The Taboo Challenge
As a new charity, we knew we had to garner public confidence in Starchild before we could take on anything really ambitious. It’s hard to tell people you are going to build a school in Uganda when you haven’t proved you can complete any kind of project out there. We knew people would need to see some evidence that we could work with the locals and change lives before they would take us seriously. What Starchild needed to do was to tackle some small, manageable projects that we could share on social media to build support for our school plans.
When my new brother, David, first asked me to visit his government school in West Kulungo, Masaka, I was surprised at the high ratio of boys to girls. David told me, sadly, for many African girls, education is a considerable challenge. Patriarchal structures are still deeply embedded— especially in rural life. With limited funds, the boy child is favored when it comes to education. Most often, the girls are forced to marry as early as thirteen years old and don’t have a chance of secondary education. I discovered that Uganda has one of the highest rates of child marriage in the world. And, once a girl has her first period, she is considered ready for marriage. A young bride whose honor has been protected can fetch a good price. For poor rural families, it is understandable why marriage can be an attractive option. Going to school can be a risky business, with many girls becoming victims of rape—often on the way to and from school. Girls also learn from an early age that sexual favors can be bartered for almost anything, including rides to and from school. With many having to walk up to five miles a day—hungry and thirsty—you can imagine the exploitation that can happen. Domestic abuse is also rife in many families. It is, therefore, most often thought better to marry girls off early rather than run the risk of their girl child losing their honor within the family or elsewhere.
And, for those lucky enough to get a chance of an education, something as natural as menstruation can mean an end to their education.
David explained most families could not afford any form of the necessary sanitary protection, so by the age of puberty most girls are forced to drop out of school. He also told me about the huge stigma surrounding menstruation in Africa. Many males think it is dirty and that girls are cursed. They are often teased so badly that they stay away from school during their monthly cycle. Many are even ostracized in the community.
I had heard about this being a huge problem in Third World countries but it wasn’t until I spoke to some of the girls at David’s school that I grasped just how appalling the situation is in Uganda. Many of the girls told me how they missed important exams, having to stay at home and sit in the sand instead for almost a week. Many resort to leaves or rags, which is not sustainable throughout the school day. Unsurprisingly, this can lead to embarrassment and worse, infections. I also witnessed a distinct lack of sanitation facilities and almost no hygiene care, which makes managing menstruation an absolute nightmare for these girls!
My heart went out to them. No girl anywhere in the world should be stigmatized, forced to miss school, or have to drop out because of something as natural as their menstrual cycle. When I shared some of their personal stories with the Starchild board, we all agreed to take up the challenge and try to help these girls. The social problems we knew would be much harder to tackle and with limited experience, the last thing we wanted to do was bulldoze our way into a country with our “Western” conditioning without fully understanding the background to the social conditionings in Uganda. Besides, until we proved we could follow through with concrete projects, build some trust in Uganda and at home, we had no hope of challenging some of the social injustices. If we could at least provide the girls with sanitary care we would be helping to empower them.
Rony has a very creative brain and let’s just say he is also in touch with his feminine side. Quick as a flash, he came up with what I thought was a brilliant campaign. We called it The Taboo Challenge. The idea was that men would go into a chemist, pharmacist, or supermarket, buy a packet of sanitary products and take a selfie holding the box. When they did, they would post the picture on Facebook and text ‘taboo’ to Starchild, donating £3. They would then nominate a male friend to do the same. Well, I guess if you are going to do something, it might as well be controversial. After all, they do say there’s no such thing as bad press.
Much to our delight, most men joined in and shared the challenge with one another—those who didn’t were shamed into making a donation anyway. It was the cause of much hilarity as some men treated a pack of tampons like Kryptonite in the hands of Superman! After the initial few videos and pictures—some by local celebrities—it took off amongst our Facebook friends and we raised enough cash to buy every girl in the school sanitary care for a year. But perhaps the biggest thing that came out of it was that some male teachers in David’s school in Uganda also took selfies holding packets of sanitary products and posted them on Facebook. This was unprecedented! We had not only broken a bit of a taboo in Scotland, but we had broken a huge taboo in Uganda.
It wasn’t long before we discovered another very large charity, whose name I won’t mention, was hijacking our idea. Rony and I had been trying to promote the campaign nationally and had written to Channel Four News, the Lorraine Kelly Show, Tampax, etc. to help boost awareness of the campaign but, sadly, to no avail. Suddenly, less than two months after we launched our campaign, this large charity—with a lot of Who’s Who on their board—took our idea and ran with it. They somehow managed to receive plenty of media attention. Oh, well, at least some more girls in Africa benefited from it. But it still would have been nice if they had acknowledged the creator behind the campaign and given Starchild the visibility boost we so desperately needed. No one on our board was getting paid, let alone a six-figure salary. Go figure.
Comfort and Joy
Uganda
The day starts out well—we are even at the equator bang on time. We’ve brought friends to Uganda for the first time. Helen is an arts workshop facilitator and Iain is the treasurer of Starchild. Iain and Helen get to witness the water going down the hole clockwise on the north and anticlockwise on the south side—just like I did during my first visit to Uganda.
