Hanifa’s Story
(Because of the COVID19 lockdown, poverty has increased. Many girls now are at risk of being child brides. Let us pray for these young women. Hanifa's story is the story of far too many women. )
Kampala, early 2010s.
A man leaned out of his car at a busy intersection.
“Hey, you, 3 Matooke[1]
please, and hurry!”
Hanifa rushed over to the man’s window with her basket
of Matooke on her head. “Yes, Ssebo,[2]
that will be 1500 Shillings,[3]
please.”
The man scrambled to get the money out of his wallet
while Hanifa pulled 3 portions of Matooke out of her basket. With all the cars,
motorcycles, and trucks, you had to move fast. Any sale had to be done before
the light turned green.
“Here you go, Ssebo, have a good afternoon.”
The light turned and the man drove on. Hanifa sighed.
She has been up since 4.30 in the morning, and over 12h later, not even five
customers. Again.
She stood up straight and adjusted her balance. Time
to go home. “There’s always tomorrow. At least Auntie and I have money for
dinner.”
“Hello, Auntie!”
“Good evening, mukwano![4]
How did you do today?”
Hanifa shook her head: “I didn’t sell much. But it was
enough to buy fish and rice.”
They started the fire to prepare dinner. The smell of
burning charcoal and boiling fish filled the room.
Hanifa put her basket away. She tried to sound
hopeful: “Another day, I guess.”
“Ah, it’s not your fault, mukwano. Business is hard. I
just wish a young girl like you didn’t have to work like this.”
Hanifa frowned. A few years ago, she had worked just
as hard. Only she wasn’t selling Matooke. She was at school. Back home in her
village. She had started with so much hope. She had studied well, made it until
7th grade, even been class president. But then her parents couldn’t
afford any more.
“I work as I can. Let us hope tomorrow will be
better.”
But business didn’t get better. Eventually, Hanifa had
to return to her parents.
“Good bye, Auntie. Thanks for everything.”
She took a long bus ride out to the country, to the
village where her family lived.
Hanifa’s parents and some of her 15 siblings greeted
her.
“Hello, Hanifa. Come in.”
Not all of them were there. Seven have already died of
HIV/AIDS. The ones who saw her looked at her feet. She had shoes on, something
her parents could never afford. Not when she was little, not now. How could
they possibly support her?
There was only one way: marriage.
“Please, don’t. I am only 16.”
But her parents insisted: “What choice do we have? A
husband can feed you, buy you clothes, keep you alive. Something we cannot do.”
Hanifa cried. But she knew they were right. What choice
did they have? Hanifa was terrified. The man was older, she would be his second
wife.[5]
She only hoped that he didn’t have HIV, so she wouldn’t end like her seven
other siblings.
“Do you take this man to be your husband?”
She trembled as she took his hand. “I do.”
The village, a few years later.
Hanifa gently stroked her belly. Her second child on
the way. Her first daughter, a toddler, came in. “I can’t sleep. Where’s Papa?”
Hanifa carefully lifted her daughter on her lap.
“Papa isn’t coming back. We must take care of
ourselves, now.”
The next day, they got on a bus and moved back to
Kampala. To one of the many slums. It hadn’t worked, before. But Hanifa was
determined to make it work, now.
To make ends meet, she went door to door and washed
people’s laundry. She scrubbed, pounded and swung scarves and skirts until they
were clean. Every day for at least 8h. But it only made about 5000 Shillings[6]
a day. “Not even enough to buy fish and rice.”
The hunger was bad, but the lack of hope was worse.
How would she pay rent? How would her kids ever go to school? A good job,
that’s all they needed. But where would she ever find that?
She heard a familiar voice. “Good morning, Hanifa,
how’s life?”
Hanifa looked up. “Hello, Brenda, it is fine. And
you?”
Brenda was no more than 15. Like Hanifa had been when
she sold Matooke on the streets.
“I am well. I’m off to the soap workshop.”
Hanifa tilted her head. “A soap workshop? You know how
to make soap?”
Brenda grinned: “Yes, they teach us, we work together.
And we sell it in the market. Come see!”
Hanifa quickly finished up the laundry she was working
on and followed Brenda to the workshop. She met Sylvia, the leader, and was
immediately fascinated by her work with the women. She learned all she could:
“How do you choose the ingredients?” “How do you weigh everything?” “Can I help
stir the oils?”
The next day, she came back. And much every day since.
She worked with the group from morning to evening and even volunteered to do
extra work.
Sylvia was impressed. But she had to tell her: “We
don’t have enough money to pay you.”
Hanifa smiled: “I will stay, anyway.”
“Really, why?”
“Food is a powerful motivator.”
They laughed. There were meals at the workshop, her
kids wouldn’t go hungry.
“Also, I have friends, here. I will stay, because with
this job, I have a place to be.”
Nine months went by. And still, Hanifa was faithful.
Sylvia and the other women trusted her. So, one day, they called her in for a
surprise.
“Hanifa, we love having you with us. You do great
work. Since we now have the means, we have decided: We want to hire you as the
assistant manager of our workshop!”
Everyone applauded, and Hanifa jumped up and screamed
with laughter: “Haha, my goodness! Thank you so much, thank you!”
Hanifa danced so all could see. And even after they
closed up for the day, she strolled home with a swing in her step. Finally, a
good job! A regular salary! Now, she could pay her rent and feed her family.
She could buy clothes. She could even send money to her mom, for her
medication. More than she ever had hoped for.
“Yes, a good job, that’s all I needed!”
You can find out more about Suubi Teen MOPS on our website.
https://www.teenmopsuganda.com/
[1] Steamed plantain banana, eaten in a similar way as mashed potatoes.
[2] Luganda for „Sir”.
[3] About 30 US cents.
[4] Luganda for “Dear”.
[5] Polygamy is common in Uganda, especially among the Poor. Also, it is
common for poor families to marry their daughter off as child brides. Both
practices are a way that families try to get by, but they lead to things like
domestic violence, disease, and also, more poverty: The father may have many
children, but he doesn’t necessarily take care of them.
[6] About $1 (US-Dollar)
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