Mama Jude: An Australian Nurse’s Extraordinary Other Life In Africa

by Judy Steel

  I was seated next to a Catholic nun called Sister Rose and on the other side was Ritah. Suddenly she vacated her seat, telling me that a pastor was going to sit next to me. This seemed odd and I immediately had an uneasy feeling about this man. He kept leaning into me and insisting I visit him, but when I finally told him I didn’t have any spare time left before I returned to Australia he soon slipped away, confirming my thoughts that he was up to no good.

  My speech was the last one made. Edward interpreted as I spoke for ten minutes, and then I asked Edward to sit down. Despite my nerves, I spoke for about five minutes in Luganda, after which the crowd erupted – it was a wonderful moment. The local television crew was there to record the events (we made it onto TV a few nights later), and President Museveni’s regional district officer was promising all sorts of things.

  After the speeches, a birthday cake was cut by four jajas and I joined the widows to distribute it. Without thinking, I took the plates one at a time and knelt before each of the jajas and Godfrey (the paraplegic who we had recently met on a walking clinic) and offered them the food; in Uganda, this is how you give respect to someone who is old. The crowd heaved with emotion and I was swept up into their arms and thanked and blessed. I could not tell how many pictures were taken. Edward’s driver, Charles, grabbed me into a hug – I thought he was going to kiss me. He kept repeating, ‘Thank you, madame, thank you, madame.’ A beautiful photo of this unexpected and moving instant appeared in the paper the next day.

  That weekend, as I lay in bed exhausted from the activity, thunder crashed across the city and then came the wonderful sound of heavy rain falling.

  For several days I pondered how to discuss Ritah’s situation with Edward. When I finally did, I discovered he knew all about it and assured me she would honour her debt. My response was to insist she pay back the loan with back-dated interest. He was caught between a rock and a hard place because he had promised Ritah’s dying husband that he would take care of her and the children; I honestly don’t know how many people this lovely man is responsible for. Florence was mortified about the whole situation, especially that she hadn’t told me of the ‘revolving fund’. I discovered that every time a widow paid off a loan she automatically was given a new one and so the small loan scheme had become a revolving fund instead of being open to new applicants. We spoke for a long time, during which several other issues came to light, such as the fact that some women were passing themselves off as widows in an attempt to get loans. This mild form of corruption had to stop.

  Ugandans are so polite that it is very difficult for them to put people in their place. As a mzungu who was leaving soon, it was easier for me to speak directly to those trying to rip off the system, so I suggested to Florence that I could make it clear how things would be done. She was so relieved and said Edward would be too, because he worried about Ritah but didn’t want to get too involved.

  When we met with Ritah she apologised, then we worked out how to restructure her loan. The upgrade of her piggery would still go ahead after the repayments began. We praised her work with the widows group over the past three years and, in a face-saving effort, suggested she stand down as chair and accept the honorary (but powerless) title of patron. She thought that was a wonderful idea.

  After six busy weeks, my final days in Africa were frantic, as usual. Florence and I visited the Congolese refugees and found ten adults and twenty-one children living there this time. Some of the refugees had been resettled in Norway while others had moved into smaller accommodation because the owner wanted his house back. There had been some improvement in cleanliness and the smell, but the conditions were still appalling. They were grateful for the free medical treatment. I heard the horrific story of one fifteen-year-old boy who actually saw the rebels eat his mother and wondered how this dear child could possibly live with the memory of such an event.

  The clinic was bustling and one day Edward saw over one hundred patients, plus at least fifty mothers and babies for immunisation. Each child was given a toy after getting their shots.

  I wasn’t feeling great and my left femur was aching, but I was determined to go on one last walking clinic before I left, despite heavy rain turning most of the tracks into bogs. It was worth the effort.

  Sisi, the beautiful blind jaja who I have known since I started coming to Uganda, asked for a photo with me so that her grandchildren could talk about it with her. When I told her I was going home, Sisi very softly started singing a song about saying goodbye and how much she loved me. Then the widows with me, Ruth and Jane, softly joined in the singing and my eyes filled up to overflowing.

  I found one jaja in a dreadful state – so bad I would call it abuse. She was sitting on the floor on a mattress covered with black plastic because she was incontinent. Demented and dirty, she had not been cared for in any way for several days. I finally found a seventeen-year-old granddaughter who was responsible for her care and told me she fed her three times a day, did her washing and bathed her every evening. I did what I call my ‘Jesus in the temple’ thing and told her she was lying. I said her father was to be told that Judy Nambatya said he was not honouring his mother and should be ashamed, and that if he didn’t like what I had to say he could see me at the hospital. While I spoke, the two widows swept and washed the floor and the girl made her grandmother a cup of tea.

