Hospital

I have spent the last week “stalking” the doctors as they perform their duties at the hospital. I must admit it has been very interesting. Last Monday, I discovered that Chad is a dangerous place for man parts. There were three men in the post-op ward who had injuries to their private areas. One of them had gotten it stuck in some sort of machinery. It looked quite painful. I feel sorry for any man who has to deal with those types of injuries.

            I’ve also seen something I will apparently never see happen in the States: the vaginal delivery of a breech baby. There hadn’t been many cases for the OR, so I was taking a break in the SM hut after eating lunch. Masa came in and told me there was a C-section in the OR, so I followed her over. The lady was already on the table when I got there and you could already see the baby’s feet. Mom must’ve already had kids because she was pushing like a champ. Danae decided that she was just going to let mom push, though she made sure to take extra precautions to ensure that the baby’s head wouldn’t get stuck in the birth canal. Baby came out fine although the cord was wrapped around its neck, but after cutting it off she started to squall. Danae was relieved. Evidently in the States if a baby is breech it is an instant C-section. I’m just thankful that this baby was ok.

            Last Thursday I was working in maternity. The nurse I was assisting asked me to give the patient some medicine using the IV in their hand. I’ll be honest, I haven’t actually had that much experience mixing medicine to inject or using syringes and such, so I kept looking at the nurse for confirmation that I was doing things the right way. Later, the nurse pulled me into the delivery room. She asked me a few questions about my experience in medical stuff (nonexistent) and my education. Then she told me, “Miki, when I ask you to do something, you need to act like you know what you’re doing.” I just about died laughing. It makes so much sense anyway, because you don’t want the patient freaking out about you not knowing what you’re doing, but I hadn’t really thought about it. And it reminds me so much of one of my Mommy’s mantras while I was growing up. She would tell me over and over again, “Pretend you know what you’re doing, and just do it!” I guess it is really good advice for the medical professions too.

            Then there was today. We had a relatively light schedule for the OR. The first two surgeries were quite uneventful. The first was suspected to be cancer originally, but it turned out to be a typhoid perforation in the gut which had spilled a little bit causing an infection, but then the perf had healed by itself. The second was also suspected to be cancer, but turned out to be an extremely large prostate with no cancer. I don’t know what makes prostates decide to get big on a whim. Like I said, Chad’s a dangerous place for man parts. ;)

            The third case was actually a little bit amusing. A man came in who had been stabbed in the butt, barely missing the anus. At first we thought maybe he had had a run in with a stick, but we were assured that he was stabbed with a knife. Then we thought maybe a woman got mad at him. Or maybe he was with someone else’s wife and the husband got mad at him. I really don’t know how he managed. Anyway, Maison had to give him quite a bit of ketamine (please forgive me, I don’t know how to spell it…) before the patient would let Dr. Rollin get anywhere near it. Even then we had to hold the poor guy down while Dr. Rollin stitched the wound partially closed and then packed it with betadine soaked gauze.

            The last case was definitely the most entertaining for me. A guy came in who had dislocated his hip five months before. Maison gave him a paralytic and some gas so we could work on him. Then Dr. Rollin climbed on top of the operating table while Dr. Olen held the guy by the hips on the table. And they reefed on it. But it didn’t work. So Dr. Rollin climbed down and Dr. Odee climbed on to try. This time both Dr. Olen & Dr. Rollin held the guys hips down. Still didn’t work, so one of the nurses climbed up to try, while the three doctors held the guy in place on the table. Unfortunately all of their attempts were futile. That hip would not go back into place. They were forced to give up and they plan on doing some sort of surgery on it tomorrow.

            Thus my first week in the hospital has been quite eventful and I have thoroughly enjoyed it. It’s very interesting to see the different illnesses and problems that come through. It’s also been interesting to be inside an operating room. I must say, I think it’s a very good thing that the patient’s can’t understand anything we’re saying. These doctors have some very interesting senses of humor. But it’s been good. I think I might actually be able to be a doctor forever, although I can’t say that for certain. But I’m definitely open to the idea, and if God leads in that direction, I’ll go.

The enlarged prostate. It was probably about 2/3 of my palm.

Trying to put a hip back into place.

Books for Bere

“Miki, when you leave, give me this book.”

            Somewhat surprised by the demand, I glance at John. “I’m sorry,” I say, “but this book isn’t mine. It belongs to Danae. She is just letting me borrow it.”

            “Oh, ok.” John looks a little abashed.

            I wish I could give him the book. It’s a French Bible Story book that I’ve been reading at nights to practice my French skills with. I never dreamed that the kids would want to have it for themselves. I guess it’s because I haven’t seen many books around, and just assumed that they would have them if they wanted to read.

            But of course, that’s not the case. They don’t have the money to buy books. As I head to bed I start remembering their reactions whenever there are any books or magazines around. That book, regardless of the language it is written in, will make its way through the hands of every single member of the family during the next few days including three-year old Batama, and eight-year old Laba who doesn’t attend school. These kids are hungry for books, they are eager to learn.

