Shavuot in Niger (and elsewhere)

Although the only cheese I ate this year for Shavuot was La vache qui rit (not a bad alternative by the way), I did take some time to read the Book of Ruth and make some observations.

There are a lot of similarities between the story of Ruth and the situation here in Niger. Especially right now. First of all there was a famine. A drought. Naomi and her family left because there was nothing to eat. Her husband died. Her sons died, and she was left with two daughters-in-law. She had no prospects for the future. She was penniless, and without hope. That describes a lot of people in Niger. People are starving. There is a drought coming and according to the people who observe this kind of thing, it is going to get worse before it gets better.

Naomi considered herself cursed. She told her daughters-in-law “The Lord’s hand has gone out against me.” She was angry and bitter. She told them that they were better off leaving her and going back home. “Stay with me,” she said, “and things will only get worse for you.” Almost all of our patients are considered cursed because of their sickness or medical condition. They are outcasts who are rejected and usually only have two options: either be taken in by family members who are willing to support you (even though you cannot work), or start begging.

Naomi heard that back home in Bethlehem there was food, so her plan was to return. But it was a pitiful return. She would show up with nothing and be totally dependent on the good graces of her relatives. “I left full and I return empty.” Everyday more and more people show up in Niamey from the village. They come if they have family in the city, or even someone they know, and hope to be taken in. They have heard that in the city everyone is rich and there is plenty to eat. Some of them arrive and it is their first time in the city. They quickly realize that city-life is not as rosy as they were lead to believe.

Ruth was a foreigner. A “Moabitess,” (in other words, an enemy). Naomi told her to go, but she refused to leave her side, and she gave a beautiful speech of loyalty and friendship. “Your people will be my people. Your God will be my God.” How could Naomi turn her away? When she was at her lowest – a desolate widow, lowly and without protection – God sent her a friend. Ruth had nothing to offer to Naomi. They were both poor. But they would be poor together. Ruth offered herself, her company, and sometimes that is exactly what we need.

They return to Bethlehem and are reduced to gleaning the fields. Going around and gathering the leftover grain. God ordered the leftover grain to be left over for the poor, the widows, the orphans and the foreigners when he gave the Law, but Naomi probably never thought that this law would apply to her. One day we were driving through a village market and I saw a bunch of kids with bowls bending over and picking stuff off the ground. I asked someone what they were doing, and they told me that on market day all the grain is brought in and stored in big sacks. Once it is all sold off and carted away, the kids come and gather up all the little pieces that fell to the ground in the process. On a good day, they can get enough for a whole meal.

As widows, Naomi and Ruth were exposed to danger, and seemingly helpless facing a patriarchal system that basically required them to be under the protection of a man. But what is striking about this story is that all of the narrative action is moved forward by the women. Naomi comes up with the plan, and tells Ruth how to approach Boaz. Ruth takes the initiative, and she chooses Boaz, when she had the option of choosing someone else. Someone younger or richer. Call me sappy, but that sounds like love! But the point is, they had agency, even though they were women, and even though they were widows (and even though Ruth was a “Moabitess,” (sorry, I really like that word).

She chose well. Boaz was a good man. He was kind and caring, and the quality of his character is made even more apparent when he is compared with the other, closer relative. According to the Law, the closest relative would have the option to redeem the family land, so Boaz brings Naomi’s case up to him. At first he is willing, but then he finds out that in order to get the land he would have to marry Ruth, and he backs out. He isn’t willing to “endanger his own estate.” In other words, he wanted the benefits, but he wasn’t willing to take on the responsibility that came with it. Boaz, on the other hand, wanted both. For him Ruth was the benefit, and he was more than willing to take on the responsibility that came along with it. The responsibility to care for her and protect her, and most of all, to love her. He redeemed the land, and he also redeemed two widows.

