by S. M. Smith
***
We are starting to pour a delicious smelling stew into bowls of rice as the first of the children start to leak out of the door across the patio. I look up and as the children start to line up to receive their lunch, I find myself to be the majority’s object of interest. Many children are smiling and whispering to their friends, not taking their eyes off me. I start to feel a little nervous, afraid I might have dirt on my face or something, until a couple of them start to wave enthusiastically at me. I feel a smile spread across my face and wave back to them as I transfer bowls from the prep table onto the counter.
After all the children have exited the classroom, Alex, the beautiful raven haired teacher from Quebec we met last night, looks up and smiles at me. She picks up a whistle she carries round her neck and gives two little tweets, instantly quieting the children.
She bows her head and clasps her hands in front of her. The children immediately imitate her as do the other women in the kitchen, so I follow suit. Just as Alex is about to start praying, Stephen and Adam round the corner laughing, carrying heavy boxes. Everyone looks up at the interruption and an explosion of squeals and claps cause the guys to stop in their tracks. Marci follows up behind them, nearly walking into the back of Adam, but beams as she takes in the sight. Alex just laughs and shakes her head before she blows her two whistled tweets again. The children calm down, not as quickly as they did before, but when they do, Alex says a couple of words that I don’t understand.
As one, the whole group turns back toward Adam and Stephen and a chorus of “thank yous” erupts. Some of the children have started jumping up and down as Adam and Stephen make their way into the kitchen. After depositing their boxes against the back wall, they both stop and stand beside me as Alex bows her head again, patiently waiting for the children to calm back down. Once they do, she starts a prayer in English.
“For this food you’ve given us,” she says out loud, pausing as the children all speak out together.
“Thank you, Lord Jesus.”
“For the happy hands and love that was used to prepare it…”
“Thank you, Lord Jesus.”
“For our new friends who have sacrificed so much to come help us…”
“Thank you, Lord Jesus.”
“For the sacrifice you made so we could be saved…”
“Thank you, Lord Jesus. Amen.”
I look at each of the men standing beside me and see the admiration in their eyes too.
“They’re just so… precious.” I beam up at Stephen.
“They are. Glad to see you’re feeling better.” Stephen leans over and kisses my forehead as he heads back out to bring in more supplies, causing a group of girls to break out in giggles. I smile guiltily at them and start handing bowls to students one-by-one.
The boys have finished bringing in the last of the supplies by the time the last student has been served and have returned to the kitchen for some food. I itch to go out and walk along the tables, just to see the happy faces and hear the beautiful sounds of well-fed children. Marci must have seen the longing in my eyes because she hands the boys and me each a bowl and nods toward the patio.
I take my bowl and grab a spoon out of the pile of them and start my walk around, Stephen close behind me.
“Is it wrong that I expected to see more sadness? More hunger going on? More…” I didn’t know how else to explain it. “I’m overwhelmed by how a bowl of food and a few boxes of canned goods can make them so…joyful.”
“No. I kind of expected the same thing. But I’m excited to see this. To know that the kingdom of God is making a difference. I remember what we saw in Mexico. It was nothing like this,” he says remorsefully.
I had forgotten about the trip to mid Mexico. We had gone with a huge team from a couple of different youth groups when we were in high school. There was no school, no clinic. Just tents. Lots and lots of tents and people who needed homes. Our group spent two weeks, building small homes for large families that barely fit in them. There was devastation when we arrived and the beginnings of hope when we left. I think I kind of expected this trip to be just like that, but it hasn’t even close.
“It wasn’t always like this.” I hadn’t heard Marci come up behind us. “It has taken us several years to get to this point, but the work has been worth every drop of blood, sweat and tears. And we aren’t done.
“The village is growing as more and more outsiders hear about what is being done here. There are more people in Haiti alone who need to learn the life skills we’re providing, and we are hoping that some of those who have benefited from our efforts here will help us in spreading our knowledge of successful living. And of God’s love.” She smiles proudly before retreating back into the kitchen.
I take a bite of the yummy meal the ladies and I prepared, thinking about what she said. A small group of girls watching me giggle and pull me from my thoughts. I make my way over to them, leaving Stephen behind. I approach the young girls who try to hide their giggles.
“Hello,” I say to them, not sure if they will understand me or not.
“You are… very... pretty,” a thin girl with her hair pulled up into four different braids tied off with big plastic baubles of different colors says slowly in a heavy accent, as if she is trying to make sure that she has the right words.
“Thank you. You are very pretty too,” I tell her as I reach out to touch her hair.
I didn’t think it would be possible for her smile to get any bigger, but as she comprehends what I’m saying it grows to cover her whole face. She giggles and pulls my arm down.
“Sit. Please,” she adds as if remembering her manners. I see Stephen grin at me from across the patio and walk on to a group of boys.
I sit and look over the group of girls. There are several girls all staring at me with smiles as bright as the stars. One says something in their native language, which even after all our courses in common phrases, I still don’t have a clue as to what she said. Whatever it is must have been hilarious because the rest of the table erupts in a fit of giggles. I can’t help but smile at the sound of their jubilation. I look to my new friend to see if she might shed some light on what is just so funny.
