Shae' log: A lifetime away from Winnie Palmer (hospital)

Dear Iren~

I just learned your name on Saturday, but I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. I keep thinking about where you are, what you are doing right now, and whom you are with? Are you happy? Are you ok? Do you have enough food? Shelter? Are you alone? Is there family around you? Are you healthy? Feel safe? Where are you Iren? We’ve looked for you but its as if you never were…

Over the last few weeks I’ve been wondering about your pregnancy. I wonder if you were excited? Were you devastated? Or were you just numb and accepted it blankly like so many women here tend to do. I know that once you became pregnant you went to live with your partner’s family but what was that like for you? Did you feel accepted? I imagine that you started up the work routine that is required of all women, pregnant or not, to sustain the life of the family. Were you just exhausted? Were you scared? Or did you just pretend as if there was no child growing inside you and kept on like all was ok? Even when it wasn’t? The day that you went into labor, did you walk alone the two miles-- down the mountain-- from the family compound to catch the public bus that would drop you near the hospital… but not exactly to it? I imagine that you walked, stone faced, and only paused to let a contraction subside but never changing your facial expression to let on the incredible pain you must have been feeling. Did you even know that you were in preterm labor? Or did your lack of medical care trick you into thinking that this was when you were supposed to be delivering a baby? Did you actually make it make to Arushatown to be with your family before delivery? I can’t get a clear answer from anyone. I wonder…

Iren, I wonder if you know the incredible burden you laid on the Ngowi family when you left your baby girl and walked away?

I wonder if you know the incredible blessing you gave the Beery family by not coming back to get her?

Iren, I’ve been wondering about your delivery. I’ve now visited two hospital maternity wards and the grimness is all the same. Were you angry to be left in antenatal laboring in a room full of other women? Were the midwives kind to you or did they yell “walk faster” as you made your way to the delivery room? Did anyone help you to the bed or were you forced to press through the contractions and hop on the bed before the baby delivered on the floor? Were you the expected silent as our 5 lb miracle girl made her way into the world? How did you keep quiet when only minutes later the midwives tugged on your cord to pull out the placenta, whether it was detached from your uterus or not? And only minutes after that, with the fluids of birth draining from your body and most likely onto the floor, how did you muster enough strength to walk yourself, your baby, and your soiled bed sheets down the hall and into post partum? How did you do it? The smell of blood and urine soaks every mattress of that room and yet you probably had to share said mattress with another woman. What were you thinking? Or had pain and exhaustion overshadowed the miracle of new life? No uterine massage. No congratulations. No pain meds. Just you, baby Happy, and the reality of east African life. I’m in awe of you and I barely know your name…

I’m told that you live close to where I am. But will I ever see you? Now that I know your name, I will always be looking, wondering, if every Iren I meet is you. And will I know its you? When I look at your baby girl she has this beautiful dark chocolate skin, round pudgy face, and a cute Chagga nose. It’s the same features I see on every member of her father’s family. But her eyes… those eyes… they just have to be from you. They are the brightest brown eyes, piercingly beautiful, and so defined—which means they can only come from someone who possesses the same.

But if I look into your eyes, what will I see? Will it be the naiveté of a young women? Will I find someone physically mature with immature emotions? Will your eyes be the passageway revealing the hollow shell of a person you once were? Or worse…will I see regret? My heart breaks for you. My heart aches for you. My head doesn’t know what to say to you…

So I guess I’ll say “thank you.” Iren, thank you for your sacrifice. I don’t know if having this child was ever in your plan. But God has put blessings upon her life. All in authority have collectively concluded that she is destined for something beyond East Africa and have given the responsibility over to me. And I’m grateful. So grateful.

Love,

Mama Happy 2

** pictures courtesy of Eileen Dolan and Rachel Glass. Thanks to the many great volunteers that came before me, were there with me, covered over my absence, and come back to visit, I have pictures of Happy from her first days at Cradle and beyond. My thanks to them for sharing their photos**

Shae's log: Kwa Kezia

A few weeks ago I visited Nkoranga Orphanage to specifically visit Miriam, a Cradle of Love graduate. Miriam was a special child to my friend Kezia who served with me at Cradle of Love for 9 months. Kezia is home now but desperately misses her special girl-- a feeling I know all too well. I promised I would go visit but didn't realize that I would hit right at nap time. Oh well. I promised the mama's there that I would be back and quickly took a few photos of Miriam in her sweet sleep. I snapped this picture of her foot as she has grown so big and her feet are enormous. But I didn't think about scale and the fact that you wouldn't be able to see her growth in pictures. Oops. I'll do better next time.

So anyway. Kezia. These pictures are for you.

Love,

the Shae

Shae's log: fun firsts

Over the last few weeks, Happy has been trying out some new things.

After a long exhaustive wait for me to make dinner, she took matters into her own hands and started peeling a banana. She did a great job even taking off the strings. At least I thought she did a great job until she started choking and spitting! Apparently she left one strip of peel on the banana but tried to eat it all anyway. FAIL. And then, she stopped eating all together to clean banana from under her nails. She is SOOOO girly.

