James was the guard of our compound for about the first seven yearswe were in Kenya. He lived in the city. His wife and kids lived in their village home. James died of AIDS. James’ wife, Ruth, asked to be tested. She was negative. Thankfully, on his dying bed, James asked Simon to pray with him for salvation. We buried James and gave Ruth a little money to start her own small business.
A couple of years later, Ruth came to our gate. In the night, little Brian had a bad headache. By the time she got him to the city hospital, he was dead from malaria. With tears gushing from her eyes, her voice desperate for help, she pleaded with me, “If we collect his body within 30 minutes, I won’t have to pay morgue fees.” I pulled the white sheet that covered our copy machine and called for Simon. Within minutes, we were at the so-called Russian Hospital [built by the Russians during the 1960s, erroneously purported to provide free government medical services]. Soon, Ruth and I were pacing our steps down the dark, dank hallway on either side of Simon who had five-year-old Brian’s lifeless body, covered with the white sheet, draped across his outstretched arms.
Windows down, Ruth sat in the front seat with me, resting her head on the crook of her arm over the window casing. 
The hour drive up the hill and down into the valley to reach her village home was conspicuously long and very quiet—until we reached the dirt road which led to her home! What appeared to be a placid village instantly came to life. Ruth’s shrill yodel-like call seemed to alert every neighbor. I could see people coming from every direction. They knew the call of death. And they came for Ruth.
As if but an unnoticed pale shadow, I sat on the front lawn watching. Somberly, the men pushed their way into the tiny front door. Wailing as they hung on each others’ shoulders, the women circled the tiny mud hut before going inside. They obviously knew what to do. Soon, they were back out, wailing and walking around the hut again. Suddenly, Ruth bolted out the front door and fell with her face to the ground, sobbing. Bracing her with their arms, the women helped her up and walked her back into the hut. This cycle continued until, with a pastor’s influence, Simon gathered them all into the hut—a short sermon, a song, a prayer.
Before Simon and I left, I pressed money into Ruth’s hand, enough to bury her son and enough to buy a new dress. I told her to put it into her shoe. I knew eager hands would be demanding. She seemed despairingly poor.
Sometime later, Ruth came for a visit. She missed James. She glanced away when she admitted how much she missed her son. But she smiled when she told me she still loves Jesus and she knew she would see them both in heaven one day. And now she had Felix, born seven months after James died.
This last year, Into Africa has been giving monthly support to help Ruth. Besides struggling to feed her own three children, she has the responsibility of caring for two of her siblings’ orphans. Sammy wrote to say, “I visited Ruth’s family yesterday. Though I didn’t find her, I had a great time with the kids. Ruth had travelled to a funeral of a relative who had died. The kids always get very excited whenever I pay them a visit. It is always fun! As you can see from the pictures, Ruth’s kids had their friends come and share with them the little sweets I had carried on my visit, which they joyfully enjoyed. I had a short Bible story with them, sang a few songs and prayed together! Whenever I visit them, I always see them as my little sisters and brothers who need my help!”