We don't get as many opportunities to help with medical needs now. When we lived in the village, people frequently came. We did have the grandma on the corner, a witch doctor, come ask for help with a large wound on her head, given to her by her grandson who hit her over the head with a plastic chair. Yes, we saw the irony of the witch doctor coming for treatment. I got to pray for grandma; we had, and still have, a sweet, ongoing relationship with her.
About six weeks ago, I saw a little neighbor boy who herds cows walking along, holding his arm tenderly. He had dislocated his elbow, and was just going to tough it out. (It had happened before, he said, and eventually, after several days, it got better). His biggest worry, when I said I could help him, was that he would get beaten if he left the cows back at the house before it was time to put them up for the day. He is 11. Who would beat him, I asked. "Everyone," he responded, and his sister nodded her agreement. Ugh. I took him to an American pediatrician who lives around the corner and happened to be home, and was happy to see him and put his arm back in its proper place. Thankfully, I also had an opportunity to talk to Bibi, his grandma, about how his injury was legitimate and he had a good reason to put the cows up early. She seemed doubtful, as his arm showed no sign of injury. These children suffer, and we are eager to do anything that relieves even a little pain in their hard lives.
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| On our way to the relatives' house. |
Saturday we got a call from Pascal, who works outside. His wife, Mama Pili, had delivered a baby in the middle of the night, but, "because of bad luck, the baby died." His wife is a lovely, soft-spoken young lady who goes to the church on the hill. She has had two healthy babies already, and this pregnancy seemed normal. When she went into labor at their home in the middle of the night, she delivered the baby's head and then "lost her strength." They called another neighbor who is a nurse, and she said that if the mama finished delivering the baby, she might lose too much blood. So they took her to the hospital with the baby half delivered. When they got there, she was able to deliver the rest of the baby, but the tiny baby girl had already died.
When I got there at visiting hours with Esther, we walked to the ward and it was typically full, most of the single beds holding two mamas, head-to-foot, and their new babes. The woman in the bed across from Pascal's wife was chatting with her, and me, but didn't have a baby in bed with her. Every now and then she would hold her belly, grimace, and lay back down again. When she got a phone call, I asked if they knew each other. "No, but the same thing happened to her--she delivered a baby this morning, but it was dead. She was seven months along." Later, this sweet mama told all of us (five by then) how she had been in so much pain, she had gotten down on the floor and delivered this baby, who just fell out onto the floor. Then the nurse came, and was angry with her because she had gotten the floor dirty. And then, if I thought I couldn't stand any more, another woman came up and sat in between me and Pascal's wife, holding her belly. Only her belly didn't look big at all, and she said she had been 9 months pregnant, but the baby had died, and she had been in 21 days ago, but was sent home. Now she was having more pain, but her belly had gotten smaller and smaller. Three women with tragic stories, and they all sat calmly, sharing, feeling sorry for one another. It is easy for me to forget: most women here have lost at least one child.
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| Sister-in-law washes Mama Pili's hands before they eat |
The two women who had delivered that morning had been given an IV, no pain medication, no education on how to care for themselves. They were asked whether they were going to take their babies home to bury them, or whether the nurses should "put them in the trash." It still makes me ache, and I have lived here 13 years.
After two hours of trying to get the papers to be discharged, (there was no final exam or parting words; there was not even a band-aid to put over the bleeding spot where they took the IV port out), we were finally on our way out of the ward, and poor mama had to walk all the way to the car in the heat, not a short distance. Pascal and I went through the exit, where the guards sit. Then Esther and the mama came out, but not before paying a bribe to get through. "I think the guard was hot and wanted to buy water or something."
Romans 12:8 always comes to mind in these situations. It applies so precisely to our call as Christians to help those in need. "...if (your gift) is to show mercy, do it cheerfully." There are so many adjectives God could have used, but He knows that situations that call for mercy often are frustrating, depressing even, if we get bogged down in them. We are meant to do good cheerfully, and the only way to maintain cheerfulness is to fix my eyes on the rescuing, redeeming work of Jesus Christ.
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| The chickens kept coming in to greet us. :) |
God never claimed this earth is as it was meant to be; on the contrary! My purpose is to redeem, to fix what is broken in whatever way I can. I am not meant to fix everything, and I can't even fix most things, but by faith I can do whatever I can in the situations He brings my way. I can show compassion, and I can weep with those who weep. I can acknowledge the precious Gift that this dear Mama mourns over. I can, by God's grace, keep moving forward, keep trusting Him that He is at work and that He will accomplish His purposes in me and through me. I can be kind, and not just to the ones I know are suffering.
I drove everyone to the home of a relative who lives way up in the hills. This is where they had buried the baby earlier in the day, quickly, so that they didn't have the burden of a funeral (which involves several days of feeding the neighbors). The land belonged to the family, the only place they could bury it since Pascal and his wife rent a house. We brought Mama there to see where the baby was buried, and to be cared for by the women relatives. The house was half the size of my living room and six people lived there. I had no idea where Mama Pili would sleep, but it was good for her to be in a place where she could be cared for. We left her there, said goodbye to the family, walked past the freshly-dug earth that was the grave, and back to the car, back to my own life.
But not without remembering how the poor suffer. And that their suffering is exacerbated by injustice, ignorance of those in authority, superstition, and the logistics that go along with being materially poor. It is not an easy thing to rise up out of poverty. In fact, it seems exponentially complicated. This battle Dave and I have in ourselves, these conversations of who to help, how to help, did it work, what works best...these wrestlings are something we value. Not because we love it, or would rather not turn away. But we have the privilege of having our eyes opened to material poverty, we have the unique and amazing privilege of having something to give, and we have the opportunity to be reminded, daily, of how needy we are of wisdom and mercy, and a Savior.
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| Baby's fresh grave on the left under the small rock. |
For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was abounding in material resources, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you through his poverty might be amplied supplied. II Cor. 8:9 Amply supplied--enough cheerfulness for each opportunity.
