Athens and I run a
wound clinic at our house. Kids
and adults come to get their wounds cleaned and a bandaged for free. Most of them are not serious just
needing some ointment and a band aid.
The more serious wounds we refer to the hospital. The children usually come in a group to
our house because they are afraid to come alone. A group of seven might show up on our door step but only two
out of the seven needs a band aid.
The children show up all throughout the day, sometimes as early as 0645
in the morning.
“Lapia” they say as
they solemnly shake my hand. They
act like they are here to be tortured rather than get ointment and a band
aid. The whispering starts the
minute I pull out my plastic bag filled with different kinds of band aids. Though I can’t understand their local
language I know they are whispering about what kind of band aid I will be
using.
Their dirty little
faces break out in smiles as I smooth a Sponge Bob Square Pants band aid onto
the leg of my patient. Their
excited whispers let me know that they agree with my choice of band aid. And
when I look up I see that the other children are trying to find cuts on their
body that are band aid worthy. Pants and shirts are being lifted as they search
for some sort of wound. Soon I am surrounded by arms and legs being thrust into
my face. It’s hard to tell a child
“no” when their little face is so serious as they show me a cut that has long
ago healed. Most of the time I
give in, and put a band aid over a healed scar. The smiles on their faces as they shake my hand before they
leave makes my day so much brighter.
I stand their smiling as I watch the Band-Aid Gang run out our front
gate; their brightly colored band aids visible on arms, legs and heads.
The other part of my
morning is spent yelling at the children (some of the same children I just put
band aids on) who are stealing the limes from our trees. I can see them from the house; sneak
through a hole in the fence and run to the lime trees stuffing their shirt,
pockets and pants full of limes, and then scurrying back through the hole. One time I scared a little boy so bad
that he tossed all the 12 or so limes out of his shirt and ran as fast as he
could back through the fence to safety.
Some of the braver
children come to our door to ask if they can get some limes. I used to say yes and go back into the
house. That was until I realized
that they were taking as many limes as they could carry. As I left one day for work, Bronwyn and
I met the lime thief’s at the front gate.
These children had limes stuffed in their pants, wrapped in their
shirts, stuffed in pockets and holes in their clothing. That’s when I decided there had to be
limits to the limes they take. I
counted one boy who had 20 limes stuffed in his pants!! He could barely walk, with limes
bursting out of all the holes in his pants. We are slowly training the children to only get two limes a
day. We still get children who
come in through the hole in the fence and take limes, and I still enjoy yelling
at them as I watch them run for their lives. (Athens chases them as she yells at them in English, and
Bronwyn chases them on her motorcycle.
I have yet to try that scare tactic.)
But even our yelling
does not keep them away and now more and more children show up at the door
asking for limes. Most of them
know by now they only get two limes and will run back to the house and show me
that they have only picked two.
But even telling them only two limes does not always work. Yesterday I fished out 7 limes from a
little boy’s shirt, even after I told him he could only take two limes. As he started to walk away I almost
missed the other 5 limes he had stuffed in the back of his shirt. I yell in English at them, but always
end up smiling and laughing so it’s no surprise that they are not afraid. But it’s hard to keep a straight face
when you are digging 12 limes out of a three year olds shirt and he is standing
there smiling up at you with no shame.
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