Here’s a slideshow of the children at Hope Village and the volunteers who traveled from the USA this summer to work with WVI’s orphan care program. You’ll see photos of the summer events - literacy and tutoring classes, music rehearsals, the photography project, feeding, making nutritious, homemade peanut butter, game days, outings & the purchase of tons of maize for the months ahead.

The  music track is a worship song entitled “Child of God” by Kathryn Scott - from the CD “Hungry”. When I wrote asking her permission to use it, she responded immediately - and generously. ( Thank you,  Kathryn.)

Enjoy the beautiful faces of the children of Malawi. ( or for better quality, view it directly on youtube.)

Maize is life in Africa. Introduced hundreds of years ago by explorers, merchants, and slave traders, maize has become the most important crop on the continent. Whether roasted as kernels, boiled as porridge, or stirred rapidly into a stiff mixture - called “nsima” in Malawi - no meal is complete without maize in some form.

I’ve seen it in the faces of the children, as they watch the older boys take turns stirring nsima in the mammoth pot. Or as they sit silently at the tables, waiting for the last person to be served - mentally comparing the amounts of nsima on each others’ plates. Huge, steaming clods of the stiff porridge, usually two to a child, are the main event. They tear off a small piece, roll it around in their hand, and dip it into the “ndiwo” - or relish. At Hope Village, “ndiwo” always consists of chicken, beef, or beans and cooked vegetables of some sort.

The ndiwo is delicious, but it is the nsima that takes away the hunger pains and fills the stomach against the cold, hard hunger of the night - and perhaps even the next day.

Malawians take their nsima seriously. In what might be called the most culturally insensitive blog post I have ever read, a western student working in Malawi recently called nsima “the most disgusting and pointless food in the history of the world.” Some Malawians who read the post defended her right to free speech but many others called for her immediate deportation. One man threatened that he knew where she lived and another man accused her of treason When this naive young woman touched nsima, she touched the stuff that keeps millions of Africans alive.

Personally,I love nsima. Especially when my friend Fally makes her green beans and tomato dish, or fresh peas for the ndiwo. I always say I could eat that every day - and maybe I could. But I have a choice. The children - and the villagers - don’t.

Their ndiwo usually consists of a small bowl of boiled okra or boiled greens. An extended family sits on the ground around one plate of nsima and one bowl of greens - and they share.

That’s why it is such an amazing thing to our children that they get to sit at table, with individual plates and cups. They love having a defined amount that belongs to them alone. They eat huge clods of nsima, more than you would think possible - and raise their hands for seconds if there is some left over.

Sometimes the children tuck chunks of food away in little pieces of plastic to save for the evening - or to take home to a hungry relative.
Since this is a home-based care program, the children are not always at Hope Village. And they are not the only ones in their extended family who are hungry.

The Malawi government insists that there will be no food shortage this year - that even though the rains were disappointing, there is still plenty of maize in storage. Of course, the people in the villages don’t believe it - they’re worried. And they’re not just worried about whether or not the maize will run out, they worry about whether or not they can afford to buy what is there.

Maize prices have nearly doubled from last year and they’re still rising. Last year a 50 kg bag cost 1800 kwacha - about $13. This year the price is at K3500 - or $25. This is a steep increase for a typical villager who makes less than that in a month and has a large family to feed.

And this is why we recently purchased 4 1/2 tons of maize, stocking the storeroom at Hope Village to the ceiling. Now, every Saturday morning, the older girls will carry basins of maize on their heads to the nearest maize mill for processing.

They will then return with basins of snow-white “ufa” - or maize flour, ready to be made into porridge or nsima. And a portion will be sent home with the children weekly - for those in-between days when they are fending for themselves in the village.

In Africa, maize is life! Baba, Lloyd, Missi and all the kids of Hope Village say “thank you”!

Thanks to a friend who has just given me me a heads up, I realize my error in not writing an update on my 13-year-old daughter’s recovery after her illness in Malawi. Sorry! Here’s what happened…..

The last I wrote about this, Hana had just been on anti-biotics for 24 hours and we were hopeful for a quick recovery. Unfortunately, she got much worse before she got better.

The hallucinations increased - she heard voices in the attic and thought people were hiding under her bed. She was disoriented and confused to the point of being unable to take a shower. She kept turning on the water and walking into the living room, unsure what to do next.

