Remembering Omarra

Here is what I saw...
Our Monday at the office was cruising to a close. About 3pm, it was hot out. I was going between MS Hearts (the card game) and MS Word (the grant proposal). Rachael was at the computer next to me looking on the computer for dress designs she could make herself. "You know, if I make one I'll have to make three, don't you think? One for my Ph.D. (laughs), one for Omarra's graduation and one for his wedding." "Sure" I respond, "might as well make one for his Inauguration Ceromony as well." "Good idea!" It's always been clear that Rachael's drive to graduate from university, start lecturing and work at the diocese, and to apply to grad schools in America, was to give a better life to Omarra, her son, just a year old (pics and video from Sept.).

An older man burst into the room, out of breath, barely able with a whispering heave to beckon Rachael to follow him to the compound. A few seconds later, a girl from the bishop's compound runs up looking for Rev. Willy, to whom she explains what's going on. As they begin to leave I ask what's happening. "Omarra has fallen into water." "Well is he going to be OK?" I ask. "No, he's not OK, he has already fainted."

Reality came running, up the trail from the compound I take twice a day. Apiya, who helps around the main house and my own, with a bundle in her arms, desperation, panic and tears on her face, and two lifeless legs exposed under the blankets. Simultaneously, the Diocesan Sec. Rev. David and Rev. Willy climb into the truck without a word, Apiya enters, and the women climb in the back as it pulls out for the hospital. Rachael, who must have met Apiya along the way, came running just as the truck sped off, as inconsolable as any mother would be. As she and Job made their way to the hospital, everything was suddenly quiet at the Diocese, and we were left to realize what had just happened. Twenty minutes later, Pamela, the Information Officer's' assistant, emerges from her office. "He's passed away." She begins making her calls.

Here is what happened...
The compound is also a sort of free-range farm: cows, chickens, pigs, goats, guinea fowl. Omarra woke from his afternoon nap and walked outside, past the women doing chores and passing time in the kitchen. He found the bathtub by the pig pens, which served as the water trough for the animals, and fell in. It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes before anyone began to wonder where he was, but that apparently was more than enough.

The truck that left for the hospital was back within the hour. The same women that rode in the truck, plus many more from the community, were gathering with the body in the living room. Wailing, singing, preparing. Meanwhile the men gathered in the front yard, on plastic chairs and straw mats, first to commiserate, and then to plan the funeral. Quickly a chairman was named from among the elders, and tasks and members divided into sub-committee. The money was collected and the work began, solemnely but urgently.

Back in the living room, the diocesan Health Coordinator embalmbed the body. The women wailed spontaneaously, earnestly, but also ceremonially, and the cries fell into hymns. Rachael was there, the focus of sympathy, but not the center of attention. She was the first mother among many mourning the death of a son.

Most of the men went home or to the burial site, to be used the next day. The women, including extended family and friends, slept in the living room, on the veranda, or by campfire in the front yard. They kept Rachael among them, sometimes consoling, but always present. That night stretched through one week of mourning.

Omarra was a beautiful child. He lived each day around family who loved him, and I think that allowed him to love and trust others all the more eagerly. The simplest of objects or gestures would return a smile that would just melt your heart; I know it did mine. I'm going to miss him. I looked forward to coming home from the office because I knew I could find him somewhere in the yard playing with Apiyo or Atim, splashing in his bathwater, or begging to see the pigs or lambs (which he vocalized with a snort or 'maa', respectively). And if judged by the number of unannounced visits to my house, he'd clearly be my best friend.

It's been a few weeks now since all this happened, and life has returned to normal. Rachael is taking a week in Kampala to get away from all-too-familiar sights. The December pictures on the website contain some great ones of Omarra at his 1st birthday party. He's every bit as playful as he looks in the pictures. That's how we'll remember him.