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September 25th, 2005, A Typical Day, by Chris
On Friday our newest volunteer, Gabrielle Campbell, arrived fresh
off the plane from Edmonton. Today I caught myself telling her
that today wasn’t a typical day and that things would calm
down. Tonight I wonder just what a typical day is in the world
I currently inhabit. On Friday Bobinise, the 2 ½ month old
baby of our team member Sipho, died after being rushed by ambulance
from Ndawana, 80 km. to Centocow, and then transported by helicopter
100 km. to Pietermaritzburg. He seemed healthy on Wednesday. Two
years ago they lost their first child. Today I spent the day negotiating
with two different hospitals on how to “repatriate the body” so
that we wouldn’t have to travel 180 km to fetch the child
for burial. There is no way around it. Tomorrow Marg and Larry
will go with the father to get the remains of their second child.
Tonight I wonder if the helicopters still fly over the Rockies searching for
our brother-in-law Darryl. I know that the search is over. But when really
is it ever over. We wait for news. We want to be there. But it is so far
and there is so much to do here.
And today fifteen people from Social Welfare traveled 115 km. over unimaginable
roads to process child support grants in Ndawana. Their first words were
that they loved the chocolate cake we took them when they helped a stroke
victim with six children. Now they come to the people of the village and
help a hundred at a time instead of us painfully transporting 10 people for
a long day in Mzimkhulu. And today the electrician from Underberg came to
the village and will install wiring next week for the solar power coming
from Germany – a donation from a company we don’t even know.
The women worked in the garden, at least 20 children checked out books from
the library, we ran out of cement, but managed to get the tarred twine so
we can finish the roof on the last building. James Bond fell off his horse
on the weekend and had to go home early from work today. And Kathleen arrived
home safely just now from another day of transporting AIDS patients. 13 hours
on the road. In the end I can’t tell you what a typical day is like.
I have no answers as to why some people live and others die. I only know
that I no longer ponder the question. I can only give thanks for the small
gifts of each day. In words my son Scott read to me just yesterday, I wish
you enough. Enough happiness, sadness, strength, and love. And we have enough.
P.S.: This was written about six days ago, and we are just now
getting time to send it out after another string of typical days.
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