Monday in Tanzania, July, 2026

Monday

On this dark, early morning, we have arrived at New Hope even before the roosters. The bugsong is dense and insistent as if prodding them awake. I  begin my own crowing until our chorus is complete. There are  tiny points of light on the distant mountain foothills. I can smell the breakfast fires carried on the light breeze. I can hear my goat friends beginning their day so together as a neighborhood, we await the rising sun, Son, at the foot of His mountain.

Clinic Day Two: In the Middle of Somewhere

Squeaks and squabbles, chirps and chittering, clicking, clucking, whistling and whirring, lyrical, brief, repetitive, chanting, harsh, abrupt, prolonged. The mountainside is alive and actively singing forth, separating the lightness of day from the darkness of night with their praise.

Clinic is an hour’s drive skirting around the mountain’s base. The thorn forest has diminished in size and denseness. It is a slow process in a big, heavy ladened bus. We are full to the brim today as our translators ride with us. Peter’s son sits beside me and we draw pictures of God’s world. His handwriting is impeccable as he writes our names alongside God’s.

Undulating hills in a valley surrounded by the shadows of mountains, this is the road to the middle of somewhere. There is a thick dustiness to the rock strewn roadside transmuting any color into shades of beige.  In the distance, there is a flat whiteness to the plain, like the salt flats of Death Valley. As we draw near, it shows itself to be a shallow long lake dotted with plants and bounded by green. It is in stark contrast to the dryness of the brown. I find out later that it is not so much a lake as a collection of water after the rain.

Clinic is some distance beyond in a church sanctuary. It is adjacent to the Gilai Bible school that is encircled by the thorny brush of a Maasai fence. This cement block church with its uneven dirt floors has a stage at one end with a softly colored silk wall cover.

It is reminiscent of our pop up clinics in Haiti so some of us feel right at home until we realize our tables and chairs have not arrived. These essentials give form and flow to clinic and without them there is none. This necessitates a need for creativity and vigilance. It is a chaotic, tense beginning but somehow we begin and manage until our accouterments arrive a few hours later.

Today is a day of IV’s and antibiotic shots for me. I start my first on a young mom who is here for pneumonia. Kelly intercepts her just as she faints. She is weak and nauseous and reports that the clamorous noise of clinic has made her sick. I lay her down on the stage and give her a liter of fluid. A hour or so later, she is able to sit up and then stand without problem. She leaves feeling and looking better.

Yesterday I struggled to find the equipment I needed to mix and administer my shots. Today, I become a machine, pilfering my various necessities from five different places. I feel like I should sing or dance or something while I mix the medicine on the ‘stage’. What was once evasive is now known and since my hands know the way, my feet threaten to join the act.

I give my second IV to a sick five year old who weighs only 33 pounds. She is dehydrated, coughing, wheezing and miserable. She winces when I put it in the crook of her arm but does not resist me. This is good for me but an indication that she needs it. I make an IV splint out of a water bottle and line it with gauze. It keeps her arm straight so the fluids can flow. As I finish wrapping it, a clear voice from behind me says “Good Job”. I listen for the flapping of dove wings and I turn to see it is Peter’s son with his perfect English. He has been apparently watching me and so, once again, it is he and I alongside God. 

My darling little one and her Mama spend the rest of the day with me. When we begin, she is withdrawn and clinging to her Mom but by day’s end she is walking on her own down the dirt path to her nearby home, her four brothers and both parents lead the way. We will return here tomorrow and so will she.

Dr. Ndoipo is her provider and collaborates care well with Kelly. He tells me he feels deeply for her suffering, wondering what might become of her with no treatment in this place. There is emotion in his eyes and words as he shares how grateful he is that God has brought this opportunity to them and him through us.

We have kids galore and most of them are sick and malnourished. Flies land in abundance on their small faces and are accepted without thought. For me, I do not tolerate even one buzz cutting my face and instinctively swat them away.  The physical needs are as overwhelming as the flies.

Ringworm rules the day, it thinks, but I think, I will take refuge in my Lord who is working through medicine, cream, soap and us to take back the domain.

At times, I  want to sink under the waters of this distress as I see the fearsome waves of ringworm, pneumonia and malnutrition but Jesus holds out His hand to me to pull me up to walk alongside Him on the waters, as He did with Peter.

He whispers to me, “Do not fear!” I do not call you to eradicate our global problems. I call you to start an IV on the sweetness and light in front of you. I call you to bring My hope and My compassion with every smile and touch. I call you to use the tool kit I have made specifically for you.

“It is My job,” He says, “to take care of ALL the rest and I promise I will bring you with me as I accomplish ALL that concerns you today.”

“Focus on and Believe Me! Those are your marching orders, Darling.”

“Have a great day!. Love, Jesus

And so I have and will! The right focus changes everything!

TanziAnne