Infant Mortality!

As it's my habit to occasionally hold, play, and pray with babies and toddlers after Service, I touched one of the babies, and I noticed a slightly high temperature. I gave the mother some money to buy Paracetamol syrup and give her, but I also told her to let me know how the baby was faring after. 

I left and called later in the evening and was told the baby was getting better. I called again on Monday, telling the young parents to call me should the fever continue, so we could arrange to take her to the hospital. They responded that the baby was ok. The next time I would get a call was on Thursday, announcing the demise of the baby. I was shocked and depressed. What could have happened after they had told me she was a lot better. Later in the evening, they buried the child. 

I took an excuse from the office and went straight to the village the next day. I got to the compound to see a lot of sympathizers sitting under the shade of a mango tree. They were also being served puff puff and fizzy drinks. I was livid. 

"A baby just died, and these guys are feasting." I wanted to express my displeasure, but I remembered what I had read in a book about culture and culture shock; hence, I ignored it.

I asked to see the bereaved parents and they both came out from the room they were kept. When the young mother saw me, she burst into tears. I held her hand, and she let out a cry of deep sorrow. I looked at the face of her young husband, and he turned around to hide his tears. His wife asked "Pastor why?" The Agony in her voice moved me to tears but I had to offer encouragement and consolation. I loved the baby girl since she was born and the fact that the young mother was neat and took good care of her kids. I was deeply pained. It was a wrong time to ask questions; hence I just prayed with them and left. 

It was the following Sunday that I got to speak with the father. Apparently the baby had developed high fever again on Tuesday, and they gave her the Paracetamol. When the temperature did not subside till the following day, they took her to a woman in a nearby village that cooked roots and herbs for little children. They brought back the concoctions and started giving it to the baby. By Thursday, the baby started serious stooling and vomiting and not long after gave up the ghost. I sat in silence and anger, listening to the young man. I asked him why he did not call me after I had specifically given them the instruction that they should call me should the fever persist. 

He said "Pastor, we knew you would have insisted we took her to the hospital where you will have to pay on our behalf. You have tried so much for us and we did not want to bother you again. We thought it was a minor thing hence we decided to use the local herbs for the treatment. We did not know it would turn this way."

"Did I complain? Have I ever complained? Why didn't you let me worry about that?" I shook my head in frustration and despair. The deed was done. We could not undo the situation but I said to myself "By God's grace, never again!"

Some of the Kids in Gbaukuchi Village

Since that time, I never took chances with any sick child. I would always ask after any child not in church. This move allowed me to salvage a situation that could have gone south. I asked of a little girl that was always vibrant in church. I was told she was not feeling too well, so I went to her house. There was no one in the compound except a teenage girl who told me that they had taken the girl to a doctor. 

" A Doctor? In this village? Please take me to the Doctor"

We got to the house of the 'Doctor,' and I immediately knew this guy was quack. The Doctor was preparing to give the little girl injection, and I told him to stop. I called out that they should bring the girl, and I would handle it from there. The said Doctor was scared when he saw me and handed the girl over. I did not want to make any trouble, but I took the girl and the mother to the Government Clinic in the next community where she was treated. The 'Doctor' worked in the government hospital (certainly not as a Doctor) and would sometimes bring syringe and injections home to administer to the villagers as a way of treating  malaria. There is fire on the mountain!

I followed up for three days until I was told the little girl had fully recovered from malaria, which was diagnosed at the Government clinic. I warned the villagers not to patronize anyone posing as a Doctor in the village again except the Community Health Workers approved by the Local Government. I also made sure I mentioned this to the Village's Chief when I had the opportunity to meet him in his palace.

Twelve months after the young couple lost their baby girl, they were rewarded with a bouncing baby boy. My joy knew no bounds, and we celebrated this in the church.