Half a Box of Corn Flakes

On our way back from one of the towns, our driver stopped to get charcoal (used for cooking in the homes and is cheaper when sold outside of Kampala), which is sold along the road.  As the boys were loading it into our truck, I got out and talked with one of the little girls who lived in the house where it was sold.  Wherever we go, children stare and wave at us because we look different, and a lot of times they point and say, “Muzungu,” which means “foreigner.”  There were about 10 children under the age of 9 gathered in front of the house laughing at us.  The little girl answered all of my questions shyly (“How old are you?” and “What is your name?”  I tried to ask what her favorite color was, but she did not know the word “favorite”), and Joseph translated her questions for me.  Eventually, she asked for a gift.  I only had 3 Starburst left because I had ate the rest, and I felt bad only giving her so little, but when Paula gave them to her, she knelt down on the dirt in thanks.  We tried to think of what else we could give.  We had a half-eaten bag of popcorn that we offered, and again, she knelt down and the kids laughed and jumped up and down.  The only other food we had left was an open box of Corn Flakes, and when we gave this to one of the boys, he held it above his head and ran smiling into the house with all the kids following.  The youngest and smallest boy was in a torn Harvard tee-shirt, and was last in the line, saying, “We have to share!” (in his dialect)  As we drove away, they stood by the road and waved goodbye to us.  The little girl told me I was a good woman. I take way too much for granted.