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

Shae's log: Scared snakeless

On Sunday, I went with my friend Uchumi and his sister and nephew to the local snake park. Well, its about an hours drive or so out of Arusha and is something more akin to "Gatorland" in Orlando (which should make Karen Ragsdale really happy about now!). It was a fun day and here are some of the pictures from our experience.

Keep in mind... Uchumi's family kept telling Happy all the way to the park how scary and bad snakes were. And because my baby is almost two, she totally understood them and was afraid the whole time. As you can see here... Mommy is not afraid of snakes. But Auntie Josephine sure was! She wouldn't get close!

Me and Mr. Crocodile are not friends

Uchumi was consoling her after she was a little freaked by Masai women at the museum.

Getting down off of the camel was a challenge

I am wearing some traditional Masai clothing

Happy was too busy staring at Uchumi on the camel

Mommy and Uchumi riding along

David was too cool for this Masai exhibit!

Shae's log: Project Pendo

Last week, from the other side of my mobile connection, I was greeted with this. “Goodmorning. My name is Walter. I was trying to reach someone from Cradle of Love. Shae, is that you?”

“Yes, I’m Shae Beery. I heard you needed to talk to me about Pendo?”

The man continued, “You know her best, yes?”

Not being sure where this was going, I just answered his question in anticipation that we would get to the point of this call quickly.

“Yes, sir. I know Pendo well. I was a volunteer at Cradle of Love when she came to us and I probably know her history better than anyone else. What do you need to know? What’s wrong? Is everything ok?”

So with that awkward intro, Walter from the Happy Watoto Children’s Home went on to explain the current situation with my lovely Pendo. Apparently, he is the social welfare director for Happy Watoto. He explained that they had some concern that Pendo was deaf/mute. Deaf/mute? Seriously? It was obvious that he or his staff really didn’t know her, but whatever! I kept attentive. He went on to tell of his suspicions why she wasn’t talking, why he and his staff had came to that conclusion and his theories on her health in general. As I was listening to him speak, I couldn’t help but envision the malnourished, near death, 14 lb. two-year-old that was presented to me on that Friday in early September, 2010. And all I could process in my mind was that this guy REALLY had no idea what he was talking about. It was my turn to speak.

“So, you are also concerned about her legs? Am I understanding you correctly?” I squaked back at him through the bad cellular connection.

“Yes, her legs seem to be the same length. She appears quite healthy. But she walks a little strange and she definitely cannot run.”

I took a breath and started the explanation. “Well, you know that she was severely malnourished, right? I mean, personally, I’ve never seen a child that bad who lived and is as healthy as she is now. Really. You have no idea how hard we fought for her.” From his reaction on the other end, I could tell that he honestly had no idea about any of it.

I went on to tell him about her physical condition when she came to Cradle of Love. I told him how long it took for us to appreciate physical characteristics (i.e. her dimples) due to her lack of body fat and muscle tone. I discussed with him her depression and her cleverness at rejecting food and water in effort to welcome death. Because that is what she was inviting; she wanted to die. I explained to him that the biggest fight we had with her was not in building up her physical body. Rather, our biggest challenge was convincing her to trust us, encouraging her to happiness, and reminding her to live. I told him about the problems in her hips and how long it took her to walk. I explained that there was a bald patch on the side of her hair where malnutrition had injured her scalp and may have permanently damaged her hair follicle. And I told him about her fear of children touching her during her recovery as she knew that her body was weak and susceptible to injury.

Over the next 15 minutes I outlined a timetable of her development from depression to full laughter to babbling and walking. I detailed her attachment to specific individuals and her ability to verbalize, manipulate, play, and banter. He kept stopping me to ask more questions and I could sense that small revelations were going off in his brain. He kept telling me “She began talking? Wow.” Or “I didn’t realize she was that sick”. He kept repeating “now I understand,” “now this makes sense,” “that’s why she does that.” I didn’t want to overstep my bounds, but I asked if he wanted my opinion. And of course, he did.

“Honestly, she has endured so much in such a short span of life. She knows everything. She remembers everything. In addition to having an ongoing battle with ear infections, I think her biggest deterrent to speaking and interacting is fear and abandonment. Sir, I think she’s depressed again.” And with that, the tears filled my eyes and the most giant lump developed in my throat.

He spent the next ten minutes raving on and on about how keenly observant I was with this child. He repeatedly invited me to come see her more and help them develop a plan to help her. He commended me for my visiting with her even though she was no longer at Cradle of Love. There were so many more things that he said to me this morning, but honestly, I don’t remember all of it.

All I could think about in that moment is how I failed her. And how in feeling like a failure I wasn’t helping her, but playing a pity party for myself. I felt sick. I think I still do.

I slowly came back into the conversation and explained to him that I observed how she is trusting some of the children at the new home more than adults. I told him to tap into that. Before we concluded he said to me, “Shae, you have mentioned many times this morning how Pendo ‘remembers everything’ and thus reacting off of the hard life she’s led. Are you saying that she is bright? How can a three year old be that clever? Its remarkable, really.”

“Yes, she is bright.” I replied. “So bright. And it’s the thing that is holding her together. She’s a survivor. But also, it fosters darkness in her because she has been emotionally hurt too many times. And that is something she doesn’t forget. So why should she talk to any of us. We’ve only repeatedly abandoned her and thrown her into situations that she didn’t ask for.” And with that, our conversation was over and proper salutations were exchanged.

But for me, in my mind, the conversation is not over. It won’t ever be over. I feel like I sacrificed one child over another. And the guilt just pours in because I would choose Happy over Pendo anyday. Happy is my daughter and she will always be number one. And I look at my pictures of Pendo where her face is all aglow and feel such guilt that the glow is gone.

But the nanny inside me --that was really just a mother in disguise --keeps reminding me that I love Pendo too. And that I have to choose her, too. But what can I do? My heart is still beating, but I am pretty sure that my chest got ripped open this morning. Still, my pain? Doesn’t come close to hers.

As much as I want to control, I concede that I must surrender this one over to God. Totally. Completely. But to be honest, still hesitantly. I have to thank Him for allowing me to advocate on Pendo’s behalf. And I have to hand it over, and let the guilt go. Jodie will have words to share on this one. But all she has to share is her love. I know what I have to do. Sweet surrender… I think this blog title just revealed itself.

~Shae

This is the sad Pendo now. I can't get her to smile or laugh for anything.

Happy's log: Its the stuff in the green bottle

I think Mommy has been frustrated. Everytime we go to someone's house or someone comes to visit, they always give me Coke! I love it. Its great. But she doesn't seem to be smiling.

Last week I got a new Nanny. Her name is Emmy and she is real nice. Mommy told her not to give me any Coke. So she didn't. She gave me lemon juice. Its sweet and bubbly and I LIKE it. When Mommy came upstairs she didn't look too happy. I don't understand her frustration. Emmy didn't give me Coke and mommy said it was 'rite. So what's the big deal?