            As I lay in bed, I can’t help but think of the way books have impacted my own life. Growing up I read mission stories. People like Mary Slessor and George Mueller inspired me to place my life in God’s hands and let Him use me where He wills. More recently the book African Rice Heart by Emily Wilkens, played a huge role in my decision to come to Chad, Africa as a student missionary. I can’t deny that the books I have read have influenced and shaped my dreams and goals.

            I remember helping one of my cousins who was struggling with learning to read. She kept asking me why she even needed to read, she didn’t think it was important. I told her over and over again, “Lydia, if you can only learn to read, you can teach yourself anything else you could ever want to learn.” I still believe that this is true, but here in Chad the challenge is finding those books to read.

            It is because of my belief that books are vital to understanding the world around us that I have decided to open a library at the Adventist school here in Bere. It is my hope that by giving the children access to books they will begin to dream and educate themselves and grow up willing to fight for their dreams, whatever they may be. Perhaps they will find in the books an example of what it means to go against the grain to make their world a better place. Perhaps they will be inspired to put effort towards changing their circumstances.

            But I need help. There is already a shipping container on the school grounds which I have received permission to convert into a library. But it needs windows, bookshelves, paint, and, of course, books. Several of the other missionaries have already informed me of the near impossibility of finding any books that are in French in the States. So, if you are in America and reading this, I would also appreciate it if you prayerfully consider making donations of money to help make the required alterations to the container. If you have connections with people who have access to books in French, please share this blog with them.

            And above all, please pray. I am excited about this project and I have already seen God’s hand working in it. But there is still much to be done and I would appreciate it if you would remember our project in your daily prayers. Share it with your friends and family, I know God will hear us.

            If you have any questions please contact me at Mikayla.Baird@wallawalla.edu. Thanks so much! God bless!

Heaven

I think heaven will look like Lisa Frank art.

            Maybe some people will think a comparison like that cheapens heaven’s value or sacredness. But I don’t.

            I spent some time today coloring with patients in peds. The book we were using had one of the Lisa Frank trademark pictures on the front: A mother horse and her baby nuzzling each other affectionately. But they both had purple manes. And the baby was white with a spattering of rainbow colored spots across her back.

            I know, you’re probably thinking, “How did you get from multicolored mares to heaven Miki? It seems like a far jump to me.”

Maybe I should explain a little. A baby, about one year old, came to the nutrition center last week. He weighed in at the -3^rd standard deviation for malnutrition. In other words, he was extremely malnourished. He was sent to the hospital where he received full rounds of medication for several different ailments and then sent back down to the nutrition center today to receive the enriched milk formula they give out. He got there right before I left, so I only saw him for a few minutes. His body was so emaciated he literally had no padding on his backside. Where plump baby buns are supposed to be, he had nothing but saggy skin. The expression on his face told the world that he didn’t care about anything anymore. I found out this evening that he died before he left the nutrition center. I wasn’t too surprised.

            So today, when I looked at Lisa Frank’s rainbow colored horses, maybe I was just ready to find something unrealistic to cling to. Maybe the horses in heaven won’t actually have rainbow colored spots or purple manes, but I bet they’re a lot more amazing than what we imagine them being. Maybe, with our new and improved eyesight in heaven, we’ll actually see that horses are more colors than just brown, black, white, and palamino. (If you’re a horse fanatic, please forgive me for not being specific on the different names…) Maybe we’ll discover that so many of the things we think are realistic on Earth simply aren’t realistic at all. Things like loneliness, pain, tears, and depression. And here in Tchad there seem to be even more things that are simply facts of life. Children starving, babies dying, women being beaten by their husbands, corruption in government: these are all tolerated here as completely ordinary.

            I believe that heaven will be anything but ordinary by human standards. I believe that everything will be far better, brighter and more colorful than anything we have ever witnessed before on this earth. I believe that it will be completely unrealistic, but in being so it will be the most real and amazing thing we could ever hope to imagine.

            I believe that heaven will look like Lisa Frank art. 

I wasn't going to post anything for awhile....but I just got really excited tonight. So you get an extra post. :) 

Almost exactly one month ago I took a picture of Hortence, a little girl who is receiving treatment in the hospital for the cancerous tumors in her cheek and stomach.

            Today I went back over to the hospital to take some more pictures. I had noticed a while ago that Hortence’s cheek was far less swollen than it had been, but it wasn’t until I looked at the two pictures side by side that I realized how dramatic the transformation has been. 

            The tumor in her stomach is being a bit more stubborn than the one in her cheek, but I’m glad to see God performing miracles. This one was aided by medicine, but it’s still so cool to see it happen. I’m so thankful for a Great Physician who gives us the wisdom to find ways of helping to alleviate the suffering of those around us. It’s a beautiful privilege. 

