Again...she sees. Where others are aware and have knowledge of things....she sees. In a manner that will not allow her to let go, to turn away or carry on...
with her H E A R T ...
she sees
In such an intimately acquainted village, where everyone knows everyone, where relationships flow easily, and one red dirt floor runs into the next... hardship and hunger go unnoticed or unattended for a whole variety of good reasons but mostly because it is universal...
with her H E A R T ...
she sees
Seventeen-year-old "N..."'s place is second to last in her family. Her mother abandoned them soon after Cerebral Malaria took "N..."s healthy mind and left her unable to speak or reason beyond that of an infant. Malaria can hit hard and fast and without ($4 worth of) medication, can take a life or a sound mind. "N..." was 7 when she lost both her mental ability and her mother.
Her body has grown strong and from afar she appears womanly. Nearness makes another kind of distance sadly obvious. She has no ability to understand what is best or safe or know that the best protection is inside the boundary of the cluster of mud homes.
Her younger sister is her caretaker, but as the older/stronger is prone to wander without hesitation, protection looks like being chained to a table while their father works the sugar cane fields. It would appear cruel even if it were a pet...chained inside a room all day. In this place, it means the best chance for safety.
Except that in the shadows someone likely studied the younger's routine. Returning from a trip to the well for water, she found the door ajar and an intruder within. There is no describing the invasion of evil on such vulnerability.
There was no screaming, no understanding, no way to fight it off or fight it away. No counseling, no reasoning, no identifying, no way of speaking, processing that kind of victimization, and too, I guess no misplaced shame.
Just silence...sameness
There was of course the witness and a father summoned home. There was anger and grief and reporting...there has been no justice...
but a pregnancy
That is when the "seer" Janet, saw. A teenager with a swollen belly, feet tied, hands tied, being carried for a doctor's visit.
Asking and then visiting, the concern grew from the rape victim to include the baby and what the future held for both of them. There is the immensity of the tragedy, the vulnerability, the pain inflicted on this young woman... a toddler really, locked in an adult body.
And then there is the urgency measured by the calendar, by the weeks ticking off and the middle growing. Every option was considered. Midwife and doctor consulted;and two ultrasounds difficultly accomplished at the Nile International Hospital.
Everyone agreed that a cesarean delivery was the safest for mother and baby.
No one agreed to care for the infant afterwards. No one had the means, no one else had the ability or interest.
It's foreign, it's undefinable, it's hard, really hard to accept and try to understand a baby, any baby, anywhere with no one to fight for it's belonging.
Gestational age was calculated and the infant girl was given a scheduled birth date. Provision for additional days in the hospital for recovery were arranged, the search for a postpartum caretaker at home began.
Bedding and supplies purchased for the dirt floor surrounded by dung walls all going on completely outside the understanding of the mother-to-be.
Janet picked her up for the last ultrasound, the day before surgery was scheduled. The soon-to-be grandfather was grateful for the help, for the compassion, for the seeing of their need. Returning them home, the soon-to-be mama would not be still, silently she arranged and rearranged herself. Janet studied her until the fluid leaking and soaking into the ground explained what was happening. The holy nod of God over this little one's life provided her with immediate escort back to the hospital where the infant made her appearance within minutes.
A phone call from a very excited Janet told every detail of the day and how the events unfolded in this precarious situation. Along with all of the preparation for safe keeping that man could do...God had taken both of these girls into his own care and protection and amazed us all with the perfect timing. Mother and child were fine, Janet was asked to name the baby...She chose "Blessing".
The story is hard and true and unimaginable. Janet came to visit again the next morning and was told that a village official came to the hospital, got the proper signatures and took the child to be placed in a baby's home. It's the law, the procedure, the nature of things.
Grief swept over her realizing that she had become attached not just to "N..." but also the infant. Grief over this tiny child's unbelonging. There are strangers now assigned to carry out the future best for the one she was called to watch over and a loss in the mystery of who and where and how.
It's painful to see. It's difficult to watch...but it's painful to S E E and respond and watch and know this is your calling. There is great joy too, in being called into the suffering and to see God himself save, maybe a baby, maybe a mother, this time...both.
To feel worn out, rung out and spent is part of the laying down of our lives for another. To say "yes" knowing the cost will be dear and to sense the rightness of our own suffering, leaning in to the hard and choosing obedience over comfort.
We don't know for sure where the baby is, but we know she is alive and God was her seer even before she was conceived. "N..." is recovering well and life has gone on in the village.
It will be about two hot minutes before my GPS tries to hone in on that little one next month when we go back to Uganda. Like many she may never know her story. But we do and are so grateful to see God's compassion on the tiniest of lives.
