Boy.

I literally felt like my heart was breaking when we left South Sudan. Even now as I write this the tears begin to surface and my heart again aches for the children of Wau. Those children who snuck into my life and stole my heart. 

Our first few days in Arua, Uganda were transitional and challenging. I was still trying to figure out what happened in S. Sudan, emotionally and spiritually, and how my heart could feel so greatly for a people I knew so little. I suppose it was a means of attempted protection or something, but in those first days I convinced myself there was no way I could “feel” so strongly again, especially so soon, and therefore probably wouldn’t get as attached to the people in Uganda as I had S. Sudan. So there it was, I had my mind made up...

And then Boy came along....

“What is your name?” I heard in a quiet voice. I looked to my left and saw a little boy with a shy smile hanging from a low tree branch. Again, “What is your name?”  to which I responded with my name, and in turn asked for his, “Boy” he replied. That was about the extent of our first interaction, but there was something in that little voice and those innocent eyes I’d never seen before. I can’t explain it, but as I walked away from that little boy I had a feeling I was in trouble. 

I saw Boy again the next day, and the next, and the next. Although his English was minimal I learned that he lived in a village nearby and that his mother, Margaret, was a student in the tailoring class held on base in Arua, Uganda, where our team was staying.  Each day Boy would come with his mother, sit outside the classroom entertaining his baby brother, or playing with whatever he could find until the class was finished, and each day, when I could, I would join him. We would sit together, drawing pictures on pieces of paper or throwing whatever we could at  whatever we could.

One day we spent hours trying to throw little rocks and pieces of cement into empty buckets and a rusty old wheelbarrow. On the days Boy drew pictures we’d practice the English words for what he’d drawn, and when we threw rocks into the wheelbarrow we celebrated with high fives, the yelling of “cha-CHING!” and a brief fist pump in the air to officially seal the deal. Who knew you could have so much fun with so little around you...  I remember one day I was sitting on the ground and slowly began to stand up to find more rocks and Boy said, “NO! you sit...” and he went to collect more rocks then laid them gingerly in my lap.  When that pile was gone he dusted the dirt off my skirt and got up to get me more.  This happened over and over for nearly 2 hours. It didn’t take long for me to realize God was busy sewing my heart to a little person yet again. I love how God isn’t limited by what we do or don’t think we are capable of...

Each time I saw Boy’s mom and she would greet me with a great big smile and say, “ahhh! Boy, he loves you! He does not want to leave. He wants to say here with you!” It melted my heart all over again.

 It’s often customary in Uganda that when you leave someone’s home they will escort you to the door, or even part of the way back to your home.  So, after tailoring class finished I began exercising this custom and walking Boy and his mother halfway to their home, and each time, without fail, Boy would turn, take my hand and escort me back to the base we had just left.  He would leave me at the gate and we’d wave “goodbye” and yell "bye bye, see you, byyyyeee see you tomorrow!" until we could no longer see each other around the curve of the dirt road. He even did this on a day I had come to visit him because he'd been sick with Malaria.

As days went on I knew the time we had together was nearing an end, and that saying “goodbye” to Uganda would not, in fact, be as easy as I had originally thought.

I began to think of things I could leave with them that would be meaningful, besides money. I remembered getting overtaken by rain as I walked Boy’s mother and baby brother home one day. They didn’t have money to buy an umbrella so we walked on and fought through the rain before it turned into a downpour convincing us it would be better to take shelter and wait it out. So the first thing on my list to leave them with was a big umbrella, which I could probably find in the market for around $4.

The second day I ever spent with Boy a few of us from the base were working on a volleyball net using two dead trees as posts. Once we got it set up Boy wasn’t interested in playing, but more than happy to sit along the side with his baby brother and keep tabs on my watch for me while I played. He loved that watch. I think it made him feel grown up the way he spun it around and looked at the bright blue color again his dark skin. Item number two I would leave, my blue watch.  

Boy’s mother, Margaret, was learning how to sew as a way to support and provide for her family. She hardly had the money to cover the minimal fees for the class so I knew the likelihood of having the extra money to buy fabric, atleast at this point in time, would be unlikely. So, another thing I added to the "leave" list was extra fabric for her to use in her class.

Item three I would leave with Margaret was my extra clothes, a few shirts and skirts that had survived my first Africa adventure and remained in surprisingly great condition.

The night before my team and I left I spent the afternoon with Boy, and waited for his mother Margaret outside the tailoring classroom. When class had finished and she came out I handed her the umbrella and the bag of things I wanted to leave with them. A big smile road across her face as she looked at the things, and Boy’s face exploded with teeth when I began to put the watch around his little wrist. “Boy, this watch has been to China, America, Holland, England, South Sudan and now... Now it is going to your house,” they both laughed and more big smiles escaped their lips. Margaret looked me right in the eyes and said, “Ahhh, Erica. Boy’s father died two years ago. Today you are his father. God has heard my prayers. Today you are my father and my mother. You take care of us. Thank you, thank you.” Those things didn’t seem like much to me, but they meant the world to them.

I walked them back to their home one final time, and as became our own custom Boy held my hand and escorted me back. I gave him a hug and we waved our final waves. “Bye bye! See you! Bye bye!” I could feel the tears beginning to rise up inside me once again, especially as he began to round the corner and his final words met my ears, “bye, bye, see you tomorrow!”  I knew he wouldn’t see me tomorrow, and he did too... those words had just become habit over the last 5 weeks. As his little figure faded in the distance I realized there was something else I'd be leaving with them, another piece of my heart.

I have actually gotten phone calls from Boy and Margaret a couple times since I’ve been back. They are doing well, and Boy is excited to begin school this next year. I love that little family so much, and I love that God, again, used someone unexpected to work in my heart and soften the hard areas I thought I could hold onto. Love has a whole new meaning since my time in Africa. Thanks for letting me share it with you :)