Rounds

I follow Dr. Blande on rounds today. Well, he is actually almost done when I show up…but I am with him for a few patients. The first patient is a man who had broken his leg in two places a year and a half ago. They had put metal rods in, but it got infected and they recently had to reopen the upper wound so they could pack it and get rid of the infection. As I watch Dr. Blande repack the wound I get sick to my stomach. It’s not because of the wound though, it is the pain etched on the man's face during the whole procedure. The next patient is a lady who looks completely out of it. Her eyes are unfocused, her breathing rapid. She looks like every moment could be her last. She has two abscesses on the left side of her face. Dr. Blande squeezes them and grayish white liquid comes pouring out. I start to feel like I'm going to lose my breakfast. I look away. Surely he will be done soon. But no, with every squeeze more pus appears. I don't understand how so much pus fits inside someone's face. I swear it takes five minutes until his squeezing produces no more results. He sighs as he looks at her, "I don't know what else to do for her. She's already on quinine and doxy. She's not eating or drinking well. She's probably going to die soon." I still feel sick. I don't know, maybe it's just a matter of getting used to everything still. Sigh.

There's a lady in the exam room

Laughing, eyes sparkling

Her tummy round with child.

She's bearing new life.

There's a lady in maternity.

Trying, mind determined.

Her preemie gets breast milk.

She's caring for new life.

There's a lady in the TB ward

Resting, always tired.

Her preemie doesn't get care.

She's neglecting new life.

There's a lady in bed 15

Panting, ribcage heaving

Eyes roll around in her head.

She's fighting for her life. 

Perfect English

A few days ago I was working in the hospital when I heard Danae calling me. “Yes?” I answered.

“This guy, Zacharia, wants to learn English. He’s been over to my house twice asking for someone to practice English with him. Would you be willing to do it with him sometimes?”

“Ummm…sure.” I answered a little bit hesitantly. You see of everything I could have done as a Student Missionary, I purposefully avoided anything that involved teaching English. I was NOT interested. Ever since I arrived here though, everyone seems to think that I would be of the most use here if I were willing to teach English. It’s like they all agreed on pestering Miki to teach English.

On Friday Charis and I went to choir practice. And guess who our choir director is? Zacharia! After practice ended he came up to us to ask us again if we would be willing to teach him English. This was when I realized, I have no idea what I would actually be teaching him. His English is EXCELLENT! Charis was wondering this as well, we were standing there, listening to him talk, and she asked him, “But what are we supposed to teach you? You already know so much!”

He replied, “But it’s not good enough. I want to practice speaking with you so that I can be even better.”

I was quite amazed. He wasn’t content with just good enough. He wasn’t content with excellent. He wants PERFECTION.

Now I know that many times in my life I have looked at what I am doing and then looked around me and thought, “I’m not so bad at this whole Christianity thing. Compared to everyone else I am an excellent Christian.”

But in being content with simply excellent am I shortchanging myself? Maybe I should be striving for perfection like Zacharia in his pursuit of English. Shouldn’t I be using my energy to achieve perfect obedience to the will of God? Even if that obedience includes tutoring people in their English or looking like a religious freak to the people around me?

After everything is said and done, isn’t the most important thing to have been perfectly obedient to God anyway? After all we’re only here on this earth for a tiny blip of time. I believe that there are far, far greater things ahead then anything we’ll leave behind. It’s not easy to be obedient, but I don’t think it has to be. In the end it will be worth it. 

Party!!!

            I’ve heard that a SM year is supposed to be all about new experiences. And it’s true. I’ve also heard that in order to take full advantage of the opportunities during the year, you should always say yes, whenever anyone asks if you want to go somewhere and do something. A couple of weeks ago, I heard Charis and Masha talking about a festival that was going to be happening in Lai. My interest was piqued and I started asking questions. When was it? Where was it? Can I go too? I was excited; it was going to be my first time out of Bere since I had arrived.

            The day before the festival was scheduled to start however, the sky opened up and it rained. It rained all day long. This might not be a problem if you live in the States, but when all the roads are dirt and the main transportation is by motorcycle taxi, rain means bad things. The festival was postponed until the following week. I was bummed, but a week goes by quickly. Two days before it was scheduled to start I was down with malaria.  Joy. Now I didn’t think I’d even feel like going. Then Charis heard on the radio that it had been moved back one more day, so by the time it was supposed to start I was back on my feet ready to go.

            Thursday morning I woke up to rain. I texted Charis to see if we were still going, she said Naomi wasn’t worried about the weather as it would most likely clear up. When I got to the SM hut where we were to be picked up by klondos, I found Charis reclaiming the building from a colony of ants that had laid siege to it during the night. She washed some out with water, and sprayed the remainders with insecticide.

