Baby Katie

When we hit a speed bump without slowing down one bit, I bounced so far out of my seat I feared my head would hit the ceiling. I landed and clung with both hands to the fold-out bench in the back of the ambulance, wishing seatbelts were more common in Uganda. Piet apologized for not seeing the speed bump in time and we continued on.

Blue lights flashing and siren on, he tried to maneuver his way into Kampala, but for some unknown reason traffic was horrendous at 11:00 p.m. that night. I lurched sideways every time he hit the break and tried not to slide on the bench when he accelerated. This direction, Pita and I were along for the ride. My fingers were sore from gripping the seat. How on earth was I going to hold a baby on the way back?

When I had volunteered to come along two hours ago, I didn’t realize I was in for such a rough ride. Pita must be used to this by now, having done it more than 150 times. But she gets to sit in the front seat, which is a real seat.

At the eastern edge of Kampala (from what I could tell, not being familiar with the city), we pulled a U-turn to get to the police station on our right. I hopped out the back of the ambulance, glad for a chance to stretch my tense legs, and looked up at the simple brick building. The three of us quickly ascended the steps and went inside. Piet and Pita greeted the police officers by name. Meanwhile, I quietly soaked in my surroundings, never having been there before.

On the left stood a counter with several large books I imagined were for recording police business. Somewhere behind the counter was a wooden table and a clock was mounted on the wall straight in front of me. The room was lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Its light did little to illuminate anything not immediately underneath, much less the corners of the dark room.

The policeman gestured behind the counter and we walked around the counter and table to see the children we were there to collect. A teenage boy lay on the ground covered in a blanket. His eyes were open, but he made no movement and his face was expressionless. Pita and I looked at each other in confusion. We were supposed to be picking up a six-month-old boy and a one-and-a-half-year-old girl. How did they get it this wrong?

Then we noticed the small lumps next to him. Two babies were fast asleep on the floor, also covered by a dirty blanket. Pita wasted no time in gathering one into her arms and laying it gently on the table. She clearly had a routine. After putting on a diaper and clean clothes, she handed the little girl to me and proceeded to the next baby, a boy. It was not long before we had them both wrapped in clean blankets and loving arms.

Piet signed a book at the counter—apparently the only paperwork necessary to take a child back with us—and gave the police some necessary information. When the officers asked what they wanted to put down as the babies’ names, Pita looked at me. “How do you spell your name?” she asked. Thinking they needed my name on the list of who took the children, I spelled it out for her. She turned back to the policemen and said, “The girl is Katie and the boy is Colin.” And that was that. I had a namesake.

Piet helped me reenter the back of the ambulance and I tried to situate myself as securely as possible with one hand. Katie didn’t make a sound, but her large eyes stared up at me from the hole in her blanket cocoon. I stared right back, unable to tear my eyes from hers.

The hour-long drive back to Noah’s Ark was nearly as bumpy as the first. Piet once again failed to see the speed bump, but I clutched Katie tightly and neither of us went flying too far. Somehow, amidst the blue lights and bumps and strange mzungus, Katie fell asleep. Her eyelids fluttered open whenever we hit a particularly rough patch, but never for long. Her ability to rest surprised me so much that I kept checking to make sure she was breathing. Neither she nor her brother looked sick or malnourished like so many children who come, but nevertheless I prayed to God that she would stay alive until we reached Noah’s Ark and could take a better look at her.

When we finally made it back to the compound, Pita and I took the babies to her house for bathing, pajamas, and a midnight snack. I sat Katie on my lap and tried to feed her from the sippie cup of juice Pita had provided. She kept pushing it away, unwilling to put her face near it.

“She’s probably never seen a cup like that,” Piet said, removing the lid. At that, Katie grabbed for it with both hands and gulped down every bit of the juice, barely giving herself time to breathe. Anytime I attempted to help, she swatted my hands away. My mom would have called her an independent little cuss.

After juice, we gave her a biscuit, on which she nibbled enthusiastically. When she was halfway finished, Piet held out his hand as if asking her to give it to him. He wanted to see how trusting she was, both with food and with him. Katie hesitated for a moment, then placed the biscuit gingerly into his hand. He pulled it to his mouth and comically began pretending to eat it, then handed it back to her. It quickly became a game. She would eat for a moment, then offer it back to Piet, who gobbled up air and returned the biscuit.

It was hard for me to surrender Katie to Piet and Pita as I left their house late that night. I couldn’t wait to come back the next day and see how my little girl was. My heart was full and my mind was reeling. Who would give up such children? What had happened?

All the police knew was that Katie and Colin had been found on someone’s front doorstep. They had been well fed, as was evidenced by their healthy bodies. They were used to getting attention, as I could see when I started playing with Katie the next day. These children had been well cared for. Why had they been abandoned?

Our first guess was that they had been stolen from their mother. Nothing else seemed to explain how they could be cared for one day and abandoned the next. We hoped—and still hope—to hear from their loving family who will rejoice in having found them.

However, they have been here nearly two months and we have had no word from anyone looking for their children. Our more recent speculation is that their mother is no longer with either father (the children don’t look alike so we guess they are only half siblings) and that her new man didn’t want the children. This is common in Uganda. A man wants to raise his own children, not the offspring of some other man. In an instinctual way it makes sense, although I still find it shocking that a man would ask such a thing of a woman. What I find even more shocking, however, is that a woman will agree to it. I can’t imagine raising a child for eighteen months and then leaving her on a stranger’s doorstep because my new boyfriend told me to. Again, it is only a speculation. We don’t know the whole story, and, like so many others, maybe we never will.

Katie is adapting to life at Noah’s Ark day by day. The independent little cuss wouldn’t let anyone help feed her in the baby section and within two weeks they had moved her to the toddler rooms. She doesn’t speak yet, but sure knows how to sing and dance. She laughs the hardest when I turn her upside-down and bury my face in her chocolate-colored stomach. Small tangibles like popsicle sticks or uncooked beans can keep her occupied for an hour. She was bald when she arrived, but now her hair is growing in tiny ringlets, although I doubt she’ll ever have the soft curls of her little brother.

If you are interested in sponsoring precious Baby Katie, send me an email (katie.schinnell@gmail.com) and I will give you the necessary information. Each child from the home has up to six sponsors to cover the cost of food, clothing, caregivers, medical expenses, and anything else that may come up in her life as she grows up. Even more so, she can use prayers both for her family to come for her and Colin and for them to continue adjusting to life at Noah’s Ark and to be well loved here.