by Sr. Margaret Anne Meyer MMM                             USA                                     16.08.2025

Life was vastly different in Makiungu. The saying goes that life begins at forty and here I was, having a new outlook and learning so much about medicine and surgery from the Flying Doctors. Instead of being four miles from the nearest surgeon, I was twenty miles away. But we had our own airstrip where the Flying Doctor planes from Nairobi could land. We always had to give a day’s warning to the local farmers who liked to pasture their cattle on the air strip. The farmers expected the plane to stop short if a cow got in the way!

Mr. Woods was a plastic surgeon and founded this service some years ago. One of the cases I remember was of a young boy around eight who was stung by many bees. In fact, his whole scalp had sloughed off because of the stings. I do not know how he survived.
Mr. Woods took a skin graft from the boy’s thigh and sutured it on his scalp. The whole graft healed well. Everyone was happy.

Another surgery also ended well, but the whole six months it took to heal was very traumatic. Ramadani, a young boy of seventeen, came to the hospital complaining of severe abdominal pain. He was suffering from typhoid and his bowel had perforated. I opened his abdomen to drain the pus and his wound broke down. The Flying Doctors were coming in a few days, and I thought they might be able to do something for him. An American plastic surgeon came and took pictures and said he was an interesting case. In my distress I did not hear him say he would either die or get better. There was nothing more to be done.

When they left, I took Ramadani to the theatre and put in steel sutures to hold his abdomen together. This helped a little and by this time he was passing stool. We thought that was a good sign and everyone, his parents, nurses, and me, brought him food. One day he sent for me to come, because he was going to die. He also requested that I come with some soup and bread. Ramadani poured out his heart to Allah and I poured out my heart to Jesus and, after taking the bread and soup, Ramadani progressed from that day onwards. He then looked like he was a skeleton but within six months, his wound healed, and he gained weight. Sr. Patricia O’Connor, who was Matron at the time saw to it that he was well cared for and well fed. He received several blood transfusions, antibiotics, and healthy food. He never stopped praying.

Eight years later, a well-developed young man of twenty-five came to the clinic and asked me, “Do you remember me?” Before I could answer, he opened his shirt, and I saw a very scarred abdomen. I said “Ramadani” and we hugged. I thanked God for his recovery and good success in life. He was working in the prisons in Dar es Salaam.

This event healed me of my sorrow of leaving Uganda. I did not know one could grieve when leaving a country. I found grieving helpful before change happened again, going to Nigeria, and coming home to USA. It helps to really accept that life is always changing and new adventures in faith can begin when one lets go.