And she was afraid - which is not like Hana. She was very afraid. She started having heart palpitations; she thought she was losing her mind. And her behavior was erratic, to say the least.

One day at Hope Village, as the choir sat in a circle during a break, Hana suddenly crossed the room and dumped a bottle of Fanta on the head of one of her friends. Something was going on in her head that had nothing to do with reality - she was convinced the boy had done something to her and she was retaliating. But a healthy Hana, while entirely capable of wrestling, chasing, spraying with water, tickling - would never waste food or drink in Malawi when thirsty kids are standing outside the gate. Of course, the choir kids thought this was hilarious, and the little boy was very gracious - promising to get her back, but they were all worried about her too. They knew she wasn’t well and in their world, people just die.

The days were difficult, but the nights were worse. For three nights straight, I didn’t sleep as I applied cool cloths to her head, read scripture to her, and prayed over her. Every hour or so, she would spring straight up in bed, and start singing every worship song she could think of. This was was how she battled the fear.

I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t improving. I went on the internet and googled Cipro to see if some of the symptoms could be side effects from the anti-biotic - that in itself scared me to death. But I still had no idea what was happening to my child.

Day after day, we continue working with the children and Hana came with us to the village, but she couldn’t function. Then one day, while we were at the immigration office, waiting to talk to the boss about a visa problem, a miracle happened.

There was one other man waiting in the office, an East Indian gentleman. He stared at us for a few minutes before he asked, “what’s wrong with your daughter?” I told him that she had been very ill and we were just trying to get home. He said “She’s badly dehydrated.”

Amazed that he could tell what was wrong by looking at her, I said “yes, that’s what the doctor said.” The man then asked me if she was on ORS - oral rehydration salt therapy. I told him we didn’t know about this, the doctor had not prescribed anything but Cipro and drinking.

But the man told me to run to the nearest pharmacy and start Hana on it immediately. He said ” it’s a Malawian thing” that saves children’s lives. When you get this badly dehydrated all of your electrolytes - potassium, sodium, chloride, bicarbonate - are depleted.

I thanked him and started her on ORS within the hour. I went back online and did some research on dehydration and electrolytes - and there were all of Hana’s symptoms. I also found out why she was completely paralyzed that first night when she woke up, burning with fever: potassium depletion. Apparently, when you reach this stage, you’re in danger. They recommend calling 911.

Slowly, but surely, Hana began to improve as she sipped the salty tasting solution throughout the day. And every time she said something loopy, I gave her a banana. I don’t know if that helped, but it made me feel like I was doing something. On her last day at Hope Village with the children, she was finally able to run around with them for a bit - but not long. She just didn’t have the strength, but at least she was coming back to her senses.

The trip back to the US wasn’t easy for her - Malawi to Johannesburg to New York to Washington D.C. to Cleveland - alot of airports. As she clutched my hand tightly, I carried both of our backpacks, guiding her on and off of the various planes. When we finally landed in Cleveland, her Dad met her with a big bottle of Gatorade, the first of many waiting for her in the frig. Over the next several days, as she hung out with her brother and sisters, she cried with both relief and sadness. Relief to be in her own home, recovering, her mind beginning to function again. Sadness because she was so sick the last two weeks in Malawi, she was unable to do the things she wanted to with the children. Sadness because she already missed her Malawian family and friends.

Looking back, I realize Hana had been righting dehydration on and off throughout the summer. There were a couple of other times when she became disoriented and nervous and complained of dizziness - she just wasn’t herself. I just didn’t know what was happening and Hana is such a strong girl - a healthy eater, an athlete, and a big water drinker. But as the doctor explained, the African sun in winter is deceptive and there is zero humidity. You don’t even realize the moisture is leaving your body.

It took about a week, for the heart palpitations, nervousness and dizziness to completely go away. But now Hana is Hana again - swimming two hours a night with her swim team, reading non-stop, and pontificating about what she reads. She has just finished two C.S.Lewis books - The Screwtape Letters and the Great Divorce - treating me to a rousing discussion I could barely keep up with.
She’s baaaaaack - and I am so very very grateful.

I could be convinced that the man in the visa office was an angel in disguise. But, at the very least, he was an answer to the desperate prayers of an anxious mother and father. I’ve seen God heal in many different ways over the years. For us, our miracle came when we walked into an immigration office at just the right time on just the right day at the same time as just the right man who had the answers we needed. Coincidence?

