“Time to Say Goodbye”

I am sitting out watching another beautiful African sunset, thinking that there are not too many more I will see before it is time to leave. A week ago we all sat together and talked about what we will miss (the Haven, slower pace, rain on the tin roof, the people), what we won’t (grilled cheese, oatmeal, power outages), and what we would like to do one more time here in Zambia. The past week has consisted of doing those “one more time” things-or for me, it means spending almost entire days up at the Haven with the children and the Aunties. We leave Namwianga the day after tomorrow, though most of us are happy to remain in denial until Thursday morning. So this is my last chance to tell you about a “typical” week in Namwianga...

Every day I’ve been thinning out the pile of things people sent with me for the children. Last week I took bubbles and balloons up to the Haven and with only one leg inside the gate was mobbed by tiny hands pulling on my dress and big eyes staring up at the colorful rainbow of treats in my hand. Several of the children were shy about the bubbles at first, but when I showed them how to pop them, and how they smelled like grape and cherry and strawberry (scented bubbles) they were enamored with them. Their bare feet would patter back and forth against the porch floor as they ran to catch each bubble, causing them to blink in surprise as suds spattered their noses and cheeks. Then I gave each child a balloon and watched them hug it to themselves as a prized possession while they attempted to play with other toys without leaving the balloon behind. Today I took sheets of stickers and laughed at the look on the children’s faces staring down in wonder at the unicorn or dolphin on their shirt. I gave the Aunties pages to take home to their children, and the ones I had forgotten came and found me to be sure they got theirs also. This afternoon we took gift bags for the Aunties to the Haven (chitenges, cookies, balloons, mints). We read them the card we had written, and they broke out in huge smiles at our attempted Tonga, which translated “thank you for your service to the children and to God”. They hugged us, clapped their hands, and modeled their new fabric. It was infectious to see their excitement at a gift that we would not have thought twice about in America.

One night last week an Auntie from the Haven was in labor at the clinic, and I went with three of the students after dinner to see if she was close to delivering. When we arrived, the midwife was not there, so I made rounds on the babies who had been admitted to the children’s ward that day. Afterwards I walked the whole clinic to find who was on night duty. When I found “Dr.” Sekaleti and asked him about the Auntie in labor (and convinced him at length that I was not the best person to check how much she was dilated) he called in the midwife from home to come check her. By this time it was about 8 p.m. and Tebia (the midwife) guessed Purity would deliver by midnight. We decided to wait, and wait we did! Tebia left again, and the four of us sat down to wait in the “delivery room” with Purity, her mother and mother-in-law. Another woman who had given birth an hour before was in the other bed with her new baby, and her friend there with her spread out a blanket on the floor beside her where she and her son slept that night. By 12:30 a.m. when it was apparent Purity would in fact not deliver by midnight :), we migrated to the adjacent unused postpartum room and overtook the four empty beds to get a little sleep. I woke up a little before 2 a.m. and tracked down Sekaleti because no one had checked on Purity since 8 p.m.. He called Tebia in, and I helped her set up the “sterile” field for the birth before she left again. Purity would occasionally go out in the courtyard for fresh air, then come back in and lie down. I dozed off and on until Purity’s mother woke me at 6 a.m. wanting a wash cloth. Sekaleti came back at 6:30 a.m. and called Tebia in again, this time hoping she was ready to deliver. Tebia arrived around 7:30, I gowned up with her, and at 8:15 a.m. baby Rae came into the world (among encouraging words from the new mom still lying across from the delivery bed-only in Africa...). We weighed him at a healthy 8 pounds (which is huge for around here) and wrapped him in a chitenge before handing him to his bannene (grandma).

