Ripples and Waves

Frank continues to amaze me. Frank is the young father of Grace, widowed the day after Grace’s birth. A few weeks ago Frank took me to his house for the first time, usually we meet at the mother-in-law’s house where Grace lives. Frank lives in a very modest two-room adobe home that could easily fit into my bedroom, without electricity or indoor plumbing, and he shares this space with a young male relative. I sat on one couch chair and Frank sat on another. As I listened to him talk about his good fortune, I took in our surroundings. He said he might have had to sell his bed and the mattress and his little sofa set (which he bought for 2,200MK) just to try to afford the monthly formula bill of 9,000MK to keep Grace alive. A small shelf pushed into a corning, held some bread, eggs, and a couple old newspapers. He said if it weren’t for the help of others he might be completely destitute but because of the help, his life is good. A cluster of unframed pictures of his dead wife hung on the wall across from where he sat. His own hand-written notes surrounded the pictures; notes to her, notes about how he misses her, notes about the existence of God. Whenever he talks about Grace his eyes tear up and he shakes his head, but his smile always quickly returns. He said he has changed, that before he never understood the depth of despair and could not feel compassion for those who were suffering. A thin sheet hung in the doorway between the sitting room and the bedroom; through the sheet I could see a small simple bed. Now, he said, he just wants to help others. He said his ultimate dream is to start an orphanage.

Some small ripple began with that conversation. Together we decided to start by choosing five destitute families in his area who are supporting orphaned infants, or infants of terminally ill mothers. Frank quickly identified the families and made lists of the dependents and the items he thought they needed most.

A week later we had our first meeting with the group. I held chubby gurgling 4-month-old Grace on my lap as I sat among the other women on a mat. All the children were below 2 years and none of them looked healthy. The oldest, a 16-month-old girl was still not walking or talking and weighed the same as 4-month-old Grace, 7kgs. We told the women that we would buy them basic goods once a month, and then they as a group would have to decided what they wanted to do to support each other (e.g. start a garden, raise chickens, etc). Frank and I went to the market and bought each woman a 40kg bag of maize, 12 candles, cooking oil, 2kgs of beans, formula for the two who still needed to nurse but were unable to nurse, a high protein and calorie mixture for the little girl, soap, and a soy and maize based porridge for all the children. I also distributed some donated clothing.

The following week Frank told me I needed to arrive at the house on Saturday at 9am. Frank’s mother-in-law had called a Malawian Parliamentarian (MP) who said he wanted to support our group. The MP sent a donation of many bags of pala (the enriched porridge) and canned beans and said the President’s wife would also be sending donations from time to time. The MP could not come to the group himself, so Frank’s mother-in-law asked me to come to distribute the items to the families instead. I in turn asked Sister Namaleu to come along because I knew she would be a willing and wonderful asset.

When we arrived, women and children covered the small dirt area in front of the house. A song rose spontaneously and joyfully and as they sang, each woman came up one-by-one to shake our hands. After the greetings, the women served pala to the group of 30 or more children present and then we distributed the pala and beans. Frank decided that with the continued support of the MP, the larger group of children could come to the house to eat pala twice and week and the original group of five would come three times. Our ripple fed a small stream of change and hope.

The greatest part of the morning was watching the little girl – who only one week before personified a tiny exhausted old woman – laughing, squealing, and trying to walk.

It’s stunning how so many people really need so little. And, how so little means so much in certain hands and bellies.