simplistic joy

Wednesday we got to visit a local hospital for the first time; something I've been wanting to do for so long. This week it finally happened.

We were part of a small group with the mission to bring joy and laughter to the children staying in the pediatric wards. The hit of the evening was balloons and bubbles. Most of them had never seen bubbles before. One mama got such a kick out of them-- giggling at the sight and feel of the sticky, transparent liquid.

I love that it takes very little to bring the soul joy here. In the western world, little satisfies. We are in essence a discontented society. So many aren't happy with just the basics. Simplicity is foreign or second-best. Instead we want the latest model, the next best thing--bigger and better is our pursuit. Not everybody. Yet, this is sadly the majority.

Twelve beds in one large room, six lining two adjacent walls. The nurse rarely came by in the two plus hours of our visit. Yet I was told this was more frequent than usual. Granted the children were pretty stable, but it was an eye opener for me. Such a contrast to home, where my patients are irritated and upset if I haven't checked on them in the last hour, or better yet, if I have not met their requests in a timely manner (immediately). This is not necessarily wrong. Its just that is the norm for us. We know no different. So, this is the standard. The precedent.

While we are bickering over private health care versus national health care, etc... to be granted care at any clinic or hospital in Africa, one must be able to purchase all the supplies needed for their treatment, go purchase them, and then bring them to the hospital. This means any intravenous tubing, needles, dressing supplies, medicines,etc. If you need blood, someone needs to go buy the blood or find someone who can donate you their blood. I can't help but be angered by this "system." Why is it that where you are born and live determines whether you receive medical care or, worse, even live?? This is horribly not right.

We saw sweet kiddos lying in bed with one of their lower limbs casted and in traction. A boy who has been their over a year because they don't know why he is sick. Or children who were in automobile accidents or fell out of a tree. They had burns and injuries that were being treated. One woman was so emaciated, I was surprised she was even alive. I was pleased to see that their dressings were pretty decent. I'm not saying their care is substandard. But in a way it is. They just don't have the latest equipment, technology, or supplies. One woman even motioned to me that she didn't want me to blow bubbles; she wanted my money. Or one woman who kept asking several of us for our clothes. At first I couldn't help but be put off by this. Here we giving of our time to play with your children, and all you want is our money. But then I was saddened that it even comes down to the big "M." Money. Money equals food. Medicine. Opportunity. Life.

Yet, they rise up. Joy resides here. Laughter echoes off these walls. And hope works hard to overcome.

In a way, my friends, Africa is the world's classroom.