On Saturday
April 27th Peace Corps Uganda suffered a tragic loss. Around 6:00 a.m. Daniele Gucciardo, Jennifer
Mamola, and Ellen Grim were heading to catch a bus from Gulu to Kampala. They were getting an early start on the long
journey to IST (In Service Training) when they were struck by a drunk driver. Danielle was killed on impact, Jennifer
suffered severe injuries, and Ellen escaped with minor injuries.
It is still dark
at six in Uganda; the sun makes itself known around seven. There is a peculiar similarity to days on the
equator. Led by Danielle’s torch, my
friends were walking well off the road. Then,
giving no warning in light or sound, the truck came from behind. The force was great, scattering the trio. The driver kept on going. He would soon wreck and attempt to flee on
foot. The people of Gulu captured
him. Had all this not occurred near a
police station the mob would likely have killed him.
As for my
friends, at first they were alone. Ellen
was the only one left standing. Ellen
the birder from Pennsylvania, the girl with the golden heart and sunshine
smile, that morning she became Ellen the lion heart, protector of her
friends. She mobilized; assessed the
situation, took vitals. She made decisions
that deserve to fall upon no one. Ellen
called Peace Corps security, medical, and local volunteers while tending to the
others. Soon people started to
gather. They wanted to help but didn’t
know the harm they might have caused. They tried moving Jennifer by dragging her by
the arms and legs. Not a backboard in
sight. So Ellen straddled Jennifer and
kept the good Samaritans at bay until the ambulance arrived. There is so much more to this story that I do
not have the heart to tell. It’s not the
kind of thing you want to hear. What you
should know. When the situation was
dire, heads were kept level. Everything
that could have been done was. The
little consolation it is, if this accident happened in front of an American
hospital the outcome would have been the same.
When I heard the
details of the accident, I found my emotions to be in opposition to my closest
ideals. I wished the mob had not been
interrupted. I wished the rock had
fallen, that retribution was quick. It
is only natural to lust after vengeance, to seek immediate gratification, the
diffusion of responsibility that comes with mob justice. But there is no justice in brutality. No service is done when the law is cast aside
in the pursuit of revenge.
Danielle was an
amazing person. A huge personality, she
brought a smile with her wherever she went.
Clumsy and silly, first impressions were not her best. But to know her was to truly see her. Her self confidence was total. She accepted herself truly and
completely. A gift that is all too rare
and special. She made you think about
your own doubts and shortcomings, gave you hope that such strength existed
inside of you. She made me laugh. When Danielle struggled with something, she
worked on it. It was common to hear her
say “Danielle you can be better”. But it
didn’t stop there. If you were
struggling she would come up to you, put her hands on your shoulders, look you
in the eye and say “I need you to be better”.
It was inspiring. More than
words, somehow it got down inside of you and made you want to be better. Despite the weeks that have passed I have
trouble relegating her to a past tense.
She remains an “is” in my mind.
As long as those who knew her continue to wander this rock she will in
some way remain as such. Her spirit lives
on in us. I love you Danielle. I miss my friend.
Jennifer is doing well. She was medevaced to South Africa and given
excellent medical care. Her father
joined her shortly thereafter. She is in
good spirits and eating well. Hopefully
Jennifer will be tying on her running shoes and hitting the pavement again by
the holidays.
The rest of us found out a few
hours after the accident. I had a party
the night before. People were still
waking up, just starting to handle the day’s preparations when our phones went
off. The first message was cryptic. “Our thoughts and prayers go to their
families and friends. We will provide updates.
Please continue to be safe in your service.” And that was all. The next message did not come for over 30
minutes. We sat there not knowing what
to think. Our minds were going off in
all the worst directions. No one wanted
to say anything out loud, but the silence was too much to bear. Timid suggestions were made. You never wanted to be wrong more in your
life. And then it came, my phone first
this time. I just stared at it and
everyone stared at me. I couldn’t say it
and no one wanted to ask. “Danielle
Gucciardo passed away from her injuries. Jennifer Mamola has a fractured right
femur and Ellen Grim has cuts.”
People handle shock in different
ways. Some of us cried, others stood
there in silence. I went about making
breakfast. Several of us had the urge to
keep busy, to find a sense of normalcy.
At one point we spent an hour on my back stoop in silence. Quite a few cigarettes were smoked. Breakfast started in the same tone. But sitting there staring at each other, we
couldn’t keep it up. We talked about
anything, anything else. It was crude,
vulgar, tangential, and empty. After
that people started to leave, find their way to the next bit of distracting
business. Some stayed. We quizzed each other on GRE flashcards and
started hitting the booze. When morning
came in America we called our parents.
Who knows how to act in a time like this? There is no right, just reaction.
That night we piled into hotel
rooms and took solace in the warmth of the group. The four hour bus ride in the morning was
almost silent, IPOD’s in, eyes to the horizon. I bought a snifter when we reached town. Normally we drink out of plastic bottles cut
in half. That just didn’t seem
appropriate this time.
IST was a solemn week. The only consolation being we were all
together. Danielle lived with the Acholi
people. She ate their food, spoke their
language, and taught their children. They
spoke many beautiful words at her memorial.
When the Acholi lose someone, a fire is lit and kept burning for a
week. So we followed their tradition and
lit a fire. It brought us together. Every
night we gathered around the fire: drinking, talking, dancing, and
commiserating. The days were vapid. Most of us were of vacant mind. Slowly coming back to ourselves as the week progressed. But in the evenings, with nothing to do but be
together, we found freedom. On the last
night of IST I found myself staring in to the memorial flames. I threw my snifter into the fire. The flames flashed blue with brandy as the glass
bounced off a log and flew into the grass.
The moonlight traced the curves of the snifter as the glow of the fire
danced across its surface. Realizing my
failure I tossed the glass into the coals.
So I sat on the wet grass with a few close friends. We stared into the embered logs passing
Julian’s Sherry telling stories of life.
All the while the snifter slowly deformed. As the logs burned the colas piled higher
and with a sudden crash it was gone and buried, just a convulsion of glass. Smashing the snifter was supposed to turn the
page on my grief. When it bounced I knew
it wouldn't be that easy. So much of
life is out of our hands, out of control.
But we can try. When the world
throws you on your ass, stand up and find the lion in your own heart. You can be better.
