It's 4:10pm. Where has the day gone? I came back to our compound to get some stuff done. But I think I've spent more of my time chasing ornery goats out of my garden. God used them, as He does all things if I'm aware enough to catch on, to clue me in a little more to His own heart today. After the third time running like a lunatic through the compound hurling stones, I walked all the way down the path behind our house to our closest neighbors to have a "chat" about the goat situation. The situation is that our neighbors have stopped tying the goats because good pasture is harder to come by in dry season. Now the charming animals have decided that my house is their favorite hang-out - which aside from their free eating of months of my work in the garden, they stink, they're loud, and they're constantly hounded by one rather virile beast that can't keep his eyes off the ladies. I'd had enough.
Deliberating on how I would approach the situation, I reached the compound and found Hawa (a girl of about 11 years) with 5 younger children - two barely walking - and not another soul in sight. She was attempting to light a fire to cook for everyone. I asked her if any adult was home and she directed me to a sorry looking tukul (mud hut). Inside I found an older lady laying on a bed scantily clad, and what must be a younger man lying on a bamboo hewn bed of sorts. He looked like the worst of the pictures you see of starving people in Africa. A rough bone structure with paper-thin skin stretched across him. Water was leaking out of the eye he lay on, and flies danced about the sores lining his bottom lip. I greeted the woman and asked what was wrong - was he sick? She said he was her son. He'd had diarrhea for the past five or six days. And there was no money to do anything about it. Questions immediately sprung to my mind. These people are poor, to be sure, but they have a flock of goats (obviously), and a large sugar cane garden by the river, which had just recently been cut and no doubt sold. Hawa's mother and father were nowhere to be seen, nor was the man who works the sugar cane. That anyone could have left a person to die like this was more than I could stomach. I asked a few more question, prayed with her, and went to see if I could find some way to help.
I was kind of clueless as to the right thing to do. Culture here says that your family members should tend to such things. I wanted to take him to the clinic, but Bishop has our car in Juba. And what if I were to take him to the clinic? Would he live? Would it even help? How much would it cost? And what if he should die there? Would I then be responsible for getting the body back to the family? Since I'm here on my own without the team, I didn't have anyone to consult. So I went to the Bishop's son - the only one of their family currently in Mundri. I asked if he had a number to call a motorcycle taxi to come take the person to the clinic. He said not. But he said he could take him with the ECS's motorcycle, only he could only carry one person. I knew the young man was in no condition to keep himself on the back of a motorcycle - he was half dead to my untrained eye. So that wouldn't work. And who would look after him at the clinic? Who would bring him food? It's not like hospitals back home where everything is taken care of.
I continued on to the office to see if anyone else was there that could help. Mercy of all mercies, I found Mama Viviana, and another of her Mother's Union friends up doing office work. Not only is she the right person to be truly compassionate in such situations, but she is wise and level-headed about what is best to do and why. I quickly explained what was going on, and she came down to their house again with me to assess the situation. As we sat with the old woman, Viviana found that she knew the family. In fact, this shriveled, incapacitated woman was actually younger than herself though you would never have known it - due to her "condition" in life, which Viviana later explained to me. Poverty. She had a brother, alive and well in a neighboring town who had a store and vast fields, more than enough money to help and care for her. And she has two sisters here in town, who sit in our very market, and who could help her. But she said they don't interest themselves with her. No one ever comes to visit. No one cares for their welfare. She said one of their family had gone to inform the other family members, to see if he could find money to transport the sick man.
On our way back, Viviana voiced her doubt about this claim. If no one had done anything to this point, they must have made the mother an empty promise to placate her. . . but had every intention of letting her son die. Of diarrhea and virtual starvation. I was sick to my stomach. And anger boiled up in me. We arranged that he would be taken to the clinic in the afternoon accompanied by another man from the compound - after the strength of the sun abated, otherwise the journey might kill him outright. And Hawa's mother would follow to care for him at the clinic. The old woman had said some medicine was given, but Viviana doubted this as well . . . so the best I could do at that point was to run some anti-diarrheal medicine down to them and hope that it would at least be a slight stop-gap measure.
So it goes. This morning as I prayed before getting out of bed, I had asked God to open my eyes to see what it was that He wanted me to do today, instead of doing whatever I came up with, or wanted to do, or thought was best. And so he sent me annoying goats. Without which I would never have gone down to Hawa's compound today, and without which I would never have found that poor soul . . . who may well still die. As angry and horrified as I can get about a situation like this, without God I am equally callous and uncaring. I could overlook the situation entirely. Care more about how the goats were affecting me and my own comfort and desires, than a stranger's welfare in the very next compound. But I am being made ever more like Him. Thank God for that mercy. I have so very much to learn. At least today I could be one person that came and showed some humanity and care for one old woman and her son. May He send me out ever more in the "fullness of the gospel" as one of my friends back home always prays for me.
