Saturday 7 July 2012

So you think you can(not) swim?



I know there's still an 'IOU' out for part #2 of a previous blog, but I couldn't post about my superficial observations of the media's portrayal of Ugandan complex political monopoly board, without acknowledging the life of a friend I mentioned in a previous blog.

I was at the airport saying goodbye to a close friend who came to visit me for a week (the topic of another 'still to come' blog). He is one of those people who is as introverted as he is extroverted, and can fill an MCG with his company, generosity, ideas, good and bad jokes, chitter chatter and general silliness. If you can imagine going to the MCG in the midst of raucous grand final day energy, then blinking for a second, only to find that when you open your eyes the only life in the grandstand or on the ground are a few people picking up leftover chip buckets, then you'll understand what I was feeling. Sitting downstairs at the airport with a cup of tea (also conjuring up mixed emotions about the fact it would soon be me hopping on that flight), I did what most people of my generation know is the best way to fill an emotional void. I logged into Facebook.

As the plane took off, I read this post from John Fleming (president of the Coomealla Tri Club, and also the husband of one of my Godmothers):


"Last night one of our life members, Peter Mills peacefully passed away at the Mildura Hospital after a courageous and long battle. In 1987 we shared the vision to form the Coomealla Tri Club after an adventure to Copi Hollow for the inaugural Broken Hill Tri. No one told us Millsy could not swim a stroke, the night before the race we strapped an esky lid to his chest for buoyancy, chucked him in the channel for his first swim. Our love of this new sport of swim-ride-run filled the old van most weekends with anyone that was remotely interested in giving it a try. Millsy was a gifted athlete in many ways, he possessed a silky running style, owned a sub 3 hour marathon time, sat well on the bike and had been racing with the Mildura Cycle Club. One thing he never mastered well was the swim leg, but determined he was. The early days filled our lives with the amazing, wonderful adventures we all had. As time moved on Millsy achieved his dreams of finishing his own personal IRONMAN getting out of that 3.8k swim. Millsy represented Australia in the World Duathlon Championships, raced Ironman and completed more than 200 triathlons/duathlons/marathons & fun runs. Our first tri was held at the Rowing Club Lawns in 1988 - his love for that adventure remains today."

If you haven't met Peter Mills, you may recognise his name from my post "Beanies on the Equator". I can't say I knew Peter well. I can only say his impact on my life was great. And I know I was one of thousands. Sitting at an airport in Uganda, with Mildura four flights and more than 100,000 kilometres away, I felt winded and even the sound of rattling tea cups and luggage wheels seemed to be blurred by my tears. Even though we have no evidence to suggest that what comes after death is dark and horrific, and despite the fact the passing of someone we care about can mean their release from intense and ongoing pain or illness, we can still feel overwhelming sadness. **In varying orders, we feel for ourselves - for the things we didn't say or do, the time we wish we could still have with the person, and perhaps even fear and anger (arguably the same emotion) at being left behind without them; we can be overcome as we are confronted with our own fears about losing someone close to us, as we feel deep sadness for those who are closest to the person who has passed away; and even though we know the future and our own death have no impact on our current happiness, we are often terrified at having to contemplate our own mortality when we grieve for the individual themselves. This is especially the case if we decide they have died too young or early, as we feel a sense of loss for the things we wish they'd experienced.

But sadness isn't the only emotion one feels when someone passes away. And at Entebbe airport, my tears weren't just of sadness. In fact, they were more of an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Not just for myself, but also for every person he has come across. I also laughed out loud when I read Flemo's (the gentleman previously referred to as 'John Fleming') story about how he strapped Millsy to an esky lid (or was it the other way around). I knew Millsy preferred the run and ride leg, but this certainly explained why my introduction to triathlon began with a struggle in the water. Millsy had plenty of advice for me on how to change gears, keep my knees in, practise the bike-run transition by running 'off the bike', and the benefits of elastic shoelaces. But for the swim leg, he just lent me his wetsuit.

One thing which was very apparent to me on this particular Saturday, was the glowing example to back the argument that you no longer have to live in a small town to say "news travels fast". Social media has even changed the way we grieve death and celebrate the life of those who have passed. I was able to learn of my friend's passing, from the other side of the world, within hours. People began posting their condolences, 'Millsy' stories and photos almost immediately. The funeral details have been shared with a global audience. Facebook even allows users to 'memorialise' a person's profile, to allow people to grieve and celebrate publicly. Sites such as Facebook allow information about a death to spread like water in a sprinkler. It may save the mourning family from making hundreds of difficult phone calls, from having to manage their text message inbox on their now constantly beeping phone, and have time to repeatedly reflect on messages of support at times when they need the comfort most.

