Sunday, July 17, 2011
Hard stuff.
2:56 AM |
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Life here is hard sometimes.
People who sincerely don't want their kids. Neglect. Abuse. Inconvenience. Manipulation. Corruption. Deception. Injustice.
Injustice has been a big one on my heart for the past couple of weeks. Several weeks ago we learned of an organization doing work in the children's prison and rehabilitation centers. Last week, we met with their in-country director. He told us all about the (in)justice system here in Uganda. He told us how after the age of 12, if you are accused of a crime, you are sent to a "remand center." You are there for a minimum of 3 months before your case is heard in court. If you are found innocent, you are then sent home. (Yes, after serving 3 months.) If you are found guilty, they send you to the "rehabilitation center" aka the child prison in Uganda for up to 3 years. Crimes tend to be theft or sexual immorality (yes- you can go to prison for being sexually active under the age of 18 here) although sometimes parents send their kids to this prison simply for being stubborn or disrespectful or disobedient. (Hello teenage years- who ISN'T stubborn, disrespectful, and disobedient? Sorry, Mom.)
Upon arrival, you are typically put in the "black house" - an approximately 6x4 foot cement room with barred windows at the very top and no mattress, no mosquito net, no hole, and usually not even a bucket. Injustice. You can stay there for weeks at a time. Maybe getting one meal a day, maybe allowed to clean out the room once a day.. Maybe lucky enough to have a bucket to use instead of the floor. Maybe. They do this because there are no fences at the prison. Instead, they break you down so far mentally that you don't even think about running away. Beatings are common. Injustice. After your time in the black house, you go to a large room with lots of windows, some mattresses, and some holes in the ground. You are still not allowed to leave that room. More weeks are spent there. Eventually, you are allowed into the normal rooms to serve the remainder of your sentence. These are big rooms with bunk beds, and thanks to this organization- mosquito nets. If you are somehow being sponsored, you can attend school. There are about 120 kids serving time there and about 100 of them are in school, which is a huge praise. They have about 30 workers.
We went to this prison last week. We were shown around after signing in at the office and stating our purposes. I walked into the black house. Names had been scratched into the walls. One child wrote "I WILL NEVER BE IN HERE AGAIN." Those images are now scratched into my mind. I cannot imagine the isolation. Weeks at a time in that room? Injustice. These kids are so much stronger than I will ever be.
We walked into the bigger room where the kids "in between" time is. There were about 40-60 boys of all ages in that room. Convicted of crimes? No. Kids that were rounded up off the streets in the government's attempt to "clean Kampala." We sat down with them, and through a translator, several of them shared their stories. We know that some of them were lying.. Some of them really were begging on the streets. (Which is illegal here.) But some of them.. You could tell they were telling the truth. Wrongly snatched from the streets near their homes. Injustice. Like one boy that I will never forget. He couldn't have been more than 10 years old. He had been staying in Kampala with his uncle, receiving treatment at one of the hospitals there. He had finished treatment and was getting ready to go home to southern Uganda, a few hours from the capital city. Home to his parents. His family. He was throwing some rubbish away outside one night when the police grabbed him and forced him onto a bus. He tried to tell them that he was just throwing his uncle's garbage away- he could see the house from where they were. He pointed. He tried to explain. They didn't care. He was forced onto the bus and brought to the prison. With tears in his eyes, he told us that if he just knew his uncle's phone number, he would have been there to get him by now. I will never forget his story. Several like it. The boys begging us to do something, to help them get out and go home. We sat with them on the floor, heartbroken, humbled, and furious that there was nothing that we could do. Injustice.
