A tale of two boys

In 1993, sixteen years ago, we were fresh young missionaries (less than two months' experience) when the rest of the team left for Christmas.  And two little boys, about 11 or 12 year old, came and asked us to buy them used shoes for the holiday, little boys who had become acquainted with some of the other missionaries and therefore hoped we would be sympathetic to their needs.  One was an orphan, his father had died and his mother remarried a man who did not accept any responsibility for him, so he lived with his late-teen and somewhat mentally unstable older brother in a small hut, subsisting, and primarily taking care of his sibling.  The second was the son of a man debilitated by severe alcoholism, but a little more connected with family and clan.  Both found their ways into our hearts and lives, beginning that first Christmas and continuing through the years.  We bought paper and pens for their primary school classes, or occasionally new material for school uniforms.  When they were ready for secondary school, the orphan went into the inaugural class at CSB.  The other boy was a year or two ahead, and since CSB was not then available, we helped him get into school in Fort Portal.  

And that is where their paths diverged.  The orphan struggled academically but thrived spiritually.  He became a Christian.  He worked hard and persevered even through failure.  He completed training as a lab tech, married (in the church no less, and prior to moving in together, very rare) a lovely young woman who shared his values, and now has a sweet 7 month old baby. They were eating dinner with us this week and I was so thankful to see this young man, now in his mid-20's, has become an amazing father.  I rarely have seen a man play with his son like that here, helping him stand and walk, getting him to giggle uproariously.  God's mercy in his life is so evident, taking him from boy to man against incredible odds.

The story of the other boy has been more of a tragedy.  He was much more gifted academically, and did well enough in school to become a teacher.  But he lost his job when he was found to have had an inappropriate relationship with a student, he began to slip into his father's alcoholic patterns, he borrowed money and lost it, he floundered, he had a failed marriage and then another.  For about seven years his path has led mostly downward.  Many times we have sternly warned him, or prayed, or pleaded, or advised.  But our lives grew apart.

Today he stood up in church and told the congregation that he wanted to become a Christian.  He told about two dreams:  in the first he was sitting by the road drinking with a group of men, and people came up behind them singing.  One of the singers looked directly at him, and would not stop looking at him, so he ran away.  This dream made him feel convicted of his sin but he was still helpless, or unwilling, to leave it.  In the second dream he was crossing a flood-swollen river on a log, which began to break, and as he fell into the torrent where he could have drowned, he called on the name of Jesus, and the water dried up.  The combination of an awareness of displeasing God, and then a hope in the greater power of Jesus, led him to take the courage to stand up today.  

These two boys started in nearly the same place 16 years ago, but have taken very different paths, partly by their own choices and partly because one was the end of the pre-CSB generation and the other had six years of discipleship and oversight there.  Yet God was at work in and for both of them.  Pray particularly that the young man who professed faith today will have the power to turn away from the destructive cycle of alcoholism. He said that after giving his testimony he knew by evening that his old "friends" would be laughing at him and tempting him to rejoin his former patterns of life.  

I would love to see both young men with us, worshiping, this Christmas.

Testimony

Scott stood up in the time for nkaiso, testimonies, at church today, to give God glory for working through a very challenging and unknown process over the last few months culminating in the unanimous vote of the board on the new Head Teacher (see post below). So much remains to be seen, but we have to affirm that prayers have carried us through everything up to this point and trust that the Spirit has been leading. How could a dozen people from different language groups, skin colors, education levels, genders, ages, experiences, with different goals and hopes, otherwise agree? If Scott had sorted through the paperwork alone and presented his choice, he might have felt more in control of the outcome, but there would not have been the sense of community ownership and spiritual intervention. We are grateful.

And this outcome fits into a general pattern of movement, risk, change, hope, that we and others sense. A few posts below I wrote about background anxiety. We knew this was a crucial weekend, and asked many to pray. I am not on the board, but invited all our team and all the CSB staff to join in an extended prayer time during the board meeting, quietly and on-the-side asking God to move. The chaplain seemed to catch the vision for this and announced it to the school. He requested me to type up a list of prayer requests, and I asked him to lead or delegate the leading of the time. Fine. But on Saturday morning, I found the room locked and no one waiting to pray. I had envisioned a significant coming-together of most of our team and most of the staff and even a handful of students. Instead one CSB staff and one missionary joined me and a half-dozen boys. I had had a vivid, disturbing dream the night before which I wrote down that morning (something I RARELY ever do, but it seemed to combine all the anxieties of the last weeks). As Eunice opened, she described dreams three people had told her that week, and all were very similar to mine, and led to a sense of need for prayer. Africans put a lot of stock in dreams, more than we tend to. If it stirs people up to pray, then that's a good outcome. I only wish it had stirred more!

