May 06, 2009 - 08:58 AM

By Dr. Steve Russell

SAN SALVADOR, El Salvador -- The neon green tennis ball flew into little Omar's hands and his face erupted into an expansive grin.

He had bobbled the three previous catches and the brand new ball was stained with mud from the rutted path of the village school. This time he threw it back with confidence to the white lady doctor from Canada. Omar jumped and quivered with sheer delight.

And so the small gift of a tennis ball builds another bridge between the impoverished children of El Salvador and our medical-dental team from Feed the Children Canada. One of Omar's playmates clutched a similar tennis ball to his breast as he lay in the dentist's chair, upper lip trembling.

The ball slipped from his grasp at a key point in the procedure, tumbling to the floor. His body tensed. One of the dental assistants scooped it up and eased it back into his hand and immediately his body relaxed back into the chair. Thanks to many generous supporters in Port Perry, we have hundreds of balls to give as gifts of friendship.

Friendship and Hope was the banner emblazoned on our T-shirts as we worked under the blazing Salvadorian sun. We chose a slum neighbourhood for our last clinic day. The rickety tin-roofed huts stretch as far as the eye can see in this shantytown with the nefarious nickname of Somalia.

We're told that after dark, the maze of mud streets that crisscross this slum are amongst the most dangerous in El Salvador. We trust that the brightness of day, the free medical care, and our cheerful but broken Spanish greetings will go a long way to befriend this group of desperate people.

The area was settled by survivors of Hurricane Stan in 2005. Most of these people lost their homes in mudslides and floods. They flocked to the city to find food and work. They started as squatters and built, with salvaged scraps and bare hands, the rambling town we now walk through. They've been flooded, swindled, shot, raped, robbed and beaten, but still they find the strength to carry on. For some, the anarchy of the civil war still haunts their nights. Their resilience is astounding.

No matter how early we arrive at a site, there is always a line of a few hundred patients waiting at the clinic. This day, the clinic is under a tin roof in a central square, with no walls or doors. Our dentists work in the open air, under a tent next door, tromping on a tarpaulin floor to keep the dust down.

When we need a private room to examine a patient more discreetly, we go to a neighbouring hut, a 10-by-10 shack with cardboard box walls and log poles at each corner. The dirt floor is swept clean out to the front path. The single mother who lives in the home with her young family is hanging colourful underwear out on the line to dry.

Her children were some of the lucky ones who received new underwear, a pair of Crocs and a toothbrush from our distribution centre. She received a bag of food (maize, lentils and vitamin-enriched cereal) and a bag of vegetable seeds for her garden, which is a six-foot plot in the mud of her front "yard."

An elderly woman fainted in the dental clinic and was attended to by Dr. Elizabeth Russell, a Port Perry physician. There appeared to be no major medical problem, and she responded to a drink and a cool cloth. The woman had just learned that her grandson had been shot and was taken to hospital. She was revived, comforted and treated with kindness.

Dr. Tony Brown, another Port Perry physician, meets a young man who is clearly wasting away. His hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes betray severe weight loss. The swollen glands in his neck and coated tongue portend an ominous diagnosis. Even though this is his first visit to a doctor, he appears to have advanced AIDS. With the help of our local team members, we arrange testing for him at the government hospital. It is uncertain whether he will be able to afford treatment if the diagnosis is confirmed.

The task of running a mobile clinic in a slum of this scale had been a daunting project. Our team was prepared for the worst. But with the help of our loyal Salvadorian crew and the mutual support of our teammates, we laboured our way through the 800 patients who flooded the clinic.

Almost without exception, they were polite, gracious and full of gratitude. The children were delighted with balloons, balls and hair clips. The adults gratefully received vitamins and anti-parasitic medications. The elderly embraced us or clasped our faces in their hands and thanked God for our care.

For most of their lives, these people have suffered one defeat after another, tossed on the waves of disaster, poverty and disease. They have few advocates. But today, a group of ordinary Canadians, bonded together by a desire to serve, visited their neighbourhood, walked their streets and listened to their stories.

Today, their lives mattered to someone else. This was a day they were not forgotten.