I want to share a story with you about how tough ministry can be here sometimes. Yesterday, a young man called and asked if he could come over. He had something to ask me. When he arrived, I tutoring others on how to build a blog, so he sat on the couch, trying to wait. He looked visible shaken. He was shaking his fingers and breathing hard through a puckered mouth. For a bit, he walked around outside, and then he called me to come out. He really needed to talk. This young man is around 19 years old and I have "known" him since 2009. He is a part of the CAAF (Children Affected by Armed Forces) group that I sometimes work with.
The story started with how he had gone home to the village just after Christmas. He said he just arrived back in town because he had been kicked out of the village home. He gave a strong story about how there had been a fight at home. His drunken father had come back to the compound to find that rice and beans were cooking over the fire. This son was sticking up for the mother, saying that there was no money for meat. A child is not allowed to challenge his father, so a beating resulted. The father then told him he was no longer his son. He was rejecting him. This young man had been staying with an Auntie in town, but he said that the father told his sister, the Auntie, to kick this boy out of her home also. With tears in his eyes, he sat on my steps and showed me a letter that he had picked from home just before he left.
There were no names, but it was dated for New Year's day... and it looked to be from the mother's perspective - it said things like - how can you reject this son that I so painfully carried and gave birth to? He is our son. He has caused pain, but how can you do this to me? Those are not the exact words, but that was the theme of the letter. He just continued to sit there, very emotional - slumped over with tears now rolling down his cheeks.
He asked me if I had any advice. Yikes, where do I begin. I started to ask him more questions and his answers started to sound funny. I told him that I wanted to contact his CAAF leaders, who were very good friends of mine and he didn't want me to. When I told him that we would take one day at a time he stated that "I would rather have died in the bush with Joseph Kony." He also didn't want me to pray with him - which wasn't normal.
He then walked away. Twenty minutes later he called me and told me he should not have told me anything... this was his story to bear. But forty minutes later, when I walked out of my compound to dump my rubbish in the dumpster up the street, I found him moping under a tree. He just sat there, with is socks, shoes, and shirt off. His head was hung low, but he didn't want to talk.
I tried calling the CAAF leader, but he didn't answer his phone. A few hours later, this young man came back to my doorstep and said "Auntie, do you have any last words - this will be our last conversation." In my mind I'm thinking he is speaking suicidal words. I needed to get another Ugandan's perspective and preferrably male. I again called the CAAF leader and didn't get an answer, but I sent a text saying that this boy was in a desperate situation at my house and he needed to come over right away. In order for me to stall for time, I told the kid to have some juice, and let me finish my year end receipting before we went to find him a place to stay for the night. Just as I finished my office work, my dear friend - the CAAF leader, pulled up on his motorcycle. I gave him a quick rundown of the story and then together we approached the young man. Leaning against the cement wall, the young man started to sweat. Thankfully the neighbour kids didn't disturb us, they knew something was up because the young man looked so sad.
The CAAF leader had the phone number of the boy's mother, so we called her to wish her a Happy New Year and to find out how things were at home. She mentioned that her son was being stubborn now days, but for the most part things were fine. We gave her our perspective of the story, and she agreed there had been a fight, but that he still has a place to come home to. The boy no longer looked at us. His answers weren't adding up at all. We asked if we could go speak to his Auntie and he said she wasn't home. Within moments he said, "Well, I guess I'll just go now" and he took off.
I debriefed for a bit with my friend and he thinks this young man wasn't even a former child soldier - just a really good story teller. Hours later I heard that the mother had called my friend back... saying that her son was really traumatized and she got the story wrong and we really needed to help him. Around that same time, the kid had called me to say "Good day Auntie. Bye!" and then he hung up. So strange. Such a shame. The whole thing seemed to be a scam, but we don't even know what the young man wanted, besides attention. My heart is confused and I'm sad to say that there is yet another person that I don't trust in this town. I hate not trusting, but it has to be that way.
The story started with how he had gone home to the village just after Christmas. He said he just arrived back in town because he had been kicked out of the village home. He gave a strong story about how there had been a fight at home. His drunken father had come back to the compound to find that rice and beans were cooking over the fire. This son was sticking up for the mother, saying that there was no money for meat. A child is not allowed to challenge his father, so a beating resulted. The father then told him he was no longer his son. He was rejecting him. This young man had been staying with an Auntie in town, but he said that the father told his sister, the Auntie, to kick this boy out of her home also. With tears in his eyes, he sat on my steps and showed me a letter that he had picked from home just before he left.
There were no names, but it was dated for New Year's day... and it looked to be from the mother's perspective - it said things like - how can you reject this son that I so painfully carried and gave birth to? He is our son. He has caused pain, but how can you do this to me? Those are not the exact words, but that was the theme of the letter. He just continued to sit there, very emotional - slumped over with tears now rolling down his cheeks.
He asked me if I had any advice. Yikes, where do I begin. I started to ask him more questions and his answers started to sound funny. I told him that I wanted to contact his CAAF leaders, who were very good friends of mine and he didn't want me to. When I told him that we would take one day at a time he stated that "I would rather have died in the bush with Joseph Kony." He also didn't want me to pray with him - which wasn't normal.
He then walked away. Twenty minutes later he called me and told me he should not have told me anything... this was his story to bear. But forty minutes later, when I walked out of my compound to dump my rubbish in the dumpster up the street, I found him moping under a tree. He just sat there, with is socks, shoes, and shirt off. His head was hung low, but he didn't want to talk.
I tried calling the CAAF leader, but he didn't answer his phone. A few hours later, this young man came back to my doorstep and said "Auntie, do you have any last words - this will be our last conversation." In my mind I'm thinking he is speaking suicidal words. I needed to get another Ugandan's perspective and preferrably male. I again called the CAAF leader and didn't get an answer, but I sent a text saying that this boy was in a desperate situation at my house and he needed to come over right away. In order for me to stall for time, I told the kid to have some juice, and let me finish my year end receipting before we went to find him a place to stay for the night. Just as I finished my office work, my dear friend - the CAAF leader, pulled up on his motorcycle. I gave him a quick rundown of the story and then together we approached the young man. Leaning against the cement wall, the young man started to sweat. Thankfully the neighbour kids didn't disturb us, they knew something was up because the young man looked so sad.
The CAAF leader had the phone number of the boy's mother, so we called her to wish her a Happy New Year and to find out how things were at home. She mentioned that her son was being stubborn now days, but for the most part things were fine. We gave her our perspective of the story, and she agreed there had been a fight, but that he still has a place to come home to. The boy no longer looked at us. His answers weren't adding up at all. We asked if we could go speak to his Auntie and he said she wasn't home. Within moments he said, "Well, I guess I'll just go now" and he took off.
I debriefed for a bit with my friend and he thinks this young man wasn't even a former child soldier - just a really good story teller. Hours later I heard that the mother had called my friend back... saying that her son was really traumatized and she got the story wrong and we really needed to help him. Around that same time, the kid had called me to say "Good day Auntie. Bye!" and then he hung up. So strange. Such a shame. The whole thing seemed to be a scam, but we don't even know what the young man wanted, besides attention. My heart is confused and I'm sad to say that there is yet another person that I don't trust in this town. I hate not trusting, but it has to be that way.