            After waiting almost an hour for the tardy klondo men, we were off to the market to meet up with Naomi, then on to Lai. I fell in love with motos on that trip. I was already excited about the festival, and when you add on top of that the absolutely freeing feeling that comes from letting the wind fly through your fingers and hair, you get something I imagine would be similar to a high Miki.

            When we actually got into Lai, we discovered that the festival wasn’t scheduled to begin until the next day. We were so bummed. We’d been planning on going to this thing for a week now. Instead of just turning around and going back to Bere though, we decided to have a party of our own. We had brought along a video camera to document the festival, and now we started to use it. The law doesn’t allow for the use of a video camera within Lai, but we could use it on the bridge and along the river. So we did. I’m not sure exactly how, but we ended up having a dance party on the bridge. Charis turned on music from her phone and we did a variety of traditional African dances brought to us by Naomi, Jamaican dances brought by Charis, and ridiculousness brought by me. Of course we also attracted a crowd of men who were laughing at the crazy women dancing on the bridge. A couple of them threw in some of their own moves as well. It was so crazy and fun!

            When we were done dancing, we decided to go down to the river and see if we could find a fisherman who would be willing to take us out in his canoe. However, when we started walking away from the bridge our klondo men showed up and insisted that they would take us down to the river. We were more than willing to accept the ride. They then got off their motos and accompanied us down to help us secure a canoe ride. It was so awesome! And they didn’t charge us any extra for the short trips they took us on. We finally convinced a fisherman to take us out in his boat, and those guys are so strong! They were paddling with such ferocity every stroke made me almost lose my seat as the boat shot forward.

            After our boat ride, the klondo men drove us into town so we could walk around the market and wait for a restaurant to finish making food. Naomi was still on a roll and insisted on buying us bananas and tea. The first tea I’ve had in Tchad and it sure was tasty! The restaurant served us something that looked like a rice crepe and some sauce. It was different than what I’m used to eating in Bere, but it was pretty tasty. Once our meal was over, our faithful klondo men showed up once again to take us home to Bere.

            The next day we returned to Lai to attend the actual festival. It was a good day, but consisted of a lot of waiting. Neither Naomi nor Charis had ever attended this festival before so none of us knew what to expect. Once again our klondo men showed their knack of appearing right when we needed a ride somewhere, something I was very thankful for by the end of the day. There was a boat race, which was pretty cool to see, except the other spectators came flying down the bank of the river to see and nearly pushed Charis and I over right as the race began. But people were so helpful. They guided us around and helped us figure out where we were supposed to be next.

At one point when we were walking along the road, a pickup truck pulled up beside us and offered us a ride. Charis and I hopped into the bed of the truck, and Naomi slid into the back seat. When they stopped to drop us off, they all jumped out of their truck. It turned out to be a musician and his band. We took pictures with them and said thank you for the ride. It was pretty cool.

Right before we left Lai, we discovered why the boat race had taken so long to take place and why the dancing that was supposed to be happening that afternoon hadn’t started yet. Evidently because this festival was supposed to be a time for the very traditional Lai people, after dark you were supposed to stay indoors unless you were a Lai so that they could perform their secret rituals and traditions in private. This had been announced on the radio multiple times, it was something that everyone knew. One Arab man didn’t listen. I’m not sure if it was just him or if he had a friend with him, but he went to wherever the Lai were doing their thing. Of course this didn’t make the Lai very happy, so they murdered him and whoever might have been with him, then took the bodies, threw them over their motos and burned them. I was already tired and ready to go back to Bere, but now I was even more so. People can be so sick sometimes.

There is still so much work that needs to be done here. And it’s such slow work too. There are people in the church here who are still afraid of the curses. Sometimes I wonder if the people actually know Jesus, if they’ve ever actually experienced Him, or if they’re just going to church because that’s the thing to do. It makes me sad. And it makes me realize how much I need Him to be in me if I’m going to make any difference at all while I’m here.

A Day

            “Good Morning! Wake up to a brand new day…” I groan and fumble under my pillow to find my phone and shut the alarm off. It’s 5:00, waaaayyy too early to be waking up today. David and Sarah came up from Bendilay to make ice cream last night, and as a result I was up until midnight. I roll over and go back to sleep. I wake up again at 5:30. The roosters have begun filling the air with their morning cries and even my earplugs can’t drown them out. I still don’t want to get up, but going back to sleep isn’t an option. Thankfully, I’m not being serenaded by Justin Bieber singing “Baby, Baby, Baby” over the radio like I was yesterday morning.

            Abria brings me my breakfast when I finally convince myself to get out of bed. The rest of the family has already eaten and most of the kids have already headed off to school. I sit down to eat. Emmanuel, my house dad, motions me over to where he is sitting with Sedonnie and Batama. I get back up and walk over to see what he wants. Batama is sick. I don’t know why. I have to explain to Emmanuel, I’m not a doctor. It seems that all white people are automatically supposed to be doctors. When I leave to go to the hospital, Sedonnie has tied Batama on her back as if he were a baby. He is limp against her, definitely not the active three-year old with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes that he normally is.

