Esther's Story

 “I have nothing to give to God, so I sing to Him and pray only.”

That’s what Esther told me as she dried her eyes, emotionally tired after pouring her life story into my open journal pages.  I sat next to her, calm and still, letting the afternoon breeze lift the hair off my warm, sweaty neck and face.  Soon, a medical missionary team would be coming to check in at the guest house.  Esther would need to go back downstairs to her kitchen and prepare a homey dinner for all of us.  But for that moment, we sat on the shaded porch, letting everything just be. 

I didn’t want to speak then.  Esther let me in to the pieces of her that were vulnerable and painful.  Any words I could have said would have felt small and trite; an attempt to make sense of things that don’t make much sense at all.  I asked her if I could share her story, and she laughed and blew her nose.  “Yes!  Share with everyone so they will know my life.  Esther in Uganda!”

Pull up a chair, friend. 

When Esther was two weeks old, her mother left her father and married someone else.  Shortly after, someone poisoned baby Esther and she most likely would have died, if her grandma hadn’t given her some local medicine.  Her grandma also took Esther to her biological father and ordered him to take care of his sick child.  His response was, “Girls are useless.  Throw her into a pit latrine.”

But she didn’t.

Esther’s grandma prayed for her and kept giving her local medicine until she was cured.  An aunt stepped in to raise Esther with her cousins.  There wasn’t enough money for school fees, or clothing for that matter.  Little Esther grew up wearing her aunt’s blouse with a belt to form some semblance of a dress.  They’d wash it at night and she’d wear it wet the next day.  Esther’s uncle scraped together enough money to put her through third grade, but after that, she went to work as a house girl.

A small eight year old, Esther had more work than she could handle.  The family had a dozen gods in the house.  One of her jobs was to hang the gods outside in the surrounding bushes and clean the gods’ house.  When that was done, Esther was in charge of cleaning up after the family’s puppies.  They didn’t give her a brush or any supplies, so she had to wash the excrement mess with her hands.  In exchange for work, Esther received cold leftover food. 

As she told me this part, I felt so angry that she didn’t even receive wages for this demeaning job.  But Esther glazed over the part about no wages.  Her voice broke and tears welled up when she said, “No hot food.” 

Life continued to be steeped in difficulty.  When Esther was fifteen years old, a man raped her and she got pregnant with her first born son.  She was a tiny teenager and everyone thought she would die from the pregnancy.  Esther’s family took her to live with the baby’s father.  Over the next four years, they had two more children.  This man was an alcoholic and often beat Esther.  She would take her kids and sleep outside when things felt unsafe in the home. 

Eventually, she took the kids, left him and went to stay with her mother.  A year and a half later, Esther’s mother became sick and died after one month of illness.  Esther was 20 or 21 years old, with three small children and nowhere to go.  She finally found refuge on her uncle’s land, living in a house made of mud, sticks, and grass.  Her uncle’s son was not happy about this and threatened to destroy the house.  He wanted the land.  Esther left.

She got a job working in a secondary school for 2300 Ugandan shillings per month ($0.87 USD).  The pay was sporadic, though, so Esther stayed up nights sewing tablecloths and making chapatti (flat bread) to sell.  Somehow, she was able to send her three children to school on these earnings.  As Esther talked to me, she kept repeating, “I didn’t study in my life.”  She didn’t want her kids to miss out on an education like she did.

Things got much, much better when her cousin’s sister opened the company Airtel to sell phones.  Esther shared her story and this relative set her up cooking for the Airtel workers.  This time, she made 50,000 shillings per month (just under $19) and, she emphasized, “They actually paid me!”

When her Airtel relative married a mzungu (white person) and went to America, it was hard for Esther to keep her job there.  She ended up working for an Asian businessman, cooking and cleaning at his home.  This employer didn’t pay her, but she stayed because the house worked as a place for Esther to live.  Her kids went to stay with Esther’s aunt.  

While this situation was difficult, it put her in a position where she met a missionary couple who took Esther on as the head of hospitality at their guesthouse in Kampala.  The couple was generous with Esther and even gave her three months salary so she could build a house for her kids in northern Uganda, where they lived.  The house is 3x6 meters, with two rooms.  Esther was proud to say that the roof is sturdy, made of five iron sheets. 

Throughout her life, Esther has gone to church.  The day her mother died was the day Esther got saved.  Esther is an only child, so her mother’s death was an especially heavy blow.  “I have no one to lean on.  I have no one there, so I have to lean on Jesus.”  Her mother’s dead body was in the house, and people from church were there, singing and giving testimonies.  Esther started talking about her old life and said she wanted to be free of sin, so they prayed for her and she became born again.

If Esther hadn’t come to run the guesthouse in Kampala, she thinks she’d probably be in heaven with her mother.  One day, she was so tired of this world, she wanted to kill herself.  She cried to God,“I have no one, nowhere.  At least let me die.”  Later, Esther confessed her feelings to her aunt.  It helped to share the pain with someone, and ever since, this aunt is the one she stays with when she goes north to see her family.

Her oldest son finished high school and now has a wife.  Esther’s daughter became a secretary.  The baby of the family, her second son, is now finishing school to be an engineer.  All of Esther’s salary was going to pay this son’s school fees, until a visiting American heard Esther’s story and took over the payments.  He has a passion for engineering, and it blesses him to see Esther’s son pursue this dream. 

Esther looked at me, held my hand, and furrowed her dark eyebrows. 

“This world is difficult.  This life is difficult.  Satan can continue to say, ‘Kill yourself’, but now I know I’m glad I’m here.  

God is good.  With God, all things are possible.

I have nothing to give to God.  Nothing.  So I sing to Him and pray only.”

And she does.

In the guest house, I could hear her strong, clear voice downstairs, rising above the clattering of pans and sounds of running water, singing worship songs.  As she headed for bed at the end of a long day, Esther was humming another hymn.  She gives God all she has.

I tried it too.  I hung our wet clothes out to dry and sang, I played with kids and taught them a new song for God.  Now, I’m in Seattle again, and when I do dishes, my voice rings out above the water too.  My story is very different from Esther’s.  I can’t fathom all the pain she’s been through.  Still, the most valuable thing I can give God is just the same as what Esther gives.

So I sing to Him and pray.