I spent most mornings and afternoons last week teaching different health sessions to the Aunties. One of the clinic nurses who helps oversee things there, Elizabeth Hallale, translated for me. We moved chairs out on the Haven 1 porch and rotated through small groups comprised of Aunties from each Haven. I demonstrated the proper technique for weighing babies accurately, feeding regimens, malnutrition, early detection of deterioration, dehydration, infection control, basic first aid, nutrition, and common diseases and health conditions seen among the children there. Some of the groups were more interactive than others, but all in all it seemed like it went well. I explained in depth how to use the Haven Log one of the students and I developed for recording intake and output, and have been pleased to see them at least somewhat in use. The last few days have brought many children to the clinic with minor dehydration and diarrhea, proving that the teaching prompted the Aunties to take the babies sooner than they have been previously. Sunday, a 5 month-old brought to the Haven two weeks ago, died last night for unclear problems. There was nothing we could pinpoint (with the resources here) that was wrong with him, but he became weaker and weaker the past few days. His mother died with TB and hepatitis, which are likely suspects for his nonspecific symptoms. This week brought two new babies to the Haven-Gammie, a one-month-old girl, and Mazuba, a two-month-old boy. There is hardly time to mourn one who is lost before there are more to turn your focus to caring for.

Saturday morning I helped prepare lunch for our “Twaluma Party” (thank you) for our teachers and workers. We had beef stew, chicken tortilla soup, nshima, rice, green beans, cornbread, chocolate cake, and apple cake. We taped a border of balloons around the porch, set up a bucket hand-washing station customary of Zambian gatherings, and honored the people who have spent day in and day out making sure we were well taken care of at Namwianga. Ema, the housekeeper for the house I’ve been living in, was so excited to introduce me to her husband, and wanted a picture all together. All the girls took a picture with one of our night guards, Webster, who has saved us from poisonous snakes on more than one occasion (including the 9 foot black mamba he killed with a shotgun near our house last week). At 3 p.m., an hour and a half after all the other guests had left and everything was cleaned up, one of the workers showed up. Charity had been in Kalomo getting her hair done, but was dropping by for her food-surprise! We warmed her up some soup and cornbread and sat with her while she ate. She finished the soup and her coke, and pulled an empty butter container out of her purse which she stuffed her cornbread and cake into, before thanking us and going on her way. We laughed and shook our heads, exclaiming T.I.A.

I have dined with Shepherd (the clinic administrator) and his wife (who is Peruvian), seen the “flight of the termites” (thousands of them emerging from the ground and taking flight, filling the air with brown specks), and washed the dishes in the dark-again (why does the power insist on going out on my dish night?). I have forgone a bath in exchange for taking refuge under my mosquito net when the lack of electricity caused half of the bugs in Zambia to attack me and my flashlight, slept in sweat for lack of the ability to use the fan, and been treated for malaria; still I am not quite ready to leave.

Today I notice that the familiar bush path to the Haven is getting greener and greener and new life is emerging everywhere. Tegan, the one-year-old I have worked with so much is laughing more easily and standing on her own now, and she reaches for me when I walk in her room. The Aunties hand me baby Jessica when I walk in, and she is starting to gurgle and smile up at me. Beatrice (one of the Aunties) brings me a sick baby, “knowing” I will be able to do something for her. Kathi and I talk about the children who are sick and who is on what medicine; who has reached what milestone. The song leader starts a Tonga song in chapel and everyone chimes in at the top of their lungs. We pray around the table and sit down to dinner on the porch with the rain so loud on the tin roof our words are lost in the storm. This was my day today. These are the things I will miss. How do you walk away from somewhere you have come to spend so much of your day, like the Haven, and know it is for the last time (I did tell Kathi not to worry if she found a few of the babies missing...)? What words do you sandwich around “goodbye” because you want to fool yourself into thinking you are not really leaving? Though we will be in Africa for two more weeks visiting several other countries, our hearts will be here. Maybe this is as it should be-leaving pieces of your heart with the people and places you come to love, so that you empty yourself of you, and allow God to fill you again with the abundance of His blessings. Now THAT, I will not miss.