That is how widows and orphans and foreigners are supposed to be treated. This is a lesson that is unfortunately very relevant right now in Israel, given the appalling treatment of African “infiltrators.” It would be good to remember what God said, “You were once strangers in a strange land,” especially when dealing with people like the Sudanese, who literally walked out of slavery in Egypt, through the wilderness, seeking safe haven in the Promised Land. Of course I’m not even going to go into the treatment of Palestinians (who are not foreigners anyway, but are a minority in Israel). That is another story altogether, but it would be a serious oversight if I didn’t at least make mention of them.

Ruth was a “Moabitess,” but in the end she became the great-grandmother of David, Israel’s greatest king. Ruth’s value to Naomi was “worth more than 7 sons.” That is quite a statement, especially in a patriarchal society. But her value came not from her progeny or reproductive capabilities. It didn’t come from her gender or ethnic background or anything she was. It came from what she did. Her actions. She was a loyal and good friend to someone who was in great need of a friend.

CURE Clubfoot Worldwide

A baby with clubfoot at the Dosso hospital.

A few days ago, I had the opportunity to go and visit one of the CURE Clubfoot Wordwide clinics in the town of Dosso, 140 km. away from Niamey. It was in the regional hospital of Dosso, and we met with the surgeon, the physical therapist and the counselor (as well as a few others). It was really great to talk with them a bit and hear some of the challenges they face, and see them in action.

I met them before when they came to the CURE hospital in Niamey for a training, but that was awhile ago, when we first got here, so it was good to see them again. They told us that before the training, they had no way of treating clubfoot, so whenever they saw clubfoot cases they always refered them to the National hospital in Niamey. Obviously, this was not an option for many families because of the distance and the cost(s) of the trip. But now, they can treat them right there in Dosso, and it is paid for.

One of the patient we saw being treated was Al-Moustapha. He is only 3 months old. He came in for a recasting, his third one. With the Ponseti Method of treating clubfoot, a series of casts are used to set the feet back in place, which is great because it avoids surgery (at least most of the time, sometimes small surgical procedures are needed). But it is a long and drawn out process, and it involves a lot of visits to the hospital. Al-Moustapha was at the hospital the week before, and now he was back again, getting new casts on both of his legs. It is hard for the families to come to the hospital so often, especially when they don’t live nearby. Some of the families are from villages that are far away, and they often come the night before and spend the night at the hospital so they can be there in the morning to see the doctor. It goes without saying that they don’t spend the night in a bed (most of the patients don’t even have beds). They sleep on a matt on the dirt floor. But that is enough for them, they are just happy to be able to get treatment for their children.

First they soaked Al-Moustapha’s legs in a bucket of water to loosen up the plaster, and then they just peeled it off. They didn’t use an electric saw to cut off the casts (the power went out while we were at the hospital, so this probably wouldn’t be the best choice even if they did have a saw), all they needed was a bucket and water. I remember when I broke my leg as a kid and they used a saw to take the cast off. That was the most painful part of the process, and it was scary with the saw buzzing right next to my leg. Why didn’t they just do it this way?

Next they massaged Al-Moustapha’s feet and legs, and stretched them out. He didn’t like this part very much.

Finally, they put new casts on Al-Moustapha’s legs, and it was done quickly and done well.

Al-Mopustapha (“Al-Mou” to his close friends and family – seriously) almost slept through this part.

Even lizards show up at the hospital.

Since the program started not too long ago, they still do not have a ton of patients coming in to Dosso. A lot of them still go to Niamey because they don’t know that they can be treated in Dosso. It takes time for that kind of information to really sink it. But while we were there a young couple came in with their baby. The future for this program looks bright, and it is exciting to see the progress.

This was the baby that showed up while we were there. He will start his treatment soon.

Thy word is a scalpel

1.

“For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and it is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.” Heb. 4:12

Living – What is a living word? A word that can mean one thing one day, and another thing another day. The word has not changed, but everything else has. A living word is a word that you can take with you. It is pocket-sized. It goes everywhere you go, and always has something to tell you.

