And in the darkness, we read the most imperishable pages ...

AS students around the world drag home squashed sandwiches and roll their eyes at being nagged to do their homework, Mayiku Hamuzah turns on a kerosene lantern and squints at the pages of his books.

Straight away, you know, this is no ordinary teenager. And when you realise many of his friends are doing the same, you know this is no ordinary school.

Each day, Hamuzah tries to learn as much as he can before dark. Kerosene fuel is expensive, is as bad for his lungs as smoking two packs of cigarettes a day, is not good for his eyes and isn’t very bright anyway. But without electricity, it’s the best lighting source he has once the sun goes down.

In fact, in his tiny village of Kitoola, hidden amongst the butterflies of Uganda’s emerald green Mabira Forest, the only signs of a western education are the coloured paper posters on the walls, the English words written in chalk, and some vintage school desks donated by an American Rotary Club.

There’s no lights, no internet, no fridges, no computers, no play equipment, no library, no running water.

Despite this, the 35 final year primary school children at Hopeland have been ranked 13 out of 185 schools in the district. And the astonishing results don’t end there. Scoring distinctions and high distinctions in all of his subjects, Hamuzah was one of the best performing students in the country.

But Hamuzah is just so thankful he can go to school at all. It hasn’t always been the case for the children of Kitoola. In fact, he is so excited about learning he jogs 50 minutes to and from YOFAFO’s Hopeland Primary School just so he can arrive on time.

And it is now starting to pay off. Despite his challenges, Hamuzah recently scored some of the highest marks in the country in Uganda’s national exams, with distinctions and high distinctions in every subject.

“Hopeland Junior School has lovely and devoted teachers who have made it possible for me to make it and my life has been transformed from zero to hero,” Hamuzah said.

“I want to become an electrical engineer so that I can support my family and I will continue to work hard, even in high school, so that I can achieve my dream.”

But it wasn’t just YOFAFO, his teachers and his mother who he thanked. It was a young girl called Maddy Burns from Boone in North Carolina.

Hamuzah and Maddy met in 2012 when her university organised a volunteer trip to Uganda.

“We were sitting on the front steps of his primary school and he asked me about American foreign policy with Libya and my jaw dropped,” she said.

Their friendship grew over the next week as they played football together and Maddy sat in on his classes. She called her family at the end of the week and they agreed to sponsor him.

A year later, she paid him a surprise visit.

“I will never forget that day, as I walked around the corner with Innocent and we came upon Hamuzah’s house. He was outside studying,” she said.

“When he looked up from his books, he saw me and dropped them on the ground and we ran to each other and were both in tears.

“I am so proud of him and though I’m a bit older than him, I admire and look up to him for inspiration and hope.

“Sponsoring Hamuzah has been by far the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.

“I believe in him and know that he will do whatever he wants in life, especially because he has people like Valence, Innocent, and the teachers at Hopeland guiding him to success.”

To sponsor a child with YOFAFO or make a donation to the organisation, visit www.yofafo.org or email Valence Lutaisire at info@yofafo.org

Black Magic for Brunch

I can't do anything for you today. There's a nausea uprising.

I read these words this morning:

"I have friends who watched everyone they loved violently humiliated and then slaughtered right before their childhood eyes.

I've got friends who believe that when you are a positive person the universe will provide you with positivity and good.

One of my friends, the most kind and gentle person I've ever met who lost everything, is laying in a hospital bed right now with a potentially deadly disease that doesn't exist in the countries where my 'The Gift' friends float around smiling in the sun.

There is no gift, there is no positive force.

There is good luck or bad luck - decided for you at the moment of conception.

History is an unrelenting two faced cunt."

- Facebook.

Armed with a vivid imagination and a sharp mind, Matilda took a stand to change her destiny.

The tsunami wipes out the just and the unjust alike. And in the deepest parts of the ocean where they now lie, it is dark. Where your agony is, it is worse than black. It is memory, it is seeing in vivid colours, of your mother's dress, the mahogany blood, his wild brown eyes. It is excruciating pain that
should put the whole world under a dark grey cloud, but instead unfurls it under blazing blue skies and sucks you in while half the globe heads out to brunch.

"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you...

There was once a little boy, whose head was found in one corner of the reserve, his clavicle another.

Two young girls, thought to be in a peaceful Autumn slumber under a giant Victorian gum tree, kept asleep by the ropes around their necks.

A woman so fierce she kept standing up. Crawled around for six hours, while she was ripped apart and beaten over and over and over with a pole, a chair. Over and over and over. Until her brain lost to a large rock.

"...because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places... 

In this western world, if you focus on a car park being there, it will be there for you. Across the artificial borders, under the same sky, sharing the same oceans, a child wills a cup to move. Matilda had a vivid imagination and a mind as sharp as the knife the child wills to be withdrawn with her eyes. She stares down time, begging it to stop. To reverse. But she can't. And you roll happily into your parallel park, barely negotiating any other traffic in your tree-lined school zone street.

"...Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."

- Roald Dahl

I'm consumed and blinded by you right now, but I'll be back tomorrow.

New cushions

The fan is spreading a breeze under the clothes horse, airing my machine washed clothes. The handles on my carbon frame road bike look eagerly at me, the frame ready to jump and race out the door if I even mouth the word 'ride'. The 'Beaches' soundtrack we found on vinyl on a recent op-shop fossick is adding some oomph to the scent of spiced carrot cake wax melts.

