A not so silent night

As I step off the boda on the tarmac and onto the eroded dirt road kids in ragged clothes and big smiles run and slip their hands into mine. They escort me to the orphanage I am partnering with, only really communicating through smiles and the swinging of arms.

Inside the orphanage I wander around the side where I find two teenagers playing a silver tuba and trumpet that look as though they have made a tour around the world before they made it to this orphanage. It is school holiday, so kids are running around everywhere, but these two boys are practicing. I explain to them my dad’s affinity for the tuba and how random outbursts of “Tuba Love” are relatively normal. They stare at me, failing in their attempt to mask the fact that they believe I might be crazy.

Two younger boys come and welcome me with warm hugs, grab my hands and help me find my way to the office. I am greeted by five twenty-something men, the founders and administrative staff of the orphanage, “Welcome Madame Rachel”. I am still coming to terms with being a Madame…

This is by far the coolest orphanage I have encountered – an orphanage for street kids by street kids. Everyone that works there and lives there once lived on the street - begging, collecting recyclables, fetching water, pick-pocketing or working as a house boy/girl.

When Bosco was 11 his mother, went to town and never came back. He heard through relatives that she had died in some vague accident. His dad was already gone, Bosco was left alone with his two sisters to look after. He spent his days collecting plastic bottles and fetching water for what amounts to about fifty cents. While scavenging in the Nsambya slums he came across some boys playing brass band – he was enraptured. It became his goal to be able to play as they play. It turns out these boys were practicing for a local school, so he asks the teacher if he could learn. The teacher refuses, the band is only for students (and street kids are rather stigmatized here). But he persists. He really wants to play. Eventually the teacher submits, and allows him to play as long as he pays 500 shillings(twenty-five cents) each lesson. Bosco agrees, and works harder to collect money in the slums so that he can raise his music fee and feed his sisters.

Eventually Bosco invites more street kids to join him in class, and eventually convinces a visitor to help him get a home to establish their own band. This visitor buys them five instruments and a two room house. One room for the boys and one for the girls. After raising his sisters, Bosco is hyper aware of girls issues, especially those struggling on the street. The house becomes a center and in time, a man from the UK buys them a larger house that is the orphanage and music school today. They write for corporate sponsorships and have band uniforms from MTN and coca cola and fundraise through concerts and playing special events. The house currently sleeps about 75, but another 75 street kids come on any given day to play music, sing, dance and eat. They are now a big family, calling the older boys Uncle, and me in my subsequent visits, Auntie.

What blows my mind here is Bosco at 11 thinking not just about himself, but about other kids on the street. Bosco could have just learned music on his own, and not think about bringing in other kids from the slum. When he was given a house, he didn’t have to invite others to stay. At 11 years old, he was thinking beyond his own needs about those of his community. All 75 kids living at the center have school fees paid for by fundraising and private donors. The staff all work for free in exchange for housing and food. And about once a month, the kids do community work. The community no longer looks down on the street kids as they once had. Bosco has built something quite remarkable.

The music program fills a very deep hole in the lives of street kids. It fills them with passion, dedication and drive. The kids are not forced to get their instruments out and practice, it is what keeps them going. As we finish up the tour, Bosco takes me around back.

The band has gathered in secret to surprise me. The moment we step around the corner they start into a rousing rendition of Silent Night. It begins slow and traditional, but after the first verse, the tuba steps in on a double beat, the choir sings faster and louder, the conductor’s body jolts full of energy and they all begin to dance to what will forever be my favorite version of Silent Night. I have the goofiest smile across my face and start dancing with the kids that remain on my arms.