UNCLE, THERE IS A LOT OF PENSION—COME BACK SO WE CAN SHARE

 

Adeladius Makwega – Musoma, Mara, Tanzania

 

July 13, 2026 was a heavy day—strangely heavy in the heart. It was a day that began with a deep, sorrowful weariness for our brother Mwanakwetu. There was no motivation, no usual strength; with great effort, he only managed to finish one article he had started on July 12, 2026—an article with Christian reflections about the conflict between two brothers, Solomon and Adonijah, a conflict that ultimately led to the death of Adonijah, both being sons of King David, as narrated in the Book of Kings.

 

Normally, Mwanakwetu maintains a disciplined routine of preparing three articles a day—two for his online readers and one reserved for future use. But this day was not normal. His body felt heavy, and his spirit was overwhelmed.

 

Later, the phone rang—it carried a voice of sorrow from afar. A young Irish woman named Michel Burkact, his sister, called with a painful message of loss:

 

"My mother Jean has passed away… we are preparing for the funeral. Can you from Africa come?"

 

Those words pierced the heart. Mwanakwetu, in a voice weighed down with grief, replied that they would not be able to come, but he promised to send money for a wreath so that it could be placed on the grave on their behalf—a small gesture of love in an ocean of pain.

 

Shortly afterward, he realized there had been another international call, but the caller was unknown. When he tried to return the call, there was no answer. That silence only deepened the heaviness of the day.

 

For the reader’s understanding: Jean Burkart was an Irish woman who married Francis Makwega—Mwanakwetu’s father—in the early 2000s, after the passing of Mwanakwetu’s biological mother, Dorith Hezron Mlemeta.

 

This news of death completely broke Mwanakwetu. His pen could no longer move; his thoughts sank into a deep pool of sorrow.

 

Yet, despite the weakness of his body under grief, his mind continued to wander. Memories began to flow:

At the end of 2002, Jean Burkart arrived in Dar es Salaam. One day, she was invited to the home of Cornelia Makwega, her husband’s sister, in Mtoni Mtongani. Lunch was prepared so the family could eat together—rice was cooked by the Pogoro people with their well-known culinary skill.

 

During the meal, a housemaid named Asnath (a Hehe woman from Ipogoro) respectfully washed the guests’ hands. When it came to Jean and her husband, Jean refused to let Asnath wash her husband’s hands. Later, with good intentions, Asnath told Jean:

 

"You are beautiful and you have gained weight nicely."

 

But those words, spoken from a pure heart, turned into a source of pain. Jean cried deeply. She did not find peace again that day—and that sorrow followed her all the way back to Europe.

 

It was later understood that, in her perspective, being called “fat” meant something negative. She did not know that in Tanzania, being full-bodied is often seen as a sign of good health and well-being, unlike being thin, which may suggest illness. Despite efforts to explain this cultural difference, the words could not heal the wound she felt in her heart.

 

Mwanakwetu remembered all of this with deep pain. At around 16:05 in the evening, he left work burdened with thoughts, returned home, and there gathered his final strength to write this piece—filled with sorrow, memory, and love.

 

So, what does Mwanakwetu say today?

On behalf of the families of Otimal Makwega, Herman Makwega, Norbet Makwega (Ketaketa), Otilia Makwega, Imelda Makwega, Bernadeth Makwega, Demetria Makwega, Modestus Makwega, Michael Kavuruga Makwega, Samweli Lyotela Makwega, Afande Chamuali Juma Makwega, and Sada Francis Makwega—he extends heartfelt condolences to the Burkart family of Tallaght, Ireland, for the loss of their loved one.

 

Deep condolences go to Michel for losing her mother. Sincere sympathies also go to Mwalimu Francis Makwega for the loss of his wife—his life partner.

 

To you, Mwalimu Francis Makwega, your nieces and nephews—Edwiki Peter, Pienciea Nyema, Edward Kyungu, Mswago Rehani, Nyanjala Soli, and Msekwa Njama—send their condolences for this great loss.

And in a voice filled with pain mixed with memory, Edward Kyungu says:

"Uncle… there is a lot of pension—come back so we can share."

 

Mwanakwetu, are you there? Remember:

 

"Uncle, there is a lot of pension… come back so we can share."

These are words heavy with love, touched with sorrowful humor, and filled with unforgettable memories.

 

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord,

And let perpetual light shine upon her.

May she rest in peace. Amen.

 

makwadeladius@gmail.com
0717 649 257