“I need to buy bread for tomorrow and check if there is any good fruit at the market. Is there anything else?” Neil asked me.
“No, that’s about it,” I said.
Just as Neil was about to get on his motorcycle, his phone rang. “Sure, I’ll come right away,” I heard him say.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“That was Lamine, my motorcycle mechanic friend. He asked if I could come right away and says it is important.” A minute later, Neil and Clayton (who wouldn’t be left behind), were roaring down the driveway.
About an hour later, they were back. “Here is the bread, Mommy,” said Clayton, handing me the plastic sack, a serious look on his face. “We saw a little girl who couldn’t sit up. Something is wrong with her legs.”
I looked at Neil for an explanation. He told me that Lamine had called him on behalf of a friend who had a sick daughter. Neil and Clayton had gone to the man’s house with Lamine. The little girl was perhaps four or five years old, and her legs were horribly contorted. Neil thought she might have cerebral palsy. She was terrified of Neil and Clayton and screamed the whole time they were there. “Can you do anything to help us?” her father pleaded. He said they had been everywhere looking for help, including one of the biggest hospitals in Bamako.
Neil and I looked at each other. What could we do for her? I wondered. In the States, with my background at a rehabilitation hospital, I knew there were endless resources available for disabled children. But here in Mali, one of the world’s poorest nations? We decided to pray about it and see what God would do. To be continued.