This is The Director. I'm sure he has another name but we never used it. To us, he was Director. He was given this name because he was so often found wandering the grounds of the school with a stern look on his face, as if he was managing and overseeing the hundreds of students on campus. He has the eyes of a wise 80-year old man. For the length of my stay in Kishanje I saw Director every day at the front entrance to the school digging for rocks in his little red t-shirt.
The very first time that I met Director was in the school's chapel. We were celebrating for the students who had just taken Uganda's exams to continue on to the next grade. The chapel was filled with the clean, uniformed, smiling faces of JAM's sponsored students. When the Director scampered by he immediately stuck out to me.
His big terrified eyes looked up at me as if I were an alien. Would I eat him? Did I have super powers? What was wrong with my skin? I've learned the best way to calm their fears of me is to pick them up and hold them in my lap. Slowly they will relax and begin to explore my hair and finger nails. It really is a romantic experience, introducing a child to another race for the very first time.
The Director was not like other children I'd held. He had nothing on under his t-shirt which carried a horrific stench of urine. He had ringworm on his head and snot crusted to his nose and upper lip. He had cracked toe nails that really must have hurt. After a few songs he fell asleep (he slept for a good hour in my lap before I noticed he'd peed on me). I was in love with this boy.
"Is he a neighborhood child?" I asked, understanding he wasn't in the program because of his clothing.
"Yes, that is a boy we call the Director. He wanders the school."
"He does not go to school with the kids?"
"He lives nearby but he has both parents. They can not pay school fees but after a while we have told them he can come to school if he has pants."
"So he needs pants then." And I walked away with a mission.
Lucky for me and for Director, I had a giant duffel bag stuffed to the seams with soccer clothing that we'd be taking to Rubanda at the end of the week. I'd collected the soccer supplies for the Opening Day Pitch Ceremony at the Murole School. Thanks to so so many generous people in Chicago, I'd been able to bring over 200 lbs. of jerseys, shorts, and boots. The only discouraging task at hand was finding a pair that would fit a 25 lb. 3 year old.
I FOUND A PAIR OF WHITE SHORTS. At the bottom of the bag. They were given to me from a little boy that I love with my whole heart. A little toddler named Leo who played soccer with Lil Kickers in Chicago. It is an organization that teaches gross motor skills to toddlers who will become (maybe) little soccer players. And?? Leo's velcro tennis shoes. The only donations of hundreds given to me that suited a tiny body his size.
The next day Director started Kindergarten. Here was a little boy that would now learn English, begin to read, learn about hygiene and get potty trained, receive 3 warm meals a day and have his basic medical needs met--the removal and prevention of lice, scabies, ringworm, the clipping of toe nails, hair cuts, teeth brushing.
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And so many people think one little pair of shorts won't make a difference.
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