December 28th
This evening just as I was saying goodbye to Esther to leave the Quarter for the day, Winnie, Esther’s youngest child, appeared in the doorway wailing with a face drowning in tears. Her left hand was outstretched and was red with blood. Esther hesitated and looked at me. What am I supposed to know about a screaming kid with a gash on her hand?!
Esther then scurried into the side room to retrieve a tube of antibiotic cream I had given her 2 days ago. She looked at me, imploring me to do something. I went to my camera bag and fetched my last disinfectant moist wipe. I handed it to Esther both showing and telling her to use it to clean Winnie’s cut. Esther struggled to open the packaging. Winnie continued to wail. Blood dripped on the floor. I reclaimed the wipe, opened it and started cleaning Winnie’s hand and then wrapped the wipe around the cut (a laceration an inch long and fairly deep that really required stitches) and held it tight to stop the bleeding.
I asked Esther for a bandaid and she sent an older daughter to buy one. I took the antibiotic cream and squeezed some onto the cut. I was hoping to get by without rubbing it in, but it just started to slide off. All the while I’m thinking about my hands colored by Winnie’s blood. I could only be thankful that the cuts on my hands from the cold days in Boston had healed quickly in this African heat.
After I had bandaged Winnie’s cut, Esther fetched some water for me to wash my hands. It was a wonderful gesture, but all I could think was, “Water alone will do nothing to kill any germs.” I wished I had another moist wipe with me.