Powerful – What is a powerful word? A word that leaves you reeling. The word of God is a book that punches you in the face when you look between its covers. A carpet-yanking word (goodbye comfy shag-rug; hello hard concrete). The Good Book is like any good book – it wounds you. It is a traumatic read that leaves you scarred.

Sharp – What is a sharp word? A double-edged sword. A surgical scalpel for the soul. We come to the hospital for healing, but what do we find? The knife. We look for healing, and in the name of healing, we are laid on a table and cut open.

2.

Almost all of the patients we treat at the hospital require some type of surgery. The patients come with club foot, burns and cleft lip. These are all very different conditions, and our patients come from all over the country. Some even come from other countries. But in the end they all face the same bottom line: if they want to be healed, they have to pass under the knife.

No pain no gain. It is a principle that is cliché but true. Often people come to the hospital with bones that were broken and not set properly. They have healed, but they are still deformed. They have arms and legs that are twisted and crooked, and some of them have lived like this for years. In order to fix what has been broken, their bones have to be rebroken so they can be reset. Otherwise they can become infected, and what began as a small fracture can end in amputation.

Physical therapy is hard. You are told to walk when you haven’t been able to walk in years. Maybe you have never been able to walk. It is not something that you can imagine yourself doing, even when you close your eyes and try. Each step is a victory, but a hollow one. If this is what it takes, this pain, then forget it. Bring me my crutches. But each day brings a new dawn and new hope. The impossible is possible. But only through pain.

A boy was badly burned as a baby. He is older now, but has no use of his arm. It is attached to his side, the skin burned together. He wants to lift his arm but he cannot. It is stuck and he is trapped. There is a way out. The arm can be freed. It can be liberated. But first he has to face the knife.

3.

A young man came to the hospital, and he came with a limp. He heard that at the hospital there is a cure, so he came. He saw the other patients come and go. He saw them wheeled into the O.R. and wheeled out in bandages. He saw the slow recovery and the dressing changes. He saw everything. Eventually, he decided that his problem was not so bad. He decided to leave. “After all, I can walk.” He said that he was afraid of the knife. He didn’t want them to cut him. He was old enough to decide for himself. He went home, and he went home with a limp.

4.

“And there is no creature hidden from His sight, but all things are naked and open to the eyes of Him to whom we must give account.” Heb. 4:13

It isn’t easy to be vulnerable, and you are never more vulnerable than when you visit the doctor. You are laid bare. Opened up and peeled back like a fruit. Everything we manage to hide from others is brought forward. It is exposed and put on display before the one and true judge. An apple may look fine on the outside. We clean up pretty good. Makeup helps. Pinstripes make us look thin. Etc. But cut that apple open and you see what is inside. You will see the rot and the worms.

It isn’t easy, but if we want to be healed, we have to stand before the doctor naked and bare. “A mechanic can’t fix a car unless he looks under the hood.” You cannot lie to a doctor. They will find the truth sooner or later. You may fool others, and even yourself, but X-ray vision sees down to the bone. Beneath the layers of skin and flesh. Beneath the leaky-patches and lies. Down to the marrow, and down to the soul. There all is seen.

We stand in shame and in horror. We know what is down there. We know what has been seen.

We wait for the prognosis like we wait for the verdict. The doctor/judge comes and looks us in the eye. His face is somber. We want to run away but we cannot. He has seen it all – there are no more rocks to crawl under. All has been revealed. But he holds no scale and no blindfold. No stethoscope is wrapped around his neck and he wears no lab jacket. Instead, an embrace. Instead understanding.

“I did not come to judge the world but to save the world.”

5.

Cut us open. Any of us. You will find the same thing. You will find corruption and sin. you will find jealousy, greed, envy, lust and pride. Above all pride. We are too proud to admit we need a doctor. Too proud to admit we are afraid of the knife. Too proud to admit that we are sick, for that is what we are. We are all sick. But there is hope, for there is one who said, “I came not for the healthy but for the sick.”

