Asante sana! (thank you very much)
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Asante sana! (thank you very much)
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I've been here in Tanzania over 6 months! In some ways its so hard to believe, but in other ways it feels so much like home. I wanted to do a little blog recapping the arrivals and departures of little treasures, so here it is! Even though many of them won't remember their time at Neema, it's crazy to think about how crucial this time of care is. It's also a really big responsibility, loving in the "in between" time. Loving without restraint, even knowing it's so temporary. The first arrival was Maxine, which I already wrote a whole blog about. If you missed it you can find it here. The first departure was Bryony, now called Sifa (praise). She went home with her new mama and baba shortly after I arrived at Neema. She was only about 7 months old and very quiet. She had big eyes and an even bigger smile. Her mom has brought her by a few times to visit, and sometimes we even see her at church! She's growing very well. The next departure was sweet little Praygod. Pray was about a year and a half and had a loving father and 3 siblings who finally felt ready to welcome him home. As is the case with too many mothers, Pray's mom died during delivery. Though I only got to spend just over a month with him, he had a special place in my heart with his contagious giggle and thunder thighs. Next up was an arrival,Tumaini. Tumaini means hope in Swahili, and I think it is such a beautiful name for this little boy. Tuma came to us at just 4 days old after being found by a fence on the outskirts of town. The head nurse at the government hospital named him, and what a perfect fit for this baby who was found and saved. The police have since found his mother, and she is in a counseling program. She abandon her baby in fear, and hopefully with this counseling, Tuma will eventually going home. I have enjoyed watching this baby grow and develop each day. He has a big smile, and loves to laugh, and rarely cries. Just one day after Tuma arrived we picked up Baraka, my little blessing. You can read about him here and here and here. In the middle of December we welcome Memusi, a little Maasai girl who's mother had passed away. She cried a lot at first, but has settled in at Neema. We think she's about 6 months old, and she is very clever. When she smiles it takes up most of her face! At the beginning of February, on a day that came too soon in my eyes, Baraka went home with his new Mom and Dad. You can read more about that here. On the last day of February, Sarah went home with her new Mom and Dad! This couple is from Italy and had lived in Tanzania for three years. Frederica, Sarah's new mom, spent every day for the month of Feb at Neema. It was wonderful getting to know her, and to watch as Sarah bonded with her mom. It was a beautiful time of rejoicing when they were able to bring her home. March turned out to be a very very busy month! First we had two abandon babies arrive, named by Dorris. Dawson was abandon just outside of town, and Dorothy was found in town on the site of a house being built. The woman who found Dorothy has come to visit quite a few times already. She said that when she found Dorothy, she thanked God because He had finally given her a daughter. It will be interesting to see where that goes, and if she adopts her! When we went to the hospital to pick up those two we were told about a little girl whose mother had just passed away in child birth. The father felt stuck, he had just lost his wife, and now he had no idea how he was going to care for his new baby girl. When the hospital told him about Neema house he decided it would be a good place for Doris, his daughter, to stay for awhile. When we told him, and encouraged him, to come as often as he would like, he smiled and thanked us so much. He kissed Doris many times before leaving, and I could tell, though he was happy to have her safe, his heart was breaking. About a week after Doris came to Neema we were visited by a couple of the nurses from the Lutheran hospital where we take our sick babies. They told us of a woman they had just been caring for who had passed away, but she had a young son. The father was unable to care for his son and had no family living near by. So a few days later, 4.5 month old Bakari came to stay at Neema a little while. The first day was very hard for him, with being in a new place and learning to drink from bottles and sleeping in his own little bed. But as a few days have passed he is settling in very well and is really a sweet little baby. He's only about a week older than little Tuma, and I think it will be good for them to develop together. Finally, in this surge of new arrivals, little Matilda Grace arrived. Matilda was born at a hospital in a nearby area and her mother left her there. A midwife that we had met at church happened to be working at the hospital and ended up taking Matilda home (and naming her) because this hospital had no procedure for abandon babies. Matilda came to us at 9 days old and only weighing about 5 lbs. She is very beautiful, and has a very sweet composure. She rarely cries and is generally happy. She even smiles a lot in her sleep.