           

            My eyes sparkle as I read the email from my sister. It’s full of random news and I love it. Parts of it make me laugh out loud. I wonder if Charis thinks I’m crazy as I sit there laughing at my computer. It feels good to hear from my family and friends. It’s easy to feel disconnected and alone out here.

            “Madame?” I turn to see who is speaking. A patient with a box of pills starts speaking to me. I have no idea what he is saying. I look at him helplessly and tell him “Je suis ne pas docteur.” I think he gets what I’m saying, even if it’s all mispronounced and grammatically incorrect. I don’t understand where they got the idea that just because I’m white I’m medically inclined. Sure I’m wearing scrub pants, but I have a tank top on, and I’m working on stenciling a Bible verse on the wall.

            “Ugh.” I groan. A second ago I was fine, rinsing the paintbrushes out with gasoline. Now my stomach is rebelling against itself and I feel like I am going to hurl. I’m beginning to think that the fumes from the gasoline make me feel sick, which is bad because gasoline is the best way to clean up the oil-based paint that I’ve been using. I might have to resort to using masks if I keep feeling sick when I use the gasoline. I hate masks.  

           

            I head to my house to get lunch. I walk past a baby sheep. It’s tiny and new enough that the umbilical cord is still attached, hanging like a piece of string from its belly. I caught a chick yesterday. The mom wasn’t very happy and tried attacking me, but I’ve been watching the little balls of fluff run around my house for the last few days, and I had to hold one. When I put it down, the mom tried attacking me again, and would have been successful but I managed to jump back in time.

            I walk in the gate of my house. There’s a lady I don’t remember ever seeing before. There’s so many people coming in and out of my house I guess I’m not too surprised. Batama  looks so much better than he did this morning. Before I leave to go back to the hospital he has found a pair of glasses somewhere that fit him perfectly and is modeling them. The sparkle that reminds me of Joey has returned to his eyes, and though he is still a little more reserved than normal, I’m glad to see that he is feeling better. 

No, you CAN’T Have my Number

I’m sitting on a hard wooden bench next to the wall. It’s sweltering hot inside this building. I don’t know why we don’t just have church outside under the trees, it would be so nice to be able to have a breeze.

            My throat itches. I let out a couple of quiet coughs, hoping to relieve the persistent tickle. It doesn’t work. I desperately need to get outside where I won’t be disturbing everyone with my coughing. I slip off the bench and make my way outside. I decide to stand outside the window where I can still hear the sermon fairly well, but where I am free to cough in peace.

            After standing outside for a few minutes, a one-armed boy comes out the door. He walks over to me and greets me. I talk with him for a few minutes. He tells me that he wants to go to America and go to school to be a doctor. I’m good at talking to people, although it’s a little bit difficult because his English is not the best and my French is nonexistent. All is fine and dandy, then out of the blue: “Can I have your number?”

            Oh great… here we go. I was hoping to avoid this. “Ummm…. well actually, I don’t know my number.” I know this sounds like a pathetic excuse, but it’s actually true this time. I haven’t taken the time to memorize my new number. I tell him, “I could give you my number for America, but it wouldn’t do you much good.”

            He looks a little confused. “You have a phone right?”

            “Yes, I do. But I don’t have it with me and I don’t know my number.”

            A few minutes later I excuse myself to go to the SM hut and make some food for potluck. I ask Masha if she knows who the one-armed boy is. She says she’s not sure, but Charis might know. I ask Charis later, and she tells me that it’s probably the boy who came to her asking for help with his school tuition because his father wouldn’t pay it. I’m a little bit sad because of that, but she goes on to explain that his father won’t pay because the boy spends his own money at bars. I don’t feel too bad for him now.

            Fast forward two days. I’m walking across the hospital compound with a bottle of gasoline to go and clean up some paint that I spilled. I hear behind me “Sister! Sister!” I turn to see one of the nurses waving at me, and beside the nurse a man who looks fairly young, but the grey in his hair betrays his age. I smile and exchange the polite greetings required. The nurse tells me in English that this man is visiting the hospital from N’djamena and she is giving him a tour. I’m not sure how this has absolutely anything to do with me, but since they’re walking in the same direction as I am I can’t just leave.

            The man starts talking to me in English. Evidently he is a pharmacist from N’djamena. I never did figure out what he was doing here, but he was here nonetheless. He asks me what I’m working on, and I tell him I’ve been painting. We get to where I spilled the paint, and since they don’t seem to be interested in going on, I show them the benches that I painted for maternity. Then the nurse leaves, and the guy asks me if he can talk to me.

