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We were stuck in, end of the day traffic. Bumper to bumper. When the call came in. A woman I’d never heard of asked if I knew Jane. “Yes” I said “I’m actually on my way to fetch her.”

“I have terrible news” the woman blurted out “her mother had just died.” I thought of Jane standing all dressed up outside her little wooden home waiting to be collected. She was going to visit her mother in hospital.

I was for once glad to be stuck in traffic. I turned to my daughter who was Janes age and a friend of hers. She’d overheard the conversation and tears were streaking down her cheeks.

I thought of the crowds of people in the squatter camp and how I was going to give her the news. “I’m taking her to the beach” I said over my shoulder to my daughter. “I can’t tell her there”

We collected her and drove in the opposite direction ” where are we going” she asked, in her bright beautiful and best outfit. “To collect another person” I swallowed hard. We drove in silence.

At the beach I quickly turned into the vacant parking lot, jumped out and opened her door. Her face looking up at me tore my heart to pieces. She rose walked, screamed and collapsed. We held each other crying and clinging.

After a time I gently asked where she’d like to be taken. She was an only child 16 years old and now alone. I offered my home

“I want to go home” she sobbed. So we drove silently back to her neighborhood. I parked outside her dwelling. Woman, lots of elderly voluminous woman in long dressed slowly walked towards us. The news had reached her village.

Turning they made their way up the short path that led to her tiny home. One woman took her arm. I felt like an intruder, a tourist on this strange spiritual journey.

My daughter joined me and we walked the narrow path before entering the dark small room. In the center stood Jane. The woman had formed a large circle around her. Swaying from side to side they sang in deep beautiful voices. In their mother tongue.

We shed tears freely for a woman I’d never met. For a culture I didn’t understand and for a daughter who’s sadness and loss bled into a loving community.

I was fortunate to meet Jane again years later. She was always a happy and radiant young girl. This time she had a special glow. On her hip was her daughter.

These stories I share with you are true events that took place. Names have been changed.