Karamojong street kids, innocence lost and a stolen childhood

Kristi and I recently returned from a short trip to Karamoja. Located in the North East corner, Karamoja has unjustly gotten the reputation as Uganda's problem child. The region has lagged behind in development efforts, and experiences regular violence as cattle raiders have gotten access to guns. In attempts to bring peace to the region the Government has enforced heavy handed disarmament plans often resulting in lootings, beatings and detentions. This has merely compounded problems and reinforced the feeling of distrust towards the government. A UNICEF representative recently reported that "Karamoja is the worst place to be a child, with highly elevated levels of early childhood mortality and morbidity. Health indicators are the worst in the country, decidedly worse than in LRA-affected [rebel Lord's Resistance Army] northern districts and the rest of the country." Maternal mortality rates are 50% higher than the other regions in Uganda. During the last 8 years HIV infection rates have doubled and primary school attendance is round 43%.

Walking through the streets of Kampala, you inevitably run into begging kids. Most of these have come from Karamoja in search of a better life but many are forced into begging either by their parents or because they have simply been abandoned. In 2007 when the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting took place, the Ugandan Government decided to respond by rounding up all the Karamojong and dumping them 40 km outside the city. (see this BBC article) Rather than address the problem, they merely tried to save face while the heads of state were visiting.

One evening while at a roadside cafe, Kristi and I observed as a little girl maybe 2 years old was forced to sit in the middle of the sidewalk with her hands stretched out above her head. As it reached 9 pm, the little girl's head started to bob up and down as she fell asleep. No sooner had her tiny hands sank into her lap and her eyes closed when her mother came running over to violently shake her awake. Dressed in her dirty rags, I saw how her sad eyes followed other little girls in pretty dresses as they passed by.
Here are some pictures of Kampala's forgotten faces... the ones that have had their childhoods stolen.