Funeral for a Mother

I’ve never known a man who loved his mother as much as Morris did. I knew his mom was sick, and I knew he was worried about her; we spent several afternoons together talking about her. Morris left the UK 18 months ago to come back to Gulu to care for his mother. His children in the UK miss him terribly, but he needed to be here for the woman that brought him into this world and gave him life. You have all met Morris in a previous blog. He is the lifeguard at the Acholi Inn Pool and the bouncer for Green Valley.

Gulu Cathedral

His mother was only 65 years old; nobody thought she would die so soon. So today, Friday, I am attending her funeral and am here to support my good friend Morris in his time of grief and sadness. I have given my video recorder to Morris to take a video of the services for his sister and uncle who were unable to fly home from the UK in time for the service due to the ash plume from the volcano in Iceland.

Except for the immediate family, everyone is wearing their beautiful, colorful traditional Gomez. The funeral was to start at 10, but due to an unexpected problem, I arrived at 11. No worry, though, because it still hadn’t started! I am surprised at the tears I cry for a woman I have never met. I search my heart to understand this, and I realize that this is my first funeral I have attended. At this time, I can recall no others. Funerals are very sad, so I cry. I cry for Morris’ loss, and my heart goes out to him. Let us all remember to cherish every day with our loved ones before we or they are taken away. I can only hope that a child of mine will someday have for me the kind of love that Morris had for his mother. It was a very special love.

His Mother's place of rest in the middle of the village.

The funeral was very beautiful. There were so many people that knew and loved her. Today, I saw the only tears I have ever seen in the eyes of an African woman and man. This is probably the only time they allow themselves to cry in public; at the death of a loved one. “Save your tears for human life”, I have been told. Morris invited me to his village for the actual burial. I feel honored to be here. There is a very large hole dug in the middle of the village next to several other graves. Many people have arrived from the church to continue their mourning. It is very hot outside, and we are waiting for the arrival from Kampala of some more relatives. After several (many) speeches which I don’t understand a single word, a delicious meal is served to everyone. I marvel at how many people this humble village has to feed as part of the tradition. We are served rice, posho, beans, potatoes, chicken, and cabbage.

Due to the heat and lack of water, (I had it with me, but I tend not to drink much so that I don’t find myself in a position to have to use the bathroom in a strange place), a very strong headache hit me very quickly. I recognized the signs of a migraine headache, and I left immediately on a boda. I had to rest my head on the back of the boda driver, and with every bump he hit I winced in pain! I was able to make it home, jump in bed with the lights out, medicate myself, and rest. It has receded. All is well as I write this blog!

Some have waited many many hours for their water at this spring.

I have posted a few pictures of a place I visited this week with Miriam, Ben Abe’s sister, who is running for Mayor of Gulu in 2011. We visited a very densely populated area that has over 50,000 people using only one source of water that is far away. Any other water that is close to the Kanyagoga A, B, and C camp is privately held and they charge 200UGX for each jerri can. At the only free water spot, jerri cans are lined up 24 hours every day and the wait is hours and hours, even at 2 am or 5 am! This place is desperately in need of a couple of new borehole wells drilled in the middle of each village so that they don’t have so far to walk for water.

The jerri cans are lined up forever it seems.