“She says… your skin…” She points to my face. “Is very shiny and… your hair…” She pulls on my ponytail and giggles. “It’s very …big.”
I grab a strand of frizzy hair and pull it forward to inspect it. I can only imagine that I look like I have an afro right now. I laugh at the thought and each smile at the table grows to twice its size.
“I bet it is! It’s very humid here.”
Several girls all start talking and a few just watch me with goofy grins. As I look around I find myself in awe of these girls. They are all very beautiful with their big smiles and bright eyes. They all glow with a happiness that I have never seen before. There is something else, too, here that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Something that makes them so intriguing that I can just sit and watch them all day. I turn to the girl who sat me down and hold my hand out to her.
“My name is Jessie. What is yours?”
“My name is Flore. This is Nadia and Marie.” She points to the girls on her left and my right. I smile at both girls and tell them it is nice to meet them. “I need to go help clean up. I will see you later, okay?”
All three girls seem to understand and I wave as I stand to head back into the kitchen where bowls are already starting to pile up. Picking up a stack of bowls, I scan the groups to find Stephen talking vigorously to a group of boys about half as tall as him by the edge of the patio. The boys are animatedly asking questions, that he appears to be doing his best to answer, but whatever he’s telling them has them rolling in laughter.
I have seen him work with the boys from our youth group before, but I have never seen him like this. He throws his head back laughing as one of the boys appears to tell him a very dramatic story. A boy smaller than any in the group runs up to him and hugs his leg and Stephen kneel
s down to give him a proper hug. The little boy points to a group of boys kicking a ball in the court and looks back up into Stephen’s eyes with what is obviously a silent wish to play. Stephen grins back at the boy and takes his hand to run to the group.
In that moment I know, though I have never had any reason to doubt, that he will make an incredible father. Some day.
Chapter Fourteen
~Stephen~
Jessie seems to be in a much better mood by the time the kids are finished with their lunch, so I don’t worry about leaving her alone with the ladies in the kitchen. She’d caught onto the song the ladies were singing while Adam and I picked up the patio area, and was singing along when Adam and I finished. So he and I decided to head back to the bus to unload the supplies for the clinic.
When we get there, we find that Aubrey and Rowan have caught the attention of some young men from the village who have been trying to start a conversation with the girls. The conversation looks awkward, like a really bad game of charades. I can’t help but feel sorry for the boys; they look like they would have walked on hot coals for an understandable conversation with the girls. Marci catches them and makes the girls head into the clinic to start changing sheets on the patients’ beds and shoos the boys away.
“These boxes will go to the storage room in the clinic,” she tells us when we approach the bus. “Get with Dr. Martinez, he’ll show you where to put everything.”
Marci sounds exasperated and I’m not sure if it’s because of the girls or if one of the many tasks she tries to juggle while trying to keep the clinic and school fully functional is falling out of place. She doesn’t say anything though and heads toward the school, entering through the front.
Adam and I step inside the clinic and look for the middle aged doctor from Miami. The team and I met Dr. Juan Martinez and his lovely wife Anita last night at dinner. We learned that they have been with Marci since the very beginning of the mission in this area; Anita first as a single woman from a small church in rural Florida then Juan, fresh from his residency. Juan fell in love with Haiti as much as he did with Anita and had their wedding amongst the villagers just a short year after they met, then made it legally official when they returned for a brief visit to see their families. Five years later and they’re still loving the simple life they’ve helped build here and expecting their first child in a few months.
I thought Jessie was going to stroke out when she saw Anita’s pregnant belly here in the muddy village in Haiti, but she once again surprised me. She and Anita spoke at great lengths last night about why Anita and Dr. Martinez chose to wait so long and whether Anita was concerned about the quality of health care, the delivery process, and life in the village with her child would have here versus back home. With each question Jessie asked, I saw pieces of her perspective on the right way to prepare for a pregnancy change. I saw her relax and find a peace she didn’t arrive in Haiti with. I know deep down, Anita was strategically placed here for Jessie and I would forever be thankful for both Anita and Juan and the strength they’ve been given to do what they do.
“Adam. Stephen. Welcome.” Dr. Martinez nods happily at our arrival before turning back to his patient. He’s wearing a surgical mask and gloves as he injects a syringe into the elderly man’s forearm. The man grimaces, but looks relieved as Dr. Martinez carefully removes the needle. The good doctor gently pats the man’s shoulder and murmurs softly to him as he drifts off to sleep.
“We’re here to unload the supplies,” I say softly, not wanting to disturb the five resting patients around us.
“Excellent. I’ll show you where they go.”
He takes us to the back of the building to a room where Lee, the male nurse from Houston is sitting over some paperwork. Dr. Martinez shows us to the metal shelving and where to place everything, telling us that we can ask Lee if we have any questions. He leaves us to finish his rounds and Adam and I start unloading the boxes.