Currently we are at 30 babies! Eleven of them are under one year. It's so crazy for me to realize this is what I do. Every day I go and feed a hundred bottles and change a zillion diapers and give a billion kisses. This is my life. Each time a child leaves, I grieve, but also whenever a child arrives is a time of grieving. So many of these children have started out with very rough lives, way more than their little hearts and bodies should have to deal with. But I hope with each day, with each meal, with each hug and kiss they know they are loved. Sometimes I want to give up. I want to pack a bag and fly back home to Minnesota. I want to hug my friends and sit in cute coffee shops and eat real pizza. I want to go to the store to buy a pair of jeans and know exactly how much they are going to cost and not have to argue with someone. I want to drive on the correct side of the road, and not worry about the overfilled mini buses who stop or pull out without notice. I want comfort. I want familiar. But then I look into the faces of my little treasure and I can't help but think, could I ever actually leave? Could I give them up? Could I leave this life? Really I am so in love with Tanzania. My heart is here. There are people and things I miss back in the states, but my heart can't imagine leaving here. So what does this mean? Am I moving to Tanzania forever? Am I crazy? I wish I had more answers, but I don't. I just know for now this is home. These beautiful little Neema babies are my babies. It can be hard to wake up knowing each day will have pain. My heart breaks for over and over for the babies at Neema, the shoeless children playing in the street, the Mama's struggling to feed their babies, the poverty and injustice right outside my door. More intimately, my heart breaks knowing how much love I have here, and how much love I have thousands of miles away in the states. Some days it feels like I am split in two. Before I left the states I had cut some clippings from some magazines that I thought might be fun to use for something or other. I stumbled upon them yesterday and found this quote that I find most fitting for this season. I'll leave you with that.
I've been meaning to write this blog for awhile but I have had a hard time really coming up with the words for how much of a miracle this little girl is. But, let's face it, isn't every child a miracle? How crazy is it that life can be formed inside of us, and come enter the world, and grow and learn and be so adorable. Being at Neema has made me realize so much more how beautiful and precious the gift of life is. Maybe what I would consider our biggest (little) Miracle is Maxine. Sweet little Maxine. I remember when Bekah (acting director at the time) had me come into the spare room to see our newest baby. She asked if I wanted to hold her. I just stood there in awe. "Really? This is the smallest baby I have EVER seen... is she okay?... I think the blankets are heavier than her..." Baby Maxine. All 2 pounds of her. Wrapped in heavy blankets. The discharge papers say she was born October 1. It's October 10th. Later we learn she was estimated between 2 1/2-3 months premature. Her discharge papers state that the mother "escaped". She probably never expected her little girl to live. Maybe she didn't want her to. I don't know if we'll ever know. Fast forward 5 days. I'm in with the toddlers when I see Bekah with Maxine and a nanny and a driver rush out to the car and leave. I know something must be wrong. Maxine had stopped eating hours earlier and now was having trouble breathing. Upon arriving at the hospital and being admitted Maxine stopped breathing. Bekah, a trained EMT in the states, was able to resuscitate her while the ER nurses just stood back and watched. Again, no one expected her to live. But Maxine is a fighter. Maxine spent the next 4 weeks in the NICU. She got a bit bigger and finally started to look like a baby! We got to bring her home, back to Neema, mid november at about 3.5 lbs. She stayed in isolation another month before transition out into the main small babies room. During this time, and even still, she is gaining weight very steadily and developing very well. She's still a little on the small side, at 4.5 months and about 10 lbs. But she is a fighter. And she's determined. And she is beautiful What a little gift we have. What a miracle to see unfold. What an incredibly story the Lord has ahead of her. Thank you all for your continued prayers for Maxine, and all our other little miracle children.
