RIP Papa Bud

Ethiopian men hold their babies. They walk down the highway with their kids in their arms. It’s not exactly Park Slope, popped collar, and a stroller, but these men demonstrate an admiration and celebration for their children in a way that is gravely missing in Sudan (and amongst many African fathers that I’ve met, for that matter). I am feeling particularly sensitive to this observation and thinking a lot about my relationship with my own father, and the relationship between my father and his father, and the trickle down effect of fatherly attention and what that ultimately means for child development.

Without digressing too far, I must assert that knowing how proud of and happy for me and the work that I’m doing in Sudan doesn’t make my grandfather’s passing any easier. I can’t say that I was shocked by my father’s email, opened after three days without internet yesterday morning in a dusty, roadside, dialup internet shop in Gambella Ethiopia, but I definitely didn’t expect that we would lose my Papa just like that. I am frustrated by it – and afraid as well; will I never travel to Africa without losing a grandparent in the process? Even if I were to try and travel home to be with family, it would at this point take me eight days, assuming no rains come before the Thursday flight to Rumbek, Friday’s to Juba (and then a flight to Nairobi, onwards via London, Dubai, or Amsterdam) to reach home.

Tonight I feel both terribly saddened by this loss and gratuitously fortunate to have been the granddaughter of such a warm, funny, smart, compassionate, spirited individual. My grandfather was aptly nicknamed Bud, given his proclivity for making friends and buddies effortlessly. I loved his jovial nature that defined him so well, and I feel that I take after him and my grandmother in such innate and undeniable ways. No doubt inherited from my father, I have been graced with my grandfather’s photographic eye and visual habit, and now share his travel addiction and passion for seeing the world that is so much bigger than me. I’ve developed the same compelling agenda to work to make others well as he did for so many years as a physician. From his fishing days, to his more recent wooden duck carving pursuits, the memory of his whistling, humming, and singing makes me smile; the way he continued to flirt with my Nana, even at age 85, over a sugar-free chocolate bar, his unbelievably well-organized and expansive photographic slide collection from travels spanning six continents and the maturations of 4 kids and 11 grandkids, and how he insisted to keep his drivers licence and retook a driving test to prove his ability despite his octogenarian status and his ever worsening deafness, are all testament to his vivacity and great sense of humour. He was beyond dynamic as an individual and as a grandfather. I’m so thankful that we were all together in December to celebrate with you, and as I’m missing you, Papa Bud, I’m feeling incredibly blessed by the family you’ve fathered.