Check it:

Makeup can cover up but it can never erase,
The hidden turmoil that’s behind your face.
Like a contact lens, I need real solution,
Not just cosmetic, I see through the pollution.
The institution of our innocence, I hear the repetition,
They try to treat the symptoms but ignore the condition.
I proscribe the truth and a diet of these rhymes,
To inoculate yourself from the sickness of our times.

Healing takes time

Kabirou was one of the first patients that we met here at the hospital. I think we met him the second or third day we were in Niger, almost 9 months ago. He came to CURE because his foot was totally deformed. When he was 4 years old he injured his foot on a rock, and wasn’t able to walk on it normally, so he started walking on the outside of his foot. At first he did this because of the pain. But he did this for such a long time that eventually he couldn’t walk on the bottom of his foot, and his foot was permanently deformed.

He walked on the side of his foot for years. Now he is now 16 years old. His family heard about the CURE hospital, so his Mom brought him in. She was told that Kabirou could be treated, that his foot could be corrected through surgery. She was glad to hear that, but also worried about the cost. She was willing to pay what she could, but she is divorced, and sells fruit and vegetables on the side of the road, so she didn’t have much money. In the end she paid a little, but the hospital took on the bulk of the expense. Kabirou had the operation on his foot, and both he and his Mom were really happy.

But that wasn’t the end of the story. The recovery took a long time, and then he spent a few months with a cast on his foot. He walked around on crutches for a long time. After the cast came off, he did months of physical therapy. It was painful and progress was slow. I would see him every week when he came in for his physical therapy and ask how he was doing. He always said, “Fine,” but you could tell he was starting to wonder, “Is this ever going to end?” 9 months is a long time. But just last week he came to the hospital and was really excited. He was walking on his own, without crutches! He went around and said hi to everyone at the hospital, the doctors, the nurses, everyone. He went and visited every office in the administrative wing. He wanted to make sure that everyone saw him walking on his own. The whole time he never stopped smiling. It was great.

It is hard to believe that Kabirou has been recovering from his operation, and dealing with this problem the whole time we have been here (not to mention the 12 years before his operation). Healing takes time. Sometimes a lot of time. But for Kabirou, it was definitely worth it. The change in his foot was so dramatic, and now he can walk on his own. He still limps a bit, but that will improve with time. Nothing like before. It is amazing to see the transformation in him, and to see the good attitude he has had throughout the process. Here are some before and after pictures:

Here is Kabirou back in Oct. when we first got to Niger. This was right after his operation.

This is what his foot looked like before the operation.

A closer look.

And this is after.

Kabirou up on his feet.

The heart of another

“They broke down the altars of the Baals in his presence, and the incense altars which were above them he cut down; and the wooden images, the carved images, and the molded images he broke in pieces, and made dust of them and scattered it on the graves of those who had sacrificed to them.” (2 Chron. 34:4 NKJV)

The country of Mali (one of Niger’s neighbors), has undergone a lot of turmoil in recent months. They have had both a rebellion and a coup d’etat, and many have fled the country as the fighting and instability continues. Amidst it all, the BBC reported this week, that one of the groups involved in the rebellion has destroyed the tomb of a local Muslim saint. According to the report, this was done by the Islamic fundamentalist group Ansar Dine (which has been linked to Al Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb), because the tomb was a shrine where people worshipped. They said that it is a sin to pray to a saint instead of praying to God, and so it was destroyed.

This attack made the news because it took place in the city of Timbuktu, a UNESCO World Heritage site, and is reminiscent of the Taliban’s destruction of the Buddha statues in Afghanistan. In both cases, objects of veneration were destroyed because they were deemed “pagan” or “idolatrous.” With the statues in Bamiyam, it is somewhat understandable; the Taliban was destroying ancient and priceless works of art that are a part of our collective (human) cultural heritage, but at least they were non-Muslim. In Mali, the situation is different. This is the destruction of Muslim sites that are ancient and culturally important by Muslims themselves!  It makes no sense at all.

