akpe na Mawu

I spoke too soon about our little man Maurius. It seems so unfair that these little ones who struggle so much just to gain weight should struggle in other ways too, but Maurius has aspiration pneumonia, the same problem that almost took Obre from us. It's not uncommon among these kids; it's a wonder more of them don't suffer from it, given the fact that there's an open hole in the roof of their mouths, just inviting milk to slide down into their lungs.

We knew Maurius choked a bit while he drank his milk, but last night he started coughing even more than usual, and an x-ray showed the telltale signs in his lungs. His surgery was canceled and he was started on antibiotics and breathing treatments to help him heal so that we'll be able to reschedule his operation.

With all this going on around her, Maurius' mama sat on their bed, looking forlorn. She could almost touch her heart's desire, and yet we snatched it from her outstretched hands, and she was bewildered at how fast the plans had changed.

I don't even know her name, but that woman and I have become good friends. She delights in my open admiration of her baby, and will call me over to his bed whenever she thinks he's looking particularly cute, knowing that I'll give him all the praise he deserves. Today, though, she was quiet, openly disappointed, so I came up with a plan to cheer her up; I printed out the photo of him that I posted yesterday, the one where he looks so near death with his skin hanging off his bones.

I scrawled a note on it in a language I knew she couldn't read, and then got a translator to speak it to her in Ewe. Look how fat I've gotten! Love, Maurius. Her response was just what I hoped. Her face brightened and she jumped up, throwing her arms around my neck and slapping me on the back like we'd both just won the Stanley Cup. We danced for a moment while Maurius looked on from the bed, a slightly-wheezy buddha-bellied little man, grinning his lopsided, broken grin.

Figuring my mission was accomplished, I turned to head back to my desk, but she caught my arm and pointed to the low ceilings of the ward. We both looked up as she shared her heart in words I could understand, words I spoke with her in her joy. Akpe na Mawu. Akpe kaka. Akpe. And then she knelt next to her bed, eyes tight shut, hands folded, and spoke those words over and over again. Thanks be to God. Thank You so much. Thank You.

Even though Maurius' lip hasn't yet been fixed, we are already winning this battle. She has chosen life, and she has chosen it in the name of Jesus. In just two months Maurius has gone from near-death to bursting out of his clothes, and we know she will not stop fighting for him until she can kiss him with an unbroken lip.





And now, almost directly across from Maurius, tucked into the other corner of the ward, are Obre and his mama. He's officially out of the ICU, and the plan in his chart is simple; when he can keep his oxygen levels up without the little puff of oxygen near his face, we wait two days to make sure nothing happens and then we send him home to continue getting fat. That's it. Just wait and watch and marvel all over again at what Mawu has done and what He is continuing to do down in those wards.


(Keep praying for our little ones and for Hettie, the nurse who oversees our Infant Feeding Program. So many of the babies have been tough cases this year, and she's doing an amazing job working with them.)