I don’t believe in coincidence.

Thanks to everyone who prayed for Hana during this difficult time.
Those prayers kept us. No doubt.

Technically, it’s called a high performance blender - which is a bit like calling Michelangelo a house painter.

I started using the machine itself a few years back when my dad was diagnosed with cancer. As he suffered through chemotherapy and his appetite waned, we made delicious whole-food juices and hot soups. Next to prayer, it was the best way we could help. According to their website - “Vita Mix processing breaks open the cell walls to release maximum nutrition from whole foods, more than you can get any other way.” Maximum nutrition - that sounds good to someone fighting to regain their health and strength.

This year, the CEO of Vita Mix, John Barnard, donated a custom-made machine for Hope Village Malawi to help the children in our home-based orphan care program. These children come to Hope Village a few times a week. On Saturdays, they eat a hot meal of nsima, chicken or beans, and vegetables.

Mid-week, they eat biscuits, fruit, and peanut butter sandwiches. On the days that the children eat in their villages, food is often scarce. Breakfast is out of the question. Those who are lucky enough to attend school, work on empty bellies. At lunch time, they may have nsima and a small amount of boiled okra for dipping. Usually, dinner is the same. Sometimes the children eat only once a day, other times, not at all. One boy told us that they have gone as long as three days and nights in the village without food. To combat this, WVI recently bought 4 tons of maize, which will be portioned out in weekly amounts for the children to take home. The problem is, there are alot of mouths to feed at home. And as orphans, they are at the bottom of the pecking order.

The other problem is when the children do have something to eat, it is not necessarily nutritious. Some of my Malawian friends swear that nsima is one of the most nutritious foods in the world - and personally, I happen to love it. But the truth is, nsima made from maize flour and water is high in carbohydrates and not much else to grow healthy young bodies and minds. But you make the most out of what you have.

And this is where the Vita Mix machine comes in. To make the most of our midweek meals, we decided to produce homemade peanut butter. At first, the boys were a bit skeptical - groundnuts need to be pounded into flour, putting your whole back and strong arms into it.

How could this little machine do the same thing? But they decided to humor us and give it a try - Malawi style. Which means, everything is done in community, making the work easier - and much more fun.

We started out with a trip to the village market to buy fresh groundnuts. The harvest wasn’t great this year due to disappointing rains, but groundnuts are still easy to find and fairly inexpensive.

Back at Hope Village, some of the kids shell the nuts, and others start the fire. Pan after pan of nuts is roasted, then dumped steaming hot into a flat basket where the paper-thin skins are rubbed off.

Next the boys take turns - under close supervision - using the Vita Mix. They watch with wonder, as the nuts are ground into a thick, creamy butter. They can’t believe it when the peanut butter comes out warm. They really can’t believe it when we tell them that you can make hot soup and frozen ice cream in the same machine.

As they scoop the finished product into clean jars, the boys lick their fingers, the container,and lastly the spoons - declaring it the most delicious peanut butter they have ever tasted. And, of course, wishing that they had nisma to go with it.

They start thinking like the young business men they are - or that they have to be to survive. Let’s see… 4 full jars from one batch of peanuts - how much did it cost for each jar? What else can this little machine do? What else could we make?

They want to start a business. And who knows? They just might.

But for today, we’re just thrilled that children who are hungry - like little Missi - will have a healthy meal, chock full of protein and vitamins and minerals. Thank you Vita Mix Corporation!

NOTE: All pictures, except for the Vita Mix machine, Dorika pounding groundnuts, and Missi with the balloon, were taken by 13-year-old Greshan - a young man in our orphan care program. Greshan participated in the photography project this summer. Like all the children, this was his first time to use a camera. To see more of Greshan’s photos, go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/22877141@N02/sets/72157607293173109/

Greshan, the photographer, roasting corn for his younger brother, Bernard.

Village children are resourceful when it comes to toys and games. Old plastic bags, scraps of paper and tape become soccer balls; rocks become jax, long strips of thin plastic tied together become a jumping game, plastic bottles and bent wire become elaborate cars and trucks. Bottle caps, sticks, mud - all useful from recreation. Of course, kids in the west cut up refrigerator boxes and make forts out of dead leaves - but the difference is the little plastic toy aisle at the local Drug Mart or the huge Toys R US around the corner. Few African kids have any other choice.
So when a group of women from Minnesota decide to make dolls for each young child and every girl in the Chifundo’s Basket program, they are giving a gift of joy.

