Mother.

Today I got to play the role of “mom” more than usual, and I loved every second of it. 

(I haven’t done such a detail-oriented post before, so I hope this isn’t too long!)

We are at the end of the rainy season here in Zambia, which means it’s the period when malaria is most prevalent.  I have definitely learned that quickly this term, as it seems I send at least 2 students home in taxis every week because they are violently vomiting over the pit outside.  Charity is our resident nurse and she usually has one student in her office sleeping on a carpet on the floor, because they would rather be sick at school than at home.  Today was one such day.  One of my quietest Grade-One girls was feeling sick early on in the day, and slept most of the morning with a high fever.  Then as we started eating lunch, I noticed that Little Boy (whom I mentioned in the last post) was being abnormally quiet and not eating.  In my limited Bemba, I tried to ask him what was wrong or what he wanted.  He didn’t say a word.  I asked him if he was sick, and he said no, however, when I touched his tiny body, I realized he was burning up.  I told him that he WAS in fact sick, and I took him into the office to sleep next to his classmate.  

After a few phone calls and sending neighbor children to go get the students’ guardians, I sat in a room with two feverish children, Teacher Esnart, Little Boy’s grandfather and Little Girl’s mother & two little sisters.  Teacher Esnart explained that Haven of Hope pays for the students to go to the clinic, but they have to go to the one in town where we have an arrangement.  Little Boy’s grandfather sincerely wanted to take him, but he works as a house-guard and he had to clock out and ride his bike to school to check on his grandson, and he didn’t think he could take off any more work to take him to the clinic.  Little Girl’s mother seemed overwhelmed with her other two young daughters but she said she would take her daughter tomorrow.  I looked at these two sets of guardians, who so clearly love their children and WANTED to take care of them, and I realized that I wanted more than anything to help relieve their burdens.  So I volunteered to take the kids.  We had them fill out paperwork to give proof of consent and I hopped into a taxi with Little Boy and Little Girl. 

We arrived at the Dr’s office and the kind, elderly nurse took the kid’s temperatures and weights.   They were both so perfect as they silently obeyed her orders to remove their shoes, step on the scale, and sit with the thermometer under their arms.  Little Girl’s fever had broken while at school, but she was still at 100 degrees, while Little Boy was at 102.  She then took us to the back room where we sat and waited for her to prepare the malaria tests.  There were a few winces and tears, but both kids did great as she pricked their fingers to collect some blood samples.  The tests both came out positive, so we had to sit and wait while the nurse prepared three different kinds of medicines that the children will have to take for the next few days.  She gave them their first doses and some special kind of liquid that would boost their energy. 

Next came the hard part.  The nurse wanted to give them an injection to bring the fever down, so I had to take them back one at a time to receive a shot in the rear end.  I now have a tiny glimpse what it’s like to take your child to get injections.  It’s AWFUL.  Little Girl went first, and she just kept looking at me, trying to be brave.  She laid on the bed, grabbing my hand so hard, but as soon as the shot was in the tears and whimpering started.  I wanted to cry myself, but I just kept telling her what a big girl she was and “Chapwa!  That’s all!  That’s all!”  The crying stopped soon after the injection, but then came Little Boy.  His fear was even more evident and I wanted nothing more than to take it away.  I wondered to myself how many times he’s had to have injections due to his HIV status.  I wondered if he ever gets angry with God.  I wondered if he knew just how incredibly brave I think he is.  The nurse gave him the shot and he cried the most sad, pathetic cry I think I’ve ever heard for about ten minutes.  It broke my heart.  I think the hardest part was seeing my Little Boy, normally smiling and following my around like my shadow, so quiet and in pain.  All I wanted to do was make it better.

We left the doctor’s office and I asked the kids if they were feeling hungry yet.  They both said yes, and I realized I wanted to do something special.  We went to the local grocery store, bought a few bags of fries and some juice boxes and headed back to my house.  These two were the first to ever visit Teacher Amy’s house, and they knew it.  We walked in and they weren’t quite sure what to do.  I had some markers lying out from a poster I was working on, so Little Boy quietly asked if they could color.  I made room on my table, gave them each a piece of paper, and got out my computer to pop in “The Emperor’s New Groove” while I made lunch.  Suddenly the silence was broken during a particular funny part of the movie that prompted Little Boy to blurt out Little Girl’s name, followed by a long strew of Bemba words.  Little Girl looked at me and we both laughed.  I simply said, “I think Little Boy is feeling better!  He seems like himself again.”  The kids stayed for about an hour while we ate and finished the movie.  It was so encouraging to see how much better they felt after getting their medicine. 

After we finished, Charity graciously came to pick us up so that she could drive them home instead of me paying for a taxi.  We first met Little Boy’s grandparents at the school, where I met his grandmother for the first time.  It was so good for my heart to see how much they both love their grandson.  I can’t imagine how hard it has been to lose both their daughter and son-in-law, but they have stepped in to fill those roles for Little Boy in such a beautiful way.  I explained all the instructions for the medication, Little Boy’s grandmother tied him up in a chitenge (piece of cloth) on her back, and the three of them left to go home.  I know some of my students come from very difficult families, so I was overwhelmed with thankfulness that at least I was sending Little Boy home with two people who love and protect him as much as they can.  We then drove Little Girl to her house that is fairly close to the school.  By this time it was almost 6:00, but no one was at home.  Thankfully her neighbor, mother to 2 of our other students, was at home and she promised to relay the instructions on to Little Girl’s mother.  And with that, we were done for the day. 

I had no idea when I woke up this morning that this is what I would be doing, but I am so incredibly thankful.  This is why I came to Zambia.  I did not come to go home after school and sit on my couch and surf through facebook.  I came to do life with these children.  They are my mission 24/7, not just while we’re at school, and today I got to make that a reality.  I got an unexpected and uncommon period of 2-on-one time with Little Boy and Little Girl, and it was precious.  I got to show their families that I’m not just some white girl who teaches their kids; I am here to stand beside them and help love these children in any way I can.  I am starting to break down the walls that tower between me and the people of Zambia, and I could not be more excited.  God is at work, and I’m ready for whatever comes next.