Author's Notes: Okay this is the sequel. Read and Review. I don't know what else to say. And the information in here is quite accurate since I looked it up.
~*~
He walked into the poverty-stricken village, the people looking at him like he was an alien. The children ran and hid from him, the parents protectively holding their babies. They weren't used to strangers, and it seemed like they resented his presence there. He was an outsider, an invader. He knew he would never understand what life truly was like for them. How much they struggled every day to get food for their children, or even clean water to drink. He knew they would never like him. He was from America, the country with the streets paved with gold. It was so far from the truth. The looks he kept on receiving were ones of warning. The people needed him, but they didn't want him. It was a mixed emotion. They were protective, a tightly knit community. He didn't want to make enemies. He only came to help.
He didn't know why decided to go on another mission trip. The Congo had given him a sense of belonging; maybe this place would, too. He needed to get away from the complicated situation back in the states. Everything seemed to be falling apart and falling into place at the same time. He had a good position at County. He was Chief of Emergency Medicine at one of the best trauma centers in the country. He worked with people he loved, doing what he loved to do. Yet, he wished there was more he could do. There were so many people beyond Chicago that needed medical help or attention. He wanted to help those people, the ones that couldn't afford it.
He looked at the guide next to him, a middle-aged man, thin and tired looking. He knew he would end up looking like him when he left. He carried supplies under his hand; the white tent with the Doctors Without Borders logo came into view in the distance. The lines of people where curling around the makeshift hospital. These people, on the contrary, were looking at his as if he was god. The man next to him said nothing, even though they shared a common tongue. Most of the people understood a broken English, but he would quickly catch onto the other three languages spoken here. He never imagined he would end up in Sierra Leone. One of the world's most impoverished countries.
He followed the white-haired man up the stairs, his steps slow and forced. They walked in, and immediately the coughing patients grabbed his attention. The smell of disease and death was heavy in the air. The patients ranged in age from premature babies to older men and women. The age expectancy was only about 45 years. Most of the people here looked double that. He knew they were young, but the harsh realities of life had set in, destroying them. He followed the man toward the end of the hallway.
He saw a thin woman leaning over a little boy. He looked to be about seven years old. He looked dehydrated and malnourished, but that seemed to the norm there. He noticed the boy wasn't breathing. He saw the woman let the boy's hand go then she curled up; her hands held her head toward her lap. He had probably been a patient of hers. That was the one rule of these mission trips: try not to get emotionally involved. The man walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, whispering an "I'm sorry." She nods her head starting to get up.
Her hair was a dirty blonde, her roots showing. She had been here for a while, a long while. It was up in a messy ponytail. She didn't need to care about how she looked. She was in a tank-top, sweat dripping down her back. Her jeans were rolled up into makeshift capris. Her sneakers where dirty and falling apart. She had definitely been here a while. She had a dark tan from the hours she had probably spent outside, helping both the sick and the healthy keep their village running. He could see the exhaustion and malnutrition on her body; she was so thin. He could only imagine what her face looked like. He watched her reverently cover the boy's body, wiping a few tears from her eyes.
Her body shook but she pulled herself back together, looking up at the man. He saw a glimpse of her face, dark circles under her eyes. She was pale, even though her skin was a dark brown. The man handed her the containers of drugs that he had been carrying. She took them, heading toward the tiny refrigerator in the corner. It was probably run on solar power; the village had no electricity. He watched her carefully unpack the life saving drugs, mentally inventorying who would get what. She pulled out two bottles and took two needles out of a container on the counter. She walked over to a girl lying in the darkest corner of the room.
He watched her act with the child. She was sympathetic, taking the girls hand into her own, pushing pack her hair. He couldn't hear the conversation, but he knew she was taking to her. He saw a small smile form on the girl's lips, and she mouthed thank you to the woman. He was strangely mesmerized by her. She walked back to the counter and threw the needle into a different container. He saw her hesitate for a minute, clearing her mind, holding on the counter for support. She pushed back her bangs. She looked like she was mentally dying. He could almost feel her pain.
He looked around the room. It held no privacy, no utilities, nothing. Medicine at its most primitive phase. He knew most of the patients would die. It was a fact of life. HIV/Aids infected seven percent of the population here, and that statistic was growing by the week. The temperature made sweat run down his temple, he wiped it away. He hadn't been anywhere without air conditioning in such a long while. The temperatures were incredibly high during the summer months. He hadn't noticed that the woman had come back to join them. He was finally close enough to look at her in detail.
He looked at her face, the face that had seen the worst of the world and survived through it. She started to cough, holding on to her stomach. He walked closer to her, and he pressed on her neck, hoping to elevate some of the pain she felt when she coughed. She was giving up her own health to take care of the living dead. She started to breathe normally once again, and he grabbed a chair from a few meters away and placed it by her. She sat down, and looked up at him. Her eyes seemed so hollow, so empty, yet familiar. He locked his eyes onto her dark brown ones. For a minute the world disappeared. He saw the tears pooling in them, but she quickly closed them. She got off the stool, running toward the door, going out into the pouring rain.
