Leku Ivan’s Heart

It’s Monday and you deserve a sweet story.  How about one about Leku Ivan, the painter kid in Uganda who uses the money from his paintings to buy his sister new dresses in the absence of their parents?

Leku Ivan

Last October, Ivan was featured in The Daily Monitor.  Here’s the story:

The paintings of artist Ivan Leku, 19, may not ring a bell on the first look. They may seem like any other paintings, like the ones for decorating our rooms or office walls.
But on closer and careful observation, one gets fascinated with beautiful graphical illustration of the abstract paintings in acrylics.
The paintings send a striking message about the lives of the African street children, of children living a deplorable life, yet covered with jolly faces.

No Ordinary Painting

“This is not just an ordinary painting. I am trying to relay how our children are suffering on the streets,” Leku says. “All these children need is love and care so that they are transformed.”
Leku says from his experience as a street child for more than 10 years, he knows the challenges street children go through. “From my talent as an artist, I think it is worthwhile telling the world about these children through my paintings,” Leku says, adding: “My ambition at the moment is to ensure that the local people and the government take up responsibilities of looking after the street children who could be in possession of good talents.”

Passion for art

Leku says art has been his passion since childhood. He acquired practical art skills from Jinja Art shop, where he had been undergoing training in abstract and landscape paintings.

“Even in my childhood, no one thought I could be an artist. But because I had people around me who believed that art was what can earn me a living, they groomed me and today, they appreciate my skills,” says Leku.

He began commercial painting in 2010.

With Shs400,000, he rented a room in Gulu Town, which serves as his work station.

In order to reduce the rent he pays, he shares the room with two other artists. On how and where he sells his products, Leku says it is mostly at exhibition shows, trade fairs and hotels, targeting mainly foreign customers who seem to be more interested in his art pieces.

He says some of his clients constitute foreigners, who place their orders and have their goods sent to them and the money sent to him through Western Union.

Future plans

Leku says he intends to turn his workshop into a free training class for street children, whose lives, he says, are considered wasted.

“I want these children to learn practical art skills for their future life sustenance,” says Leku.

Those foreign clients who place orders and send money via Western Union?  That’s you, sweet Vigilantes.  You’re making a difference in Ivan’s life.  In turn, he’s sharing his heart and his talent with street kids in Gulu.

Want to buy one of Ivan’s paintings?  Click here to see a handful of his remaining pieces and the paintings of the other artists who share his shop.

Giraffes by Leku Ivan $40 (plus shipping)

Vigilante Kindness: Paper Poem Beads

Yesterday I wrote about how God makes beautiful, new things out of old, wrecked things.  What got me to thinking about this in the first place is this little Vigilante Kindness Paper Bead Jewelry Project that’s in the very baby stages.

This project started with a conversation with my friend Denis about his wife, Vickie, and how she wants to be a businesswoman.

Vickie and some other women in Te Okot know how to make paper bead jewelry.  In fact, some of the men, including Denis, know how to make beads, too.  I wanted to bring Vickie a gift the next time I went to Te Okot, so I bought her some jewelry making tools and supplies.

The one thing that had me stumped was where to get the paper.  Slick, shiny, colorful magazine paper would work best, but it’s not like there’s a magazine stand on the corner in or anywhere near Te Okot.  I can think of two bookstores in Gulu.  They carry textbooks, dictionaries and Bibles.

Earlier in my trip, I’d stopped at the stationery store and picked up two blank sheets of poster paper to use in the poetry workshops I was teaching.  The posters were baby blue because that’s the only color the stationery store had and I bought their last two sheets.

I penned George Ella Lyon’s earthen poem Where I’m From on the posters, my handwriting slanting perilously downward as I wrote the words in pungent, permanent black ink.

I took these posters back and forth with me to class, rolled up in my backpack as I rode on the back of a boda to school, then taped with duct tape on the makeshift blackboard and finally rolled back up into my backpack at the end of each class.

By the time the writing workshops came to an end, my posters were covered in chalkdust from all the notes we added on the board around the poems.  The edges of the posters were red with the dust that blew into the classroom and also kicked up underneath the tires of the boda.  They were splattered with mud from puddles of fresh rain and polka-dotted with water spots from the rain itself.