After about three trips back and forth to the bus, I find myself peeking into each room. It isn’t until I locate the nursery that I realize it is what I’m looking for. I don’t stop unloading the bus, but make a mental note as to where the nursery is for later. However on the fourth trip back in, I hear a faint cry. I poke my head in the nursery and find LeAnn rocking a very unhappy baby in a classic looking wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room. She attempts to blow a few strands of her red hair out of her face as she hums a lullaby to the baby. Spying me in the door frame, she gives me a weak smile and continues to rock the baby. I step in and look to find that it’s Baby Dauphine that she’s rocking.
“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly, mindful of the other sleeping babies. Looking around, I notice one of the cradles is missing a baby when I could have sworn they were all full yesterday. LeAnn notices where my attention has caught and a deep sadness ripples across her face.
“Oh. We lost one this morning.” The deep grief that darkens her face is momentary, as if she’s compartmentalizing the loss. She seems to be good at it, which makes me wonder how often they lose these babies. She bounces the baby girl in her arms and looks down with uneasiness.
“This one is struggling. Her oxygen levels are low, and we’re not equipped to give her a transfusion right now. Dr. Miller has requested oxygen and her blood type from the hospital in Port-Au-Prince, but it will be a couple of days before it will get here.”
My heart stops at the thought that she might not make it until the supplies get here. Apparently LeAnn understands the petrified look on my face.
“She should be fine, as long as there’s no delay in everything getting here. But the poor baby could suffer a crisis, which will only make her scream more. Not to mention it will just tire her even more than she already is.”
“Crisis?” That sounds bad. Really bad.
“Pains caused by lack of proper blood flow to her joints, bones, or lungs. We do have some pain killers she may be able to take, but she’s so tiny, I’m not sure if Dr. Miller will want her to take anything without having the proper equipment, should something go wrong.”
My heart wrenches. These kids should be at the hospital in the city. Really, they should be at a facility stateside where they have all the equipment and specialists they could possibly need at their fingertips.
“May I?” I ask, holding my arms out to take the baby.
LeAnn looks a little relieved to pass her off for a moment and stands to hand her to me. The screaming baby wiggles a little in my arms, but finds a sweet spot snuggled against my chest and instantly calms down. LeAnn looks at me slightly irritated that I was able to get her to calm down, but sighs in relief that she’s stopped crying.
“I have her, if you have anything else you need to do,” I offer, swaying the calming baby in my arms.
“I was going to have Dr. Miller check her out so I’ll go find him.” She quietly exits the room while I take up the rocking chair.
Baby Dauphine breathes slowly as she nuzzles my chest again, looking up at my eyes with a curiosity only a baby could have. Her eyes soften and her breathing slows even further, making me concerned she will stop breathing altogether. I loosen my grip on her a bit, afraid I might be squeezing her but she just snuggles closer to me.
Her little eyes flutter shut as I watch her silently, not realizing I’m holding my breath. She inhales deeply a moment later, slowly and delicately, making her seem so fragile. I fear each breath she takes will be her last. But her little chest shutters a little and, I may be hallucinating, but after spending a few moments in my arms, she appears to have picked up a more normal, steady breathing rate. I feel that breath I was holding slip out of me in relief.
Oh, Lord. Show me how I can help her. She’s so frail and has no one to fight for her... she just needs someone to stand up for her and take care of her.
“You must have the magic touch.” Dr. Miller enters the room, removing the stethoscope from around his neck and rubs the metal end with his hand. I hold her out a little way from me so he
can listen to her chest. She turns herself back toward me again when he tries to listen to the front of her lungs though, warming my heart that something about me gives her comfort.
“She sounds stronger than she did this morning. That’s good.” Dr. Miller looks and sounds almost surprised. “You really do have the magic touch.”
“Maybe she just needs a fresh set of arms to rest in.”
“Hmm. Maybe.” He eyes me as if I really do have some weird magical, healing powers that he’s unaware of. “What do you know about sickle cell anemia?”
“Not a lot. Her cells are misshaped, making them clot easier, or something like that?”
He nods.
“They are crescent shaped. They lack the right hemoglobin to carry sufficient oxygen and are sticky, making it easy to slow or block blood flow altogether in her smaller blood vessels. Insufficient oxygen can make her tired or cause damage to her organs, not to mention weakens her to properly fight infections. The clotting could put her at risk for her to have a stroke.”
The idea of this precious little being having a stroke at such a young age blows me away.
“What does she need? Is it curable?” My voice comes out almost pleadingly. I’m mildly surprised by just how scared for her I am.
“There is no cure yet.” The middle aged doctor shakes his head. “But if she had access to even the smallest amount of sufficient health care, it’s maintainable. She’d always be at risk, needing to have her cell counts checked regularly but if she were anywhere but here, she could live a fairly normal lifestyle. We’re doing everything we can for her here. But stateside, she would have access to the appropriate vaccinations and medications to treat potential infections. She would also most likely be able to get a sufficient diet and cleaner water that would help minimize any long term damage.”
He sighs, his thin body heaving, as if this is a soapbox that he frequents.
