Remembering Moguay

When we returned to Hargeisa after being in Djibouti for three months and Kenya for four, we learned that chubby little Kadra had died.  She was the baby we thought would make it.  She was doing so well, and due to the language barrier, we weren’t even able to learn the cause of her death.

Another little creature, whose name I cannot remember also died.  This was less of a surprise. She was so thin, and with all the babies and children in the orphanage, her mealtimes were often little more than a bottle propped up next to her on the crib.  But she was too weak to suck and could not gain her strength.

So it was my great desire that little Moguay not fall victim to the same fate.  We lived not far from the orphanage and it was easy to walk there.  Working around the time spent at the newly built Edna Adan Maternity Hospital, I often stopped by to visit Moguay and to pick him up and feed him with a medicine dropper.  He was weak and needed this attention.  I also loved to just hold him and tell him he would make it and grow up to be a big strong guy.

Moguay was left at the gates of the hospital a couple of months earlier.  (In this picture he was nine months old!!)  His name means “does not know his father.”  In the Somali culture, this is one of the worst things to befall someone because, as an orphan they can still lead a normal productive life once they leave the orphanage, but as someone who doesn’t know their family name, and therefore their clan, they don’t fit in anywhere in society.

Eventually the orphanage workers picked up on my concern for Moguay and started giving him more attention for his mealtimes, but he did not gain in strength.

He continued to get sicker until one morning an orphanage worker came to our house early in the morning with him and urged me to take him to the hospital.  We set off immediately and when we arrived, discovered that some doctors from the UK had come to volunteer for a short time.  I could see that the doctor was flustered, not having seen such a sick baby before.  She studied her notes about rehydration and tried to give instructions about boiling water to purify it and mixing it with sugar – his veins were too weak for an iv.  She was frustrated that the nurses didn’t seem to understand and took their time in preparing the mixture.  I just held Moguay.


When the entire morning went by and the other staff came to get me for lunch, I finally handed Moguay over to one of the nurses, explaining to him what I was doing and that I would be back after lunch.  As I turned to go, he started to go into convulsions and the head nurse whisked him over to the table and started CPR.  I stood there in shock as she tried to revive him, such a little baby, such a little ribcage.  When she saw that her efforts were in vain, she stopped, and calmly started to wash him, wrapping him in a clean white cloth.  Then she handed him to me, laid her hand on my arm and said, “I’m sorry.”

I carried his body, heavier in death than it was in life and sat in the truck waiting for the driver to come.  Tears streamed down my face, my chest constricted with grief that there was no more life in this baby.  We drove to the orphanage and as soon as we pulled up, one of the older orphans came to the car and started pestering me about getting them a computer.  I said, “Not now, Dowood.”  He looked at me in astonishment and said, “Teacher!  Are you cry?”  With tears streaming down my face I nodded my head.  He asked, “But why?”  I choked out, “because Moguay died.”  He said, “but …. don’t cry!  It’s just an orphan!”

Later Dowood came over and spoke to another member of our team and said, “Other organizations give us food and materials, but now I know that you love us because you cried when Moguay died.”

I look at his picture now, his little face fraught with worry and hunger, and I still cry.  I still get a lump in my throat because I know his story is just one of many.  But I tell his story anyway because I want his name to mean “He is remembered.”

* This post originally appeared in my former blog, Perfect Welcome, and may contain some modifications or discrepancies in the names or comments.

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