"We Forget How Blessed We Are"
1 Thessalonians 5: 16-18
We had lunch together at our beautiful lake front hotel and visited for a long time. After lunch, we took a taxi to visit Joseph’s dad at the home where Joseph grew up. Mwanza is known as “rock city” because of the incredible rocks, stacked on top of each other, that you can see everywhere. Many people, including Joseph’s dad, build their homes into the side of these massive mountains made of rocks. The taxi took us as far as he could and then we climbed the makeshift rock steps that wound back and forth up the steep mountainside, all the way up to the house. We were greeted by over a dozen family members who had gathered and had been waiting since morning to see us. They embraced us both with big hugs and congratulated me for climbing the mountain. We sat outside, overlooking the city, and visited for a couple hours. Of course, Joseph’s stepmom and cousins had prepared food for us and insisted that we eat way more than we were capable of. Joseph’s father told me the history of his family and pulled out a large map to show me the path that his great-great-grandfather took from Sudan to Tanzania. Joseph’s mom told me about what he was like as a little boy and his dad asked to see pictures of my family. Neighbors passed by, every one more excited than the last to see Leonard (Joseph’s family name) and greet the mzungu (white person) who he brought home with him. By the time we got back to the hotel we both crashed, totally exhausted and so, so happy.
Friday morning, we went to Joseph’s mom’s house where she lives with his grandma and some of his cousins. Her house is situated in a small village in the valley between two rock-mountains. We were met at the door by Joseph’s grandma who, upon seeing us, started singing and dancing, yelling “Leonard is home!” and “Our wife is here!” Of course, Joseph’s mom cooked lunch and we ate while we visited about our families and looked at old family pictures of Joseph and his brothers and sister. We spent the rest of the day driving around the city, climbing up steep hills to try and get the best view of Lake Victoria, and taking pictures of the crazy rocks.
On Saturday I got to meet Joseph’s older brother, Dennis, who met us for lunch at a pizza and smoothie café just outside of town. Just as kind and quiet as Joseph, I loved just sitting back, watching them talk and laugh together, observing their similarities and differences, and imagining what they were like growing up together. By Saturday afternoon, all of the running around of the previous three days had caught up to me. I went back to the hotel to rest while Joseph went to town to find some parts for our motorcycle and other items that we couldn’t get back home in Bukoba.
Sunday, our last full day, was nonstop. We woke up early to meet Dennis in a village south of town that overlooked the bay of Lake Victoria. Joseph told Dennis that someday we wanted to buy land near the lake, so Dennis called a friend of his and they showed us around some available plots near the water. There were many ‘goosebump moments’ as we drove around the beautiful village, imagining having a home of our own there some day. After exploring we stopped back by Joseph’s dad’s house to give our goodbyes and, of course, eat, before going back to his mom’s house where all of his aunts and cousins had gathered to cook a big farewell meal. His aunts sat around the outdoor stove preparing chips (fries) and chicken, and his cousins brought me inside to help slice fruits and vegetables, asking me questions about myself and my family. Joseph played with his younger cousins and joked with his aunts. I sat with his grandmother, talking and laughing. When the food was ready, Joseph’s mom pulled out a large woven grass mat for the kids to sit on and they circled up and took hands to pray before receiving their food. The happy energy and love that Joseph’s mom’s house radiated was so contagious, I didn’t want to leave. Eventually, we said our final goodbyes and gave big hugs, promising to see each other soon.
We returned to Bukoba on Monday and napped for most of the afternoon, trying to recover from the whirlwind four days away. Over dinner that night we talked about our favorite parts of the trip. We both commented on how welcoming his family was to me, which is the typical Tanzanian way, but also how they treated me like a normal person. It is rare for Joseph and I to go anywhere that my ‘whiteness’ is not either a spectacle or an issue- it’s something that we have just come to expect - so to be around his family and to experience their genuine love and excitement for us, not because I’m white, but because I’m Joseph’s, and he is theirs, it was just the best feeling. We are both still on a bit of a high from it all.
But I would be remiss if I talked about the joy that came at the end of last week without talking about the sorrow that happened first.
Last Tuesday morning I was awoken to the sound of someone wailing. I sat up quickly and listened, thinking maybe it was a dog, but then I heard it again, followed by pounding on my neighbor, Teacher Laudia’s door. I checked the time. It was 5:30. They called out her name and continued pounding, then more wailing. I grabbed my robe and slipped on some sandals to see what was going on. Before I could get out the door, I heard them scream for our head teacher Kalokola, and my stomach turned. I could feel it in my gut, Emma had died.
Emma, a deaf cook and handyman who lived here at KEMPS, had been sick for over a month. He had been hospitalized about an hour away, close to his family, but over the last ten days he refused to take any medicine or eat. Madam Peace, one of his best friends from KEMPS had gone to stay with him and, after seeing his condition, requested that he be brought back to school to be watched closely and to be sure he was given proper food and care. He arrived at KEMPS late one night and we all crowded into his small room to greet him and give thanksgiving for his safe arrival. He was skin and bones, unable to lift himself out of bed. His hands folded over his heart, body shaking, he lay smiling as we surrounded him and discussed his condition. Madam Peace told me that his heart was enlarged and that his stomach was filling with fluid. I looked at his medication trying to understand what the cause of this could be and what the doctors were trying to do to help him. Whenever I asked a question about his condition, Peace told me that Emma had “lots of diseases” and it was “very dangerous”. She later told me privately that he was suffering from HIV. He only stayed at KEMPS for 24 hours before having to return to the hospital, this time here in town, where they gave him blood and tried to treat his symptoms. Madam Peace and Emma’s siblings were there with him and we sent juice and food to try to help from afar. Whenever I asked about his condition Peace told me “It is very dangerous, we need to pray”.