It makes no sense, that is, for about 2 seconds. But then we realize that this type of iconoclastic behavior has been common throughout history. Christians have often done the exact same thing. Ever heard of the Bonfire of the Vanities? What about the Beeldenstorm? During the English Revolution, the anti-Catholic forces took power, and started getting rid of all kinds of religious relics that had fallen out of theological favor. They destroyed paintings and icons, stained glass windows, and even outlawed Christmas, deeming it a pagan holiday. Crosses and crucifixes were removed from churches and burned. And of course, they also destroyed the ultimate, living icon, the supposed image of God on earth: King Charles I.

In most cases, this type of destruction is done by people with good intentions. Of course, there are exceptions, people who seek destruction opportunistically or for the sake of seeing fire burn. But usually it is true believers. Pious and serious people. People who are trying to root out what is evil, and make their world a better place. People who want to make a difference. Yes, they are somber and statue-faced, and they have good intentions. But you know what they say about good intentions – they are perfect for paving the road to hell. Once you start down this road, soon momentum takes over. It is very difficult to stop smashing things once you have started. The longer you live in the world of symbols, the more inevitable it becomes that one day you will make the jump into the world of flesh. People begin by burning an effigy, an image or an icon, and soon they are burning other people

Of course this doesn’t mean that we should passively accept things that are evil. It is not good enough to cynically claim that nothing will help. We can make a difference. We can stand against evil. And we should. We should root it out, and fight against it to the last nail and tooth. But we should probably start by looking at ourselves. How are we contributing to evil, injustice or suffering? What are the idols in our own lives?

If we are honest with ourselves (even if we  managed to fool everyone else), we can make some headway and start to know ourselves. That alone is a big challenge. But when it comes to understanding others, to passing a value judgement on how others worship God, we are faced with an impossible task. There is an African proverb that says, “The heart of another is a wilderness.” That sounds about right. We don’t know what is going on in the heart of another person. We don’t know and we cannot know. It is always easier to destroy what we don’t understand, but if our goal is to love others, and to show them God’s love, that cannot be our response. Our response has to be sensitivity, tolerance and above all, love.

Haoua

Haoua has been at the hospital for a few weeks. She came with her mom, Hadiza, and her little brother Ganiou. She came to the hospital because she had a big tumor on her leg, and she has had it since she was 5 years old. She is 11 years old now.

Haoua.

We sat down with all three of them and asked them to tell us their story. Hadiza did most of the talking. She didn’t say much at first, and it took some coaxing to get her to open up, but once she did, she had a lot to say. She told us how hard it has been trying to take care of Haoua, and how she worries about her future. Hadiza is married, but her husband does not live with her. He has 3 wives altogether and each of them lives in their own separate house. They are spread all over town, and he divides his time between his 3 wives and his home village, so basically Hadiza has raised her children as a single mother. Her husband doesn’t really work, and rarely gives her much support. The only income she has comes from selling peanuts and peanut oil. Life has always been hard for Hadiza, but it got much harder when the tumor on Haoua’s leg appeared.

She told us that one day about 6 years ago, Haoua went out and was playing by the trash dump next to their house. There are trash dumps everywhere and kids like to go poking around in them. Sometimes they find things to play with, or things they can reuse. It is very common to see kids and goats picking through the trash. But on this day when Haoua came back home, Hadiza noticed something on her leg. It was infected and a bit swollen. Hadiza said that she thought Haoua must have picked it up from the trash dump. I asked for clarification on this point, “What do you mean she picked it up in the trash dump?” Hadiza explained (for my benefit, since this was clearly basic knowledge to everyone else in the room) that many trash dumps have evil spirits.

Duly noted.

