If You Won’t Be Their Father, Who Will?

We had just pulled into the carepoint in Thulwani.  The kids gathered around the big tree to welcome our arrival.  I noticed a boy sitting on a concrete slab all by himself.   His leg looked bandaged up.  I immediately went over to him and with the help of our translator I ask what was wrong.   Apparently three days ago he had fallen off the back of a motorcycle and was dragged some how.   I could see the blood oozing through his bandage while flies buzzed busily around it.  

“Three days ago?  Why hasn’t he been taken to the hospital?”  I asked in surprise.  

“There is no one to take him.  He says he has no father and his mother has been gone for the past week and he doesn’t know when she is returning,” replied my translator, Titi. 

I realized in that moment it was up to me if he was going to be taken to the hospital.  It felt a bit strange to take on the responsibility of this boy, but I knew I had no choice.  If not me then whom?  

I asked if it hurt.  He said yes, but he showed no emotion in his face.  I imagined years of emotional neglect had made him much tougher than he should be.  

After our time at the carepoint he, Nksoing, got in the van with us.  I dropped most of the team off at our homestead and then headed into town, thirty minutes away.  Through the rearview mirror I could see his eyes wide soaking in all buildings, lights, and cars of town.  Manzini is not a large town by any means but I wondered how often, if ever, Nksoing had been here. 

We arrived at the hospital and I put him into a wheelchair and pushed him to the ER. I was a bit confused when we entered.  Everything seemed scatter and chaotic.  The ER was one big room where paperwork and treatment happened all together.  Along part of the wall were patients leaning against it and in wheelchairs waiting to be seen.  

I helped with his paperwork and paid some initial fees.  A half hour later we headed down to radiology where I found out he had two breaks.  One in his foot and one in his knee. 

The technician asked, “How long ago did this happen?” 

“Three days ago.”

“Why hasn’t he been here sooner?”  He said agitatedly.  

“I am sorry, I only found out today.”  I said with some frustration in my heart.   I was mostly just frustrated with the circumstance Nksoing was in. 

We headed back to the ER where we waited for two hours along the wall.  I asked the nurse how long we would have to wait.  He said he wasn’t sure, he had been calling the doctor but hadn’t been able to get a hold of him.  It then occurred to me that no one had been seen by a doctor yet.   How could this be?  This is the ER?  Where is the doctor?   

My body had grown tried from standing the whole time when the doctor finally entered.  But it was soon after that the doctor was examining Nksoing’s leg.  The bandage was off and I could see for the first time how bad it really was.  His entire shin to his foot was one big red and orange bloody scab. There was even a sort of hole in the top of his foot.  The doctor told me that someone had put orange dirt over his wound to stop the bleeding but the bacteria in the soil had infected his foot causing it to swell grossly. 

Nksoing still remained emotionless even after seeing his own wound. 

The doctor told me that Nksoing would have to be admitted to the hospital because it would take a week for his leg to be healed and treated properly.  I signed the admittance papers as his guardian.  

We left Nksoing that night under the care of the doctors and nurses.  It felt wrong to leave him there by himself.  I felt helpless to my many other obligations with the team.  I had to come to terms with my inability to meet all the needs I see here.  Where is his mother?  Why doesn’t he have a father?  Why are there so many orphans?  Why won’t more people help? 

I have since visited Nksoing everyday for the past 3 days.   Every time he sees me his face lights up and his big prefect African smile is unveiled.  His leg is healing up well and he will soon have a hard cast on it.