Walking to Teacher Laudia’s house I could hear sobbing and moaning and praying. The two night watchmen were there, trying to console three women who were doubled over on the ground, rocking back and forth, wailing. I recognized two of the women as Emma’s sisters, and when the third women stood up to run to the girls’ dorm, I realized it was Madam Peace. Teacher Laudia greeted me and told me the news that I had feared, before bursting into tears. I walked back home to change out of my pajamas. I knew that Joseph would be arriving soon for our morning walk, so I called him and told him the terrible news. When he arrived, we went back to Teacher Laudia’s house where all of the dorm matrons had gathered, trying to console Emma’s sisters. One staff member, another relative of Emma, was lying on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Teacher Laudia tried to comfort and encourage her, but another matron, Madam Evodia, advised her to let her be. The matrons all had their phones and were sending messages to other staff members and friends, letting them know that Emma had passed. Between calls, teacher Laudia tried to give words of encouragement. She kept saying, “our journey isn’t over, we still have the hard work to do, God is with us, God will help us”. Teacher Kalokola arrived and sat silently, tears falling. After some time, one by one, the women stood up to leave, drying their tears and giving Emma’s sisters their condolences until it was just Kalokola, Laudia, Joseph and myself left in the house. When we walked outside the sun had risen and the school was starting to come alive. It had only been thirty minutes, but it seemed as if hours had passed since we had walked there in the dark, led by cries and sobs.
Once the teachers had arrived at school they immediately began discussing how to proceed with funeral arrangements for Emma. Who was going to go to the mortuary with his clothes? Who was going to go to buy new sheets for the coffin? What time would the service be? Who would travel to his mother’s home overnight for the burial? How many cars would be needed? What about food for all those who were going? And for after the burial service? I sat in the small, crowded room, somewhat in a daze, listening to the 15 staff members give input and suggestions. Knowing that his family didn’t have means to provide all that was needed, they began asking for donations and checking the stockpile of supplies at school to see if there was enough extra rice or beans or oil for cooking.
By 10:30, everything had been arranged, and by 2:00 the car arrived at school with Emma’s body, ready for the funeral service. All of the students gathered in the chapel and the staff members, as well as Emma’s family members waited outside as his casket was carried from the car into the chapel. A pastor from the community lead the service. He spoke about Emma’s life and his work, about the impact that he made on those around him and that he had finally received eternal peace with his father in heaven. I looked around at the students and current and former staff members, heads down, tears streaming down their cheeks, and I realized the tremendous impact Emma had on this community. How much his kind smile and willing heart would be missed. After the message, we all processed forward to view Emma’s body, before it was again carried out to the car to be taken home for burial. The students followed the casket, singing as they walked, and surrounded the car as it was carefully placed inside. We stood outside as Emma’s family members and the staff members who were accompanying them to his mother’s home for the burial piled inside the car, and the driver loaded all of the supplies on the roof. We prayed together and the students waved goodbye until the car was out of sight.
It was quiet on campus for the rest of the day and into the next. Classes were cancelled as many teachers had gone to attend the burial. After dinner, the students started asking when the car would be returning with their beloved teachers and dorm mothers. They stood around the compound in the dark anxiously waiting to see lights pull up the driveway. It was after 9:00 when we heard the engine roaring up the dirt road and through the front gate. The students ran to greet the car with huge smiles on their faces. Teacher Kalokola exited first and greeted the students, but before he had finished speaking, one of the younger students ran towards him, hugging his legs. The group cheered and followed suit, running and embracing their head teacher, so happy that he had returned safely. The rest of the teachers stood watching, laughing and crying happy tears.
I found Madam Peace and gave her a huge hug. She hugged me tightly back and thanked God for their safe travel. When I went to greet teacher Laudia, she gave me a hug and burst into tears. I tried to console her as she sobbed, her body shaking. She told me through her tears about the terrible condition of Emma’s mother’s house. “Not even a door. No bed to sleep in. Just dirt on the floor. And they don’t know teacher, for them it’s normal and they are happy.” she said, continuing to sob. “The people there, when they saw his casket, it was like they had never seen something so beautiful. And they thanked us and thanked us. Children were there without even proper clothing to wear, mothers covering them in cloth.” She shook her head and took deep breaths. “Teacher Allee, we need to thank God for our many blessings. Our life here is better than we know. We forget how blessed we are.”
Isn’t that the truth? Why does it so often take a harsh, jolting look at the reality of those less fortunate for us to realize how blessed we are? For us to shift our focus from what we want or need or how difficult our life is, to how good we really have it and how much God has done for us. I hope that you have a better handle on this than I do because this is something I really struggle with. Of course, I appreciate what I have, and I thank God for his provision, but that gut punch realization of just how blessed I am- I want to wake up to that feeling every morning, so compelled by it that I can’t help but fall to my knees in thanksgiving for all that God has done for me. I’m not there yet, but I’m striving for it. Thankfully, for us, we serve the God of all understanding, who knows our every thought, and He doesn’t expect perfection. Only a willing heart.
Mungu akubariki,
Allee
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