Basha Banto is a man who suffered from osteoporosis for many years. For me and most
women, osteoporosis is only a condition that doctors scare us about so we take our
Boniva pills. At least for me, it was.....
I didn’t know men could get it. And I sure didn’t know the devastation it could wreck in a body.
Basha’s friends told me that he used to be quite tall- almost 6 feet. This is considered
very unusual for Ethiopians. He was a by all accounts a good father (6 children) and
husband-a regular church goer.
For the past year, he has been confined to a hospital bed. His body had wasted down over the years from this disease until he was a twisted torso with bent and crippled hands. His once long legs were now almost childlike in size. He was on oxygen 24/7 His faithful wife and family came every day and stayed throughout the day to help take care of him.
He was dying, the family knew that. There was nothing the hospital could do for him as
far as treatment goes. But the problem is that morally, the hospital could not release him
to his home because of the almost daily power outages in our town. There is no way to
predict when the electricity will go out- no pattern at all. Without the oxygen on, Basha
would only live 12-15 mins.
Now here is where Tom and I come into the story. While I was visiting a friend who was in the hospital, Bashas’ wife also visits my friend. They have gone to church together for many years.
She asked me if I would come meet her husband and pray with him.
Of course I went and my buddy Liul, (my 15 yr old sunday morning Bible story translator) came with me. I was moved by the cheerful personality of this woman who was named Mestewat-and this poor little man who was determined to live ‘ for his children to have a father’
The next morning around 11:00am Tom and I arrived at the hospital to bring Basha home. Tom had put a mattress in the back of the truck and brought along a small battery and converter to power the oxygen during transport.
When we got to the hospital and went to Bashas room-it was empty.
Basha had died that morning only a few hours earlier. We stood there in shock.
The doctor was tearing up as he told us the news. The body had already been taken home and the funeral was being held at 2:00 that afternoon.
There are no refrigeration morgue facilities, so this is the necessary way things are done here. I don’t know how the word gets around so quickly- I really don’t. But by the time we arrived at the home, a tent had been erected in the road beside their tiny house. Mourners had already filled up the yard and tent with an overflow crowd along the road.
One of the unusual customs (at least to us) is that everyone openly weeps-even the men. As they wait in line to give their condolences they are straight faced but as soon as they start touching the widow they break down crying. I had seen this behavior once before in our first year in Ethiopia when a man was murdered. Tom and I knew his father and he called us when he first discovered the body of his son. We got there before the police- but when they arrived, the first thing the policemen did was look into the room at the crime scene and then they all started weeping. It was startling to see professional policemen show emotion like that. Back to Bashas funeral.......
So many people came, bearing the grief of the family with them.Dr. Yappo and some of the nurses even came, weeping.....
I sat and watched the faces of the people- the widow who was completely devastated by this sudden reversal of events. I just couldn’t grasp it- this was supposed to be a day of rejoicing! Instead, we had a funeral.
When it was over, several men made their way through the crowd toward me. I knew what was coming. They wanted me to drive my truck with the coffin in the back to the cemetery. It was several miles away and although the mourners would walk it was a long way to carry the body.....and so I became the hearse driver.
I didn’t know men could get it. And I sure didn’t know the devastation it could wreck in a body.
Basha’s friends told me that he used to be quite tall- almost 6 feet. This is considered
very unusual for Ethiopians. He was a by all accounts a good father (6 children) and
husband-a regular church goer.For the past year, he has been confined to a hospital bed. His body had wasted down over the years from this disease until he was a twisted torso with bent and crippled hands. His once long legs were now almost childlike in size. He was on oxygen 24/7 His faithful wife and family came every day and stayed throughout the day to help take care of him.
He was dying, the family knew that. There was nothing the hospital could do for him as
far as treatment goes. But the problem is that morally, the hospital could not release him
to his home because of the almost daily power outages in our town. There is no way to
predict when the electricity will go out- no pattern at all. Without the oxygen on, Basha
would only live 12-15 mins.
Now here is where Tom and I come into the story. While I was visiting a friend who was in the hospital, Bashas’ wife also visits my friend. They have gone to church together for many years.
She asked me if I would come meet her husband and pray with him.
