Sounds of Grief

The wailing went on for at least 2 hours. I knew something horrible had happened by the intensity and raw hurt in the sound coming from the woman next door. I wasn't sure what to do, so nothing was the option that I chose. The wailing finally petered out to just sobbing, then to nothing. Over the next 24 hours the sobbing would begin, then end, again and again.

The next day when we were outside under the mango tree talking to our dear friend Robert, the sounds of several people singing began next door. A peculiar look came over Robert's face. He speaks Acholi, the local language. Robert said the song was sung when someone died, and that he could tell that it was a child. The song was interspersed with the sobs of the mother next door. Robert said that when he had walked past the opening to the yard next door, he knew someone had died because the stalks of a banana tree had been placed on both sides of the opening to their compound.

Over the next few days, there was crying, singing, and talking from next door. Lest you think that we were eavesdropping, you need to understand that the people next door sleep inside but the rest of the day is spent outside in whatever shade they have from the trees in their compound. I've included a photo that I took right after we arrived; I thought the assortment of structures  and activities was fascinating. I especially appreciated the juxtaposition of the straw hut and small stucco house, tin shed (and a wooden house) next to our property which contains a large and permanent house.

The intermittent sounds of grief left me sad and wondering what I should do. I found out that, no different than at home in the US, it would be appropriate to pay a visit and take some basic staples such as oil, tea, and soap. So we bought the basic items, and included a non-essential item, sugar. Robert went next door with us to translate. The father and mother met us in the center of the compound, and explained that their three year old son had died of pneumonia while in the hospital. The grandmother joined us and pointed to a 4 foot high freshly-turned pile of soil and indicated that he was buried there. The mother didn't cry the entire time we visited. Our gifts were accepted, and Jeff added a very small amount of money. Other children from the family joined us in a line and introductions were made. The father told us how much he appreciated our visit. He also told Jeff that he enjoyed it that Jeff waved while passing by on his daily walk.

Over the next few weeks, sounds from our neighbor's yard returned to normal. I wonder if life had reached its new normal with a child missing from the family. I wonder if the young boy would have died had there been better health care. I try not to wonder if the mother still sobs.