A rotten day

I usually try to keep my posts upbeat and positive. I don’t really know why. Maybe it’s because I don’t want my family to freak out over all that goes on here. Or maybe I don’t want to freak myself out by putting into words all that I experience. But this isn’t going to be a blog that leaves you happy or that makes you think wow, they are adjusting well. This is a blog about death, sin and sadness. It’s about poverty and hurt, pain that most of us will never know. It’s a picture of what I see so often, but don’t put into words. It is Sierra Leone.

3 weeks ago, I met for the first time a 13 year old girl on the front porch of her mud hut. This child had a younger sister about 8 and they were being cared for by their 18 year old brother because they had lost both of their parents several years ago. A child raising children…..

This, however, was not what brought me to their front porch. I went to the village to administer first aid to a few of the villagers. Nothing complex….boils, cuts and infected scrapes, simple infections and colds. And then I saw her. She was sitting on the porch maybe weighing in at 65 or 70 pounds. She was pale and obviously in pain. Michael had seen her the day before and wanted me to take a look. I stepped onto the porch and had to turn my head. I am not a person with a weak stomach. I have squeezed maggots out of a man’s arm…..I’m unflappable. But the smell coming from this small girl wasn’t anything I have encountered before. Then I moved the cloth from her stomach. Green bile was seeping from a gaping hole in her belly button. I was at a loss. Michael and I both were stunned. I patched her up and we began forming a plan for what we thought the girl needed. It took time (most things here do) but we drove her to the local clinic to see the Community Health Official……where she was promptly turned away and told there was no treatment. Michael drove to Moyamba, one hour away. They refused to take her in the hospital. After a few hours, he was finally informed there was an ambulance that could take her to Freetown for free treatment. Wahoo!! We were so happy and excited.

We got a call the next day from her brother that she was in Bo (a city 6 or so hours from Freetown, in the opposite direction from Bauya) and they needed money for a blood transfusion. Our kids have been dealing with a skin issue, nothing major, but we decided to have it looked at and went to Bo to help. Only to get there and find out the doctor who does the surgeries left the country because he was nervous about election time. There are 88 doctors in this country. That day there was at least one less. Never have I wanted 88 doctors like we did that day. This little girl was then put on a bus and shipped to Freetown to be turned away, yet again at another hospital. Another bus took them north to a hospital that promised results. All of this took place while she continued to ooze bile, her intestines were basically hanging out and she was so thin…..there aren’t words to describe this.

We got word that the little girl died. The hospital kept putting the surgery off because they wanted more money. MORE MONEY! What is the price of this little girl’s life? Somewhere around $100. She will not return to her small sister who cried and wailed when her sister was taken from her. Yet one more person has left this tiny girl’s life. This brother buried another family member, he put her to rest several hours north in an unmarked grave. The numbers have faces! The children are alone and dying. Who stands for them?

We decided a few months ago to hire full time security at our compound. We now have a day guard and night guard on duty 24/7. I know you are imagining guys walking around with clubs looking tough. Trust me they are tough, but we love them!

It is hot in Sierra Leone. Check a map, 8 degrees above the equator, makes for a hot sticky place. Seeing that electricity is not an option, you can bet that air conditioning is also not on the list of things we have. Instead, outside has become an extension of our home. It is where our classroom is. It is the kitchen we hang out in. It is the playroom where my kids romp around and play. Consequently, we spend a lot of time with our guards. They have become like family. They greet us at shift time. They check to see how we are. We’ve met their families. They play soccer with my kids. I take them food when we have leftovers. They call me Mommy Rachel (yes, this freaked me out at first. I would have been like 12 to have some of these be my children) But the name has grown on me and we truly love them.

At 7:15 this morning, a text came over Michael’s phone. I picked it up, still groggy to read a message from Patrick our guard. While he was on duty this morning, his 9 month old son died. This boy was at my gate last night. His mother came to me for medicine. I gave what I had not realizing the boy was so sick. He was smiling and giggling, although I could tell he wasn’t feeling well. This morning the smiling stopped. My heart hurts. This baby’s life just started….

I know the kind words that you are thinking, I know you want to lift us up. But frankly, it’s not about us. Looking at this young mother crying and putting her baby in a hole where dirt is tossed on his face….how do we lift that mother up?

In this area, most firstborns are not buried. Why, you ask? Because it is so common for children to die that they just go to the dust bin. This is not a culture that doesn’t love and care for their kids, but a culture who would be crushed under the weight of their loss. A world where grieving is a full time job if you let it be. A community that sees heartbreak as a way of life. Oh Jesus, be the light here.

I read a quote recently, that I will butcher, but it said something like poverty isn’t being without things it’s being without options. It’s true. There were no options for the little girl being sent from hospital to hospital looking for someone, anyone, to help. That mother had nowhere to go. After seeing the local doctor and getting the meds there was nowhere for a second opinion. There is no, I will pick up an extra shift to earn money for a really good doctor. No, I don’t like what that doctor said, I will go somewhere else. I didn’t understand poor until I saw people dying from it.

This post has a few purposes. One, I just need to vent. I won’t lie, I miss first world problems. Starbucks only serves caramel apple spices a few times a year. Target only has the shoes I want in a 7 ½. I have wanted several times to pack my bags, live in comfort and AC near my friends and family and chalk this up to a strange little time that I learned from. I am confident these pictures could fade if I can just get far enough away. But that is not where I am. And I want to get it off my chest!

It is also an honest picture of what we see. You need to know. This “adventure” we are on is ugly. It’s hard. It’s so full of sad some days I feel swallowed by it. I have been spared some of this tragedy only because I was born a few thousand miles west. A small ocean is all that has separated me from this hurt and loss. How have I lived so blind?

Now, that’s all said. Do know that we have also experienced joy and happiness like you can’t imagine. We have seen love displayed in incredible ways and God has displayed his majesty in ways I can’t describe. “Momma’s in a dark place” tonight, but I know tomorrow will bring the sunrise and a project that will hopefully save some of these lives from a similar fate of the children whose stories I shared. You know that story about the starfish littering the beach and the guy is picking them up one by one and throwing them back in the sea but there are like a million more all around. Someone says hey dude, you’ll never make a difference here and Mr. throw the starfish back says, “ I just made a difference to that one” as he throws another in. Have you heard it? Our beach is so full right now it can be hard to see the difference. But it’s there, I know.

Pray for these children. Pray for these parents. Pray for the leaders and the doctors. Pray for a divine difference.