Frank, me, David and our driver stopped to pose
at the equator
As it’s one of the main tourist attractions, Iain buys his first Ugandan football top and Helen manages to find a few gifts from the crowd of vendors. We take our time shopping and even grab a spot of lunch. I have already warned my muzungu friends that no matter where they eat it is best to be cautious, but there’s a small restaurant to sit down in and everyone is hungry. I must be getting braver as I decide to order a Rolex—No, it’s not a watch—it’s a chapatti wrapped around egg, usually along with some onion and tomato.
Phibi’s husband, Pastor Sam, has come along to help today. I’m grateful as he drives a people carrier which has enabled us to bring more MakaPads on this trip. It must have been a tough job filling his vehicle because Pastor Sam has ordered mounds of matoke! Or, perhaps it’s because he’s wearing a dog collar and he’s getting special treatment?
Thank goodness we do eat because a few miles up the road our second vehicle in the convoy —carrying Pastor Sam, my brother David, and many boxes of sanitary products—breaks down.
After receiving their distress call, we make our way back and find them at the side of the road. After the third boda boda driver comes past and slows down to eye up the muzungus, I decide it is not safe for us to stay here. We are carrying three cameras, mobile phones, iPads and a reasonable amount of cash; we are sitting ducks.
David hops on with a boda boda driver to get help in the town. Once he has arrived back with someone from a local garage, we hightail it out of there.
Rony claims David is sixteen stone after he climbs in the front of the pickup, practically sitting on top of him. Sadly, we have to leave Pastor Sam behind. At least he is wearing his dog collar. It is doubt
ful anyone will bother a pastor with a bunch of sanitary products in his van.
We have already passed a road block on the way here; we know we can’t go back through the same road block overloaded with passengers like this, or those lovely traffic “angels” might do more than fine us.
Instead, David takes us on a detour. He tells us it will take twenty minutes. Ugandans tell you what you want to hear—it could be a two-hour detour for all I know. At least Helen and Iain will get to see village life up close. Then Rony asks to stop the truck. I assume that perhaps his sandwich back at the equator isn’t agreeing with him, but no, he has decided that sitting on boxes of sanitary pads on the back of the truck would be much more comfortable than sitting squashed up with David.
Soon we have a convoy of children chasing after us, waving to the mad muzungu who is sitting like a cowboy on top of the vehicle. Rony distributes as much pocket change as he has, and the children run after the truck as far as they can.
An hour and a half in, it’s my turn to stop the truck. I have to have a “short call” as the Ugandans so charmingly call it. There is no pit latrine around here so David gets the driver to pull the car up outside someone’s home. I ask if he knows the owners and David shrugs his shoulders—Ugandans love to do that when they can’t or won’t answer. I am mortified. Thankfully there is no answer at the front door. I go around the back in search of the latrine but once I see it, there is no way I am going in there! I’d rather pick a bush! I’m learning to squat quite well, so I pick my spot. David doesn’t want to leave me, so he hangs around not far from my spot. I’ve been holding on so long that I produce a river that immediately runs right past my brother. Oh, the joys of Uganda! I’m just thankful that no one on today’s trip has had a dodgy tummy. We’ve ALL suffered in that way at some time or another.
David assures us that it’s not far now. Do I believe him? Of course not. He’s lost. Nothing is signposted. He stops a few boda boda drivers along the way. I’m getting nervous again as I’ve seen the same driver, wearing red, appear then disappear, then appear again. I imagine the worst—there’s going to be a convoy of boda boda drivers around the next winding road and we are going to be held up at machete point.
Just as I am starting to panic, David spies the first school we are visiting—St. Francis. We are now two and a half hours late, but no one here is bothered. Despite the fact they have been standing in the heat for hours waiting, the children greet us with the usual Ugandan flare: busuutis blazing across the grass, hips swinging, tongues trilling, and drums beating. The fact that we have just survived an arduous drive through the heat and along the dusty, bumpy road doesn’t matter; all is forgotten. Who could be anything other than happy listening to these children?
As Helen and I produce the sanitary products, Iain sheepishly takes his leave and decides to check out the structure of the buildings.
There is soon much giggling and hilarity as Helen pulls out her pink Marks & Spencer panties and I demonstrate how to use a MakaPad.
MakaPads were invented by Dr. Moses Kizza Musaazi at Makerere University. They provide low-cost, effective protection. They are made from papyrus and paper waste. The fibers are beaten, dried and softened using no electricity. They are also ninety-five percent biodegradable, which is extremely important given Uganda’s sewage problems.
I have learned things in Uganda I never knew about sanitary protection. It was incredible to hear from the pioneers who designed this product and to discover the research that was done to ensure a low-cost alternative to keep girls in schools. But these senior primary schoolgirls aren’t interested in the details of how they are made; they are just so thrilled to see hundreds of packets of them. They will no longer have to worry about missing school and exams. It might not seem like much, but these sanitary products will transform their lives right now and their opportunities in the future.
