Kind Cambodia

I’ll never forget the day that I saw a man stoned to death in Uganda.

It was October 2013 and I had been travelling across Africa for three months. Drawn to Uganda by the prospect of mountain gorillas, I eagerly awaited my destination.

I arrived in the early hours of the morning, direct from Kenya. I had found Kenya difficult. The inhumane treatment of women had saddened me and while selfish, Uganda held new hope for my shattered beliefs about human kindness. As I disembarked the plane I looked around. The ground was lush, the air fresh, and the people happy. I inhaled deeply and visibly relaxed, once again at peace with the world and filled with excitement about my adventure.

After meeting my driver I promptly resumed my slumber. I had begun to feel better about Africa until I was awoken by my driver to show me a young man seated on the barren ground just metres away from our parked car. Through blurry eyes I began to take in the scene around me. Hundreds of people had gathered, and with great enthusiasm they cheered.

I sat confused. Before me was a young man with his ankles and wrists tied together, hundreds of elated people surrounding him. A rush of adrenalin hit me. Nothing made sense. Fear and desperation filled his empty eyes and transferred directly to my heart. I was broken. Unsure how to interpret the situation I looked on, my inner soul hoping for fairness and humanity but my gut anticipating the worst. The celebrations continued, and the tiny man, sat silent and still.

And then it happened. Before I could process the events in front of me, a man lifted a boulder and with absolute force, smashed it into the head of the tiny man nestled on the dusty ground. Over and over. Silence surrounded me. The world, nothing but a blur through my river of tears. Nausea churning as my fight or flight response was engaged. Everything stopped. A chill flowed through my body.

We commenced driving. For two hours I was speechless, desperate to ask questions but physically unable to speak. For two weeks I cried.

I’ll never forget the day that I saw a man stoned to death in Uganda.