Kalomo Hospital

On Thursday afternoons Rogers Namuswa and I visit the Kalomo Hospital to share encouragement from the Word and to pray with the patients and their families. Back in the US, I frequently made hospital visits, but this is a very different experience.

The hospital building itself bears little resemblance to the sterile, high-tech facilities in America. The walls are constructed of painted cinderblock. Light bulbs attached to bare wires hang from the ceilings. The floor is bare concrete. The old metal beds have foam mattresses that make church camp beds seem luxurious by comparison. Patients must bring their own bedding. There are no screens on the windows to keep out the flies and mosquitoes. There are no fans or heaters.

One doctor and a few nurses are assigned to hospital. There is also one grey cat that visits each ward.

A courtyard separates the two wings of the hospital and a breezeway serves as a hall between the two wings. There are three large open rooms on each side of the hospital with ten to twelve beds in each room. When there are not enough beds, patients are assigned to foam mattresses on the floor of these wards. Somewhere there is an operating room, but I haven’t wanted to see it.

One side of the hospital is for children and for pregnant mothers waiting to deliver. The children’s ward is the most heartbreaking to visit. Last week three children were especially hard to see. Two brothers ages two and four were suffering from drinking a weed killer used on cotton plants. The youngest was unconscious, breathing laboriously. The older brother just lay on the bed, watching our movements through tired eyes. The third child was a girl about eight years old. There was a large open wound about four inches long on her right forearm. A nurse explained that the girl lives in a mud and thatch hut with no solid door. She sleeps on a mat on the floor. One cool night a cobra seeking warmth slithered next to her warm body. When she stirred, the snake bit her arm. The venom caused necrosis, the death of the skin and tissue around the bite. I prayed that the boys would survive and that the girl’s arm could be saved. I cried out to the Lord for what I often hear the Zambians ask of Him, “Leza (God), be the final medicine.”

Our purpose for these visits is to be Christ’s voice of comfort to suffering and dying people who live in a harsh land. We encourage them to be strong in faith even though their bodies are weak. And we always cry out to God, “Leza, be the final medicine.”
David