Roho ya we ykale sana

In Mozambique, I have found one thing to be truly universal and incorruptible: Death. No one is immune.

I see and hear about death a lot here, every day in fact. Being a health volunteer in a sub-Saharan African country riddled by HIV makes it nearly impossible not to. Whether from a student, colleague, or friend, I am always getting reports of a recent death. Life cut short is not a tragedy, it’s an inevitability.

This Mozambican familiarity with death and subsequent indifference to its effects is a morbid reminder of things I don’t think I’ll ever understand. Then, one of my colleagues explained that a large reason for the stoic reaction to death stems from the bloody civil war, a war that raged for 17 years and killed a million Mozambicans and which only ended in 1992, a relatively short time ago. For so many people, war and death have been a staple in their lives.

During the civil war here, the RENAMO soldiers (unanimously considered the bad guys) routinely targeted hospitals and schools, indoctrinated child soldiers, and used rape as a weapon to spread disease.

I was informed that that is why there is an impassiveness that accompanies death. “Margarida,” he said, “Everyone had at least one person they loved die during the war. Some, their whole families.” He went on to explain that even today, after almost 2 decades of peace, it is still strange for Mozambicans to show emotion at the mention of death. They are automatons in that sense, he said because if they cry and mourn too heavily for someone today, they will then think about those they lost during the war, or because of HIV, or because of any number of things that are killing Africa and “Nossas lagrimas nunca hão-de parar.”
Our tears will never stop.

Besides, he wanted to know. What good does it do to weep for someone? To him, showing emotion or crying at death was not only impotent, but also insulting to those who were suffering with or without your tears.

This Mozambican philosophy on death and dying recently entered my register when I received word that someone from home, Jessica, a mentor of sorts for me, a fellow Knight, a small-town Nebraska gal who also ventured to the red soil of Africa, and a girl I grew up admiring and wanting to be like was killed in a tragic car accident.

Being in Africa leaves you with lots of time to think and question and ask why. Why such a truly good and beautiful person? Why someone with a heart so big and generous? Why her? Why now? Why at all? Why? But Mozambicans don’t ask why. There is an unquestioning acceptance of death here. Whether it is HIV, a witch doctor’s spell, hunger, bad hospital conditions or any of the other unmentionables, Mozambicans see death as something that is out of their realm of control--it is destiny, not to be circumvented.

I read a book about the civil war here and one person’s observation on why it is Mozambicans seem to be so detached about death. He wrote, “People here have to be laid back to avoid having their personalities destroyed by disappointment and death.” Their stoicism isn’t a failure to engage. It’s a way to survive.

I guess from just the little I know about death, I still can’t imagine it gets any easier to endure each time, no matter how capable Mozambicans are of compartmentalizing. I would think your heart just breaks a little every time.

Good thing Mozambicans have strong hearts--perhaps fragmented, but they are strong.

That is just one thing Jessica and Mozambique have in common--strong hearts. And Jess, by donating hers, ensured that it will continue to love and be loved.

When I told my colleagues about Jessica, they at first seemed very unsure of what to do in the presence of foreign tears. And although it may have been strange for them to see me emoting at death when people here don’t because of the sheer masses of tears and anger and whys that would emerge, I saw in all their eyes what can best be described as empathy. They seemed to be telling me, “Margarida, we don’t understand your clothes or your accent or most of the things you do, but we understand this.” They recited for me something they wanted me to relay to folks back home about Jessica. It is an old Koti proverb they say here when a loved one passes away.

Roho ya we ykale sana
"Her heart now rests in peace."

And for how much space Jessica’s heart had to make to contain her love and goodness, maybe it deserves a rest.

It feels presumptuous to try to rationalize or say anything more.