By Carol Alyek Beyanga
When you cut off ties with a close family member who has done terrible things to your household, you assume their death might leave you feeling a little sad, but not distraught.
This was not the situation a friend found herself in when she lost a parent.
Ties had been cut, families had been separated, and different lives had been led for years. So when her parent died, she was surprised to find that it hit her with a force she could not understand or comprehend. It did not help that she had just been trying hard to settle into a new job, a new country and a new culture. There she was, reflecting on the death of an old lifestyle, when the news of the passing on of her parent came full swing at her, with all the complications the relationship had wrought in the past. To say she was surprised at it all would be an understatement. It is several months down the road, and she is still trying to understand it all.
Like my friend, I think death surprises all of us, even though we think it will not, even though we are expecting it.
Even though a woman has seen the life ebb away from her terminally sick child each day…
Even though a couple has known for the last three years that divorce was inevitable and were even amicable about it….
Even though a father has been preparing to send off his beloved daughter to say “I do” to a man he hopes will take care of her well…
The death of human beings, relationships, or phases of life surprises us, even when we see it coming, even when we prepare for it, even when we have experienced it many times before.
Sometimes it comes fast and furious, leaving despair, shock and disbelief in its wake.
Other times it comes slowly, quietly, settling around us – and we don’t realise it is here, until the scales fall from our eyes. The divorce is final. The friendship that was walking on its last legs disintegrates. The promises the politician made to us, so convincingly, so passionately are not kept, once again.
One of the most complex things that tends to surprise people about death is grief. It cannot be touched or held and yet it covers its bearer with a heaviness that can be felt. Emotions such as joy or anger are easily expressed, but grief for many people, is harder to deal with. How do you express what you cannot explain? Whose advice do you follow about overcoming it? How do you deal with raw unending grief when it is not that of a person, because people are more sympathetic when one grieves the loss of life for long, but not so when one is grieving the death of a dream, a business, or a cause.
In this Ibua Journal issue, we explore this theme that surrounds us every day, but which people are hesitant to talk or express their thoughts and feelings about.
We talk about death.
The essays in this issue are reflections on how the writers have sought to understand how the loss of a life, a dream or even a place affects them, the society they are in and the lessons to pick from the experience. In his essay A voice gone silent forever, Mark Wamai reflects on what his father’s passing taught him about life and death, about relationships, about doing good to people, and the usefulness or uselessness of amassing wealth. Elizabeth Ingabire in Beneath the surface of this skin is troubled water talks about how death affects families in ways you would not expect and the importance of members checking on each one another during such difficult times. For Henry Muguluma it is the questions he has had for so many years after his father passed on that have not been answered that haunt him. In his essay, My father’s shoes, Henry asks the questions: What is one’s responsibility to their child as regards talking about death? How does one prepare their family for when they will be no more? Why do some people find this easy to do and others not? These are questions he believes, if answered and worked on, would prepare people better.
What do you do when you have loved living in a city or town for so many years and then over time, that love begins to wane until you cannot stand the place anymore? This is what Ernest Bazanye explores in his essay, If I loved this city, I would be happy here. Kampala, for him, was a place once beloved, enjoyed, appreciated. But now it appals, annoys and irritates him.
Death many times has a knock-on effect on different parts of people’s lives. Where there was a bond so strong, cracks in relationships start to appear. Where there was wealth and provision, poverty and lack start to take over. Where there was certainty and a future planned for, uncertainty now weaves its way in. These are the themes that Gabriel Angura and an anonymous writer explore in their essays Promises that are whispers in the wind, and The storms we weather, respectively. Angura, whose father’s death almost immediately led to a struggle in finding money to sustain their wellbeing, questions why people make promises to support families, yet never keep them. Isn’t it better not to make them and save the family great disappointment and even more grief, he asks. The anonymous writer, on the other hand, wonders how to keep a family together that has been shattered by the death of its matriarch, her mother. What do you do when family members disagree on how to go about life after the death? How do you piece the broken pieces back together? Can you piece them back anyway?
Kemuel Othieno, in his essay, No such thing as timely death, comes to the realisation that it doesn’t matter who the person is that death has robbed a family of. If the person is younger, there seems to be more grief, more sorrow, and many questions. But if the person who has passed away was elderly and had lived a long life, the vigil, funeral and burial might turn into a celebration of a well-lived life and humorous stories told of their time on earth. Nevertheless, death is death and once the silence descends, elderly or not, the pain and sorrow are clearly felt.
In Arise, Paul Kisakye writes about what most would feel is a delicate situation, parting ways with a church community. In his simple yet deeply evocative essay, Kisakye gets the reader to reflect on the communities they are in, and when to think about when it is time to join one, and when it is time to leave one.
The painful thoughts of a dream somewhat ended are echoed in the essay Mirrors of my life, by Rebeka Njau: A Book Review by Karungi Kwatampora. In it, Kwatampora explains the raw feelings the book raises in her mind about the difficulty of womanhood anywhere really, but especially in Africa. Must we forget the wrongs done to us by family and society in order to have a sense of living, or does forgetting make things worse? These are the questions she raises.
Kwatampora, in another essay, Henry Chakava, A legacy of publishing in Africa, lauds the work that Chakava has done for African novelists and writers in different ways. He passed on last year, and, Kwatampora writes, his legacy and the immense work done for African literature will continue to inspire others.
Patrick Ssentongo uncannily manages to capture many of the thoughts, feelings and reflections of the writers, in the essay he writes What it means to be an obituary writer, about his experience as an obituary writer. He has seen the celebration and the anguish, the opening up and the hiding. He has written about the contentment of a peaceful death and the devastation a passing on has brought onto a family. All these, he believes, have enabled him understand death from a different perspective and left him feeling wiser, and readier for his time.
Death is a topic our societies might never find easy to talk about openly and honestly, but the more we encourage people to speak about its complexity and meaning, it makes it just a little bit easier to sit with. This is why we have chosen to explore its various nuances in this edition. Our hope is that our readers will understand its inevitability and thereafter, how to accept and manage what follows.
Carol Alyek Beyanga is an editor and media consultant with experience in working with print titles as well as digital platforms, spanning 20 years. She has worked in various capacities at the Daily Monitor, including as Features editor, Special Projects editorand Managing Editor of both the newspaper and digital platforms.
She currently does editing work with organisations on reports, journals, books, and more, as well as consults on personal writing projects. Carol also provides training to different organisations on different aspects of the media. She is a member of the Uganda Editors Guild.
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