One Reason I'm Here

(click photos to enlarge)

The glimpse of a child on a movie screen played a significant role in bringing me to Swaziland. Scott and I were still considering whether or not we really wanted to come here, when we went to see the documentary film "Without a King" sometime last spring. Towards the end of the film, there is a brief shot of a lost-looking young boy at an orphanage here. One of the king's daughters is distributing food to the orphans, and, when this young boy is given his share, he looks confused and vacant and almost hurt because he is so unused to receiving anything or having anyone notice him at all. His lost look haunted me long after leaving the theater, and whenever I wavered in my resolve about our decision to come here, the thought of the look on that young child's face sustained and strengthened my desire to come here and try to help in some way.

Now, it is the looks of children I have witnessed since we've been here that inspire me: of Thembeline, a 13-year old girl with TB and HIV, who is the only caretaker for her sick and blind grandmother; of a six-month old HIV+ baby, crying weakly because his mouth was so full of thrush; of an eight-year-old boy, Mthobisi, also HIV+, wandering down a muddy road in his pajamas all alone to meet our truck, because his mother was too sick to accompany him -- he wore a look of infinite resignation on his face, and showed only the faintest glimmer of satisfaction when we gave him some candy to suck on while Scott examined him. And last week, at a homestead full of children and HIV and TB, a young adolescent boy, perhaps 13 years old, nattily dressed in a shirt, vest, checked coat, and striped shorts -- all mismatched and ragged and dirty, but still worn with pride and a sense that he had chosen those clothes carefully -- and his wide, toothy, endearing smile, somehow yearning for attention among all those other kids. He wasn't sick, he was just one of a dozen or so children in that family, and I sensed he was a bit lost in the crowd. Whenever I'd catch his eye, he'd smile broadly but shyly shrink into the group of people gathered around the truck. I went over and shook his hand and said hello, but the language barrier kept us from communicating beyond that. All I could do was give him some candy and pat on his shoulder, but his shy smile has stayed on my mind -- all of their looks have stayed on my mind.

For me, a big part of this journey is figuring out how best I can help such kids. As I wrote in my first entry, I believe that even small steps can make some difference. Perhaps my smile and that pat on the back encouraged that young boy in some way that day. I'd like to think so, but I don't know.... I think I'll still be trying to figure it out long after we leave.