all around the ward

Last week was hectic, to say the least. After all the rigamarole of opening the wards, orienting new translators (so many of whom don't seem to speak English) and ironing out the kinks in a system that seems to change on a daily basis, I was exhausted. Knowing full well that it was only week one out of thirty for the outreach, I was well aware that I needed to rest or else I wouldn't be able to head back down there this morning. To that end, I spent the weekend in my cabin. I ate zero meals in the dining room; the HoJ brought provisions and I subsisted on popcorn and garlic bread.

This morning, feeling well-rested and energized, I walked onto a completely different ward than the one I left on Friday afternoon. The patients were quiet and relaxed. (All but Bobo, who felt the need to cry all. day. long. The photo to the right is of Bobo; it was not taken today.) The translators moved about their work with quiet efficiency, and the nurses were confident in their tasks.

The best part of the day was the very end. As the evening shift nurses filtered in, I realized that two of our ward disciplers were there too. Could we have worship, I asked them, and before I knew what was happening we were packed into the ward, singing and dancing. Someone had brought a drum from D Ward, and the sasa was shaking. We clapped and shuffled and belted out sings in three or four languages.

In my arms I held two-year old Kodjovi. He had his cleft lip fixed on Friday, the steri strips and little sutures sticking out of that lip the only indication that anything was ever wrong. When I moved, he bobbed his little head in response. When I held up my hand he used it to clap, his little feet rustling against my hips as he danced along with us.

We stood there, all of us, raising our voices to God at the start of the new shift. We put our arms out to each other, and all around the ward we joined hands. Small and tall and brown and white, some laying in their beds, others sitting on stools beside them, we intertwined our fingers and bowed our heads to pray.

While all this was going on, Francois peered over from his bed in the corner, his bright eyes making him look for all the world like a little baby bird. Our little chicken baby, once so scrawny, now weighs in at over eight pounds, complete with round cheeks and little rolls on his thighs. His mama mixes his bottles and baths him in a blue bowl and covers him liberally in baby powder. He is absolutely thriving under all the love.

Tomorrow, Francois will go to the operating room to have his cleft lip repaired. The mama who tried to leave her baby in an orphanage will have the chance to take him home with a smooth, straight lip. So while we all stood around praying, I snuck a peek over at Francois. His grandma was holding him, his mama's eyes shut tight while she mouthed the words of her own prayer along with us.

Tomorrow, we're going to see that prayer answered.