Sue Berglund - an RN who has previously served as a WVI volunteer in Malawi - was the mastermind behind the doll project. One year she arrived in Malawi with dozens of handmade fleece jackets for the school children - and dozens of handcrafted Chichewa coloring books. She also gathered a group of talented women to create a stunning quilt that now hangs in the Hope Village church, stretching from ceiling to floor.

This year, it was dolls. Beautiful, hand-crafted dolls - boy dolls and girl dolls complete with babies on their backs, decked out in brightly colored clothing. Each doll has beads threaded into tufts of hair - beads that have meaning. These black, red, white, gold and green beads represent the colors of the wordless book - a tool that is used around the world to teach the truth of the gospel to children and adults alike. And tucked inside a hidden pocket on each doll’s tummy, is a colorful laminated booklet, written in the local language, that tells the whole story of God’s love for them.

The day comes to distribute the dolls and Naomi - a team member from Minnesota - does the honors. After the raucous clapping, screaming and bouncing subsides - she begins to pass them out, one at a time. The kids’ faces are priceless - a combination of joy and utter disbelief. You can read their thoughts: A doll of my very own? I can take it home? It’s mine?

Of course, the older boys can’t take a doll. ( And “older” here is 13) They tell us that they wouldn’t make it out of the village without getting beaten up if they were seen carrying a doll. Thankfully, we have something for them - a little ninja-looking tool thing that they seem delighted with.

As the kids prepare to leave for home, the younger boys hug their dolls tightly and the girls wrap them onto their backs. The give them names (Edwin names his “Uncle Ken”) and carefully brush the ever-present dust off of the black cloth.
Some of the children who participate in our summer photography project bring back pictures of themselves with their dolls at home - a splash of color in a dreary mud house.

And a gift of love - from Minnesota to Malawi.

I hate to shop. It is a special challenge to shop for my 13 year old daughter who knows exactly what she likes - which seems to be anything I don’t like. Shopping for one adolescent overwhelms me.

But recently I went shopping here in Malawi -for 41 kids. Thankfully, I wasn’t alone - Loveness, Wapu, Hana, and Ken shared the joy.

Early one morning we invaded the Pep shop - which is sort of a mini-Woolworth’s - armed with a list of estimated shoe sizes, and some very suspicious measurements for boys clothing. For hours we counted, and re-counted kids on the list. We spread shoes all over the floor, organized by size. (The sizes are European, which is more than a little confusing.) We made our best guess and then moved on to underwear and socks - as Wapu and Ken tried to find pants and shirts to fit 22 boys.

This shop doesn’t have all the sizes that we need, but helpful employees offer to run to another shop to plunder their stock. We decide to buy backpacks for all 41 kids, sorting them by size, color and design. At the end of our shopping trip, a huge, overflowing box is stuffed into the van and a grateful store manager gives us a blanket and two plastic food storage sets as thank you gifts.

That evening, we clutter the floor as we sort through the piles. The longer I stare at the 41 pairs of shoes, shoes, the larger they become in my eyes. I soon convince myself that nothing will fit, that every shoe is too big, every pair of pants too small. But nothing can be done right now, so we begin to stuff items in the new bags. I’m glad that we bought and distributed the dresses for the girls a couple of weeks back - that makes our job tonight a bit simpler.

But at the end of the night, bulging backpacks lean against the front door, ready for the next day.

That’s the shopping part - now for the joy.

We arrive at Hope Village with two huge boxes and when we show them what we brought, they explode - yelling, whistling, clapping, stomping their feet. None of them have ever owned a backpack before.

The boys dash to one of the schoolrooms to try on their new clothes, while the girls excitedly try on their new shoes. Unbelievably, everything fits. every shoe, every pair of pants.

Though “guesstimate-shopping” for 41 kids is not easy - these kids are easy to shop for. If it almost fits, they are grateful. If it is warm, they are grateful. If it has no holes or stains they are grateful. And today they are much more than grateful. Unable to contain their joy, they dance joyfully around the room in a large circle.

