I woke up this morning to the beginnings of a death wail. In this culture, people do not supress or hold back their grief. In fact, if news comes that someone has died, the family members will wail loudly for quite some time, and can be heard 1/4 mile away, sometimes farther. It isn't such a bad thing, really... and is probably more healthy than our western approach to grief. At any rate, it is difficult to wake up to. I jumped out of bed as Abby came running in to tell me that a bunch of women, carrying a child, were coming to the veranda. YIKES! That'll get the cobwebs out!!! I dressed as fast as I could and went running out the door. It turns out that little Mohammed (less than 2 yrs) had woken up with a high fever, to the point that he had a febrile seizure. After a quick assessment, I mashed an adult tab of Motrin (thanks again Bible Study Ladies), dosed it for his approximate size, got him to take it (he was sick enough not to spit it out) and sent him to the hospital for a quinine injection. I think that he had malaria as no other problems had presented themselves. I felt so bad for the mother... but here is the neat thing... he isn't actually her child. She had a daughter and about 3 months later her sister had a son. Her sister had complications from birth, almost died, and consequently spent several months in the hospital recovering from surgery. In the interim, her breastmilk dried up, so Kunku, her sister, started nursing little Mohammed for her. This would be the equivalent of breastfeeding twins... and here they breast feed up until about 2 yrs of age. Would you do that for someone elses child? To meet them, you would never know that one of them was not her child, and when he had a seizure, she began to wail as if it were her own. WOW!