PYGMIES

We had another long day of driving before reaching our campground in far western Uganda. I upgraded to a beautiful but sparse room, in a lodge with a view of the Rwenzori mountains, the fog and acacias, hills and lakes in the near distance. I was dry and warm and ready for the day. And what a day it was to be – the best so far.

While the rest of the group went to observe the 500 chimpanzees in the protected preserve, I chose to hire a taxi (with two young Australian girls) and visit the Batwa people (pygmies) on the Congolese border. The Batwa lived for centuries as naked bush people, hunting and gathering in the rain forests of Uganda, Rwanda and the Congo (formerly Zaire). Their lands were deforested by government or turned into nature reserves for the benefit of the wildlife and the tourists who love them. The pygmies were then placed by the government on restricted land (much like the Native Americans), and are discriminated against by the Ugandans. Considered dirty and primitive, they are shunned and deprived, having no land to farm and no consistent source of income.

After a two-hour ride through gorgeous mountains on winding dirt roads, we landed at the Office of the King of the Batwa, where we had to register and pay $10 each to visit. The last registered tourist signed in last June and just happened to be from Israel.

We were escorted to the Batwa “village”. I write “village” in parenthesis because it wasn’t really a village, at all. Their few huts were made of grass and bamboo, with no doorways or windows, and the land was parched and hard-packed mud. All The pigmies (the adults are about 4’ tall, give or take a few inches) were desperate to sell us their trinkets. We insisted on first learning about them. Through our translator we understood that 96 Batwa live in the village. Only four of the village’s children go to the free public school. The other 30 don’t attend because they can’t afford the $5 uniform. With eyes wide, and full of revulsion for the injustice and idiocy of it all, my two Aussie friends and I decided to forego the trinkets and instead buy uniforms for all 30 of the village kids. But we made our gift conditional: (1) All 30 children had to accompany us to the local tailor, a short walk away and to get measured and, (2) the money would be given to the tailor directly. And so, lead by the King, with 30 children and the translator in tow, we walked into the nearby Ugandan town, met the tailor and negotiated the price of the uniforms and time for completion. A combination of US dollars and Ugandan shillings were exchanged and a big belch of singing, dancing and hand clapping roared forth throughout the town. Beginning next Wednesday, all the Batwa children will be in school. The King promised to make sure that all uniforms were passed down to the younger children as the older ones outgrew theirs.

But the story cannot be completed without mentioning Ali, the Egyptian engineer who works in Kampala. He befriended the Batwa himself some time ago and promised to buy them the cement they needed to build some real housing and a communal building. He very coincidentally happened to be in the Village to make good on his promise just as we were visiting. Lucky for us. We had realized when heads were being counted, that we were short some money to pay the tailor. How could we tell them that some children would have to stay home while the others were in school? How would these unlucky few get chosen? We asked Ali to help. Without flinching, he reached his hand in his pocket and gave us the balance of the cash needed.