It had been four painful years.
~*~
He walked into the poverty-stricken village, the people looking at him like he was an alien. The children ran and hid from him, the parents protectively holding their babies. They weren't used to strangers, and it seemed like they resented his presence there. He was an outsider, an invader. He knew he would never understand what life truly was like for them. How much they struggled every day to get food for their children, or even clean water to drink. He knew they would never like him. He was from America, the country with the streets paved with gold. It was so far from the truth. The looks he kept on receiving were ones of warning. The people needed him, but they didn't want him. It was a mixed emotion. They were protective, a tightly knit community. He didn't want to make enemies. He only came to help.
He didn't know why decided to go on another mission trip. The Congo had given him a sense of belonging; maybe this place would, too. He needed to get away from the complicated situation back in the states. Everything seemed to be falling apart and falling into place at the same time. He had a good position at County. He was Chief of Emergency Medicine at one of the best trauma centers in the country. He worked with people he loved, doing what he loved to do. Yet, he wished there was more he could do. There were so many people beyond Chicago that needed medical help or attention. He wanted to help those people, the ones that couldn't afford it.
He looked at the guide next to him, a middle-aged man, thin and tired looking. He knew he would end up looking like him when he left. He carried supplies under his hand; the white tent with the Doctors Without Borders logo came into view in the distance. The lines of people where curling around the makeshift hospital. These people, on the contrary, were looking at his as if he was god. The man next to him said nothing, even though they shared a common tongue. Most of the people understood a broken English, but he would quickly catch onto the other three languages spoken here. He never imagined he would end up in Sierra Leone. One of the world's most impoverished countries.
He followed the white-haired man up the stairs, his steps slow and forced. They walked in, and immediately the coughing patients grabbed his attention. The smell of disease and death was heavy in the air. The patients ranged in age from premature babies to older men and women. The age expectancy was only about 45 years. Most of the people here looked double that. He knew they were young, but the harsh realities of life had set in, destroying them. He followed the man toward the end of the hallway.
He saw a thin woman leaning over a little boy. He looked to be about seven years old. He looked dehydrated and malnourished, but that seemed to the norm there. He noticed the boy wasn't breathing. He saw the woman let the boy's hand go then she curled up; her hands held her head toward her lap. He had probably been a patient of hers. That was the one rule of these mission trips: try not to get emotionally involved. The man walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, whispering an "I'm sorry." She nods her head starting to get up.
Her hair was a dirty blonde, her roots showing. She had been here for a while, a long while. It was up in a messy ponytail. She didn't need to care about how she looked. She was in a tank-top, sweat dripping down her back. Her jeans were rolled up into makeshift capris. Her sneakers where dirty and falling apart. She had definitely been here a while. She had a dark tan from the hours she had probably spent outside, helping both the sick and the healthy keep their village running. He could see the exhaustion and malnutrition on her body; she was so thin. He could only imagine what her face looked like. He watched her reverently cover the boy's body, wiping a few tears from her eyes.
Her body shook but she pulled herself back together, looking up at the man. He saw a glimpse of her face, dark circles under her eyes. She was pale, even though her skin was a dark brown. The man handed her the containers of drugs that he had been carrying. She took them, heading toward the tiny refrigerator in the corner. It was probably run on solar power; the village had no electricity. He watched her carefully unpack the life saving drugs, mentally inventorying who would get what. She pulled out two bottles and took two needles out of a container on the counter. She walked over to a girl lying in the darkest corner of the room.
He watched her act with the child. She was sympathetic, taking the girls hand into her own, pushing pack her hair. He couldn't hear the conversation, but he knew she was taking to her. He saw a small smile form on the girl's lips, and she mouthed thank you to the woman. He was strangely mesmerized by her. She walked back to the counter and threw the needle into a different container. He saw her hesitate for a minute, clearing her mind, holding on the counter for support. She pushed back her bangs. She looked like she was mentally dying. He could almost feel her pain.
He looked around the room. It held no privacy, no utilities, nothing. Medicine at its most primitive phase. He knew most of the patients would die. It was a fact of life. HIV/Aids infected seven percent of the population here, and that statistic was growing by the week. The temperature made sweat run down his temple, he wiped it away. He hadn't been anywhere without air conditioning in such a long while. The temperatures were incredibly high during the summer months. He hadn't noticed that the woman had come back to join them. He was finally close enough to look at her in detail.
He looked at her face, the face that had seen the worst of the world and survived through it. She started to cough, holding on to her stomach. He walked closer to her, and he pressed on her neck, hoping to elevate some of the pain she felt when she coughed. She was giving up her own health to take care of the living dead. She started to breathe normally once again, and he grabbed a chair from a few meters away and placed it by her. She sat down, and looked up at him. Her eyes seemed so hollow, so empty, yet familiar. He locked his eyes onto her dark brown ones. For a minute the world disappeared. He saw the tears pooling in them, but she quickly closed them. She got off the stool, running toward the door, going out into the pouring rain.
It had been four painful years.