Two weeks before Rose's Journey: The Way Back Home

Three days after I arrive home, one of my brothers calls me to deliver sad news. “Aunt Jane has died,” Tom says, “the funeral is tomorrow, he concludes.” I am still fighting jet lag so it takes me a while to process the information. Aunt Jane? Yes, Aunt Jane, I hear Tom repeat the information. I know who she is, a sister to my father, and one I have not seen for many years. Tom also tells me that a week ago, someone had pronounced Aunt Jane dead, and that several family members had gone home for the funeral only to be told that actually the deceased was still alive, but not well. She had only gone into a deep coma which was mistaken as death…a very honest mistake. Following his call, Juda, another one of my brothers, calls to deliver the same news and tells me that this time Aunt Jane is really dead. It is not meant to be funny, but the way he says it, is funny, so we both nervously laugh. Someone dead cannot be any deader…

My father had five sisters and four brothers. Out of the ten siblings, five have died of HIV AIDS, among them; my Father, his brother and my Uncle James, as well as his sisters: Aunt Regina, Aunt Nalubuga, and now Aunt Jane... The men were handsome, and the women gorgeous and good-natured, especially Regina…so full of fun and humor...

One by one they have fallen…leaving behind a history of sadness and numerous parentless children who are creating legacies of their own. News of their deaths is often not surprising, but it is not any less painful. We often know the truth of their illnesses, we pray and wait; we look at each other knowingly—a look that is so familiar and recognizable—the secret language of a family in turmoil; then we hope and wait; we call each other with news of who is ill and where they are, and then we wait again; we encourage treatment especially with those with whom we are close, and wait; and then one day…the dreaded telephone call…she/he is dead, no more! The telephone call has become the wind that takes out the last hope; that blows out the candle light; and one that halts all other plans. The collective family often finds its way back home after one such call…

I worry about my extended family as much as I pray for them. I worry about our collective legacy. I worry about lessons not learned. I draw family trees and count the ones who are dead, and I worry about history repeating itself. The way back home for us is always littered with loss, with pain, with sorrow, with blame, and with grief. I often wonder how this (our) history mirrors that of hundreds and thousands of other Ugandans around the nation, I wonder about what should, or must be done to break the cycle, and to change the “mood” and “view” of the way back to our respective homes...I take comfort in Psalms 23 and wonder how many of my counterparts feel or lack this comfort…

On the day Aunt Jane dies, I find myself on the computer looking for statistics on the Uganda Ministry of Health website as well as the WHO (World Health Organization) web site. I am compelled to look at the recent mortality rates…I wonder out loud…will my aunt ever be represented by a number in these pages? Perhaps and most likely not! Many Ugandans die in their homes and their deaths are never reported. My Aunt died in her home, so I figure readily she won’t make the mortality rate index. I still peruse through the pages looking for something I am not sure of…Statistics from the WHO site include but are not limited to: Life expectancy at birth m/f (years): 49/51; Healthy life expectancy at birth m/f (years, 2003): 42/44; Probability of dying under five (per 1 000 live births): 134; Probability of dying between 15 and 60 years m/f (per 1 000 population): 518/474; Total expenditure on health per capita (Intl $, 2006): 143; and Total expenditure on health as % of GDP (2006): 7.2 (http://www.who.int/countries/uga/en/). Depressing…so many years of life lost to HIV! Perhaps, I should be doing something more constructive and encouraging…!

So I ask myself a question that most people hopefully ask themselves, “How do we change the context of our banner?” A good question to consider as I embark on Rose’s Journey. I think of other ways I can bring hope home and share that hope. I know it is easy to see the stretch of the road, its endlessness and the litter in it… the statistics, loss, pain, sorrow, despair, blame, and grief. But I also know it is possible to see hope, to feel hope, to walk through this road with hope, to find a place where hope comes alive and continues to fill the way back home! I think of the litter and I pray Psalm 23…The Lord is my (our) shepherd, I (we) shall not want…

At 2PM the next day, at our funeral home in Kakuba, we lay Aunt Jane to her final resting place. I see many of my relatives and hustle each one with personal questions, I have no shame…have you been tested for HIV…if you are sick are you on treatment? They all look at me with that familiar look; it says “What concern is it of yours…or sometimes…are you crazy...or others are just puzzled! But often others respond truthfully and are glad someone is asking. I want to scream…most of the time anyway…an internal scream “wake up my people, wake up..!”

A collective experience of life in these places and others not noted here, and of memories of my life in Uganda, take me on the road this summer…take me back home. I am doing something, even if it is just walking...changing the context, displaying courage in the face of the sum of the litter…

Note: Road Photo by Citizen Camera:http://citizencamera.synthasite.com/