Page 8 - Archangel

MacIain [Son of John, Johnson, Gaelic] accompanied to Belfast what
remained of his friend in temporary escape from the waves of woe in the
central African genocide – one of the worst in recorded history. Collins
was a committed and brave doctor for the Atlanta, Georgia-based
international humanitarian aid organization Physicians for the World
(PFW). He had been suddenly stolen away by a Hutu militiaman’s
machete four weeks ago. And now Sean’s Scottish-American public health
and disaster relief colleague stood coming apart at the seams in a sodden
Northern Ireland graveyard.
Images of Sean’s corpse in pieces robbing MacIain of sleep on the three
flights from Africa to Ireland, Skye arrived in bloody Belfast early enough
to sneak into the cemetery. Gouged with a harvest of fresh graves from
the ‘Troubles,’ he wanted to privately mourn his friend who could always
temper his own savage edge with a living, breathing belief in something
higher which defied death itself – until now.
Standing in a Catholic graveyard, Skye thought it ironic that Collins
hailed from a country where people killed each other over politics
disguised as service to God for decades. Belfast’s torrential gusher
soaked through to his bones, as Skye’s memory fast-forwarded through
their years of rewarding yet dangerous service on three continents. At
PFW where MacIain and Collins met they evolved into a great public
health team and helped save the lives of thousands through this
humanitarian aid organization.
As introduction and baptism by fire, PFW threw MacIain and Collins
into the ‘deep end’ of Sudan’s Hunger Triangle. Their friendship was forged
amidst strife and starvation which claimed a million souls. They leaned
on each other often in Africa, as Rwanda and its unfortunate neighbors
Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and Tanzania bore collective witness
to merciless massacres rivaling World War II carnage. One and a half
million were dead and still counting. That death toll eventually included
MacIain’s Northern Irish colleague, who had paid to serve those in need
with his life.
And so it was that fellow disaster relief and development professional
Skye MacIain had ventured out of Africa with his best friend on earth
– now seven pounds of ash. Wiping his long, rain-soaked hair from his
eyes, he saw that the dug grave was overkill for a solitary urn, but so be it.
Cremation masked the horror of Sean’s dismemberment. Only God, the
Collins’ cooperative presiding parish priest, immediate family and Skye
knew that grisly fact. It would stay that way.

2