Mathematics mistakenly holds the title of "the universal language." Yes, numbers have no prejudices and 2+2=4 everywhere, but anyone who has struggled in a calculus course knows that math can be remarkably complicated and confusing.

Laughter, on the other hand, needs no foundation or prior understanding. Genuine, guttural laughter crosses all lines of language, age, ethnicity, and belief. When on the outskirts of a conversation with people speaking an unknown tongue, if those involved suddenly rear back their heads and slap their knees in a fit of uncontrollable amusement it is near impossible not to join them.

Anguish can also overcome those same barriers.

A young man was recently killed in the shallows of Lake Victoria less than a kilometer from where I work. While bathing he was attacked and dismembered by an adult hippo with a calf at her side. The day after the tragedy, I was walking with Alphonce to offer condolences and assistance to the family when we came upon a group of fishermen pulling their nets onto the beach. The intended catch, the missing remains of the young man, were painfully absent.

When the empty nets had been brought ashore, an old woman stepped from the crowd and stood ankle deep in the small waves. She faced the water and began shouting a plea to the boy's spirit to return the body and for the lake to ease its journey. She spoke entirely in Luo but her pain and beseechment dug into my chest, burrowed into my spine. Decades from now, whatever Luo I learn will be forgotten but the image of that woman against the vast waters, her wrinkled hands shaking as she pounded her walking stick into the sand, and the sound of her commanding voice will still remain.