Lydia

There is only one clock in the house. It is on the wall above the dining room table. It is five minutes slow. Sometimes I wish I didn’t even have a watch here. I’d fit in a lot more if I didn’t know or care what time it was. Plus, my watch beeps every hour. That bothers me most. Maybe if I pushed some buttons on it, the beeping will stop. Maybe I will just get rid of the watch altogether. Class usually starts ten minutes after it should. On Sundays, Mass usually begins about three hours after it should. I’ve gotten used to both.

On Saturday night, Fr. Cyprian said that he was saying Mass at 8:00am here at St. Brendan’s and then at 10:00am at a nearby church in the village called Wheat Scheme. Jokingly, I asked if the Mass would really begin on time. “It will start right on time,” said Father. He was still celebrating the 8:00am Mass and it was after 10:30am. I think we finally arrived at Wheat Scheme a little past noon. I couldn’t tell you the actual time. I left my watch on my desk- on purpose. A few ladies from the parish made us lunch. Even as a stranger- one with a different color skin and a different language- I have been welcomed every place I visit. Everyone is so friendly, and nothing says, “We’re glad you’re here” than an invitation to share a meal.

After lunch, Fr. Cyprian spoke to a mother outside the church. She said her daughter, one of the students at our school, was seriously ill. Before heading back to Kitete, we stopped at the home of the family. I knew exactly who we were going to see before we found the house. Lydia, a first year student, said she wasn’t feeling well in class Tuesday afternoon. She asked to be excused. At the time I figured she just wanted to get out of the (boring) English class. I didn’t blame her, so I let her go. She didn’t come to class on Wednesday. She missed every class for the rest of the week.

We walked up the steep embankment to the front yard. Here we met the family, mother, father, aunt, and a few little kids. Lydia was there, too, but I didn’t notice her at first. She was lying on the dirt ground under a blanket and on top of two grain bags. She was visibly weak. She could barely keep her eyes open, and she didn’t have enough strength to lift or hold herself up. She was in terrible pain. The family indicated that something was wrong with her breast, an infection or boil or something like that. Father asked if she had seen a doctor. The family said no, but that the nearby pharmacist had given her some medicine. Fr. Cyprian was upset and on the verge of being angry with the mother. He asked how they could let her get this bad without seeing a doctor. He said that she needed to go to the hospital in Karatu right away. He offered to drive Lydia given the family had money to pay the doctor bills. Father said that if they could get together 30,000 shillings, he would provide the transportation. The family said that they did not have the money. After sitting with Lydia for a while under the hot sun, we left for Kitete. I said nothing the entire time. I simply rubbed her shoulder as we were preparing to leave.

30,000 shillings is just under $30. If it was only going to take less than $30 to help this girl, there was no way I wasn’t going to give the money if the family couldn’t afford it. Charlie and I decided that we would give the family the money for the visit to the hospital if needed. On the ride home, Father was still upset with the family. It was possible that they did in fact have the money but didn’t want to part with it for their daughter. We have heard stories of families using money to buy bigger or better tractors before giving it to their children for education of for building decent block homes. Tractors and combines are status symbols here, and they are sometimes valued more than children.

That evening we played volleyball with the students. Let me rephrase that. That evening we played volleyball with our new friends. Fr. Cyprian needed the game and the laughing to release the stresses of the day. Lydia never left his mind, though. That evening he drove back to Wheat Scheme to see Lydia again. She was in a terrible condition, so he drove her and the family to the hospital right away. He was going to wait until the next morning, but he couldn’t go to bed that night knowing that she was suffering. He left quickly after volleyball. I wish I could have gone with him.

The trip to the hospital is rough and long. Along the way, Lydia asked for some water to drink. She then said, “Let us pray.” Father said he knew that something was wrong when she said that. She stopped talking, closed her eyes, stopped breathing, and fell lifeless. The family was hysterical. There was crying, and the aunt was screaming. At the hospital, the doctors administered CPR as soon as Lydia was pulled from the vehicle. She began breathing again.

It is now Thursday. Lydia hasn’t been back to school yet. Father received an update yesterday. Lydia is still in the hospital. She is talking and eating. No word on an official diagnoses. I asked if the family was able to pay for the hospital visit. He said that the school gave the family 20,000 shillings to help. Lydia still needs our prayers.

I must admit one thing.

Lydia was the first person we saw here in Tanzania whose suffering was urgent and obvious. I didn’t know how to respond when we were with her and her family Sunday afternoon. I have been taught that simply “being with” her was an appropriate response. I know I didn’t need to say anything. However, I was troubled by the initial thoughts that flew through my mind. When I first saw her there with flies crawling on her legs and feet, I thought of myself, “Was I in danger of getting sick? She was in my class, so could I catch what she has? Being here at her side, is my health at risk?” I know I need to take care of myself while I am here. Staying healthy is definitely a priority. Nevertheless, I felt ashamed of myself for putting me before her. I need to be careful, but I can’t be afraid. I wiped those thoughts away quickly, and focused all my attention and prayers on Lydia.