A Promise Fulfilled: A Journey of Thanksgiving and Resilience

11/27/2024

This year, for my birthday, I gave myself a gift: between surgical camps in Tanzania and Mauritius, I flew to Uganda to visit one of our former patients who, against all odds, defied every expectation to survive and thrive. Badru was just four years old when we first met him. He lived in a remote village, about five and a half hours northeast of Kampala, where life itself was a struggle.

It was 2015, and our team was in Mwanza, Tanzania. We had arranged for Badru, his mother, an interpreter, and a chaperone to travel from Uganda and join us for a life-saving heart surgery. When he arrived, Badru could barely stand; he spent most of his day crouched to relieve the strain on his heart. His lips were blue, his fingers clubbed. His mother, a widow and subsistence farmer raising four other children, had left everything and everyone behind to make this journey, hoping it would save her son.

Yet even with their dedication and long journey, the challenges weren’t over. Badru arrived with a fever, and we immediately started him on antibiotics. Blood typing revealed that he was O-negative. The hospital had no units of this rare blood type, nor did the regional blood bank. Desperate, we turned to the radio, broadcasting a region-wide appeal that yielded only two of the four units needed. As an O-negative donor myself, I knew I had to step up. Crossing the street to the blood bank, I offered my arm, ensuring a sterile needle with the help of a fellow volunteer. My pint would be for Badru.

Our surgeon, Sasha (aka Dr. Salvatore Agati), took a leap of faith and planned the surgery with three units and some platelets, setting it for Thursday. The clock was ticking, and we had almost exhausted every avenue to save him. I couldn’t shake the worry that my own high cholesterol might somehow affect his recovery—but we had no other choice. Badru’s time was running out. He had three to six months to live, if that. As I carried him into the OR, I made a quiet promise: if he survived, I would put him through school.

We don’t often get to see, let alone hold, the lives our blood donations save. Maybe if more people did, the blood banks wouldn’t be so empty. Miraculously, the surgery was successful. The following year, Badru started school, and I kept my word, sending money for fees, uniforms, and the necessities he needed to grow and thrive.

Yet, more than Badru’s future haunted me—his mother’s circumstances weighed on my heart. She shared that she had been sexually assaulted in her village after she was widowed. With no one to protect her, she was painfully vulnerable. We spoke about this at length before she left to return to her village, no one could stop her from an attack, and we decided that while we couldn’t protect her from harm, we could help her mitigate the consequences. On her way home, she received a Norplant implant for contraception, giving her two years of peace of mind. I wanted to provide a source of income, something sustainable that would improve her family’s situation. Initially, I thought of purchasing a cow, but local friends advised against it—a cow could make her a target. Instead, we invested in three goats, a modest investment of $200 plus $60 for birth control.

Mama Badru raised the goats, bred them, and sold them for cattle, building her wealth slowly and carefully. Eventually, she acquired a plot of land and built a small house on it. For the past nine years, we kept in touch through an extraordinary pastor, Robert Nabulere, a compassionate man who kept me updated and made the arrangements for Badru. When I mentioned I wanted to visit, he and his wife, Rose, put everything on hold to accompany me and a friend, deep into Uganda.

The journey was exhausting, but the reward was beyond measure. The pastor had prepared a surprise for me, welcoming me in addition to Badru, were two other boys whose hearts we had also mended, Prosper and James. All three ran up to hug me, their smiles filling my heart. The women in the village prepared a simple feast with the food they’d grown themselves: stewed bananas, groundnut sauce, beans, and rice. I brought the birthday cake the hotel in Kampala had given me to celebrate. We sat together in the shade, exchanging stories, laughing, marveling at the strength these children had regained. It was deeply moving for me. I don’t know that words can truly capture it.

As I looked around, I was reminded that life in this part of the world is in stark contrast to the comforts we know—no running water, no electricity, no social media or internet. Life begins at dawn and winds down by sunset. And though I felt the physical discomforts acutely, my heart was full. For a small investment of blood, surgery, and finances, Mama Badru’s ability to care for her family had multiplied tenfold.

Thanksgiving reminds us of all we have and all we can give. Visiting Badru and his family renewed my gratitude for the journey I have been on and for all our work at Mending Kids. It is a reminder that sometimes, the simplest gestures—like a pint of blood, surgery, or a few goats—can have a profound, lasting impact.

May we continue to invest in each other, knowing that the smallest gifts can make the greatest difference.

- Isabelle Fox,
Executive Director