We were alive.

I did it again! Nachap, why!?!?! I insisted on driving to the village after a rain. The SUV is stuck in the mud. It didn’t really matter how many mud roads the Land Cruiser has defeated. This time it is stuck.

I’m nervous. I’m the driver. Just like the other times, I told myself we’d waiting enough days after the storm and the road would be fine. It wasn’t.

Just like the other times, there were people walking along the edges of the mud mess. They are kind and chose to help. And just like the other times, Joel is trying to push this vehicle with all his might and I am trying to drive.

But the kindness of strangers, the strength of those passer’s by, and the determination of the Karamojong prevailed. With our muddy feet and the collected strength of our arms, we excavated the SUV from the mud and arrived at the village.

It was the summer of 2024, and I couldn’t wait to see her. I met Apus on my first visit to Karamoja in 2015 and after spending time with me and having a translated conversation, she’d accepted me. It was special. I promised to return.

When I first returned to Karamoja in 2024, I asked my friend, “Is she still alive?” I was afraid to ask. I feared she had passed. Joel knew exactly who I was talking about. He understood.

It wasn’t an unreasonable question considering that she is an elder – the oldest woman in her village. I wouldn’t dare reveal her age…but I’m not sure anyone really knows it. She once showed me two different national identification cards each with different birth dates, months, and years. So who knows.

Just a week before my village arrival as I took off from Doha to Entebbe, I looked out the window and began to cry. What if I’d waited too long? I mean, I hadn’t seen her since 2018 so it is possible that she passed. She’s no spring chicken. I told myself on that plane, with tears falling out of my eyes, revealing the emotion inside my heart, that if she had passed, I did the best that I could. I did return, even if it was too late. Her family would know that I wasn’t like the other mzungus (white people) who say they will return but never do. My head tried to heal my heart with rationalizations but I knew the only thing that would put me to peace was actually seeing her in the flesh.

I surprised her once in 2017 when I returned and I wanted to do it again. Thank God Joel informed me that she is still alive.

My legs are heavy with mud, my toes glued together by the mud into a foot mitten, but we arrive. I see old, familiar, loving faces. People are surprised and happy to see me. “Nachap is back!” Yes, I am.

We proceed through the maze of compounds. I remember it like it was yesterday. I bend down to enter Apus’s compound and there she is, sitting, maybe even waiting. She looks at me and says, “I thought you were dead!”

“I thought you were dead” – Wait a minute. I thought you might be dead! I didn’t dare say that aloud but I surely thought it. We both had incredulous laughs and huge smiles. I go to embrace her. I lean down and give her a hug. A hug that revealed my regret of taking too long to return and my relief that this moment is actually happening.

We’re both reassured and comforted that the other is alive that we just sit and look at each other. She puts her hands on my face to make sure I am real. She is loving, soft, and so present as she looks at me. I put my hands on hers to do the same. I don’t remember ever looking at her so closely. Her wrinkles are marks of wisdom. Her eyes are loving. Her smile inviting. She’s alive. I’m alive. We’re meeting again. Promises fulfilled. Connection sustained and reborn.

This moment of seeing Apus again felt so long in the moment. Everyone else was a blur. I was so happy to see her. I loved her. I love her. She welcomed me into her world, shared her life, and I fulfilled my promise to return.

I gave her a copy of the international development magazine with her photograph on the cover. She laughed and reminded me she doesn’t read. Without shame but just as a matter of fact. Selestina insisted she look at the cover and promised to translate the article out loud for her. She looked more closely and was amazed at seeing herself.

She was worthy of the cover. She was worthy of attention. She was worthy.

Of course she is worthy – it’s easy to say out loud but the historical record of research does not think so. Nor does USAID. But I know she is worthy. And any person who sees that they have been seen would be validated like she was in that moment.

She was not dead but fully alive. The visit was beautiful. We were alive and thriving off human connection. Two people who have no business ever meeting. From different continents. From different eras.

But we belonged together.

And we were alive.