A Gift from Sandra

She had come by the pharmacy window on Friday.

“Can you come next week to my house with the other girls?”

I looked up and saw Sandra, a cleaner of Watoto, standing there. She explained how she thought it nice if we would teach the children in her community to make bracelets. Jess had a supply of mini, colorful rubber bands for this occasion, so we were set.

The girls in our house concluded that we could come on Sunday afternoon. Around 1:30pm, Sandra called and let us know that she had sent three bodaboda drivers for the six of us. We gathered what we needed and waited outside the Babie's Home. 10 minutes. 15 minutes. 25 minutes went by. We wondered as we waited; she only lived a 7 minute ride down the road.

Fifty minutes later, after trying to call Sandra and getting no answer, we decided to take matters into our own hands. Sarah picked up the phone and called our regular boda driver, Sam.

“Hey Sam! Can you pick us up at Babies Home, Suubi? And bring two other drivers because there's six of us.”

Perhaps there had been a miscommunication with the other drivers and Sandra, but in calling our own transportation we were now confident we would still make it.

Ten more minutes, we heard the motors coming in the distance. Three drivers appeared from the left hand side of where we stood outside. We did not recognize one of them.

“That doesn't look like Sam...”

Oh no. Without missing a second, we heard other motors coming from our right, only to see Sam and his two other drivers coming from the other direction. The three drivers on either side now coming into a face-off. The three Sandra had called, and Sam and his friends. This was awkward. Not willing to turn any away, we hopped on a bike each. Six white girls. Six Ugandan men. Six bodabodas. We set out, the strange mixed gang we were, and headed downhill towards Sandra's house. We bumped, screeched and roared past eachother, each driver competing for the best area of the rutted road. Soon, we turned off onto a steep narrow path between some community houses. Sam and Sarah drove under a clothesline, taking a black sweater with it.

“Sorry!” Sam stopped and picked it back up for the family.

Music was coming in the distance and as we closed the gap to her house, I caught site of ballons and streamers. A community party must be going on, but this was more extravagant than anything I had seen yet. The bodabodas stopped.

“Here!”

What? I looked to my right. Sarah's new house (an outdoor garage) was decorated in balloons and streamers. A table was set up outside with shiny pink wrapping paper as a cloth. Bottled water stood on the surface. Beside the table was a loudspeaker with Christian radio music filtering into the atmosphere  Her foodstand, standing to the front of her home, was surrounded by about fifty smiling-faced and clapping children.

On entering, we cut through a ribbon that hung across an stick archway decorated of colorful ballons. A photographer from the community, followed us in with a film camera, taking pictures. Sarah came out in a pretty red polka-dot dress. Two of her neighbors were helping inside to make us a meal.

“You each have your name on a chair.” She smiled. “You have one minute to find it!”

She started the music, and we took off running, opening up home-made looseleef notebooks with wrapping paper covers – our names written in the inside. When the music finished, the last of us were scrambling into the plastic white chairs. Sandra had made every effort to create a special event for us. We felt more than undeserved and incredibly honored.

An archway of Welcome

The photographer

Minutes later, we were teaching the children to make bracelets. The pile of rubberbands went quickly, as we showed them how to create the jewelry. Next we brought out balloons we had brought, then bubbles. I was feeling badly that I had not prepared more ahead of time. I had not expected this many kids, or would have arranged a story and gospel message for them. Kelli was thinking the same. Why not do it anyway? It was difficult to assess how much English the children understood, I reminded myself that the Word of God never returns void. Isaiah 55:11. Christmas was approaching and it would be an simple entry into sharing the message of the Saviour.

Kelli spoke loudly and waved her hands, while Sarah, Jess, Anika and I acted out the story of Baby Jesus. The children laughed and listened, as we exaggerated our impromptu movements in the hot afternoon sun. Kelli continued into the gospel, explaining Christ's love for each one of them, and the way to Heaven. Then, inviting anyone to pray along with her, all the kids bowed their heads and spoke every word. I pray they really did understand, and God knows their hearts.

We were then ushered into the front half of Sandra's house for dinner. The garage door closed behind us for privacy, a cloth curtain divided the little room, and a hot meal lay out in a variety of dishes on the ground. We sat down in a circle, digging into the rice, pork, cabbage and corn, while the Ugandan photographer snapped away. Sandra grinned and gathered other dishes she had made. She had prepared a meal for all the children, and many of their mothers that sat outside her house to watch. I did not talk much, as I was astounded at her generosity and the effort she had poured into this event.

“Take some food with us, Sandra!” Jess caught her as she scurried back into the room.

“Sure!” She dipped her hand into Jess's plate and took a handful of rice.

Our beautiful hostess

When it was time to go, we hugged the children as they ran up, holding out their hands for a “high-five.” Then we hugged Sandra, our cleaner and our friend. We could not express thanks for what she had just done for us. This time, we rode two to a bodaboda back up to our house. Each of us had little words, but only those expressing amazement, as we entered our apartment. I hope these people's generous and giving spirit make a lasting and changing impact in us, beyond the borders of Uganda.