Mothered by the best: One Strand Gone

 Fare thee well Aunt Hope

The year was 1999. I was 15 years of age, in Form Three. Growing up, mine was a small world. I was the child trying to figure out life among adults. My mother parented me with the support of three bosom friends.  That inner circle has remained a constant over my short years on earth so far. Aunt Hope (who my mother fondly called Muramukazi meaning sister-in-law), Aunt Diana (Mrs. Tibenderana) and Nalongo (Maama Pat). Theirs was the friendship that the writer of the book of Proverbs probably meant when he wrote that there is a friend that sticks closer than a brother. I am yet to see a friendship so authentic, pure and royal.

That fateful afternoon in 1999, Aunt Hope came to pick me from school. I was picked from class to go and receive my message from the Headmaster’s office. Abrupt messages from headteachers were usually not good news. Even as I dragged my feet to the Headmaster’s office, I wondered why of all students I had been singled out for a message. Nonetheless, I went, for refusing to go would be a crime on its own.

As I neared the Headmaster’s office, I saw Aunt Hope. I knew for a fact that Aunt Hope loved me as her own child. Her motherly hugs, the admiration with which she looked at me every time we met told it all. Yet on this day, upon seeing me she avoided my eye contact.

‘But why would Aunt Hope visit me on this not special afternoon?’ I silently wondered.

At Kigezi High School then, we did not have special designated days for visiting students. However, there were known days that everyone expected parents to be seen on the school compound. Days like Career’s Day, Parents Teachers Association meetings and the infamous Come with your parent note in case you were found on the wrong side of the school rules and regulations.

As soon as I was in the Headmaster’s office, he and Aunt Hope mumbled a few words that I did not understand, and the Headmaster told me that I had been granted permission to be out of school for a few days. I did not have the courage to question the reason for granting me permission that I had not requested for.

When we left the school premises, I asked Aunt Hope why she had come to pick me from school at the least of expected times. She said my mother wanted to see me. I asked why she had not come for me since she’s the one that needed me. Aunt Hope didn’t say anything. Since I had been raised up knowing that elders are not to be questioned, I sheepishly followed on. The walk down Rugarama Hill that day seemed longer than usual.

Down in the valley, we crossed through the Kigezi High School Primary (Lower) playground.  Mid-way through the playground, a group of four or five women stopped Aunt Hope. If you grew up in Kabale you know that everybody knew everyone.

‘Oh dear, you have brought the daughter to have a final glimpse of her mother. How thoughtful!’ the women chorused in unison.

My suspicions were confirmed. I had previously witnessed quite a few of my schoolmates, who had been picked out of school without any clearly stated reason only to reach home to the news of the demise of their loved ones.

I did not have the time to cry or ask any questions because Aunt Hope literally pulled me on, without answering the women.

The damage was already done – I was going home to bid farewell to a dying mother.

We reached home and were told that my mother had been readmitted at Muhunde Nursing Home. We rushed there, to find my mother’s seemingly lifeless body lying on the hospital bed. It was a very traumatic sight. Mother was hospitalized for a week or so and later discharged to recuperate from home. Aunt Hope never left her side. She forced me to return to school, commuting from home in that season because she cared about my emotional wellbeing as a child.

That was just a single season incident. There are countless more. Aunt Hope watched me grow and was present at every milestone. I would tease her that she is the custodian of my mother’s secrets – big and small. Mother and Aunt Hope have had a fair share of poor health in their old age. Their mantra has always been to face every mountain with courage. This morning, February 4, 2025, Aunt Hope breathed her last. What a dark birthday eve!

Over the last decade, my mother has been on a health roller-coaster. It is only God that has snatched her from the ugly claws of death each time we thought her earthly journey had come to an end. Through these tumultuous years, Aunt Hope has been one of my surest anchors. She was my voice of reason when I needed counsel. Beyond that, I knew for a fact that when that dreaded day finally comes and my mother is no more (I pray that I will be alive to witness it, not the reverse), she would hold me in her typical warm embrace and say ‘Child, it is well!’

This will sadly not be.

Fare thee well Aunt Hope! Yours was a good fight. The fruits of your resilience live on. A strand of my mother is gone – I hope the remaining pieces will be strong enough to tie the remaining loose ends of life.

I loved you in life, I mourn your demise - I will carry on the one thing I learnt from you. I will loyally love and resiliently live.

My dear cousins, grace as we go through the valley of death.

©Prim K. Tumuramye

Prim is a Christian, wife, mother and communications specialist. She is passionate about reading, writing, youth mentorship and intentional parenting.