Lokute's Story Continues...

Baby Lokute's story didn't end where I left off last time. That was only day one and this little guy had a life full of adventures. So let me tell you a little more about his story...

Lokute stayed at the hospital for a little over a week with his mom, Lucia. Everyday I went to check on him, giving mom a chance to bathe and me a chance to see how he was and give him some cuddles. His room was painfully hot for anyone who wasn't a 1 kg baby and it was torture to have to stay in that room for too long, but his mom faithfully stayed there day after day with the little heater on in "Lokute's Incubator."



Tamara and Jeremy took Lucia back to Masese one afternoon so she could see her family and tell them what was happening and bring back someone to translate so we could talk about what we were going to do. Lucia is Karamojong and her language is not very well known in Jinja, thus communication was a challenge. There was a lot of motions, face-making, and laughter whenever we tried to communicate and I'm pretty sure about 95% of what was being said was lost as we acted out our words. But alas, the wonderful Lillian came to translate and we were all able to sit down with the doctor and discuss what should be done to keep Lokute healthy. Because the cost of keeping them in the hospital would be too much and Lucia had another son at home, it was finally decided that they would have to go home. So we devised a plan for how to keep Lokute warm and healthy in his dirt hut.


Lokute's hut looked something like this (sorry it's not a great picture).

Lokute was doing well during his first week of life. We had him bundled in lots of sweaters and tiny onsies and sleepers that I altered to fit him. He was wrapped in blankets and tucked into a foam pouch. And he was holding his temperature relatively well. He even went on an adventure to the chapati stand next to the hospital to get some lunch. He was quite the hit with the locals who were quite curious as to what kind of baby I had tucked away in my roll of blankets. "He's a Ugandan baby," I'd explain. "Not a Mzungu."

They day before I was to leave, Jeremy and I went with Lucia to the village to look at her hut and speak with her and Lokute's father about how they could care for their baby. We sat on mats on the dirt floor explaining ways to keep him warm and clean. About how much he needs to eat. We explained how to use a hot water bottle (something we were hoping to find so they could keep him warm at night... though one was never found). We explained and explained again, asking for them to repeat what we'd told them. And then the father left. And when he returned, he began snorting something out of his hand.

Masese is a dark place where alcohol production is a main source of income. The people are drunk much of the time, as was the father during our teaching session. Jeremy had to restrain me from telling off the father about his drinking, reminding me that culturally it would be better if he talked to him about it. Of course, once the snorting of drugs happened, I lost it. I'm not sure exactly what I said... something along the lines of, "You're going to kill your child if you bring that stuff in the house." It was like talking to a wall. He was too drunk to even register what I was saying to him, which was probably a good thing for my sake.

And that's when the translator spoke up. "He says he beats his woman sometimes." Right there, in front of all of us, as we're teaching him how to take care of his premature baby, he tells us that he beats his woman. Jeremy and I turned to each other. "This is not going to work," he said. There was no way we were going to turn this tiny baby over to a man who loses his temper like that. I have never in my life felt that much anger towards a person as I did in that moment. Tamara appeared in the doorway at that moment, rescuing us from what we probably would have said had we been left in there with that man any longer. We emerged into the light, me trembling with anger as we quickly relayed in hushed tones to Tamara what had happened.

We left that day frustrated and angry and at a loss for what to do. Back at the hospital I sat on the bench in the courtyard contemplating what solution there was for Lokute. Then Anna called (Anna is an amazing volunteer at the children's home I was living at). She told me that Holly and William (who run the home) might be willing to let Lucia, Lokute, and the other son to come and live at the boys house until Lokute was strong enough to safely return home.

Tamara and I sat there, exhausted and angry, discussing what we could do. Then the conversation turned to the larger picture of how many other stories just like that happen in the village of Masese. (Another time I'll talk about my dream to one to get to return there and work with those mom's and babies)

To bring this extremely long story to an end, Lucia, Lokute, and his brother moved into the children's home where Anna, Emma (another volunteer), and some of the mamas took shift watching over him and ensuring that he was doing well. I haven't heard the whole story on what happened, but he deteriorated quickly and two days ago he just stopped breathing. He was a fighter and he was loved and I believe he shook up the lives of all of us who cared for him.


Lokute William
December 11, 2009 - January 12, 2010

This is an excerpt from an e-mail Jeremy sent out that I wanted to share with you...
"We just returned from Masese after burying 2 baby boys. Of course, one was baby Lokute. The other we found in the arms of a mourning mother when we arrived. His name was Joseph, a one-year old nephew to Michael and Lillian. We dug two holes side by side on the hill, and crammed between the bushes next to a pig pen to hold the ceremony. There was no making the bodies look peaceful or concern about buying a casket. The babies were placed straight in the ground, wrapped in their everyday blankets and clothed in last nights pajamas. It was quick and functional for the most part. To us, disturbingly routine. For these families, especially the mothers, this was a proper burial and they were thankful.

