I last visited Adjumani in 2008. At that time, the Hope Alive sponsored students in Adjumani were all refugees from Sudan. Many of the Sudanese refugees living in Uganda were given the opportunity to voluntarily repatriate between 2007 and 2011. A majority of the students being sponsored by HA also returned to South Sudan with their families, leading HA to close the Adjumani site following South Sudan’s independence in 2011. For years, I have been wanting to return to the town. With recent violence in South Sudan, a number of South Sudanese have returned to Northern Uganda as refugees. I was hoping to also visit some of these refugee camps to see the situation firsthand. We had brought a number of small children’s toys and balls to pass out at the camps.
We found Adjumani town much as I had remembered it. The central town area is rather small, consisting of only a few main roads lined with shops, guest houses, and eating joints. The refugee settlements were all located around 10-20 km away from the main town. The camp system, however, seemed more organized than it was previously, although this could simply be my perception due to fading memory of what it was like before. There were numerous signposts that clearly marked the locations of the camps. In addition, there was a clear system in place for administering bureaucratic protocols and some level of security at the camps.
We first tried to visit Nyumazi reception center, where refugees first go for processing and camp assignment when they arrive in Adjumani district. I was surprised to find that it was fenced and gated. In the past, I remembered freely visiting and walking through the numerous camps spread around Adjumani district. (Yet, now I am realizing that Hope Alive had probably gone through some sort of registration process to be allowed to work in the camps at that time.) We were refused entry into the reception center due to a lack of the proper documents. We were politely encouraged to drive about 10 kilometers back towards Adjumani town in order to obtain the proper permissions from the Office of the Prime Minister. Although it was frustrating, I was glad to see that there were some security measures in place, as there should be.
We drove back to the Office of the Prime Minister, the governmental entity which is tasked with Refugee Issues. What follows is typical of the Ugandan system. We entered the office and asked to speak with the man in charge. The secretary proceeded to tell us to sit down and she would let him know that we were there. (This is Ugandan code for “you are not important and I will tell the boss when I feel like it”.) After about 15 minutes of waiting, I still had not seen the secretary go in to inform the “boss” that we were there to see him. I approached her again and asked how long we were going to be waiting. She informed me that he was “very busy”. As luck would have it, the “boss” emerged from his office at the very moment I was speaking with the secretary. He looked at me and I took the opportunity to greet him and ask for a few minutes of his time. And that is how we finally got invited into his office. (Otherwise, it is likely we would have waiting for at least an hour or more.)
I explained why we were there and that we needed permission to enter the camps. He unempithetically informed me that we needed a letter from a Kampala office in order for him to give us permission. I explained again that we were not with any specific organization, and thus had no reason to obtain a letter. But he kept insisting that he could not give us permission without this letter from Kampala. He asked me, “What can we do [about this]?” This questions is the Ugandan way of indirectly asking for a monetary bribe. I played stupid, though I knew what he meant. There was NO way I was giving this guy money in exchange for permission to hand out soccer balls to refugee kids. We continued to “discuss” the matter while I fed him a mix of ego-enticing flattery that acknowledged his power while also administering a heavy dose of guilt for his obstruction of our aid efforts in the camps. Ultimately, our persistence won out and the big man gave us a pass to enter the camps… but not without taking a few of the small toys to “show his boss”. Call it a Ugandan tax.
We drove back to Nyumazi II refugee settlement. The camp itself seemed fairly well organized with noticeable square-shaped plots for each family. The plots typically contained a hut and a very small garden surrounded by a crude fence made of scrap wood. The Ugandan government does graciously allow these refugees to obtain small plots and to grow their own food. Refugees in other countries often do not have this “luxury”. However, the plots within the settlements are incredibly small. There is not nearly enough land within a single plot to cultivate all the food needed to feed a typical family. The refugee settlements are still supplemented with food from the UN, USAID, and UK AID. In fact, there was a food distribution the very day that we visited.
We were able to hand out some small toys to the children. We found a quieter area near a church to greet and play with the children, but of course word spread like wildfire that we were handing out “gifts” and before long we were surrounded by a hoard of children. We eventually moved to a nearly deserted soccer field at the other end of the camp where our presence had not yet attracted a crowd. Jeff decided to give a soccer ball to the few children playing there. Within five minutes, there were at least 50 children on that field. The area was open enough that we felt no one was in danger of being stampeded. So we stayed and played for a while. What followed was some impromptu songs (hokey pokey, head shoulders knees and toes, etc) and games (follow the leader, ring around the rosie, frisbee toss, etc). But by far the highlight for most of the children seemed to be touching Jeff’s skin! Because he was sunburned, they were amazed by the sight of pressing his skin and seeing it turn from red to white and back to red again. Smiles and laughter abounded.
In honesty, this is not usually the way I like to operate in these situations. I much prefer the type of “aid” that requires relationship-building, builds up the community, and brings long-lasting change. Showing up at a camp, throwing out toys, and leaving is generally a method of operation that I despise. However, there is also something to be said for creating hope and showing love through simple actions. Oftentimes, the children in these camps have suffered so much in the wake of war: being uprooted from their homes, witnessing violence, and living in a constant state of limbo. A brand new soccer ball or a jump rope can bring a moment of pure joy to a child who might have little else to celebrate. Jeff and I are just random white people meandering into the camp, but our presence in the camp might bring hope that the world has not forgotten them. We cannot fix their situation, but we can hold little hands and show loving concern. These short, singular visits are not ideal, but they can still carry great purpose. I pray that our short presence somehow planted hope in the little hearts surrounding us.
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