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We became Night's regular customers. Each morning when she spotted our car, she had a newspaper ready to shove through our window in exchange for 500 shillings (50 cents). Eventually we just paid her 2500 shillings every Monday, and throughout the week she was ready with a paper as we drove up. If we didn't have enough money, she gave us credit.
One day, Night handed us a card that announced her marriage at a local Catholic church, and, in Ugandan tradition, she asked for a donation to help pay for the wedding. We gave her a small contribution and wished her well, wondering if a married woman would still sell newspapers. She didn't miss a day.
About a year and a half ago, we returned home to find Night pacing up and down the dirt road that leads to our house. She didn't know where we lived, but she knew which road we came from. We stopped and talked with her. She asked if we knew of a job for her. Her husband, a driver for a business in Kampala, had been laid off. Night was now responsible for bringing home the money for food and rent.
After some conversation, we hired Night to clean the Mennonite Central Committee office and a neighbouring office two afternoons a week. She proved a great help, and we enjoyed getting to know her. We learned she had two children, ages 8 and 5, the youngest from the man she had just married.
Then, one day, she missed selling the paper, and she showed up at work with a swollen face. When we asked what had happened, she burst into tears. For months, her husband had been spending his evenings and most of the night drinking with other women. He usually came home at 6 a.m. to demand that Night fix him water for bathing and indulge whatever other pleasures he happened to be in the mood for. When she had finally gotten up the nerve to stand up to him, he had beaten her. This had been happening for several months. She had reached her limit and asked if we would lend her money to move out of the house and rent a room away from her husband.
This was a difficult decision for us. We believe in marriage and in the ability of all of us to choose the difficult, painful way of working things out to save a marriage. In a perfect world without AIDS, that may be an option. In Uganda, allowing your husband to sleep with other women is a death sentence. We gave Night the money to move out.
Over the past year, we were blessed to see Night happy and able to provide for her children. Without her husband demanding her money for drinking and women, she could make ends meet and keep her children in school.
About 10 weeks ago, Night's youngest daughter fell sick. After a few days, she seemed to get better, but the doctors said they thought the child had tuberculosis. Within a week, Night herself fell sick. She thought she had malaria and went to see the doctor. She returned with a small sack of medicines for malaria, diarrhea and a skin problem, and some anti-fungal medicine. We wondered then if something major was wrong, but we wanted to believe the best.
Night got very sick quickly. She moved to her mother's home a month ago because her mother is a nurse who can administer the drip Night needs to keep from dehydrating. Finally we got word that Night was admitted to the hospital.
In the midst of this, Betty, our neighbour, heard the taxi drivers talking about Night. Rumour has it that Night's husband knew he had AIDS and married Night so she would take care of him when he fell sick. In a more perfect world, Night could sue him for compensation for her illness, or maybe even for murder.
We visited Night last week. She can sit up, eat a bit of porridge and sip tea, but she's thin and sick. Night didn't tell us she had AIDS, and chances are she wouldn't know herself unless she specifically asked. I don't think I would blame her for not wanting to know. It's not a perfect world, is it?
This article was distributed by Mennonite Central Committee in December, 1995, Pam Ferguson is from Melba, Idaho.
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