Moses

There are days when it is extremely difficult to figure out how to best love and support the boys at this home. Due to the fact that their early childhoods were shaped by neglect, broken promises, and abuse, most of these boys now have severe trust issues and their behavior is often unpredictable and bordering on bi-polar (I’m not a clinical psychologist so don’t quote me on that diagnosis, but it certainly seems to be the case). On any given day, at least 3 boys are likely to be giving me the silent treatment (for one reason or another that I usually cannot pinpoint for the life of me).

A few weeks ago one of the boys, Moses, came into my room, sat on my lap, and told me that I was his friend and that he loved me so much. We watched the sunset together through my window and I cherished this unusual expression of affection from a boy whose character is volatile to say the least. We spent the next two hours together working on letters to his sponsors and he took great care and concern in making sure they were perfect. When he was just about to finish, he stormed out of the room and has refused to talk with me since.

The following day when I went and sat on his bed attempting to talk to him and he informed me that in his heart he does not love me, and that it was useless to love me because I would not give him anything. Since these boys had to survive for so many years on the streets, part of their survival strategy consisted of cunning people into giving them things (especially foreigners with good hearts and questionable tactics as to how best to support kids living on the streets with severe drug dependencies). Their concept of love is now directly tied to what they will get out of someone.

The more time I spend with those who have been pushed to the margins of this world, the more I realize that our Western concept of true love (that isn’t motivated by social climbing) is often a luxury reserved for those whose basic needs are met and who don’t have to figure out how to keep surviving each day of this life. In general, love is much more of a commodity here in Uganda than a romanticized Hollywood selfless gift. In the Baganda tribe, high bride prices of cows, goats, food, clothing, etc. are demanded from the groom’s family before a bride can be “given” to a groom. The boys in this home, with their complex and heartbreaking histories, are certainly no exception to the rule, and their search for self-interested love can cause them to shut down completely when they don’t get what they want.

As I sat with Moses on his bed and watched him fake-sleep so that I would go away, my eyes filled with tears. I felt such a strong love for this boy who is wise beyond his years and who lost both of his parents and his younger sister at the age of 12. I couldn’t help but think that the deep love and rejection that I felt must mirror the love of the Creator, who waits for us to delight in Her creation, in the bonds between us and in the natural world that surrounds us, as we are blinded by our own pain and refuse to open ourselves to this joy. Maybe we, too, are waiting to see what we can “get out of” re-connecting ourselves to the divinity within and around us, so we shut down instead and continue to live in autopilot.

Moses does not have to decide to let me in. After all, I am just another passing figure in his life. I just hope that he does not continue to shut out those who wish to love him and share in his life. I can’t help but think that in doing so, he will conspire in weaving a future for himself marked by the same isolation, despair, and aggressive behavior that defined his past.

Moses modeling some of the jewelry and headbands we sell to fund-raise.