Deliberating on how I would approach the situation, I reached the compound and found Hawa (a girl of about 11 years) with 5 younger children - two barely walking - and not another soul in sight. She was attempting to light a fire to cook for everyone. I asked her if any adult was home and she directed me to a sorry looking tukul (mud hut). Inside I found an older lady laying on a bed scantily clad, and what must be a younger man lying on a bamboo hewn bed of sorts. He looked like the worst of the pictures you see of starving people in Africa. A rough bone structure with paper-thin skin stretched across him. Water was leaking out of the eye he lay on, and flies danced about the sores lining his bottom lip. I greeted the woman and asked what was wrong - was he sick? She said he was her son. He'd had diarrhea for the past five or six days. And there was no money to do anything about it. Questions immediately sprung to my mind. These people are poor, to be sure, but they have a flock of goats (obviously), and a large sugar cane garden by the river, which had just recently been cut and no doubt sold. Hawa's mother and father were nowhere to be seen, nor was the man who works the sugar cane. That anyone could have left a person to die like this was more than I could stomach. I asked a few more question, prayed with her, and went to see if I could find some way to help.
I was kind of clueless as to the right thing to do. Culture here says that your family members should tend to such things. I wanted to take him to the clinic, but Bishop has our car in Juba. And what if I were to take him to the clinic? Would he live? Would it even help? How much would it cost? And what if he should die there? Would I then be responsible for getting the body back to the family? Since I'm here on my own without the team, I didn't have anyone to consult. So I went to the Bishop's son - the only one of their family currently in Mundri. I asked if he had a number to call a motorcycle taxi to come take the person to the clinic. He said not. But he said he could take him with the ECS's motorcycle, only he could only carry one person. I knew the young man was in no condition to keep himself on the back of a motorcycle - he was half dead to my untrained eye. So that wouldn't work. And who would look after him at the clinic? Who would bring him food? It's not like hospitals back home where everything is taken care of.
I continued on to the office to see if anyone else was there that could help. Mercy of all mercies, I found Mama Viviana, and another of her Mother's Union friends up doing office work. Not only is she the right person to be truly compassionate in such situations, but she is wise and level-headed about what is best to do and why. I quickly explained what was going on, and she came down to their house again with me to assess the situation. As we sat with the old woman, Viviana found that she knew the family. In fact, this shriveled, incapacitated woman was actually younger than herself though you would never have known it - due to her "condition" in life, which Viviana later explained to me. Poverty. She had a brother, alive and well in a neighboring town who had a store and vast fields, more than enough money to help and care for her. And she has two sisters here in town, who sit in our very market, and who could help her. But she said they don't interest themselves with her. No one ever comes to visit. No one cares for their welfare. She said one of their family had gone to inform the other family members, to see if he could find money to transport the sick man.
On our way back, Viviana voiced her doubt about this claim. If no one had done anything to this point, they must have made the mother an empty promise to placate her. . . but had every intention of letting her son die. Of diarrhea and virtual starvation. I was sick to my stomach. And anger boiled up in me. We arranged that he would be taken to the clinic in the afternoon accompanied by another man from the compound - after the strength of the sun abated, otherwise the journey might kill him outright. And Hawa's mother would follow to care for him at the clinic. The old woman had said some medicine was given, but Viviana doubted this as well . . . so the best I could do at that point was to run some anti-diarrheal medicine down to them and hope that it would at least be a slight stop-gap measure.
So it goes. This morning as I prayed before getting out of bed, I had asked God to open my eyes to see what it was that He wanted me to do today, instead of doing whatever I came up with, or wanted to do, or thought was best. And so he sent me annoying goats. Without which I would never have gone down to Hawa's compound today, and without which I would never have found that poor soul . . . who may well still die. As angry and horrified as I can get about a situation like this, without God I am equally callous and uncaring. I could overlook the situation entirely. Care more about how the goats were affecting me and my own comfort and desires, than a stranger's welfare in the very next compound. But I am being made ever more like Him. Thank God for that mercy. I have so very much to learn. At least today I could be one person that came and showed some humanity and care for one old woman and her son. May He send me out ever more in the "fullness of the gospel" as one of my friends back home always prays for me.
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