No less...

I just finished reading a book by a Zambian woman called Princess Kasune Zulu. She is HIV positive, and writes about her journey with the disease. It is probably the most optimistic book about HIV/AIDS that you will ever read.

The virus led to the death of both her parents, her sister and her husband. At one point in the book she talks about grief:

Death is so much more common in Africa, but does it hurt us less? I've thought about this a lot. I believe that losing your parents or anyone you truly love hurts the same no matter where you are from. Death may not surprise us as much in Africa because it visits too many of us too early and too often. We're always wary; we know the ugly head of tragedy may lurk in childbirth, in the contaminated water we drink, in the mosquitoes that bite us as we sleep, in the breast milk we have no choice but to feed our babies, in an outbreak of TB or cholera that spreads when opportunity is ripe and immunity low, in disease much of the world has the luxury of calling preventable. But does it hurt less? I honestly don't think so.

I can still recall the pain. Even now there are times when it sneaks up on me, making me wince. I still see myself curled up in a tight ball, a sharp ache spreading from my heart, throughout my body, exhausting me. So no, I don't think it hurts less."

One of our staff, a young man named Lovemore, lost his 17 month old son this afternoon. Someone came to find him at work and tell him that his son wasn't doing well. Rick, one of the missionaries here, gave him a ride to the clinic where I happened to be at the time. We all went together to Lovemore's house and were directed to their outdoor cooking area. An older woman was holding the little boy (about 17 months old) in her arms. He was struggling to get air, gasping with each breath. His arms were completely limp. He couldn't hold up his head. His chest was all crackles and wheezes under my stethoscope.

I told Lovemore to take his baby to the clinic right away and have him weighed so that I could calculate the dosage of antibiotics. I would go and get the drug and come back.

I went back to the farm to get the drugs. It probably took about half an hour as I had to look up several things. Rick and I went back to the clinic, expecting to find Lovemore and his son there. The health workers told us that they had come, weighed the baby, and left. As I was turning to get back into the truck one of the health workers said, "But...we hear the baby has died."

I got angry. "Who told you that? Didn't you see this baby yesterday at the clinic? Which one of you assessed this baby?"

The health workers looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. No, they said, they didn't bring the baby to the clinic until today. And, Keren...that baby was very sick.

I know, I know. I'm sorry.

We went back to Lovemore's house. As we walked into the yard we could hear the telltale sounds of mourning; the family was together behind closed doors, wailing. Someone told Lovemore that we were there and he came out, wiping his eyes and weeping. This was his only child. His son. He is devastated. We are devastated for him.

Thousands of children in the developing world die every day from preventable and treatable conditions like respiratory infections. I know this. I can rattle off all sorts of similar statistics. I am guilty of forgetting that all the numbers represent real people...real families...real grief. Grief that hurts no less simply because it is in good company.

Home improvements...

My tent is getting especially homey these days. Things have really gone uphill since the last time I posted some photos of home, sweet home. Allow me to elaborate:

A new bedside table. (New to me, that is. It belongs to the farm. I can keep this for now, though, right Mr. Boss? Say yes.)

Some new landscaping.

A new earring holder. New Year's dinner centerpiece turned earring tree. I bump into it oh, so often, but all in all, I like. So it stays.

A new layer of blanket on my bed, because winter is coming and the nights are getting c-c-c-cold.

A new mat for my dusty feet! I got it in Chimoio for $1. What a deal...

A little update...

The staff told us this morning that they heard on the radio that this communication blackout is due to an undersea cable being damaged. Mozambique really only has one telecommunications supplier so when it goes, we all go. They said on the radio that it might take up to four weeks to repair the cable.

Thankfully, we get our internet through Europe so we are still able to communicate with the outside world via the net.

Please pray that this problem will be solved quickly and that we would be able to somehow get funds!

System failure...

