the hopeful ones

It felt so comfortable this morning, coming in to work in B Ward, greeting Samson in familiar Fon, a language that still seems to slip from my tongue more easily than Ewe, despite my almost-five months here in Togo. My curious, A fon gangi a, was met by a smiling een, (Have you woken up well? Yes!) and the day was off to a good start.

The morning was filled with waiting for Samson. He snuggled under his covers, just his characteristically scarred cheeks visible above the blanket, finding it no doubt freezing on the ward compared to the tropical weather outside. In the hall, hopeful patients shuffled from one room to the next as they waited their turn to be seen by the surgeon here to screen them.

Today was one of answered prayer. We had scheduled more than seventy patients to come and be screened, but the surgeon who was supposed to be here became very ill at the last minute and was unable to travel. When it seemed that we would have to cancel this block of surgery and crush the hopes of almost a hundred people, Dr. Frank, a visiting surgeon who's been here learning how to do VVF surgery, reminded us that he's a general surgeon and would like to stay for the four weeks that were planned. All morning he examined one patient after another, and the blank pages of the schedule book were slowly filled.

I met them in the stairs as I went to my room to get my mug for some tea. They marched down, all in a line, and then, much later, planting both feet firmly on each stair, a little old Grandma in a navy blue dress printed with wild, orange flowers. When she finally reached the bottom she turned to me with a smile like a sunrise and performed a little dance for me, right there on the landing, before shuffling off to join the rest of her parade in the waiting room.

When I passed back their way, I opened the door to see them all sitting on chairs, shoulder to shoulder, eyes turned down. Waiting. Hoping. Praying.

How are you all, I called out in Ewe (a language I can't even begin to spell out in English characters), and as one, faces were turned towards me, smiles blooming all around the room as they answered together. Yes! We are fine! And then they went back to their waiting, the smiles erased before I even had time to close the door.

Oh, but there were prayers answered all over that hospital today. Each name, each diagnosis neatly printed in that book was a ticket back from the darkness, a glimmer of light in a world that had seemed so dark.

Akossiwa. Thyroidectomy
Christophe. Right inguinal hernia repair.
Salome. Excision of lipoma, left shoulder.

And in his bed in B Ward, Samson is resting quietly. The little pieces of bone placed over the metal plate in his jaw will knit together over the coming months, and he will grow strong again. His prayers, too, have been answered in the clean, white bandages covering his cheek and hip.

He is one of the hopeful ones.