefully sat down, viciously covered in Deet, to our nightly dinner of Matoke or Ugali, white rice & Cassava root which the wonderful village women so lovingly prepared for us in the dark with only kerosene lamps to shed light on their preparations.
l thought of you when we heard the AIDS orphans sing their hymns of hope and as l held the hand of the Gentleman who organized and ran the orphan’s school and choir, whose wife had been taken by AIDS before their first was born.
l thought of you when we would walk down the red dirt road of our village holding the children’s hands watching other exuberant village children pour out of their mud huts running to see us with their beautiful bare feet and tattered clothes with gorgeous smiles on their precious faces shouting “Jambo, Jambo, Jambo, Mazungo”! (Hello & welcome White man)
Because of you, your support both emotionally and financially you helped me, us, contribute something positive and lasting to the village of Muterere, Uganda and, to the world.

Thank you so very much.

Peace and Love

Eden

Leaving ” Church”, the biggest and most social gathering for most weekly, we walk along the red rich earthen road. Me being a Muzungo confuses and draws many villagers attention to us. Why is there a white woman wearing a Goma walking amongst us miles and miles away from the other white people who only go together to the places that draw tourist of monkeys and rafting we hear of ? This one must be mad wearing local dress and attending our mud brick church with dirt floor and a few plastic chairs for visitors and the Wholly. Villagers pour out of their primitive homes for a look. I get stares and shouts of “Muzungo” because they must think that I don’t know I am white. Giggles and glares, and children trying to touch my skin to see if Americans feel the same. Speaking to me the few words they so proudly know in English and shouting ” Obama” at me… Finally in my travels abroad I am happy to be an American (though I was in France when Clinton was in office and that was pretty cool). We have now a little entourage following us to the next church and people have heard of the mysterious white woman walking. Still i am so taken by my surrounding though I have tread on Ugandan soil now many a time, the furtive soil so rich with color, red in contrast to the lush emerald green of the natural and farmed foliage, sky such a beautiful hue of blue it looks unreal. l cant help from having a supreme smile upon my face as i walk with my good Ugandan friends. continuously people poke their heads out to say hello and wave. I must admit i am feeling a bit like a kennedy with all this waving. Occasionally neighbors come to chat and shake my hand’ it is of luck some how to them though i don’t care for this notion, that the white man will fix it and they have hope, not a healthy outlook and such a cross to bare for a poor unaffiliated bastard as myself. It is conditioning, it is there culture now, i try not to judge those rituals and beliefs i do not understand (like genital mutilation). Locals chat of there woes and how they could use this or that material item. and about how they love America, especially now… A slightly frantic woman holding a baby joins us, and speaking to my friend Tabatha in Luganda, which i don’t understood but a few words. she puts her baby in my arms and speaks excitedly. The child is wide eyed and curious. Tabitha and the woman converse, i sense some pleading from the woman, My friend shakes her head. The Baby is beautiful , as i find all African Babies beautiful calm and well behaved. the woman comes nearer me, Tabitha seems on edge, she looks at me wildly. and points to her child, i look at the sweet infant adoringly and smile at the mother. she frowns at me quizzically . and points again at her baby’s head. Tabitha says something in a cross manner. i smile again and look at the child in my arms, then i notice the infant’s ear, the ear is sloughing off, with such an horrifying infection it makes me revolt, my stomach turns sharply and i feel weak. Ooze and slimy what remains of the ear is slowly rotting away. puss and littler than normal raw flesh are exposed, flies are drawn to it. i hold the baby with the sense of helplessness. My friend looks at me blankly and says’ The Mother wants You to help the child’. l look up with a face so long i fell it may fall off. What am i to do ? l am not a Doctor. “I told her this” she says, “but you are white, you can help my baby”. the wave of sorrowful empathy overcomes me as i stand there speechless, i am a stupid white girl,and i am not rich, i am myself homeless. i can not help this situation, i think. What can i possible say to her. There are no Hospitals for miles and if there were with what money would she pay .I can not do this. l want to so desperately, l want to help, it kills me inside that i can not . i curse my lack of material wealth and why i am not more connected and have friends as Madonna or “Brangelina” not do i know the President or the Gates. There are so many, so many that need help, my i am only one and i am not able. not able to help now. l attempt to gain composure as to save face for my African friends. l search my brain for a simple solution.l think of nothing else but to tell the mother to put Honey on the rotting ear. it as it is the only thing i can think that she may have access to and afford. Tabitha takes the child from my arms and hands her back to her mother she translates what i have said. she looks at me with a blank uncertain distrust and resentment. l feel shame, How can l come here and not be able to help all. defeated, i will wave and smile no more today like a Kennedy but walk motionless with thoughts of compassion and pain and seeking astronomical resolutions and global solutions. My light leather south African sandals now so heavy on the red earth below.