Hulumo

Hulumo was one of our landowners. Over 15 years ago, Kovol people heard that the neighboring people group had some missionaries and that they had translated God’s word into their language and taught them to read and to write. Some were particularly amazed by the change in the family dynamics of the people next door: how much more peaceful and loving they were now. So over the years people from Kovol hiked over to  that people group with letters, written in Melanesian Pidgin the national language, asking for missionaries for Kovol. Hulumo loved to tell the story of how he gave a whole chicken to the missionaries over there, begging for missionaries to come to his place. In his mind that had worked for him and we came and lived in his village.

When our guys came for a survey, he prepared the best bed he could for the missionaries and took care of them. Well, the bed was made of slabbed wood and super hard to sleep on, but he gave the best that he could. Then we started slabbing wood and building our houses. He built a leafy shelter right next to our upcoming house, so he could take care of us and help us. He slept there many nights. His dog died eating our rat poisoning during that time, but he never said a word then. He and his wife shared so much of their garden produce with us. Then he rebuilt his house in such a way  that he was able to see all three of our missionary houses so that he could make sure we were okay. He was always very concerned for us when we got sick or so. And he was so eager and excited to be able to read and write soon and hear the “talk”.

What he didn’t tell us is that he had already felt sick for years. Nothing big, just something didn’t feel right in his stomach.

The day finally came when we were starting our very first literacy class. He was one of the students. Hulumo was quickly finishing some garden work before his class started. On the road he stepped on a very long thorn that dug deep into his heel. So he came walking to class using a stick. He was in great pain as his whole leg started swelling up. I flushed out some thorn pieces from the wound, gave him a shot and put him on antibiotics. Meanwhile he was in pain and was short- winded. I felt so badly because now the shot site also gave him lots of pain. He kept hobbling on a stick to classes. In class he tried really hard to use a pen and write letters: something he  has never learnt. It was really hard for him. Sometimes we took his hands and helped him write. And I think he got better and better at it. But also reading the syllables became harder and harder. Nevertheless he still came faithfully to class despite being in pain. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him. Our funny, joking, smiling Hulumo was quieter than usual. He came– until he couldn’t walk anymore. That was one day after we came back from our break.  He was too sick. After class I hiked over to check him out. No pneumonia. But he couldn’t take deep breaths and I felt an ugly big hard mass under his ribs. Surely this wasn’t cancer was it? I hoped I was wrong. But he was still eating and drinking and talking just fine. He  and the people were wondering where it came from. One of their thoughts was that they remembered his late older brother had told him not to eat a pig bone. But he did. They thought it had got stuck in his stomach and had grown since.

The next day he wasn’t in class again. Then people came running, begging me to come and see Hulumo as he felt he was dying. Lukas and I walked quickly over to his house. They brought him outside. He looked really gray. But he was totally alert. I didn’t want to think that he was dying. He talked totally normally, drank a lot of the water we gave him and took some meds. I had heard some crackles and I was relieved that maybe he did have pneumonia. I had remedies for that. He seemed very dehydrated and out of energy. Now he can get better, right? As we turned around, he took a bite of a biscuit. Then he needed the toilet but instead he collapsed there in the open. It was already getting dark. My dear Mama Cimemu and some kids came running to me. Please- Hulumo is dying. This time Philip and Lukas went over… and just found everyone wailing around Hulumo. He was gone. “Where has he gone?” I think everyone was wondering… My heart is aching since. He was a dear friend. Someone we have lived with the last 5 years. I was just there and then minutes later he was dead, in a blink of an eye. Philip and I took turns to sit with the mourning family into the night. As people heard and came, the wailing started. They were crying and throwing themselves around. “Dad please get up, get up”.  His older son shook Hulumo´s body while shaking and wailing.

In the morning I brought some cooked food over. That is how they do it here. We sat again with them. It was healing to cry with them and talk about him. His wife said, “he brought the chicken, wanted you to come but now he is gone.” But where is he? God why did you take him ? HE hasn’t heard?

But still I know God is good. He knows everything. I will hold on to that.

We skipped school that Friday. In the afternoon they made an open coffin and dug a deep hole next to his older brother. They did it by hand and it took until it was dark. These were big men in the village. So they get a special place right next to where people live.

There is still disbelief and sadness in the village. Hulumo´s house will be torn down and his son will take care of his mother and 2 younger siblings who were living at home. A lot of responsibility for his young shoulders to carry as he steps into the footprints of his dad. We miss him.