“It’s unfortunate, she is dead.” I wasn’t sure I heard correctly, but as tears formed in our Salome’s eyes I knew it was true.
It was only 30 minutes earlier that we decided to take a walk in hopes of passing the time of the lazy, slow-moving Sunday afternoon. On our way to the camp we bumped into our friend, Salome, who has been assisting us with building and communicating with the families we have been helping. She decided to join us on our walk and take us to meet other families that we may be assisting during the week. For a few days now she has been mentioning a woman that is very sick (HIV/AIDS) and is unable to build her home herself. We all agreed that we would help her and her family tomorrow, but we had to make sure it was okay with them first. We went over to their tent to meet them, but we were told that the building could not start until Wednesday because the woman (mother of five) needed to go to the hospital as soon as possible, and the preparation of the mud could not be done in time for Monday. Salome mentioned to us that they did not have money for transportation to the hospital, and although they did not ask we wanted to help in some small way. We all decided to contribute a little bit of money for a matatu ride for two of her children, as well as for herself. How could we not?
We headed back home for the money and waited on the road for a matatu to come. When it arrived, our friend asked the driver to pick the woman up at her home because she was too ill to walk. By the time we walked over to the tent, the matatu was going, leaving us confused for we didn’t give them the money yet. Salome walked over to us and told us she had died just then. A crowd of people were standing outside of the tent where she lay, all expressionless and frozen in place. One of her sons, in his teens, walked past us and sat against a pole a few feet away. Not knowing what to do, we walked over to him and expressed our condolences. The eldest son had just arrived a few minutes earlier, coming to the camp to help take his mother to the hospital. We went over to him and gave him the money, hoping they could use it to help prepare for her burial and funeral. It wasn’t very much, but we hope they can use it for something.
As we walk away, still in shock of the turn of events, I notice children on the road rolling their toy tires, laughing, yelling “How are you?” as we pass, having no idea of what has just happened. The realization of where I am stares me in the face and all I can do to get through it is tell myself that this is their life, it must move on, and help where you can.
We hope to still help them build their house before we leave.
