The strength of the Ateso people

When I was was in the village, I would do little things like eat cassava or maize, help someone carry their water, or use one of their grass brooms and people would say to me, "You're really an Atesot" or "You're a true African woman now." I take it as a highest compliment, even though I know it's not true. The people I spent my time with are strong, hardworking, and resilient. They tolerate so much and they still have so much joy. Injury, serious illness, and death is a daily reality for them, but their faith and reliance and worship is so true and genuine.

Christine, my sweet cook and African mama, had a husband who died years ago of AIDS, only after cheating on her and then passing the HIV to her. She was left with two children who she works so hard to put through school now. She would sincerely apologize to me when she didn't have time to mop the floor one day or when she had me eat beans and rice for two meals in a row because there was still food from lunch left that she couldn't waste. Her needs are always put behind others, her heart is truly a servant's heart.

There was a woman who came to the clinic who was in labor. She was fully dilated and had been having contractions for over 24 hours but hadn't begun pushing. The nurse was worried that because of her prolonged labor, different complications could happen - infection, exhaustion, even death for the baby or the mom. So she wanted to refer her to Amuria where they have the facilities to do a c-section. The woman didn't want to go because of the cost of transportation and care, but the nurse convinced her that it was important to go. So they got a boda boda and got ready to go.

I've only ridden on a boda one time but I know that as a women who has to ride side-saddle on dirt roads that are in terrible condition, it's not suuuper easy. But this woman climbed on for a 30 minute ride to the hospital, along with the driver, her sister, her sister's toddler, their supply bag, aaand a giant basin, while nine months pregnant AND in labor on. one. motorcycle. Completely unreal.

The nurse told me later that the woman continued to labor for another 12 hours because she really didn't want to have to pay the money for surgery, so she kept delaying. They finally told her she was going to have to go in for the c-section and as they wheeled her bed into the OR, she pushed with everything she had left and delivered her baby boy at the very last minute.

The women of Ateso can bury their children or their husband, spend the day of the funeral intensely grieving, and then the next day, they have no choice but to continue with life. They get up early to work in their gardens, go back home to cook lunch for their 4-10 children using charcoal, wash clothes, care for their children, and organize their homes. They sleep for a little while and then get up to do it all over again.

If I were a widow with HIV, I can't say that I would apologize for not mopping your floor. If I were in prolonged labor, I can't say that I would be worried about the money I would have to spend on health care or that I would ride on a motorcycle that was crammed full. If I buried one of my closest family members, I can't say that I would care about caring for those around me. I can't say that I am that strong. I'm not really like an Atesot or an African woman. But their strength is something to consider, to admire, to praise. Jesus, let me be more like the women of Oditel.