You are loved

Yesterday a little baby boy was brought to our clinic. His mother had given birth to twins and then died shortly after. Although the village did all they could for the twins, one died the same night, but one still remained. In a desperate attempt to save this one, they carried it 4 hours to our health clinic, wondering if we could do anything to help him.

When I, Faith, took the baby in my arms, I felt how cold he was. I unwrapped him and placed him in front of a small spaceheater. The doctor examined him and said he needed to be heated up as soon as possible. My motherly instincts kicked in and I took the baby into our house and held him close against my bare skin, trying to feed him some formula. Even though he had a slim chance of surviving, he had proved in his short lifetime that he was sure going to try.

I concluded, I would try with him.

For a whole day, I watched over him, prayed over him, and cared for him as though he were my own. I even named him Tadele (a traditional Ethiopian name which means "lucky"). Against all odds, he made it through the night. I really began feeling a sense of hope that maybe the will to live would be stronger than the power of death pulling at him.

But eventually, his strength wore out, and little Tadele died at 10:30 this morning. I kissed his head, wrapped him up, and began to cry. All the mothers in the hospital began to beat their breasts and cry with me. I think all of us had felt as if this motherless child was our own. We all mourned his death together, crying in one accord our sorrow.

Although Tadele's mother had died, at that moment, Tadele had a room full of mothers saying, "I am glad you lived. I am glad that I knew you, even if just for a day, and I will miss you."