There was obvious strangeness in contrast to our own 'culture of death', but It was also an unusual experience in light of Karamojong culture.
The Karamojong frequently abandon their dead, yet both of these mothers struggled for the lives of their children and carefully watched over them up until they were place in the ground.

Bodies are often discarded like refuse because families have no land and the public burial ground is full. Plots cost more money than they can afford. But today, a friend of the church came forward and gave a plot for the children to be buried properly.

And the Karamojong rarely pay respect to the dead, let alone hold a God honoring service. Of course, Pastor Joseph and other men of the church jumped at the chance to lead the service and minister to the family as well as the greater community with the love and truth of Jesus.

Contrary to our fears of how they'd receive us as we arrived with Lokute's body, the family was filled with thankfulness and asked only one thing from us.... that we not forget them and return to visit them at home. Mourning with them and the larger community brought about a rare occurrence. We felt like we were 'just part of them', and We were humbled and honored to mourn with them. Afterward, Lokute's mother thanked us profusely for trying to help her baby, and for helping ensure he was given a respectful service. We can only thank our merciful God. It's so clear how He continually works for their good, even in the midst of tragedy.

God has a history of using tragedy for His glory, to open eyes , to change hearts, to prepare and launch people into Kingdom work. We pray the tragedy of these two baby boys buried in the ground would be like seeds planted, springing up to new life.

i know this sounds heavy, and it is. But we're doing really well and have great peace in Christ. Pray for Masese."

The Story of Baby Lokute

I met Tamara and Jeremy about 1 1/2 weeks before I was due to go home. They work in the village of Masese 3 (more on Masese another time), right on the outskirts of downtown Jinja. We were introduced to them because they have been planning on doing some health teaching with members of the village church so that those people can go out into the villages and teach the village members how to care for themselves. When they found out Andrea and I were nurses, they asked if we would be willing to teach a class. So, that is how we met the wonderful Tamara and Jeremy, who's introduction radically shook up our last 2 weeks in Uganda.



Just a few days after we met, I got a call from Tamara that went something like this:
"Um, we're in Masese right now at some one's hut, and she just gave birth to a very premature baby. It still has hair on it's face. What should we do?"
"How is his breathing?"
"Hold on, it's dark in here. Let me go outside."
"Do you want us to just come?"
"Yes! We'll pick you up in 15 minutes."

So out we drove to Masese where we went into a dark mud hut. Using my phone for light, I peeled back the blankets and saw this tiny boy...



His breath and his heart was slow. We couldn't even get a temperature reading on his body. We quickly realized we were going to need to take him to the hospital. So off we drove with mom and baby to Al Shafa Modern Medical Center in Jinja where the doctor listened to the babies heart for all of 2 seconds and then declared, "He's premature!" Thank you very much. I couldn't tell. Nobody took his temperature (which was 32 C... normal is 37C). Nobody checked his breathing. They just sent us into this room to care for him. He was laid on the yellow blanket and warmed by a space heater because the only incubator in Jinja was broken, though it turned out that this place was better than Jinja Hospital where they would have warmed him over a charcoal fire.



By some miracle of God, the nurse was able to start an IV of this babies tiny hand and started oxygen, which was flowing out of an adult size nasal cannula that we had to just hold by his face. And we had no idea how much oxygen we were giving him because the gauge on the tank didn't work. After we settled in and got everything set up, baby Lokute's breathing slowed to the point that we were contemplating doing CPR. I quickly rushed over to Amani (the baby home I worked at last year) to pick up some supplies, because they are very well stocked. I grabbed a baby oxygen mask, tiny hats, clothes, blankets... anything I could think of since Al Shafa had nothing. Of course, in the process of trying to retrieve these things I managed to fall off a large box and crash into the shelves of medicine, leaving a very large bruise on my butt.

By the time I got back, Lokute had improved and we equipped him with his new equipment. Tamara and Jeremy ordered pizza because none of us had eaten dinner yet. We ate it off this table....



You should have heard the laughter when we all suddenly stopped and realized where we were eating. Jeremy stood there with his elbow propped up on a stirrup munching his pizza. The next morning I laid across it eating my muffin. I bet none of you have ever eaten dinner off a birthing table. :)

We spent that night in the birthing room watching over baby Lokute, because in Uganda, nobody help you in the hospital. All night, the nurses didn't come in once to check on the baby. So Andrea and I took shifts, leaning over Lokute, watching his check move up and down, checking his temperature, making sure he was still alive. That night I didn't sleep at all. I lay on a mat on the floor for a while, but not once did I fall asleep.

By morning, Lokute was doing better. He began to suck and had his first real meal. And so we left the hospital at 7am, leaving Lokute and his mom, under the watchful eye of our friend Emma, and drove to Masese where we were due to teach our medical class that morning. And trust me, you would have loved to have sat in on that class... but that's a story for another time!