Wapu, Hana and I agree - this is one of the sweetest moment of our lives. And if you have ever given to Chifundo’s Basket (WVI’s orphan program fund) you are part of this moment. This is how your money is spent - on food, clothing, shoes, blankets, soap, medical care, school supplies, education - and moments of joy for children like Chisomo and Baba.

Hana has been sick for some days now. As I write this early in the morning, she sleeps fitfully next to me after yet another difficult night. While I have strong faith in God, I admit I’ve experienced some moments of terror. I’m human, after all - and when my kids suffer, I suffer.

When Ken left us on Saturday afternoon, Hana wasn’t herself. I thought she was just homesick, missing her Dad. But in the middle of the night she wakes up screaming for me. She can’t move her arms or legs, her tongue is white and swollen and her jaw clamped tight. I need no thermometer to know that her fever is way too high - her face burns to the touch & she is delirious. She is convinced that a man is under her bed and begs me to protect her.

As I pray, I rub her limbs and her jaw; I talk soothingly to her and finally haul her to a sitting position. She is able to take water and ibuprofen. What do you do in the middle of a Saturday night in Malawi when your child is ill? There is no 911, no ambulance minutes away. We’ve heard nothing but horror stories about the central hospital - from the administrators, themselves - and the only private clinic we’ve ever used is closed until Monday. There is no 24 hour drug store, and if there was, I wouldn’t know what to buy.

It is hard to control my mind - which tropical nightmare of an infection could this be? We took her for a malaria test last week because she had chills and headache - but that came out negative. She has not been herself - confused, afraid. What could this be?

Weak and bright-eyed, she begins to sing - “the joy of the Lord is my strength, the joy of the Lord is my strength.” And I sing with her, choking back tears. I coax her into bed with me and she falls asleep for an hour or so before waking in terror. She is delusional -she’s hearing voices.

It is Sunday morning and - except for prayer - I have no idea what else to do. I have the private number of a Malawian doctor that we have worked with in the past, but he isn’t available. So I pray, and force water, tylenol and ibuprofen down her all day to keep the fever at bay. Some people believe prayer alone is enough. I believe that everything belongs to God - science as well as the supernatural - and it is at His command. So I pray that He will use whatever means He chooses to heal my daughter. Joseph and Loveness come to pray for her in the evening and she makes it through the night.

On Monday I take her to the clinic only to find that there are no doctors there today. Another long day of confusion, disorientation, fever - and another night of deliriums. She wakes at 3:00 am and begins to sing - anything she can think of. She sings songs from One Story ( an original stage show that she was part of), she sings worship songs, she makes up songs to scripture. She opens her Bible and comforts herself with Psalms as I merely agree with her - grateful that she already knows where to run when she’s in trouble. We pray until dawn breaks and she falls back into another fitful sleep. listening to her father’s music on her ipod.

I cannot sleep.

First thing Tuesday morning, we arrive at the ABC clinic and I’m grateful to see my favorite doctor - the man who treated Wapu when his malaria was so dangerous, and Chikoso with his staph infection. A nurse friend calls Hana’s name and soon we are in the exam room. His manner puts us at ease as we talk about Hana - about how she took her SATs this year as a 7th grader. He is a Duke graduate and tells us that they have summer programs for gifted children - we should check it out.

He asks questions - fever, delusions, disorientation, confusion, dizziness, headache, stomach pain - and then e sends her for blood work and other tests. It takes three nurses to get blood from her little veins -but they are kind and compassionate and finally, successful. The doctor tells us the good news first - it is not malaria. Though we cover her with bug spray, clothe her in long sleeves and pants at dusk, and wrap her in a mosquito net at night - she is covered in bites anyway. But she also faithfully takes her malarone and it is doing its job.

But she is dehydrated and has an infection. He prescribes a strong antibiotic and tells her to drink, drink, drink. He explains that the African sun is dangerous for us in the winter, because we don’t realize how strong it is. There is no humidity here and the sun sucks the moisture right out of every living thing. But, unlike me, Hana is a big water drinker - I’ve never had to coax her - so dehydration never crossed my mind.

She’s only been on the antibiotic for 24 hours, so there is little change yet. I know she will recover soon, though. I’m grateful for God’s loving care and comfort - and for providing doctors from Duke and medicines from the west.

But as I have lain awake in the dead of these many nights, my heart has grieved with the millions of village mothers who love their children as much as I love mine. Who awake to find their children burning with fever, dehydrated from diarrhea, screaming in terror.

