Searching for Sadi

I'd like to think it was a spiritual calling for a heroic adventure, but much of it simply my self doubt, ego and restlessness, but that afternoon I decided to take some action with our new malnutrition program. Fingering through the files, I dug through names of babies who showed up for weighings and treatments, and then never returned. What happened to these kids. Many died, I soon learned. But others were out there... way out there.

The thing about Dombila is it is like a labyrinith. The center of the village, where I live, is only a handful of compounds. The rest of the families are out in the twisting trails through 10 foot cornstalks. You would never know they were there unless, well, you lived there. And there are 10 little "bugus" (smaller villages) that we are responsible for- some as far as 12 or 15 kilometers away. I wonder all of the time how I'm ever going to reach these people, how I'm ever going to really learn about the village if its so hidden like this.

So I picked one name- Sadi Coulibaly- who had arrived 2 weeks ago, malnourished, to get some emergency calroies and vitamines. One year old, lived in a village only 3k away, father's name was Adu Coulibaly. I asked Irene what happened to this child- why it never returned, and she didn't know. So I offered to go find her. I hoped on my bike, and rode out into the brush, stopping to pound millet with random women before politely asking for directions.

After arriving at the home of Adu Coulibaly, I saw the child- with thinning light hair and a bony face. Still alive. Thank God. Is this Sadi? Sali. Alright, there are always mispelling in the records at the doctor's office. Father- Adu, right town, with only about 25 children in the program- this one has got to be it. I asked them why they didn't come to the health center today. Oh we were supposed to come today? I thought we were supposed to come Monday. No, good God. Today! Why didn't you come today?

I was stern with them. It's ok to be stern in Mali, especially with a serious matter such as this. I placed the stuggling child on my scale and showed the parents a chart- Sadi's age and weight pointed toward the severely malnourished category. The mother agreed to come to the health center the next morning, and I returned to Dombilia to be congradulated by my coworkers.

Sali Coulibaly arrived the next morning. Sali, Irene says, weighing her. Sali. This is Sali. And her weight puts her in the moderately malnourished category for her age. But where, she asks, where is Sadi?

Sali is here today, after a stern talking to by the funny white girl. Sali is here today, but was supposed to come Monday. But Sadi- still out there somewhere. The one I had set out to look for was not the one I retrieved. You know those shameful plunges in your stomach when you realize you made a big mistake? Yeah. One of those.

On the bright side, it was a good thing that Sali came to the health center- she was not doing well, and was able to get some emergency vitamins and calories and such. Her mother, confused about the malnutrition program and the health of her child, got a lot of her questions answered. And I sent her with a message to tell the OTHER Adu Coulibaly that her son, Sadi, needs to come to the health center immediately. She was very agreeable, sat in on my nutrition talk, and seemed glad that she came.

Here in Bamako today, I still don't know- whatever happened to Sadi? And what about the others? These babies way out in the brush that just stop coming? And with the vast and winding fields of the commune of Dombilia, the hectic schedules of the health center workers, are we ever going to find them?