But my testimony is: it was a great day. I enjoyed the time with Eunice, the counselor, as we prayed through the book of Ephesians. We prayed against deep patterns of destruction that have been etched for centuries in Bundibugyo, we prayed for love, for unity, for wisdom, for change. And the handful of students joined in. When the lunch bell rang, Eunice asked them if they would like to go, or take a break. No, they replied. So on we prayed. Instead of people coming in and out, the small group stayed the WHOLE time. I kept wondering when the rest of the people invited would show up (only one more eventually did). . but mid day God brought to mind the story Gideon in Judges 7. He mobilizes an army, but God whittles the group down to a mere 300 men, to show that He does not need numbers to accomplish His will. So those few boys and we few women were who He wanted to pray for that day.

And in the 24 hours since, here is more testimony. The biggest, that a new Head Teacher emerged. But more things are happening. A group of Dutch doctors from a Christian NGO showed up to meet us . . . never heard of them before, but there they were saying they wanted to find medical projects to fund. A young man in whom we invested deeply early in our time here who had been taking wrong turns for seven years stood up in church today and became a Christian. Another young man gave a testimony of God working in his life. Worship was lively. My child, whom I worry about having friends, spent a whole day hiking with a group of boys yesterday and had a great time. Some students asked if they could volunteer to teach Sunday School at church. All of these remind us that the Spirit is moving. Stay tuned.

A Pivotal Day Ends...

Scott here...

Nearly two months ago, we ran our first advertisement in the national newspaper recruiting for a new Head Teacher at Christ School - Bundibugyo. We ended up running three adverts in two different newspapers. Twenty applicants clogged my InBox with every certificate and degree imaginable. Hours and hours I have pored over these apps, trying to distill the details down into bite-sized chunks to plug into a summary spreadsheet for committee consumption. Hours and hours we have discussed the relative merits of experience, degrees, age, and spiritual life.

It all came down to today.

Seven applicants were short-listed (I know, it's not a very short list) from three corners of Uganda. By definition, all were "big men" with a treasure of experience in teaching and leading secondary schools. We, the Board of Governors of Christ School-Bundibugyo, spent the first four hours of the day in Phase 1 - interviewing every candidate for a half hour, trying as David put it, "to triage our applicants." We were able to narrow the field from seven to five who we would focus on after lunch (not very impressive sounding, but it was a lot of work!).

After lunch, we had some difficulty making progress in Phase 2 but were eventually able to narrow the field from 5 to 2 using a "rank order voting system." The whole process was excruciating. Letting go of any candidate seemed like a death, a loss to the school.

The scariest part of the day (at 6pm) is when we all agreed to cast our votes for one of the two remaining candidates.

The final vote: 12-0. We agreed!

We have selected a new Head Teadher for 2010 for Christ School - Bundibugyo, our first time to have a Ugandan lead our school.

(We have not yet established what kind of financial package we will be able to offer the chosen one so we have not yet informed the candidate. So, the identity of the new HT is still a secret.)

God seems to be in the result with such a definitive outcome.

When I did the final briefing with the candidates, apologizing that I could not yet reveal the result to them, one stood and asked to speak on behalf of the others. He thanked us for our hospitality ("in Uganda in most interviews, one doesn't even get a soda, let alone two nights food and accommodation and return transport reimbursement!). He then said that the whole group decided that they would like to "continue to be a friend of the school. We would like to make ourselves available as a resource, offering free consultation, whenever you need us." What a privilege and a blessing this day has been.

Many, many thanks to all who have who have showered this process with prayer over these last hours and days.

A Pivotal Day Begins

"Now my soul is troubled,

and what shall I say?  

Father save me from this hour?

But for this purpose I came to this hour. 

Father, glorify your name."

Jesus in John 12

We are keenly aware of the soul-troubling times we are in, and which lie immediately ahead of us.  Today Scott as Chairman of the Board of Governors for Christ School Bundibugyo will be leading the board in interviewing 7 of the educators who have applied to become the first Ugandan Head Teacher of the school.  In just over a decade, two missionary head teachers have brought the school from ground zero to the most successful secondary school in the district, serving over 300 children and employing two dozen teaching staff, covering 6 grade-levels equivalent to middle/high/junior college.  Over the past year we have examined the school closely, hired consultants, held meetings, and we believe it is the right time to make the staff fully indigenous, while continuing to provide vision, support, and overall direction from the mission.  We are looking for someone with the wisdom and experience of a lifetime in the Ugandan school system (something we can not begin to achieve) . . . combined with the integrity, vision, and Christ-like love of a real leader.  This is a tall order.  And the lives of many of our friends seem to hang in the balance, orphans for whom this is their only chance, staff who have laid down their lives here for many years.

