Foi

My friend shared how he has had several miscarriages.

He shared that each was painful. As he and his wife prayed afterwards. He said to me that his belief, their belief, is one day, they would meet their child again. That they would get to give their child a cuddle.

Travelling to a family party yesterday I was speaking to my mum about life in Uganda. She shared how she and my father used to play together.

My father, "papa" to me and "dada" to my boys, is a wonderful dad and grandfather. Yet there is so much behind his years that I only get to learn about in rare pockets of special time. Those opportunities only seems to get scarcer. Recently, the family came together to recollect their exodus from Jinja to Sevenoaks. I learnt a whole heap that I simply never knew.

I asked about when my Dadi, grandmother, had her second baby. My auntie.

My mum shared that when in labour, the girl was caught by the umbilical cord. As she was passing through the cord wrapped around her neck. Whilst trying to enter into the world her life was being strangled out of her. She didn't survive.

Mum went on to say she remembers vividly how my papa had prepared many gifts and presents for the arrival of his sister. She remembers how he wept bitterly.

In gujarati the father's sister is called a "foi".

I hope one day we shall meet.