Two Events

Last week was such a full week that I hardly had time to stop and rest, much less blog. Even as I write this I am exhausted from today’s journey to Marafa, but I would not trade it for anything!

Ah, where to begin….

Friday was the workshop for parents and siblings of children with Down Syndrome at Sir Ali Special School. I was especially excited about this event because it resonated with me personally because I have a little sister with Down Syndrome (I think I forgot to mention that important fact before). It was really wonderful to meet other people who have siblings with Down Syndrome and to hear about the experiences they have had with their siblings. They were a little shy at first, but we ended up having an interesting conversation on the dynamics of having a sibling with Down Syndrome – I especially connected with one of the girls there who was in her mid- twenties.

The event started on what Kenyans fondly call “African time,” meaning that it started an hour late. During that hour I started to get really nervous. Visions of a silent room with me stammering helplessly at the front swam in my head.

Thankfully, the workshop went nothing like that. The participants were engaged from the very beginning, and everyone clapped in encouragement whenever a child with Down Syndrome introduced himself or herself. The support was almost palpable; it was as though everyone in the room realized that irrespective of religion, gender or income level they were all connected in a way that went beyond outward appearances. Even those who did not actively participate in the discussion carefully took down notes on everything we discussed.

We started off the day with everyone together, and then we divided into two groups. The parents went with Madame Farida (a teacher from Mambrui Special School) and the Head Teacher at Sir Ali Special School and Leonard and I were with the siblings. When we all came together at the end, everyone seemed like they had all gotten a lot out of the individual sessions. Leonard did a fantastic job translating everything for me into Kiswahili, and Madame Farida and the Headteacher’s additions to the conversation were really helpful – I was so thankful that they were there and willing to be a part of this event. I really could not have done it without them!

After the workshop, we all had a late lunch together and we had a great time joking and laughing. I was so relieved that the event was a success, even though Samini’s death cast a slight shadow over the event.

The next morning, Leonard I rode the motorcycle to Samini’s funeral. It was a long dusty trip, Leonard zigzagging around water-filled potholes in the dirt road, but we finally arrived. There was already around a hundred people there when we arrived, and by the time the program began there were over five hundred. Leonard said that there can be twice that many at a funeral, but because it was for a young boy there were not as many people. Also, the fact that the funeral was held within days of the boy’s death also made a difference – people who live far away either had not yet heard, or were not going to be able to make the trip on such short notice

When I arrived I was surprised – the whole scene looked more like a party than a funeral. Cheerful Kenyan gospel music was blasting from rented speakers and there were plastic canopies set up with chairs underneath them. The women were all dressed in brightly colored kangas, and the canopy where the casket was placed was decorated with flowers and balloons. It looked like a birthday party.

All of the cheerful decorations provided a sharp contrast to the somber faces of the people, and the occasional wail that could be heard from under the canopy where Samini’s body lay.

The surrounding community was at a standstill – it seemed like everyone was there. As I sat there, waiting for everything to start, the MC came up to Leonard and I, and Leonard informed me that I was supposed to speak. What?! I should have expected it, but naively I had not even thought about it. But there I was, right in the program! Well, not my name exactly -- I was listed as “Sponsor 2” right after Leonard. So I spoke, gave condolences to the family on behalf of Kupenda, and sat down, heart pounding.

The funeral lasted for hours, with a long list of people speaking, giving condolences, telling stories, and preaching sermons. I tried to appreciate it as much as I could, even though I understood very little of it. When everyone was finished speaking, it was time for the last viewing of the body. Every person was to circulate past the casket and drop any contributions they had into a hand-woven basket that sat perched atop the coffin. As I went around, I saw the mother and as I stepped to greet her, she opened her arms to me. The next thing I knew, I was in the arms of Samini’s mother while she wailed in her grief. All I could do was gently rock her and give her words of condolence – I was helpless in the face of her grief.

Kenyans are far more demonstrative in grieving than any Americans I have ever seen. All of their sadness was right there, in front of me. There was no dodging or avoiding eyes, no insipid words that can never really encompass the pain that the family feels. Only the sharp, loud cry of human pain.

A sound of loss, of grief, of Africa.