Haoua’s father was notified, and he came to take care of her leg. He began making the rounds with her, seeing all the traditional healers he could find (or afford). Since it was a trash/spirit that caused the infection in the first place, I guess they wanted to fight fire with fire. In any case, they didn’t take her to see a doctor, only witch-doctors and marabouts. They tried different cures on her, but nothing helped, and the pain was getting worse all the time. Finally, Hadiza explained, they took her to see the mother of twins. Once again, I had to stop her, even though everyone was nodding their head in agreement and/or understanding.

“Why,” I asked, already sensing that my question was a stupid one, “did you take her to see the mother of twins?”

“Twins have special powers,” she said, with a patient smile. “When you can’t find twins to help you, then the mother of twins will do. If they have special powers, then their mother must also have powers, since she gave birth to them.”

Unfortunately, this mother of twins was no help. She did some kind of massage on Haoua’s leg, and she did it with such force that she actually broke her femur bone! Finally, after this they took Haoua to the hospital, but by that point there wasn’t much they could do. Her leg was broken, it still had a big tumor and it was leaking puss. Hadiza told us that she was very discouraged and sad. Haoua was kept out of school because of her leg, and was unable to get around at all. She basically just sat around the house all day.

Then, Hadiza heard about CURE through a friend. She brought Haoua to the hospital and met with Hannatou, our social worker, and asked her if Haoua could be treated. Hannatou was very welcoming to her and explained when she could come back for a free consultation. Now, after a successful surgery, Haoua is able to walk around and is getting steadier on her feet every day. At first she was using a walker, but now she doesn’t need it. The physical therapy is hard, but she is used to hardship, and her mother is encouraging her every step of the way.

Haoua’s leg after her operation.

Haoua’s smile after the operation.

14 reasons you should read Homesick

I just finished reading Homesick by Eshkol Nevo. You should to. Here are some reasons why. *Note – They are not listed in order of importance. Also, there are some serious-ish spoilers in here, so if you haven’t read this book, go read it really quick and then come back.

1. It was written by Eshkol Nevo, grandson of Levi Eshkol.
2. Nevo does a good job of depicting what life is like in Israel. Naturally, it is centered around a number of conflicts. The book is set in 1995, but many of the issues are the same today. You have the religious vs. secular conflict, the left vs. the right, Tel Aviv vs. Jerusalem, and even Hapoel vs. Beitar. And of course, the whole Israeli/Palestinian thing.
3. Nevo writes eloquently about margins. He writes about people who are on the margins, and how they are usually overlooked. At one point Noa, one of the main characters, is looking at a picture she took, and notices a young Palestinian boy in the corner who is glaring at the camera. She had never noticed him before, and she wonders what he was so angry about. Nevo reminds us (through the words of the photography professor at Bezalel), “no frame has only one story; always look for other stories around the edges.”
4. Nevo captures the essence of Jerusalem – “on the one hand, it’s so beautiful, but on the other, a little too intense.”
5. Nevo captures the essence of Tel Aviv – “The air outside was dripping.” And, “There’s a new place that opened not far from here, with a DJ who only plays film soundtracks.”
6. It’s a book about Castel. How often does that happen.
7. Bamba features prominently in the plot.
8. Nevo puts the “situation” (as the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is fondly and frequently referred to) in its proper place. On the margins. Usually when people hear the words “conflict” and “Israel,” they automatically think of the conflict with the Palestinians. That conflict is dealt with in this book, but it is only one of many, and certainly not the most important one. This is not to say that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict belongs on the margins, but it is an honest assessment of where it is for most Israelis. People outside of Israel are usually shocked to discover this, but most Israelis do not spend all their time thinking about the conflict with the Palestinians. Actually, they probably try to think about it as little as possible. They spend most of their time thinking about other conflicts, closer to home. Also, about Kochav Nolad.
9. Nevo uses cool narratological devices. The aforementioned Noa is a photography student, and she narrates part of the story while looking through her old photo albums and talking about the pictures in them. Also, there are Greek chorus-like interludes throughout the book which are awesome.
10. Nevo writes eloquently (achingly even) about longing, in all of its forms. Israelis and Palestinians are both haunted by ghosts of the past, but in different ways.
11. Nevo includes the story of Saddiq, a Palestinian worker who sees the house he used to live in, before he and his family fled during the war of 1948. At one point, he sets out to go into the house that used to be his home, the house that he had not been in since he was a small child, but he is stopped by a roadblock. Immediately after this, Nevo inserts a small exegesis of the story of Naboth’s field. This is genius. Eventually, Saddiq does go into the house and meets the Kurdish-Israeli family that lives in it. The grandfather of the family, who is old and senile, mistakes Saddiq for his son who died many years before. He is told that Saddiq is not his son, but he will not listen, and finally says, “Look at how well he knows the house! Only a child knows his house like that, isn’t that true, ibni?”
12. Nevo captures the essence of Tiberius – “The city is sooty and neglected. Balconies are on the verge of collapse. But the large yeshiva building is freshly painted.”
13. If you have ever lived in Israel, it will make you homesick.
14. Nevo wrote this passage which is awesome. It is kind of a manifesto by one of the characters: “I want to get turned on by little things. Walking barefoot on the sand. Eating the cone after the ice-cream’s gone. Colourful graffiti on a dirty wall. New music I never heard before. Not shaving. Shaving after a long time of not shaving and running my hand over my smooth cheek. I want to get turned on by all those little things. Not to let them pass me by without noticing them…I want to read more. Ride my bike more. Get on better with my sister. I want to look people in the eye more. Speak the truth more. And, besides, I want to go home.”

