My Community

by Hilda Murhon (Uganda)

I didn't expect to find South Africa

My Community I sat in a circle with my eyes closed holding hands with 15 of the other fellows and listened to Sandra instruct us to reflect on the two weeks we had spent in Cape town. It took me a while to quiet my mind and really focus … I went back to my first day where I uncertainly walked into cottage 11 which I was to share with Funke my Nigerian roommate. I quickly settled into the room on the left which had a clear view of the farm paths and the little shade attached to our cottage with a small dining area where I immediately pictured myself having breakfast and anxiously awaited to meet Funke. I could smell the freshly baked bread in the dining room and picture the 6 long wooden tables where all the fellows and trainers gathered to share meals. I could hear Teresa’s warm laugh, I could feel the power of Evelyn’s confidence and the warmth of Pretha’s personality. From across the room I could hear Marcel and Abiriga’s constant complaints about the cold weather and grambles about the unfamiliar foods. I smiled because I could even hear Guleid’s and Josephine’s quiet discussions about how broken the criminal justice systems were in their countries. My smile widened at the memory of me excitedly skipping into Funke’s room every night and making myself comfortable on her bed. Listening to her lovingly talk about all the mischief her one year old son Inniola got up to. We would go over every detail of what had transpired that day, argue loudly about reality television and make plans for the future. In Funke’s room there was no limit to how big we could dream. My favourite part was the constant push we gave each other to aim for the impossible. Never did she make me feel that my wants were overly ambitious and I happily returned the favour. There in our little cottage, two young women convinced each other that their dreams were valid and more than deserving of fulfillment. My smile become shaky as I thought of Dr. Woods’ kind eyes behind his big glasses and his patient and gentle voice. As always I found myself in awe of how he had always been able to sense my self-doubt. It’s almost like he could look into my eyes and see the shadows of everyone who had contributed to it. He used every interaction as an opportunity to dispel my doubts so that every time I looked into the mirror the shadows become less visible. At this point I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and I bit my lip to try and stop them. I thought of our tiny writing group that met every evening for a few minutes under the stewardship of Joe. It was within this space that my self-doubt started to quieten. We would all gather in the lounge around the fire place and just read out loud short extracts we had written to an environment free of judgment but always ripe with constructive criticism. It was here that Joe suggested I read one of the extracts I had written about my intellectually disabled client to the rest of the fellows and trainers the next morning. I thought of how a few days earlier I had finally pushed aside the self-doubt and shakily started to read out my writing for the first time ever in a roomful of people. How surprising it was to see people leaning in eager to hear what l had to say and smiling encouragingly at me. How I finally felt heard and supported. Okay you can open your eyes now… I slowly opened my eyes and waited for them to readjust to the light in the room before I could tearfully and happily look around at the roomful of people whom I didn’t expect to find and who had very quickly become my community.