new website June 16, 2008

If you’ve ever attempted to find out more about the Sons of Thunder Orphanage on the internet, you know that the ministry’s website is horribly out of date.  However, a new website specific to the children’s home is now up and running.  I’m still working on getting more pictures uploaded, but they are coming soon.  Check out our work in progress at:  www.sotorphanage.org

Also, a HUGE thanks to St. Pauls member, Dan Magnolia, for getting it all started!  In addition to posting the content and pictures, he was endlessly patient when dealing with all of my “and how exactly do I log on?” questions.  Thanks again, Dan!

the paper that digs deeper June 16, 2008

If you know me, you know that I am no fan of local news.  With stories of famine, earthquakes, war and Paris Hilton streaming in from across the globe, articles on the annual melon festival and high school swimming team seem to me trite and superfluous.  The few passages from my hometown paper that I do read (no doubt passed along by my dear mother) usually appear to have been written by those for whom appropriate structure and interesting prose are not exactly held in high regard.  I’ll just stick to the Washington Post and CNN.com, thanks.

 

Despite my snobby aversion to anything of less substance than an Economist-worthy analysis of the global food crisis (or the US Weekly best-dressed list), I have become somewhat desperate, living in a virtual news-bubble for the past 9 months.  Without high-speed internet, a TV or even a radio, I have little access to the goings on in the world out here on the farm.  Despite the fact that I live a mere 30 kilometres from the Zimbabwean border, I rely on weekly phone calls with my father for the latest on the election crisis.  So news starved have I become that I begrudgingly conceded to buying a Zambian paper while in town.  I chose the most official looking publication – The Post, “the paper that digs deeper”. 

 

It was perhaps the best 3,000 kwacha that I have spent since arriving.  To be sure, there was little actual news, but the entertainment value of the writing is priceless.  I have now made a stop at the newspaper vendor part of my regular routine.  Here are some selected excerpts for your enjoyment:

 

“[Former President] Chiluba expressed optimism that the verbal attacks between President Mwanawasa and Zimbabwe’s Robert Mugabe will phase out in the spirit of Pan-Africanism.  Meanwhile, Chiluba said that he dances with his wife Regina in praise of God….. And Chiluba said that when a Christian sings praises to God, the enemies scatter.”

 

From an article on young entrepreneurs:

“Without doubt Ethel appears to be the embodiment of so many creative young Zambian’s who exude a determined and almost naïve compassion to excel in what they are doing.  This is despite them not knowing whom to turn to source support for their brilliant ideas.  Many of these young people remain emeralds in the dirt just waiting to be stumbled upon by the so-called relevant authorities.”

 

“For a long time now, the Office of the Investigator General or the Commission of Investigations can be said to have been inactive because very little is heard about its activities and achievements and yet this is a very important institution in a country like Zambia that has waged a war against corruption.  It is difficult to understand that the government passionately wants to fight corruption in the country but at the same time has neglected the office of the Investigator General or Ombudsman in other words.”

 

Advertisement for a ‘traditional healer’:

“…runaway husbands, wives, boyfriends and girlfriends recalled.  Quick marriage to well-to-do people…We have special sweet-lay for both men and women.  Defend your husband or wife from chancers.  We treat all VD ailments within 5 days…”

 

It was interesting to note that 25% off the entire June 9^th publication was composed of stories from Xinhua, China’s official state-supervised news service.  No surprise then to read an article on the Dalai Lama that declared:

 

 “The feudal serfdom that integrated church with state is gone forever.  It is futile for Dalai to tour everywhere and preach “human rights” and “high degree of autonomy” as his attempts go against the current of the world.  That’s why Dalai could only deplore his helplessness in his separatist endeavour.”

 

Because why shouldn’t “the paper that digs deeper” print communist propaganda?

 

In between calls for community development proposals from international aid organizations and public notices about the ongoing electricity crisis, the pages provide interesting insight into Zambian culture and schools of thought.  I wouldn’t exactly call it news, but it’s a good read nonetheless.

it’s a dirty job June 11, 2008

In my previous life, I was able to engage in conversation on a wide range of topics.  Politics, economics, literature, religion, celebrity gossip – I was well versed enough to conquer any D.C. dinner party (or, rather, not to seem like a complete idiot).  Well, 8 months spent largely in the company of toddlers has reduced my repertoire to the point that my parents may begin to wonder if they have anything to show for that large college bill.  In fact, my base of knowledge now centers almost completely on one topic – poop.

