SUFFERING
Thursday 28th August 03
I am becoming incredibly good at ignoring suffering. Almost every day I past someone needing help. Hungry children, handicapped with leprosy eaten limbs or crippled by polio, blind, poor…and I walk by, I try not even look let alone help them.
Another day when I was walking back from the post office, had collected 3 letters and felt quite happy eating my ice-cream (a treat I have given to myself for enhancing the joy of being remembered by someone) I saw a black bundle crawling in a ditch. ‘What on earth is that?’ I asked myself and when getting closer I saw a young man, covered in a dark cloth, dragging himself forward. I did not stop, but I saw a swollen, infected leg, gangrene maybe. I walked by, a bit heavier step maybe, but walking by, leaving him to crawl on….What could I do? I cannot do anything, or so I tell myself. I cannot do anything, but just to satisfy my own conscience I stop to buy 5 bread rolls and walk back to give them to him. He did not show any emotion, maybe he wasn’t even hungry, that was purely satisfying my needs rather than his. However, I could not resist looking back after 100 metres or so and saw him munching bread. Munching bread, but it was the leg which needed attention……..
There are times of course when it is impossible to ignore suffering. Tonight I have a particularly heavy heart when I think of my little Frocy. I went to visit Chicumbutso today and found lovely little Frocy lying quietly on a straw mat. No question of ignoring her, but the screaming question: what shall I do? I took her in my lap, stroking and caressing her, even singing a Finnish song about a sick Teddy Bear. Her thin long fingers are gripping to mine, what shall I do? I wish I was a nurse: is this malnutrition or malaria or is it HIV, what is it? Should I take her to a hospital, should I, should I ….what should I do? Where is the hospital anyway; how would I get this sick child there in the minibus? I send Hilton to buy more food, bread and milk. The little, quiet body is awakening; tiny fingers are grasping a piece of bread, sipping milk from a mug. Is this child just hungry? Is this child just hungry?
She is definitely very weak, very thin, very malnourished. What shall I do - I wish I was a nurse. Two slices of bread and a mug full of milk triggered Frocy into little games: She is very clever little being and responded well to all my suggestions about play. We filled my notebook with pencil lines, sent many little piggies to the market and played ‘noses’ and many other gentle games, but when I was leaving she quietly lied down on her straw mat, looking so very vulnerable, so very weak. What shall I do, what shall I do????
Friday 29th - following day
Last night I didn’t sleep well. My mind was turning around all possibilities about helping Frocy. Then, at 4am I knew I had to take her to a hospital or a clinic on the following day, however complicated journey it would be. I felt restless and worried: am I going to be there in time. I asked Hilton to cancel his Youth Club and come to translate for me. We arrive in the afternoon and I feel great relief to see Frocy standing up. Thank God she is alive. She hasn’t had diarrhoea that day, but the forehead is very hot. When I compare our arms, the skin of my 54 years older arm looks younger than hers. Frocy sits in my lap, munching a banana and suddenly her little head falls against my chest and she falls asleep. It seems unnatural sleep, more like fainting. I try her pulse, cannot feel anything, but there is some movement in her chest. Grandmother starts changing her clothes, we have to go now. ‘There is a Health Clinic near’ I am told. ‘But it is private’ says Mai A. I had no idea what private clinics cost here, but even if it was 100 pounds, I had no alternative. We arrive to the clinic, Frocy clinging to me, Mai A carrying Chicumbutso. Frocy is crying, knowing what is coming.
‘She is very weak’ says the man behind the desk. He is friendly, knows how to handle children. Frocy stops crying and lets to be examined. In the laboratory I feel relieved to hear that she has malaria. ‘At least there is medication for that’ I sigh. Frocy is screaming when a needle delivering quinine is pushed into her buttock. But I am smiling quietly: she might live, she will live. We leave the clinic with 5 more quinine tablets, aspirin, vitamin pills and antibiotics for her bronchitis. When I carry her back home, Frocy’s hot, little body (39,5) seems very light or is it my shoulders which have lost the burden of thousand kilos?
Money was no object in this exercise, but hearing the amount made me shiver: 360 kw. So little money (£2.30) and still so many people are dying as they don’t have even that. So little money and still I am ignoring so many people.