Green Bananas Beat Big Macs

Receiving a standing ovation is nothing new to the African Children’s Choir. But offering one is new to the inmates at Chicago’s Cook County Jail. For the 24 Ugandan children, ages ranging from 5 to 14, the inmates made an exception. “Even when the entertainment is amateurish, the inmates are polite,” said Spencer Leak, the prison’s executive director. “But they recognize real talent when they see it.”

The inmates “saw it” in these small African ambassadors. Spontaneously, the men rose, clapping to the beat. They stood—six, seven, eight times—beaming, as songs would end. Hardened hearts crumbled. The children performed some of the numbers in their native African tongue. No matter. Their spirit overpowered their foreign words. The choir ought to visit more jails.

And perhaps, as many who hear this choir believe, there ought to be more jails in Uganda: jails for those responsible for the seemingly random massacres of the 1970s and early 1980s that left tens of thousands of children parentless. Perhaps there should be a jail for those who killed the father of a nine-year-old choir member named Miriam. Soldiers broke into her home and gunned the father down in full view of his family.

Miriam offers her testimony at choir concerts: “My country had many soldiers. Some of them were dangerous. They pointed guns at people and killed them.” She continues, “We are small children, who belong to a different army. We are soldiers in the army of the Lord.”

The other young soldiers tell similar stories of how they lost one or both parents. Their childhood memories are pervaded with guns and blood. “The inmates identify with these children,” said Leak. “Most of the inmates here, if they came out of any home at all, came from a one-parent home. Everyone has a story to tell and wants to tell it.”

It was for children like Miriam that Ray Barnett, a human-rights crusader born in Northern Ireland, formed Ambassadors of Aid in 1984, the organization behind the African Children’s Choir. The first choir left Uganda in September of that year and toured Canada, the U.S., Europe, the United Kingdom, and Holland before returning home early in 1986.

The second choir conducted a similar tour from November 1985 to June 1987. A third choir left Uganda in the autumn of 1986 and returns this year. A fourth arrived in the U.S. in January.

The children sing in churches, schools, and public auditoriums. Proceeds go toward Ambassadors of Aid children’s homes for orphans in Uganda. Currently there are six such homes, housing an average of 25 children.

The money also goes toward the African Outreach Academy, a school that travels with the children. Adult chaperons from Uganda serve as teachers. For the children, learning is almost recreation. Some request a later curfew just to study. They know an education is a privilege, inaccessible to many back home.

“In addition to the formal education,” says Sarah Konde, a teacher who traveled with the second choir, “they learn a lot from their surroundings. Many want to go home and build highways. They want to be doctors, lawyers. And so they work hard.”

Often the children speak in their native tongue. It is part of a careful effort to keep them culturally Ugandan, even though they, like American children, are magnetized by the golden arches of McDonald’s. One way to preserve their culture is to limit their exposure to television. Hosts who provide homes for the children are instructed, “No TV.”

One reason for this is because they take it too seriously. Some of the children, after viewing Chitty-Chitty Bang Bang in Europe, expected to see flying cars when they got to America. But the main reason, says chaperon Paul Sendi, is that “not all TV is right for children.” He adds, after a pause, “Or for adults.” In other words, Ugandans don’t need any more reminders of violence.

The children do not miss television. Says choir director Gary Oliver, “Ugandan children are different from children in the U.S. or in Europe. They are very well disciplined. They seem to have great respect for God and the things of God. Sunday school is not just a requirement. They enjoy it. It’s an important part of their lives.”

Yet the children’s preconcert antics testify that they are somewhat normal after all. A boy tugs on a girl’s dress during breathing exercises. Another pretends to pound on his neighbor’s head to the sound of the drums. They fidget and giggle. “Children,” says Oliver, sternly. And order returns.

That these children are normal is the amazing part of their story, given the tragedy of their brief lives. Says Paul Sendi, “They don’t think of the past. Part of it is that they’re always occupied. There is always something new for them to see or do. But much of it is attributable to what God has done in their lives.”

And what God has done for them, he does through them for others. At one home where some of the children stayed, a father had been out of a job for a long time. The children prayed in simple faith, and soon he got a job. In another home, a marriage was falling apart. The children’s witness provided strength for another try.

Their concerts, too, are testimonies, celebrations. Joyfully, they sway, raising hands, clapping, as they proclaim their message in song: “Jesus Is the Answer,” “He Is Coming Soon,” “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands.” Inevitably someone will come forward afterward with a request to adopt one of the children. The answer is always no.

“These children belong to Uganda,” says Barnett. “They’re Uganda’s national treasure, the hope of its future.” And so the time comes—as it has for some already—when the children will forgo a Big Mac in favor of the green bananas of their homeland. They know Uganda is where they belong. That country needs these young soldiers for the Lord.

By Randall L. Frame.

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