CSB has always been, and will no doubt continue to be, a battlefront of the Kingdom.  Within the fenced compound we (mission, teachers, other staff) are attempting to treat children as valuable image-bearers of the Creator God, to bring TRUTH to bear upon all of learning, to model lives of holiness, to worship with passion, to enable health and fun and growth and safety.  In short, exposing the next generation of Bundibugyo's leaders to the ultimate reality, the way the world should be, to give them hope and direction as they move out to change their world, to give them the tools they need academically and socially and spiritually to succeed.  Which is, of course, met with trial and opposition, sickness, budget shortfalls, teacher anxiety, student unrest, a general pattern of need and crisis.  The missionaries who have been most involved will finish their commitment soon, and to this point we do not have other missionary educators applying to join our team.  The hour looks difficult, to say the least.  Like Jesus, we would like to pray for the cup to be removed, we would like to be saved from this hour.

But by faith we say this is, after all, CHRIST School, and for this purpose we have come to this hour.

Please join us in praying:  Father, glorify your name.

If you can, please set aside time to pray on Saturday.  Ask God to glorify Himself by clearly providing the right person as Head Teacher, someone with whom we can partner.  This is extremely important to the future of Christ School and our WHM team.  Thanks for your care.

Love,

Jennifer and Scott

(This is the prayer email we sent out last night . . so thankful for dozens of gracious responses, which represent untold hundreds of other prayers lifted up.  The day has just begun here, with the board gathering and the interviews beginning.  Meanwhile the missionaries and teaching staff have decided to hold a half-day prayer meeting on the side to acknowledge the importance of this day for the Kingdom.  And life goes on for others, visitors are here, Luke takes SAT's today, etc. . . . )

How Soccer Explains the World . . .

. . is the title of a rather disappointing book. The best thing about it is the title, actually.

Scott thoroughly enjoyed traveling with Nathan to Kenya for the weekend, his early Birthday treat from our collective parents. They soaked in RVA life, touching base with some of our heros of mission (like a couple who are planning what to do for the Kingdom in their 8th decade . . ), strengthening friendships God has blessed us with over the years with fellow doctors working in Africa, and creating new relationship with a great couple we met through the Barts taking a sabbatical from Duke to teach for the year. But the real highlight was seeing Luke and Caleb play football, I mean soccer, in a tournament. I've only heard the stories and seen pictures, so Scott will have to give more details, but it looked like great community, effort, teamwork and fun.

Tuesday the varsity played their last game. Luke has been a starter most of the season, and recently was moved into a more central position. We talked to him after this last game and were surprised that though they tied 1 to 1, which knocked them out of the semi-finals for the league, he was completely satisfied with the game. The team worked very hard, played the best they had played all year, gave great effort and team-work and had some beautiful plays. He was satisfied with his performance and ended the year (actually his brief school-sports career) on a solid note, not losing though not winning, and focus on the process.

Then last night we got a message: miracle, there was confusion about the schedule and set-up, somehow the RVA team is back in the semi-finals.

I'm trying to take some heart from that story. Often our life is pretty much a tie, 1 to 1. We don't lose, but we don't see as much victory as we'd like either. We play our hardest and take joy in the teamwork, the community created in the common effort, the satisfaction of doing our best, knowing we can't usually control the outcome. But then, sometimes, God comes in and after we've rested from the game and changes the outcome, and we find ourselves unexpectedly in the championships.

Praying for that this weekend. Lots of effort has gone into the head teacher recruitment process, mostly by Scott, but of course many others too. Adverts, meetings, phone calls, poring through applications, prayer, more meetings. The top 7 of the 20 candidates will be interviewed on Saturday. None necessarily jump out as the obvious choice. And much rides on this decision. Staff are nervous. Missionaries are cautiously hopeful. Parents fear loss of control. Students fear increase in rules. We're playing hard, and the outcome seems to be a tie, hanging in the balance.

So please pray for us to reflect our son's mature attitude: contentment in the play, regardless of the outcome. But do also pray for the last-minute surprise from God. Pray we would see Him step in to break the tie and bring us through to the next stage.

