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a result of tribal wars. The young girls were frequently taken as sex slaves by their captors, even as young as ten if they were mature. AIDS was rampant, cholera, typhoid, starvation. There were several photographs of the camp online, and she stared at them with tears in her eyes. She knew those faces, and had seen so many children like them. There was little one could do, but if you managed to save one life, or even a few, it was a victory for the human race. Looking at them, she knew she didnโ€™t need children of her own. Working with children in such desperate need was enough for her. This was her vocation. She had known it when she was in Africa. She had hated to leave, and longed to go back ever since.

She called the phone number on the website and got caught in the cyber tangle of voicemails, pressing buttons until she reached a human voice. She managed to get an appointment for later in the week, and the next day got permission to leave work early on the appointed day.

Her whole body felt electrified when she walked into the UN office. There was an African woman at a desk, a tall young man with a Swedish accent, and another man who was older and French. Her appointment was with the woman, and they walked into a glass cubicle, where she questioned Hattie intensely about what sheโ€™d done in Africa previously, and her motives to return and for wanting the job. She had brought copies of her nursing certificates with her. And she leveled with her.

โ€œIโ€™m a nun. I have been for almost nineteen years. I am planning to ask to be released from my vows in the near future. Itโ€™s my choice. Iโ€™m not being asked to leave. And I want to go back to Africa to do the kind of work I did there. Your camps for orphans offer what Iโ€™d like to do. Iโ€™d prefer to work with children. I love the work.โ€ Her eyes lit up as she said it, and the woman smiled. She had a face like a tribal sculpture, and was beautiful in her native dress.

โ€œWe all love it. Thatโ€™s why we do it.โ€

โ€œI finally realized that I donโ€™t have to stay in the convent to do this kind of work. I can do it as a layperson.โ€ She put her CV down in front of her. โ€œI can supply references from my order and the bishop, and the people I worked with in Kenya.โ€ The UN worker nodded, and took her seriously.

โ€œLanguages?โ€

โ€œEnough French to get by and conduct an examination. I learned some words in local dialects. We had translators when we needed them.โ€

โ€œSo do we. They might need you more in the hospital, as a surgical nurse. We donโ€™t get enough trained people from the United States.โ€ And her credentials were good.

She brought a man in then. The three of them spoke for a few minutes. He said he was Dutch. He had grown up in Zimbabwe and was in New York on a special project for three months, and then he was going back.

โ€œItโ€™s addictive,โ€ he said to Hattie. He was about her age. โ€œIโ€™m a doctor, and my family want me back in Holland, or Europe at least, so Iโ€™m closer to them. Maybe when Iโ€™m old. But for now, this is what I need to do.โ€ He had a slightly disheveled look, intelligent eyes, and a kind face.

โ€œMe too,โ€ Hattie said simply. She was sure now that she was on the right path.

She spent two hours with them. They told her that they would get in touch after the review board evaluated her CV. They would contact her if they wanted references, which would mean that she had passed to the next phase of the process.

โ€œHow often do you send people?โ€

โ€œEvery three or four months we send another team out, of varied nationalities and abilities, nurses, doctors, technicians. A team just left a few weeks ago. The next one will leave in about two months.โ€ It wasnโ€™t long enough to get released by the order. Final confirmation would come from Rome in a year, or even two, but she could start the process.

โ€œWill it matter if Iโ€™m not released yet?โ€

The Dutch doctor answered her. โ€œThatโ€™s between you and your order, itโ€™s not our concern. All that matters to us is that your medical certificates are in order, and they appear to be. Everything looks up to date. And of course your references matter to us too. Weโ€™ve only just started signing people up for the next team. Weโ€™ll note your preference for the childrenโ€™s camp, but we canโ€™t promise thatโ€™s where youโ€™ll end up. Itโ€™s all about what they need on the ground.โ€ She nodded. That made sense to her. He mentioned salary then. She had been about to ask him. It was low, but enough for her needs in Africa, and about what she expected.

At the end of the interview, she thanked them, and the three of them shook hands. Hattie felt calm, and strong and sure. She felt absolutely certain she was doing the right thing.

She didnโ€™t tell anyone sheโ€™d been there, and she waited until she heard from them again three weeks later. They were ready for her references. She had passed the first phase. They wanted to know how soon sheโ€™d be able to leave after she was approved.

โ€œVery quickly,โ€ she said. But it meant that she had to start dealing with the paperwork, and they gave her a list of vaccinations that sheโ€™d need.

She hadnโ€™t said a word to Mother Elizabeth yet, or to her sister, but she knew she had to now.

She was quiet at dinner that night, and avoided the mother superiorโ€™s eyes. She asked to speak to her after dinner.

When she walked into her office, looking serious, Mother Elizabeth knew. Sister Mary Joseph was still standing when she spoke to her.

โ€œIโ€™ve made a decision about the

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