My mind is only half-present as an ear of corn flies through the air, narrowly missing the dog who scuttles out of its path to the safety of the living room. My daughter Josie squeals with triumph, and while I admire her athleticism, my mind is with another 2-year-old half a world away.
I had spent most of the day immersed in stories of the people we care for in the Ugandan refugee camps where we work. Their experiences of sickness, fear, desperation, and suffering feel especially heavy today—like a weighted blanket draped over my heart.
I offer Josie another spoonful of yogurt and am painfully aware of how lucky my own children are. For this food. For this home. For never having to flee for their lives from some nameless, violent boogeyman dressed in fatigues.
Josie lords over the dinner table in her highchair, and from her elevated seat she enjoys a bird-eye view of the table. She brandishes a green bean like a sword. As my family chatters and hums around me, all I can think about is Kevine.
She is the same age as my daughter. But at just 2 years old, she has been through more distress and turmoil than many people experience in a lifetime. She has a loving mother and father, just like my daughter. They would do anything to protect her, just like we would for Josie. Both girls have a giggle that makes everyone around them automatically crack a smile–a compulsory joy one feels when being in the presence of such innocent, embodied glee.
In another life, these children might have played together. Rolling toys back and forth on a rug, chasing one another in that way that toddlers do, with their bodies’ inertia a few steps ahead of their actual feet, the newfound strength in their limbs a kind of magic propelling them across the floor.
“How strong her little body had to be,” I think, as I tear off another chunk of bread. So many miles they traveled. It’s a story that’s almost impossible to believe, but it’s the lived experience of so many of the people we strive to bring life-saving healthcare to every day.
Kevine’s family, originally from Burundi, endured a journey fraught with hardship, fleeing war and uncertainty to finally find safety in Uganda. Kevine, her mother Nakiliman, father Niyomungere, and brother led a peaceful life in Burundi before violence from local rebel groups uprooted their lives. They left jobs, their home, their things—I wonder for a moment what Josie would want to bring if we were ever forced to flee.
At 2, children haven’t yet made certain toys, books, or things precious. They just want to be with their families. Perhaps I would grab the baby blanket crocheted by her great-grandmother. If we had room, that is.
Seeking refuge, Kevine’s family crossed into Congo hoping for safety, but the outbreak of conflict in North Kivu shattered their haven, forcing them to continue their search for safety.
“The hostile rebel groups killing people forced us to leave. We left everything behind. Our money, our belongings. We had no choice but to run,” recalls Nakiliman.
As a mother, I can feel the tremor of remembered anguish in her voice. How you must steel yourself before turning to your children to give them hard news. “I wish I could hug her,” I think.
The family traveled from Congo to Rwanda and finally to Uganda. It was a grueling trek, marked by hunger and uncertainty. The only food or drink they had along the road were tidbits shared by strangers. This radical generosity, displayed by those who themselves had barely anything, cuts me with awe. These gestures of kindness kept their hope alive.
They finally arrived in Uganda, exhausted, but determined to survive. Soon after they got there, Kevine began to have a fever, chills, and fatigue. A new wave of fear and helplessness crashed over the weary parents.
“She was weak and unwell. We didn’t know what was wrong, but we were desperate for help,” said Niyomungere, Kevine’s father.
A fork clatters to the floor and breaks my reverie.
My older daughter had been telling me a very elaborate story for the past 5 minutes, and I’d heard none of it. My mind was with Kevine’s family, on the road. I leave the table to retrieve a piece of chocolate for each child, the prize for an acceptably-cleared plate. As I suspend Josie’s plate in midair to scrape the remnants of her meal into the trash, I pause.
I can’t. I am paralyzed by the realization that Kevine’s world and my own child’s world are existing at the same time—continents away, and yet, it seemed even farther. I set the plate down on the counter. I breathe.
Thankfully, Kevine’s parents found the life-saving healthcare she needed at the local Medical Teams health facility. They were received warmly and given free, comprehensive medical care.
“Kevine was tested for malaria, and though she resisted treatment at first, we ensured that she received the care she needed,” said Gloria, a nurse with Medical Teams International. “Vaccinations for both Kevine and her mother were also administered, a critical step in safeguarding their health after such a perilous journey.”
Now that the immediate danger of malaria has passed, the family can focus on rebuilding their lives. While the future remains uncertain, they find strength in their unity and the support they have received.
One staff member described how Kevine’s laughter began to return as she recovered from her illness, and the harrowing experience she and her family endured. I know that 2-year-old giggle. Clear and ringing, like a small handbell. Like the sharpness of cold air. I think it burbles up straight from their hearts.
Kevine’s laugh is a fragile reminder of resilience amidst turmoil, a glimmer of optimism in a story of survival and struggle. One little girl’s laugh, oceans away, drives forward the work that we do every single day at Medical Teams. It buoys us through challenging logistics, insurmountable global conflicts, and moments of deep weariness among our front-line staff. In darkness, it shimmers. In silence, it rings out.
Back at the table, Josie beams at me, hands and mouth festooned with melted chocolate. “This is why,” I think. We do this work because we all believe, to our core, that children deserve to live in joy and safety. That people, no matter where they were born, deserve the basic humanity that compassionate healthcare can provide.
I don’t know where Kevine and her family are now, but I say a quick prayer that, wherever she is, she is safe, and has some kind of delicious treat all over her face. Because she’s 2. Because she deserves it.
Last year, we reached 90% of children in refugee camps where we serve with life-saving vaccines like the one Kevine and her mother received—but without your support, many will go without care.
Millions of families today are facing a lack of shelter, food, water, and medical care as they desperately seek safety. Will you be the reason they find healing and the love of Jesus this holiday season?
Every dollar you give by December 31 will be matched up to $60,000 to bring compassionate care and healing to families forced from home. Please double your impact now to send medical care, supplies, and hope to families like Kevine’s.