I honestly thought she would make it. I’m not even sure I would have started this story if I knew she wouldn’t have. Wednesday after midnight I got a call from Sarah. “Mtoto yangu amekufa,” she repeated over and over again on the phone hysterically, “My child has died.” I went immediately to the hospital where I was the only one there to mourn with Sarah. Several times I almost pulled my camera out of my bag to start shooting but it just wasn’t the time. As the sun came up, I rode in a taxi with Sarah to the village of Abia, where she returned with Grace’s body to bury her along side her late husband. Here, friends of her late husband mourn with her. Grace was the last surviving member of her father’s family, all of whom fell victim either to the AIDS virus or to LRA invasion[…]
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