Yesterday morning most of the roads and pathways in the compound of Kibaale Centre were covered in large dark red murky mud puddles….. I watched as everyone tried to step around these large beautiful puddles….. I could not help but think of a dear friend of mine 2 1/2 year old Isaiah… I could just see him walking then jumping in each and every puddle over and over and over again…. It had been a very stormy night with thunder and lightning and pounding rain…… and all of a sudden the rains stopped just before 7 am just one hour before school was suppose to begin. I wondered if the students would be late.

I got dressed into my jean skirt since pants are frowned upon…… part of their culture, a long sleeve top and a rain jacket. I headed off to the clinic to see how things were and to check and see how many and whom of the staff had arrived….. It appeared all were present…. shivering from the cold. It was about 70 degrees but the dampness from the rain made it feel even colder. I watch as the students arrived for school in their cotton tops and skirts for the girls or pants for the boys….no one was wearing a sweater or jacket. The jackets or sweaters were wrapped around their school books and papers……I could not help but laugh silently.

I had a meeting in an office across the compound from the clinic so I carefully headed out watching out for the puddles but missed the mud…… I slipped and fell. Both my legs were covered in the red mud from the tops of my crocs to just above my knees….. my hands and parts of my arms were covered. I had jarred my back and was not sure I would be able to get up….. two lovely ladies came to my rescue. My back, neck and left leg were sore but it was my dignity which had the most damage……looking down at me….. one of the two ladies made this comment…. “now-now you are no longer coloured.” Did you get that…. I, a white Caucasian female was concerned coloured until I was covered with the mud and became dark skinned. This was not the first time I had heard that comment but was not sure if they were talking to me or about me….. Yesterday, I knew what they were saying. I am considered a coloured person to these people in rural Uganda….. I am coloured and I am white.

It is strange to be considered or thought of as being a coloured person….. I am not looked down upon or treated with anything but total respect. I am a part of this community and I am treated as such…..

I wonder if there are any coloured people in God’s eyes……