A Baby’s Death

A letter from Brenda Stelle serving in Ethiopia

October 2015

“I’m sorry for the interruption,” the voice said on the phone. It was 6:15 a.m. Monday morning, and Steve first mistakenly thought it was the alarm on his cell phone going off.  But he said, “No, no problem.  Amanuel, is that you?” I immediately sat up in bed—my heart already knew why the phone had rung.  Amanuel, the principal of BESS, continued, “I am sorry to disturb you—but the baby is dead. We are all gathering next door.” Steve replied, “We are on our way.”

The baby is dead—the baby is dead—I keep hearing those words, running over and over through my mind.  How? Why? Just last year in our newsletter we had the joy of telling you about Naga and Amsale’s wedding—and here less than one year later, instead of sharing with you the joy of their firstborn child, I am sharing with you the tragedy of their little baby boy’s death at 6 weeks old.

We were still in the States when Naga wrote me of the baby’s birth.  “I have had a beautiful baby boy. We named him Boniat (which I have learned kind of means “I am proud of him”), I am so proud and happy.”  Steve and I were excited for him (well—ok, mostly me); I bought baby boy clothes to bring back for the little guy.  I kept thinking about a little boy running around our yard.  You see, Naga is our closest next-door neighbor; we share a common side yard—I can look out my window and almost see into their house. And even though he sees me as a mother figure, I see him as my go-to person; whenever I don’t know something or have questions about teaching, about Oromo culture, or even about living here, most of the time he is the man with a smile and an answer. But more important, Naga is probably my closest friend here in Dembi Dollo.

On the Monday evening when we finally arrived in Dembi, it was Naga who was there to greet us.  Because it was late in the evening, we only exchanged greetings, then went to bed.  It wasn’t until the next morning that I heard that he had come to the Bethel Evangelical Secondary School (BESS) from the hospital where they had admitted Boniat and Amsale just that afternoon.  When I asked him why he hadn’t told me, he just said, “You were tired. You did not need to worry about this.”

I often forget—in Oromo culture, they don’t share their worries and cares easily.  My students and I often joke that the Oromo people will answer, “Fayyaada”—“I have health”—no matter the situation.  But even now, Naga reassured me the baby was getting better: “The doctor is giving him glucose, and he is nursing and getting extra milk.” Because Gidada is near the hospital, Steve stopped on Wednesday after his classes.  He told me that he never saw the baby; he only saw Amsale in the children’s ward.  I nearly cried when he described the children’s ward as an open room with approximately 10 children of varying ages—all with different diseases—lying in open beds, crowded with parents, siblings, and other visitors.  Later Steve did find out that the baby was in the room, on Amsale’s lap under a blanket—so small you didn’t even know he was there.

Still both Naga and Amsale seemed hopeful.  Then on Thursday the Dembi Dollo hospital dismissed the baby, saying it didn’t have the necessary equipment to diagnose what was wrong with him. They recommended taking the baby to Nekemte (a day’s drive), to a private clinic that might have a machine to determine the baby’s problem.  Big Problem: the BESS vehicle was broken down in Addis, and all the Synod vehicles had taken pastors to Addis for a meeting.  Naga told me that he and Amsale were considering taking the baby to Nekemte on the public bus.  It was then that he told me Boniat was born weighing 4.6 kg and now, almost six weeks later, he weighed 3.2 kg.  The baby was no longer able to nurse, and the doctor advised boiled bottles of 1 part cow’s milk and 2 parts boiled water.

Through it all, Naga remained faithful—“It is in God Almighty’s hands,” he kept telling me.  In all my time in Africa, I have never felt so helpless.  Steve and I have no vehicle, but we offered anything we had—I found and bought infant formula in a small shop in town, thinking surely formula would be better than cow’s milk—I boiled and filtered water like a fiend, taking them clean water throughout the day.  We offered them money. Naga said, “Not yet.  I have invited a pastor to come and hold a prayer service on Monday or Tuesday. Then we shall see.”

And now—the baby is dead.  In Ethiopia, funerals happen quickly. We were called at 6:15, and by 9:30 we were in the cemetery burying the small wooden coffin.  Everyone helps; workers from BESS built the coffin, faculty carried benches to the house, male students dug the grave, female students prepared the cultural foods and cleaned up afterwards, the women tried to console Amsale.  Yesterday Boniat was 6 weeks old.

And now a few hours later I sit in my way-too-quiet house this afternoon, thinking about my two grandchildren in the U.S., especially about Jacob, our newest who was also born this past summer.  I thank God that Jacob is healthy and growing. I am saddened when I remember that Boniat will never grow, run, or play. And I keep wondering, Why? And is there anything more I could have done? If this child had been born in the United States, would they have found a solution to his medical problem? Our hospitals certainly have more equipment and more sanitary conditions.

Where is God in all of this?  Naga and Amsale are holding on, mostly to each other.  But also to Waqqayo—God the Creator—and their strong belief in His power to heal them.  Watching their faith sustains me. But I still wonder, Will there ever be a day when no more babies have to die like this in Africa?

Funeral Site, a fence is created around the baby’s grave to protect it from hyenas

WE LIVE IN AFRICA MOMENT!

The grief Naga and Amsale experienced over the death of their child was exactly the same as the emotions of any young couple.  With such a quick funeral, there seemed very little time to process any grief.  After the service everyone stayed and watched as the men lowered the casket and began shoveling dirt on top. Then, surprisingly, the men began standing poles vertically and then horizontally, creating a fence around the baby’s grave.  When we asked the purpose of the fence, they told us the fence protected the grave from hyenas that, smelling the corpse, would try to dig up the grave and break through the wooden box to eat the corpse.  As if this young couple’s grief was not enough, there is potential damage from wild animals.  Once again we are reminded, “We are not in America. We live in Africa.”

PRAYER REQUEST:  Please pray for Naga and Amsale in their time of grief.

Thank you for your prayers and financial support of our ministry at BESS and Gidada.   As always, gifts can be sent to the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). Please include our account D507574 for congregations or account E200507 for individuals.  We praise God for your partnership with us in serving in Dembi Dollo.

In Christ’s service,

Rev. Steve & Brenda Stelle
Bethel Evangelical Secondary School
Box 186, Dembi Dollo, Ethiopia
brendastelle813@yahoo.com
stevestelle826@gmail.com

The 2015 Presbyterian Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 142