Background anxiety

I've been thinking a good bit about anxiety lately:  "be anxious for nothing" used to seem like a reasonable Bible verse, but I admit it is becoming more challenging.  I have an anxious child, who is struggling at night as he tries to fall asleep.  Sometimes it is the hard realities of the world, that even though HE has two parents almost none of his friends do.  Sometimes it is just the uncertainty of what will happen in his classes tomorrow, whether he's done the work or whether a surprise exam will come up.  Sometimes it is just the sadness of family being apart, and then an anxiety that the sadness will increase and overwhelm.  I think it is easier to believe for the BIG concrete things as they happen, but it is the background-noise of life that we notice in the quiet and dark of our beds, that makes us anxious.  

In the last few days alone, nothing particularly life-shattering has happened (to me I mean, I know other lives are shattered by the minute).  But there in the background are the irregular, unpredictable pings of smaller worries.  Another mild earthquake shaking the bed, waking us at 5:25 am one morning, then a single pre-dawn silence-cracking gunshot at the same time the next day, in both cases we are quite safe but lie awake wondering if it is the prelude to real disaster.  My workers killed a small but poisonous snake in our living room this weekend.  The BBC opened their program yesterday with extensive coverage of renewed fighting in Congo.  UPDF are stationed on the mission once again.  We have technology woes as visitors and team try to connect to their email, our bull is down with a serious leg infection which will be a huge loss of 450 kg of meat if he dies, then there are the daily struggle to plow through the ward full of patients when labs get lost or staff disappear to care for sick relatives or records are unavailable or the list goes on and on.  The ever-present potetial of serious team sickness, of interruption in the water supply line, of cultural misunderstanding, of offending our friends.  

I thought I was a person with a good amount of faith.  But I'm not.  By grace, we need faith just as we need everything else.  This weekend we move into the interview process for a new Head Teacher.  The word on the street is that staff are anxious, too.  Scott keeps reminding us that one of the most-repeated communications from God is "FEAR NOT".  Please pray for us.

An evening greeting

Yesterday I rode Bethany's coat tails, so to speak, to a village visit.  I actually rode Luke's bike, and she took Pat's, a few miles down a dirt road, talking and greeting as we bumped along in the spitting rain.  Bethany spent several years here as a teacher, and has made regular return visits to work with interns or serve our team, so she is well known (though she did get called Becca once along the way, who taught with Bethany LONG ago).  We pushed up hills and avoided goats, gave a wide berth to a teetering inebriated man, laughed at the message on some houses and schools that encouraged "No sweet without sweat" and "No pain no gain".  Right.  Deep breath and keep pumping.  

At last we reached the "pottery house", a homestead of five women who had all been married to one old muslim man who died in August.  Mud homes, a well-swept courtyard, two smoldering fires under a tiny poled root-only kitchen, pots-in-the-making lined up under the eaves.  The oldest wife recognized Bethany with squeals of delight and called to everyone else as she clapped her hands and hugged Bethany off of her bike.  They pulled up the only two low wooden folding chairs for us, and then some stools for others, while the majority sat on mats.  Within moments at least twenty kids between the ages of 1 and 10 had materialized to watch us, closely, while we greeted the women.  And of course curious neighbors sauntered over to check out the excitement.

This homestead has been an unlikely place of friendship for a series of young women on our team.  They asked about their old friends:  Carol Logan seemed to be most on their minds, Amina a former secretary for CSB now in school in Kampala, Catherine, Kim, Rachel.  We gave news of who was working in Sudan, who was married, who was still in school.  Hard to imagine for these women, the way Bethany disappears to another world then returns, with news of all the others.  I've only visited a time or two, with one of the others.

But the most fun, for me, was to find one of my patients there.  I had forgotten that a daughter of this household came through our PMTCT program and was found to be HIV-infected.  She ran into the house to bring her infant Peter out to sit on my lap, an adorable 5-month old with dimples and the thumb-sucking habits of an early-weaner.  There by the kitchen hut a Matiti-project goat stood tied.  And by the fire was a thermos of recently pasteurized milk.  And judging from Peter's cuddliness, not to mention the volume of urine he peed all over my lap, he's getting plenty of goat-milk to drink.  We had just sent tests on him from Kwejuna project last week, so I don't yet know his status.  But in the evening open-air fireside, holding him, smiling at his young mom, I truly prayed he would turn out to be negative.  Sons are the only security for these women, now widows and orphans.

