A brief acquaintance

On Thursday, Daddy came home and told Mom that there was a baby in the paediatric ward for her to take care of. Mom and Dad have been foster parents on and off for the past 20 years, and Mom loves babies. These days, they tire her out a bit more than they used to when she was much younger, but she still has plenty of energy to hold a baby, feed him, change his nappies, and rock him to sleep.

But Baby N wasn't a healthy baby. Mom had taken care of a few sick babies before, and two years ago, baby Hershey died while she was looking after him. This time, Mom was a little apprehensive. Baby N was not an orphan or even abandoned, but her mother was HIV+ and could not care for the baby. From Baby N's symptoms, she, too, was HIV+. At six months, she was a scrawny little thing with a large-ish head and sunken cheeks. She had been admitted to the hospital for ten days, but since the mother could not take care of her – being an admitted patient herself in a hospital where family members, not nurses, care for and feed the patients – Baby N had been released from the ward to join her mother.

When we brought her home to Mom and Dad's house, Baby N was pretty sick. She had diarrhoea and vomiting, and her cry was a high-pitched squeak rather than a real lusty cry. And yet she didn't look sick. She was alert and looked around. She ate well, in small quantities. I fed her last night from a sippy cup, just two ounces of formula. She threw it all up later in the evening, but we weren't that worried.

I only held her that once.

This morning, Mom called and told me that Baby N had died in the night sometime. She just hadn't woken up. Her mother – from my husband's tribe – and a translator came this morning to collect Baby N's body. I wasn't here, but Mom says the mother was weak and looked frail. Mom thought perhaps this woman had just lost the only thing she had left to live for.

The vicious HIV/AIDS has claimed another life, and I am powerless against it.