Volunteer Reflections

Reflections of Mary Oldham, CRS Volunteer (2007-2009), CRS Uganda/Los Angeles Archdiocese

May 2008

In April, I said goodbye to a little guy who died too young. Here's my tribute to him—Amanyire Adolf. His name is pronounced Ah-mahn-yee-ray Ad-ruf and the part in Rutooro, the local language, means "one who knows." We think he was 10 years old when he lost the battle his body was fighting.

Some of my memories and some of those who knew him for much longer than I:

My experience with him was only a few days. I knew him through a friend, but his face was one of those that touched me right away. The last time I saw him was on a Sunday night, when I told him "Nyentya" meaning I would see him tomorrow. It was a rough night for him and he passed away on Monday morning before I made it back to the hospital. His heart and lungs gave out on him. He had a lot of abdominal pain and had enlarged organs, but the doctors weren't able to find out what was causing it. He had been born HIV+ and had been sick most of his life.

And, so I attended my first burial in Uganda. He was buried at his grandfather's home, in a peaceful spot underneath the banana plants. Tarps were held up by banana stalks and reeds outside his grandfather's home so we could sit in the shade. We were greeted by many community members. Amanyire wore some of his favorite clothes and was wrapped, like swaddling, in a white cloth and buried in a beautiful little mahogany-varnished coffin. Many coffins here have windows on them, so you can say farewell to the one you love. After everyone arrived, they uncovered his face in the coffin so we could pay our last respects. He looked so sweet, like he had just fallen asleep. After everyone had said goodbye, they covered his face again. Various groups and individuals laid flowers on the coffin and a collection was taken to help cover some of the burial costs.

A catechist from their church led us in prayer. The local village leader spoke on behalf of the grandfather, welcoming everyone and talking about Amanyire. He gave his speech in Rutooro and English, for the benefit of those of us with limited Rutooro. He was grateful for the support Amanyire had received and wished that those working to support children such as Amanyire would be strengthened and given courage to continue their work. Others gave speeches about Amanyire, telling stories of him and sharing the events of his last days. Children from Amanyire's school sang a song for him.

After the speeched, the coffin was taken to its final resting place, where the catechist again led prayers and women sang songs about Adolf joining Jesus in heaven. We were all invited to add a bit of the dirt in the grave as we said our final farewell to this litt boy who died so young.

The men covered the grave and the children laid the flowers. Afterwards, we all returned to his grandfather's home, where we were served rice, matooke and beans as the atmosphere lightened. There was a Memorial Mass for Amanyire in the morning and the priest spoke of the unfinished work of the young who die—that it is now up to the rest of us to keep their spirit alive and finish their work. I see so much work around me—of my colleagues working on preventing the transmission of HIV from mother to child, of those I know supporting orphans, and of many, many more caring and doing what they can to support the thousands of children born with the disease. I hope to contribute in some way, too. I'm not sure how yet.

September 2007

There have been so many moments this past week that I want to remember and treasure.

Here's a few things I want to remember:

Life continuing