Happy now has 12 1/2 teeth and it seemed the appropriate time to start brushing those pearlies! So the following pictures chronicle our first adventure into good dental health. She's quite the brusher now and gets excited every morning when I whip out her toothbrush. A big thank you to Donna for supplying us with with a kid brush and paste before I left. Awesome.

Sele's Savior

It took me 30 seconds.

One Mississippi....

Two Mississippi...

Three Mississippi...

Yesterday I went with two amazing woman from The School of St. Jude and visited children at the orphanage in Nkoranga and the Happy Watoto home for children in Kikatiti. As I was perusing my pictures last night, I was putting together an album of the fab four (see previous blogs) and I totally scanned over Selemani's pictures without noticing IT.

Ten Mississippi...

Eleven Mississippi...

Twelve Mississippi...

As I meandered my way through all the shots, all I could do was marvel at how handsome he is becoming. He's gonna' be a lady killer and I just scanned through my mind about all the education he's going to need-- about being a good boyfriend, protecting himself from HIV, becoming a hard worker, discernment as a husband and father-- my mind was wondering off.

Twenty-two Mississippi...

Twenty-three Mississippi...

Twenty-four Mississippi...

I loved how in all of his pictures he is full smiles! The last few visits I had with him resulted in giant tears and a very sad boy. But not this time! This time he was all smiles, with giggles and laughter, and conversation and eye contact, and kisses and WAIT! Oh my gosh! What? Um, no. Cant be? Oh my gosh! How did I miss it?

There! 30 seconds into looking at my pictures and I see it! Finally. How could I have missed it? Do you see it? There, in his right eye (left side of pictures), the cataract/tumor thing in the center of his eye is...well...smaller. SMALLER? How can that be?

For the next 10 minutes I thoroughly inspected the pictures I took and compared them to the pictures I took in previous weeks. Eventhough there is a flash glare in the eyes on every picture of the children, I could still clearly see Selemani's weird eye tumor thing... and this time without a doubt it looked smaller. Smaller. I am not making this up.

I recalled the whole visit and how Sele approached me and Happy. In past visits, he has turned his head a funny way as if he couldn't get a good view from that eye without adjustment. But this week, he just looked right at me. He handed me a bowl and come and gave me a hug without missing a beat. And THAT has just not happened in a while. And after pondering all the things that I was discovering about the visit, it hit me. Like a ton of bricks. It occurred to me why Selemani's eye was doing better.

What occured to me was this: Jodie Howell.

Like a true servant , Jodie Howell has lived her life in the glorification of God and all his goodness. She will hate that I am writing this about her as she would tell me the focus should be on God. And I agree with her. But still, she is a daughter, mother, friend, student, wife, teacher, colleague, confidant, and a whole list of other persons that would just be too numerous to list. But equal to all, and not above all, she is "just Jodie". I say "equal to all" because she has exemplified to me the heart of a true servant of God. She edifies in a way that I cannot explain. She makes me feel special while reminding me that everything, every good thing, every bad thing, must come back to God. She somehow uses her very being as a translator for when God is speaking and I can't seem to comprehend. But Jodie offers up herself in such a manner that you forget she was even the intercessor. She just connects me to the best part of myself and plugs me into God even when I didn't realize I was "unplugged". And how she is helping Selemani right now is successful because Jodie is being just Jodie-- prayerful, thoughtful, and faithful.

A few days after I posted my original blog about how I was concerned about Selemani's eye, Jodie contacted me about sharing his story and praying for him. "Why not?" I thought to myself, and told her she could share and pray about anything she wanted. Honestly, I have thought NOTHING of it since she asked. People offer the trite "I'm praying for you" all the time and it really turns out to mean nothing but idle facebook chatter. But not Jodie. And I should have known. Among her travels, time spent with the grandkids, bible study, and overall duties as a citizen of the world, I should have known that she would take time for my little Selemani.

Jodie is a pray-er. She talks to God with the ease in which I am writing this blog. And to God, in this moment, I sincerely say "THANK YOU". Jodie in all her Jodie-ness is just doing what a good daughter of Christ should do; telling him her worries and concerns, and leaving it up to him to fix. And guess what??? Its working.

I don't know if Selemani's eye cataract/tumor thing will go away completely. I don't know if he will ever receive the proper medical care that he deserves. But what I DO KNOW is that Selemani is important to Jodie and she is making sure that God knows it. My faith is strengthened in the knowledge that her prayers are changing a little boy's life-- a little boy of whom she has never met and who literally lives half-way around the world from her. But it doesn't mater. He is a child of God and she see's value in him AND his eyes.

"Therefore let us pursue the things which make for peace and the things by which one may edify another." Romans 14:19

Love you Jodie. Keep being you. Selemani's life is changing because of the love of Christ, our Lord and Savior, and His promise to heal all who are afflicted. Here's to hoping that Selemani comes to know a God who has loved him and protected him for all time.

~Shae