The Help

“Did you read The Help?  Yes? Well, I have stories for you from Ugandan caregivers, you wouldn’t believe your ears,” laughs Julia Musisi, whose open round face and wide eyes radiate warmth. It’s an Indian summer day and it’s hot in my Marin living room.  Julia’s brown skin glistens with a light layer of sweat. 

We’ve just met but she feels so familiar.  “When I was 25, I came to Los Angeles from Kampala in 1995 and got a job working for an elderly woman who designed the NBC peacock.  You know that graphic?”  I nod.

“This woman, she had all of these pink chairs in her house.  She told her daughter, ‘I don’t know where Julia is going to sit. ‘ You see, she thought that the black of me would rub off on the pink chairs.”   

I laugh and say, “oh no.”  Julia says, “We got to be good friends.  I became family to her, but I had no idea what America was like.”  

“ Very racist, then and now,” I apologize. “White people suck”

“ Yes, and that Donald Trump,” Julia responds.  “What do you think of Hilary?  You know the Clinton Foundation has done so much good in my country around AIDS.”

And we’re off, talking for another 3 hours. 

Julia came over to interview for a job as a companion for my 87-year old mother. I got her name from a recommendation on Nextdoor, our neighborhood social media site.  

I describe my mom to Julia, explaining in detail who she was and who she is today, as she suffers from dementia.  Julia leans forward on the edge of the orange sofa, listening carefully with kindness. 

“She used to read all the time, play bridge, enjoy going to the theater.  She had her own business, a pharmacy.  She was smart, capable, in charge.  Extremely put together. Now it’s hard to engage her.  She doesn’t have friends. She never was very social.  My dad was the people person. She has difficulty reading now and she resists doing lots of things because she knows she can’t do them as well as she used to, if at all. She’s lonely.”

“We will find things to do together, “ Julia says.  “ I will take her out for walks, for coffee or tea, shopping, to the movies.”

“She loves watching movies, still,” I say.  “Doesn’t remember much when she leaves the movie theater, but that’s ok.”

“It will be good for her to have me with her,” Julia declares.

I agree. Julia got the job and we worked through the specifics, but that’s not where our conversation ended.  I asked Julia to tell me more about Uganda. 

“ I have an orphanage there, for 17 girls.  They live in a home I own on five acres of land.  I couldn’t have children, so I do this.”

Julia shares her success stories – two of her girls came to California to attend college. “One is becoming an RN, so she can return to Uganda and educate women to stop having so many children.  Most have seven, eight, nine, or ten, like it’s nothing.  Nothing. That’s what happens to young women.  They keep having the babies; they have no jobs and the poverty is so bad. Did you know that Cervical cancer is the number one cause of death for women in Africa?“

Julia, whose parents could not afford to buy shoes and clothes for their ten children, looks out our windows at Mount Tam and the Bay, delighted with the view.  “It is so lovely,” she says. 

Here we sit, in spectacular Southern Marin County, where the population is stricken with affluenza, and we raise entitled children who as Julia observed, “don’t even talk to their parents, and don’t know even how to cook a meal.  They can’t do anything for themselves. Really!”  

Here we sit, and this strong, smart, and big-hearted woman tells me what she does with her $25 an hour wage –how her mission is to empower girls to make better lives for themselves in her country.  “I want to build a school on my land and offer vocational training.  I got 20 sewing machines donated, and the local women, they come to my house to learn to sew. They can earn a wage, now.” 

When Julia speaks of her work and of Uganda, she is luminous and as bright as the afternoon sunlight  that won’t quit streaming into the room.  “You must come with me to Uganda and see,” she says.  She travels to Uganda several times a year, and has worked with other NGOs and Doctors Without Borders to provide trainings on how to screen for cervical cancer.

I ask her how she raises money for her projects. She joins me on my sofa side, as I get my computer to have a look at her web site.  She has founded an NGO called Voluntary Hearts Community for Girl-child Concern.  This reminds me of author Alexander McCall Smith’s name for his Botswanan character, Precious Ramotswe’s business -- the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency.  Only a lot more is at stake here.

Julie has thought about doing a crowd funding campaign, but she doesn’t quite know how to do this. 

“I can help you,” I volunteer, with an open heart.  See the name works! 

“I am a writer and a good marketer, and I understand how to use words on the Internet. I’ve been doing this kind of thing for many years.  And Julia, I, too, want to empower girls in the world.”

“Women and girls in Africa, in Uganda have so much difficulty. The poverty, oh people do not understand how poor people live in third world countries,” Julia says. “If you do not want to see poverty, you cannot come to my country.”  And in the next breath, she again, invites me to come to Uganda, “and see for yourself.”

Her organization is dedicated to “sowing the seeds of love and care to the vulnerable young girls by improving their livelihood. “   The Voluntary Hearts Community targets girls who are orphaned, abandoned, exploited, and living with single or handicapped parents, or elderly caregivers.  They have helped 280 girls and young women so far.

She smiles, puts down her glass of water, then turns towards me, arms extended, and gives me a big hug.  

“This is the way we make change, by changing lives one at a time.  That is what you do, Julia. This is how it happens. I am so happy that you walked through my door today. I can help.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I will help mother, and you will help the girls.”

“Yes.  This is good, we will help each other” I affirm.  “This is very good.”