The sun sets on the city of Kampala, yet the night is still young. The frequency of passing taxis, boda bodas, and pedestrians begins to decrease as everyone heads home for the evening. Yet the streets still find themselves occupied. The very sidewalk that businessmen and women, school children, and visitors tread upon throughout the day is the same sidewalk than approximately 10,000 boys call their bed tonight, call their home. It’s around 11 pm and there is still enough traffic to make drifting to sleep difficult. Small alcohol bottles that have been emptied long ago by the boys now find new purpose as cleaning agents and other chemicals are dumped inside in order to huff. By midnight traffic has settled, however, the arrival of free rolls and juice brings new excitement as the boys wrestle to acquire some sustenance. The food not only attracts the starving boys, but also draws in some boda boda drivers who find it cruelly humorous to seize juice from the adolescents and mockingly chug it in front of them. Once the food is quickly devoured, the boys begin to settle, lying down thin, often dirty, pieces of cardboard as mattresses. There are no lullabies to soothe them to sleep tonight, only the hollering and screaming being produced from the fight around the corner. Eyes close as a dozen or so policemen run past to put an end to the quarrel. Prayers are that tonight is not one of the nights that these same armed policemen decide to round up the boys, beat them, and throw them in jail.
The African heat is now far gone and the boys retreat their exposed feet, legs, arms, and heads into their worn out, dirty charcoal sacks. Rest is taken in shifts and after only a few hours several boys jump up to begin scavenging, leaving the cardboard and sacks for their friends returning from foraging through the streets. By 6 am the sun has begun its ascent into the sky and the remaining boys pack up their belongings in preparation for the new day. The same charcoal sacks used at blankets find another use as they are packed with dirty, plastic bottles and pieces of scrap metal found on the streets, in ditches, and down alleys. After hours of hunting, the collections are brought to a messy shack where a bag full of bottles is exchanged for 300-1000 Ugandan Shillings ($0.11-$0.35) depending on weight. With this small profit in hand, the boys race off to spend most of their earnings on breakfast before repeating the scavenging/collecting for the rest of the day.
This is how our team spent last night/this morning. Four Americans, three Northern Irish and a few Ugandans sleeping on Jinja Road alongside just a few dozen of the thousands of street children in Kampala. All throughout the night, even as we slept, people would just stop and stare at the crazy whites sleeping on the street. It made me wonder, how often do they stop and notice the small boys that sleep on that street every night? Does it ever cross their mind that it is just as crazy that they sleep there? The night was truly humbling as I saw God using us to show those kids - His kids - His love for them. It was just one night, but the experience will not soon be forgotten, as our eyes were opened even more to the daily (and nightly) lives of boys that we are here to serve. We did not overlook the boys on that street last night. We saw them. We acknowledged them. We loved on them. God does not overlook those boys. He sees them. He knows them. He loves them.
But You have seen, for You observe trouble and grief, to repay it by Your hand. The helpless commits himself to You; You are the helper of the fatherless. –Psalm 10:14
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