Editor’s note: Tanya Mroczek-Amador is the executive director of the Corner of Love Christian mission. Amador, along with her husband Nelson and many volunteers, organize three trips each year to San Ramon, Nicaragua to provide medical and dental care, eye examinations and many other services.
The most recent mission team included 39 members and arrived June 20 in Managua for the nine day trip. The team members included Diane Gilbert Bradley, M.D. from Bellevue and Dr. Robert Harry, D.D.S. from Tucson, Ariz. and others from Washington, California, Florida, New Hampshire, Arizona, Canada and Bermuda.
The following is Amador’s story of a Nicaraguan girl she helped during her mission.
By Tanya Mroczek-Amador
At about 1:30 p.m. Thursday our clinic at Hacienda San Francisco, about four hours northeast of San Ramon, Nicaragua was humming right along. The triage interviewers were moving patients nicely through the height and weight stations and the pharmacy was filling orders quickly. Outside, the dental team taught groups of kids how to brush their teeth with their new tooth brushes and delighted watching the ninos (children) each receive a toy. We weren’t yet ready to set up the shoes and clothing distribution area, so I decided to take a walk up to the medical providers area where patients were being treated by Corner of Love docs and nurse practitioners.
The line to see the doctors and nurses was very long. When I saw how many people were waiting on the wood porch, I felt scared. There were still at least 150 patients, maybe even 200, waiting for treatment.
A good number of them were on the rickety porch, but the line wound around the building and down the hill. I knew we might not be able to get through all of those patients and some might have to be sent home without treatment if we weren’t able to speed things up. I decided to open another provider station and sit down and treat patients myself. At times I do this, mostly helping with over-the-counter needs and working up other needs that require a doctor consult.
I found an empty back room on the upper level of the farm barracks building. First I helped a group of young men that all work on the farm. Next I saw a 15-year-old girl who had a fever and swollen glands. Dr. Dormus, a Nicaraguan volunteer doctor, took care of prescribing antibiotics for her. After that, a family of four was sent my way — a mother, a young daughter wearing a winter cap and a tattered skirt and three little ones, ages 6 months, 1 year old, and 4 years old.
The older girl with the long, worn skirt had short hair that barely poked out from underneath the knit cap. Her face was dirty and she was wearing green, rubber sandals that were broken. Mud was caked all over her lower calves and she carried an all-but-empty diaper bag slung over her shoulder.
I welcomed the mother and children in the back room, where they sat down on the wooden slat bed as I started to fill out their charts. I asked the mother questions like, “Do you work here on the farm?
“How many children do you have?”
To which she answered, “I work on a farm nearby. I have five children.”
I went on asking health questions and she told me all of their names. Her eldest daughter’s name was Esmilse and she was 8 years old.
While the mother talked, I watched Esmilse care for the two toddler girls, at one point wiping the nose of the 1 year old. The baby, a 6-month-old boy, still sat silently on the mother’s lap. When it was time for me to look into the ears of the 4 year old, the mother handed the baby to 8-year-old Esmilse who propped the 6 month old right onto her hip. The almost empty diaper bag still hung from her other side.
There were many things I noticed about Esmilse that concerned me.
First of all, she looked different from her three siblings and four years separated her and the next sister. She most likely did not have the same father as the other girls. Although it was evident that the father was not in the picture, I knew that Esmilse would be discriminated by the paternal family of her siblings, if there were any support whatsoever.
Second, she had very short hair, which is uncommon for Nicaraguan ninas. Almost all Nica girls have long hair. It is rare to see a young girl with short hair. If their parents choose to have their daughter’s hair cut, it usually means they have lice, are losing hair because they have parasites, or worse. I prayed that Esmilse didn’t have a tumor on her head or something else that her family felt the need to hide.
Third, it was obvious that Esmilse was a caregiver for the other children. That (most likely) meant that a decision had been made in the family that she would not be “the one” to have the opportunity to study.
In the areas where we serve, many families decide early on, which of their children will be sent to school. Usually there is only one. The others must help care for siblings or work, rather than study.
My gut feeling told me that Esmilse’s mother (and other family members) had already made the decision that she would not be “the one” to have the chance to go to school.
“Is Esmilse on the list to receive school shoes today?‚“ I asked the mother. Our team was set to fit about 200 children with shiny, black school shoes that afternoon. We were also looking forward to giving out clothing that had been lovingly separated by gender and size. My mind immediately wandered to “the (Rubbermaid) bins‚“ as I tried to remember what pieces of clothing we might have in a girl’s size 8 or 10.
“Yes,” she said shyly. I could tell from her response that the mother felt ashamed, or fearful, or both. Children on the list to receive shoes from Corner of Love are supposed to be attending school or ready to register after receiving the donation of a pair of school shoes. I was sure Esmilse didn’t go to school. But worse than that, I was afraid Esmilse might NEVER go to school.
