Curious, I joined the crowd rushing toward the small clinic and saw the pale blue foot of a small boy as the nurse used his stethoscope to confirm what the family already knew: the boy had drowned.

With nothing that the nurse could do to bring the boy back to life, soon, an uncle carried the boy back towards their home.

The community drew together. Some supported the immediate family, sitting in, under or near the family home, silently showing their love. Others lovingly fashioned a casket from a canoe.

I joined the family in the house. An older woman beat a steady rhythm using an empty water bottle as a percussion instrument. Many women in the room were wailing.

An older great-aunt of the boy stood up and began a lament, each sentence beginning with his name and followed by something she loved about him, ending in a protracted “O-o-h.” Those wailing with her quieted slightly for her words to be clearly heard, then joined her for the ending wail. Every person who wished to speak of their love and memories of this boy had an opportunity to join the lament, always with the same cadence and format, ending in “O-o-h.”

I sat in their home. Shed tears. Listened. And loved on them. I grieved with them for the small boy who was a member of the primary Sabbath School class.

Please pray for us as we share the gospel among these precious people.

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