Only six days to say my name

It started so innocently. I just wanted to hear my name. Shae-Shae. SHHH AAAAA EEEEEE SSSHHHHAAAEE. Was it too much to ask? Well...maybe.

As so many of you have read before, there is one special little girl here at Cradle of Love who has captured my heart. Anybody who spends anytime here could easily and matter-of-factly say "Shae and Pendo are buddies!" I'm not quite sure when it happened mutually, but it did. And I am so happy for it.

But here's the deal. She talks. Some. Actually, no, she talks a lot these days. Her utterings come out as one and two word sentences. She is quite loud and purposeful in her words. But God bless her, I have NO IDEA what she is saying. I suspect that most of her chatter is Swahili and I am just too ignorant to understand. But I want to understand. Badly, I want to understand. And I want her to say my name.

But she won't.

She finds the "sema Shae-Shae" game FAR TOO AMUSING! She giggles and puts her now chubby little hands over her mouth and her little eyes sparkle as she throws her head back in a laugh. I beg her. I conjole her. I ignore her requests. I pretend that I am crying. And you know what happens? NOTHING. She refuses to say my name. And its killing me.

For some reason, I just thought that hearing her say my name before I left would be the icing on the cake of all the hard work I, and so many others, have put into her care. I remember one really dark day in September when the feeding tube wasn't working (she kept pulling at it or gagging it up when she didn't have the strength to pull it out by hand) and she would spit out everything we put in her mouth, even water. Our nurse suggested that her survival wasn't about the nutrition alone. Pendo had lost the will to live and until she got over her depression, it really wasn't about forcing the calories. In the western world, we would have sedated her and put in a feeding tube. But here in Arusha, we don't work with those options. So, I took our nurse's words to heart and did everything I could over the next two days to get Pendo interested in the kids and the fun at Cradle. She was SO weak. She was SO depressed. But any tiny, minute about of spark that I could see in her would inspire me to push harder for her survival.

And I will admit that THE most difficult time I had with her is when I said the hardest three little words that a person could, or should ever say to a child. While holding her twisted, dehydrated, broken, and damaged body in my arms, her head against my chest, I went to place her in her crib for the night and pleaded the only thing that came to mind:

"Please don't die."

And again the next night....

"Please don't die."

I am so grateful and thankful to GOD for the blessing of Pendo. Her little life has changed mine in ways that I didn't even know needed changing. This morning as I was pondering on what to say in this blog... it hit me... of course... how could I be so stupid??? The icing on the cake is NOT whether Pendo will say my name or not. The true congratulations for my sincerest efforts in Pendo's recovery is when she leaves Cradle and goes home... and never has to come back! That is the pearl in the oyster, the summit on the mountain, or the treasure at the end of the rainbow.

Pendo's time at Cradle was about Pendo... and not me! So, she can say my name or maybe she won't. Either way, it won't change how ridiculously proud I am of her. She is such a beautiful little creature, inside and out.

I'll miss you terribly, little buddy. It has been my honor to serve you in your time of darkness and with God's help, bring you back into the light. Mabusu to you, Pendo!!!!

~Shae