Ba Dan

It seems like yesterday that I stepped off the bus to return to my village, of Kafunda, in the Central part of Zambia. I had been in the northern part of the country attending a traditional ceremony. I was elated to return to the place which I called home. When I got off the bus I noticed the local witchdoctor and I walked over to greet him. He was known for his selling of African potatoes by the roadside. Beside his stacks of African potatoes were signs that said, "African potatoes for HIV/AIDS." I talked with the witchdoctor a bit before he made a statement that would wrench the very life from me, "I am sorry to hear about your friend, Ba Dan." As soon as he said this I knew what he meant, but I decided to protest the truth. Not my Ba Dan, not yet. Pretending as if I didn't understand I said, what do you mean? At that point the witch doctor said, Ba Dan passed away 3 days ago. The funeral was yesterday. I knew that hearing the truth aloud was more than I could handle.

I knew that I must leave immediately and go directly to Ba Dan's home. I was sure that the mourners would still be gathered. With my backpack strapped across my back I crossed the road and started down the hill to Ba Dan's house. I have never been overtaken with grief in the way that I was that day. I was sobbing and I finally had to stop as I was sure I would vomit. Instead I ended up doubled over dry heaving. I was sobbing those cries which have moments of high pitched shrills and then silence as you try to catch your breath. Someone must have heard my high pitched shrills as they came to accompany me to Ba Dan's house. The ironic thing is I remember that despite my devastation I had enough sense about me to know that I should stop and get my sarong out of my bag for this moment. Pants wouldn't have been appropriate.

As soon as I was in ear shot of his home the mourning could be heard. As I came closer they became louder and louder. Men and women sit separately to mourn yet in the same vicinity. The women are known for these gut trenching cries that can sometimes be heard in the next village. When I first heard this type of mourning I thought it was a bit put on, however as time passed I realized that it was actually very therapeutic. The harsh realities of life in African villages don't allow much time for sorrow and grief. There are crops to plant, clothes to wash, water to carry, places to weed, etc. They only have those very few days surrounding a funeral to mourn. If they choose otherwise they would not survive.

Upon my arrival I took my rightful place among the mourners and began to sob. There was something very freeing about this type of mourning. There was no one there telling me that I need to try to keep it together. I now detest funerals here where people tell me to try to keep myself together. What is so wrong with sadness and loss and why do we have such a hard time allowing people to feel those emotions? My time crying in junction with everyone else who could understand how I felt was exactly what I needed. The part that was a bit of an adjustment was following because everyone seemed to move on as nothing had happened, but I came to understand later that moving on as if nothing had happened was the only option in order to survive.

You may wonder where the joy and celebration are within this story. That came for me a few months later. His sister in law was pregnant and she gave birth about a month and half after Ba Dan's death. The birth happened in her very home surrounded by a circle of women huddled around her on the dirt floor. Something about that seems so fitting to me. I was fortunate enough to have been apart of that circle. After hours of labor, Bana Mumbi gave birth. Following the baby's birth was one of the longest silences I have ever experienced. With tears in my eyes I anxiously awaited the first cries knowing that if the baby didn't cry there was no medical assistance waiting on the sidelines. Finally he cried and as he did the women screamed with joy that Ba Dan had returned. What an incredible part of the circle of life that I was honored to be apart of.

Now you might be wondering what made me tell this story today. I told this story today because yesterday was World AIDS Day. AIDS is ravaging the continent of Africa and I personally saw the impact that it is having in Zambia. Although as far as I know there was no test that was done to prove this I know that Ba Dan died of AIDS. I personally witnessed the sores that he had that just wouldn't heal, how he continued to become thinner by the day, how his weakness left the manual labor all to his wife. It seems that it was pneumonia that finalized his fate.

AIDS is real. There is a saying that says if you're not infected then you have been affected. Many think that the answers are simple, but I promise that the problem is much larger than it seems. I don't know the solution although I have been pondering it for years. I read an article on MSN yesterday about the AIDS epidemic in Zambia. There was a place where people could comment and one person said, "These children are of no use to anyone (speaking in regards to AIDS orphans). There are too many mouths to feed already. God has his plans. We should let God's plans play out, and help America first." I can not understand this mentality. Who says things like, "these children are of no use to anyone"? What I do know is that these are individuals that need compassion imparted on them just like everyone else.