Good-byes

It is always difficult for me to say good-bye, especially when I am ambivalent about leaving. This is my third extended visit to Lugulu since our three year term here ended in 1994. This time, I feel better about the way I was able to take my leave. Perhaps with age and experience, we really do grow in wisdom.

The context for all this is that from about my second day here, people ask me virtually every day, “Why can’t you stay longer?” “Two months? Why not two years?” So from the very beginning, I have not been reticent in saying that I had come for as long as I could be but no longer, that each of us is called to do what we can and not what we cannot, and that I had a job to return to.

The night before I left, I met for an hour and a half with the “management team” (Kiburi, the hospital administrator; Dr. Serem, the acting MO in charge while I was here; Dr. Kesaka, the returning MO in charge, back last week from his four month study leave in Taiwan; the Matron or head nurse; and the chief financial officer). This was at their invitation, and I was touched that they valued my opinion enough to ask for the meeting. I prepared a written report in which I was able to raise some hard issues, most of which they were certainly aware of; but in the meeting they were as a team able to recognize and commit to addressing these. We part on good terms, and they all made it clear that they want my relationship with the hospital to continue in whatever way it can.

On my last morning, I gave the message at chapel one last time, and used the opportunity to formally say thank you for the hospitality and kindness extended to me, and to encourage them in their ongoing work. There was an opportunity to say goodbye individually to several special people. To the very end, many continued to voice disbelief that I was really leaving.

Then off to Webuye for the last day of the Palliative Care Training. My part of the curriculum was over, so I could enjoy the lectures on, among other things, the impact of culture and religion on issues of death and dying. I left just before the lunch break (missing the post-test and the closing ceremony; they are big on closing ceremonies here), but they granted me a few minutes to again say how the seminar came about, and to encourage them to find the commitment and passion to carry their new knowledge back to their respective institutions and implement it. In the Kenyan fashion, the chair asked for someone to respond, and my Webuye colleague Dr. Chege responded with a tribute that was truly moving to me. I donated my facilitator’s honorarium to buy sodas for everyone for lunch, which seemed to be greatly appreciated.

Then a matatu ride back to Lugulu, to pick up my luggage, share a leisurely soda with Dr. Serem at the hospital “café”, and one last meal prepared by Grace. Kennedy, one of the nurses, insisted on taking me back to the maternity ward – to meet his firstborn son, born just two hours previous. I suggested that since he is called Kennedy, he ought to name his son “Obama.” My final –and most difficult – task was to say goodbye to Grace; hers was the saddest face of the day. She sent me off with some fresh pineapple juice and fried peanuts to snack on; I left her with another contribution to the fund for a roof for her new house (which she has been working on for three years). She is certainly one of the most generous people I have ever met, so that was my way of recognizing her generosity.

The hospital driver brought me to Mabanga (about 40 minutes), to join Liz and the others on her committee at the FWCC African Section Triennial, already in session. It is a relief to be able to sit in the back and observe.

Howard Thurman, the African-American mystic and writer, once wrote, “Find the thing that makes you come alive, and go do that. Because the world needs people who are alive…” Over the last two months here, I have felt discouragement, and encouragement; loneliness, and hospitality; incompetence, and competence; frustration, and accomplishment; impatience, and patience; many times humbled, and always uplifted. But above all, I have felt Alive.