My African Grandma

The week before Christmas, I was in a village, Nimule on the border of Uganda.  Scenary-wise its nice, there are mountains and you descend into the lush valley by the Nile.  But unlike other villages I visited this place is a shithole.  One main strip, truckers coming in from the region seemingly drunk or high, no restaurants or food, hookers, trash everywhere, rampant AIDS and just a feeling of uneasiness.  

I was at the local hospital with a documentary crew filming our projects on HIV/AIDS.  When all of a sudden a Doctor came out from one of the wards (a wooden clapboard structure open to the elements) saying 'Marguerite? Where's Marguerite?'  

I answered thinking he was looking for me.  However, he had called out to old woman, who happened to be named Marguerite, which is a very odd name in an African village.  Even though she and I could not communicate in English she was so friendly, smiley and warm.  Through a translator I asked how she got her name.   Apparently they had a lot of Italian missionaries who came through at some point and that is how she got her name.  (Another woman was named Pasqualina).  I told her that I was named after my grandmother and she was very happy to hear that.  She told me now I had a grandmother in Africa. 

Marguerite, Marguerite & Vicky

She actually probably was in her 50s but here that is old, her husband was also a soldier who died in the war (and sadly left her with HIV) she is now going around villages educating other women that this could happen to them.  Meeting her, especially in Nimule, was a welcome diversion from the dirt and grime.

Layna-town a different village but I like the picture