A hard day

June 15, 2007

I don’t know what to say. I am stunned. The AIDS epidemic is catastrophic and reaches it killer roots down into the heart of Africa choking it until all breath is gone. No one is exempt. No family is untouched. And the mounds of red dirt covering the dead keep growing while the children left on earth starve and stoically wait their turn for death. It is a place of tears for me, but there are few East Ugandan’s who fully expose that deep seated grief. They expect to die. They can’t hope for more. It is too dangerous to assume there is a future. It is a tragedy beyond words.

We traveled for two days to East Uganda and visited orphans and widows affected by AIDS. It was a journey I will always remember. I have seen AIDS affect adults…but the faces of the orphaned children have seem a bit unclear until now.

I begin our visits for the day walking up a gravel road, hands behind my back and thinking about how beautiful it is here. I turn up a small path and see a lovely homestead. There is a cleared area for the compound and I can’t help but notice the beautiful shade tree and well-kept hut. There is also a young boy in torn clothing crushing some white cassava roots into flour. A tall boy emerges from the grass roofed hut, approaches me and brings me a hand crafted folding chair. I expect a mother to exit the hut to greet us. But that doesn’t happen. This clear eyed thin boy stands under the tree looking at me as if I have something to say. His face is blank, there is no emotion. He emits some kind of unspoken authority and as I wait for the interpreter I start noticing other boys joining our silent conversation.

I am confused. I am thinking where are the parents? Who is in charge here? Within minutes, the interpreter who speaks the tribal language of the area comes along side me and formally introduces Humphrey. He is the head of this home. There are 5 boys aged 3 to 15 years. This young boy stands in front of his brothers like a protector, straight faced and strong. He exhibits no surprise at my outburst of tears as I am told that his father died in November and his mother followed in March. He watched them die. He dragged them from the very hut I stand in front of, dug two holes and covered them with the dirt. The pastor points out the funeral sticks behind me. A make-shift funeral home is built before the burial. The mound is still fresh for the mother. A wooden-stick cross stands over it.

The only time I ever notice a glimpse of emotion from Humphrey is when his youngest sibling (who is very obviously sick) is whimpering and I watch him reach over to him, taking his brothers small hand and pulling him close to him. Perhaps Humphrey watched his mother nurture his brothers this way.

Humphrey’s life touched me deeply. It was so difficult for me to leave him there. I felt like I wanted to hold him like the child he is and care for him myself. And yet, there are SO many others in his village just like him. This is where GFR needs to be. These children and widows are dying from hunger, malaria and illnesses that can be treated.

Humphrey will be one of the first on our list of available families for sponsorship. But in the meanwhile, we gave him some shillings so he can feed his family and also take his youngest brother to the clinic. It is the start of something new in is life. Perhaps for the first time, he will rest easy knowing that he is not alone.