Different...But The Same

January 21, 2015

When coming to Uganda, every experience is a new experience. even after 6 years I'm constantly learning things about the Ugandan culture. While humanity is more alike than different, the ways in which we "do life" can be very different.

As we were preparing to leave the village and return to the guest house, we received word from Abbey that his 18 months old nephew had been killed. A large truck of cement was backing into a driveway where 18 month old Emma was standing. Not seeing the child, the driver knocked Emma down, driving over him. The truck unloaded and pulled away unaware until the neighboring children started screaming. 

Young Emma was whisked to a local medical clinic where he was pronounced dead upon arrival.

We were given directions to Abbey's family home where we joined him. Here in Uganda, this young mother is left only to return home and sit in mourning with her dead child.

Culturally, death of a loved one is celebrated with the deceased being wrapped in white cloth/ sheets and placed in the home. Relatives, neighbors & friends come to the house to pay their respects. The following day, the burial ceremony is held.

In the case of Emma, his mother Zam returned home , wrapped him in sheets & laid him on the floor of their one room home which was approximately (10 x 10), while Zam sat in the corner on the same cold wiping her own tears.

When we arrived, it was buzzing with people who had come to be with the family. The tradition is that a fire is built, and food is prepared in order to feed the growing crowd of people. The people remain encircled at the home for 24 hours.

Zam's friends & relatives took turns, entering the room in small numbers, to sit with her, offering words of encouragement or cry with her. Mary ( my mom) and I entered, kneeling beside her.  Mary prayed for her offering her condolences.  All I could do was put my arms around her and cry.  Each of us... mothers; trying to grasp the sting of losing a child.  I realized my tears were falling on her as her tears were dropping on my cheek.  We may come from different parts of the world; our cultures may greatly vary, but the rawness of these tears shed between moms, was the same. 

As we departed, walking down the rocky, dry red road, we passed the ash-covered blood trail, where this dead child once laid---reminding me of the shortness of life. The smoke-filled air from the burning fire pit--- reminding me of this painful present time of mourning...yet, in the distance, the cry of a newborn baby---reminding me of the hope of tomorrow.

Sarah-

Lake Victoria at sunset