Back in my village home

I’m sitting at my makeshift desk looking out the window at the children sweeping the dust and cleaning the compound, moving quickly as the skies have darkened and thunder is rolling in. After months of no rain with only a few scattered storms, everyone is desperate for the water that will quench the thirst of the dry fields and withered crops. I am back in a world where the weather gods dictate the fate of the people who rely so heavily on the land below. Worlds away from our society of overflowing supermarket shelves and produce imported year round so that we barely know what should be in season when. For a city girl, this was all new to me in 2009. Now I just feel an overwhelming sense of belonging being back in my village home.

I arrived to the waiting smile of Dominic and, as usual, the journey south to the village was colourful. We stopped by to visit Rotary John who welcomed me warmly and filled me in on the projects that had been going on in Kabira. Beehives, micro-finance projects, eucalyptus forests, poultry farms, pineapple plantations and piggeries have kept people busy and while the drought hinders such efforts, the determination of the people is strong. We left John in Kampala and continued our journey south, making our way along roads which have been steadily improved over the years but this doesn’t seem to decrease the length of the trip. I first thought that we lived a thousand miles from Kampala but in reality it is only around 300 kilometers.

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This winding journey  is an appropriate way to adjust to African time. Dominic and I chatted about his trip to America and it was clear that he had been affected hugely by his time there. I didn’t think it possible for him to be even more motivated, even more determined, even more inspired than before but he has proven me wrong yet again. The trip opened his eyes to a world beyond his own and he made a huge number of friends from across the globe with his contagious enthusiasm and magnetic personality. Already some of these connections are starting to help KAASO and I feel incredibly proud that we could help facilitate these relationships.

At KAASO, I was welcomed by a mob of excited children who sang and danced and clapped as I entered the school gates. The first face I saw was that of Brenda, one of the little girls from my P1 class in 2009, now 11 years old and growing up fast. It is amazing to watch these children grow over the years and even though every year there are more and more new faces, the old ones take me back to the time when I called this place home. Continue reading

A new home in a village far away

Summer has arrived early in San Francisco and I’m loving every minute. While it’s not exactly Ugandan tropical, my evening walk along the waterfront tonight was full of smiling people, parks of picnickers, pathways lined with those soaking up the last of the light, and as the sun slipped down behind the Golden Gate, some mad people were even swimming…

And on this beautiful evening I have some incredible news to share with you – our dormitory is finished. Mark House was officially opened on the school’s Visiting Day and is now the handsome home to dozens of gorgeous red-sock wearing boys. While the girls proudly moved into their very own Kiwi House in 2009, now, in 2013, the boys have Mark House.

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The dormitory was named in honour of an incredible man named Mark Blomfield. I first met Mark in 2011 when he turned up to one the typically chaotic dinners my mother hosts for hundreds on the deck of our house in the Bay of Islands. He was captivated by the story of KAASO and immediately offered to sponsor two of the children through secondary school. But he didn’t stop there. When I sent out my fundraising appeal in July, voicing the ambitious hope of raising $10,000, I was sitting in an airport frantically typing as my flight was called to San Francisco. Before I’d even managed to board my flight, Mark had pledged £1000. He was a passionate supporter of this dormitory and a constant source of encouragement for me to keep going with the fundraising, believing every step of the way that we would get there. To help get us over the line, Mark offered to match every donation dollar for dollar, an overwhelming act of kindness and compassion. Tragically, last November, Mark died of a heart attack. It was a devastating loss and while I had only known him a year, he made a huge impression in that short time. He was someone who cared deeply and, with quiet determination, made sure this dream would come to life. This dormitory is dedicated to his wife Jan and to Mark’s memory. I know he would have been proud.

Mark House

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