We left that room and went to talk to the few girls at the prison. Again, we sat down with a translator, this time in a room with chairs in a big circle, and the girls were free to move about the compound as they wished. The girls told us that life was not too bad for them there. That they had more freedom than the boys. That they were tired of the same food, beans and posho, every day. Some had been there just weeks, some for almost a year. Several didn't even know how long they would have to be there. Before the translator had come in, I asked the girls if they knew English. They said no. I was surprised because many people here know English, especially if they are coming from the city. (Which many of them said that they were.) During our time with the translator, he sometimes said things in English and they would laugh. After he left, I told the girls that I knew they knew English, and that I really wanted to talk to them. They laughed, knowing they had lied to me, and I convinced them to pull their chairs closer. I asked them if they REALLY thought that life was not too bad for them there. They said that was somehow true, that it could be worse, but that it was not good. That they missed their families. That they would not be so stubborn if they were at home again. (Several of them said that they were there simply for refusing to go to school. We know that some of them were lying, but some of them were not.) They said that beatings were very, very common there and could be for the slightest of things. They also said that it was very common to be put in the black house as punishment for weeks at a time. They had all been put there. Injustice. Talking to these girls stirred my heart. I wanted so badly to reach out to them. To stay for the rest of the day and just let them know how much God loves them. How much I love them because of the love Christ has given me. How I hope to be able to go back to them, or at least be able to reach out to girls in similar situations because of the impact that talking to them had on my life. I want them to know that I will not forget them in my prayers. That my life will be different because of my time spent with them.
Injustice is everywhere here. It's in the baby that is dumped in a pit latrine or dumpster left to die. In the teenage girl who rebelled because she never had parents that taught her about Jesus and the way to live her life. In the starving child who was being fed only tea because of an HIV+ mother. In the disabled teenager left on a mat in a hut all day, every day. A day will not go by without injustice staring you straight in the face.
Thankfully, I serve a God who is just!
"If it is a matter of strength, He is mighty! And if it is a matter of justice, who can challenge Him?" -Job 9:19
"For the Lord is righteous, He loves justice. The upright will see His face." -Psalm 11:7
"And the heavens proclaim His righteousness, for He is a God of justice." -Psalm 50:6
"Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight; I will put my Spirit on him, and he will bring justice to the nations... In faithfulness he will bring forth justice; he will not falter or be discouraged till he establishes justice on earth. I, the LORD, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand. I will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people
and a light for the Gentiles, to open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness." -Isaiah 42
Peace & Love.
People who sincerely don't want their kids. Neglect. Abuse. Inconvenience. Manipulation. Corruption. Deception. Injustice.
Injustice has been a big one on my heart for the past couple of weeks. Several weeks ago we learned of an organization doing work in the children's prison and rehabilitation centers. Last week, we met with their in-country director. He told us all about the (in)justice system here in Uganda. He told us how after the age of 12, if you are accused of a crime, you are sent to a "remand center." You are there for a minimum of 3 months before your case is heard in court. If you are found innocent, you are then sent home. (Yes, after serving 3 months.) If you are found guilty, they send you to the "rehabilitation center" aka the child prison in Uganda for up to 3 years. Crimes tend to be theft or sexual immorality (yes- you can go to prison for being sexually active under the age of 18 here) although sometimes parents send their kids to this prison simply for being stubborn or disrespectful or disobedient. (Hello teenage years- who ISN'T stubborn, disrespectful, and disobedient? Sorry, Mom.)
Upon arrival, you are typically put in the "black house" - an approximately 6x4 foot cement room with barred windows at the very top and no mattress, no mosquito net, no hole, and usually not even a bucket. Injustice. You can stay there for weeks at a time. Maybe getting one meal a day, maybe allowed to clean out the room once a day.. Maybe lucky enough to have a bucket to use instead of the floor. Maybe. They do this because there are no fences at the prison. Instead, they break you down so far mentally that you don't even think about running away. Beatings are common. Injustice. After your time in the black house, you go to a large room with lots of windows, some mattresses, and some holes in the ground. You are still not allowed to leave that room. More weeks are spent there. Eventually, you are allowed into the normal rooms to serve the remainder of your sentence. These are big rooms with bunk beds, and thanks to this organization- mosquito nets. If you are somehow being sponsored, you can attend school. There are about 120 kids serving time there and about 100 of them are in school, which is a huge praise. They have about 30 workers.