I've gone through and read my past posts and journals about Baraka. It's so hard to believe time passed so quickly. Baraka arrived to Neema house November 22, malnourished and in very bad shape. From that day I picked him up from the hospital we spent nearly every day together. From learning to use a bottle, to putting on weight, to sick nights spent with me, to physical therapy exercises, to a week in the hospital. I loved him. I loved him with every ounce I had and yet somehow still had more love. I loved him to health. I loved him to strength. I loved him through the nights he was sick. I loved him through the week in the hospital. I loved him. I still love him. It was 10 weeks. 10 weeks that God gave me to love this little boy with all that I had. Truth be told, it doesn't feel like it was enough. I still can't look at his picture without tears welling in my eyes. I can't look at his bed where he use to sleep. I can't look at the painting we made together hanging on my wall. I know this will be the first of many children that come into my life and steal away my heart for moments that feel too brief. So much of me wants to run away from that. To run away from the attachment. To run away from the hurt. But I know the Father has given me a mother's heart for a reason. I know its so crucial to love these children unrelentingly in the time that we have. I know that His plan is bigger. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt. I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel like I just lost my own child. But I know He said not yet. And I know He said love him while he's here. But sometimes it is so hard to understand. I don't know why I thought it would hurt less. But it's more than anything I've ever felt. I've lost my son. My only son. Is this how You felt? Is this how You felt when You gave Your only Son upon the cross? Sacrifice. Am I willing to sacrifice my heart, my love, my strength, for a child to know they are safe, they are secure, they are loved and they are special? This is a question I need to ask myself every day. And on most days I don't think I can, but I know He can. And I know He will help me. So Baraka has gone home with his new parents. He's transitioning from my love and comfort, to the love and comfort of his parents. His forever family. I can only pray that He comes to know You. To know how You sustained him. To know the great plans I know You have for his life.
And now I just keep going. I keep asking for Your strength. I keep asking for Your love. And I know You will continue to provide, because even more than these are my children for a moment, they have always been Yours. On Saturday I went with Hannah, and the other 4 Neema volunteers and 1 day volunteer to another orphanage called Aston Vision. Hannah and Betsy had stopped in at this orphanage after hearing about it from some other volunteers a couple of months ago. Since then, Hannah has gone to visit them at least once a week. Astons is a very poor orphanage, but thanks to Hannah, and some other volunteers, groundwork for improvement is being laid, including water pipes bringing water to the orphanage, and two water filters, a chicken coup filled with chickens, and a roof on one of the new buildings. Currently there are only 10 children aged 3-7 (roughly) who live at Astons, with around 35 others living with neighbors or relatives that don't really have the means to support them. Many sleep on mud floors. Even the children at Astons sleep two to a bed. Hannah decided to have a Christmas party for the children of Astons. She made a huge pot of spaghetti and meat sauce, and some cake for lunch. Most of the time the children only eat one meal a day, usually beans and rice. But sometimes there is no food and so the children eat a paste of water and flour. Aston is chairman of his village here, and is doing his best to improve the quality of life for the people and children. His hope is that these children will not just have safe water and enough food, but that they will be able to dream of a better future. He says his dream is to help children because he remembers his time as a street child and he doesn’t want anyone to have to live like that. It's days like this that I can let everything feel so overwhelming. The need is huge. I think of all the children at Astons. I think of the abandon babies all over Africa. I think of the ones I hold in my arms every day who have never known their mothers and fathers. I think of Jennifer, 12 years old and never having the opportunity to be in school. I think of the women who are becoming my friends, and yet they have to worry about if there will be enough money. I think of the people I pass every day, carrying water, or selling food or goods, just trying to get by. I think of the children, so many children, who don't even dream anymore. Sometimes, I can't help but wonder, is what I am doing even making a difference? But when I walk into Neema and the toddlers squeal with glee and start yelling my name. Or I walk over to little Baraka and his whole face lights up with a giant smile when he sees me. Or when I greet the Bibi (older woman) on the street with the respectful greeting of "shikamoo". Or when I looked into these children's smiling eyes after what was probably their first Christmas party ever. I know that even if it is just a drop in the ocean, it counts for something. (Photo Credit: Stina Gränfors, www.stinagranfors.se) Christmas brings about many thoughts. I have to admit, I felt a bit odd seeing photo after photo of Christmas gifts on my facebook feed. Please don't read that as condemning, this was just a very different Christmas.