  Afterwards I reported them to the village authority, known as an LC 1. In Uganda, each district has leaders with various titles, starting with LC 1 and moving up to LC 5. Each rank brings greater responsibility and importance. Everyone who wants to qualify for a loan must have their application form signed by the LC 1 to show they are known and resident of a village. Unknown to me the LC that I had spoken to had in fact asked us to call on this jaja at the UACO Day celebrations. It was important for the family to know they had been reported to the LC 1 so they will take better care of their jaja.

  I went to a farmers’ market and bought some food and other things for Anna-Mary and Beth, including a kilogram of meat. A few weeks earlier I had been awoken at seven o’clock one morning by a banging on the door – it was Beth, desperate to show me her school report. I was barely awake, but understood her well enough when she quietly and respectfully said, ‘I haven’t got a schoolbag.’ They were so delighted with the food, new schoolbag and clothes I had brought that they decided to host a ‘meat party’ that evening inviting their neighbours to share the meal. Beth read several verses from a Bible which I had given her three years ago and was now well worn. I wasn’t convinced she had the academic ability to go much further than primary school, but Allan and I were committed to sponsoring her until she at least had a trade like sewing so she could earn an income. The room they lived in was so much better than their last, but it was still a slum which leaked when it rained and where rats gnawed the strap of Beth’s shoes. The number of people living in the room varied from three to seven, depending on circumstances.

  Everybody in Uganda needs so much that it can be hard at times not to take it personally. My final meeting with the youth group turned into a bit of a lecture from me about not always wanting. Instead we worked on ideas for income generation and what they could give back to their community. At the end of the meeting they announced that a special football match had been arranged in my honour the following Sunday afternoon.

  In true Ugandan fashion, when we arrived for kick-off another match was being played. Eventually the teams agreed they would only play two thirty-minute sessions because it was going to get dark by 7 pm. At one stage a man pushed his wheelbarrow full of matoke across the pitch to save himself going all the way round, while another man rode his bicycle across, a cow following behind him. As it turned out, the first session went for thirty minutes and the second for fifty minutes; it appeared that the referee was the coach of the other team and, because the score was one all, he kept extending the match in the hope his team would boot another goal. Eventually he had to blow his whistle because it was almost too dark to s
ee.

  After long discussions with Edward, Florence, Bukenya and Ronald, we agreed they would form a management committee which met monthly and emailed me the minutes. The system would take some pressure off Edward so he didn’t have to make all the decisions. The budget from Australian donations for the next financial year was over $18,000 and included an increase in Florence’s salary.

  On my last weekend, Florence invited me to her house for lunch and to meet her husband, Dan. He is a doctor and works about four hours from Kampala so is only home on weekends. I could tell he and Florence have a lovely relationship – they look as though they are very much in love. It is the same with Edward and Rose and it is special. I haven’t seen that very much in Uganda.

  My final presentation was always going to be emotional, but there was extra significance as we met in the Nigel Ambler Memorial Conference Room, which was packed to overflowing. I used prepared overheads to speak about successes and areas that could be improved. I then explained the structure of UACO, how we raised money and who got paid. It was a sharp reminder of how much is done by people for nothing: everyone involved with UACO was a volunteer with the exception of Bukenya, who is paid by Edward, and Florence and Ronald, who are paid by UACO. The other hospital staff are paid by Edward. There were needs everywhere, but priorities for now were rehabilitation facilities for the physiotherapist and another container of medical supplies for the hospital.

  I was happy with how the meeting had concluded, but I should have known some more speeches and gift-giving were coming. I was holding it together until the youth group leaders, Ronnie and Paul, spoke. They told me that of all the things I had taught them, the most important was to love one another. Then, one by one, the widows came up to say goodbye and they were all crying, as was Florence. Usually Ugandans are so strong and there is even a word in their language –– which means ‘do not cry’. Later, when I went to write my journal, the tears continued to splash onto the keyboard. All I could write was: What a gift to be loved so much.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ONCE AGAIN I RETURNED home via England to see Fiona and her family, then Allan and I travelled to Brisbane and Sydney to catch up with the boys and their families. It gave us time to talk and we returned home brimming with ideas about the people of Najjanankumbi. The challenge was finding enough money to do everything we wanted to.

  Allan and Fred had started collecting rehabilitation equipment from various hospitals and organisations. It got busier for them after Edward wrote to the then South Australian health minister Lea Stevens asking for help with specific items. She responded that the government would be happy to give some surplus hospital and medical equipment, so for weeks the pair shuttled around South Australia collecting items from major Adelaide hospitals and regional clinics.

