When my cousin and I first went to Africa we were confronted
by things that were so different, many call it culture shock, and our only remedy
for it was to “blog it out” which meant to write a blog story to get our
thoughts into order and down on “paper”. This also helped others better
understand what we were going through. It’s been a while since I’ve needed to “blog
it out” but today I need to “blog it out”!
Please forgive me if this seems judgmental or harsh.
Living in a village setting Isaac and I get to see real
life. There is no hiding your true self from your neighbors when people live
and work mostly outdoors. In Uganda the average mother has 7.2 children. Now
many people I know have 2 or 3 children, which means to get that average that
many women have more than 7, can you imagine. I have heard of many women having
their first baby at 13! In a place where so many children live you are bound to
hear a cry every now and again, some child being disciplined, or someone
getting hurt. I am a very good listener. I have learned which children make
which cries. I know there is a screamer that lives behind us on the downhill
side. She will scream if her mother goes to get water without her. The child
will follow the mother and scream as the mother walks down the hill and leaves
her behind. This scream I know is no because the child is hurt but because she
loves her mother and wants to follow. We have a boy who lives in the front of
our house again on the downhill side, he is a very stubborn boy and when his
mother needs to discipline him he will make a few shouts. But the sound I heard
this morning was not a normal one and not at a normal time of the day.
I was on skype with my mother, we were having a good time
chatting about my recent visit to Isaac’s village. All of a sudden I heard the
cries and shouts of a child in serious trouble. It was from the direction of
the screamer so I waited. The cry didn’t sound correct. I told my mom I had to
investigate. I looked out the front window and saw the neighbor children all
looking in the same direction. Their faces were troubled. I raced to the back
door. Normally a child will console themselves and the crying will become less
and less. As I got closer to the edge of my property the cries got louder and
louder. From the corner edge of my property I saw a group of women, differing
in ages. They seemed to be a family. The women were washing their clothing. The
mother had a stick in her hand and was beating a small girl with all her
strength. I called to her and asked what the problem was. She stopped what she
was doing and looked for a bigger stick. While she did that I asked the
neighbor man, who had come when he heard my call, what was happening. In his
broken English he told me that, “you know mother in Africa”. I hate that
phrase, “This is Africa” I hear it all the time in different situations. It is
as if their excuse for acting lazy, bad, corrupt, etc is because there are in
Africa. Isaac likes to say “Who is Africa? It is us. If we act differently then
Africa will look different”. My neighbor had nothing more to say so I moved to
the mother herself. I assumed she didn’t speak English. I could have been wrong
but I simplified my English nonetheless. “What did baby do?” I asked. Finding out
at the same time from the teenager present that she is only 4 years old. The
teenager also informed me that this four year old abused someone. I hear the
word abuse often and normally it is referring to a verbal disagreement. I
showed the mother that beating again and again is not ok. I asked the child to
come and see me. She was hesitant to come to me. She probably had been told in
the past that the white lady would eat her (a common thing mothers in East
Africa tell their children, it’s like our boogie monster in the states). This
four year old with snot and tears running down her face walked to me and I saw
welts on her neck and back. I examined her bottom and welts from the stick were
there too. I hung my head in shame and looked at the mother and pointed out the
welts. She didn’t know what to say. What was I to do then? I informed the
mother that she should use her words to correct the child and then I picked up
the stick. I motioned that I was hitting an imaginary child and counted with
each stroke, “one, two, finish”. I put the stick down when I said finish for emphasis.
Hit the child twice and be done. I said, “baby will understand”. Then I walked
away.
I get so …I don’t even know, angry, mad, sad, hurt, by these
mothers that use threats and beatings to correct their children. The beatings
last from 30seconds to 5 mins as with this one. I normally don’t intervene
because I’m new here and I don’t know the whole story of what the child did.
But this mother was laughing and had been beating for far too long. I want to
do parenting classes. I feel for these mothers. They are very young when they
marry. Many times the husband either has work far away or has multiple wives,
or both. They are left with children many times more than they know how to care
for with no parenting skills and no way to acquire them. They do the best they
know how, most of the time what they remember their mother doing. I have much
respect for these women who make it work despite all the odds, but I would like
to make the odds better. I would like to offer support. Lord give me wisdom on
how to help these poor mothers who are doing the best they know how.
