Re: Heaven is indeed a preserve for the children
tumusiime deo
Heaven is indeed a preserve for the children
By: Tumusiime K. Deo
Mob: +256-785 783 554
E-mail: tumusi...@hotmail.com
“When I fell in the trench, an old man laughed at me, but a young boy about 12 years old helped me out and washed my feet”
Saturday evening I went to the market in Bunga, a Kampala suburb. I parked by the roadside. There was an uncovered trench full of filthy magma stretching almost the entire length of the road. As I was trying to get out of the car, and while carrying my little angel Tia in my hands, I missed a step and within a flash, we were down in the trench.
A voice that sounded like of a mature man said instantly in Luganda, “Webale”. This is usually a sarcastic statement literally meaning “Thank you”. In my situation, the man was actually thanking me for falling in the trench! There were of course many other people nearby including adult women going about their businesses. They seemed to have been sympathetic but were practically not bothered. I had hurt my knee on the trench walls and strained my hand as I instinctively tried to guard my daughter from any injury. Tia hardly said a thing and may not have even realized what had happened since everything occurred so quickly.
The drama was not yet done. A little boy about 12 years of age came by as I was still in the trench still pondering how to come out. He sympathized with me and offered his hand to pull me out. I held his hand and aided me to the trench shore. The young boy asked if I needed some water to clean myself as my feet were soiled with magma. He immediately checked in a boiling jug nearby (Bunga has a busy roadside market, with all sorts of utilities). As the jug was full of hot water, he poured that out and replaced with cold water before washing my feet. I thanked the young boy and by the look on his face, he appeared very happy to have helped me.
As I proceeded to my shopping, the women who had witnessed the incident asked to find out if I had been badly hurt. I told them I would be fine. By now, I was cautious carrying my daughter on my back. I overheard one woman in the background asking Luganda, “Onno musajja oba mukazi?” Literally translated, this meant, “Is this a man or a woman?” This, as if carrying a child on my back was enough justification for anyone to speculate about my gender!
I returned to the scene moments later looking for the boy that had helped me. I had wanted to give him some money as a token of appreciation. One woman told me she did not know the boy. She said, “Bubeelawo wanno”, meaning that “These kids often come around”. Ideally the boy that had helped me was not attached to the market. I have no idea who he is, where he’s from, or even where he got the water from. All I know is that a young boy unknown to me helped me get out of the trench, and he washed my feet-but the older man laughed at me.
As I pondered about the entire experience, I remembered a verse in Matthew 19: 14 that says, "…Let the children come to me. Don't stop them! For the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to those who are like these children."