The first thing that struck me was the silence.

No, scratch that – the first thing that struck me was the little boy that ran out to greet us, his face covered in pustules, the sign of an infection that his body could not fight off. We had all been expecting things like this, of course, but the reality of it was still shocking.

But past the little boy, it was the quietness that was most disconcerting. We were led into a room with about a dozen small children, ranging in age from infants to 3 or 4 years old. None of the children made a sound, and for a moment, no one in our group could find their voice.

Kids soon crowded around us, and at the sight of new toys, balls, and bubbles, the animated chatter of children rose above the deafening silence.

I found myself in front of a crib with two infants. The one on the left was sleeping, while the one on the right stared vacantly ahead. I slid my finger into his tiny fist, and his gaze shifted towards the object in his hand. He didn’t raise his arm, though, and looking at him more closely, I could see his chest rising and falling rapidly. Weak. Dying. There’s no way a person can possibly prepare themself for this.

I looked over at Emily. She was sitting in a rocking chair with two little girls on her lap. Our eyes met, and we each knew what the other was thinking: it isn’t fair. But then boy ran over to show her his balloon and she smiled brightly, despite the tears in her eyes.

The little guy in the crib began to cough. I gently scooped him up, his head resting on my shoulder, and rubbed his back. Despite the comfortable temperature in the room, he was covered in layers of clothing. I was later told that the nuns do this so that the other children won’t know how sick the babies are. I slid my hand up under all those shirts, rested my palm on his back, and swayed back and forth. His bones jutted out under thin skin, and his lungs gasped and rattled. But he seemed to relax under the warmth of human touch, so we just stood there for awhile. He slept, I prayed. What else could I do? I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere far, far away, and wake up to find a world where there weren’t millions of AIDs orphans. To face the terrible reality of this situation would be too shattering.

Lord, have mercy…

So I prayed for him, a prayer no one should have to make over a baby – one for as painless a life as possible.

I prayed for the other kids in the room. For the hundreds of children in the orphanage, and the thousands more around the country. For those millions of orphans, all over the continent. And for every precious life cut short by such an indiscriminate killer.