 

That’s right, I said it – poop.  It’s nasty and it’s smelly, and it has become my life.  With 25+ children still in diapers, poop is a dependable presence in my day.  Those darling little orphans get it all over the place.  It runs down their legs, right onto my shirt.  I consider it a tangible reminder of their affection for me.  I’ve gotten to the point that a wet spot no longer bothers me.  After all, that’s gonna dry – it takes a good, stinky smudge to persuade me to change clothes.  I barely remember the girl who wore neatly pressed blouses and heels.

 

Then there’s the regular updates on who’s pooping too much or not at all.  A little laxative here, a little pepto there.  The staff often greet me in the morning with reports of which child has diarrhea that day.  Fantastic.  I carry ORS (oral rehydration solution) packets practically everywhere I go.  It’s not glamorous, but diarrhea kills way more children than AIDS or malaria each year.  We have to stay on top of it here.

 

Currently, a sort-of poop disaster is reducing operations at the children’s home to almost unbearable levels.  Our septic tank and pretty much our entire septic field are finished.  Full up, completely saturated.  Unfortunately, due to the poor construction of the field and the lack of septic companies in Southern Zambia, there is no way to fix them.  So, we are digging a new tank/field, by hand.  As a sort of stop-gap, we restricted bathroom access and went down to only 2 toilets.  I had hoped that would tide us over.  However, on Friday evening, I arrived at the children’s home to find poop literally shooting out of one of the pipes in front.  Damn.  You know who has to deal with that?  Me, that’s who.  Rolling up my sleeves, I set about disinfecting the areas in which the children are prone to play.  We now have 0 working toilets, 50 children and 38 staff, and at least 2 more weeks until completion of the septic project.  I won’t go into details, but let’s say that my solution involves little more than glorified buckets.

 

Are you surprised that I was able to fill an entire entry on the topic of poop?  My friends, I have barely scratched the surface.  Oh, the stories I could tell…. Poop.  It’s kind of my life now.

 

when it’s child vs. baboon, the baboon usually wins June 2, 2008

Dressed in their Sunday best, I wonder whether the girls are properly attired for a trip to Victoria Falls.  When the river is high, it is more like a trip to the water park than a nice stroll.  I gently question Linah and Royce, but they insist that the children have to look nice for the outing.  At the last minute, I finally convince them to throw some play clothes into the car.  The 8 girls are so excited that they sing for the entire ride.  It is just about the cutest thing ever.

 

Arriving at the park, Linah and Royce eye groups of tourists coming out dripping wet.  Giving them an ‘I told you so’ look, they concede that the girls should probably change out of their lace trimmed dresses and patent leather shoes.  When everyone is finally back in t-shirts, we make our way to the first viewing platform.  The girls yell and point and jump up and down.  My two supervisors, neither of whom had been to the Falls before, gaze in awe.   I pride myself on my brilliant idea for an outing.

 

My satisfaction, however, is short-lived.  Just as I suspected, the spray from the falls drenches us within minutes.  At first, the girls think this is fun.  Then, they do not.  Instead, they are cold and scared of the water that won’t stop pouring down.  Each of us adults winds up with two crying girls in our arms, begging to go home.  I hurry back along the trail as fast as I can, dragging a couple 6 year olds with me.

 

When we arrive back at the entrance, I leave the kids with Linah and Royce so that I can get their dry clothes.  Imagine my shock when I come back and find 8 little girls stark naked – inside a public park!  “They were cold,” Royce explains as I hurry to restore decency.  Of course, the girls find it funny to dance around in their underwear, taunting me in my state of obvious embarrassment.  Finally, everyone is covered up again, and we head down a trail to have a picnic by the river.

 

The peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are a big hit, and it seems that the day is saved.  Under my watchful eye (you can only go in up to your ankles!), the kids splash and play in the river. We are all down in the water when a very brazen baboon walks up and takes one of our bags.  I race up to chase him away, though he does make off with a few banana peels.  The girls go crazy – this is just about the funniest thing that they have ever seen.

