THE year 2010 has already etched some indelible memories. The second week of the year began with no fun fair except that all-knowing feeling of waking up from a long dream called the ‘festive season’.
The mood was still jovial but the somberness of the rut race was slowly closing its fingers on the city. The traffic was, well... not there, but the roads and streets were busy already and the festive spirit was slowly trickling out of the speech, laughter and the environment.
We were slowly letting Festive go. Grateful that she had been around, sad that she had to leave, kind of saying goodbye to a loved one, whom you will not see in a while.
I can imagine the same, bitter sweet feeling in Port au Prince. Then there was the earthquake! The earthquake that literally shook the foundation of Haiti and the foundation of its inhabitants’ souls.
Words cannot describe the fear, sorrow and brokenness, the raw exposure of human frailty, that nature unleashed on this island. Yes, nature seemed angry and vengeful (almost like a woman scorned!). A couple of days after the Haiti horror, there was the ring of fire.
For those who witnessed that morning when the moon found itself in the line of the sun’s path (literally in the line of fire), you must admit, it was one of the most beautiful mornings in Kampala.
The morning was bathed in an ethereal light that made you feel like you were in a beautiful dream. It also reminded me, again, of how vulnerable we as humans are when it comes to the strange phenomenon of nature.
The earthquake was like one angry slap and humanity was reeling from the sheer shock and impact of it. The ring of fire was like a sweet apologetic kiss. It did not remove the sting but it reminded us that beauty exists in pain.
Rick Warren, author of a The Purpose Driven Life, once wrote that joy and sorrow are not mutually exclusive in this life.
You may be at one glorious mountain peak in one aspect of your life, and in the deepest darkest valley in another aspect. His words were probably inspired by his wife’s diagnosis of cancer, in the same year that his book had become a multi-million best seller.
Yes, beauty exists in the ashes, and ashes in the beauty. So what do we do? Maybe we should just keep going, keep hoping.
We might as well dance at the peaks and invite others to dance along, and cry in the valleys and console one another (kind of like how the world reached out to Haiti, including Uganda my beloved country).