Ten years ago I sat in an airport lounge with the head physician from the central hospital in Blantyre. It was my first trip to Malawi and I was heading home full of faith and love and broken-heartedness over the suffering I had seen. This man was heading home for a much-needed rest. When I asked him about the state of health care in Malawi, he shook his head and sighed. He told me that 600 children come into his hospital every day and they put them in two categories: this one has a chance to survive, this one doesn’t.

The government is working hard to educate the public on issues like hygiene and clean water and mosquito nets.They have distributed thousands of free mosquito nets only to find them being used on gardens to protect them from pests - instead of the children. What’s the sense of have a malaria-free child only to have her die of starvation because your garden failed? The government is also working hard to eliminate child labor and child abuse, to give children a better life. It’s doing what it can, but the problems run deep in the traditional beliefs and practices of the various tribes.

The doctors here work hard, too. - at last count there were only 103 doctors for a country of 12 million. So I don’t know how much difference a decade has made for the children deep in the villages - where perhaps the nearest local clinic is 10 km away on foot. Much of the time, they don’t even attempt to go to the clinic - the illness is blamed on witchcraft and potions or herbs are purchased from the local witchdoctor. The children wear witchcraft charms on their bodies in a fruitless effort to protect them from these unseen evils.
But survival is difficult. Children just die in their grieving mothers’ arms.

These past days and nights I have been able to imagine the terrors of these mothers and the suffering of their children. I thank God for every medical professional who has ever given their life and time here in Malawi. I thank God for every donation of supplies, medicines, equipment. I thank God that our clinic at Hope Village is on the verge of full registration with the health ministry and will soon become fully functional - another place where village mothers can bring their sick children.

Most of all I am grateful that God is not distant - He is a God who sees, and cares, and loves. And through every life experience - if we pay attention - He teaches us to see and care and love.

Ok, the title is more than a bit misleading. I held a flashlight now and then. I smiled and patted the kids’ legs, encouraging them with words like - Osadandaula! Osaopa! Kulimba mtima! Osalira! Ukuchita bwino! (Don’t worry, don’t be afraid, have courage, don’t cry, you’re doing a good job!) - while I cringed and flinched and clenched my jaws until my own teeth ached.

I’ve already made it clear that I’m a dental coward. I don’t even show up at my own root canals let alone someone else’s. But when my dentist-who-is-strangely-enough-my-friend came to Malawi recently, I spent several days watching him work.

Dan Camm is the most gentle dentist on the planet - but a needle is a needle is a needle. For me, any visit with Dan in the US is preceded by high doses of nitrous oxide administered by his understanding and compassionate staff. (Translated, this means they know I’m nuts, but they forgive me for it.) I’ve never even seen the instruments he uses - except that one time when I opened my eyes in a daze to see Dan standing over me with a huge clawed hammer. I had once, mistakenly - and quite publicly - remarked that he banged on my teeth with a little hammer. So on my next visit, Dan decided to clear up the confusion by showing me what a hammer really looks like. Other than that, I’ve never seen the needles, the drills, the pokey metal scraper things.

I hear a soothing voice say ,”you’re going to feel a little pinch.” Even in my addled state I know it’s much more than a little pinch, but hey - who cares? Just breathe…

Now my innocence is gone. I’ve seen it all - the size of the needle, the drills and the pokey metal scraper things. It’s going to take more than nitrous to get me in that chair again. A tranquilizing dart, maybe - the kind they use on the elephants at Mvuu Camp when they want to move them to another park.

But - enough about that. Dan and Donna Camm both came to bless these kids and everyone they came in contact with - and that’s just what they did. On a Saturday morning, Dan examines all 40 kids, while Donna - who has also worked in a dental office - takes notes on each child. Only a few of them have ever had their teeth checked.

They watch with nervous interest, counting aloud with Dan as he numbers each tooth. One of the girls has a large piece of metal jammed between her teeth. But the great majority of them have perfect teeth - white, strong and straight. They swear it’s the sugar cane - they claim that the tough fiber cleans and strengthens them.

Eight of the kids need more work than can be done at Hope Village. Thankfully, Francis - the dental therapist at ABC clinic - offers the use of his office to Dan. When Francis treated little Ireen back in June, I forwarded his list of much-needed equipment and supplies to Dan - who was able to bring everything requested and more. So Francis and his assistant, Annie, are more than willing to help us out.

