Freak accidents are one of those things I find utterly frustrating because you never see them coming and can't usually do anything about them. And sadly that makes them that much more tragic.
On Wednesday, I spent the entire day at my health hut in village weighing babies to screen for malnutrition. I had told all the women in my house about it, but despite that, none of them showed up, which I found frustrating. However, when I came back to my compound at 5pm I found out why. Miriama Kande, my brother's youngest daughter in our compound at just 21 months, was kicked in the stomach by a horse and taken to the Tamba regional hospital.
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| One of my first pictures of Miriama...what a doll :) |
Let me paint the picture that, while I love all the kids in my house, this was MY kid...that kid you find an instant connection with. I was constantly picking her up and playing with her. I had given her the American nickname Anna after my best friend and teased her parents daily about taking her home to America with me at the end of 2 years. I called her my kid, and truth be told she's the closest thing I've had thus far.
By the time I got home that evening, they had returned from the hospital with a bottle of kids ibuprofen syrup and a recommendation to come back on Monday the 10th. Miriama had a large bruise on her stomach and just seemed out of it. I sat with her and her mom on their shade structure that night and tried to comfort her as she rolled around and groaned in pain. She kept sitting up to throw up water, the only thing she'd been able to consume all day.
Around 10pm I finally went to bed, and when I came out in the morning, Miriama's mom, Aminata (who is also about 1 week away from giving birth), informed me that my host dad had taken Miriama to the hospital in the middle of the night. At one point that morning he called to say they had given her 2 IV bags and done an x-ray, which led them to decide she needed an operation. The hospital then sent my host dad to purchase the materials needed for the operation - needle, scalpel, meds - a fact that still blows my mind. By the time my host dad returned to the hospital, Miriama had died. She was just 21 months old.
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| Miriama with her mom Aminata |
I've experienced death before, but never something this traumatic or someone so young. I've been struggling for the last few days for obvious reasons, but part of what makes this so hard is the grieving process here. As soon as my host brother told us she had died, her mom and I both instantly starting sobbing and ran into our respective rooms. I was followed by my cousin who just patted me on the shoulder and told me to "hush and not cry. This was God's will." I believe things happen for a reason, but I also think crying is part of the natural grieving process in the USA. And never in my life have a craved a hug so much. So instead I called my parents in Michigan at what turned out to be 5:30am, because even though I'm 27 and an adult, sometimes you just need mom and dad.
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| Miriama in a picture I took just a few weeks ago |
Over the next 2 days, people dropped by our compound to greet our family and give us their condolences, but there was no real funeral. When I asked why, they told me that big funerals are for older people, but little kids are just buried and that's that. She was actually taken to the village where her mom's parents live, and my host brother promised to take me there in the next few weeks. Honestly, if no one told you what had happened, you'd probably walk into my compound and think everything was normal.
Even though Miriama wasn't my child, this experience has been devastating for my heart. But she played a big part in the first 6 months in my village, and I will continue to carry her with me.
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| The only picture I have of just me and my Miriama |
