To Grandmother's House We Go!

The other night, my mom, Belita and I went to my grandmother's house for a short visit.

Of course, walking down the uneven dirt road, I fell. Typical. And I didn't catch myself because I was holding Belita, so I scraped up my knees and one ankle, and I had to walk the rest of the way with blood running down my leg. Mom kept saying, "Ooh, I am unhappy. You hurt yourself; I am unhappy," as we walked, and my grandmother looked completely shocked when she saw me. She went to get a bucket of water and some soap for me to clean my scrapes, and by the time she came back, her whole grass hut village had gathered to watch the hurt mzungu.

So, I finished cleaning myself off and wrapping a little cloth around my knee to keep the flies away, and we went into my grandma's hut. The thin old woman offered me and my mom the couch, while she sat on a mat on the floor. She had prepared a FEAST for us (we had already eaten a "snack," the size of a normal dinner, before we left the house.. at about 3, after I had already had lunch). As usual, we were expected to finish everything.

My grandma decided on an Acholi name for me at some point during the meal, one different from the Acholi name my mother had already given me. I don't remember what it was, but it meant "what can I do?"... If only she knew how fitting that was. But my mom eventually convinced her the earlier name, Aber, was better. Grandma told me about the meaning of her young daughter's name, which was something about coming close to death. I asked why, and she replied that when she was pregnant with the child, she had been shot by LRA rebels. She and the baby almost died.

My mom later told me that woman wasn't actually her mother, just someone who took her in when her real mother died. I didn't ask how her birthmom died. But this adoptive mom, she said, lost her father and two brothers in the war. I'm slowly realizing, just like in Rwanda, death has touched everyone here.