As neighbors enquired, I could hear the women bragging:  Bethany is our friend, she slept right there in that house.  And Jennifer is the mother of those children, those four.  She's the doctor who takes care of the Wednesday patients.  She is in charge of the ward for children.  If your child is sick she helps you with medicine for free.  It is a good place to go.  I'm used to being muka-dokta, the doctor's wife.  So it was interesting to hear myself talked about by women who knew me as a mom (the thing they were most interested in) and a doctor, at random homestead on a small nowhere road, women of creativity and resilience who were willing to befriend a handful of missionaries, and then found themselves also helped in their time of need.  The world is an interesting place.

Blaming Eve

In a move as old as Adam, the dramas presented by the primary school students on Thursday were disturbing to watch. They enacted two parallel families, each having a bevy of girls. But in each family one of the girls was distinguished by wearing a scarf on her head, and that particular character was consistently portrayed as bad: she did not bow low when greeting her elders, she did not respond humbly to the male teacher, she gave impertinent answers, she did not come straight home from school with the others, she met boys in the market and eventually made agreements to meet them for sex. One of the girls then was shown pregnant, and her mother gave her drugs to abort, and she died. Rather a sobering morality play for 4th to 7th graders . . .

I was disturbed by several things, watching. First, that the blame was put solely on the girls. It was their fault that they ended up pregnant, and then dead. OK there is value in emphasizing that we are human actors with responsibility, that our actions have consequences, that we have choices. But the unilateral nature of the blame was unfair, particularly since girls this age are almost exclusively preyed upon by older men. Secondly, the young girl playing the mother who gave the abortive drugs . . . is my neighbor, whom I help with fees, whose older sister was abused by a teacher two years ago, was pregnant, had an abortion, and then went through severe depression. It is heart-breaking to watch kids act out a drama that is so close to their real life, while the audience hoots and laughs (which I know is nervous laughter, but still). Lastly, that the drama ended without hope, in tragedy.

The next day, I was looking through the records of a 2 year old boy on the ward. The teenage young woman caring for him was wearing the very same type of scarf that the girls in the play had worn. Which caught my attention, a symbol or pattern that may indicate God trying to communicate something. I thumbed back through his book and noted that he had been in our nutrition program as a motherless baby, and I had even noted how distraught his young "aunt" was when begging for help and claiming she could not breast feed him because she had her own baby at home. Without saying anything, I just started talking to the caretaker. She made no attempt to hide the fact that she was his real, biological mother. So this girl had totally lied to us two years ago, passing off her own child as her nephew (with a letter from her LC1 to prove it). Something about the scarf though reminded me: if I don't want others to blame the victim, then I shouldn't either. So we talked some more. Two years ago she had been a primary grade 6 student at Bundimulinga, our local school. The father of the baby never married her, he is a trader of some sort in Nyahuka (if we can believe her now . . . ). She dropped out of school, but still lives with her parents. Her child looks great, but here she is, unmarried, raising a child, never finished primary school. Yes, she made poor choices and later she lied to get the help she thought she needed. But she's a victim, too, of some man's desire, of poor parental supervision, of irresponsible adults, of an interrupted childhood, of grasping for a life she though would be good but turned out to be a lie.

In the garden God calls Adam, Eve, and Satan all to account. There are consequences, banishment, struggle, sorrow. But ultimately only Satan will be crushed, and the cost will be borne on the wounded heel of the awaited One, so that Eve can re-enter Paradise. What wounds are we called to bear to pull the teenage girls of Bundibugyo back to life?

