A Layne Post
There we sat under the shade of a large tree. It still astonishes me the reprieve shade can bring amidst the hottest of days. The grass poked my legs, and I kept shifting to keep comfortable. There she sat with a small piece of cardboard beneath her, crutches to her side.
She asked about my daughter, forgetting her exact name. I reminded her with a smile, “Anaya. Her name is Anaya.” We chatted about Anaya’s energy and desire to explore, how quickly she has grown. My easy next question: Do you have children? She responded, “I had two.” She went on to explain how she lost her first when he was 8 months old. “Was it malaria?” I asked. She paused a second before responding, “Yes. Yes, it was malaria.” (Perhaps she didn’t really know, perhaps I put words into her mouth. One day I’ll get better at asking questions.) Her second son is still living, but he’s grown now.
“The time for suffering has come,” she said resolutely. She told me how she had lived a very healthy life, never spending time at the hospital. Now when people call for her she must tell them, “I am still at the hospital.”
At home, in the northern province of Tete, she had fallen sick. She had become very weak, even her eyesight was close to gone. She left her entire family and all she knew, and upon arriving at the hospital here in the capital city, she was diagnosed with cancer. The doctors promptly decided that she needed to have her leg amputated, and the surgery was done.
Without much change of emotion she went on to explain that since leaving her home to come to the hospital for treatment, her husband had taken another wife and moved her into their home. She wasn’t sure what would happen when she went back.
Stunned.
You see, I know this is not terribly uncommon, and in many circles here in Mozambique it is not really considered wrong. But here I was looking at this woman as she told told me her story. I just can’t get my head around it, really, I can’t. There was not anger in her voice. There were no tears that fell as she reported the semi-recent news. This is just life, and life is difficult.
I thought about how I would respond to it all… cancer, losing a leg, husband taking another wife. I think I would want to lay down a die. I think I would be swallowed up in my own tears unable to move. I would have little strength, if any, to keep fighting this cancer, to endure Chemo, to want life. I didn’t say much right then, besides, “That is difficult. I am sorry.”
Here she sat in front of me, no left leg, but body and eyes strong, seemingly full of health. I marveled at the recovery, and we went on to praise God for her life. I encouraged her that the Lord still had plans for her, that he had spared her for a reason. I told her about the strength I saw in her, not only physical, but spiritual as well. She has found a deep hope, a reason to live, a reason to fight.
She lightly laughed about how she fell in the bathroom the other day. She told me how her arms get tired from her crutches, and she has to get pain medication for that. Does that stop her? No. She was sitting out front, downstairs, on a piece of cardboard, under the shade of a large tree.