Filed under: Children, Experiencing South Africa, Letters To St. Pauls, Township Life
We met two-day old Imininam (Eemeeneenam) in Gertrude’s shack, where daughter Florence and baby occupied the only bed. Gertrude unwrapped the baby to show us her right leg, which was turned the wrong way. (Subsequently, on a hot day, someone unwrapped the towel from the baby and the leg was turned forward. “She cried like crazy, but the leg is fine now.”)
We picked up Gertrude, Florence, and three-week old Imi at 7 a.m. to drive to the Red Cross Children’s Hospital. Without the ride, it meant taking a taxi to the train station (taxi being a van of crowded people), the train ride, and another taxi. The referral was to check Imi’s eyes, which were observed to be “twisted” and perhaps infected.
We arrived around 8:30 a.m. to a registration area full of rows of chairs occupied by colored and black parents, babies, toddlers, and young children. The scene repeated itself two more times in the Eye Clinic and in the Pharmacy area. The hours passed slowly, with little outward impatience from the group. Florence and others nursed their babies when they were hungry. (The sign said no food or toys were allowed, because other children might cry, if they didn’t have any.) We bought a late lunch in a stark, Rotary-sponsored Tea Room. The pharmacy hurtle at the end of the day saw a crowd of drooping children and parents. We dropped our three St. Matthew’s friends in Masi at 5:00 p.m.
Reflecting back, what we saw that day seemed a holy time. There was much obvious love as we watched the small interactions between parents and children, an aura of hope and trust as each was called and, overall, a patient gratitude. What do you suppose might happen if we let go of some of our American impatience and sense of entitlement?
Faithfully and fondly,
Mary and Rich
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