Untukmu Para Pengunjung

*sorry, I tried to post this on Wednesday, but obviously it didn't work!*

I have a French name, which I love, because it makes me feel very Canadian. I am an anglophone, but I did French immersion all throughout school. I don't have much occasion to use my French here, but I have been using it a lot over the past two days. I have been a French interpreter for a wonderful doctor from the Congo who came to Zim to be part of a facilitation team at Howard Hospital. It was tiring, but quite an honour to be able to interpret for him. Translating from Shona to French was slightly more tricky, but English to French was fine. Basically this team of people was gathered at the hospital for strategic planning; looking at the future, particularly in terms of the hospital's relationships with the community. As part of the work, we toured the hospital. Amazing things are happening at Howard, and we saw our friend and fellow Canadian, Dr. Paul Thistle. Again, I was crushed by the children's malnourishment ward. I talked to one mother about her tiny little baby. I asked when he had been born, assuming that it had been a couple of days ago, and that he was premature. "He just turned 6 months." I waited until I left the ward before I cried. We also went out on visits in nearby communities. The Congolese doctor and I went out with a Zimbabwean community worker and a teacher and met with a family. They have a large homestead, and a big family. We talked mainly with the head of the family. He has two wives, and his main concern is agriculture, and being able to feed his children. We asked about their hopes for the future, and they talked about having enough fertiliser to be able to grow maize so that they do not starve. We asked about what they do when they are sick, and they said they pray. "We don't believe in going to the hospital if we are sick. We don't even allow our children to be immunized. We believe if God wants us to die, we should not fight it. If it's time, it's time." A fairly fatalistic outlook on life, and yet if you know you can't afford hospital fees... I also had a really sobering conversation with one of the teachers. He said, "you know, we used to say in Zimbabwe that the worst fate was death. Now we know that the worst fate is to be alive; there's no hope because it's like you are dead, but there's no rest or peace - just hunger and suffering." Last night we came back to the city, and today, I went to go play for a music exam. I saw someone who hadn't showed up for his rehearsals. So, I was joking with him saying, "what happened to you?" "Oh, I'm so sorry, Rochelle, but it's just that I had a funeral. My youngest daughter passed away. She was 5, but anyway, that is life. I hope to do my exam next year." That's life? Your 5 year old dying should not become a part of everyday, normal life. But I guess here it is. I realized over the past 2 days why I love hearing Zimbabweans laugh. Even when I haven't got a clue about what the jokes are about, I love it. Because if you're laughing, you're finding some reason not to cry. Laughing is good for the heart. It is a challenge, but I am committed and determined to maintaining my unrelenting belief that there is always hope. Il y a toujours de l'espoir.