This week began the first of ten days in the field with a UNICEF vaccination team working on a measles and Vitamin A vaccination campaign. I cannot tell you how difficult it is to see so many children crying and clinging to their mothers in terrible fear. It has nearly brought me to tears myself. Yet crying is frowned upon here so I fight back the temptation even as the salty drops well up in my eyes. Instead, I try desperately to make funny faces at them so they can temporarily forget their pain and laugh at the crazy white lady from America.
At the same time, however, what is even worse is seeing countless malnourished children with swollen bellies, protruding navels, bulging eyeballs, and sunken cheeks. When holding their arms as the nurses inject them, I feel as if I could easily break their tiny arms and crush their brittle bones. As a public health worker here, I know there is not much I can do to improve the situation. The sad reality is that even though my work with the vaccination team will save thousands of children's lives, I know that many of them will die of malnutrition in a year if not sooner. I hate being so fatalistic, but what's the point of giving them hope when seeing them waste away to starvation just seems so cruel?
To make matters worse, I am haunted by the image of my friend Bebe who passed away in November. The other day there was a woman waiting to get her children vaccinated who bore an uncanny resemblance to Bebe. Her likeness in face, body, and spirit reminded me just how fragile life is here in the developing world. If only Bebe had been vaccinated against yellow fever, she might still be here today to care for her young boys and bring joy and laughter to my life every day.
Right now, I will just have to settle for the beaming smiles I see when older children express their pride in not crying when vaccinated. They quickly run away to show off their bravery for surviving the battle of the needle and go on with their carefree lives. Yet I know it will just be a matter of time before their sad faces return.
Until next time,
Janine
