Mamba Graduation

In July, I met an adorable little boy. He came to the gate with his grandma and a neighbor. They unknowingly came on a day when we do not normally see people, but our gate guy told me it was a new, small baby so I agreed to see him, thinking that maybe the baby needed attention and care that could not wait another day. However, I soon realized that this was not a newborn baby, but a toddler. As I walked toward the little group, I began to see why they had come. Little buddy's hair had turned almost blonde from malnutrition and was practically as straight as mine. I soon learned that his mama had died nine months ago and he has been living with his grandma ever since. He has three big brothers who are living with their dad. He had kwashiorkor, a form of malnutrition that causes extreme swelling and was hospitalized with this for over two weeks. They family heard about us at the hospital and came to see if we could help them.

Meeting Day

As I greeted him, the almost-three-year-old reluctantly let me hold his hand. I asked him how he was and he refused to answer. His grandma asked him to answer me and he replied, "I don't want to talk to her because she might hit me." I promised him I would never do that and we continued on. Soon, I heard him asking his grandma if this was where he was going to stay; grandma told him yes. They came to us perfectly ready to leave this sweet boy in a stranger's hands... She told me she did not want to leave him forever, but just for help so that he could become healthy again. Praying my way through it, I explained how it is better for kids to stay with their families while they get better. I told her about our medika mamba (medical peanut butter) program and asked her what she thought. She told me that I work here and know best, but her face immediately lit up as she entertained the possibility of her grandson going home with her.

We weighed baby boy (who was again afraid of being hit by me, the stranger), and as I recorded the number, both grandma and neighbor asked me if he weighed well. I couldn't bring myself to tell them that he needed to gain several more pounds to be at a healthy weight, but instead told them it wasn't too bad and he would start to gain weight very soon from eating his peanut butter. They smiled at this response. I explained the program to them and sent them on their way, praying they understood and would do what was necessary to help little buddy gain weight and get healthy.

Over the next few weeks, they faithfully came back to every rendezvous, so we could do a weigh-in and give them more mamba. Their first visit back, grandma proudly showed me that little buddy's hair was growing in black, an obvious sign of his improved nutrition. She asked me for a photo of her grandson, which I promised her I would give her when he graduated the program.

Graduation Day

And today, she got her photo. In nine and a half weeks, little buddy's hair grew back in, black and healthy. He got a haircut, allowing him to lose that visible sign of past malnutrition. He gained over five pounds. He is healthy, and grandma is happy. Clearly, though, little buddy never quite warmed up to me or the camera. ;)

Cute Kiddos

I am home for three weeks, which means I get to reconnect with family and friends, eat lots of yummy food, rediscover my love/hate relationship with cold weather and snow and, hopefully, get over the nasty cold I brought home with me.

It also means that I am spending a lot of time thinking about everyone at COTP and wondering how their days are going and what I'm missing with our kiddos and everyone else. And it means that I actually have time to blog, so for now, here are a few pictures of some the kids who have absolutely captured my heart. Enjoy!

Children of the Promise has given explicit permission for the posting of photos on this site. Photos taken of children in the care of Children of the Promise are not to be posted publicly without explicit permission given by Children of the Promise.

Broken, But Thankful

On Monday morning, I told Rob that we may have to reopen the Myel Room because the Papiyon Room was full with five babies and we had three more babies who would soon need a place to sleep on our compound. Now, on Friday, we have plenty of space. The Papiyon room has only four babies, with no one waiting to fill the fifth place. 

The same day of that conversation, tiny Adicilia died. I first met her at the beginning of February, when she was just a week old. During a visit to the hospital, the head nurse announced to me that they had an abandoned baby for us. I went in to meet this precious 1.3 kg bundle. I mentioned how small she was and the nurse told me, “No, she is beautiful.” We were so excited for this sweet little girl to join us, but she never made it through our gates. We saw her Monday morning; we were planning on bringing her home that day. By Monday afternoon, she had instead gone to her heavenly home. She would not need one of our cribs.

Next, Annabel passed away. In August, I went to pick her up from the same hospital Adicilia was at. She was small, precious and nameless. As I held her during the truck ride home, I wondered what her name would be. Her story was a hard one, so I knew she needed a great name, one that would indicate her worth. We settled on Annabel, beautiful grace. We thought she would grow up with that name and maybe treasure the story of how two white girls in Haiti lovingly chose it for her. Instead, we ended up spending Wednesday afternoon fighting for her life and Wednesday night grieving the loss of our Beautiful Grace.

The very next morning, Devensly also died. The first day I met him, all I could say to him was, “I’m so sorry, baby.” I’m sorry that you don’t have enough food. I’m sorry your mama is gone. I’m sorry that you are in pain. I’m sorry I don’t know what the best solution is for you. I’m sorry this world is so broken. The next day, Devensly was admitted to COTP, and we thought he would do well because he was eating and drinking. But he soon got much sicker and we took him to the hospital in the middle of the night. He didn’t get better right away and we thought for sure we were going to lose him, but after a few more stable days, our hope was back. Until that early morning announcement that said he was gone.

This morning, our newest baby, Cheslie, passed away. She came to us with her uncle. An uncle who clearly loved her. He explained that he was the only one in the family who was willing to care for her. He kissed her cheeks. He rocked her when she cried. He begged us to help him. After Roseline did a home visit, I found out he even named Cheslie after himself, a tradition many Haitian parents follow. He was her papa. Once she was hospitalized, he visited her. He called our staff to ask how she was. He promised to take her home when she was better. He went to the hospital as soon as we called him with the news that this little girl would not be returning to his care. And after all this, he still thanked us for what we did and promised to continue praying for us.

Not only are our beds emptier than we anticipated, but our arms and our hearts are also feeling emptier tonight as we process this past week. One baby who wasn’t yet here, but was already ours. One baby who spent all but two weeks of her life with us. Two babies we didn’t know for long, but loved desperately. And a million emotions too poignant to be put into words. Emotions so basic and yet so complex. Emotions that I can’t even understand, never mind explain. Emotions that are incredibly painful to experience. And yet, I am thankful. Thankful that God is continuing to break my heart for what breaks his. Thankful that I am angry at the injustice of the brokenness we live in. Thankful that despite it all, I still feel peace. God is sovereign. He is loving. He is carrying us through the heartache. And he is holding his babies; he has wiped away their tears and erased their pain. He has healed them and claimed them as his own. We are broken, but we are thankful. 

Children of the Promise has given explicit permission for the posting of photos on this site.  Photos taken of children in the care of Children of the Promise are not be posted publicly without explicit permission given by Children of the Promise.