I went into town today with Rick, Heather, Tendai and Barb. We all had long to-do lists. I had a date with immigration and the grocery store and I needed to buy parts for The General. Barb needed building supplies. Rick and Heather needed everything from wire fencing to pork chops. Rick also needed to withdraw a significant amount of funds from the mission's bank account as there are many projects on the go requiring transport and supplies and, being as the month is coming to a close, we need to pay salaries.

Unfortunately, we soon found out that business in Chimoio had more or less ground to a halt. There was no cell coverage. None of the bank machines were working, nor were the banks themselves. Credit and debit cards also didn't work. Basically, there was no way to get cash but the only way to pay for things at the moment is in cash.

Word on the street is that everywhere in Mozambique north of Maputo is off-line. I included a map to illustrate this. I circled Maputo. As you can see, basically everything is north of Maputo. The square is where I live, more or less.

So...we went for pizza. Then we came home.

We are hoping that whatever is causing this problem will get sorted out soon. Pray! Until the banks are up and running again things will be a little tricky.

Back again...

I'm back home on the farm as of about lunch time yesterday. I ended having to stay an extra day in Maputo due to flights. I was feeling a tad under the weather so I was happy to stay curled up in bed while the rain came down in sheets.

Being back is good. I had forgotten how cozy my tent is and how much I like building the fire for the shower and brushing my teeth by candlelight.

One highlight of going to South Africa is checking our mailbox. Getting mail from home is so lovely and encouraging. This picture is of some of the tea that has arrived from the loved ones back home. Thank you so much! Thank you also for the beef jerky and the letters and the Grade A quality Crayola crayons and everything else. It is so thoughtful and kind of you to take the time and the effort to send these things and it means a great deal to me.

It's really humbling for me to realize how much God has blessed me with the relationships in my life. Your sweet generosity inspires me to give more.

This and that...

I’m back in South Africa after a fantastic two weeks in Uganda visiting my friends Ruco and Kristi. I’m not too handy with the picture taking, so I’m afraid I don’t have much evidence of my trip. You’ll just have to believe me when I tell you that I saw a leopard on the side of the road and that eastern Uganda was dramatically beautiful. I was worried that I would get behind with work while I was in Uganda, but it turned out to be quite the opposite. I get a lot done when I’m not constantly making up excuses to go and visit Tendai.

I think that I will head back to Mozambique tomorrow. Today is being spent taking advantage of the speedy internet connection here in SA (my computer is sadly in need of updating and my iTunes begging for some refreshment), grocery shopping, and buying a few warmer pieces of clothing for the winter. Plaid is all the rage here in South Africa. Plaid was all the rage when I was in junior high. For everything there is a season, I suppose. I also bought a new suitcase. If you have read this blog for a while you may remember that my former suitcase died a quick and unanticipated death on my trip over to Moz and 50% of my belongings made the trip in a giant plastic bag provided by the airline. The baggie served its purpose admirably, but its time is over now.

I was in the taxi this morning on my way into town and I saw the strangest thing. On the curb at a major intersection there were three dolls set up. You know the type- white blond hair; large, blank, blue eyes. Anyways, they were just standing there, watching the traffic with their synthetic curls blowing in the breeze from passing cars. It was a little creepy. Who put them there? Why? And how were they able to stand on their own?

The mall here in Nelspruit is like my Cheers. We do all our computer work from a coffee shop called Mugg and Bean because they have great internet (and lattes, oh, the lattes). When I walked into good old M&B this morning the server greeted me and apologized because my “usual” table was already taken. The good men and women at the mail/laminating place are also pretty friendly. I don’t have to give them my name...or my order number, for that matter. I just walked in and they ran and got my laminated materials, checked the mail box, and inquired after the “orphans.” I suppose that they don’t have too many customers that regularly bring in drawings of chickens and poop and waterborne diseases (don’t be intimidated by the glamour of my job, I beg you) so I suppose it’s not too surprising that they remember me. But, for whatever reason, it’s nice to be known- to feel like you have a little place somewhere. You know?

I shall leave you with a video of three Karamajong women saying “Happy Birthday” to Ruco’s dad. Fantastic.

Seriously...

...this coffee tasted different.