He had four wives.

The youngest wife came to our prenatal clinic twice.  It was a long and hard hike to get here; and if it rained hard, the river would be too swollen and she could not cross.  And it had rained a lot that week.

She had her first child alone in the bush. The next day she contracted diarrhea.  Pouring her life into her infant daughter, she gave it all she had.  Her sickness worsened.  Their aid post was closed, and no one cared enough to get medicine for her—until Pastor Malasi, one of our Bible school graduates, hiked eight hours from her village to our clinic to get the medicines for her.

One of the man’s other wives, Annika, came today and told us the story. Yapinmai received the medicines from Pastor Malasi, but never took them.  We do not know why.  In just a few days, they laid her body in the grave.

Annika was nursing Yapinmai’s infant daughter today. Her own child cried because his milk was being given to his half-sister.  Those weren’t the only tears shed today. We cried too.

The man has only three wives now.  And we have a new milk baby.