Sunday at the Mother Teresa Feeding Center

More from Cheryl in Haiti:

I spent the morning attending the church service at the orphanage. Language barrier but the format felt similar to services I had been to in USA. Time for praying, preaching, genuflecting, laughing, and singing. I was introduced as a guest with the Midwives for Haiti and all eyes turn to the back where I was sitting. During the service when the congregation turns to greet each other, a few brave young boys slowly approached me to shake my hand and welcome me there. Then a few more, then a few girls, and more and more until finally greeting time was over. A dog ambled through the church. Crowing roosters nearly drowned out the preaching.

I spent Sunday afternoon at the Mother Therese feeding center again. As I passed through the preschool room to get to the baby room, eight little girls dressed in matching fancy turquoise dresses were napping all piled up on a mattress on the floor. I was reminded of my childhood cats, Annette and Yvette, whose litters of four each would pile up together in a kitty community.

The nannies greeted me somberly as I walked into the baby room. One of the babies had just died minutes before. With sad eyes, serious faces, one nanny spoke, “Mort. Li te mourir.” Dead. She just died. Shrouded and still, lying in her crib. She had the swollen and macerating malnutrition with cellulitis of her legs. Soon, she was carefully laid out by the nannies in a small, wooden casket painted orange and brown and taken away.

I spent my time going from baby to baby, washing faces and hands, changing soiled clothing, and assisting with feeding. The little baby who had clung desperately to me the day before again needed holding. I picked him up, cuddled him for an hour and a half as I walked the room talking to the others. The two of us spent time with a whimpering girl who was edematous. I reached out to her lying in her crib and we held hands for awhile. Although her grasp of my hand was minimal, she quieted immediately. After I fed the baby boy I was holding, I gave him a sippy cup (minus the “sippy” cap), changed his diaper, cleaned him up, and laid him down. This time, he was content and did not cry. The two little boys who had spent time standing in their cribs with big smiles on their faces were there still smiling and engaging my attention. Personality? Healthier?

The baby room is small, crammed, and painted white and blue. There are Catholic icons; statuettes, images of religious saints for decorations and several “blan” (“white”) girl dollies attached to the wall all dressed up in finery. One wall sports a large armoire whose shelves are filled with baby clothes, cloth diapers, baby blankets, washcloths. Next to this is a table where there are large buckets for baby food (bean and rice mash) and water.

There is a low wooden chair with a straw seat that the nannies use to prop up a baby during feeding if the baby cannot feed himself. The baby who died today had been propped up yesterday in that chair and at one point, listed over while a nanny rushed to rescue her from a fall. Old metal cribs line the remaining three walls and two sets of six cribs stand in the middle. The rows of cribs are just wide enough to pass in between.

But the most riveting thing you witness in this room are babies in various stages of malnutrition. I think it is more explicit to say “in various stages of starvation.” Saying “malnutrition” seems to sugar coat the problem. Some babies have large heads on withered bodies. Some are bloated. Some manage to sit or stand for awhile and those babies can reach out to touch a little baby friend in the crib nearby. But, almost all the rest are listless. I manage to spend a few moments with each one… touching, making eye contact, and with a few, eliciting a little baby smile. Then, it’s time for me to leave.