Hospice

Chembukezo, our galimoto maker has been back to visit several times. He made us another four-wheeler with a butterfly wired to the axle so its wings move as the wheels turn.

One afternoon he came just to talk. We got out the computer, just for fun. Chembukezo immediately noticed the tiny icon that was his picture on the desktop, still there after the upload to this blog. He was pleased to know that he was “on the internet.”

He told me his father had been taken to the hospital the night before, suffering from something in his chest. I later learned that it is probably TB. The man spent six days in the hospital and is now back at home.

Tuberculosis is one of the diseases most likely to infect those whose immune systems are weakened by HIV/AIDS.

Two days ago, Father Owen invited us to accompany him to the home since he was going to administer the Sacrament of the Sick to Chembukezo’s father. Their village, Nauma, is about a ten minute drive from Namitembo. From the road, we walked about a block’s distance on a path through tall maize. Suddenly we were in a clearing bordered by about a dozen houses. Seeing the priest and us, people quickly brought chairs and invited us into the house where the patient lay on some mats in an otherwise empty room. His own home is next door. This house was lent by a relative since visitors are expected and this provides more space. Chembukezo’s mother and about six other relatives lined the room as we were introduced and Father talked with them. We learned that Chembukezo had gone to the market.

After a few minutes, we all went outside so Father could speak privately with the sick man. Then we were called back. The group sang a hymn, Father said some prayers and anointed the man with oil. The wife and mother wiped her eyes on the corner of her chitenje, a young relative rested his head in his hands. They all sang another hymn. We thanked them for letting us be with them and then we went outside.

A few yards away, some young women were washing clothes at a big pump. A mother with a fussy baby was husking maize and cooking over a smoky fire on the kondi of her house. A head-high storage basket, ten feet in diameter, was mounted on a wood platform ready for this year’s maize harvest. It will be covered with a thatch roof when it is full. There were little gardens with ornamental flowers scattered here and there, the ground was swept clean to leave no hiding places for snakes.

I was glad that Chembukezo returned just before it was time for us to leave. He and his sister Catherine grinned for a picture in front of their house.