We went to this prison last week. We were shown around after signing in at the office and stating our purposes. I walked into the black house. Names had been scratched into the walls. One child wrote "I WILL NEVER BE IN HERE AGAIN." Those images are now scratched into my mind. I cannot imagine the isolation. Weeks at a time in that room? Injustice. These kids are so much stronger than I will ever be.
We walked into the bigger room where the kids "in between" time is. There were about 40-60 boys of all ages in that room. Convicted of crimes? No. Kids that were rounded up off the streets in the government's attempt to "clean Kampala." We sat down with them, and through a translator, several of them shared their stories. We know that some of them were lying.. Some of them really were begging on the streets. (Which is illegal here.) But some of them.. You could tell they were telling the truth. Wrongly snatched from the streets near their homes. Injustice. Like one boy that I will never forget. He couldn't have been more than 10 years old. He had been staying in Kampala with his uncle, receiving treatment at one of the hospitals there. He had finished treatment and was getting ready to go home to southern Uganda, a few hours from the capital city. Home to his parents. His family. He was throwing some rubbish away outside one night when the police grabbed him and forced him onto a bus. He tried to tell them that he was just throwing his uncle's garbage away- he could see the house from where they were. He pointed. He tried to explain. They didn't care. He was forced onto the bus and brought to the prison. With tears in his eyes, he told us that if he just knew his uncle's phone number, he would have been there to get him by now. I will never forget his story. Several like it. The boys begging us to do something, to help them get out and go home. We sat with them on the floor, heartbroken, humbled, and furious that there was nothing that we could do. Injustice.
We left that room and went to talk to the few girls at the prison. Again, we sat down with a translator, this time in a room with chairs in a big circle, and the girls were free to move about the compound as they wished. The girls told us that life was not too bad for them there. That they had more freedom than the boys. That they were tired of the same food, beans and posho, every day. Some had been there just weeks, some for almost a year. Several didn't even know how long they would have to be there. Before the translator had come in, I asked the girls if they knew English. They said no. I was surprised because many people here know English, especially if they are coming from the city. (Which many of them said that they were.) During our time with the translator, he sometimes said things in English and they would laugh. After he left, I told the girls that I knew they knew English, and that I really wanted to talk to them. They laughed, knowing they had lied to me, and I convinced them to pull their chairs closer. I asked them if they REALLY thought that life was not too bad for them there. They said that was somehow true, that it could be worse, but that it was not good. That they missed their families. That they would not be so stubborn if they were at home again. (Several of them said that they were there simply for refusing to go to school. We know that some of them were lying, but some of them were not.) They said that beatings were very, very common there and could be for the slightest of things. They also said that it was very common to be put in the black house as punishment for weeks at a time. They had all been put there. Injustice. Talking to these girls stirred my heart. I wanted so badly to reach out to them. To stay for the rest of the day and just let them know how much God loves them. How much I love them because of the love Christ has given me. How I hope to be able to go back to them, or at least be able to reach out to girls in similar situations because of the impact that talking to them had on my life. I want them to know that I will not forget them in my prayers. That my life will be different because of my time spent with them.
Injustice is everywhere here. It's in the baby that is dumped in a pit latrine or dumpster left to die. In the teenage girl who rebelled because she never had parents that taught her about Jesus and the way to live her life. In the starving child who was being fed only tea because of an HIV+ mother. In the disabled teenager left on a mat in a hut all day, every day. A day will not go by without injustice staring you straight in the face.
Thankfully, I serve a God who is just!
"If it is a matter of strength, He is mighty! And if it is a matter of justice, who can challenge Him?" -Job 9:19
"For the Lord is righteous, He loves justice. The upright will see His face." -Psalm 11:7
"And the heavens proclaim His righteousness, for He is a God of justice." -Psalm 50:6
"Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight; I will put my Spirit on him, and he will bring justice to the nations... In faithfulness he will bring forth justice; he will not falter or be discouraged till he establishes justice on earth. I, the LORD, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand. I will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people
and a light for the Gentiles, to open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness." -Isaiah 42
Peace & Love.
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