LALMBA NEWS, VOLUME 60, NO. 3

This holiday season, we are honoring a symbol of enduring strength and hope: the east African shepherd. Much like the shepherds of yore, the individuals we serve hold stories of resilience and tenacity. Our Christmas emblem, a beautiful hand-carved wooden mask, about the size of a smiling infant’s face, represents the spirit of an East African shepherd whose life and struggles are, in some ways, similar to a shepherd’s life over 2,000 years ago.

We have all imagined that dark starry night – when silence was broken by the cry of a wee babe. Humble shepherds were amazed to receive a message of HOPE from hosts of God’s mighty angels announcing the birth of the promised Messiah, the embodiment of living hope.

That moment rings across time, traditions, and cultures. During this holiday season, that same message of hope and joy reverberates through the hills and valleys of Kenya and Ethiopia. It’s in the smile of a child receiving education, in the relief of a farmer cured of illness, and in the bright faces of families empowered and lifted to a better future.

Your support weaves you into this tapestry of giving and receiving, of past and present. With this mask, we celebrate the connection between your giving spirit and the hope it brings to so many. Thank you for your heartfelt generosity. May your Christmas be filled with the joy and HOPE you help spread.

Give HOPE and get your mask today!

We only have 500 of these beautiful masks!

Send your Christmas donation early to be one of the first recipients of these limited hand-made masks!

We will ship the first masks on December 8th so they arrive in time for Christmas.

A Shepherd’s Journey to Life-Saving Treatment

By Jennifer Wenningkamp & Rob Andzik

Recently Jeremiah, Jenipher and Wilkesta, Lalmba Kenya staff members, shared several stories of some of the young patients who visited the clinic. We wish we could share them all. Instead, keeping true to the stories they shared, we have creatively combined the stories to provide a look through the eyes of the children they talked about. Brave children who turned to Lalmba for help.

The sheep woke me up this morning. They’re louder than the cows but I like their curly hair and funny tails. They want their breakfast. They are always hungry. So am I.

We had to get up earlier today to tend to our neighbor’s animals as well. Our mom was feeling labor pains last night and the neighbor took her to the clinic on the back of his bicycle. Dad would have taken her but dad isn’t with us anymore. I hope she is ok.

I woke my sister, got dressed and we went outside. It was still dark and my sister doesn’t like the dark. I don’t either, but we pretended we’re strong and courageous like grown-ups. We left our farm and started to head to the pastures, encouraging the cows with a sturdy “eheheh yah”. The animals are stubborn and never go where we want them to. They kick up a lot of dust too. It was hard, and we had to cover our faces to keep the dust from burning our throats and nostrils.

As we walked, my sister started choking and coughing. It wasn’t like the little coughs you get from the dust. This one sounded deep and frightened me. I remembered the people from the clinic talking about more serious coughs. She was making the same sounds that sapped our dad’s strength at the end. I was worried.

It was our job to look after the animals and make sure they eat and drink, especially now with the new baby coming. Since dad isn’t here anymore, mom says we have to be responsible. But my sister’s cough was really bad and she was struggling to breath. It got me thinking, ‘What would mom do?’ I knew we needed to get help. So I decided we had to go to the nearby clinic.

But what do we do with the animals? Then I saw my friend watching her sheep nearby. I left my sister sitting and coughing by a big rock on the side of the road and ran to my friend. I begged her to watch our animals so I could get my sister to the clinic. At first she didn’t want to help, but when she heard that raspy cough, like the one that took her little sister away last year, she got scared too.

I tried to help my sister when she struggled and fell down. I thought I wasn’t big enough to carry her on my shoulders, like my dad did when she was smaller. But I was strong and carried her the last part, down that dirt path by the lake to the clinic. It was far and it seemed like forever but we made it. The clinic has always been such a nice place, but it can be confusing too. I was really nervous. Did I make the right choice leaving the animals?

A nurse in a white coat saw us and took us inside. She looked worried as she listened to my sister’s cough. She was a nice lady and told me we did the right thing by coming to the clinic. She said this was tuberculosis and that it could spread throughout the house. She asked me if anyone else in our family had a bad cough? When I drew in a deep sigh and held back tears, she patted my shoulders and let me explain more about my dad and my mom, and the baby on the way.

She comforted me like mom does and explained that my sister has a sickness but it will go away after she finishes taking medicine. I had a hard time believing her. I told her my dad took medicine and he didn’t get better. His cough didn’t go away. She asked me a few more questions and then explained that the sickness my dad had was really bad. People with that sickness need to be treated with special life-saving medicine and they have to take it for the rest of their lives. It wasn’t the cough alone that took his last breath, but the hidden sickness in his blood.

My sister is doing a little better but I’m still worried. Will mom or the new baby need life-saving medicine for the rest of their lives too?

The remote corner of Kenya where Lalmba works has long been a hot spot for HIV. At first those who contracted the disease were shunned and often hid the fact that they had it to avoid the stigma. But with new medicines came a new chance at life.

In Matoso and Ochuna, nearly 800 Kenyans living with HIV contribute to their communities and families and boast seamlessly productive lives. Seen by a Lalmba clinician every 2-3 months and routinely taking HIV medications, these men, women, and children attend school, fish in Lake Victoria, and grow maize, taro, and barley.

However, Congress’s failure to renew PEPFAR (President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief) in October may compromise their health and stability. Without this funding, HIV medication and clinical support will dwindle, and affected communities may see a return of epidemic proportions similar to that in 2000-2002.

Finally, during this Christmas Season we want to recognize Lalmba’s Founders, Hugh and Marty Downey for the amazing organization they created 60 years ago, and Jeff and Hillary James for carrying the torch for 9 amazing years. Without their vision and leadership we would not be where we are today.

Give HOPE Today!