Wali

It was 1985, in the heat of the summer in Peshawar. The previous summer we had spent a week in the cool mountains of Chitral among the Kalash people. There Lois had helped a Muslim lady take care of her little girl who was very sick. The mother knew nothing about sanitation. Lois remembers the time she found a dead fly floating in the baby's bottle. She had had seven pregnancies, but only two babies had lived.

This Friday morning in Peshawar, returning from church, (yes, church was on Fridays in those days according to the Muslim tradition) another missionary lady met us on the street and asked, or rather told us, that a very sick baby girl was being evacuated from Chitral, another of the same woman's children. The baby would not survive if someone didn't care for her, and we were chosen to take the baby girl.

That evening, as the missionary community gathered together, we announced, as several other young couples had, that we were expecting a baby. But we knew it would be a girl—and she was arriving tomorrow! Soon several friends brought over pretty baby clothes for our soon-to-arrive baby girl, along with diapers, a crib, and much needed encouragement.

The next day she arrived, very sick, about 4 and a half months old and weighing only 6 pounds. She was suffering from severe malnutrition, pneumonia, diarrhea, bronchial pneumonia, and was very dirty. When Lois and our kids undressed the baby to give her a bath—surprise—he was a boy!

Wali was an extremely miserable, uncomfortable baby, and his health was very fragile. His muscles were in the first stages of atrophy. He had a severe cough and fever. He would only sleep at night if I held him and paced the floor with him. Eventually, he would consent to sleep on my chest as I lay on a mat in the living room. Lois would take over in the morning.

His health was not improving so eventually we decided to admit him into Khyber Teaching Hospital. I remember seeing a sign on the hospital wall explaining what the medical students were permitted to do. It said, "Third year medical students may administer subcutaneous and intramuscular infections." So true. Wali was placed in a room with two jaundiced children. Later a doctor (student) came through and injected them all with the same needle. We decided to take Wali home and care for him ourselves, providing the needed oxygen with a tank from our mechanic's shop.

It was a long recovery process, but Wali finally started to smile and gain weight. He soon mastered a walker and delighted in chasing our cat. He even caught the cat one time. By now Wali was a community baby—he belonged to the whole missionary community who had, by now, provided him with some boy clothes. One of the foreigners, not a missionary, asked us how we were paying for the baby's specialized formula. I was confused. I said, I take the money out of my pocket and give it to the shopkeeper. She said, "From now on I will pay for the baby's milk."

After a few months, Wali was no longer the skinny "refugee baby". In fact, he was getting fat and very active with an infectious smile. We would have been concerned about his weight, but we knew in a few more months he would be returning to his mother in Chitral. Every extra pound he gained would be useful in that harsh environment.

Finally, the day came when we had to return Wali. His family lived in a restricted tribal area, so we needed special permission to enter there. The Deputy Commissioner (D.C.) was incensed that we, as Christians, had been feeding a Muslim baby without his authorization. He would not allow us to enter the territory. When Wali's tribal leaders learned that, they sent a delegation to the D.C. and informed him that we indeed could take Wali home but that he, the D.C., would not be permitted at their festival that year.

While we waited for these negotiations, we were housed in the home of a man whose wet nurse was the mother of Wali's aunt who was with us, thus they were "related". Relationships are complicated. He lived in a little dirt house on a hill above town. It had "running water", a small stream ran under the wall, across the courtyard, and out the other side. They had a system; they got their drinking water where the stream entered the courtyard, washed their hands farther downstream, the dishes next, and finally rinsed the baby's diapers just before the water ran under the other wall. It was a great system, except the neighbors upstream had the same system. When we got home, two of our kids came down with hepatitis.

The tribal elders finally came to escort us into the tribal area. It was about a 10-mile trek from our host's home to Wali's village, made longer by having to carry Wali and all our gear. Michelle at 12 insisted on carrying Wali most of the way.

We entered the village just about dark. They had slaughtered a young calf for us, and I think we were fed everything except the moo. Fortunately, it was dark and a friendly dog under the table helped with some of the more distasteful parts. That night Wali slept in his own house, but Michelle stayed with him, either to comfort Wali or Michelle—I'm not sure which.

After visiting in the area for a few days, it came time to leave, to leave little Wali whom we had come to love, who now looked like a fat Buddha, in the care of a Muslim family in very poor and unsanitary conditions, where the nearest medical facilities were a 10 mile hike followed by a half hour drive away. It was hard. We said our goodbyes and slowly made our way down the valley—in silence. No one spoke. We couldn't speak without crying.

What was the magic medicine we gave Wali to fatten him up? What special treatment, what miracle drug turned him from the starving infant into fat Wali? Simple: milk, food, and lots of love and the prayers of people around the world. Oh, and keeping him clean. The same as Scripture prescribes for us.

“So put away all malice and all deceit and hypocrisy and envy and all slander. Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation.” (1 Peter 2:1 & 2)

“I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” (John 6:51)

“Finally, all of you, be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble.”  (1Peter 3:8)

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”  (John 13:34)