Cleft Lip Camp

This has been another busy week at the CURE hospital. We had a cleft lip camp, which started on Sunday and is now winding down. A group of doctors from Switzerland came to help out, and most of the patients have come through Sentinelles. It is great having so many little kids running around the hospital, laughing and playing.

On the first or second day of camp, Hassane and I were walking through the ward, and it was full of the kids that were recovering from surgery. They were pitiful-looking, all swollen lips, tears and drool. But most of them seemed to be taking it well, and a few even managed a smile, or as much of a smile as their swollen faces would permit. But one of them, Sagirou, was crying. He was a bit younger than the others, and it seemed like he just didn’t want to be in there anymore. We asked him if he was in pain, and he said no, but just kept crying. Hassane picked him up and started walking around with him, and he calmed down a little, so we asked if he could come out with us for a bit. The nurses said ok, so Hassane put him down and we walked out into the sun.

As soon as we got outside, Sagirou stopped crying. He was still sniffling a bit, but he seemed a lot happier. We walked over towards the patient guesthouse, where all the other kids who haven’t been operated on yet were waiting, and they ran towards us in a big group. They got right up to us and suddenly stopped in their tracks when they saw Sagirou. He was one of the first to be operated on, and they were all shocked to see the way he looked. Just the day before he had been with them, running and playing and a part of the group. But now something had changed, he was different, and they kept their distance. Still, they were totally fascinated by him and couldn’t take their eyes off of him. They were whispering to each other, and pointing at him, and finally one of them came forward and said, “Don’t cry Sagirou.” At that point he smiled, and they all ran forward and surrounded him. They were laughing, and he was laughing, and they were all talking at the same time. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it seemed a lot like, “What is it like over there! Tell us everything! Look at your lips!”

It was so cool to see their reaction to Sagirou. They were excited and full of hope. They knew they were coming to the hospital to be “cured” but I am not sure if they really knew what that meant. I don’t think they really thought they would be so completely transformed. I think it boosted their spirits a lot, and gave them something to look forward to. Even though it is scary going into surgery, now at least they know that it is worth it. These kids are so brave – they travel hundreds of kilometers, without their parents and come to a strange place where strangers do strange things to them. But they take it all in stride, they are remarkably well-behaved, and they are really, really cute. It will be sad to see them go, but cool to think about what their friends and family will say once they get home.

