Lately, I’ve been doing work with a Community based health care program run by the district hospital. Every day, they drive to a different community- in the middle of nowhere- and offer mobile clinics for epileptics, traditional birth attendants (midwives), mothers with infants, and other groups in need. I went to an epileptic clinic because I thought I learned about epilepsy, but I ended up learning so much more.

A three month old infant was brought in by two women. The woman in her mid thirties was carrying the infant, and the other woman looked no more than seventeen. The problem on the surface was that the infant had epilepsy and needed medication, but a quick look deeper revealed vast information.

The seventeen year old girl was actually the mother of the infant, and this girl was also severely mentally handicapped. The mother/ grandmother of the two was trying to get the infant help. I thought the infant was wearing a very baggy sweatshirt, but upon further investigation I realized it was a very small t-shirt. That is how small and malnourished this baby was. The seventeen year old mother only fed the baby porridge, which is just corn flour and water. The baby therefore lost its appetite, and it’s legs didn’t look like they’d ever be functional.

The nurse I was working with whispered to me, “Look at how pale she is.” This may sound dumb, but I never would use the word pale to describe a black person. But as I looked at this helpless child, I then understood what she meant by pale. This baby’s face was pale, and there was no other word to describe it. Her humongous eyes stared back at me, and I realized that her eyes were probably the only normal sized body part she had.

And there was even more of a back-story. The seventeen year old’s father beat her constantly, so the girl saw her baby as her only way to control anything. She therefore would not allow her mother to assist her in raising the child in any way. This epileptic and malnourished infant also had a condition where her skull sutures and fontanelles looked sunken in, which is a sign of dehydration. The mother refused to bring the child to the hospital for fear of having the child taken away. The nurse finally convinced her to make an appointment for next week, but only time will tell if they come.

As we were driving away, I caught a final glimpse of the trio. The grandmother was buying food on the side of the road, and the seventeen year old mother was sitting on the muddy ground leaning against the dispensary, breastfeeding her infant. She had bare feet, torn clothes, but a very pleasant look on her face and happily waved to me goodbye. I may never see her again, but I will always remember her.