A Different Kind of Kamp’ing’ in Uganda

On Wednesday, I had my first Kamp’ing’ experience in Uganda and did not like it at all.  I loved camping as a kid.  As an adult?  Not so much.  There is something about being the one responsible for setting up the tent that sours the entire experience.

For the past three and a half years, I have devoted significant efforts in Uganda to expedite the time it takes to get to trial for juveniles confined to remand homes in advance of trial.  Many of those who plead guilty or who are convicted after a trial are released because they have already been confined in the remand home for longer than the sentence they receive.  But those who are given sentences longer than the time already served are sent to the National Rehabilitation Centre (British spelling intended).  This Centre is commonly referred to as Kampiringisa.  (See how I cleverly apostrophized the word to make it Kamp’ing’??)

For about two years, I have been intending to visit Kampiringisa with Sixty Feet, who sends a team out there every Monday and Wednesday, but the timing never seemed to work.  Well, it worked on Wednesday.  With the Pepperdine team safely back in Los Angeles, and with Joline and Jessica still on the road here in Uganda, I finally had a chance to join the Sixty Feet folks for a visit.

It was as bad as I had heard.  Not only are there more than thirty juveniles serving sentences there, but there are also about eighty other kids there on “care and protection” orders.  “Care and protection” means they are there not as prisoners, but as homeless kids.  Some of them are there because their parents don’t want to look after them anymore, or because they were causing trouble at home.  But most of them are from the Karamojong tribe, and they have arrived at Kampiringisa after being rounded up by the local governmental authority when they periodically clear the streets of begging children.  Most (perhaps all) of these kids are on the streets begging as a result of being sent or sold by their parents to work as part of group of beggars for an adult handler.

The Karamojong (or K-jongs as they are called) are considered by the other Ugandan tribes as the lowly outcasts of society.  Indigenous Ugandans can easily distinguish them from the others and routinely single them out for mistreatment.  It is quite sad.  The same is true at Kampiringisa.  The other children don’t interact with them, and the local government authority won’t let Sixty Feet provide mattresses for them to sleep on, so they sleep on the concrete floor.  When food is served, they are served separately and last.  They are the most malnourished among the inhabitants of Kampiringisa.  Sixty Feet takes active steps to counter this, including relocating many of them to another location (with express, written approval) to be nourished back to health.

All of this I had been told in advance of my arrival.  When we arrived, Kelsey (lead Sixty Feet intern) gave me a tour of the property.  Sobering doesn’t even begin to describe it.  Whenever new inmates arrive, they are put into a cell for about two weeks in order to break their spirits.  There is no bed and no toilet facility, only a plastic can in the corner of this eight-by-ten box.  They are not let out at all during this two-week period.  From there, the prisoners are transferred to the “black room” where they stay about thirty days, until they are adjudged sufficiently docile to be able to roam the premises.  In the padlocked black room, there are about twenty beds, toilet facilities (a hole in the ground), a television, and a place to bathe.

The Black Room (photo from internet -- I took no pictures on this visit)

Situated throughout the rest of the property are a smattering of buildings, some of which are used for administration and sleeping, and some of which are abandoned.  The children mill around all day.  Some play soccer with plastic bags tied up with string, some cook posho and beans over large pots, and others just sit and stare into nothingness.  The K-jongs stay together in small groups.

After the tour, Kelsey and I joined the others in the medical clinic they set up each Monday and Wednesday.  Any kid who is sick or injured gets treated by the combined American and Ugandan nursing staff.  For close to an hour, I held a very small girl with an ear infection.  She weighed less than ten pounds, but was between eighteen months and two years old.  She was badly malnourished and the nursing staff feared she had AIDS.  She didn’t even have the strength to cry (or wince) when they pricked her finger and tested her blood.  We held our collective breaths as we awaited the results.  Negative.  Thank God.

Her ear was oozing puss, so the Ugandan nurse twisted some cotton and thoroughly cleaned it out.  The devil’s-tailpipe smell of what came out raised the bile in my stomach to dangerously high altitudes.  I barely kept it down.  She didn’t even whimper.  Later, Sixty Feet requested and received permission to move her and older brother to another location where they can be nursed back to health.

From the medical clinic area, Kelsey and I returned to the black room and played cards with the kids for about an hour.  Everyone in Uganda, it seems, plays the same card game, which is a variation on Crazy Eights.

I left there more convinced than when I came that something needs to be done about Kampiringisa, and it needs to be done quickly.  At the very least, those serving sentences for crimes (such as defilement of children) should not be allowed to roam around young kids brought there for “care and protection.”  Perhaps that will be one of my next projects . . .

Thursday was a day of meetings, including one with Regent Professor David Velloney and Uganda Christian University Professor Brian Dennison.  They are jointly running a summer program at UCU that has ten students, six of whom are from Regent, two are from Trinity, and one each from Florida State and Southwestern Law Schools, respectively.  We all had lunch at a local Chinese restaurant and talked about Pepperdine’s efforts to advance the rule of law here in Uganda.

I also had a chance to catch up with the lawyer who served as local counsel for my oral argument on behalf of Henry in March.  Third-hand hearsay suggests that we might be getting a ruling by the end of July.

Joline and Jessica arrive back in Kampala tonight, so it will be good to finally be with them for the first time in nearly two weeks.