“Que bueno,” I replied. “Esmilse, what grade are you in?”I asked.
Esmilse didn’t answer. She just looked down, still carrying the baby on her hip.
“Esmilse, a donde vas a la escuela?” I continued, hoping she’d say that she was enrolled in the school at the farm, or at least that she looked forward to beginning school after she got her new shoes that day.
Now her mother opened up to me. Ever so quietly, she told me that Esmilse really needed the donated shoes, but that she cannot go to school because she stays home and cares for the little ones, all four of them, including the two little girls that were there, the infant boy, and another 2-1/2-year-old girl that was at home. Esmilse’s mother explained that she could not bring the fifth child to our clinic because she had a bad cold and was too weak to walk the 14-kilometers distance with the rest of the family from their home to our clinic.
My fears were confirmed. Esmilse had never gone to school. It was literally painful for me to listen to her mother explain why Esmilse was not “the one” that their family would send to school. Tears welled up in my eyes. I felt mad, sad and lots of other emotions. They could only afford to educate one child, and that would be Esmilse’s 4-year-old sister. They did not have enough money for uniforms, books, and shoes for another sibling. They were already having a terrible time “saving up” to send Esmilse’s sister to school next year.
My husband Nelson, a Nicaraguan native, was working in the center area of the farm barracks building. I brought the entire family over to him and told him everything I had just learned.
“Hable con ella, (Talk to her)‚“ I said, hoping that one of Nelson’s lectures, Nicaraguan to Nicaraguan, might help Esmilse’s mother reconsider. I slipped back into the room with the wooden slat bed and cried while I listened to my husband give a long talk to Esmilse’s mother.
“Today Esmilse will get school shoes, senora,” Nelson began. “Now she CAN go to school.”
Nelson asked them all to sit with him and the Nica doctor began listening to their lungs. Three of the four children had pneumonia. Two of them had ear infections. Esmilse had lice and a few, small infected wounds.
I regained my composure and came out of the back room. Nelson and the doctor were finishing the examination and I began scribing the findings and prescriptions on their paperwork. Next we headed to the pharmacy.
Many people were in front of us and I had a chance to talk more with Esmilse’s mother while we waited to turn in the prescription forms.
“After you get these medications I want you to wait by the casa hacienda. Stay there until I call your names. Esta bien?” I asked. She nodded and I headed to the steps in front of the casa hancienda (farm house). At the pharmacy they would receive five goodie bags with antibiotics, vitamins and other medications. I was glad that they would all get soap, shampoo and other toiletries, too. I had put an extra note at the bottom of each script, telling the pharmacy workers to “load them up” with all kinds of extras, like Children’s Tylenol, Band-aids, nail clippers, Neosporin and whatever else we had enough of. I felt thankful for all the donations of supplies and funds that made it possible to treat their pneumonia, ear infections, etc.
It took about an hour for the rest of our group (who were not working in the medical clinic or with the dental team) to set up for the shoes and clothing distribution. While they organized the children, who were all wearing pink bracelets indicating that they were to receive donated shoes that day, it began to rain very heavily. Esmilse, her siblings, and her mother waited patiently where I instructed them to. Once the distribution of the shoes began, I went over to them. They were literally standing in the mud and rain was falling like a sheet of water all around us.
“Do you know Don Armando?” I asked. Don Armando is the owner of Hacienda San Francisco, the farm where we were serving.
“Yes. I know who he is.” Esmilse’s mother said. “He is a buen hombre (good man).”
“Don Armando is my sister-in-law’s father,” I told her. “But we didn’t come here because we know him.” I started to explain. “We came here because we are Christian missionaries and we know that many people in this area need help.” Esmilse clung to her mother’s leg, but while I was talking she reached out and touched my fingers, kind of like she was counting them. I was happy that she felt comfortable enough now to do that.
“It is my prayer that the medicine, shoes, and clothing that you receive today will fill you with hope for the future. God has good plans for Esmilse and your other children. Will you promise me that you will try to put Esmilse in school now that you have received this help?”
“Si,” Esmilse’s mother said.
“I am going to ask Don Armando to look after you and make sure Esmilse finishes her medicine and starts school. Alright?”
“Si,” she said with a soft smile. “Gracias.”
I felt myself getting emotional again, so I just put my hand on her shoulder and gave her a little squeeze. “They will bring you up now,” I told her, motioning for Evan (one of our team members) to open the gate for Esmilse. Evan sat Esmilse down with Dave Maniquis and I quickly told him and the others her story.
“Give her a (Rubbermaid) bin, lots of clothes, and school shoes,” I said to the group of Corner of Love volunteers running the shoes and clothing distribution area. “And pray that Esmilse’s life will change today. Pray that now her family will send her to school.”
