It is many years since our wedding and as I write this, my memories travel back to the beautiful rendition of the Song of Ruth two friends sang at our church service. A song that speaks of faith, friendship, loyalty and kindness and a line that says, “…Your people will be my people…”
As the sun streamed into our room and I woke up, a little girl pranced in fairy-like and was gone almost as soon as she entered, leaving on our respective beds a tube of toothpaste and toothbrush. A sign that under ordinary circumstances would have identified us as guests, but not by what had transpired in the last 20 hours or so since we had arrived at the lovely abode of Jajja Ruth. We entered as guests, but we would leave as friends…no, more as family.
We had arrived with our host Kay at her aunt, Jajja Ruth’s home the previous afternoon. It was to be a short pre-Christmas luncheon visit before we headed out a few days later from Kay’s home in Kampala to Jinja where we would be spending Christmas with her extended family. The minibus (taxi or matatu) ride from Kampala to Jajja Ruth’s home was eventful. It broke down half way and so we jumped off and on to another, totally consumed by the diversity of Ugandan life squashed into the already squashed buses. The colours, the clothes, the languages spoken, the bags of Christmas-laden goodies gave us a microcosmic glimpse of what we would see and experience through a very memorable few weeks in Uganda.
Jajja Ruth’s home had hospitality written all over it… a welcome hibiscus-infused fruit punch when we arrived; a warm, inviting sitting room; a home through which delicious smells of freshly cooked food wafted; lawns canopied with trees that begged you to lie under them and, not to forget, a tail-wagging dog. It was a home filled with childhood memories of what life once was life in Bangalore. And that’s how we lived it for the time we were there. We took a mat out onto the lawns and lay under the trees with our books as the sounds of children playing broke through occasionally.
We sat in the cozy comfort of Jajja Ruth’s living room, talking about life that had passed, hearing her stories while we told ours. Of her many accomplishments as a public health nurse trained in nursing, midwifery and public health nursing. Of her time in the UK where she was sponsored for a post-graduate degree in International Community Health in Liverpool. Of the health-related learning material she had developed in collaboration with the Ugandan ministries of health, education and local government. Of her husband, who at the time was terminally ill, of her biological daughter in the USA, and of her other step-children and adopted children.
Lunch was an enormous spread of all things Ugandan. Jajja Ruth had packed in as much as she could to give us a flavor of the best of local cuisine. Steamed bananas and sweet potatoes, sukuma or braised collard greens mixed with amaranth, cowpea leaves cooked in a peanut paste, beef stew and more. For a meal like that, a rest could only follow. This time, a different tree, a different kind of shade. When we got up, Jajja Ruth had already spoken with Kay. As we sat sipping our tea in the garden alongside the concrete patch of her garden, our feet dipping into concrete recesses of what were once drains, she had already decided that we must stay the night. It had all been arranged.
When we went into the bedroom a little later, the beds had been done, the mosquito nets tied to the bedposts (it had been years since I had slept on a mosquito net-covered bed) and on our beds were a bar of soap, a set of towels and lovely Ugandan-printed loungewear.
We people had become her people.
Post Script:
- The Book of Ruth is a story of love and loyalty told in the Old Testament of the Bible. The Song of Ruth is drawn from this story
- When I told Jajja Ruth this morning that I was going to write a blog post on her, her immediate response was “I want you to come again and visit me. When are you coming again to Uganda?”
- Jajja I understand means grandmother in Luganda. I didn’t ask why everyone called her Jajja whether she was one to them or not. It needs no explanation