Wow. This was a really action and emotionally packed week, so many stories to tell. I hardly know where to start. It is seven o-clock on a Friday night and I am in bed and in for the night.. We had a wild day today meeting the vice-president, making the clinic look spic and span, watching Burundian drummers give the performance of a lifetime, and meeting many other dignitaries. It was a surreal experience, especially up here in this rural neck of the woods, which we call our home.

First, and mostly though, I wanted to share the news of a loss we experienced this week, one that has affected Kenton and myself deeply. The first day we arrived in Kigutu, jet-lagged and nervous, we were joyously greeted by a little boy called Majj. His beauty of spirit and courage were immediately evident. We have written of him often, posted pictures of him, and tried without success to treat a combination of diseases that we could not figure out. Unfortunately, Majj didn’t make it. He died yesterday, at age unknown, with no parents, and a care-giver who tried to care for him and the five other orphans she was raising. His cause of death was diarrhea and dehydration, secondary to a disease process we could not figure out. This happens. But why?

The part that just really tares me up, is that he was so sick and fought through so much of life alone. While the clinic was in disarray for the first month we were here, we clung to the daily happy moments we had with Majj, to laugh, play, tease one another, hold him during procedures, give him biscuits, and really just listen to his little voice. He was the highlight. Some days his fever would break and he would be our little clinic mascot, bounding around literally putting smiles on everyone’s faces. He was a dynamic little soul. For some time, Majj had only a 14 year-old cousin there to make him food and look after him. I don’t think I have ever been as disturbed as I was the time I watched him vomit profusely by himself into a bin, get out of bed and flush it in the basin, take his own sheet to clean off the mess and quietly get back into bed. If your soul can break, mine did. And I couldn’t believe that a boy, of maybe five, was having to care for himself in a time of serious illness, but mostly that I didn’t know if his spirit could be consoled.

Many times, I would cry to Kenton and say that I wanted to take him home. That this having to watch him and other children suffer was too much. You know what makes me the saddest? Knowing that he is now one of those statistics you read about in Africa where millions of children die or curable diseases. And to think that each one of those million statistics was a little life that was fighting so desperately to make it in a world that had been only brutal, unfair, and unkind. Also, a life that was so beautiful. I just don’t want him to be another forgotten story. How tragic if no one misses you when you are gone? He will be missed.

Our visit with the vice-president went very well. It was absolutely exhausting, as we all raced around for two days making this place look flawless. It was both exhausting and exhilarating. It was really empowering to see the smile on the VP’s face as he congratulated us in our efforts and the work of VHW. A very positive visit, probably at least 30 other dignitaries, military, body guards, media…it was incredible! Even the Burundian drummers came and put on an incredible show. We hoped that the VP would offer us a new road and electricity..and at the end of his speech he granted us both those requests! Now let’s see if it happens! It was really incredible to have the whole province here watching. Hundreds of people, school children dancing and singing….A great experience.

Today we decided to remain at the clinic for a more quiet weekend…Kenton has gotten to work on his building shelves, and I continued to paint the clinic. We continue to be both challenged, stretched, empowered and fulfilled in many ways.
Mostly we miss our families and friends. We love getting your messages and are so thankful for your love and support.