We are running late for our next visit, but I’ve been asked to plant a tree at this school in honor of today’s events. I find it pertinent as the school is called St. Francis. Frankie’s name on his birth certificate was Francis. The last time I planted a tree, it was in his memory, at Pollok Country Park in Glasgow. His ashes are scattered under that tree.
Our next school is Kubungo Secondary School—David’s school. Fortunately, it is only a few kilometers away. We are so late arriving that the school day is actually over. The children should be off collecting water for the family, however, much to our delight, all the students and teachers have waited for us.
We unload the truck as quickly as possible while the students organize their dancing and singing to welcome us. A short ceremony later and Helen and I are ready to distribute the sanitary products. I am concerned we can’t give each girl her full supply as Pastor Sam has the rest in his van and it has been hours since we last heard from him.
Just as we start to hand out what we have, our prayers are answered; Pastor Sam appears and saves the day! We can give each girl in the school her supply for the next six months. The other six months we give to one of the female teachers. Each month through the term the girls will be given the rest as required, signing for them each time. If we give them all out now then we run the risk that other female family members will take the girls’ pads from them, or they could even be persuaded to sell them.
Next, we are off to the science department, my brother David’s department. The first time I was here I witnessed David teach. I was impressed with his teaching, but I knew he was struggling to teach science with only one microscope for a class of thirty or so children.
On our first trip to Uganda we met two lovely chaps, Graham and Mal, who were working with a Christian organization called Tools with a Mission. They worked with TWAM to refurbish old or discarded equipment of all kinds: sewing machines, microscopes, tools, and farming equipment. When we met, they were also in Uganda for the first time, visiting some of TWAM’s projects sites’ and showing the communities how to use the tools. They happened to be staying in the room next to us at the guest house.
It was Mal’s birthday while they were there and I suggested we go out for a meal to celebrate. I will never forget Graham’s face. I was sitting talking to him when he turned white and pointed behind me—I was scared to turn around as I thought someone had a gun at my head. That was the night we saw the circus of rats running around the open-plan kitchen and we had just eaten! There’s nothing like an incident like that to bond you for life. Once I started Starchild, Graham told me if I ever needed anything to let them know and he would try to help me.
Well, our charity needed microscopes. I had called Graham and he immediately offered to start collecting any that came his way. In less than a year we had been able to provide forty microscopes (and some prepared slides) for David’s class.
Today the children from David’s science class are lined up with their microscopes and slides to demonstrate with enthusiasm the difference this equipment is making to their education. I hope to use this experience as a starting point for organizing a science bridge project with Dr. Mhairi Stewart from the University of St. Andrews in Scotland that empowers Ugandan girls to become scientists. It’s an exciting project that will focus classroom discussions on health-related topics in Uganda. In particular, we hope to raise awareness and understanding of the prevalent diseases that communities face on a daily basis such as malaria, typhoid, HIV, TB, and sleeping sickness. The fact that we now have these teaching tools in place will really help, and I’m delighted to see the profound benefit the microscopes are already having.
It’s been a long journey to Kabungo Secondary School, but completely worth the effort. As we drive off, we are astonished to see the girls from the school carrying their six-month supply of sanitary products on their heads. It’s endearing and emotional to see them showing off with pride something that is usually so taboo. They may not be aware, but it shows solidarity with the fight women have for equality. I drive off full of ho
pe that these young women might one day empower other women in their country to fulfill their potential and transform their lives. We are all responsible for helping marginalized women in countries around the world. It is essential to help free them from poverty and brutality and give them dignity and purpose.
Jelly Beans and Gin
It has been a long day and everyone is tired and hungry; before we head back to Kampala we need to eat. David suggests a restaurant we may like, inside a local hotel. As we drive up the exotic pathway to this impressive building Iain whispers in my ear, “I suppose we muzungus will be footing the bill again. Why not pick the best place in town, eh?”
It’s true: the muzungu always gets handed the bill and it can be disheartening. Even the wealthy Ugandans expect us to pick up the tab. However, as a deputy head teacher, David would have to pay a third of his weekly salary for one meal here. I know that David is trying to be thoughtful by taking us here; he wants to show us a beautiful place to eat in his town. The hotel is grand, with that old-world British charm that still exists in parts of Uganda. David tells me he was hoping we could have come here earlier in the day in order to see the beautiful gardens too.
As we walk through the large glass doors we become aware that we are the only people there. There doesn’t even seem to be any staff around. My first port of call in a Uganda establishment such as this is always to look for the ladies room and today is no exception. After walking the vast, lonely corridors I find myself a VIP loo. Hurray! But I’m brought instantly back down to earth by the substantial array of free condoms on offer and the signs decorating the walls warning me about sexually transmitted diseases. I surmise the hotel has a reputation for casual encounters of the intimate kind. Suddenly I don’t feel like sitting on the loo after all and practice my squatting skills yet again.
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