            Now, I’m thinking, “Yeah, it’s a free country, I can’t really stop you from talking to me if you want to.” But then I realize I’m in Tchad, which probably has different rules. I tell him it’s fine if he wants to talk, thinking he might just want to practice English. Well, for a while that was all it appeared to be. But then he asked me for my number. And once again I was thankful that I didn’t know it. I told him no. So he gave me his business card and told me to call him. Then he asked how long I was staying in Tchad. I told him I was here until May. And he wanted to know if I’d come to N’djamena to visit him! I was like “Ummm…no. I don’t like big cities.” So he asked if he could visit me here. I was like “Well…I can’t really stop you from coming down here. But I do have work to do, so I’ll probably be busy.” Somehow the conversation starts to die (I’m thinking thank goodness!) and he has the nerve to say something along the lines of “So this is it?” And I’m thinking, “WHAT? Of course this is it! I mean seriously, I don’t know you from Adam. What is “it” anyway?” Granted, I don’t know if he knows exactly how that line sounded in my ears, but I was still irritated. I told him goodbye and he left.

            So, next day. I’m sitting in the SM hut, working. And Mohammed, the guard, comes to the door and calls me. He says there’s somebody asking for me at the gate. I waltz out, without thinking, and come face to face with Mr. Pharmacist dude from N’djamena. I wanted to melt into the ground. I wasn’t really expecting him to show up again. I was nice though, said hi, how are you, etc. Then he asked for my e-mail and I told him no. He said he was going to N’djamena that day and I was thinking, “Thank heavens for that! I hope you don’t come back!”, but I told him to have a good trip. Then I stood there for a couple of awkward seconds, because I didn’t know what to say, and he wasn’t saying anything. So I smiled cheerfully, said “Au revoir!” and disappeared back into the SM hut. 

Sick

            I’m lying on a yoga mat on the cement floor of the SM hut, watching the ceiling fan whir as it circulates the air in the room. I’m sick. I don’t know what kind of sick, my symptoms don’t match any of the problems that they usually treat people for.

            Yesterday I was on top of a ladder, painting when the world started swaying. I tried sitting down for awhile and drinking water to make the dizziness go away, but it didn’t work. I ended up putting all the painting stuff away; I didn’t really want to be known as the Nassara who fell off the ladder. I managed to suck it up enough to go to market with Naomi and Charis so we could buy supplies for the feast we are going to be serving to the kids at school on Friday, but when we got back I crashed.

            Today I woke up feeling ok, but by 8:30 I was back where I’d started. Charis and Naomi went to market without me, so I could rest. Lying down is the only way I can keep myself from feeling like I’m going to throw up. Even then, it’s a little sketchy.

If I don’t start feeling better by tomorrow I’ll probably go get tested for malaria, just to make sure. I hope I’m not; I’d really like to be able to say I was here longer than a week before I got infected by the little beasties.

Masha just came by. She told us about one of her patients from this morning. A lady came in all by herself with her 5 month old baby. The baby was breathing rapidly, had malaria and anemia and needed a transfusion right away. Masha took the mom & baby over to the lab to get the mom started on giving blood. Then she went to prep the IV supplies, when she came back, they’d had some trouble communicating with the mom and didn’t have the blood. So Masha took the baby back to peds to start an IV. The baby was too far gone though, and as Masha was trying to find a vein to start, the baby died. The mom left, carrying her dead baby down the road with no one to comfort her.

Things like this happen all the time here. I haven’t personally experienced it yet, but I’ve heard many stories. This is a sad, messed-up world. The cynical part of me wants to say that maybe it’s better for the baby not to have to grow up fighting through bout after bout of malaria, or going hungry, or dealing with any of the many problems that are so evident here. But then I think of the mother. I wonder how many other children she has, or if she’s lost any others to malaria. Death isn’t very fair.

Hi, my name is Seentahna

            Hi, my name is Seentahna. I am not a cockroach or a lizard or anything like that, I am a monkey. Miki is my Mommy. She thinks I’m pretty cute. I have to admit I think so too.

            I would just like to clarify something really fast. Yes, I did invite that guest over, but then I told it not to come. I really did. So I don’t know why it decided to come anyway. Mommy wasn’t very happy with me, so I’ve decided not to invite anyone else over until after I’ve made sure it’s ok with her.

            Tchad is an interesting place. There are lots of bugs everywhere. Mommy doesn’t like them very much, but I’m not sure why. They’re fun to talk to. She keeps muttering something about the entire country being on top of an anthill and they should be destroyed…but I think that’s mean. They were probably here first anyway.

            I was reading the rest of the blog posts that Mommy posted, but she was wrong about the number of kids. We actually live with a family of 8 kids. I think the two new ones are James’s younger siblings, but I haven’t quite figured out their names yet. I hope I will soon. 

