July 29, 2013

Dear family, friends and supporters;

It hasn’t been very long since our last update, but we find it the better part of wisdom to send you something newsworthy when we have it. Going long periods with nothing worth writing home about is only too common an occurrence – even in  Africa.

This update is sobering. It illustrates in a graphic way the lethal combination of twisted cultural values (in the case of Massana) and of inadequate medical care (in the case of Koyom). These events, together with more than the usual number of preventable deaths in young children during this past month (due to typhoid or something similar), has made us wish again that medical professionals would see a small clinic like ours as a unique opportunity, and not (as conventional wisdom would have it) a pointless waste of talent.

Your fellow servants in Chad,

Mark and Diane

Joy in a mini-skirt

Her name was Koyom, and on Friday, just 4 days before we would stand by her grave, this delightful 6 year-old bundle of joy showed up at our vacation Bible school wearing naught but a smile and a mini skirt. I (Diane) longed to take a picture of her, but the camera was back at the house, and we were in the midst of teaching, so I missed the chance I would never have again. Such joy and innocence, not to speak of her wardrobe, were a sight to behold. Now, on Tuesday afternoon she lay in her mother’s arms, a limp ragdoll, burning up with fever. She needed a strong antibiotic which it seemed, the clinic had failed to stock. Moreover, the family had, as is so often the case, attempted their own treatment at home which further complicated the administration of what antibiotics the clinic did have. It was only a matter of time.

24 hours later the death wail echoed through the village as the mother and other relatives carried the now lifeless, joyless form back to their home. Karissa (a TEAM summer intern) and I went and sat with the mother and other women huddled around the body as the sun set, while Mark and the other men sat under a nearby tree. All were waiting for the father,  who was enroute from the capital 250 miles away bringing with him the antibiotic his daughter so desprately needed but which she would never receive.

It was night when the father finally arrived. As we all stood around the open grave with flashlights to illuminate the burial, Mark shared the hope of the ressurection from the dead, and the fact that this young girl had responded positively in her own simple way to light she had of the Savior. Now, she knew a joy which exceeded even the enthusiasm of her short life. And she was probably wearing nothing but a mini-skirt.

“Who is eating her spirit?” 
(or Who is denying her medical care?)

I wish I had met Massana a couple months earlier. Maybe her story would have ended differently. Unfortunately my first encounter was on Monday (while Koyom’s fever was still  rising) after a dear old Kwong saint by the name of Tabitha had shared the woman’s heart wrenching story. Karissa and I accompanied Tabitha to visit this 38-year-old woman who now lay dying in a round thatched mud hut, surrounded by several of the very family who had denied her proper medical care these past five months. Her body was literally skin and bones, and her glands were swollen, closing off her throat from food or water. My tears welled up, spilling over. How could anyone allow this to happen to their mother, sister, or daughter?

Massana fell sick 5 months ago. Cause? No one seems to know. After 2 months, the brother of her deceased husband took her by motorcycle a full day’s drive to the regional hospital 65 miles away. She was admitted and placed on an IV drip with the word dehydration written in her medical booklet. But before she had the chance to rehydrate and certainly before further diagnosis could be made, her own family dragged her back home so they could appease the spirits and the little gods on her behalf. They boiled concoctions of leaves and roots for her to drink and they paid for a sorcerer to determine who was “eating her spirit.” The sorcerer’s lot fell on a dear old woman whose misfortune was having borrowed some salt from Massana near the start of her illness. (Such an accusation often leads to the torture and abuse of the accused, but in this case, the woman in question was spared due to her son’s prominence in the village.)

After 3 more months of such senseless and misplaced hope on the part of her own family, Massana was reduced to the all but lifeless form which lay before us now. “Massana, can you hear me?” A moan and the rolling of her frail body signified “yes.” I proceeded to share with her words of hope – the hope of eternal health and wellness that NO ONE could take away nor refuse her, if she would entrust her life to the Savior. We prayed for healing in this life as well as in the life to come. I turned to the family members present and told them how they are just as sick as Massana, though they don’t even know it.  Unless they give their allegiance to Christ alone they will experience more torment in death than Massana ever knew in life.  Tabitha prayed. We sat a while longer and told the family that Massana really needs to be at the clinic on a drip 24/7.  We left wondering how much longer she would live.

Thursday morning at prayer meeting Tabitha exclaimed joyfully, “Massana talked.” Sure enough, the swelling was down slightly and she had asked for cold water to drink –not the disgusting luckewarm concoction of boiled leaves they had been forcing her to drink so long. Tabitha and I returned. We shared the Gospel again. Tabitha asked if she wanted to trust God, and Massana responded with a definite nod. She called out distinctly for cold water to drink and we thought “this woman still has life in her.” Again I told the family that she needs to be at the clinic and Massana herself mumbled, “That’s what I’ve been telling you.” Oh, that the family would allow her such care! On Friday Mark, a nurse’s aide, a son, Karissa and I carried her to the clinic on a stretcher. Certainly a last ditch effort, but how could we let her lie at home to die abandoned? Maybe God would yet preserve her earthly life.

Saturday morning Massana breathed her last. She was buried at home without a pastor’s acknowledgement, which to the Kwong means hopelessness. Only God knows what took place in her heart, though. I would like to believe that in that last week she put her trust in her eternal Savior. Perhaps it was for the opportunity to hear such hope that God allowed her to live on against all odds these past 3 months. And the family… May the words of hope continue to bring new life.●

To our great regret, we never got a picture of Koyom. The memory of her smile and mini-skirt do her honor, though. These are some of her playmates.

Medical care in Chageen is at the Evangelical Clinic, a hundred feet from our home. The staff of 5 Chadians save far more lives than they lose, but their diagnostic abilities are very limited.

Massana in her final hours with the IV drip she so desperately needed finally in her veins.