FRANTZY
I am in the school office around lunch time when I hear someone crying loudly in the yard.
Frantzy, a first grader, is walking up the hill towards the office with his hand over his face, trying to catch the blood that is gushing from it. I yell for Marie-Lyne, our nurse, who pulls him into the nurse’s station and begins to clean and wrap his wound. He has the deepest cut I have ever seen outside his right eye. She informs me he will need to get stitches today, and we will need permission from a guardian to take him to the clinic.
I tell Frantzy, “We need to call your mom. Do you know her phone number?”
He shakes his head no. “My mom is dead.”
He tells me his father is alive, but his elderly grandmother takes care of him. An aunt ends up coming in her place.
We sit at the clinic together and wait for hours. I have time to get to know Frantzy a little bit better and find out he loves to play soccer and he wants to be a doctor one day. He is nine years old and will turn ten in a couple weeks.
When the doctor finally starts to give Frantzy the stitches, I stay with him because his aunt proves unable to stomach the procedure.
As I sit next to the bed with my hand on his shoulder, another woman in the room asks if I am his mother. I laugh and say no, but sober when I remember Frantzy doesn’t have a mother. He doesn’t have a mother to help him get ready for school in the morning or prepare him breakfast. He doesn’t have a mother to stay with him while he gets stitches, or check the wound every day while it heals.
A couple weeks later, we visit his home. I am eager to learn more of his story. We all crowd into his small home, partly demolished by the earthquake, and are warmly greeted by his grandmother. The room is hot and barely large enough for the two beds and their few possessions. Though the sun shines brightly outside, there is only one small window and no electricity, making it very dark inside.
This is where Frantzy lives with his 79-year-old grandmother and a cousin who was left severely disabled after an illness.
Frantzy’s grandmother has been widowed for over 20 years. She makes and sells coffee every morning to earn a living. She explains that Frantzy’s mother died when he was young. Although she doesn’t say why he is unable to live with his father, we learn that he sees him often and he helps provide.
As we leave, she thanks us for taking Frantzy to the hospital even though she wasn’t able to give us money to do so. We assure her that we love him very much and our school is happy to help our students. Frantzy’s story is one of many at Grace Emmanuel School filled with brokenness. All of the students live in poverty, and many without a mom or dad present. His story is not unique. Yet, though many of our students face daily tribulation, we know that God sees them, knows them, and loves them deeply.
