The Price of Stones by Twesigye Jackson Kaguri

Author:Twesigye Jackson Kaguri
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-03-29T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

A SONG OF HOPE AND DESPAIR

Three days after my visit with Professor Mondo, I rented a Land Cruiser and made the grueling drive to Nyakagyezi with Samuel Mugisha and Frank’s son, my nephew Stephen. Sam was one of the orphaned boys Frank and I had helped in the village. He now lived in Kampala, where he and his wife owned and operated a travel company catering to international tourists. He remained an avid supporter of the school. Stephen had graduated from high school. Along with his interests in computers and technology, he was our school photographer. Whenever he visited Nyaka, I could rest assured that everything would be recorded on film.

When we arrived in the village that night, Faida greeted us at the front door.

“Where is Maama?” I asked.

“She is resting,” Faida said. “The pain in her back has been bad today.”

Since Faida had divorced, she was spending more time at my parents’ home helping Maama.

“I am glad you are here to take care of her, sister.”

Before I slept that night I prayed for Maama. She had suffered enough in her life. I wished I could remove her pain, but that was her burden.

The next morning, I rose early to inspect the work that had been accomplished in my absence.

The new gravity-fed water system had been installed. One of only ten taps in the village, a square cement basin supporting it and a drainage sluice, was located in my parents’ backyard. Instead of water carted from distant streams, people had convenient water stations and relatively clean water.

Now that the main school building had been erected, the foundation was being dug for a guesthouse. The school’s board of directors had recommended we build a guesthouse to make living at the school more comfortable for visitors and as a potential source of income. Many guests had lived at my parents’ home, but housing our interns, who stayed for months at a time, was becoming disruptive.

When I arrived at the school that afternoon, the children were concluding their meal and washing dishes at the school’s water tap. A welcoming celebration planned for that day was supposed to be a surprise. With students gathering at the school on a Saturday and the aroma of cooking goat meat wafting across the field, it was difficult to pretend I did not know. I would let the children think I was surprised. My happiness would not come from their gifts of food and song, but from seeing the joy in their eyes.

“Time to get ready,” Lydia reminded the children.

They scattered quickly and she ushered us across the yard to one of the classrooms. Along the far wall, a table covered with a white cloth had been set with a banquet of traditional foods. The room soon filled with people, including teachers, supporters, and the school’s management committee. Christine led the group in prayer and we lined up for the buffet.

I found myself behind Habib Museka, a thin, older man and an indispensable part of our leadership group.

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