A first date with Katine

from The Guardian

Ugandan journalist Richard Kavuma offers his first impressions of Katine sub-county. Richard, who will be spending two weeks a month in the region for us, introduced himself to Guardian readers here

* Richard Kavuma

After weeks of hearing about this "village", which takes in a sub-county of 25,000 people, I was finally there. December 6 2007 found me fully immersed in Katine and immediately touched by its warmth, charmed by its smile, and moved by its motivation in spite of harsh deprivation.

For this first date, I travelled with Katine website editor Mark King, Guardian photographer Dan Chung, Amref consultant Sarah Margiotta and community media facilitator Job Opolot. It was an inspiring first date; one that makes you think of the next course halfway into the first.

A few miles before reaching Katine sub-county, I was catapulted a quarter of a century back: the half a dozen children chasing after and waving at our Amref vehicle reminded me of my childhood.

During the war in 1979 that overthrew Idi Amin, I lived with my grandparents in a village 180 kilometres south of the Ugandan capital Kampala. Back then cars were not that common so the sight of my uncle's car when he visited excited the village's 4-year-olds. They would chase it down the village path to our compound, and together we would "accompany" the visitor until he accelerated away from us.

Looking at the delighted, shirtless, barefooted children race after the vehicle in Katine, I wondered if Katine really was 25 years behind. Not necessarily. In many rural areas in Uganda, life can be brutal and nasty, and it can be nastier and more brutal still for children.

At Katine's quarry, I was both saddened and touched by the sight of children hammering pieces of rock into smaller stones for Uganda's booming construction industry. One 14-year-old, Vincent, said he expected 1,000 Ugandan shillings (65 US cents) from his day's labour. He wanted to use the money to buy exercise books. Vincent, who has a scarred chin, is in Primary Six and hopes to become a doctor – despite the deprivation here, children nurse big dreams, like children anywhere.

At Ojago primary school, which has about 340 pupils, 15 year old Peter told me his problems as a pupil: "We don't have a Uganda flag and we do not have a football." I thought about that for a while. A ball is almost a right for children, it's their right to have something to play with. I wondered if I would be able to save £5 and buy a ball to give Peter and his peers a little joy. But Peter had more problems. The pupils can't get drinking water and some of the standard of teaching is not high because the teachers are not generally qualified in this school and are not paid by the government.

Ojago is a community school. The government pays only two of the seven teachers here and these earn about US$100 a month. The other teachers are paid using the proceeds of a fund created by the desperate parents, and therefore earn barely $10 a month. You don't have to be as old as Peter to see the unfairness.

Then there was Tiriri health centre, where clinical officer Francis Ecelu showed us around. The centre would function far more effectively if it was better staffed and equipped, and if it had more safe water, and its allocated drugs were delivered promptly and regularly.

Inside the health centre, even among the many sickbeds, people still smile at strangers whoever the intruder is. A greying lady was carrying her restless malaria-ridden grandson and the child turned to me and stared, as if to figure me out.

Desperate to cheer him up a little, I tried playing a game, repeatedly covering and uncovering my face with my palm. First the child was curious. Then he relaxed. Then he smiled. Then, he burst out laughing.

"Richard, you've made yourself a friend there," said Sarah, Amref's project management consultant for Katine.

Yes, I feel like Katine and I are friends.