Here I'm examining a lad who did quite well. I admitted and treated this little boy for pneumonia and respiratory distress, and a few days later he was able to go home. And there is a wonderful footnote to this image. On the morning of my departure from Galaha, this boy's father—who's pictured here with his son—was waiting outside the staff compound, and he greeted me as we were leaving. He had apparently come to say thank you and bid me farewell. I don't know how he had learned of my departure—since it was unexpected, due to a family illness back in the U.S.—but news seemed to travel fast and quite inexplicably across the desert among the Afar people. As the car drove out of the compound, he greeted me with a traditional Afar greeting that signifies deep and mutual respect: he kissed my hand. I, in turn, kissed his hand, and then he kissed mine again. I didn't have a translator with me, but our brief exchange was filled with meaning. I was deeply moved, and my eyes filled with tears as we drove away.