R.I.P Allah Fortunate

I must apologize for the lapse in posting, it's been a grueling few weeks for me, and the last thing on my mind is my blog.  I've somewhat lost my step and my mind is usually off wishing it were somewhere else; somewhere less cluttered and somewhere more conducive to ‘productivity.’  I think also, that all the bad news I keep receiving has a lot to do with this getting stuck, if you will.  

Last weekend one of the girls at the school passed away; malaria had its ugly way with her, and indeed all those around her.  It's stomach turning to watch this illness work with such blatant impunity.   Such a preventable, even curable ailment seems to be capable of just plucking up any life it wishes.  Since being here, I’ve heard of at least 10 other children being taken away by Malaria.

I was sitting in the office working last Tuesday morning when Robert came in with a look that I’m unfortunately becoming familiar with here.  That ‘look’ is one I see too often here.  The eyes have it: they seem to be carrying bad news, as if a ship at sea whose payload is to heavy to bear and needs harbor.  

When Robert told me the news of Allah Fortunate’s (that’s her name) passing I felt numb.  While I didn't know her well,  she was the type of little girl whose presence filled a room.  She had the most piercing little eyes, and her smile seemed to have command over others moods.  As I sat there, I remembered how she used to greet me every morning.  She would run up to me with her big smile, shake my hand and bow, then run off and play.  She repeated this process at the end of each school day as she went home.

I remember meeting a gentleman in Kampala some weeks before I came up here to Gulu who advised me that “if you don’t want to shed many, many tears, then you would be wise to avoid going to Gulu.”  I told him that I was well aware of the many tragedies that have occurred there, and that I was as well prepared as I could be.  Fast forward 2 and-a-half months, and his prediction holds true.  I have cried here, and often at that...and I honestly feel more of a “man” for having done so.  

I'm not a parent, and I can't even pretend to imagine the sense of loss that the parents of this girl feel. But as someone who has worked closely with children for the past few months, my world suddenly feels a bit darker. It just sucks how something so preventable can just wipe out a young life, it makes one feel powerless.