So all of the babies in the baby house have measles. Since I’m not sure when my last MMR vaccination was I am steering clear of that place for a while. So since I had a lot of extra time in the afternoon I read the Harry Potter series, very good reading, I must say and to all of you die hard critics, who despise all things potter but love Lord of the Rings? Really?
When I finished, I did feel the void that comes with the completion of a dynamic and substantial series. I’m on to some Japanese clan trilogy but all of that aside. I had some free afternoons.
I went to the Samuel family, who we lovingly refer to as the “Sam fam” to offer my tailoring services. I just thought I could repair buttons or tears, even hem if need be. I have a steady and strong backstitch when I have the time. I walked to the girls hut and found My friend Doreen who directed me to the nearest little girl who went and spread the word. At first I had a skirt and a dress that needed to be sewn back to their lining. I sat in the main dining room and started threading my needle and little James came in with a pair of school shorts with gaping holes and a broken zipper. He left and come back with more and set them on the little pile that was forming. Other kids came running in “AUNTIE RACHAEL!!! can you sew for me”. Finally the pile was half the table and most of the clothes needed more than patching, some needed overhauling. Before I had the chance to feel over whelmed, James came back in and told me that if I wanted I could use auntie’s sewing machine. I was pleasantly surprised that she had a machine. I walked in to the house and was directed to a back room 10x10 with a good sized window, clothes hanging all over the walls from coat hooks and the sun shining in. Sitting at the foot of the window was an early 1940’s vintage Singer sewing machine table set in perfect working condition.
I sat down a little intimidated; I’ve only ever messed around with the pedal of my great-great grandmothers in our house growing up. However when I opened the little built in drawer it smelled of strong cedar just like Grandma Bell’s machine. Brought me back a few years. I swear it had the exact same measuring tape bunched up and stuffed in just like at home, It was like my Grandma Bell put it there for me to find decades later and miles away. Having never worked with a manual pedal before it took some trying to get the rhythm down but when I did it was purring right along with the beat of the Ugandan gospel music on the TV. Aunt Esther left me to work but several kids sat around laughing and talking in Luganda and asking me when I was leaving and would I come back to Africa. Everyone seems ask me that, I shrug and tell them, “If God wants”, sincerely, “but I have to finish university first”. I reattached zippers, and patched holes, re seamed high slits, pegged together low cut dresses at the heart. I stitched trousers and skirts, church dresses, shirts who I could tell had seen to slashing the garden many times. Tiny waistlines cinched in an inch or two.
When dinner came I had to go, not because I was finished but because I get a tongue lashing from the kitchen if I’m late for dinner. I said good bye and told the kids I would be back,
James asked me “when, next week?”
I said “no, tomorrow”
a few kids listening near by said “auntie , be serious”.
I told them I would be back and I was, I brought a few items that I repaired at home and got back to work on my new little friend. I had trouble with the bobbin, Esther came to my rescue, she handed me her baby and when she had fixed the problem she went to work on a couple of pieces. I think she was a little nostalgic, she told me earlier that she learned many years ago but had been out of practice. The machine, seemed to obey her every command, smooth and steady she hemmed a skirt, and re-seemed some trousers. While she did so I bounced baby Joel on my lap to the beat of the drums outside. We were talking about her family and her health she just went along sewing while we talked and I felt a stream of warm pee stream through the lap of my skirt on down my leg. Ugandan babies don’t wear diapers at home apparently. The best part is that she just laughed and went right along sewing and asked one of the girls to take the baby from me, at which point the matter was settled. Pee on me and the floor was no big deal here. I did a great job of acting like I was not totally disgusted and even sat for a few moments so I could give proper good byes and the pee was a little dry by then. I went home and changed, washed my leg down and set the skirt aside for proper washing the next day. I’ll go back tomorrow, if they ask me to hold the baby, I’ll make sure to face him forward, so that there is no repeat offense.
Just a little update, that’s what’s new.
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