Here are a few more pictures:

Cuties before.

Cutie after.

Of course, we are always glad to have "Mamma Maureen" around. And our Social Worker, Hannatou.

And Chris, the bubble-master.

Chris and Issoufou also did a lot of dancing with the kids. After this week I will probably never not have the Electric Slide song stuck in my head.

Second Chances

Mahamadou Abdoul-Rahim is a dignified Hausa gentleman from a village near Tahoua. He came to the CURE hospital with his 6 year old son, Harouna, who was born with cleft lip. Harouna was full of energy, always running around, and talking on the toy cell phone that he found at the hospital. He took it everywhere with him. Mahamadou, on the other hand, was a quiet man and never really said much and had a sad smile. I noticed a few things about him: he took good care of Harouna, he walked with a limp and he carried a cane. After a few weeks at the hospital he told us his story.

Harouna - before his operation.

Mahamadou was married to his wife Faida for many years. They were happy together and had a large family. But when Harouna was born with cleft lip, Mahamadou was very upset. He couldn’t imagine that his wife had given birth to a child with such a defect, especially since she had already given him 8 other children that were perfectly healthy. It upset him so much that he decided to leave her and take a new wife. Faida and Harouna still lived with Mahamadou, but he rejected them. They were not kicked out of the house, but they were set aside and Mahamadou took a new wife. She soon gave birth to another baby. It seemed as though Faida and Harouna would be totally forgotten.

Then Mahamadou had an accident. One day he caught a ride on top of a big truck into a nearby town. He was going to the market. But on the way, the truck hit a tree, and Mahamadou fell and broke his leg. At first it seemed like a fairly routine fracture, but it did not heal well, and in the end Mahamadou was bed-ridden for 8 months. His leg got infected, and he was very sick. He thought he was going to die, and so did his new wife. She decided to divorce him, saying, “I would rather be a young divorcee than a young widow.” Neither a divorcee nor a widow is a very enviable position to be in here in Niger, but she made up her mind, took her baby and left.

Mahamadou found himself deathly ill, unable to walk, and abandoned by his wife. He felt the pain of rejection, and saw what it was to be marginalized because of a sickness, something you have no control over. Feeling this pain made him realize that what he had done to Faida and Harouna was wrong. He felt remorse. He brought Faida and Harouna back into his home, and Faida took care of him. She helped him regain his strength and soon he was back on his feet. Soon after, he heard about the CURE hospital and that they treat cleft lip. He arranged for Harouna to come and receive treatment, and he came himself to make sure that his son was treated.

I never met Mahamadou before his ordeal, but clearly what he went through changed him. He is a loving and caring father, and he never left Harouna’s side the whole time they were at the hospital. He was very happy with the treatment he and Harouna received at the CURE hospital, and with the surgical work that was done. He left excited about Harouna’s new smile, and excited to get home to his children and his wife. His real wife.

Everyone makes mistakes, but not everyone gets a second chance. Mahamadou has gotten a second chance with his family, and we hope he will make the most of it.

Harouna right after his operation.

Harouna a few weeks later.

Mahamadou and Harouna.

Those are crumbs on his face. It was snack time.

A glance at what CURE does

I will go before thee, and make the crooked places straight..
(Isa. 45:2 KJV)

Before:

This is Nouhou Issoufou. He is 16 years old.

Nouhou is an orphan, and lives with his uncle in a village near the town of Dogon Doutchi. He came to CURE to have a surgery on his knee.

After:

The surgery was very successful. His knee was straightened out, and soon (after a lot of physical therapy), he will be back on his feet.

Nouhou was all smiles before, and especially after his surgery. He was really happy, and kept laughing every time he looked at his leg.