Finally Seeing

On the plane trip over to Uganda, I found myself suddenly racked with fear. The service trip which I had so looked forward to was finally becoming a reality—I was going to Africa, which is always portrayed by the media as the land of disease and war. Before the trip, we had theorized and philosophized about what it would be like, speaking of our trip’s goals in abstract terms like “solidarity.” When our plane had finally touched down on the continent, and I entered into what seemed like a different world, I did not know if our terms would hold any real significance.
Though my fears were not unfounded, I had a more or less pleasurable week, once I acclimated to our environment. Staying at the orphanage, we played games with the children, met important community members, and participated in the spontaneous dance parties that seemed to spring out of nowhere. It was all very joyful, but the moment that I will remember for the rest of my life did not occur until one of the most seemingly insignificant points of the trip; we were getting our passports checked between the Ugandan and Rwandan border when I saw her. There was no thunderbolt or earthquake, just a woman who was afflicted with Elephantitis, a parasite which enflames the feet and chafes the skin. This causes them to degenerate to the point that they almost resemble elephant’s skin, hence the name. The woman only had one foot left, and she hobbled around on makeshift stick-crutches. When I first glimpsed at the remaining foot, the cracked and graying skin literally made me sick, and I gagged. I went the longest route back to our bus just to avoid her and quickly put socks on over my sandals in case whatever she had was catching. I thought I had successfully averted her, yet just as we departed, she had slowly crept over to the pool of tourists.

My first encounter with this woman paralleled the plane ride over to Uganda. I did not wish to breech her dignity, but again fear welled in my throat. She needed money and I knew that was why she had come, so I reached into my bag, grasped the first coin I could find and flung it into her hand, being mindful not to allow our palms to graze one another. And then it happened: our eyes met. Though I had viewed her several times before she appeared at our bus, I did not truly see her until just then. Her eyes were beautiful and serene, sullied by sorrow, but resonated with a type of indescribable vitality. Though I never touched her, she touched me. I saw that she was not much older then I was and from her torso up, she was a beautiful woman. Her body, like an hour glass, will evaporate slowly but surely, grain by grain; so will mine. The memory of this woman will always serve as a reminder to me of our ephemeral nature, which can be time spent in grace.