Rest

The bright light of the full moon weaves in and out of the leaves of the banana trees. Fallen rain drops glisten in the grass, and the world seems to be a friendly place tonight. Crickets, toads, and a variety of other creatures join in the evening symphony as fireflies dance among the trees and tall grasses. Even posho-beans seems a bit more palatable this evening as I stare up at the moon. The stars hide behind a veil of misty clouds, their usual splendor lost tonight in the bright moonlight.

I am almost content; almost lost to the beauty of the Africa that I am coming to know. My quiet solitude, a time for resting before heading in the house to begin the nightly routine with the children, is disturbed by a growing dread for “the night”.

I didn’t understand the fear of “the night” when I first came. Now I am catching glimpses, and I must admit, a sense of “disquiet” is growing inside of me. Night is no longer welcomed as a time for resting, a peaceful time of quiet, a time when you sleep, and your world sleeps with you. Night is the time for Night Dancers, for Burglars, for wild animals to roam, and for mosquitoes. Night is a time of anonymity, where deeds are committed that no one is held accountable for. Night is a time of dreams. Night is a time when fears seem larger than life, and when sleep is not found.

Here at the children’s home it is hot. Mbarara steams as sun and water collide head on each day. The sticky heat can be almost overlooked during the day as breezes cool your sweating forehead. At night though, windows closed, the heat becomes oppressive. Mosquitoes take full advantage of every inch of exposed skin, seemingly undeterred by nets, bug spray, citronella oil, and swatting hands. You can hear them coming, the attack is vicious and constant. Survive the first onslaught and you may get a few hours rest until the next attack at 4 am.

Sleeping in a new place generally takes a few nights of adjusting before rest truly comes. Here though, rest is hard to find each night as I am plagued by fears unfounded. I fear that in sleep I may not hear a child calling out for help. I fear I may not hear if a trespasser is checking the locked doors, looking for a way in. I fear that the doors aren’t actually locked, that the keys are lost, or that the doors won’t be opened in time if there is an emergency. I fear the mosquitoes.

My mind runs as I search for ways to share the burdens of these children. My heart grieves for the hurts they have shared with me throughout the day. I rest my hands on their foreheads, I hug them, I pray with them, I hold them, and I tell them not to fear. Their fears are becoming mine.

In exhaustion I become more susceptible to the fears I hear shared throughout the day. There are rarely monsters hiding under beds here; the night is dangerous enough without them. Rats. Mosquitoes. Wild Dogs. Night Dancers. Burglars.

The full moon now seems less friendly. The banana plantation is shrouded in shadows. Strange noises come from all around me; insects creeping and crawling, hidden creatures communicating one to another. The cold wet grass sends chills up my spine as I walk through the field towards the house. I look for the stars, a familiar comfort, but they are hidden from view. Posho beans sits like a rock in my stomach, the last bite moving slowly and painfully down my throat.

I spoke truly when I said many of these fears are unfounded. They are stealing my sleep, but they are illegitimate. I am not the only one here to watch over these children. Patrick and Wellen, two of my UG brothers are here, sleeping on opposite ends of the compound, one ear ever open to the sounds of the night. The cook/door locker / guard is faithful to do his job; I hear the doors as he checks the locks- the padlocks resounding against the metal doors. Rebekah sleeps in the bunk above me. These details are readily overlooked in my tired thoughts.

I enter the home, sit with the children, and listen to their conversations. After dinner we gather together. I read a bible story, one of the boys reads Ps 23, and one of the girls reads two short stories for the youngest children. A child looks for the drum as we begin singing, children joining in, clapping their hands and leading the verses at will. I ask for a second song and from that point on the children take the lead. Two songs later a young boy leads us in prayers. Lots of hugs given as the children all make sure they tell me goodnight. I inform the older boys that quiet time begins in 30 minutes and head to my room.

The crickets and toads continue their symphony. Thanks to the rain today the evening humidity is diminished. I kill the two mosquitoes I see in my room and prepare for bed. As I sit here typing I feel the fears easing. Confessing my concerns to Patrick he admonishes me, “I am on duty, you rest in peace, I will listen for you”. My sweet children are tucked in, ready to sleep, knowing they are loved and no longer worrying about the concerns of today. Perhaps tonight rest will come.