on the day in which the reality of life in Africa hits too close to home...

Tuesday started off like any “normal” day. My roomie and I are working the afternoon shift this week, so we headed into the babies home for our 11am start. When we walked in the door, we were pulled aside by one of the supervisors who explained to us that one of our babies at the home had died early that morning. Never having worked with that particular baby, I did not know him at all, but nonetheless, the thought of one of our little ones passing away is still hard news to take. 

His story was a little bit more unique than most of the babies that come to Watoto. He was only 3 months old, and was referred to Watoto due to a medical condition that required specialized care. He was not an orphan. He was not abandoned, as is the case with too many other infants that suffer from his same condition. In fact, when he was brought to Watoto, his young mom moved right into the babies home with him to help with his care. Not the most comfortable place to live... no space to call a home; no bed to sleep in at night. But she loved her little boy, and wanted to be there with him. 

A few days before he passed away, he was scheduled to have surgery to help with his medical condition. He got sick just before the surgery, and it had to be postponed. He passed away shortly after.

We had a funeral service for him that afternoon at the babies home; with the mom, the nannies and the volunteers. Watching her mourn the loss of her baby was very difficult. He was her second child and he is the second child that she has now lost. 

Shortly before his funeral, the police brought in a new little boy to us. He is ten years old, and weighs just over 22lbs. Definitely one of the most severely malnourished children I have seen, and in his short little life has been mistreated in ways that you cannot even comprehend. 

I realize that in spending any significant amount of time in Africa, there will be many experiences just like this past Tuesday. But it doesn’t make them any easier when they come along. In a world that has so much, there are still countless little ones that are robbed of even the most basic care. I will never understand that. 

But at the same time, my heart is grateful that I get to see and experience hope every single day that I am here. Watching some of the most fragile and tragic beginnings turn into stories of restoration. It will never grow old. 

I’m spending the next week working in the clinic with the sick and malnourished babies that are currently in our care. Today was my first day, and one of the little boys that I spent the day with was this 10 year old that arrived on Tuesday. This afternoon, when I turned on some music, he started smiling and swaying to the songs. Amidst it all... there is hope.