Christmas has made me think about sacrifice. After all Christmas is when the Word became flesh and lived among us. Experienced life as fully human, fully God. Then he went on, in the ultimate sacrifice, and died on the cross, not out of His sinfulness, but for OUR sake. My Christmas was not filled with much sacrifice. Yes I am halfway across the world. Yes I am away from friends. Yes, I am away from the comforts of America that I have known so well. I didn't wake up to a Christmas tree laden with gifts. I didn't wake up knowing I had the day off (or any length of time off). I didn't wake up to friends and family all around. But I woke up. I woke up covered by His love and grace. To be honest, Christmas day was very very busy, but what I really want to talk about was a special part of the afternoon. Me and Hannah, another volunteer here, were invited to visit two of the Nannies houses on Christmas. So around 3pm we set out to find Jackie's house. I had been to Jackie's once before so I felt fairly confident I could find the way. After a few minor detours we found our way there, its about a 30 minute walk, on the other side of "the wall". Jackie was overjoyed to see us, it seemed as if she wasn't quite sure if we would come. She gracious offered us Pilau (traditional holiday meal of rice and meat and spices) and fruits and veggies and soda. We were already so full from lunch at Neema but knew this was her showing hospitality, offering to share what little she had. My favorite part of visiting Jackie is seeing beautiful Jennifer. Jennifer, who I wrote my last blog about, is 12 years old. She is full of life and spunk. (Please be patient, details regarding Jennifer's schooling are in the works). I was able to bring gifts for Jennifer and Beny (Jackie's son who is 4 years old). For Jennifer, I had found a beautiful pink dress with light blue polka dots. She put it on right away and just beamed with joy. I think she might wear it for days. We also brought jeans and a shirt for Beny. After spending a bit of time here, Jackie, Beny and Jennifer walked with us to Rehema's house. The walk to Rehema's was especially beautiful. We walked along a small stream the whole way. Since we just had the short rains season, everything was so green and beautiful. Rehema's house is even more modest than Jackie's, and obviously under construction. We sat in the small sitting room, which was also Rehema's bedroom, and enjoyed yet another meal of Pilau. By this time we are feeling so full, but ate some to show our appreciation. We brought some clothes for Rehema's children as well, which is her two sons Noel (10) and Freddy (3). A 12 year old girl named Joyce also lives with Rehema. She is Rehema's sisters daughter, and also is Jennifer's half sister. They share the same father, but different mothers. You can tell the girls love each other and were so happy to spend some time together. We went outside to take a few photos before we left. There was much laughter and hugs all around and then everyone walked us back to "the wall". As we all walked together, the children all skipping and laughing, Jackie and Rehema saying "God bless you, the children are so happy today" over and over I got to thinking. These are my friends. I love them, I love their children. But the life I live is so different from their lives. I thought about their houses. Modest, two rooms, washroom and squatty hole in small room outside. No running water. No electricity. 30 minute walk to work every day and back. Constant thoughts of paying school fees, and if there would be enough food. Worrying if someone falls ill because they can't afford hospital fees. I look at my life here. Have I really sacrificed? We have running water, and electricity (most of the time). We even have internet. We live in a nice enough place to have an electric fence and a night guard. We don't worry about food. We live on the other side of "the wall". The wall, a physical barrier, separating the wealthy from the poor. I love Jackie. I love Rehema. I love Jennifer, and Beny, and Joyce, and Noel and Freddy. I don't want it to be us vs. them. I don't want our lives to be so different, but am I really truly ready to sacrifice to live like they live? Would it change anything? URGENT NEED:
Hi friends. A few weeks ago I went to church and then had lunch with the family of a friend (and nanny) here in Tanzania. Here I met Jennifer. Jennifer is the house girl of this family. She is 12 years old and has never gone to school. Her mother sent her away to work because her father has two wives but ignores one (Jennifer's mother and children). Her biggest dream is to go to school, but the family she lives with cannot afford school fees for their son and Jennifer, though they love her. I feel God has put it on my heart to find a sponsor for Jennifer to go to school. I talked with my friend (who Jennifer lives with) and she got on her knees to thank God because she wants Jennifer to go to school so much. I believe this would be the most incredible Christmas gift she has ever received. It only cost 80,000 tanzanian shillings for three months school fees, which means for $50 USD every three months, or $200 a year, you could be giving Jennifer a chance at a brighter future. A chance of being more than a house girl. A chance to succeed. Please contact me if you are interested in helping Jennifer. [email protected] I enter the room, cradling little Baraka. I'm not sure what to do. Do I hand him over right away? Do I sit and hold him so he is facing them? Do I act normal or pretend that this little boy hasn't stolen my heart?
This is my first meeting with Baraka's parents-to-be, officially at least. They wanted to speak with me as "the one who knows him best." We discuss his routine, when he eats, when he sleeps. "Does he sleep through the night?" "He fairly regularly wakes up for a bottle at 10, 2, and 6." We discuss the improvements I've seen already. He came to us at 5.65 kgs, with sunken eyes and fairly listless. Now he's 6.8 kgs (a mere two weeks later) and so full of life. His eyes dance and shine. He smiles and giggles. He reaches out to grab my hand. Yet here I sit, knowing he will eventually be going home with this couple, not me. They are going to start visiting regularly, which I know is for the best. Baraka has come to know me as his primary care giver, I realize that soon it will be time to hand that role over. They talked about how they have started to prepare a place for him. They're excited for their first son. I am excited for them, excited for Baraka, but I hide the fact that my heart is breaking. Before Baraka I thought I knew love. Now I know that was just a glimmer of what love can feel like. Love that fills every ounce of you and pours over. Love that loves despite endless days and tired nights. Love that loves despite spit up filled clothes and poopy messes. Love that cuddles through the tummy aches and kisses away the tears. Love that is always ready to drop everything else to love all the more. My little blessing... how quickly you've come into my life and stolen my heart for good. Even as I start to write this my eyes well up with tears. I know this is good, it is so good. A family wants to adopt you. In as little as 6 months you could be going home. Home home. With parents who will love you and cherish you. You will be theirs. And I know this is good. Very good. But my heart is breaking.
Sometimes in life God says not yet. I want to be Baraka's mother. With every fiber of my being I want it. But God has said, "not yet. Not this one. Love him while he's here. Love him with every ounce of love you have and then love some more. Because I will give you My love for him." I cherish each moment. Each smile. Each locked gaze over a bottle. Each giggle. Each attempt at lifting your head. Each time you trust as I help you stand. I look forward to when you roll over. To your first word. The first time you sit up. The first time you hold your head yourself. The first time you stand. If I am blessed to see these things know that I will cherish them, and hold them in my heart. You are getting stronger every day. You're gaining weight and filling out. There is so much hope in your eyes. You eyes which once sat deep in your face, empty and with so little life. They are filled with life, and hope and love. And I know God has huge plans for your life. So, my little blessing, let's make the most of each day we have left. I hope that when you are big and strong and grown up, God will remind you of the time we spent together. That when you were at Neema you were loved. You were cherished. You were not forgotten and cast aside. You were home, even if it was temporary. You are loved so very much. |