My little blessing


You’re asleep on my chest as I gaze out the window. My hands run up and down your back to comfort you, to keep you asleep. I take note of how evident each and every one of your ribs are. It’s from the malnutrition of course, and the two weeks without your mother where you probably hardly ate. Over and over I find myself asking the question why?

Why did you mother suddenly decide to leave? According to the hospital we picked you up from, you are probably somewhere around 6 months old, but Mama Musa says she thinks you are older. Bekah agrees from the feel of your hair. But it’s hard to tell when you only weigh 5 1/2 kg.

What was your life like before this? We have no records, no files, and you can’t tell us. Did your mama take good care of you? Did she leave you alone most of the day? She certainly left you alone for two weeks before you came to us.

Two weeks went by while you sat alone, in a room. We don’t know who visited you. We don’t know who fed you, or how often, but I know whenever I feed you its like you haven’t eaten in forever and I have to make you slow down. We don’t know who changed you, except that they definitely didn’t change you often enough. I’m sorry your skin has suffered so badly, but with the medicine and creams you will get better. Just trust me, beautiful boy. You will get better.

I know I should put you in your bed but then you wake up and cry. I think about how when I arrived at the hospital to pick you up, not even knowing if you were a boy or a girl. I walked past baby after baby after baby until the nurse handed you to me. You were the only one in the whole ward crying, until she put you in my arms. I hate to hear you cry. I hate to think about how many nights you cried and cried until you fell asleep and no one heard you. And no one came to comfort you.

I struggle thinking about how your mama named you Baraka, which means blessing. She knew you were a blessing from the moment you were born and yet she chose to run away. I know that I don’t know the circumstances. I know that I don’t know anything about her, and to be honest I have a hard time not thinking poorly of her. But at the same time, maybe she thought leaving you was your only chance. Why is this a world where moms give up their children so they can have a better life without them?

God I pray for a world where mothers can raise healthy children. Where they can provide for their children. Where dads are present and supportive. Where families work, together and for each other.

Good night sweet Baraka. I’ll see you in the morning, and I promise I will keep coming to you, day after day. I will hold you and give you kisses and try to make you giggle. I will give you your medicine, even when you refuse it, because I know it will help. I will rock you to sleep until my arms get tired and then keep rocking you anyway because I know you need it. I will do my best to help you adjust to your new life, and I will never stop loving you


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  1. Pingback: Arrivals and Departures | Send Kelly

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