Beloved Sara

7 December 2011

       

         Yesterday morning I woke up to my phone ringing. Morning prayer called from outside my window as the remaining moments of darkness were subdued by the light of dawn, from this I estimated it to be around 5:30 am. As I answered the phone my ears were overwhelmed with noise from the other end women, howling, sobbing and wailing I received the message before Katheryn could muster the words:

“Sara didn’t make it last night, Sara died. I can’t go out there Bridget. Can you hear them in my house, all those women mourning? I can’t go out there and face them, but I can’t stay here either.”

                Sara was the youngest of 4 daughters in Katheryn’s homestay family. At nine years old, Sara was the baby of the family, separated be at least 10 years from her older sisters. All are remarkably similar in resemblance to their beautiful mother who juggles running a store, a small dairy farm and caring for her family without her husband, who passed away 2 years prior. Due to down’s syndrome and heart complications Sara was not able to help out her family with their daily chores of milking, cooking, cleaning and running errands. However Sara played an important role in the family and in the community because she was a beam of sunshine, a class clown, and natural performer who loved to sing and dance. Whenever I came over to Katheryn’s house Sara always greeted me with a big smile, hug and kisses. She loved having company over and upon arrival it was only a matter of time before Sara was sitting next to you sharing hugs and smiles.

Katheryn's amazing family: 

                Based on her character it was evident that Sara had one of the biggest hearts of anyone I’ve ever known, but unfortunately she was not born with the strength to support it. Frequently, she was struck with moments of short breath and chest pain which kept her inside and surrounded by family who helped comfort her anyway they could. We were told that before her father passed away Sara’s heart was much stronger, and she used to run around playing outside. After his passing Sara’s health declined dramatically. For an adult facing a loss, the physical symptoms of heart ache are agonizing on top of the emotional issues involved. For a child, who already suffers from a weak heart, understand and cope with the death of her is an enormous, if not an impossible task. Despite her loss, Sara managed to give all of her love and joy to each waking moment, and those of us who were lucky enough to share them with her.

Katheryn’s came home from school the other day to find her home inundated with older ladies who surrounded Sara on the couch. Despite prayers, glucose and holy ash Sara’s condition was dramatically declining and soon enough a car came to take her and family to the hospital in Addis Ababa. The remaining women stayed at the house overnight to pray, support the family and await news. Despite her confusion and concern Katheryn managed to fall asleep only to be woken up at 4 am by hysterical sobs and wailing in her living room.

PC called me shortly after Kathryn to ask that I go remove her from her home. I was debriefed on the culturally appropriate body language and walked through how I should enter the compound, sit with the mourning family for at least a few minutes before leaving. No words or gestures were necessary, just presence. My PC training manager that warned me that even for Ethiopian’s the mourning process is very disturbing. Ethiopians are overt about their pain, and often wailing loudly also provokes others to connect with the pain they are also feeling from the loss. Katheryn met me before I got to her house.

Within no time Kathryn’s home was filled with nearly 100 people helping to prepare the compound for weeks of mourning visitors. They cleared out the living room and filled it with benches and chairs. A tent was assembled in her front yard to accommodate the overflow. Over 20 women were in the back of the compound beginning to prepare food. This is was all the work of the idhera, an informal system organized within communities to assist families financially and emotionally through the months following a death. I was impressed by how quickly the idher got things in order.

At 10:30am we returned to the Katheryn’s home to migrate toward the church where Sara would be laid to rest. The street was lined with men waiting outside the compound. As Katheryn and I entered the rusted corregated fence we were met by 100’s of teary eyes, waiting for the service. Soon enough, everyone rose and began exiting the compound, ready to board buses for Marian, where Sara would be buried at the Orthodox church. We waited just outside the compound to walk behind Katheryn’s family, and soon enough a small, pink coffin was carried out by a group of stoic men. They were followed by hysterical cries from Sara’s family making their final pleads to god to un-do the misfortune of losing Sara.

In Marian I stepped off the bus and immediately became absorbed into large crowd migrating toward the church. The women covered their hair in white shawls called naxallas. During a mourning the embroidered border is worn around the face. Hundreds of thin white cotton shawls, all bearing different embroidery colors and styles, are commonly worn as traditional dress in Ethiopia and today used not only to escape from the sun, but also to conceal tears and trembling lips.

Sara was buried in the cemetery behind the church at Marian. Afterwards, the crowd left the church’s front gate and crowded at the steps. The priest, dressed in an elaborate red robe bordered in gold, gave a prayer over a hand-held intercom. He assured the crowd that, due to her Sarah being a mere 9 years old, she was undoubtedly in heaven and that our tears should not be for her because she is in a good place.

….some days later…

The experience overall was intense, and I am glad that PC training staff attended the ceremony with us to help us understand what is culturally appropriate or not. Overall, I am overwhelmingly impressed by the community’s outreach to Sara’s family. Hundreds of people participated in the day’s events, but since then they have kept Katheryn’s family company day and night. For weeks, the family’s compound will remain open so people can sit and visit with the family. I have gone to visit her family several times, and there are always around 30 people there cooking, resting, visiting or helping with chores. At night, the turnout is larger because within darkness lies great opportunity for fear, sadness and loneliness. Just 4 days after the funeral, Katheryn’s mother invited all the PC trainees from our town to come over for a snack. How can she possibly consider being so kind to us in the middle of her mourning!? I am dumbfounded by such consideration. The other day we brought coffee and sugar over as a gift, but tomorrow I think I will go to the market and buy her family soon fruit. I wish we had more time here to see them through this awful event. Menagesha is such a beautiful town, full of friends, neighbors and family, no strangers (except on market days).Everyone looks after each other and with this realization I am left believing that my culture in America is missing such a beautiful and crucial point. Surely, it happens in the States, but not with such an overwhelming display of love and an acceptance that death can be tragic and sad, but it is never a taboo or an awkward avoided topic. I am planning a visit in March to check in on everyone, I will miss my friends and family in Menagesha, but I am comforted knowing that they are always well cared for by one another.  

Me, my aunt and Katheryn after the homestay recognition ceremoney

Guzzaguzz and Katheryn

Me and my sister Nani