faces

The faces were overwhelming because at first glance they all looked the same to my stranger eyes. That first saturday club, over a year ago, at Hope Alive!, I struggled to hold on to names but finally gave up - there was no way I could remember over 80 names attached to each brown face with brown eyes and short black hair.

Uganda and I celebrated our 1 year anniversary on October 5th, 2010...and so this blog is, I guess, my tribute to our relationship over the past year - its newness, its joys, challenges, heartbreaks, triumphs, celebrations, surprises, tears, and...growing familiarity.

But, how do I summarize a year so that you can be like, "oh, that's what she's been doing all this time"?

Hmm.

Like all of life, it seems (no matter where you live or what you do, I may add), it trickles down to a series of moments that imprint themselves on your heart and soul. Most of those moments aren't grand or earth-shattering; no, they are usually plain-jane ordinary and sneak up on you in their elusive beauty.

Like I had expected, during this first year, Uganda has changed me more than I have (or ever will) change it. The truth is, my "previous life," you know, the one where I was an ER nurse and routinely did CPR, worked 16-hour days, took care of ICU and trauma patients, etc., seems much more "glamorous" than what I do now. Almost everything here seems slow, time-intensive, and will probably involve some amount of dirt and diligence. As I've adjusted to a new culture, new climate, new food, and new friends, I've also been in the process of adjusting to a new...me. The me that is a community health nurse and lives in Africa (?!??! two things I never thought I would say about myself...). I often think that I should be used to it by now; but at times, as I'm driving in the crazy Kampala traffic or visiting a child's home, the thought comes to me with just as much shock as it had on day 1 - I live in Africa. Weird.

I started learning names, slowly. Most of the kids have hair cut or shaved short like a boy - even the girls (the schools require it) - so I couldn't use it as a feature to remember them by. However, I learned quickly there was something that stayed the same, almost every week, and set them apart from one another - their clothes. Most of the kids wear the same thing every week because 1.) they don't have other clothes to choose from and or 2.) it is their best or special outfit. So, while I couldn't always recognize his or her face, I knew that that striped dress with the missing button belonged to ___ and those worn red boots belonged to ____.

But back to summarizing.

Hmm.

It becomes difficult for me to summarize something (my life) which is not at all regular or routine. I can tell you I don't work in a clinic, or hospital or orphanage. I get to be a Jill-of-all-trades - I take kids to doctor's appointments, I do paperwork and write policies, I travel, I put Band-Aids on scraped knees, I "network," I trend lab values and read pathophysiology for tropical diseases, I cross out "bad" clinics from my list, I travel, I visit kids in slums, and houses, and huts. I wait. I buy enough medications to stock my own pharmacy, I look in eyes, and ears and noses, I make phone calls, I give advice, I learn my numbers and colors in another language. I wait (more). I play and pray with kids of all sizes and ages. I sing and dance in church. I teach about being clean, and look at (another) skin rash. I wait (it never ends).

But that's probably not the best representation. Maybe I can better explain by telling you a story. (Maybe you've heard part of it if you read my blog).

Kizito (Chi-zee-toh) is 14-years old, but would fit in better with a group of ten-year olds by his size. Most of Kizito's life has revolved around feeling sick and pain and seeing or fearing death because he and his older sister and younger brother all have Sickle Cell Disease. Kizito and his siblings don't really understand what that means except that it works itself out in an ongoing cycle of being sick, having a tummy ache or a hard time breathing, missing school, going to the clinic, and maybe staying in the hospital or getting a shot. They don't understand how it will continue to affect their lives, but they do know that they saw an older sister already die of the same disease.

Their father isn't in the picture. A doctor told Kizito's mother, "You'll never survive. Sickle cell is too expensive to treat and you have three children with it."

We started slowly. Visiting their small home with pictures and diagrams to help the mother understand the disease, letting her ask questions; then, bringing the children to Kampala for extensive medical testing. And out of that realizing the scary truth - almost every lab value in the two pages of tests were highlighted with an abnormal value and knowing the resources available here are not equal for the task of treating them.

And so we do what we can - we do the simple and the basic - basic medications, vitamins, vaccines, good nutrition, good teaching... As an example, for sickle cell kids, it is essential that they stay hydrated to avoid sending them into a crisis which could put them in the hospital. We got them all re-usable water bottles they could carry with them to school. I was told later that they are so proud of their water bottles because they are so "fancy" and no other kids at school have something like that. The last time I saw Kizito, he shyly told me that he is drinking 3 of his bottles a day and I could see visible signs that he was improved in this department.

One of our site managers helps get extra food to the family each month and is teaching the mother to grow food in her own small garden plot. She told me, "Things have changed so much with that mother. She used to be sad and depressed all the time and complain about her children being sick and how she couldn't care for them. Now...now she has smile. Hope is coming to that home."

I don't know if I can help you to see how many lessons I have learned are demonstrated in this story...The needs are everywhere and overwhelming. We never have enough time, energy, money, or ability to meet all those needs. Yet, we are not excused to ignore the needs; we are held accountable and responsible to love and care. And perhaps the most important - out of the very small and ordinary God will do the miraculous and beautiful, just when we know we have failed and are helpless to do anything more.

My confession is that I still don't know every child's name...but now, now I know many of them and as I look into their faces I don't have to try to conjure up a name because I remember hearing her tell me her story, I am a part of memories and time spent together, I see the uniqueness of his smile and laugh, the unforgettable way she can dance...I know them because I have grown to love them as individuals, not a group of look-a-likes.

I made the small video above because it summarizes my "Year One" better than my words can. When I think over the past year, I can't really remember any major life accomplishments...instead I see these faces.

At Hope Alive! one of our goals is that every child will know that he or she is "uniquely created, deeply loved, and specifically gifted." I pray that each of you, like me and each of our kids here in Uganda, will come to believe these things for yourself...

....That God has uniquely created you...

....That God deeply loves you...

....that God has specifically gifted you...

...that out of His overwhelming LOVE, He knows your name and sees your face.