pause for the guitar riff

Today we had a team meeting in Beira and spent the afternoon on the relatively scabby local beach to bond as a team. Joel and I kicked a football around and I began improvising silly ways to get the ball back to him, such as turning cartwheels into the surf and flinging the wet ball roughly in his direction. This was fun but now my wrist is swollen and bruised. Show-offs must eventually pay.

That's my way of announcing that, after three uncomfortable days in bed, I am back to good health. I haven't had the soul to write lately, but there were inquiries into my silence, so I am happy to report: Yes. Alive.

Last week at the baby clinic we had a 30 year-old grandmother now caring for her newly HIV-orphaned granddaughter.

We also had a 3.8 kg one-year-old baby brought in by an auntie (that's 8 lbs). Katie - the British nurse that I interpret for to the patients - whispered to me that her son Isaac was born 3.4 kg. There are many reasons why a child may become so malnourished but often it happens if the mother has been ill for a long time, passes away, and the family lives so far out in the bush that it may take several weeks before they realize that giving the baby sugar water, or only nshima (cornmeal porridge), isn't going to cut it.

This has been a heck of a month. But, you know, a really good one too. I think its because I dove in the ocean today after a rousing game of dodge-ball, that I am able to say that.

Wait for me, Gentle Reader. I will be back.