A tribute to those we have known

Death is no stranger to Mozambique and though I have never seen anyone die in person I have known many who have passed away. Death has a way of waking one’s soul. It reminds one of the mortals that we are and as the bible says the fleetingness of our lives. Not that our lives are not important but that our character and the way we live is important. Let me tell you of a few we have known who have passed away in our time, some of which I have no names for in which to give them honor.

- Manuel Taimo’s daughter – I had barely begun my friendship with Manuel when he came to my door, a poor farmer with a deathly sick daughter at home. He asked me to carry her in the MCC truck to the hospital, his last hope. I carried her to the hospital and attended her funeral the next day. What the disease was is anyone’s guess. This is often the way it is.

- Joaquim, Mennonite Pastor – I was called to visit this pastor when he was sick, for us to pray. A week later another pastor showed up at my door and asked us to carry him in the MCC truck to the hospital. I drove 30 km on rough roads, got stuck on the way. It took several hours and many men to slowly push our car through the mud too solid ground. We eventually brought him to the hospital. He asked for me to be with him. I said I could not and his wife should be there by his side. The hospital only permits one person. Did I make the right choice? Only God knows. I was afraid. He died that night.

- Isabel – We visited this lady from time to time in her mud hut. She was a small frame of a women but very pleasant. She suffered from Tuberculosis. We spent many Sunday afternoons praying for her. Finally one day the pastor asked me to carry her with our car to her mother’s house in the country. I knew in my heart that this would be her final days. She passed away.

- Nameless persons from the bus accident of 2007 – One night as Jenny and I watched a movie, our friends called us. There was a horrible bus accident. We rescued our friends from the rubble. At least 15 people died.

- Padre Isaias, Anglican Priest – MCCers for many years have worked closely with Padre Isaias. I traveled with him, ate with him, celebrated weddings with him and spoke with him about agriculture and sand dams. He cared for his communities and wanted them to see God. He died in front of his congregation conducting Easter mass.

- Fernando, Mason for Sand Dams – Died along with many others in the village of Tchinda. Victim of a cholera outbreak.

- Lina, daughter of our friend- We had just moved to Maputo and befriended a single lady from Singapore with an only daughter. Lina was her mother’s world and the girl passed away suddenly one evening without prior warning, probably a victim of meningitis. Her grief was so much that her mother has disappeared from our life despite our attempts to console, listen and reach out to her.


There is more but these are the closer ones. If I look back on this list I realize why in the past years I have felt old, sometimes lifeless and depressed. I live, yet they do not, and I live thinking about it. Many were younger than I. Many had a lot of potential. Many could be helped if they had been born in my shoes. What if I would have carried others to the hospital? What if I had prayed enough? What if I had shown more care? What if I had not been afraid? Would it have made a difference?

I realized that the thought of heaven became much more real. I took comfort that this is not the end and that many will be there. I stopped going to funerals because it became too much. I didn’t have the energy or emotion to do so. I stopped feeling because it seemed every few days or weeks another person died and it became impossible to feel, hard to care. How could I say I am sorry several times a week and put feeling into it when all I could think was, ‘Another one dies’, shrug and go on with the day wishing I could feel deeper. Maybe this is what the Mozambican feels.

Meanwhile I have news from home that two people my parent’s age have passed away, people I knew well, victims of cancer, lives stopped short. I am too far away to provide any support or care for the families.

This all started because I got an e-mail message that Paulo Martinez passed away. He was an IVEPer and my former conversation partner in Beira. He was young, probably 25. We spent hours together over soda and donuts. We visited his church, his youth group. He was bright, happy, and thoughtful and was the one person that I felt I actually could connect to whenever I saw him. He was a student hoping to teach others English. In our country it could have been prevented. Why him?