Letter From Levi
I was waiting the other day, for the mail to arrive. I waited in eager, childlike anticipation. The very expensive camera lens that I had ordered was slated to arrive that day. I was sure to receive the notice that it would be awaiting pick-up at the local post office. I went out to the mail- box once, just in case the rural mail delivery driver had forgotten to lift the little red flag on the side of my mailbox, although he never has. The empty mailbox yawned uncaringly at my disappointment. Then finally late in the day, I looked out the window to find the flag upright. saluting another successful delivery. I ran out and jerked the door open and, sure enough, there it was, notice that a parcel had arrived and was waiting for pick-up. But along with it was a small manila envelope that had made the journey all the way from Uganda. Suddenly my new lens seemed very unimportant. I shuffled the mail in my hands while I walked up the driveway, all the while keeping that yellowish envelope with the strange stamp on it at the top of the pile.
Once inside I tossed the parcel delivery notice aside knowing that it could wait. The rest of the mail was sorted, bills in the garbage and junk mail on the kitchen counter.
I sat down in the living room still clutching the letter from Uganda as if it would somehow escape should I get careless. I gingerly opened it, careful not to damage it in any way and there it was, my first letter from our sponsored child in Uganda. Penciled drawings decorated the simple, translated message, thanking us for our help and his introduction to himself and his family.
My imagination flowed as I thought of this bright-eyed little boy, running excitedly through his village; proudly displaying the small Canadian flag pin we had sent him. I imagined him excitedly waiting for the mail to arrive, once a month, from a place so far away, where such truly fortunate people live. I imagined that same bright eyed little boy tightly clutching that small Canadian flag pin as he fell asleep in a thatched hut, in a country so very far away.
I first developed an interest in helping the people of Africa after reading Lt.-Gen.Romeo Dallaire’s book, “ Shake Hands With The Devil,” an appalling history lesson on the civil war in Rwanda and the clash between the Tutsi and Hutu Tribes. Unbelievable atrocities were committed while the United Nations Peacekeeping troops could do nothing but stand helplessly by and watch events unfold. Justice and aid were bogged down by government beauracracy and indifference because Rwanda was valueless in the eyes of the rich nations. They had no oil or rich national treasures.
When not being decimated by internal strife and civil wars, the countries of Africa are being overtaken in an AIDS epidemic. Medicines and treatment are non-existent or very slow to make their way to the people of Africa.
Dallaire’s book changed my outlook completely. I had watched the television shows before, featuring those starving children, covered with flies, begging for someone to notice, but I remained unmoved. I felt, probably like a lot of people, that it was probably another political scam to relieve me of my hard earned dollars. I had little faith that most of the proceeds wouldn’t go a long way toward lining political pockets all the way from here to Africa. I felt helpless to make a difference.
Then last Christmas, I put down Dallaire’s book and gathered the family to talk about sponsoring a child in Africa.
I figured that even if a small portion of my donation made it’s way there, I at least had to try. To sit idly by and indifferent seemed too governmental to me, after all, my paycheck was already being raped by our own government, insurance conglomerates, oil companies and Ontario Hydro. I could see no harm at letting another organization have a go at it.
I was surprised when I did some research. Just behind the Red Cross, World Vision was the best organization to ensuring the highest percentage of your donation actually made it to where it was needed. They showed an excellent track record and were making a large improvement to the lives of the people in every region they set up shop.
So for a measly $33 a month (that’s a medium Timmy’s a day) we became sponsors of nine-year-old Levi who lives in Uganda. The money will go to his village to bring them clean drinking water, seeds for their crops and schooling for Levi and the other kids in the village. This money will go a very long way to improving some lives and most of all, will allow one bright-eyed little boy to have some hope.
I finally put down Levi’s letter, after reading it several times and thinking of the little boy so very far away, who needed me in his life and I silently thanked him for the best Christmas present our family could ever have given to each other.