Goodbye Beautiful Boy 7/28/2014

From 7/28/2014

  Guedna died last night. In our minds, we knew it would happen. In our hearts, we kept believing he would recover. He didn't. 

  A woman from the village walked to our home to deliver the news. Kim was sobbing. This was her baby. The one who needed the most attention.  Guedna, 2 years old,  was so sick. His mother, Julienne, wanted the best for him and she did everything right: medicines, nutrition program, follow up consults. A recent widow, she was willing to do anything to raise money to support her four children. 

 Upon notice, we immediately packed our bag with some tea leaves, sugar, and beans. Taking a gift is customary when attending a grieving family as it  helps feed the masses who are gathering. 

  We drove the motorcycle to their home while Papa, a local resident teenager who we often call upon for Nangjere translation, readily volunteered to accompany us. He was relegated to Grace's bike without complaint. 

  Just off a dirt path, we arrived to find a sea of people. The men were sitting on rickety, wooden benches at the front edge of the yard.  The women, sitting hip to hip, were huddled together on mats spread around the area near the fire and home.  Others were preparing food, tending the fire or serving guests. There wasn't much chatter, just the heart wrenching sounds of mothers grieving together. Kim sat, cried and prayed with Guedna's mom. Someone brought Papa and me a bench to sit upon  in the same manner as the other men.

Each time a new mother arrived to pay respects, they would approach the mat and remove their sandals  before greeting Julienne. Most would wail with her in loud guttural cries. This cycle continued with each new visitor until you are eventually shifted off the mat onto another or make your exit with handshakes for everyone as you did when you arrived.  

It was tragic and sweet at the same time. I watched one of the prettiest sunsets tonight as I sat outside, under a tree next to a mud brick shack  while listening to women crying together in grief.

  These people have very few personal possessions. Their clothes are often threadbare. Every meal,  usually lacking in sufficient quantity and quality, takes hours of preparation and work.  It's a hard life here. Yet in that moment, as I sat with them in the setting sun, I could feel the richness in their lives.  They have a loving community of neighbors, friends & family. 

  Another baby died in Chad today but deaths are not just statistics. Guedna was a son, a grandson and a brother. He was loved. And now he is surely missed. 

-Mason