I met Paul my very first week in Uganda. I had originally come to help out in an orphanage, and I was exploring the nearest town to where I was staying. That town was called Jinja. I stopped to have some lunch at a restaurant, but I couldn’t eat my food. There were children who needed it much more than I did. Just outside, sat a group of 7 children ranging in age from about 4 to 14. I didn’t know it yet, but one of these children would become like my own. In the small space of time that I was in Uganda, one of these children would teach me more than I have learned in my entire lifetime and this same child would open my eyes to my own life’s calling. The children were all begging for scraps of my lunch, looking hungry and weak and sad. Oddly enough, the only one not begging was Paul. I decided I would not eat all of my food. I wasn’t really that hungry anyway. I gave my food to those kids, and they all ran off to eat what I had given them. None of them hesitated and none of them looked back…. they were all so hungry, and afraid that if they didn’t eat it, and quickly, they wouldn’t get to eat that day at all. However, one child did stop running with the pack. He looked back at me, and ran to me. He looked into my eyes and said, in English-“THANK YOU”. Then he took off as quick as his bare feet would take him back to his team to share the little bit of food I had given them.

I was taken completely aback by this gesture and I cried. I cried hard, and I could not stop thinking about that child. Where did he learn this type of behavior? How did he come to be so special? What was his name? Where were his parents, did he eat again that day? Was he okay? My mind was consumed by him, and the very next day, I went back to Jinja to find him again. I did, and I bought him and his entire team biscuits, bread and water. I asked his name, and found out he was called Olupert Paul. I didn’t know what I could do to help this child-the orphanage in which I worked was full, but I knew I had to do something. I continued going to Jinja every day that I could, and I would always look for Paul. I bought him and as many street children as I could find food every day. All of the children were special and they all needed help, but it was Paul that I was drawn to…there was just an energy between us, and I knew I had to help him. I knew he was something extraordinary and I knew that for me, he would represent all of the children whom I could not help.

Eventually, I met a Ugandan man by the name of Mike Asiya. This man has helped a number of the street children, and holds no prejudice feelings against the Karamojong. I asked if I could sponsor Paul, and if I did, could Paul come to live with him? Mike agreed, and the foundation was laid. We went together the very next day and found Paul with his friends on the street. This time, we took Paul aside and spoke privately to him. We asked if he would like to go to school. We asked if he would like to come and live with Mike and to get away from the street life. Paul speaks very little English, and his Lugandan is very minimal because his native tongue is of course, Karamojong. Communication was very difficult with Paul, but we were able to use hand gestures, and the small amount of Lugandan that he could understand, to get the point across. He of course said he wanted nothing more than to leave the street, so we started the legal process.

It took a couple of days to get all of the paperwork signed by the right people and during this time, we had to leave Paul to the slums of Masese at night. We had to abide by all of the laws governing this process or risk the chance of not being allowed to take Paul at all. You see, if anyone in power sees you have done something wrong, or simply not by the book, they can take that child out of his safe place and return them to the street…all because for some incomprehensible reason, some people in power seem to like to see these children suffer. These few days were the hardest of my life. I would spend the days with Paul, feeding him and giving him some small part of his childhood back, but then when the day was done, would have to Put Paul on a boda-boda (a motor bike taxi) and watch him drive off, back to the slums, back to the hunger and the mistreatment-he and I waving furiously at each other all the while, knowing we wouldn’t see one another until morning. I can’t tell you how many tears I cried during this time.

Finally, we got everything finished, and all of the right papers signed by all of the right people. This wonderful day, we wasted no time in finding Paul, and bringing him home. We bought him clothes and a mattress and mosquito net, and all of the things that children should be allowed to have. We bought him the first possessions he has ever had in his life. Very soon, we had him enrolled in school, and he was settling in quite nicely. He did not know his age, so we “gave” him an age of 9 turning 10 on September 1st 2008.

I soon learned that my intuition about this child had been right. Paul was amazing. Quite possibly the most amazing person I have ever met in my life. To be able to live through what he did, and to come out of it the person that he is, is beyond me. For the first time in his life, Paul was loved and respected and fed and clothed, and was being educated. This child could not seem to get enough of it. We never went anywhere without Paul wanting to hold my hand, or to just have my arm around him. He was only too happy to give a hug to anyone and everyone who would give one back, his smile lit up the entire room. He wanted to cuddle, and he always wanted to sit next to someone. I have never seen a 10 year old boy like this, but it would appear that he was making up for lost time. He hadn’t had it before, and by god, he was going to get it now that it was being offered. The roles were somewhat reversed at times, Paul being a little more worldly than I. If you saw us on the street, you might think that it was an adult holding a child’s hand, being sure the child crossed the street safely. This was not the case. Paul was holding MY hand, guiding ME across the street, making sure I reached safely. Paul knew the street like the back of his hand, and I cannot tell you how many times he pulled me out of harms way. He seemed to revel in the idea that he could help someone, that he was worth something… He soon realized he could help in more ways. When we went out to eat, he never finished his food. He always saved enough to share with the children on the street. If I ever gave him some small coins to put in his own pocket, it was right away given to a more needy child on the street. Paul didn’t seem to have a greedy bone in his body, and he loved the idea that he could make a difference in other’s lives as well. Paul rocked my world and blew my mind every day that I spent with him.

An interesting fact to note in this story is that Paul, once we removed him from the horrible reality that used to be his life, refused to acknowledge his past. The day we moved him into Mike’s home, is the day he stopped speaking Karamojong altogether, claiming he “couldn’t remember” how to speak it. He refused to acknowledge that he once knew the children on the street. He would give them the shirt off his back, but when asked if he knew them or if they were his friends, he said no. It would seem to me that Paul was so ashamed of his past life, that he wanted nothing more to do with it. He associated being Karamojong with misery and hopelessness, and he wanted none of it anymore. This, to me is very sad, and also very telling. This society has put such a negative stigma on being Karamojong that it would seem that the only way to get past it, is to erase it completely from one’s memory. We are working with Paul, reminding him that he can proud of who he is, and that he can be a Karamojong who makes a difference in others lives as well. This is and will continue to be a works in progress.