Parental Care

Today Scott took off for Kenya via Kampala, to see the boys play in a soccer tournament this weekend, a joint early birthday present from all our parents. Which meant that someone had to fill his place as the Chief Guest at a day-long Parents' Day and Graduation Party for the Parental Care Primary school, which is directly across the road from the mission. Strangely enough, no one wanted to . . . so it fell to me. Here the kids are processing into the Community Center (their school is down the hill in the background). This primary school had the best PLE scores in the district last year, and is hopeful to repeat their performance this year. It's a brand new school, 340 students crammed into a small mud-crumbly compound. But they seem to be doing some things right. We're prayed for years about primary schools in Bundibugyo. This might be one of the answers. It isn't every day that we have a "marching band". The first couple of hours of this event consisted of a church service, complete with songs, robes, readings, communion. At that early point in the day I felt that community glow: this is precisely Paul's vision for this community center, and Sam Gray would have been happy to see the building full of kids and parents, the Gospel being preached, a major event in which we as missionaries were cheerleading from the sidelines only. Many of the parents are people we know well. I was blessed to participate, except for my initial seating inches in front of massive blaring speakers tortured by too-close microphone holding. But then the hours went on. And on. I had originally attempted to cut a deal with Ashley: she didn't want to speak, and I said I had no problem speaking, but I didn't want to sit there all day. So she would sit and I would waltz in at the right moment to speak . . . But the event started hours before she was out of school, and by the time she showed up I had been ushered to the front-and-center stage and referred to umpteen times as "Madame Chief Guest" so I was stuck. And as I looked out at the sea of faces above (500?) I was getting more and more nervous about speaking. Notice the chalk board: my speech is #12 of 13 agenda items, and little half-hour extras like the traditional Bakonjo "kikubba" (chest) dance pictured here were not even considered worth writing up. Choirs, a soap-opera like drama, political representatives, multiple levels of school administration all spoke. And there was almost no English used all day, which meant I had to really work to stay alert and figure out what was going on since at many random moments people would refer to me or ask me something . . . Let us say that by 5 pm, the event which started at 10 am was still going full blast. When I finally got the microphone, I realized it was so late and so long that no one was particularly going to catch my "sermon" points: that parental care involves provision, sacrifice, and unending commitment, which led into the parallel that God's parental care for us is the same. So instead of just talking, I told a story of a parent who was the youngest of 15, who worked hard to provide for his children and pay school fees . . who of course turned out to be my dad. I would not be here as a doctor speaking in front of 500 Africans unless he had provided and sacrificed and stayed faithful. I hope it was an encouragement to the parents, and pointed people to God. In the end I realized that my words were minor, compared to just sitting through the day. I wanted to avoid the day-long commitment and just preach. However, what was heard was my presence. No avoiding the sacrifice needed to just listen, clap, smile, encourage, and be present.

Top Up

Bundibugyo has what may be the highest prevalence of Sickle Cell Anemia in the world. And the kids who don't carry a sickle cell gene are universally exposed to malaria (which destroys red blood cells and suppresses their production), universally eat iron deficient diets (low in meat and animal products), and universally are infested with intestinal parasites (which suck microscopic amounts of blood constantly). The result is that almost all kids walk around with a level of anemia that would cause a panic in any American emergency room, and the ones who are sick enough to be admitted to our ward would probably be in a high-level intensive care unit in a place with the resources. So in a typical day on a 25-bed ward, we probably are doing anywhere from 3 to 6 blood transfusions. Topping them up, so to speak, getting that hemoglobin up over a whopping 5 gm/dl, enough to keep the heart pumping and brain awake.

I've noticed recently, though, that there is an alternative top-up going on. By my patients' beds I've started seeing bottles of Top Up ketchup. This is NOT HEINZ, shall we say. I'm not sure any real tomatoes are involved. It is a gelatinous goo, a cancer-causing red color, and sweet. But to the very concrete-reasoning patient population, what looks like blood should be good for making blood, so I see moms spooning it into their kids. As if they needed another reason to vomit . .

One of our favorite patients, Aligonilla, has been topped up three times in the last three days, and yet today is still at only a hemoglobin of 4.4. He was barely alive at 3, but once he's over 4 he sits and colors, smiles, talks, plays. This is the child I alluded to in the gap in blood supply this weekend, when he looked like he could have died, and if he had done so he would have been the 6th or 7th child of his father to die, and the 2nd one in three weeks. We've been struggling for his life since he was born, he's been admitted numerous times, he can't possibly live a normal lifespan, but for now he's topped up and back from the brink of death, so we're all relieved.

And all in a day's work: diagnosed a new 4 year old child with AIDS today, her mother is an articulate lady who actually has a job and connections but out of fear had refused testing in pregnancy, but when we saw the girl, moderately malnourished with a chronic draining ear and huge patches of fungal infection on her skin, we sent her for her test, which was positive. That was balanced by another 4 year old whose mother had died . . the Grandmother was sure the child had AIDS too, and an initial test had been positive, but the confirmatory tests were all negative, so we just told her to go home and live a normal life and thank God. Then there was a lady 7 months pregnant with twins who walked 8 hours from across the border in Congo for an ultrasound with Scott: he was packing up to leave mid-day when she arrived, but once he heard the whole story he regretted feeling frustrated with her lateness! So many stories, these are only a few, that we feel over-the-top.

Need a bottle of Top-Up, perhaps, for energy and faith!