After graduating college in 2017, my heart called me to serve as a social media intern with HEAL Ministries in Jinja, Uganda.
Betty’s hands are holding mine as I’m sitting on the orange tarp at Kid’s Club. She’s whispering to me the English translation of the story that Joanne is teaching the kids in Luganda. She’s rubbing my hands back and forth, complimenting their softness. I think back to how many people have complimented the smoothness of my palms—strangely one of the most common compliments I receive.
As I’m thinking it through, I don’t feel complimented anymore. I feel oddly offended and at first I’m not sure why. As I rub my fingers over Betty’s palms I feel blistered, rough skin. I look at them and they look worn down, her fingertips cracked.
I realize her hands are the product of hard work, and the softness of mine only prove how much I have yet to accomplish.
Betty’s hands are both strong and gentle. Her blisters have formed from spending hours pounding rocks into powder to make clay—a task I can’t seem to do for more than 20 minutes at a time without needing a break.
Her hands are steady as they gently shape clay on the pottery wheel into beautiful mugs, plates, and bowls. Her hands that insist on washing my feet and shoes that are caked in red dirt after a rainy day. These are the same hands that carry her granddaughter on her hour walk to work each day, that hold mine as we walk together from the pottery station to bath time before lunch.
Her hands are filled with so much love, the kind of love that radiates from her entire being. This is another reason I’m not surprised to learn Betty’s family name is “Kwagala”, the Luganda word that literally means “love” in English.
Her rough hands tell a story of hard work and struggle, a story I am so honored to learn about and to be a part of.
