Life for me has been a million miles from easy. I was born into an extremely poor family in Northern Uganda which has suffered for decades from periods of war and famine. I was just a few years old when that man with the smile dressed up so nicely came and convinced my desperate mother that he would provide for me a future that only existed in her dreams, dreams which had nearly faded completely away. I cried when we drove away.
It was only a few hours later that the man with the smile lost his smile. It was only a few days later that he dropped me off to another man who beat me and forced me to sit in the blistering sun on the dangerous streets of Kampala with my hands together, open, as if I was catching drops of invisible water.
At night I longed for my mom. In the morning I longed to escape. At noontime I just wanted food. In the afternoon I dreamed of water, real water falling into my hands and all over my body. In the evening I longed to die. But they provided me with just enough to keep me alive to collect coins for another day.
A few months later a big truck came by with bold letters written on the side. A man in a uniform stepped out, picked me up, opened the back door, and placed me inside.