My tattered posters were destined for the trash, that is until I found out that Vickie needed paper for jewelry making.  The posters weren’t the slick, colorful magazine paper that’s best for bead making, but they were what I had.

This seems like a lesson I have to learn over and over again.  What I’ve got to offer is enough, even when it’s tattered and splotched with mud.  It’s enough.

I passed off my poster to Denis who took it home and made beads with Vickie.  By the time I returned home, my mud stained, used up poster had been made into beautiful beads.

paper beadsI love these beads because they’re proof that stained, wrecked things can be made new.  Broken, wrecked people like me can be made new.  That’s another lesson that I have to keep learning.  Maybe the broken, wrecked parts of you need that whispered in the cracks, too.

I love these beads because poetry is tucked into them.  The black parts of the beads are my lopsided scribblings of George Ella Lyon’s gorgeous words.

I love these beads because the lighter parts of the beads are the water spots from a day when I was caught in a rainstorm, drenched down through all the layers of myself.

Most of all, I love these beads because they mean that Vickie and the women of Te Okot get the opportunity to be a businesswomen who are able to earn money and feed and clothe their children.

When I return to Te Okot in July, I’m bringing Vickie a suitcase full of magazines.  Your magazines and my magazines, once destined for the trash, or the recycle bin at best, will be made into jewelry. Second chances never looked so beautiful.

magazines

 

 

Chickens: A New Year’s Resolution

It’s no secret that I hate birds.  I’m talking the fire of a thousand suns kind of hatred.  Just in case you’re thinking my bird loathing isn’t justified, let me send you on a little trip down memory lane to the day a wild turkey chased me to school.

Go ahead, I’ll wait.

See?  I hate birds and they hate me. Fair is fair.

Last summer, with just a few days remaining in Uganda, my three boys set an official meeting with me.  They’d been having “brothers only, no mother” meetings without me for a few days, so when they set this meeting with me my interest was piqued, to say the least.

I’m new to this parenting thing and I was a little nervous.  They’re not biological brothers.  Being brothers is as unfamiliar to them as motherhood is to me.  We’re all still working out the kinks of our unlikely family.

Lanyero and Sons: Otim Geoffrey, Alicia, Oryem William and Opiyo Martin
Lanyero and Sons: Otim Geoffrey, Alicia, Oryem William and Opiyo Martin

The day came for our meeting and we sat outside at a table, drinking pineapple Merinda.  My boys began to speak.  They told me how grateful they are that Terry and I support their schooling and how grateful they are that we do so much for them.  They also told me how difficult it is for them to ask for our help, especially because they know we’re supporting all three of them.

I didn’t have much of a response except to say that I understand how difficult it is to ask for help.  Most days, I’d rather die than admit I need help.

I also told my boys that as their mom, part of my job is to say no when they ask me for things that aren’t in their best interests.  (Right moms?  That’s part of the job, right?  Oh, I’m so new to this.)

They continued, telling me that they’d developed a business plan so that they could begin to pay their own school fees and pay for other necessary items like books, food and clothing.

I took a deep breath.  Young boys with a business plan sounded like bad news to me.  I had “No” ready on my lips.

Then they pulled out photocopies of their business plan and I knew they were serious.  Typing up the plan on a computer and then making copies isn’t that easy when you don’t have access to things like a computer, a copier or regular electricity.

Martin, my middle kid who named me Lanyero, went over their plan in detail and I couldn’t help but giggle.

My boys had created a beautiful business plan to start a chicken farm.

A chicken farm, proof positive that God has a wicked sense of humor.

They even named it: Lanyero and Sons Broilers.

Lanyero means “joyful”.  The literal translation means “laughter”.  And, Lord have mercy, did I cackle at the thought of starting a chicken farm in Northern Uganda.

What brings me joy about their plan is that they want to tithe a portion of their chickens and eggs to local organizations that take care of people with disabilities, widows, and orphaned babies and children.

My formerly orphaned boys want to help care for orphans.

And just like that my heart melted.

So as people around me are making New Year’s resolutions to get healthy, get organized, get out of debt, I-the girl who is petrified of all things feathered-am making plans to get chickens.

Wanna help make the chicken farm come to fruition?  Here's your chance.