She also forgot to mention our two roommates. Their names are Albert and Horatio. They are nice lizards, I like them. Albert is a teeny tiny baby lizard. He’s a little bit shy, but he sure can move fast. Horatio, well he is quite a bit older. He doesn’t actually know how old he is, but that’s ok, we’ll forgive his ignorance. I think Mommy is hoping that they’ll eat the bugs, so she keeps them around. I’ve also been told that if Auntie Ashley were here we would probably be catching lizards to play with all the time. I wish she were here. That would be fun.

A couple of days ago, Mommy took me to the hospital with her. She was coloring with the kids that were waiting outside with their families. She introduced me to them, then she let me color a picture! It was so much fun. It was a little bit hard to understand the kids, they speak French, and Nangere, and Lai, and I don’t really know what else. I guess Bere, where we’re living now, is actually about 21 different villages that happen to be in close proximity to each other. Like Camas and Washougal close. But there are so many different dialects! It’s crazy.

But other than not being able to understand people very well, things are going pretty good. Chad is a pretty awesome place to be. Auntie Mayson, thanks for making it possible for me to be here. J

My Tchadian Family

 

Sleepovers Prohibited

30 September 

            Seentahna and I have had our first disagreement. She wanted to invite a guest over for a sleepover, but I told her no because I haven’t met the guest’s parents.

            She invited them anyway.

            Or at least I’m assuming she did because I woke up at 2 AM today with the guest scampering over my legs.

            Needless to say I was not pleased. I very firmly told Seentahna, “No more sleepovers!” Hopefully she’ll listen this time.

            It is now 4 AM and I can’t sleep. Which doesn’t make sense, with or without jet lag. But it’s been like this since I arrived in Bere. I think the latest I’ve managed to sleep in was 5, maybe 5:30 on the first day I got here. I’ve kinda given up trying to sleep any later, once I wake up the first time, sleep is over for me. There is no such thing as rolling over and drifting into unconscious bliss. So I spend my time before everyone wakes up reading, praying, planning, and writing.

            My family here has six kids ages 3-14. Bria is the oldest, she’s very sweet and functions like a second mother to the rest of her family. She’s also been fighting malaria since I got here, I hope she feels better soon. John is 11, he speaks some English, French, and Nangere, helps translate for Sabbath School, loves to sing, and plays the drums. James is also 11, he is an orphan that lives with us. He’s quiet and his eyes are sad. Agariat I believe is 9. As the second oldest girl she’s been picking up a lot of the work with Bria not feeling well. An amazing hostess, she often anticipates what I need and will immediately jump up to get it for me. Abriat is 7. She is so eager to be near me and is not shy. Then there is Batama, the baby of the family. He is so adorable. He has big eyes and long curly eyelashes. A typical 3 year old, he loves to play, and get cuddles. He’s also a little bit whiny sometimes. :) 

            My mamma is Sedonnie. She’s very sweet and eager to get to know me. She disappears during the day though, I don’t really know where she goes. I’ve only seen papa a couple of times. I think he must leave to work early on his moto, and doesn’t get back until late. Or maybe it’s because he went to Lai, a village a few kilometers away.

            My house is really not all that different from a house in America, except that it’s all open air, except for the bedrooms and the kitchen, and there is an open well in the middle of the living area. I have my own room. Danae told me that Bria gave up her room so that they could host SMs, which makes me feel bad. All of the kids except for Batama sleep in the room next to me. I feel a little bit selfish, but I also know I’m very grateful for my own space.

            The other missionaries on the compound are all very nice. But they keep making reference to how hard it is to be out here. I must admit, it’s a little daunting to have so many people saying that it’s difficult when they live on the mission compound where there is running water and electricity. I think they may be referring more to the emotional difficulty which is something I haven’t really experienced yet.

            Now is time for random footnotes directed at specific people.

            Alaric – I promise I wrote you a letter, but to mail it I have to get it to Kelo, which, with current road conditions, is about an hour away.

            Ashley – You should come and visit me. I miss you. And you could help me garden and landscape and do construction work and play with kids in the dirt and keep me sane… Yeah. It’d be fun.

            Anyway, I love you all! Keep us all in your prayers. It is true, it is hard here, but I think it will be worth it too.

            Oh, and someone want to send me an anteater? And a pet cat that specializes in cockroach elimination and leaves the chickens and lizards alone? And some chocolate? J

The Crunch & Munch of WHAT?