Over the course of several days, Dan drills and fills, cleans and extracts (one older boy has eight extra teeth that have to come out) - until all the kids are done. He also fills a cavity for Francis, performs a root canal on one of the clinic nurses, and treats a man in our neighborhood who just shows up at the gate. Every patient is so grateful for his care - but I know that both Dan and Donna count it a privilege to be here.

During a two week period, they treat wounds, make sandwiches, teach literacy, play games and pass out hugs. Donna purchases dish towels, pot scrubbers and liquid dish soap - a simple act that brings such joy to the kids. Now they all want to do the dishes.

She also blesses a group of village women, giving needed supplies - but more importantly, giving herself. And like the other team members that came in June and July - the Camms left their mark in this place and returned home with full hearts and a new perspective on life.

But now Dan is gone and Bernard decides to have a loose tooth - and it hurts. He wants it out. I can’t find the hammer, so I wiggle and jiggle - and then call for my husband. I assure Bernard that Uncle Ken is the best tooth-puller in the world. I maintain that he pulled all of our kids’ teeth, even though Ken remembers it differently. No matter, I’m not pulling the child’s tooth. Like a good assistant, I stand at the ready - fresh gauze, orajel, and water cup in hand. A couple of good yanks dislodges the tooth, which we toss into a small ziplock bag for Bernard to take home.

A few minutes later, however, Bernard is outside trying to throw the bagged tooth onto the clinic roof. Wapu ( who also has perfect teeth and won’t let me forget it) explains the African version of the tooth fairy story: a child throws the extracted baby tooth onto the roof so the crows can find it - only then will the new tooth grow in. So this is a serious issue and Bernard looks worried. Several older boys join the effort, but the bag keeps fluttering back to the ground. I suggest they forget the bag and just toss the tooth. It is my final act as a dental assistant. And I mean final.

It’s been a while since my last post. We’ve had internet problems and/or electricity problems for the last week. But tonight the lights finally came back on - thanks to the electric company workers that spent all day working on the lines. The server came back up - thanks to the guys at Malawi Net. And the huge rat in the kitchen has gone to rodent heaven - thanks to the three amigos and their weapons of choice.

So we’re sitting here, enjoying the lights, watching a traditional dance program on TV Malawi (our sole station) - when Ken yells from the kitchen, “uh…Wapu?” Wapu runs into the kitchen and yells “Omali!” The next thing we hear is scuffle,scuffle, bang, thump, bang, scuffle -curiosity gets the best of me. Tentatively, I crack the kitchen door - all the cupboard doors are open and the guys are rustling bags in the storage room. The rat is no more; they’re checking to see if he brought friends. How big was it?, I ask. Thiiiiissssss BIG! The guys spread their hands wide - a little too wide.

I’ve seen alot of rodents lately - upclose and personal. In a word, mousekebabs - or “mbewa”, as they’re called here. These are mice that are gutted, boiled in salt water, then impaled on sticks - teeth, tail and hair included - and sold on the roadside for your convenience.

Not everyone likes mbewa, of course. The predominantly-muslim Yao tribe won’t touch them. But most of the village kids love mbewa - they hunt mice in the bush and consider it a good day when they’ve tucked a few away in their pocket. Now, I’m a vegetarian. If I wasn’t, the sight of mbewa would be enough to convert me. But then I’m a privileged westerner, with all the choices that go along with that. I can choose what to eat or what not to eat.

In the villages, hunger is real. If you live on one meal a day of nsima and greens - you eat for survival. When our kids come to Hope Village, they enjoy a heaping plate of chicken, beef or beans along with their nsima and vegetables. On other days, they are grateful for any food they can find.  It’s all a matter of perspective. The mega-rat that invaded our kitchen might be seen as a life-saving blessing in someone else’s house. I try to remember that when the mbewa-sellers come knocking.

But now it’s late and I’m heading to bed. Right after I close the kitchen door.

Though the kids have spotted airplanes high in the sky, they have never been to an airport. So when my husband recently arrived in Malawi, along with Dan and Donna Camm, we used it as an occasion for a special field trip. The kids have a choice between wearing their WVI t-shirts or their concert outfits - and they opt to dress up. So one day at Hope Village, we criss-cross rope from the school building, to the van, to the front gate. As we wash the clothes - a skirt, blouse, and headwrap for the girls and shirt and pants for the boys - I take care to keep them organized according to the name on the hanger. But as in most things here, everyone chips in to help - and soon Missi’s small pants hang next to Kondwelani’s shirt and I have no idea what belongs to who.

