Gwame

I strip down to my underwear, half-walk, half run down the sandy slope and plunge into the coolness of the river. The hot season is upon us and nothing is cool here except the river. The harmatan winds blow hot dust and wind off the Sarah leaving the Sun a well defined, somewhat darkened orb in a murky sky.

Sarah, Israel and I have brought our two volunteer resident physicians, Aimee and Jennifer out here on horseback. Everyone is hot, dusty and sweaty but I'm the only one to take the plunge. I feel invigoratedand take long crawl strokes upstream. However, due to the force of the current and my long unused swimming muscles my progress is slow and my fatigue comes onfast. Every once in a while I lift the head up for along look ahead…you never know if their might be hippos! I pull out of the water and dry off with my shirt and pull on my pants. Sarah and Israel have disappeared with mine and Sarah's horses. The girls inform me that the horses ran off and they went to chase them. They soon come back. I grab the single rope attached to the nose bridle, place my left foot in the stirrup and swing up. My butt is already sore from being to long out of the saddle. We start off in a slow trot. The girls are behind Sarah and Israel and are bouncingup and down like jackhammers. That's gotta hurt!

They can't really gallop so I spur my horse, Bob, onahead. The wind whips through my hair as I fly overthe dusty trails passed the burned fields awaiting thenext rainy season to be transformed. There is one field that is surrounded by a two foot high thorn fence and dirt retaining wall where someone is desperately and pathetically trying to grow something (looks like weeds, maybe it's their local smoke). A pack of women with huge metal basins covered with brightly colored cloth perched on their heads block my path. I pull in the rein (singular) tightly and Bob slows down as they also realize that a horse is upon them and quickly move to the sides. I wave and shout"Lapia" and continue on.

I turn around and gallop into the Harmatan winds until I rejoin the others and we slowly walk back. At thef irst house on the outskirts of the village Sarah stops to ask if they have any chickens for our going away party for our volunteers tomorrow. They have none. Just then I see Gwame run up. A cute 4-5 year old hehas old shorts, a torn shirt and a huge grin as he stops near my horse with arm outstretched to give me"five". After I slap his hand his tongue pokes out in concentration and he rears back his palm to smack mine with all his little might.

Hard to believe that less than a year ago he was acripple with nothing but a lifetime of suffering ahead of him.

In August, thanks to my old (yes, old) friend Troy Dickson and his wife he was sent to Kenya to the Cure Hospital for a life-changing operation. He had what is called "wind swept knees" meaning that both knees were displaced laterally as if a strong wind was blowing them to the side making it almost impossiblefor him to walk. In fact, when Troy and I first saw him he was also malnourished and covered with scabies from head to toe. Being an indentical twin made it even sadder as by looking at his brother we could see what he should be.

Now, radiating joy and health he begs me to lift him up for a horse ride as I have the habit of doing whenever I pass. I reach down and grab him under the armpit and swing up his little body onto the horse. His straightened legs easily fall on either side of the horses shoulder and off we go. We take off in a trot with the other kids following screaming at the top of their lungs and a permanent grin on Gwame's face threatening to split his ears in two. When wecome back and chase the other kids all the way into the courtyard of the house he giggles and chuckles with a contagious hilarity that makes us all feel like nothing could touch us in this moment. We are as free as free can be. Free to rejoice in a miracle, in a transformed life, in the moment.

James