28 September
Last night I sat down to enjoy my first evening meal with my Tchadian family. They were serving beans and rice. Or so I thought. There was a rainstorm in progress so we were inside enjoying our meal on the dark due to the absence of electricity. It as quite delicious actually.
So here I'm sitting chewing away, yummy yum, yummy yu...crunch?
Wait what? Cooked rice isn't supposed I be crunchy.
Must've been a rock....
Pretty soon, another crunch, but more like a stick snapping. I'm really confused. Is it normal to have this many rocks and sticks in your beans? I'm not all that partial to the thought of eating them, I'm not lacking uin roughage. I dig them out of my mouth.
Before taking my next bite I examined food. There's another stick. I pull it out. Season nie notices and holds out her hand. I give her he troublesome stick.
"Ah, poisson." She says. That would be helpful, if I knew French.
"It's fish." Brian translates.
Oh joy.
I did say I was vegetarian, but I also said I was willing to try fish. And now, I've tried it. I will admit it was pretty tasty. But I cannot handle the munching of a poor fishy a bones. I lost my appetite.
I wish they would've jut let me think it was sticks and rocks! I would've never known he difference...at least until the bite that felt like it was the whole skeleton in my mouth. I almost gagged on hat one.
I think it will be easier to stay vegetarian completely.
"No poisson. Vegetarian." I tell Sedonnie. She laughs at me.
I will never forget the  French word for fish. Poisson. Poison? I think so.

The Beginning

            “In two weeks I will be on a plane headed to Chad, Africa, where I will be living for the next eight months.” The thought crosses my mind, bringing with it an array of conflicting emotions. I’m excited about all the new adventures that await my arrival, and I’m impatient to be able to finish up all the packing and planning and just hurry up and leave. But I’m also nervous and a little bit scared. What is it going to be like living in Chad? Am I going to be able to really be a help to the missionaries I’m supposed to assist? Will it take me too long to learn everything? I don’t really know what to expect.

            So, how did I end up deciding to spend a year in Chad? I mean, I’m really just a normal college sophomore who happens to have an appetite for adventure and an unquenchable desire to do something different with my life. I have dreamed of being a student missionary ever since I first knew that such a thing existed, and I have wanted to be a missionary for much longer. Last December I started the process of applying to be an sm, and choosing a call. I knew that I wanted a place where I would get medical exposure, but I didn’t really think I would get one because I have no experience in that area. I prayed about it a lot, toyed with some ideas, but wasn’t really that interested in anything that I was seeing. Finally a medical call opened up in Moundou, Chad that looked like an answer to prayer. They weren’t asking for someone with medical experience! I was so excited; I could go somewhere and learn! I got accepted to that call in May, and started preparing to go to Chad. God had opened the way!

            However, things weren’t quite what they seemed. I had tried to email Dr. Scott, the contact for Moundou, and hadn’t received a reply. Six weeks before I was supposed to be leaving I discovered that I had sent emails to the wrong address. I quickly typed up another email and sent it, this time to the correct account. The next morning I received back a discouraging reply: “Sadly we are already full for the coming school year as far as volunteers go.” I didn’t really know what to think. I had been so sure that I was supposed to go to Moundou. Dr. Scott offered to send emails to other hospitals in Chad, asking if they might possibly have a place for me to go, I was thankful for his help, but I was also disappointed. My friends and family encouraged me to remember that God has a plan for me, and that maybe it was for the better if I didn’t go to Moundou. I prayed about it, and decided to leave it in God’s hands because He knows far better than I do.

            A couple of days later, I received another email. This time from Danae & Olen, doctors from the Bere Adventist Hospital in Bere, Chad. They had heard about the mixup concerning my sm assignment and were willing to put me to work in Bere. I started getting excited again. With the new call I will be living with a native family in their compound. I will be eating their food and drinking their water. And I started praising God. You see, one of the reasons I am so excited about Chad is because of a book, African Rice Heart by Emily Wilkens. She was a student missionary to Chad a few years ago, and wrote the book about the experiences that she had there. I had read the book when it first came out and I was thoroughly impressed with the way that she had been able to live with a Chadian family and get to know them and their culture so much better than if she had been staying on the hospital compound. And that is what I want, to immerse myself in a different way of living, and Bere is exactly that. I believe that God knew the desires of my heart and even though I didn’t understand what was going on when my first call was canceled, I believe that God allowed things to happen to work out for the best.

            The last few weeks have been a whirl of figuring out what I’ll need, getting shots and vaccinations and keeping up with stuff at home. Mom ordered 600 pounds of peaches to can, so it’s been a little hectic around here. Last week I went to get my Yellow Fever vaccine. Mom thought that she was going to have to pay $140 out of pocket for the shot, but when we got to the pharmacy, the pharmacist ended up having to call our insurance about something and insurance ended up covering the whole bill. We were so excited! Yet another blessing from God. Then there was my visa. I’m flying out of Portland on the 23^rd so I can meet up with Olen & Danae in Washington D.C. to fly to Chad. I have heard stories about African embassies being notoriously slow in giving out visas, and I was paranoid that it wasn’t going to come through in time for my flight. I sent it in last Monday and lo and behold, it came back in the mail on Saturday! I was so excited and thrilled. Everything is now in place for me to leave! There is a little bit more for the funding, but I know that God will come through.

            So yes, I’m nervous, excited, impatient, and a little bit scared. But I also know that God’s got His hands in this. There is nothing He cannot do, and He will be there with me all the time. I am looking forward to seeing what other miracles He has up His sleeve for me. : )