By RACHAEL OSBORNE
Mpile Mdziniso leaned against the tree trunk, using its rough bark as a scratching post to soothe the irritation that covered his bare back.
Nurse Jessie Bohannon didn't know the little boy's HIV status, but she soon discovered that, since birth, he had been living with severe ringworm, a bumpy skin condition that caused his hair to grow in patches. He likely contracted it repeatedly through the soil.
She put her hand on his distended belly and felt worms wiggle within.
Shyly, the two exchanged sweet whispers in siSwati, the language of Swaziland, Africa. And Jessie handed Mpile a medical evaluation form. He stared down at the sheet of paper as if he could read what it said.
He looked uneasy, and I bent down to hold his hand.
TOO LITTLE RICE
At least 100 children came early each afternoon to LudzeLudze Mercy Centre in Manzini, near the tree where Mpile had his checkup, so they could eat the thick rice mixture the community elders prepared all morning over a fire in a large black kettle.
With praying hands, kids gathered, squinted their eyes shut and thanked God for the food.
The cooks poured the rice into large, white paint buckets and the children swarmed the server, pushing their way to the front of the line for fear they would not get to eat.
Volunteering with Mission of Mercy, I fed them, scooping rice into containers the kids brought — dirty plastic bowls, cracked lids and used and reused plastic bags — until I reached the bottom of the bucket. With a grin from ear to ear, each child excitedly thrust his or her container toward my spoon and, with a quick bow of thanks, ran off to eat lunch.
To my side, a 10-year-old sat with her 5-month-old sister, whom she had carried to the center on her back. A boy squatted in a patch of grass and dug his sandy hands into the lukewarm food.
Each child was focused on his or her rice, which is said to have 100 percent of the nutrition they would need for the day.
Within minutes, the rice ran out, but a line of hungry children still looked to me to feed them. The ones up front reached their tiny hands into the bucket and grabbed for the last grains of mushy brown rice.
Mpile ate standing up, balancing on the tree's protruding roots and, with a smile, messily scooped a helping into his mouth.
A SAFE PLACE
Life might seem hopeless in Swaziland, where one in three people are HIV positive and most refuse to get tested for fear that in a country crippled by AIDS they will fall victim to the virus. With the lowest recorded life expectancy in the world — just under 32 years old — an entire generation has disappeared, leaving a nation full of teens.
Despite all odds, the children have high hopes and dreams for their future, with goals of becoming English teachers, doctors and nurses.
A relief network that takes humanitarian and spiritual aid into devastated parts of southern Africa, Children's Cup partners with Christian child-sponsorship organization Mission of Mercy to work with local Swazi communities to assess areas and children facing the greatest danger.
When these locations are determined, the cumbersome process begins to establish a Care Point, or child-development center, where children will find a safe and loving place to play, learn, pray, get medical attention and receive nutritious meals.
Our team of 36 volunteers from across the United States split into three groups, each working at different centers — Lonhlupheko, New Village and LudzeLudze.
Arms loaded with supplies and curious children, my team took off one morning into the community of New Village to visit families of sponsored kids. Following the center's teachers uphill and downhill along a bumpy, rock-laden road, we stopped by a small concrete home and divided our gifts into two piles on the roadside.
A group of teenage girls looked on as we walked toward the house to share a love offering with the family. A woman stood to greet us as she held her tiny baby, Gcinekile Gudnite. The mother's expression was somber as she thanked us for the supplies and invited us to place the oil, beans, matches, soap and other items into her tiny one-room home.
SILENT CRIES
We soon discovered that sickly looking Gcinekile was 9 months old, though she looked to be about 7 weeks old. She'd had thrush for many months, the mother said in siSwati, and would not eat. And by her yellowed skin, we could tell that her kidneys were likely failing.
Karen Brennan, one of the missionary hosts with us, insisted that the mother bring her child to the Care Point, not even a mile from the home, the next morning so that Jessie could examine the bundled baby while she was there holding a clinic.
But by the following afternoon, it was too late.
Gcinekile was too weak for food, Jessie later told me, and her final cries were silent.
I don't think any of us returned to the centers the same the next day. Our glimpse of Swaziland showed life is frail.
Yet in spite of the all-too normal occurrence of death, we found rejoicing.
Young children who carry the responsibilities of adults poured into the centers throughout each day, handing their baby siblings off to us and missionaries so they could safely play and be a kid for a little while.
They danced for us and with us, we painted faces and blew up balloons and gave them our love.
On our last day at LudzeLudze, the children stood under the tree and sang a song for us:
"Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world."
And I vowed to never sing that song the same again.
E-mail Rachael Osborne at: rosborne@pressrepublican.com
