Before I get too far into the weekend, I have a funny story to tell, at my expense. Friday evening, as I was coming back home for the night, I got a call from Helen, a friend here in Zambia. She was calling because she wanted me to take a look at her friend's son, who was 2 years old and "refusing to feed himself". The conversation was cut short, because neither of us had talk time on our phones. Having spent the last three months in severe-malnutrition-awareness mode, I decided to go right over. I put together a sort of on-the-fly malnutrition/dehydration kit, and rode the minibus on over. When I got there, I discovered that the problem was not nearly as emergent as I'd feared. The child was, literally, refusing to feed himself, but
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