Martyrs Day (and my birthday)

What's not to like about a country where my birthday is a national holiday? June 3rd is the feast of the Uganda Martyrs, and a public holiday. Like most holidays here and in the U.S., it can be a party day, but here there are also about a million people who make the pilgrimage to Namugongo, the site where 26 young men (14 Catholic, 12 Anglican) were burned to death on this date in 1886. There were 18 killed before June 3 and one killed later--45 in all. Of course, these are just the ones that can be identified. There were others.

So, June 3rd is a big deal. People start off on pilgrimage from all over Easter Africa--and beyond--many walking for weeks to arrive at the shrine in Namugongo by June 3rd. People come from Kenya, Tanzania, Congo, Rwanda, Burundi, and of course, from all over Uganda. Some of them walk hundreds of miles. By the big day there are about a million people at the shrine.

I was not one of them. First, I don't care for huge crowds. Second, given my teaching schedule, it would have been just about impossible to hook up with the UMU group. They left Nkozi at 4:45 AM and I was still in Rubaga after teaching the night before. To connect at the shrine would have been nearly impossible and to miss the UMU group would have been a bit disastrous in terms of getting back to Nkozi. So I decided to come back to Nkozi and have a relaxing day. I did go to mass at the cathedral. It was packed at six in the morning.

When I got back home to Nkozi, Bry'Chell baked me a birthday cake and made pizza for lunch. Making pizza here means making the dough from scratch, making the sauce from scratch, browning the meat, and grating the cheese. She did it and she did a good job. Pretty impressive for a 13 year old.

The VC (UMU President), who shares my birthday had invited Bry'Chell and me over for dinner to celebrate our mutual birthday. He also invited a few of my friends--Sr. Elizabeth, Fr. Henry and Sr. Cecilia. We had a great time. Food, drink and company were wonderful. There was a fine assortment of all.

The day before the feast day, Sr. Cecilia had given me a photo of the martyrs taken in October of 1885 when they went to Tanzania for the consecration of some bishop. They're just boys. The youngest, Kizito, was only 14 when he was killed. The oldest was 26. I've seen paintings of them, but not a photo. Somehow, the photo makes them more real.

This year, my birthday was definitely a unique experience.