29:18

Before I came to the Africa Mercy, a friend gave me some advice. If you ever lose sight of what you're doing there (interesting choice of phrase, that), just go down to the eye tent when they take the bandages off the cataract patients. Seeing that will totally renew your faith in your mission.

I'm not quite to that point yet. (And the more babies they pile into B Ward, the less likely that is to happen.) But, since kids stay overnight after their cataract surgeries, I do get to be part of the 'eye reveals' at times. There's one in particular that I'd like to be there for.

I admitted Shidou yesterday. I greeted his mother, and in his upturned face and milky eyes, I could read Shidou's story. He's eight, and ever since he could crawl, his world has been growing steadily smaller, shapes and colours fading as the cataracts thickened in both his eyes. He was scared, and showed it in true Liberian-boy style; he wrapped himself tightly in his mother's lappa and pretended to sleep. I was busy, with meds to give, dressings to change and old men to help to the toilet. (The stories of my adventures with 84-year-old patients will have to wait. Suffice it to say that I am learning a lot over here.) So Shidou was left to himself for a couple of hours. He stayed still, shielded from the ward (probably mostly from me) by his mother's cloth.

Once things had calmed down and the baby was alseep and the papa was safely back in bed, I went over to Shidou, a bucket of lego like a peace offering in my hand. I gave him a piece. He rubbed it on his cheek, the closest thing to sight he has right now. I gave him another one, and he repeated the drill. I took his hands and guided them to click the pieces together.

His head snapped up. Blind eyes searching out my face. Serious as any world leader declaring war. I gave him another piece.

He took his time with this one. Felt it all over, making sure he knew just what he was dealing with. His little fingers explored the tower taking shape on the bed in front of him, probing for the best spot for this new brick. He locked it into place.




If you have never seen a blind child smile with his whole body, eyes included, you are missing out on what I just discovered to be one of the greatest joys in life.

(Except maybe for slow-dance shuffling across the floor of the ward with an ancient Liberian man. But, like I said, that's a story for another day.)