Howard Roark
Retired Moderator
Clay, who is a cousion, friend, former student and brother in the fire service is on a 6 month mission in Sudan. He graduated college with a business degree and works as an EMT. He plans on entering medical school next year. He had quite an adventure day before yesterday. Any prayers on his behalf will be greatly appreciated.
HR
HR
The morning of 12 February 2009 started like most other days here in Kapoeta, Southern Sudan. Little did I know, however, that this was not going to be a normal day and that before it was over I would have witnessed nothing short of miracle and seen the awesome power of the mighty hand of God on the lives the the people here and on my own life as well.
Around 9:30am, Greg and I heard an explosion in the distance. It started a conversation between us about how it must have been MAG (a Swedish de-mining organization) disposing of some unused ordinance. This is a common thing here as there are minefields that were planted by the arabs all over this region. You must understand that Southern Sudan has not been long out of war and, in fact, there is talk even now of the war starting again if they are not allowed to secede from the north. Because of this state of such civil unrest, there are many villagers here who still hold and carry weapons left over from the previous 21 year conflict. One such villager happened to have several grenades unsecured in his home that unfortunately fell into the hands of two small innocent children who saw them as nothing more than curious toys with no understanding of their destructive power.
Later that morning around 11:30 I was with a friend of mine, Gordon, who is a Kenyan doctor working in Sudan, when he received an urgent call that there had been some children injured by a bomb and that assistance was needed at the local Catholic hospital. We responded to the call and found four boys who had been seriously wounded from accidental explosion. This is when we learned that the two small kids had been striking the grenades with a hammer causing them to go off. The two kids were killed instantly, but four others who were some distance from the blast were hit by grenade’s shrapnel.
The patient we were directed to when we arrived had been severely injured in his external excretory organ. He was badly mangled, but Gordon was able to remove the damaged tissue, suture the arteries, and close the wound. The boy was in a lot of pain, but the bleeding was controlled and his life was not in danger. His injuries could be handled at that hospital fairly easily, though the quality of care would be nothing compared to what we would receive in the States.
We were then directed to the pediatric ward where three other boys were being treated. The first boy, aged 13, was hit just below his navel. For this story I will call him John, because it means God is gracious. The language barrier kept me from ever learning his real name. Gordon performed a procedure I had not seen before and drew blood out of his abdomen to confirm our suspicion that he was bleeding internally. So far his care had been a bandage over the one inch entry wound, a liter of lactated ringers and a pint of blood. His blood pressure and heart rate were stable for the time being, but he was in serious trouble and needed surgery as soon as possible. It was around 12:30pm at this point and now three hours from the time the incident occured. John was the most critical of the three.
The second boy, aged 10, was hit in the head and right side of his chest. I will call him Gabriel, because it means God is my strength. The head injury was only superficial, but the chest wound was more serious. He had a three inch gaping hole below his right clavicle and his breathsounds were diminished on the right side. The wound had been packed with gauze and he was stable, but he needed surgery soon as well.
The third boy I will call Paul, meaning small or litlle. He was 7 years old and had a compound tibia/fibula fracture; the bones were exposed and protruding through the skin. When I reached this boy the bleeding was not well controlled and his leg was just laying loose. I had a SAM splint in the car and a compression bandage. I formed the splint to his leg and controlled the bleeding. He was the most stable of the three.
The hospital (which had no doctor) wanted to transport the children to Uganda where the care would be free. This entailed an 8 hour drive and a 24 hour delay before leaving because the ambulance was away on another trip and would not return until the next morning. Gordon and I both concluded that John would not last through the night without surgical intervention and Gabriel’s was only a slightly better. We began to look for other options.
The biggest obstacle was money. The parents of the children could not possibly afford any of the care that would be required. The Catholic hospital agreed to treat them for free, but only at their hospital and the drive to their facility in Uganda was out of the question. These boys needed surgery and they needed it fast. I called a friend of mine, Travis Harris, who is missionary pilot to see if there was any chance an airplane was available to transport these three boys. Unfortunately, the earliest a plane could get there was the next morning and that would be too late. Travis recommended looking into a refugee hospital in Kakuma, Kenya, which was about a three hour drive south from where we were. I called around and found that there was in fact a large and capable hospital there and they had an operating room that could handle these injuries. This was the kids’ best shot. It was now around 3:20pm and 6 hours from the time of the incident.
I drove to town and found a Land Cruiser pickup for hire and a driver for $500 plus the cost of fuel. We put a mattress in the bed of the truck and loaded John, Gabriel and Paul, along with one parent each. We stocked the truck with IV fluids, drugs, bandaging and airway management supplies and rigged an ambulance on the fly. The John was still holding up, but we were expecting him begin deteriorating any time. Before we left, I gathered the families and staff of the hospital around and had prayer for the children. I knew if we made this trip successfully it would only be because of the Lord. Night would soon be falling and the drive would be long and dangerous. We left at exactly 5:00pm.
Though the road was very rough,we made good time and reached the Sudanese border around 6:30pm. The border was closed for the day, and no one was allowed to enter “No Man’s Land”. No Man’s Land is a twenty-three kilometer stretch of road (if you can call it a road) between the borders of Sudan and Kenya. You are not allowed to cross without a convoy for threat of attack by thieves and bandits and no one is allowed through after 5:30 in the evening. We knew, however, if we didn’t go the oldest boy would die for sure. Thankfully, after some explaining to the officials and gawking at the boys by the SPLA soldiers we were given permission to cross the border and head towards Kenya. It was now 6:45pm and getting dark fast. At this point, the John was beginning to show signs of trouble. His heart rate was beginning to climb he had broke out into a cold sweat. His pressure was still holding, but shock was setting in. Gordon leaned up and told the driver to move with all possible speed.
