SearchRosette lives in Kigaaya Village, ten miles from Hoima Town in Uganda. Hot, dry, dusty, she pumps water from the village well. It has been one of her assigned chores from age six. She carries the water to her home and to her simsim garden with a happy smile on her face because the water is precious to her.
She is now a beautiful, mature, responsible fourteen year old. The passages from "The Song of Solomon" describe her best:
"Thou art black but comely as the tents of Kedar....Thou art fair my beloved, thou hast doves eyes....As the lily among thorns, so art thou among the daughters....Thy countenance is comely....Thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from the mountain....Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep which come up from the washing....Thy temples are like a piece of pomegranate within thy locks....Thou art fair as the moon, clear as the sun...."
It has been a wonderful experience to share in her life from afar--to compare her pictures through the years, to read her letters and to note the progress and growth in her abilities, ideas and desires. It has been fun for me to share my life in "The Heart of America" with her--my family, my work, my culture.
The heat of summer gave me the idea to share with her something that has always been an integral part of my life, the abundance of water in this part of the USA. I got out my camera and began by taking a picture of the swimming pool. Next, I took a picture of the Missouri River with the Kansas City skyline in the background and then an area lake.
The next step was to be a photographic pilgrimage around "The City of Fountains" (my city) to share with her how each fountain had been involved in my life, a nostalgic undertaking for me.
As I was contemplating this project, I received one of the cyclic entreaties from him who had been the man in my life--thirty years of marriage followed by several years of separation and divorce.
"I've changed," he declared. "Could we please see each other and talk about getting back together?"
Though I had no interest in the latter, and told him so, I asked if he would like to accompany me on a "fountain holiday" and explained my intention. He was thrilled and immediately offered his expertise and his trusty tripod.
We began a beautiful day at the "fountainhead" of our years together--the natural spring and waterfall of Cliff Drive on the bluffs overlooking the river valley. Forty years before, this drive and spring had been a part of our falling in love.
At "The Concourse", we strolled hand in hand around the pool and fountains remembering the nights we sat at the edge and paddled our bare feet as we listened to the music of the K.C. Philharmonic Orchestra playing in the park. At "Barney Allis Plaza" we sat in the cool spray carried by the breeze and laughingly sang some of "our" old songs.
The wet, shining vikings, perpetually charging astride rearing horses that spout water from their nostrils brought memories of our son that died young. We hugged each other remembering how he loved that fountain, how he loved life.
Twenty-five fountains we captured on film that day and, at least twenty-five times we shared the memories of the good times and were thankful for them. At "The Spirit of Freedom", I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the past had passed forever. I would not ever be able to go back, no more than the rivulets of water pouring down over the golden curves and points could run back up the steep sides. I could not tell him so then. We hugged and kissed and I knew that I would be writing to him as well as to Rosette.....
On a cold winter night in January, I parked my car in the empty parking lot and walked alone the half-mile through the virgin snow to the "Northland Fountain". It was serene and silent except for the splash of water. Off to the left, the ribbon of bright lights and the muffled sound of traffic on the freeway accentuated my aloneness. Large snowflakes floated and swirled in the lights along the walk. Little mountains of ice were building up around the fountain where each stream of water cascaded down. I took a final fountain picture for Rosette. I think she will like this one best of all.
Epilogue: At age 16, Rosette disappeared from my life into the unknown of Ugandan unrest. She will be 24 in April if she is still alive.
© Broses. All rights reserved by the author.
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