For some reason I can’t quite fathom, Nancy sometimes feels the need to spend time with other woman. The sixteen dorm boys are all remarkably sensitive and JT, Matthew and Ben reflect the compassion of the modern male. By now, you know how sensitive I am. And yet, Nancy will tell Katie almost everyday `Grow faster, little one. Momma needs another girl around here.’

Some of the ladies will have a birthday luncheon for each other, and it was scheduled to be at our house. Nancy made a wonderful pie for the dessert, and I had firm orders not to be near the house during the lunch, for strange reasons I do not understand.

As I pondered this, and the fact that I wouldn’t get any of the pie, it suddenly occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, the pie hadn’t turned out right, and how devastating it might be to Nancy if her friends rejected the pie, so I sent an email to all the ladies who were coming:

`Nancy’s dessert did not come out. She would feel horrible if you didn’t like it, so please say you are full when it’s time for dessert. I will eat it when I come home, and praise her lavishly.’

For some odd reason, NO ONE believed me. Not one woman. Some made a point of telling me that they ate seconds, just on principle. And Nancy is giving Katie special vitamins to help her grow even faster.

It’s hard to be sensitive.

Speaking of growing, Katie is beginning to crawl. She crawls as if she is being fired upon, with her being on her elbows instead of her hands, but she can get anywhere she wants to be, and many places she shouldn’t be. Ben, although her twin, is almost three pounds heavier than her and content to do a bit of rolling and more thoroughly examine each toy he comes upon. Katie has two teeth in and one on the way; Ben has yet to have a tooth make an appearance.

Whenever we eat dinner, we have the twins with us although they have eaten earlier. Ben always looks longingly at our food, as if he is thinking `That could be mine.’ If you saw him, you would not think he was underfed, but if you talked to him, I think you would walk away with that opinion.

Rugby has started, and JT is loving it. Most of our guys in the dorm are playing it, and as a dorm parent for 16 guys, I thoroughly approve of ANYTHING that exhausts 7th graders. Almost every kid comes home every night with something that hurts, and a big smile on their face. I can’t wait until their first game.

There was a group of Australian schoolgirls that came to RVA this week. I volunteered to take them to the hospital and let them give some toys that some kind people have donated. As I tried to prepare them for what they might see, one of the little girls eyes started to brim over.

And it was a rough week in there. Lots of hydrocephalus, and a burn victim whose face appeared to be almost totally gone; it was the only way I could describe it. Matthew went with me, and he always tends to go to the worst-case scenarios kids, but seeing her made him sick to his stomach and had to walk away.

One of the hardest things they have to deal with at the hospital is that whenever they treat one ailment, they find so many other things wrong. Because the water supply is foul and most Kenyans can’t eat three meals a day, their systems tend to have amoebas and malnutrition is not uncommon, it’s assumed. Because of that, their little systems tend to have more wear and tear on them than most kids would.

The one little Australian girl came up to me and asked `Why is it so hard for them? Why do I have so much and they so little? Why do little kids have to suffer?’

I told her I didn’t know the answers, but that they were very good questions.

Your pal

Steve Peifer