She sat in the front row. When I asked for volunteers, her hand was the first hand up. The class had no idea what they were about to do; I wasn’t
even their regular teacher…but they trusted me. We were going to read a short
screenplay- an episode of the Twilight Zone. These were the girls with the
lowest English skills, girls from the village, girls who had earned the right
to be at this school because of their hard work and determination to climb out
of the cycle of poverty that grips their country and so many others.
I gave her a part. I gave them all parts. Big, small, they
didn’t care. Because I had seen her at assemblies and around campus, I knew she
had spirit. She did not disappoint. Starting hesitantly, they all did- unsure
of what was expected, of speaking out loud, of making a mistake- but as the
story began to unfold with their words, their voices, I could feel the shift.
They took ownership. They became the characters they were playing. No one more
than her. Her voice grew bolder, took on characteristics of the defensive man
she was playing, facial movements and all. She was Les in that moment, but her
name was Tabitha and she died this week.
She died because she lives in a country where healthcare is
so hard to come by, it is the last thing people seek out when sick. She died
because the doctors are few and the trained ones even fewer. She died because
she probably never complained about her shortness of breath, or pain in her
chest, or numbness. She died because there is no medical care at school and she
would have been told to take a pain killer or a nap. She died because when she
did finally go to a doctor, she was diagnosed with a respiratory problem, not the
heart problem she actually had. Sixteen-year-old Tabitha, cheering, happy,
full-of -life Tabitha died of a completely curable illness simply because of
where she was born.
This is the second girl to die this year at school. The
first was two months ago. She had symptoms, was given Panadol (Tylenol),
sleeping pills and told to rest. Two days later she collapsed and became incoherent
at school. No one helped her until another American working at the school found
her in her dorm and went to the administration and demanded something be done.
They took her to a psychiatric hospital for stress breakdown. One month later
she died of an undiagnosed brain tumor, thinking she was crazy. Even if there
was a neurologist in the country who could have read the symptoms, there is no
MRI machine to confirm and no surgeon to operate. So she died.
I have never been so close to the death of children before,
not my own, not my students. I have seen the ravages of malnutrition, hunger,
poverty. I have seen children who were abused, abandoned, unloved. I have seen
them living on the street and selling themselves for a good grade or airtime or
food. I have been in and out of hospitals and clinics where doctors diagnose
without ever touching a patient. Where patients have so little knowledge about
their own bodies they can’t even accurately describe their symptoms. I have
been with girls who thought they were pregnant because they got their period,
or miss class because they lack the money to buy pads. I have students who were
not given malaria meds because their schools can’t afford to stock them and no
nets are provided. I have a student who went a month with a serious UTI that
went untreated until the school finally called us and said she was too sick to
stay in school...come get her.
Two children, just two of the thousands who die every day.
Children who die because adults have failed them.
March 2024
The post above was written two months before my own daughter died from suicide. While I talk of girls from developing countries, my own daughter was so distraught for her friends of color, LGBTQ, AND HERSELF after a misogynistic, racist, buffoon was elected President, in what was supposed to be the shinning example of democracy to the rest of the world, that she chose to take perscription drugs (not hers) meant to help with anxiety and depression and drink for several days. My daughter died because the adults in her life did not protect her. She died because her friends did not act. She died because she took other people's prescription drugs as a way to deal with her stress. Drugs that are prescribed to teenagers for depression, and come with a warning that they can cause suicidal thoughts in young people. She was a bright light in a very dark world. She is described by her roommates as the caretaker and mom- she is the one who made them breakfast and took on their problems. She was the peacemaker in our family, often bridging the divide between siblings and keeping in contact with her grandparents. She listened, absorbed and finally her empathy became too much. Almost eight years later the mental health of our young people, especially girls, is becoming mainstream. People are more aware but the triggers of self-esteem, sexual abuse, peer pressure, and fear of an uncertain future still remain.
Children die because adults fail them.
