“..and He healed those who needed healing.” Luke 9:11

Saturday 6 September 2008

Late last evening my phone started beeping – a text message from Godfridah, one of our school teachers. It said that one of our students, Piet, had been stoned and taken to the hospital earlier with a head injury, possibly admitted. Godfridah lives nearby Piet’s family and has always looked out for the three boys there. Piet, Tammy and Gift live with their widowed mother, and were three of the boys who we originally came to know at Agape Children’s Village in the deep bush of Mpongwe. OMNI helped support Agape, and eventually came to learn of abuse which was occurring there. During OMNI’s visit in 2006, Rick Jaster spent many heart-wrenching hours working to free the children from that abusive situation. Now, we can happily report that these three boys have been reunited with their mother and now live at nearby Twapia. Gift, the oldest of the boys attends an upper grade at Twapia School, while Piet and Tammy (pronounced Tommy) attend OMNI’s school here at George. I must admit I have a special affinity for these children. I believe everyone who traveled as part of the OMNI team to Agape would say the same. But, the Agape connection is just one reason I feel a special connection to these children. It also means I have known them since I’ve been coming to Zambia, and I’ve known them to be loving and kind children full of laughter and songs. This year I have formed a special attachment to Piet. While Ron and I are living here at the project site, in one room of the house that is used for the school, Piet has taken me under his wing. I can be outside or inside, surrounded by children. Children who desperately want to communicate with me and me with them. While we can always understand a smile or a thumbs-up from one another, language is a difficulty. Most of the children only speak Bemba, with maybe just a few words of English. And me, I barely know a few words of Bemba. The children will be talking away to me in earnest, speaking the only language they know, and Piet will quietly come next to me, and interpret. It was such a wonderful surprise the first time it happened. One of the other boys was telling me a vibrant and exciting story with much animation – all in Bemba. When I told him I was sorry I couldn’t understand, Piet, retold the tale of how James Phiri helped to kill the snake that day – all in English. And then translated my Aaahhhs and Ooohhhs and Yuks and cheers for his bravery into Bemba. Piet, wise beyond his years at age 10, stepped in to bridge a gap. Ever since, Piet has been my interpreter. What a difference he has made. And poor Piet, he even tries to teach me some Bemba!
But, I’m afraid I’m not a very good student.

This morning when I called Godfridah she confirmed that Piet had been admitted to Arthur Davison Children’s Hospital, but she didn’t know any more. She said she would make sure that Gift and Tammy were fed and cared for in their mother’s absence. So, Foster and I were off to the hospital to find Piet and his mother. The differences between the hospitals here and in the U.S. are striking, if not shocking at first. From the outside you see a structure probably from the 1950’ or 1960’s with large windows streaked with paint and the eternal dust of Zambia. Upon entering we always climb several flights of stairs, the edges of the stone steps worn away from too many years of too many footsteps. As we climb we pass several wards, some bearing the sign “high cost” for those who can afford to pay, the remaining wards named after Zambian Rivers, which is for the majority of the children. After several inquiries we discovered that Piet was in the Kafue Ward in a tiny little quarter which contained four small beds and four chairs. The chairs are for the mothers or whatever family member comes with the child to care for them. They were lucky. As we searched the ward for Piet, we stepped around the mattresses which lined the halls on either side. There were no sheets or covering on any of those mattresses, yet each was bed to a child and whoever had come to care for them. As Foster made inquiries about Piet’s whereabouts I watched as a doctor and a nurse, both in starch white uniforms attended to the children in the hall. The doctor would crouch next to each mattress and gently and tenderly care to each child, talking with the adult at each child’s side for as long as needed. And this is when the tears could easily flow. As you watch parents bringing what little they have – be it food, blankets, and clothes – feeding and caring for their children. As you watch educated, dedicated, caring physicians and nurses treating children in difficult circumstances, to the best of their ability, using the limited resources available. This is just one more effect of the extreme poverty prevalent here in Zambia. It is heart-breaking to witness, and at the same time heart-warming.

After some time Foster discovered that Piet had gone for x-rays. So, down three flights of stairs, through a dimly lit hallway, and we found Piet and his mother, Florence, just leaving the x-ray room. She was carrying the x-rays, and they walked up the three flights with us back to Piet’s bed. There was no wheelchair, no orderly or nurse, just a mother walking with her son. Florence said that Piet had been at a stream washing some clothes, and a boy told him he was dirtying the water and threw a large stone at him. Piet told her the boy didn’t intend to hit him, that he was only playing. I don’t know. Life in the villages can be very rough and tough. The stone struck Piet in the back of the head, leaving a large gash and a fracture. Half of his head had been shaved and there was a large, bulky bandage covering the wound. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the doctor to return, read the x-ray, and make his recommendations. All indications were that Piet would be coming home soon. He had experienced some dizziness, but was feeling much better today. What I could see was a little boy, from a traditional village, scared at the prospect of being in the hospital. Poor Piet – he didn’t speak a word, eyes wide with fear. We looked at his x-rays and he did manage to laugh a little at seeing what his head looks like from the inside-out! We left Florence a bit of money so she could pay for the x-rays and any medication that might be necessary, and also to buy food for the two of them while there. She knows she can call, and we’ll be there if Piet needs us. She also knows we will all be praying for him. The photo is from the July 11th, when the gift of bread was distributed to the school children. That boy with the sweet smile on his face and the bread in his hand is Piet.