by Seth Cochran

“I don’t why she’s crying,” the interpreter fretted, “I don’t understand it either.”  I had never seen Cathy (not her real name) do anything but smile and laugh and felt this catastrophe was entirely my fault.

In an attempt to get to know some of the patients at Kitovu Hospital, I hired an interpreter to engage conversations.  There is no shortage of very tragic tales, so I limited my questions to how these women raised transport money and their plans upon returning home.  I tried to avoid the heartbreaking details of abandonment or loss. 

Cathy told me her father loaned her grandmother the equivalent of $11 to pay for Cathy’s transport and this confused me.  “Why didn’t he just give you the money,” I stupidly probed.   This started 2 minutes of back and forth between Cathy and the interpreter and ended in Cathy’s tears.   

“What was all that conversation about,” I accusingly asked the interpreter.  She explained to me that Cathy’s grandmother was actually not her real grandmother, but the sister of the woman rumored to be Cathy’s mother, and the only person in her village who had ever treated Cathy well.  The man had predatorily lent this woman money and Cathy did not know how she would pay it back.  She attempted to provide a glossy story to avoid the pain of her reality, but my follow up shattered Cathy’s facade. 

She smiled through the tears and accepted my apology, but I could not stop thinking about Cathy.  It plagued me to think of what kind of life she could possibly have working from such a deficit.  It became clear to me that surgical treatment had to be the first step in a much broader intervention that gave these women a chance. 

As we gathered up to leave Kitovu, I asked the friend who had offered to drive us to wait just a minute.  I needed to go and find Cathy.  I ran through the yard of the hostel searching to no avail.  In fact, I even went back to the car twice to ask for more time, refusing to quit until I found Cathy.  When I finally did catch up with her, I put a wad of cash in Cathy’s hand and wished her luck.  But as we drove away I knew she needed more than money and good wishes...

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