The Sky’s the Limit for Wayne

At first blush, Wayne doesn’t seem much different from any of the other kids running around under the clotheslines and through the corn patches that crisscross his neighborhood. But there is something special about him, and he knows it. You can see it in his smile, if you know where to look. Or in the audacity with which he stands barefoot in the dirt road outside his home, looks up to the sky, and dares to dream big.

His mother, Memory, knows the story well and is always happy to retell it to anyone who asks where her son gets his extraordinary confidence.

Memory learned Wayne would have a cleft a half hour before he was born. She had no idea what it meant; she had never even seen a cleft before she held him for the first time. The nurses tried to comfort her, to tell her that he could be healed at Harare Central Hospital nearby, but he was so small, so fragile, the gap in his lip so wide… she didn’t believe them.

Wayne stayed at the hospital for three days. Memory worried about son, who was her fourth child, during their time apart, but could hardly bring herself to look at him when he was near. “I felt embarrassed by my son’s face,” she admits.

Her family, especially her husband, Fararira, remained calm. He thought they should see what the other hospital said before worrying too much.

The cleft team at Harare Central confirmed what the nurses had told them: Thanks to Smile Train, Wayne would receive the surgery he needed completely free — if he reached a healthy weight. That was a big if, and Memory felt it weighing on her head like an overstuffed basket.

Like so many other babies with clefts, Wayne struggled to nurse because the hole in the roof of his mouth made him choke on milk. He seemed to grow frailer and hungrier by the day. She was grateful that the hospital staff sent her home with special equipment and feeding techniques to make sure he could latch and gain weight, but still, Memory remained skeptical that the surgery would work.

“I had never seen anyone who had undergone such a major surgery before,” she said. “It was making me insecure.”

Her neighbors only heightened her insecurity and the embarrassment she felt around her baby. Every time she stepped out of the house with him, they pounced:

What happened?

Was there an accident?

How does he even eat?

Have you seen anybody about that?

I saw you going to the countryside while you were pregnant with him. Someone put bad magic on you there. Just admit it.

It was spring in Southern Africa. Memory’s house was tiny, crowded, and stifling. Yet, for weeks before Wayne’s surgery, she felt more comfortable there than outside squeezed between all the pointing fingers.

Five months passed. The time inside allowed her to focus on maintaining Wayne’s weight, and when the day scheduled for surgery at last arrived, he was ready. But Memory still needed a lot of help. She paced with anxiety the whole time he was in the operating room. Even seeing the doctors wheeling him back to her didn’t ease her nerves. His face was swollen and he still wasn’t moving. Only when he began to stir did she feel herself breathe fully for the first time in nearly half a year.

“It was a wonderful moment,” she smiles.

Today, Wayne is a hyperactive, hyper-curious seven-year-old. He loves playing hide-and-seek with his father, his older brother, and his best friend. He is thriving in school and loves learning new things, especially “learning the shapes” in math.

Wayne’s surgery offered Memory a second chance as well. She has since had two more children, neither of whom has a cleft, and she recently became a certified kindergarten teacher.

As for her special, smiling son, Memory looks ahead and sees him becoming a police officer. “He is very talkative and likes to observe the things around him,” she laughs. “He's constantly reporting what he saw or if someone broke the rules.”

Wayne knows of his mother’s ambitions for him but, as usual, he has his own ideas.

“When I grow up, I want to become an engineer and fix planes,” he says. “I see jets flying in the sky and I like them.”

Whatever he becomes, this child who might not have survived infancy can now dare to let his ambitions soar thanks to Smile Train. Our sustainable model did so much more for Wayne than make personalized, high-quality cleft care possible at the exact time he needed it. Receiving treatment from local surgeons, anesthesiologists, and nurses — people who come from his background and speak his language — also gave Wayne role models for what he might achieve and the warm, confident smile of a young man who understands that, with kindness and hard work, the way things are now isn’t the way they always have to be.

“Thank you to the donors of Smile Train because, without you, we would not have the resources to cope with my son's cleft,” says Memory. “The doctors did an excellent surgery, and we can only thank them for their efforts. I am now committed to letting parents know that doctors know their job and deserve your trust.”