Daniel

Well Daniel got his cast off. He's been lurking around the hospital for about three or four weeks. We became friends right in the beginning. Daniel is usually roaming the hospital with his posse of three friends. The boys tried to make the hospital as entertaining as possible as they were trapped within its gates. Any form of Rwandan entertainment inevitably involves me, being the freak show.

Daniel was a natural ring leader, being the oldest, at the wise old age of 8 or 9. His favorite buddy, a recurring patient for malnutrition, was the hugger of the group. That's what broke the ice. Who doesn't want a hug in the morning?

When I was little, my friends and I would schedule out our day. Eating, video games, movie, bike ride. I was one of their common activities. Every day I was greeted by this little mob of testosterone about four times. I would get hugs, high fives, strange looks and giggles. They always wanted to look at my computer screen, gaze in wide wonder at my typing, try to steal a pen, listen to my other earphone. I amazed them with my tricks of spinning a coin and making faces out the window during important business meetings.

This troupe of boys were like my Prozac these last few weeks. One by one they have been discharged and disappeared back into the village. So when Daniel came in today to show me the X-ray of his arm and the fuzzy cast-less arm, it was a bittersweet moment. They taught me a few things during their time here. Hugs are essential to everyone's life. Kids in this hospital truly have nothing to do. It's not like a pediatric floor at home with birthday parties, balloon animals, colorful crafts thanks to child life specialists, social workers and nurses. These kids play on the pavement. They run around the feeble patients, circling the surgery ward. They find a plastic bottle to kick around. They make friends and they get set free.