by Sr. Monica Prendergast, MMM                                     Ireland/Uganda                                01.09.2024

We buried YOZEFU MARIA KAWUNGU this afternoon in a grassy area of our compound.  It is the place (I consider it a sacred place) where destitute or poor patients who die here and have no relative to take them home, are laid to rest.  And as I followed our workmen bearing the sheet wrapt body of YOZEFU, various thoughts surfaced.  Hence came the seed of this short article which I write tonight.

Who was YOZEFU?  We know very little about him, he came to the hospital in a very weak condition six days ago.  It must have been a big effort to walk up our hill.  He was lying on the grass near the Out-Patients and was helped in for examination and subsequent admission.  He was breathless and looked so frail and anxious as he grasped his few meagre belongings in toil worn hands.  He was a little elderly man with no known relatives which often surprises us in view of the extended family.  However, this today is understandable, as he was originally from neighbouring Rwanda, so probably came from there years ago, seeking work as a cattle herder maybe, or could have been a political refugee, as that country is plagued with tribal conflicts.  He was obviously very poor and could not afford to return to his native land.  He died at 5.30am today, his possessions almost nil.

The men laid him in the grave, some nurses and myself were the officiating priestesses, as we said the customary LUANDA prayers, sang hymns and committed YOZEFU to the fresh brown earth.  The birds in the nearby trees made a nice symphony, it was even’tide and the refrain from an old song of yester year came to mind “Birds song at even’tide, call me call me, to rest.”
At the end of the humble service, one of the men broke a tree branch, with deftness made a cross, and put it on the grave. We all left quietly each with his or her own thoughts…

There are of course thousands like YOZEFU in this era of refugees, who die far from home. Well, it was our privilege to help him to die in dignity, without doubt he sees the Lord “face to face”, and then, the words of that poem by GERALD MANLEY HOPKINS came vividly to me and gathered together my scattered questioning thoughts:
“In a flash, at a trumpet crash
I am all at once what God is
Since He was what I am, and
This jack, joke, poor potsherd,

Patch, matchwood, immortal diamond
Is immortal diamond”.

YOZEFU, who died penniless, and so many like him across our fair world are the unsung saints – The Immortal Diamond.