This Is the Day, Part II

My mother and I went to Bulamu to say goodbye to Aidah, just hours before I knew if I was staying or leaving. Aidah was having a good day and was out walking, so we spent most of our time with her near the common area where the babies were playing and the other house mothers were doing laundry. I pulled some treats out of my bag - a Mickey Mouse paint set, cheese and crackers, and pop rocks. I asked Aidah if she wanted candy and she nodded, so I put a few pop rocks on my tongue and showed her. Her nose wrinkled with laughter, and I gave her some. She put them on her tongue, and then the real laughter began. She kept putting her hand over her mouth to hold in her laughter, and hide her funny face. I asked her if we should give some to Bright, and we all agreed it would be better to let his mother try some first. The house mothers wandered over and we let them each try some pop rocks. They all responded with outright laughter, shouts of surprise and urging each other to try some more. I left a packet of pop rocks with Aidah to share with her housemates. The only one not impressed or amused was poor Bright, who didn’t even try any. Just the sight of a rock, bubbling and crackling away on my tongue, scared him to tears. So, we didn’t show him any more, of course!
 
Sharing this story reminded me of something that happened a few days ago. Remember I posted about taking Aidah and Evelyn, the social worker, out for a meal after Aidah’s penicillin shot? Well, that same day, we determined that we would find her some shoes in this giant Muzungu mall where we were. So, after eating, we walked through the mall, looking for Bata shoes, the most prevalent shoe store chain in Kampala. I think I wrote about the wide utilitarian very-un-pretty shoes that they presented us with, and how we all turned around in unison and walked out of the store. But I think I forgot to tell you how we decided to go to the department store to look for more. As we walked into the courtyard of the mall, Evelyn pointed up and said, “There is the department store”, and we stared up through the center of the mall, to a store at the tippy top level. The only way up that we could see was by escalator. Holding Aidah’s hand, I walked over and she balked, with a nervous giggle. “Moving stairs!?!?!?!” she said, incredulously! Evelyn stood still, and then said, “Why don’t you take Aidah up one level and come back down so she can see how it works?” So, I took Aidah’s hand and she willingly came along. I showed her how to step on and off, and all of a sudden she jumped, about 2 feet up in the air and 1 foot forward and landed on a step. She cheered for herself a bit and then began to ready herself for the exit. Closer and closer we got to the top, and suddenly, again, a giant spring, and we were off. Aidah collapsed on a bench, taking a breath and getting ready for the trip back down the escalator. At the bottom, Evelyn waved to us with a big smile on her face. 2 giant jumps later, we were back down on the main floor. Aidah babbled on and on to Evelyn about this marvel that is the moving staircase, and we all started to get back on for the 4 story trip to the department store. I walked on, Aidah sprung, and Evelyn, with much hesitation, skidded on with a squeal. I realized this was her first time on an escalator as well, and most likely her reason for encouraging Aidah to take a practice trip. Halfway up, she said, “I think Aidah has the correct way of entering and exiting.” So, at the top, I walked off and the two others took gigantic leaps and landed in a heap together on the floor. Three more rides did nothing to decrease their enthusiasm, but finding no shoes did. Each pair we found, Aidah sniffed and expressed her displeasure. This girl is all about the pretty, let me tell you. Bows, flowers, sandals, dresses...it’s all good. I tell her frequently that she shares the same spirit as Lydia. Each letter she gives is covered in stickers, hearts, flowers and curlyques. Her personal space is neat as a pin and she is not pleased when anything disrupts it. She watches longingly as the other children run and play, kicking footballs, chasing the cats and dancing with enthusiasm. She remarked to Evelyn that she couldn’t do these things anymore, and I rubbed her back and explained that hopefully in a few months, she would, that this is just a season of her life. She looked at me questioningly, and Evelyn explained that no one has told her that she will get better. No one wants to promise this as they have not been sure that it will happen. So I read her an email from Dr Fiore, her heart-surgeon-to-be. He says that this is treatable and fixable, that she will be back to “normal” remarkably soon after open heart surgery, and that she can have hope of feeling better again. Aidah mulled that over for a while before asking Evelyn if she had to stay by herself in the hospital. Her only knowledge of hospitals is New Mulago, the one she has seen and been hospitalized at here. Remember my description? No food unless you bring it, no toilet unless you get yourself there, and hundreds...or thousands...of waiting people. I have refrained during my visits with Aidah and her caregivers, from telling her all about America. It does no one any good for me to walk into a hospital and proclaim that it’s not as good as it is in America. Of course, when faced with nurses who belittle my girl, I think, “Soon she will be comforted through a shot.” When faced with a house mother that steals from her, I think, “Soon, she will have everything she needs.” And when asked, “Will I be by myself?” I think, “Never again will you be alone.” But what a slap in the face, even my thought process is, to those who have done everything possible to save Aidah’s life.
I can’t imagine any Westerner coming to Africa and not being hit hard with how much we live in excess. I proclaim a desire frequently to just live simply, not needing so much that many deem necessary. And yet, I don’t have leaky roofs. My floor is not mud. I have more than one outfit for weekdays and 1 outfit for looking “smart”. I relax in the evenings with a full belly and a very happy, basking in the glow of the tv, the Wii, and all the while congratulate myself on a life simply led. There is nothing like 10 days in Africa to expose the pride that has been hidden in my heart.