Piles of black shoes tumble out of tagged bags, and the kids take great care in cleaning them. It’s fun hearing the conversations as they work- stories abound.

“I hear if you hold your hand up to a plane as it’s taking off, you’ll stick to it. Planes are magnetic. It’ll pull you high into the sky.”

“I hear if you get too close, you’ll just get electrocuted.”

The stories worry the young ones, but everyone is willing to take the risk - they’re excited about the outing. At the end of the day, we have an incident to deal with, so we ask the older guys to gather the clothes from the line, neatly so as to avoid wrinkles, and put them in the van. We’ll take them home and touch them up, we think. Little did we know that by the time the clothes would make it to our house, every piece would be badly wrinkled, leaving us 200 pieces of clothing to iron.

Fortunately, some of the older guys come over to help. By the time they leave at 5pm, we still have 7 hours work ahead of us.

Yet by early morning all the clothes are basically wrinkle-free and we head to Hope Village to help the kids get ready. One by one they enter the gate - barefoot and many of them in rags. And one by one they change before our eyes. I sit on the clinic steps and place band-aids on every single heel, under the shoe - to make sure we have no blisters today. Thirty minutes later they cllmb on the bus, ready for anything. Loveness rides on the bus with Hana and me, and Joseph and Wapu take the van with several of the boys. On our bus, the kids sing all the way to the airport - about a 30 minute drive.

When we arrive at the airport, we meet all kinds of new challenges - public toilets, the stairs to the observation deck. The kids have never seen steep stairs and walk tentatively and carefully up and down them - slightly awkward in their stiff leather shoes. Once we reach the top, some of the braver ones edge their way to the railing. Others sit or stand safely behind a row of plastic chairs, watching the sky for the first sign of a plane in a slightly worried way.

We soon find out that it’s illegal to take pictures at the airport, so we can’t show you everything that happened. But the kids were so amazingly well-behaved - no fighting, no running around, People around them were amazed and kept asking about them. They wanted to hear them sing - but this wasn’t allowed either inside the airport. We’d have to move the party outside for that. But for now, a round of Fantas and Cokes and packages of biscuits make the wait more enjoyable.

The flight is an hour late, but in the meantime, the kids watch a Kenyan flight land. The little ones are relieved to find out that they don’t really stick to the plane like magnets. When our flight does land, Missi freaks out when it taxies down the run way and out of sight. Unaware that is will circle back. Missi cries “Uncle Ken just got here and he’s leaving again!?!” But finally they see him get off the plane with their soon-to-be friends, Dan and Donna, and started waving frantically. Even from a distance I can see the shock and delight on Ken’s face - he had no idea we were bringing all the kids to the airport.

As the passengers moved into passport control and customs, the kids navigate the stairs and position themselves in front of the exit door. As they wait patiently, people come to inquire: - “Is this Watoto? (an orphan choir from Uganda that tours the world”) No, I say - but they are an excellent choir. I keep pointing to Joseph and Loveness Masambuka - telling people that they are the Malawian directors. A woman waits an hour and half, video camera in hand, to hear the kids sing, but we are still waiting for Ken a(nd the guards watch us carefully to make sure we don’t burst into song.) His luggage actually arrived days before he did. And now he has to wait for someone to find the key to the lost luggage room. When a man does find the keys then he has to wait for the guy who has the authority to open the lost luggage room. They finally let him leave without his luggage and he plows into a sea of happy kids.

We move to the parking lot for a mini-concert of welcome - then we climb back on the bus and head back to Hope Village for chicken dinners. I’m thinking it would be a great idea for them to change before they eat, but they wear their beautiful outfits until the last possible minute. They are now stuffed back in bags, and will need to be washed, hung, and ironed before our tour to Monkey Bay in August. But it is worth every minute of work.

As the day comes to an end, we all sit on the grass together to worship and pray. The kids will have lots of stories to tell around the villages fires tonight. And Missi, who for weeks has been nursing an old burn wound to show Uncle Ken, will sleep well tonight - with a belly full of chicken and rice and the knowledge that the world is a little less dangerous than he had imagined.