The title means "their children," which mothers routinely used when referring to personal offspring; I rarely hear a mother say "abaana bangye;" which means "my children."
Last weekend, I visited my best peace corps friend’s site. Along with her blossoming chicken and goat farm (she has 7 chickens and two new goats so far-- all with names), she also has a neighbor with three small children—aged 3, 2, and 1. So far, my friend has found the 3 year old locked in the latrine and has witnessed all 3 being beaten with wooden planks. As you may imagine, CPS does not exactly exist here. All of us have seen stories of school children being beaten to death by teachers—who, overwhelmingly, are only relocated to different schools. I personally know a headmaster who is accused of raping several of the girls in his primary school; one of whom recently had a baby.
In my community; I see numerous children and adults with significant scarring—as the result of a toxic mixture of abuse and negligence. Small charcoal stoves on the ground, which babies easily grab, buckets of water in which they drown; none are moved or removed. I’ll never forget visiting a friend in the village- upon observing that one of his 2 year old daughter’s fingers went missing, I was told that the 3 year old had cut it off with a knife. Sure enough; when I looked outside, the same 3 year old was playing with the same knife. Furthermore, it is not rare to find children tearing apart animals callously; one teenage boy beat the sisters’ new calf to death when it refused to go where he wanted it to.
On the other hand, many educated, wealthy Ugandans fail to discipline children whatsoever. This produces the most insipid, sniveling, entitled brats imaginable.
With my peace corps friend, however, I also visited a different new mother. A year ago, she was forcibly raped by a taxi driver; then found herself, a single career woman without children, pregnant. We came to visit both baby and mother. After a bit of pressing, she told us the birth story. The tiny woman, after the first 12 hours of labor, was found have a baby in fetal distress and rushed to the nation’s best hospital. For 12 more hours (during 5 of which she was waiting in line for registration); she waited for a C-section. When the doctor finally arrived in the ward, he proclaimed that he was tired and refused to see more than the first 5 women on the list. There were 13 women waiting, and the narrator was #12. By luck, her brother was a doctor and convinced his colleague to do the operation.
As evidence of the surgery’s success, was one of the cleanest, healthiest babies that I’ve ever seen—with ample motherly care—even though the absent and abusive father has legal rights (in this patrilineal place) to take her away when he chooses to.
Last weekend, I visited my best peace corps friend’s site. Along with her blossoming chicken and goat farm (she has 7 chickens and two new goats so far-- all with names), she also has a neighbor with three small children—aged 3, 2, and 1. So far, my friend has found the 3 year old locked in the latrine and has witnessed all 3 being beaten with wooden planks. As you may imagine, CPS does not exactly exist here. All of us have seen stories of school children being beaten to death by teachers—who, overwhelmingly, are only relocated to different schools. I personally know a headmaster who is accused of raping several of the girls in his primary school; one of whom recently had a baby.
In my community; I see numerous children and adults with significant scarring—as the result of a toxic mixture of abuse and negligence. Small charcoal stoves on the ground, which babies easily grab, buckets of water in which they drown; none are moved or removed. I’ll never forget visiting a friend in the village- upon observing that one of his 2 year old daughter’s fingers went missing, I was told that the 3 year old had cut it off with a knife. Sure enough; when I looked outside, the same 3 year old was playing with the same knife. Furthermore, it is not rare to find children tearing apart animals callously; one teenage boy beat the sisters’ new calf to death when it refused to go where he wanted it to.
On the other hand, many educated, wealthy Ugandans fail to discipline children whatsoever. This produces the most insipid, sniveling, entitled brats imaginable.
With my peace corps friend, however, I also visited a different new mother. A year ago, she was forcibly raped by a taxi driver; then found herself, a single career woman without children, pregnant. We came to visit both baby and mother. After a bit of pressing, she told us the birth story. The tiny woman, after the first 12 hours of labor, was found have a baby in fetal distress and rushed to the nation’s best hospital. For 12 more hours (during 5 of which she was waiting in line for registration); she waited for a C-section. When the doctor finally arrived in the ward, he proclaimed that he was tired and refused to see more than the first 5 women on the list. There were 13 women waiting, and the narrator was #12. By luck, her brother was a doctor and convinced his colleague to do the operation.
As evidence of the surgery’s success, was one of the cleanest, healthiest babies that I’ve ever seen—with ample motherly care—even though the absent and abusive father has legal rights (in this patrilineal place) to take her away when he chooses to.
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