Of course I went and my buddy Liul, (my 15 yr old sunday morning Bible story translator) came with me. I was moved by the cheerful personality of this woman who was named Mestewat-and this poor little man who was determined to live ‘ for his children to have a father’
Later when we were driving home, Liul remarked that the family wanted Basha to be able to come home and live the remainder of his days in his own bed surrounded by family and neighbors and friends. But they have no generator-and without that- no mahbrat (electricity) I talked to Tom about maybe buying a generator to give them and he immediately said “lets give him ours.” (What a sweet guy, huh?) Our generator was a super duper industrial strength gas generator and would be more than enough to power the oxygen machine when the power goes out. So we talked to the doctor and nurses to make sure Basha could take the oxygen machine home with him. They immediately said yes and rejoiced! Some of the nurses even cried at this good news.
We then told Basha and his wife and you can imagine the joy that beamed across their faces! Basha was finally going home!!! wow- you wouldn’t believe all the hugs and kisses and “Hallelujahs” we got then! But then the hospital financial dept. started to hit them with the bill-a whole year of hospital residence. This would have crushed them- they could never hope to pay for all that. Through the efforts of Dr. Yappo, we convinced the administration to waive the charges-since we were ‘relieving them of a moral quandry’. The next day Tom and some family members loaded up the generator and took it to Bashas house to make sure it would work there. We even made several trial
runs of how to start it up quickly while one of us pretended to be Basha gasping for air when the mahbrat goes out. Everyone was laughing good naturedly and joking while the eldest son who had the responsibility of starting the generator, paid close attention to Toms’ instructions.
The whole family was so happy. We were too. They planned the next day to invite us for a special coffee ceremony after Basha was brought home- it would be a real celebration!
Tom and I went to bed excited at being a part of something special.
The whole family was so happy. We were too. They planned the next day to invite us for a special coffee ceremony after Basha was brought home- it would be a real celebration!
Tom and I went to bed excited at being a part of something special.
 |
| Mestewat grieving over the sudden change in events. |
When we got to the hospital and went to Bashas room-it was empty.
Basha had died that morning only a few hours earlier. We stood there in shock.
The doctor was tearing up as he told us the news. The body had already been taken home and the funeral was being held at 2:00 that afternoon.
There are no refrigeration morgue facilities, so this is the necessary way things are done here. I don’t know how the word gets around so quickly- I really don’t. But by the time we arrived at the home, a tent had been erected in the road beside their tiny house. Mourners had already filled up the yard and tent with an overflow crowd along the road.
One of the unusual customs (at least to us) is that everyone openly weeps-even the men. As they wait in line to give their condolences they are straight faced but as soon as they start touching the widow they break down crying. I had seen this behavior once before in our first year in Ethiopia when a man was murdered. Tom and I knew his father and he called us when he first discovered the body of his son. We got there before the police- but when they arrived, the first thing the policemen did was look into the room at the crime scene and then they all started weeping. It was startling to see professional policemen show emotion like that. Back to Bashas funeral.......
So many people came, bearing the grief of the family with them.Dr. Yappo and some of the nurses even came, weeping.....I sat and watched the faces of the people- the widow who was completely devastated by this sudden reversal of events. I just couldn’t grasp it- this was supposed to be a day of rejoicing! Instead, we had a funeral.
When it was over, several men made their way through the crowd toward me. I knew what was coming. They wanted me to drive my truck with the coffin in the back to the cemetery. It was several miles away and although the mourners would walk it was a long way to carry the body.....and so I became the hearse driver.
Several hundred mourners walked behind me as we slowly made our way to the cemetery-just a patch of raw, wild land. The hole had already been dug. The coffin was lowered into the ground. It was quickly covered over with cement. This was done while the crowd and family stood off a ways and listened to a preacher. Then the mourning really got intense. The widow began wailing and slapping her face. She threw herself backwards relying on friends to catch her before she hit the ground.The eldest son tore
 |
| Basha's mother |
I’m not really sure why Tom and I played a part in all this. Maybe to give a family hope- short- lived as it was. Maybe to show that we really are all brothers in this life together. Jesus taught that we should each bear one anothers’ burdens......and for a short time, Tom and I were privileged to be a part of the burden-bearing process.
No comments:
Post a Comment