  The wish list had started growing even while I was in uganda. Lubega, our physiotherapist, told me of a three-year-old boy he was treating named Ssematimba Isham who has cerebral palsy. They needed a wheelchair for him because he was getting heavy and his body often went into spasm, making it difficult to carry him. Lubega hoped that when the child turned eight he could go to a special school for children with disabilities. I had emailed Allan to see if he could find a small wheelchair and my plea was met tenfold by a wonderful assortment of surplus equipment donated by Novita Children’s Services (formerly the Crippled Children’s Association). This would enable mothers of disabled children to get them out of their homes and into the sunshine and our rehabilitation clinic.

  Once again the Kiwanis Club of Adelaide came to our aid and not only bought the six-metre shipping container we required but painted it inside and out as well. I had been debating the best way to use the container once it arrived, originally considering turning it into a flat where I could stay when in Uganda. However Kampala is such a noisy city and there is a loud night-time bar near the hospital compound which would prohibit any peaceful evenings. Eventually we decided it would become the medical clinic while the original container would become a multipurpose room rather than just a club room for the youth group.

  By October 2004, the container was ready to be packed. We celebrated at Westbourne Park Church with supporters, some of whom had helped store equipment in their garages. Some returned on packing day to help the professionals. At the end we had some items left over and were able to give them to another organisation that regularly sent humanitarian aid to Africa.

  While the emphasis of the first container was on furnishing and equipping the hospital, the second container was designed to help with small medical and consumable items, as well as containing dental and physiotherapy equipment. After the packing was done, an invoice was written up for customs:

  205 cartons of consumable medical, hospital, physiotherapy, rehabilitation and clinic supplies

  11 walking frames

  1 hospital privacy screen

  1 medical examination lamp

  9 hospital beds

  12 MediFlex hospital mattresses

  2 medical/physiotherapy examination tables

  2 hydraulic hospital trolleys

  14 pairs of crutches

  2 stainless steel children’s hospital cots

  2 stainless steel jugs

  10 stainless steel hospital utensils

  2 hospital bed lifters

  1 blanket frame

  5 IV stands

  4 quad walking sticks

  4 leg splints

  31 walking sticks

  2 pick-up sticks for disabled patients

  2 lead X-ray protection coats

  16 hospital sheets

  48 hospital gowns

  20 surgical gowns

  29 hospital bedspreads

  20 theatre tunics

  308 theatre drapes

  41 doctor’s surgical trousers

  8 MediFlex bolsters for physiotherapy

  1 pair of adjustable parallel rehabilitation bars

  1 child rehabilitation exercise machine

  1 stationary exercise bike

  12 exercise mats

  2 child rehabilitation carry seats for cerebral palsy

  3 child wheelchairs

  5 child pushers

  2 child chairs for clinic

  10 boxes of educational resources

  10 adult wheelchairs

  1 trolley for transporting oxygen cylinders

  13 chairs for clinic use

  1 microwave oven for hospital/clinic use

  1 complete set of doctor’s surgical instruments

  1 clinic ceiling ventilator

  1 door and window and vent assembly for installation in clinic

  1 box ultrasound gel

  4 folding clinic tables

  2 cans of clinic heat guard paint

  As it sailed from Adelaide’s Outer Harbour for Uganda via Singapore and Mombasa, I hoped the container would arrive as a Christmas present for Edward. Deep down though I was just hoping that it would arrive at all, given the notorious 1000-kilometre cross-country journey it would take from Kenya to Uganda, where looting is common.

  Our prayers were answered (only four days late) and on 29 December the container was delivered to Najjanankumbi. Edward arranged for a cameraman to film the excitement for us to share. He wrote saying the quality of the equipment was better than anything he had seen in Uganda and he was amazed at the generosity of Australians. The unloading was like no other Christmas at Busabala Road, with the contents eliciting shrieks of joy. Lubega couldn’t contain his excitement at the physiotherapy equipment and immediately used one of the small wheelchairs to help Ssematimba Isham. It was an instant relief to his mama, who had had to carry him for more than a kilometre to the clinic for treatment. Edward had organised a concrete platform for the container and it was placed at a right angle to the other container. Soon doors and windows were installed and a roof built to protect it from the weather. The UACO outreach was now 50 per cent bigger and could accommodate a meeting place for the youth, widow and HIV/AIDS groups, plus private
counselling rooms.

  About the same time, the management committee reported via email that a further twenty-three loans had been approved. On average, each loan was $230, which was more than double the first round. Our confidence in expanding the scheme [stemmed from the success of that first round, when all the loans had been repaid. This is a well-known trend across the developing world – where micro-loans are given to women they have a stunning rate of repayment – and Uganda was no different.

  One HIV patient with three children used a small loan to buy and sell matoke on the roadside; within months she had repaid the loan and borrowed three times the amount to expand her business to include a piggery. Now that she could afford the fees, her children were back at school. Another set up a small grocery shop to sell chapatis, while another widow with five children was selling charcoal and matoke. This was beneficial to those who had started businesses and also to UACO, as the interest received was a further step toward self-sufficiency.