Fara

So far, I have avoided the hospital.  Maybe subconsciously I have been trying to avoid the most visible  signs of the desperation of Zimbabwe or maybe I've been busy.  Either way, I could not avoid it forever.

Yesterday morning our group split up into a variety of activities.  Mary Beth took a group to register orphans for her support program, the pastors went to a conference and Natalie, Maddie and I went for a walk.  This walk was more successful then notable previous walks.  Regularly getting lost early on in my stay seems to have helped me to find my way around now.  Our walk is a story in itself.  I will defiantly write about it soon.  It is an interesting story about me, Natalie, Maddie, Fatty, Lancelot and a bag of groundnuts.  

This story is about when I got back from the walk.  We returned a little after lunch and caught up with the other groups.  After sharing the story of our walk, Mary Beth and Cathy narrated their experiences with the orphans.  Our story was interesting, theirs was traumatizing.  

Mary Beth had sent one child (a nine year old I believe) to the hospital because they had an infected eye.  After examination, the doctor informed us that the child had a tumor in his eye.  The child, Fara, was sitting in the waiting room waiting to be transfered to Harare to have the tumor removed.  Cathy and I decided that we would go to the hospital and wait with him.  

We found Fara sitting alone on a bench with a tumor in his eye.  The teachers who had helped walk him to the hospital were outside socializing.  There was not a single person comforting the nine year old.  This really struck me.  Fara had no one.  He was an orphans living with his step-parents (ya, step-parents, we are trying to figure that out too).  His school sweater was too big, which covered the large rip down the side of his pants.  

Cathy and I sat down and tried to comfort Fara, which was difficult to say the least.  How do you comfort a nine year old orphan with a tumor in his eye?

Me:  "Unonzi ani?" (What is your name?)

Fara: "Fara"

Me: "Ndinonzi Ben, anonzi Cathy.  unoda kudya here?" (My name is Ben and she is Cathy.  Do you want to eat?)

Fara didnt even respond.  He just grabbed the granola bar we were offering, clapping his hands in thanks.  He ate two granola bars in less than a minute.  

The doctor later informed us that they couldnt do anything without the stepfathers permission, so Fara was sent home.  I am going back today, but  I am guessing that the family will not be able to afford the operation.  In that case, Fara will be lucky to blind.

As we were leaving the hospital, Diane approaches the boy and offers him a little stuffed dog.  And Fara smiled and laughed a little.  This was unbelievable.  Fara was scared, hungry and confused, but stilled have room to smile.  The last memory I have of Fara is him walked away from the hospital holding his stuffed dog, smiling.  I have no idea how he managed to smile, but it was a sight to see.

In shona, Fara means happiness.