I'm not in Uganda anymore.

No, this is Australia. Where trying to find the right colour / texture combination of cushions to match your new reclining lounge suite can not only become the focus of your day, but also cause a 'domestic'.

"I said from the start that lounge suite wasn't right for the carpet."

It's been five months since I left Lugazi, Uganda. And I haven't written a blog since.

Actually, that's not true. I've written a couple, but I haven't posted them.

The readjustment and reverse culture shock has been nowhere near as difficult, and simultaneously excruciatingly harder, than I imagined it to be.

I can't even reveal to those closest to me what I really think most of the time - for fear of sounding hypocritical, offensive, holier than thou, idealistic, negative, naive, bleeding heart, optimist. And did I mention hypocrital?

I will post the unfinished blogs. It's just every time I think to write one, I tell myself I'm not allowed until I finish the one I started when I first came home.

Today, I'm throwing out my self-imposed rule and starting from here. Sometimes I'll jump back. Sometimes forward. Sometimes things are not going to make a whole lot of chronological or creative sense.

But here it is. A letter.

When I started this blog, I wrote it as letters to my grandmothers: Betty Marshall and Sylvia Toohey.  As Betty's mother's name was Ruby, and Sylvia's maiden surname was Dove, thus the name of the blog (it was either that or Silver Betty...but since I've had a penchant for ruby coloured items for some time, it seemed apt).

These women are two of my favourite story-tellers. One has a timeless and tireless imagination for fairytales - the secret lives of the creatures who live in her garden, and her thousands of dolls who chatter to each other as she sleeps. I do not doubt there are fairies under her Maidenhair ferns. The other, has a wicked memory which stores names, relationships and most importantly, moments of joy, tragedy, tears and hilarity in a filing system only she can see. For those who listen, she will work her magic so that her true stories become your own - a gift to pass on if you open it.

But tonight, I am making an exception, and addressing a letter to Doreen, in Uganda.

Dear Doreen,

I am sitting here in Yeppoon, on the woven mat you gave me, looking at a pineapple. How could I not think of you? Despite the fact I can wander downstairs to the supermarket and buy a large pineapple juice from the fridge, I am tempted to boil the skin, wait for it to cool down, drink my 'juice' and think of you. Truth be told, I prefer your ginger tea.

I am currently employed as the Digital Producer at the newspaper I work for in Queensland, which means I edit online stories and try to grow our online audience by engaging with our community through our stories, and social media. Part of the challenge of building this audience, is to inspire the community to tell their own stories.

So, one of the things I'm asking people to do in the lead-up to Christmas is write a letter. They are being asked to log onto our website and write a letter to someone they won't be spending time with this Christmas. It might be someone they are far away from, or someone who has passed away. They are also asked to upload a photo of something which reminds them of that person. They can write about a shared memory, about what they'll be doing for Christmas, or just what it is they love about that person.

This is me kicking things off.

I wanted to write to you and say even though I may not be there, even though it may seem I am caught up in my life back home, even though I may not write every day, I have not forgotten you. Sometimes, I wish I could.

If I could forget you, I could complain more. I could buy more meaningless things. I could block out what is happening in the rest of the world. I could enjoy a gelati on the beach without wondering what you were doing and wishing you were here to soak everything up with me. I could block out the fact so many people don't have the privileges, opportunities and love that is available to me. I could forget how inspiring, selfless, determined and generous you are and just get on with the job of being a cynical self-absorbed mzungu (white person).

I wish you could all come to my place for Christmas. I know Jo and Beth have never been to the beach, and I'd still love to teach you to swim. You must be nearly due to have number three, and I would love to give you a holiday, and send you off to a foot masseuse and a spa. I will never forget how much Erin had to go through to organise a massage for you. You never had the time to leave the children long enough to leave the house, so she had to bring the masseuse to you. And then you still proceeded to scrub the floors, bring us tea and cook for everyone with two children running around your feet and claiming to be 'helping' you whilst really throwing rice, knives and soapy water from one side of the kitchen to the other.

So I just wanted to let you know, I am thinking of you Christmas Day and every day, and love you and your family with all my heart.

Amy.

#AfricaTime

You know those moments when people keep saying "You should write a blog"... and you think about it, and then you don't, and then it's too late. Well I'm in Africa. And you're never too late for anything in Africa.


I'm not sure why I booked a ticket to Uganda. I'm not sure why Valence's email stood out to me from all the others. But as soon as I signed up to become the social media coordinator for the Youth Focus Africa Foundation, something pretty phenomenal happened. A man called Joseph Kony became a household name, people suddenly had a clue where Uganda was, and the relationship between social media and non-government organisations in developing nations was scrutinised as much as the relationship between Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. 


So, I promise I looked for Kony. I peeked under at least one banana leaf. But I couldn't find him. 


Instead, I found a nation full of gratitude. Of hope. Of beauty. Of exploitation. Of inequality. Of corruption. Of smiles. And of generosity.


These are the letters I have written to my grandmothers.




** For more photos from my trip and to connect with the Youth Focus Africa Foundation, please visit:


My Facebook site: www.facebook.com/amyjoanne.marshall
YOFAFO's Facebook site: www.facebook.com/YOFAFO