 

Heading out of the park, they are all on baboon watch.  We are not disappointed, baboons are all over the place.  Little Pezo declares that she is going to “beat”one.  Before I can stop her, she picks up a rock and throws it at a large male.  In an instant, he leaps up in the air and charges at our group, teeth bared.  Hysterics ensue.  Grace jumps into my arms while Lweendo runs back down the path.  The girls are all sobbing and refuse to move.  I convince them that we just have to get out of the park, and we inch along towards the gate.  Of course, now dozens of baboons seem to materialize out of nowhere, blocking our path.  At one point, a particularly surly monkey comes after Chipo, stealing the bag out of her hands as we all watch in horror, unable to move fast enough.  When the exit comes into view, the girls break into an all out sprint.

 

Back in the safety of the car, the tears begin to dry.  I decide that there is still one thing can save the day – ice cream!  Sure enough, over chocolate and vanilla, the girls concoct tales of battling torrents of raging waters and monkey fights to tell their friends.  The day did not go exactly according to plan, but I will still count it as a success.   

james June 2, 2008

“We have received a baby,” Royce stated when I answered the phone.  I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, I say, stopping in middle of the sidewalk.  Certainly, in the 3 hours I have been gone from the farm, running around Livingstone, we could not have taken in another child.  “We have received a baby”, she repeated.  Hmm, turns out that we did.

 

Pushing work team members into the car (this was the same day as my run in with the police, by the way), I speed back to the farm as fast as the potholes will allow.  Sure enough, a 7 pound, 2 month old baby boy is waiting at the children’s home.  He is small but doesn’t appear critical.  James.  The newest member of our family.

 

Here’s where the story gets really fun – the baby was sent with a note.  That’s right, a note from Social Welfare.  No call, no discussion, definitely no visit, just a note.  It went something like this: ‘Mother died… grandmother unable to care for him… please assist us with this matter… regards, Social Welfare’.  For real, I couldn’t make this stuff up.  Despite James’ cute little monkey face (I think that malnourished babies tend to resemble primates), I am livid.  Social Welfare has really crossed the line this time.  Who seriously thought that it was acceptable to pin a note to a baby and send him along to us without so much as a heads up?!?!  Afraid that I might fly into a blind rage if I am actually able to reach our social worker on the phone, I resolve to confront our communication “challenges” another day.

 

James quickly settles into life at the orphanage as Moses loses his place as the ‘baby’.  He is always on an auntie’s back or in someone’s arms.  When he is fussy, I take him for a walk around the yard, singing and bouncing.  Though we met under circumstances that were less than ideal, babies have a way of capturing your heart.

 

Tuesday morning arrives with an urgent message from Royce; James is not doing well.  Arriving at the children’s home, I see that he is severely dehydrated, his soft spot sunken in and skin pale.  We rush him over to the clinic where Jeffrey is able to get a line into his tiny veins.  IV fluids, oral rehydration solution, antibiotics (to fight the diarrhea), anti-malarials, juice in case of a vitamin C deficiency and lactose-free formula – this child is getting the best care possible.  Only a few hours later, he is looking noticeably better.  Aunties and volunteers sit with him around the clock.  The next day, he is appears alert and rehydrated.  We all breathe a sigh of relief. 

 

That evening, I stop by to check on James one last time before heading over the main house.  Several aunties are hanging out in his room, holding him.  They explain that he has been fussy all afternoon.  I scoop him up and walk around, bouncing and patting.  When he still won’t stop whimpering, I kiss him on the head and pass him back to the women.

 

Less than 2 hours later, there is a knock on the door.  James has died.

 

The news is blunt and shocking.  I was just there; he was okay.  What happened?  James’ mother died of Blackwater Fever (a severe form of malaria) just a month earlier.  Sal figures that it is likely she passed the malaria onto James.  Despite the medication, his body simply couldn’t fight it off.  Little babies go quickly in Africa.

 

This was my first experience with the death of a child.  I always knew that it was a possibility.  Between malnutrition, diarrhea, HIV and malaria, children die over here.  Still, the statistics can’t prepare you for the reality of losing a baby in your care. 

 

Death is never a happy event, but James’ life came to a peaceful end.  He simply went to sleep surrounded by people that cared about him.  I truly believe that he felt secure and loved during his time with us.  James has gone to be with Jesus now.  We praise God for the time that we spent with him, and we rejoice in knowing that James will be forever at peace in Heaven.