Matumaini (Hope)

An abrupt wall of heat greets me as I step out of the van.

Heat that I can almost taste. So dry it chokes.

The intensity causes me to pause and then squint as the brightness richochets into my eyes.

I’ve arrived at Imvepi, a refugee settlement near Arua in northern Uganda on the border of the DRC (Democratic Republic of the Congo). More about that 2018 trip here.

It is here that I take this photo (right) that will follow me doggedly for 3 years. Lying dormant for months then dropping in unexpectedly. Impertinent you might say.

Pestering. Interrupting. Unsettling.

This should probably be expected. Right?

I mean if you take a trip that expands your worldview. Disrupts your comfort. And opens uncertain spaces in your heart. Well, that’s what you get.

That’s on you.

So this woman and her child persist. Beckoning me.

I want to paint her. Of course, I do.

I want to honor her struggle and hardship. I want to capture not only her adversity but her tender love for her child and her quiet hope.

So I try. And try. And try.

My attempts feel disrespectful and shallow. The paintings are lacking not only in composition and perspective but expression and depth. Embarrassed, I give up.

I try again the next year. And the next. Over and over. Again and again.

What I didn’t know. Or couldn’t know during those years is that I wasn’t ready to paint her. At least not the way I wanted to paint her.

I still had a lot to learn.

I needed to improve my skills. I needed to develop my style.

I needed to paint and paint and paint.

I needed to paint for 3 years.

A few months ago, almost 3 years to the day after returning from that Uganda trip I begin again. Trepidation looking over my shoulder.

The canvas, now thickly textured with layers of paint presented the ideal starting point. All vestige of perfection removed.

Slowly, she emerges.

Her child in her arms.

It’s as if they were there all along but I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t decipher their edges. Mother and child. Wrapped together.

As I continued I realized that no matter how this painting turned out I was honoring her by remembering. Acknowledging her as a survivor, brave and resilient. A refugee who had lost her family, her home, and her country.

Not knowing her native language I google the word “hope” in Swahili, the lingua franca of this part of Africa.

Matumaini.

Hope through adversity.

Hope despite suffering.

Hope for a better life.

My throat constricts. Not dry from heat this time but a lump of my own making. Years of struggle brought me to this place. The lump representing her struggle as a refugee and my struggle to adequately represent it.

I am reminded that not everything comes easily nor should it.

The process is part of the journey.

And some journeys are longer than others.

P.S. This painting titled, “Matumaini” has been donated to the Medical Teams International Field of Dreams Auction (online May 30-June 5, 2021). Register for the auction here. Learn more about MTI here.