Visiting Kineni camp

The road to Kineni used to be one of the most dangerous in all of Uganda up until about three years ago, Michael Caritan of the Trocaire funded Caritas organisation tells me as we approach the parish camp.

“You could not drive here without being shot at by the LRA who hid all along either side,” he said.

The red dust road, like most in Uganda, is covered in obstacles like massive bumps and deep potholes, so four wheel drive vehicles are essential – yet many Ugandans somehow manage with  old cars in dire need of repair.

Many Ugandans cycle bicycles on which they also manage to carry large wood, grass and water.

Women walk along roadsides with big heavy bags of potatoes, seed or water balanced perfectly on their heads – and they somehow manage to keep their composure.

There are 2,500 people living in the Kineni camp in north Uganda while they wait patiently in hope of moving back to their original homelands.

While driving, Michael points in the direction where 30km away just four years ago the LRA cooked a man alive before forcing his other family members to eat pieces of him.

“They inflicted fear by using methods such as these,” he said.

At the camp about 50 small children, many with large malnourished bellies, surround us, staring at the “mono”, which is white person in their language.

A girl of about four stands shyly with the group, with a plastic wrapper on her head in the shape of a crown.

A little boy of about three years approaches us “mono” slowly, but just as one of the group says hello, or foyer matek (which means thanks) his face drops into tears and he scatters in search of his mother, erupting the whole camp into laughter.

Scores of people approach is in what is like the meeting area of the camp to shake our hands and welcome us.

“You are very, very welcome, thank you for coming,” said one of the English speaking members of the camp council.

This is copied by the children who put up their hands for them to be shaken.

The camp is made up of around 520 round houses of clay with straw roofs, that have inside them one or two old mattresses with pots, tools and water containers scattered around and clothes drying on lines or on top of the straw roof.

Between the homes goats and wild dogs walk about, some sleeping in the shade from the scorching hit midday sun.

Children run laughing and playing and women press seeds and cook pea soup or some other food - similar to how you would imagine it was done at ancient Viking and Celtic villages.

One group of boys play a game like marbles with rolled up pieces of dried mud, and others use sling shots trying to kill birds.

The Acholi tribe people are very polite and courteous, and very open and frank in their responses to questions during interviews about their lives.

As I make my way through the camp every single person acknowledges me, and some ask that I photograph them.

Heading back to the meeting area I hear drum beats, women singing and people clapping.

The entire camp is sitting around a dancing circle of women, most wearing what look like second hand charity clothing.

We are sat at a front row of seats with Sean Farrell of Trocaire and the guys from Caritas.

The women continue to dance to loud beats made by two men, one banging a drum, the other the end of a plastic container.

Michael Caritan of Caritas tells me that the dancing is a huge part of the Acholi way of life – each dance having a meaning.

“This is a dance for women, moving in their own way to the beat in a circle. It is a welcoming dance,” he says.

Suddenly a drunken man gets up from the ground and starts to dance with them – moving as the women do – erupting the gathered camp into laughter.

They make gestures for him to sit down.

When he gets in the way of the movement of the dance, two women pull him away while trying to control their laughter.

After the dancing, there are formal introductions, which start with the camp elders and council members who are in charge of different areas of the camp.

Each one stands up and says his or her name before telling us their ranking in the group.

When they are finished, it is our turn.

I tell them that I am Kevin Jenkinson from a land afar away called Ireland where people care very much about the needs of the Acholi people and where they want to know about the suffering they have gone through.

I thank them for their courteous welcome and sit back down while they clap their hands.

Sean Farrell of Trocaire then asks them if there is anything they would like to discuss – and they respond in turn with issues such as a lack of drinking water and land mines preventing them from going to their homesteads.

A woman with a walking stick who had feared the Trocaire solar lights would electrocute her to death, thanked Sean for the light.

She said it doesn’t catch fire to her cotton, like her old paraffin burner, and also allows her son to read his school books.

After agreeing on the small €2 contribution to the €20 solar lamps – Sean responds to their problems by telling them “We are here for the long term.”

“These are a brilliant people with so many needs who have gone through unspeakable hardship and tragedy,” he told me after speaking to the camp.

They offer to continue dancing for us, but it’s getting late and being on a road at night time can be fatal.

A rare thing also occurs for this time of year as we explain we must leave. It starts to rain, but it it is very brief and not enough to water a field of dry seeds or crops.

As we get up to leave the entire camp gathers around us waving goodbye and shaking our hands.

We are told we are “most welcome” to visit again.

We leave knowing that all the worries people talk about in Ireland are nothing compared to the needs of these incredibly tough and friendly people.