It’s hard to reconcile the day. Little Promise, just under 1 ½ died. She was a spitfire little daughter of our school helper Naomi and husband Matthew. The June WFMC team may remember how quickly she could cross the assembly hall on her booty. More than any other baby around here, she was always reaching out, always teasing, always interacting. Lately she and her brothers have been around quite a bit because her mother is cooking for the boarding students. Wednesday night after work, just as it was getting dark, Sister Naomi told me she was taking her daughter to the clinic at Elaite. We offered to take her. It was strange, walking through a couple of rows of buildings back to the “clinic,” where Promise received an injection. We sat on a bench out front while she was taken behind a curtain (the block building was under construction and there was no door). The clinic was really just a pharmacy, but the injection they gave her – along with some blood tonic, which is like a multivitamin syrup – seemed to satisfy her mom. Her mom told us she had been vomiting for a few days and wasn’t keeping her medicine down. Promise was a little lethargic, but still reaching out, jesting, a twinkle in her eye. Thursday I asked about her and Naomi said she wasn’t vomiting but had been shaking some in the night. Her fever had gone at the time. She didn’t seem too concerned, but then she has this sweet, humble spirit and a big smile about everything, so I know now I read her wrong.
Friday morning Israel, her big brother came to see me about 8 am and said “My sister wants to die. My mother took her to the Felele hospital.” We immediately sat down and prayed. It was so strange for me and I walked off feeling disappointed somehow – like I had just prayed a check-the-box prayer, not a prayer full of resurrection power to offer healing or peace to his little heart in Jesus’ name. I held his hand and we walked along and I was a little unsettled, but just thought everything would be fine. It turns out she had already gone to be with God.
Maybe it was malaria. Maybe just a bad stomach virus. There is a lot going around and we’ve treated 3 of our boarders for malaria this week. Anyhow, it was something treatable – in the US. We have the clinic here but were closed Thursday (mid-term break), so our nurse wasn’t here. Would it have made the difference? Was it poverty that kept them from the hospital, or ignorance? Or was it her simple faithfulness to come to work all day while her husband has been working in the town every night? They are one of the few families in our church with transportation – a motorcycle – but surely could have asked us to take them in to town.
We got the news after lunch and immediately went over to their house. Promise had already been buried in the town at her family’s place. First I went into the parlor full of men – not sure if it was what I was supposed to do, but it seems now that it is OK. I went to Matthew and just said “sorry” and kneeled down in front of him. I think I shared a verse, but I’m not sure. I was feeling bad about my tears. Devin came in and I went out. Then I went to the other room and joined our pastor’s wife on the floor next to Naomi lying on a mattress on the ground. There were 3 other people in the room. I had tears and she was being told “don’t cry – give it to God.” Outside, I picked up each of her brothers – 5 and 9 years old – and hugged them. Not their way here, but all I know how to do. The younger didn’t flinch, didn’t argue, didn’t put his arms around me, just hung there limp and stiff at the same time, not crying, but with moist eyes. The older is my little buddy – his body was shaking, like after you have had a good cry, but no tears, no leaning in. Since then we have talked a bit, and his stoic shell has shown a few cracks, but showing sadness is not an option, you just move on here. Mostly we just keep saying “sorry.” The other kids see him and say “sorry.” That’s it.
It’s so foreign to me! It’s so difficult to think you immediately go to the house of someone you are just associated with, and go again the next day, and sit in near dark with them and say “sorry.” I just continue to pray for peace and know that she is in a better place.