Lugazi has its own special way of announcing a death. I'd say its reach is not as broad as Facebook, but the strategy is much more efficient and less painful than a bunch of phone calls. The first time I heard it, I thought one of Musevini's cheer squad had been given a speaker phone. Or maybe war had been declared? A cyclone coming perhaps? Or could it just be the ice-cream man? There are times, when even the closest reading of tone cannot penetrate through the language, vocal morphing and distortion of someone making a community announcement in Luganda through a speaker phone. When a person in the village dies, someone is given the task of walking or driving around the place with either a speaker phone, or with a microphone and speakers, to announce the person's death. Everyone in the community hears about it, and everyone drops everything. The announcements last all night long, as members of the community move to the house to sleep around the body. Most of the women sleep inside, while the men stay outside and light small fires. They will sleep and pray around the body all night long. And in the morning, the body is taken from the house for a burial. As in many places in Australia, where 'Sorry Business' gives respect and space to people's right to grieve, many things in the person's home village will shut down on the day of the burial. But death is a regular part of life here. The demographic triangle of life and death is upside-down, with high birth rates and high death rates. Most of the young women who are members of the YOFAFO's Microfinance Loan bank have lost their husbands. The woman who comes to the house each day to help Doreen cook and clean, has lost four of her eight children and she is only in her 30s. Almost every day, I meet someone who has lost both their parents. Almost two weeks ago, mudslides killed at least 30 people in Eastern Uganda, with 100 still missing and unlikely to be found alive, and thousands displaced. Yet the government does not see the need to consider this a 'natural disaster'. Although the fact death is as much a part of life in Uganda, as barbecues are to Summer Saturdays in Australia, there is a tendency to console ourselves with the notion people are desensitised to it. But accepting death as a fact of life, and being forced to continue with your life so you can still feed your children, doesn't mean you grieve less or that it hurts less.

So today, as I start my goodbyes to Uganda, there was a huge celebration in Mildura. I know hundreds of people must have turned out for Millsy's funeral and there would have been some hilarious and uplifting stories told. I wondered today if his departure from this earth was a little like leaving Uganda. I have been torn about whether to stay longer, or go. My heart is tied to the people here, the landscape and the rhythm of it all. But I can feel a pull to somewhere else, to the next adventure, and I can see things shifting and changing around me, like a new era is beginning. The sugar cane I used to run in the shadows of, has been chopped down, revealing a magnificent view across Lugazi to the regal-looking Catholic church. Three new volunteers are here, Beth is learning new words faster than I can keep up with them, and the sunflowers which were brighter than a year's worth of Sunday Ugandan suns are dying. So I don't feel sad about leaving. I just feel grateful for the amazing experience I've had, for the people I've met, and am looking forward to what is to come. It just feels like the time has come to say goodbye.

But keep your blogging eye out for a few more stories yet :)

**I note that my experience with death has been very minimal and largely second-hand, through supporting friends and family who have lost loved ones. Also, I am not a grief counsellor, psychologist or any kind of professional in the field. Therefore these thoughts are merely my own observations and should not be interpreted as fact or even well-researched analysis.

*** Special thanks to Jesse Curran, Arron Veltre, Leanne Wright, Leah Fleming, Katrina Bolton, Ian Walker and Mum for telling me to conserve my energy and kick less, kick more so my bum doesn't sink, brush my thigh with my hand, push the water DOWN the body, kick from the hip and not hte knee, make an 'S' shape underwater, keep your shoulder to your ear, stretch forward and straight, don't twist or roll the body when you stretch, keep your head down, do awkward one-armed-no-kicking-drills, 'shut up and swim', just breathe and look to the finish line. Oh and to John Fleming... cause even if the swimming goes out the window and you have to float, at least you've organised a swim leg with a strong current.

Congratulations to: Sarah Scopelianos, who has not only completed her first marathon, but is now conquering her doubts about her swimming abilities and will soon be a swimming teacher!

Putting the call out to: Sarah Scopelianos, Eleanor Marshall and Shane Browne (and anyone else): Coomealla Tri 2012.