Ngakitalo Nyo

A few months ago the husband of our neighbor died. I arrived home from work to find my host sisters preparing to go next door in order to sit with the family. I had not experienced the death of a family member or neighbor before, but I was expected to go along to express condolances. As I walked over with Sarah, she instructed me on the niceties of attending a burial. The title of this posting is "ngakitalo nyo." This is the phrase you greet everyone with at a burial or mourning, or what you greet someone with who has recently lost someone close to them. I asked my family (and later friends and coworkers) to translate this phrase for me but none of them were able. They said it is much stronger than "I'm sorry," and conveys something really heavy, a kind of dread. It somehow is expressing sorrow, fear, mutual sadness. The fact that it is said to everyone attending a burial (not just family) seems to signify that we are all similarly affected by loss.

As we entered the yard of our neighbor, we greeted each person we met with "ngakitalo nyo." We entered the living space to find the family and friends seated around the perimeter of the room, the coffin in the center. In buganda fashion, each of us too turns greeting each present with ngakitalo, and then proceeded with the rest of the greeting. "Eradde, Eradde." You are welecome. "Osibiyotano?" How has been your day? "Jabale Ko." Thanks for the work you are doing. The strange thing thing for me was that each person responded to the greeting with "balungi." It is good. I am good. Everything is fine. Even as the widow was sobbing and holding a handkerchief to her face, she answered that she was fine. There is not a negative response in the language structure.

It is common during the wake, the night before the burial, for friends and family to stay the night with those who are grieving. This places a significant financial burden on the grieving family as they are expected to provide tea and food for those in attendance. As such, some mourners bring supplies to offer to the family in attempt to lessen some of that burden.

We did not spend the night with our neighbors, but even as we were leaving a few hours later, more friends were arriving and chairs were being set out. It would be a long night for the family.

***************

I have left Uganda. It has been one week, and in those seven days I have experienced some emotions not dissimilar to those of one grieving any other loss. For the most part I have been numb and ambivalent--not missing Uganda (the memories of work and the last struggles are still too fresh for that), not really happy to experience the joys of America, anxious about all of the story telling and reunions ahead of me. I anticipate that I will wish at somepoint soon to go back to Kampala. I will probably be angry with myself, with circumstances that change and with my own decisions. I will question where I am now, and where I have been, and where I am going to be next year.

It has been good to share a few days with those other forty-odd people also returning home from their year of service. We compared notes on our goodbye-celebrations with our host communities, compared the myriad of odd and wonderful gifts we were given, and compared fears and aprehensions about returning to school, work, or job-hunting.

The heaviness expressed in Ngakitalo is the heaviness of my heart. How can I express in words what it has meant to share the lives of my friends and coworkers for the last eleven months? What can I say to try and convey the honor of witnessing life and death in places where most are not priviledged to go? How can I move on from this year in way that honors what God has done in my life, but also honors the fact that in the totality of the life he calls us to, there are no compartments or categories? My service will continue, the services of those at Mengo HIV clinic will continue. I return to Norwich VT to try and become part of that community as myself, but changed. God has called us to serve him in the place we are, right now, today. I was asked at somepoint in my year what it felt like to make a difference. My response was confusion--I did not feel that this year was making more or less of a difference than my years of nursing previously. I was just in a different location. God will call some of us to serve him in international settings. He will call some of us to serve him in Boston. Washington DC. Rochester, NY. Norwich. How will we answer that call, and how will we serve him today?

I will be asked many times (and this is an OK question), as I have been asked many times already in Uganda--when and if I am "going back." I cannot answer this question fully, but as Eric took to telling people in Uganda, "God knows." And as I told my friends, "You pray." So my only answer right now is this same response--that I will be praying, and waiting for God's direction.

Today I will enjoy the hot showers, the company of good friends, and cheddar cheese. I will be praying for those I love in Uganda, and those I love here. Tomorrow--? Who knows? I pray that I will be open to the service God has for me, and willing to do His work.

Peace

From Goodbyes to Hellos

First Thoughts from the USA

Folks, this will be rough, but I feel the need to record some thoughts a mere 30 hours after my reentry yesterday.

I was walking around the neighborhood surrounding MCC in the wee hours this morning (jet lag woke me up at 3:30, and refused to give me rest) and was astounded by the silence. I couldn't see any people! The houses seem really far apart, the lawns huge. The cars in every driveway are very shiny. And none of the plants growing are edible.
I don't see any animals--no dogs or cats even.

The streets are so wide, and smooth. The sidewalks are neat--no trash. Cars go so fast, and I am the only pedestrian (alright, so maybe this is normal at 6:00AM). Imagine my relief when I finally passed, around 7:30, a woman setting up a small stand to sell tomatos in her yard. I was worried about what everyone was going to eat! You have to walk at least seven blocks from MCC to find even a very small grocery store.

Mostly, I feel alone walking. WHen I finally pass another walker, and then two women jogging, they say hi and move on. There aren't any kids greeting me, no one yelling.

This alone-ness puzzles me because I have spent so many many hours over the last year wishing for anonimity and privacy on my early morning ventures--and now that I have it it feels bizarre.

I had to go to a department store this afternoon to pick up some things (my luggage has delayed--I think it didn't want to leave east africa!) and one other returnee and I had a small crisis in the shampoo aisle. Too many products! The bottles are so big--it seems excessive to have that much shampoo for one person.

Right now my stomach hurts because I have had ten servings of fruit and vegetables today. Apples! Lettuce! Broccoli! Orange oranges! (ours in uganda there were green oranges). The food is amazing here.

Can't think of anything else interesting. Perhaps I'll get some sleep and see the world through newer eyes tomorrow.

Love to you all!

Ah, another chance to play the fool...

So last Saturday, after returning quickly from Bwindi, I was excited (thrilled, amazed, filled with wonderment) at the opportunity to attend one more Introduction (Kwanjula) ceremony before I leave this blessed country.

Once again I found myself at the mercy of my host sisters, who for lack of better supplies, wrapped my body in bedsheets and garbed me with Sarah's bisuti (which is eight inches longer than I am tall) and shod me with Sarah's high-heeled shoes (I have conveniently misplaced my own "smart" shoes to avoid having to wear them anywhere).

Because this is Uganda, it didn't seem to be a problem that we arrived at the introduction six hours late, just in time for the food. To make things better, it had been raining all day, so not only was I just navigating the normal terrain of Kampala in the bisuiti, but mud and mud puddles--trying to keep fifty pounds of dress out of this mud. The best part was trying to carry food and drink, while still managing the dress situation. This required me to bend over at the waist, clutching yards of fabric between my elbows and balance the soda on my head. Just kidding.

Since Saturday though, many unexpected people have been commenting on seeing me at the Introduction. None of them greeted me there--apparently they were just enjoying the spectacle that is me in Uganda. I knew I heard laughter from the in-law section.