(Saint) Patrick's Day

So, today is St. Patrick’s Day.  I remembered when it was this year long before I usually do, because Griffin is oh so proud of her Irish heritage.  Honestly, this day doesn’t normally have any really special significance for me, but this year is a little different, due to the ironic coincidence that today was also “Visitation Day” at Patrick’s school.

If you remember, we are using the money raised from selling CDs to pay for Patrick’s first year at Minor Seminary (the level of seminary that would match up with late middle school and early high school years in the US).  Once per term (and there are three terms per year), all boarding schools, whether they are primary, secondary, seminaries, nursing schools, or whatever, have a Visitation Day, usually near the middle of the term, when students’ families come to talk to teachers, see grades, listen to speeches, eat a big lunch, and spend time with the kids.

So, a few weeks ago, Max told me that Patrick’s day was March 17^th (it took me a few days before I realized the irony of it also being St. Patrick’s Day), and on Friday he said that he and Teddy would come pick me up at about nine in the morning.  I was actually up in time (rare for a weekend), and they got to my house a little after ten – close enough.  The drive to the seminary took a little less than an hour, and, about five minutes before we got there, Max decided that it was a good time to inform me that two of their other kids had visiting days today as well.  So, for at least a few hours, I was going to be the family’s representative at Patrick’s school, while they went to their daughter Gemma’s school.  Wonderful – so I was heading into a sea of people I didn’t know, except for Patrick, which wasn’t a huge help.  What I find kind of odd about these visiting days is that it seems like families don’t actually get to spend a ton of time with the kids.  All of these activities, meetings, and presentations happen, but the students are often separate from the parents.  For example, during the two hour Catholic mass, all of the students sat in the middle of the church, while the parents were behind them or in the side pews.  During lunch as well, most students didn’t sit with their families.

As you would probably guess, I’m not really the person who walks into a gathering full of strangers and immediately starts making friends with people.  Actually, the opposite of that would probably describe me a bit more accurately.  So, there I was, sitting on a bench, watching what might be called the school’s marching band, in that there was one group of people playing brass instruments and drums, and a second group of people marching to the music – not exactly the type of marching band I remember from high school.  There I was, sitting in a pew trying to pick out anything I could from the mass (which was completely in Luganda), discreetly glancing sideways at the guy next to me from time to time so I had some idea of when to stand up, sit down, kneel, or cross myself.  There I was, sitting on a stool outside, listening to someone give directions about lunch, and hoping that I understood enough of what he was saying to know the correct procedure.  Actually, now that I think of it, it was kind of nice…I felt a sense of anonymity that is usually lacking in my life here.  People weren’t making a big deal about me, and no one was going out of his or her way to make me feel special.  Strange as it may sound, I enjoyed and appreciated this.

As I was sitting on my stool, waiting for the huge buffet line to dwindle, Max and Teddy returned.  I was happy to see some familiar faces, but I also realized that my status had now reverted back to “honored muzungu guest”.  Within a few minutes, a priest was leading by the hand, past all of the people waiting in line, and he put me at the start of the buffet table so that I could get my food immediately.  I thought about protesting and saying that I didn’t mind waiting, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t make a difference.  On the other hand, maybe this system works better for everyone, since I eat about half as fast as most Ugandans…

After we had eaten lunch, it was about 4:00 pm, and we still needed to go visit Emma, Max and Teddy’s youngest son, at his primary school.  So, we talked with Patrick for a few minutes before heading out.  Patrick seems to be doing well, by the way.  He was one of the acolytes or altar boys or whatever they’re called during the service (sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve been to a Catholic mass), and he is currently 10^th in his class, out of, I don’t know, a lot more than ten.  The list was long, and there were a lot of numbers…but I did notice that his music score was very high – that’s my boy…

We drove to Emma’s school and probably spent about an hour there.  Emma is in Primary Four, and he can’t be any older than ten or eleven.  I have to admit that this whole idea of boarding school really amazes me, especially for kids that young.  Even in high school, I was never away from my family for more than a few days at a time, and those periods, usually related to swimming or music, didn’t happen frequently.  When I finally went to college, I got used to the idea of being away from my family relatively quickly, but I still missed them, as well as friends back home (and I also miss them now, of course).  It’s really hard for me to imagine leaving home for months at a time when I was in elementary school, middle school, or even high school.  Ugandan parents who can afford it send their kids to these schools because it will likely give them greater opportunities in the future, I think, but I still have trouble grasping it.  I’m certainly not saying it’s a bad thing the parents are doing – it’s great that they’re trying to give their kids these opportunities.  I just don’t know how I would react in this situation, personally, either as the child or as the parent…

Anyway, after hitting all of the schools on the list, we headed home, back to Kalisizo.  Max decided to take a shortcut on some bumpy back roads, making it very difficult for me to read, and I don’t think we got back any faster than we would have otherwise (Mom and Phyllis will likely be chuckling right now).  But, we did make it back with no problems, and Max dropped me outside of my compound.  As I was saying good night and thanking them for letting me come along, Max said, “Thank you for the friendship you’ve shown today.”  It was sort of a striking statement, and it reminded me that, sometimes, doing something very small can mean a lot to others.  I certainly didn’t start the day thinking that my tagging along would be a big deal, but Max and Teddy seemed to appreciate it quite a bit.  So that’s a plus.