“Ruth – One Girl Behind the Statistics”

As I sat listening to the Ugandan woman preach, I noticed a deep, gurgling cough. My eyes scanned the crowd for the source of the coughing, but I was unable to see who it was coming from. As the cough continued, I noticed a small body curled up on the dirt floor. The little form captivated me. I started wondering what it would be like to be this person. The cough continued to stand out to me above all of the noises going on around me.

After the service, I urgently wanted to meet this little child. I found it strange that no one else was taking notice of her. She didn’t seem to belong to anyone, and no one seemed concerned about her. As the room emptied, panic started to creep up in me.   I wanted to scream, “Wait!!! Where are you all going? Whose little girl is this?!”

But I knew that no one would understand my language. I grabbed someone to translate as the last few women were walking out the door. I asked her to find out who was responsible for this little girl.

During the process of trying to figure out who this little girl belonged to, I noticed her body was shaking.  I looked closer. Her tears were soaking into the dirt. I was shocked that the world was continuing like nothing was the matter. I couldn’t move.

I was completely and utterly helpless, and I had no idea what to do next. So, I did the only thing that made sense. I sat on the ground and scooped her up into my lap. Her body was blazing with fever. I could see the fear in her eyes as I held her tight.

Finally the translator came back and told me that she had no parents; they had both died of AIDS. Her grandmother was responsible for her, but she was a drunk and did not look after her.

I was astonished. I knew about AIDS in Africa. I study and talk about it all the time.  I am the Acting on AIDS Coordinator at Anderson University. I can spit out statistics; explain its devastating effects, and even recommend books to read about it. But no amount of numbers, reading and statistics could prepare me for this. Reality hit me hard in the face. This wasn’t a number any more. This was a real-life situation, literally, in my lap.

My head was spinning as it all sunk in.  I was sitting in a church, on a dirt floor in a remote village in Uganda, holding a little girl who was extremely sick. 

I asked the translator to get Rose, a nurse who came to the village with me. Meanwhile, I sat and waited on the floor with the little girl.

The silence in the church was broken only by the little girl’s whimpers. I was helpless and unable to verbally communicate with her. All I could do was look into her dark, watery eyes and attempt to communicate love. There was something very human in that broken moment. It was all I knew how to do.  

When Rose arrived she felt the little girl’s forehead and gasped. She told me that she needed to get to a clinic right away but first she needed some aspirin. Rose scrambled to get the medicine. I was overwhelmed.

I wanted to scream, “God, WHAT ARE YOU THINKING!? HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN!?” My mind flashed back too all of the things that I did as a child. All the times that my parents took care of me when I fell on the pavement and scraped my knee. When my mom would ask me if she could kiss it to make it better.

Rose returned with the pastor of the church, some aspirin, and a bottle of water.   The little girl looked at the aspirin and looked up at me confused. I motioned for her to put it into her mouth. She put it in her mouth and chewed it. Her face wrinkled and her eyes squinted at the taste of the aspirin.

I asked how we could get her to the clinic. They told me it costs 4,000 schillings, about three dollars. Three dollars would pay for this blazing, hot, sick little girl to go to a medical clinic.  

I sorted through this information in my head and was bewildered. The pastor looked at me with hope, uncertain if I would be willing and able to pay this amount of money. To me, there wasn’t even a question. Of course, I had three dollars for the little girl to go to the clinic. I spend three dollars on smoothies at Mocha Joes.

I gave the man 4,000 shillings and watched as the little girl staggered over to the tiny motorbike. Just when I thought she had made it, she passed out into the dirt. I was horrified. What composure I had left was completely gone. I walked away with tears rolling down my face in a complete and utter stupor. Had I really just witnessed a situation like this? I thought that these things happened in movies and stories. Never in my life have I felt such an out of body experience.

There was beauty in that moment. I was helpless. It did not matter that my family is wealthy, that I am from America, or that I have white skin. I could pay for the little girl to go to the clinic this time, but who would be there next time this happened? I had been arrogant about world issues. All the numbers and statistics that I have told people were meaningless. I spent my life talking about these things, but yet when they were actually right in front of me, I was shocked. Completely unprepared. Helpless.

I spent a short time being by myself, making weak attempts to grasp what just happened. Then I forced myself to put it in the back of my mind and go on with the night’s events.

I woke up on the hard African dust the next morning with one thing on my mind: “What had happened to that little girl?” I later found out that she had pulled through. She was back from the clinic, but she is HIV-positive. 

Over the week I got to learn more about the little girl. I learned that her name is Ruth, and even though her body is the size of an eight-year old, she is eleven. As she started to feel better, I got to spend more time with her. She holds a special place in my heart that will never be forgotten. I am now privileged to be able to sponsor her through Children of Promise. 

I do not stand here today telling you all this story so that I will seem like hero, for I assure you I am not. Rather, today I stand before you describing this situation so that you can all be a part of this story with me. I find it difficult not to become calloused to emotional stories such as this one. It is hard to not be irritated when statistics are thrown at you about a place that you have never been. But I would like to invite you all in on my challenge for the day: to fully absorb the information presented and let it disturb you. My challenge today is that I would be able to see the human beings behind the numbers. The moms, dads, sisters, brothers, friends, children, wives and husbands.

You all have the opportunity to make a difference in a child like Ruth’s life today.I believe that Jesus calls us to have a special love for those who are oppressed. The body of Christ is being devastated by this virus. Not just in Africa, but across the globe. Take time to think of the humans behind the numbers. Take time to think of Ruth today.