Around 7:15pm disaster struck. As we were crossing a dry river bed, the truck shut off and we stopped dead in our tracks. From the bed of the truck I heard the driver trying crank the engine, but it sounded as if the battery was dead. Gordon leaned up front began talking in Swahili. All the men proceeded to file out of the truck. I followed suit. Besides the children, there were seven men in our company and one woman; Gordon and I, a nurse named Joseph, the driver who was named Mayna (and who the hero of this story), his partner, two fathers and a mother.
We all got in front of the truck and began to push. It was no easy task and it was almost completely dark. The moon and stars were out and the thought occurred to me that I was probably in a position that few had been in before and lived to tell the tale; and even fewer with white skin. As we pushed I prayed to the Lord for intervention. We were on an incline with our front wheels ditch. Try as we might, we could not free the vehicle and I was beginning to consider the 10km run to the Kenyan border to find help. We had all but given up, when Mayna called for one last surge of strength. It worked; the wheels popped out the ditch and we were able to easily roll the truck back up the hill and then push-start the engine. This took about 30 minutes. We reached the Kenyan border at 7:50pm.
Unfortunately, crossing the Kenyan border after it was closed was almost as difficult as freeing the truck from the riverbed. The soldiers there said they wanted to let us through, but their commander had the key to the gate and he was not there. We waited for about 15 minutes because they said he was coming but he never showed. At this point the John took a turn for the worse. His abdomen was now very distended and rigid, and he was going in and out of consciousness. At this, Mayna, who was a former Kenyan soldier, went off to speak with the border guards. A few minutes later he came back and just told us to go under the gate and wait for him on the other side. He got in the truck and began to drive toward the rock barriers set up as a fence on the left side of the gate. He eased his front wheels up to the rock and gunned the pickup over the wall and around the gate. The soldiers didn’t stop him and he told us to get in. We piled in and he really put the hammer down. We were now on pavement for the first time. It was now 8:15pm and nearly 11 hours since the explosion.
I knew we were driving fast now because the canvas cover enclosing the bed of the pickup was whipping so hard and loud vocal communication was nearly impossible. As we raced against the clock, I felt very helpless. I spent much of this part of the journey praying. It was all I could do. The boy’s blood pressure was beginning dropping slightly and we knew his shock was progressing. After what felt like an eternity, but was really only little more than an hour, we arrived at Kakuma Mission Hospital. It was 9:30pm; 12 hours since the explosion.
The hospital staff quickly went to work triaging the patients. They too realized the gravity of the situation with John, who had now been bleeding for half the day. The doctor came and examined him and sent him straight to the operating room (here it is called an operating theatre). He said the surgeon was on the way, but the boy couldn’t wait that long so he was going to go ahead and open him up himself. Paul and Gabriel were admitted as well and were stable. Paul’s injuries would wait until tomorrow to be addressed, but they were going to keep a close watch on Gabriel and take him to the OR as soon as John was out. We were pretty sure he had developed a hemothorax on the right side, meaning blood was filling the space between his lung and chest wall, making it difficult for him to breathe.
When we walked out of the pediatric ward, I felt a bit of relief from the tension of the day. I knew we had given those boys the best chance we would and it was now up to the surgeons to finish the task. John was not out of the woods yet, but I knew in my heart that the Lord had not brought us this far to let him die on the operating table. I paid a deposit of 12,000 Kenyan shillings, which was about $200. They wanted more, but that was all I had on me. I assured them I would be back to pay the rest of the bills and I left them my contact information so they could do so if need be.
Before we left, I found the parents and through a translator asked them if they knew that the reason their children made it to the hospital was because Jesus Christ. They said they were all believers; that they knew Jesus Christ and that they were so thankful that the Lord provided for their children. I talked with them a few minutes more and told them I was praying for them and that I knew that God’s hand was upon all of them. We got back in the truck and headed back to the Kenyan border town of Lokichoggio to spend the night. It was around 11:30pm when we left Kakuma.
After a quick meal, the first we had had all day and we found a hotel room. It as 2:00am when I finally crawled into bed. I thanked God that night for seeing us through the day and I asked Him to continue to touch those children and to guide the surgeons as they operated. The next morning, Gordon called and found out that John had made it through surgery and was doing well. The shrapnel had damaged his descending colon and so most of it had to be removed. They expected him to make a full recovery though, and Gordon and I both looked at each other with a huge feeling of relief.
Gabriel was headed actually headed into surgery while Gordon was on the phone the nurse and we later found out that they were able to drain the blood from around his lung and remove all the metal in his chest. Paul was scheduled for orthopedic surgery that afternoon to rebuild his leg, and his prognosis too was excellent. The boys were going to be fine.
I believe with all my heart that I witnessed two miracles that day. The first miracle was that John had made it to the hospital alive after bleeding internally all day long. Gordon said there anybody else would have bled out long before we ever reached the hospital, but the Lord had kept him alive. The second miracle I believe is that we actually made it to the hospital. The road we traveled was dangerous and so many other things could have gone wrong, but the Lord protected us. I am so thankful to the Lord that He allowed me to take part in His great plan that day.
If anyone would like to contribute to the medical expenses for these children, you can do so through my church in Franklin Springs. Right now the estimate for the transport and treatment of all three kids is around $2,000. Any money that is left over will be set aside for other such emergencies should they occur or we will use it to feed children in the Kapoeta area. There is a great need for medical attention to the children here and as I said earlier the biggest obstacle is money.
As always, thank you for the love, support and prayers. You can see through this story that none of them are in vein. I will post updates periodically letting you know how these boys are doing and I expect to be picking them up in few weeks.
In the Service of the King,
Clay
