When will our world be one without walls or oceans or locks and keys or borders or boundries. When will it all be one. What if the oceans evaporated and the continents came together and then the walls had little stair cases over top of them which lead to right to the people you love who you once were so separated from.

What if our world was one.

What if my plate was your plate and my pockets were yours. If what I had was what you had and nothing was lacking?

I'm feeling the ocean's width real-strong-like. Not only are they living a different life, but they're living it nine hours ahead of me and my night is their day, my breakfast is their supper. This is what happens when distance takes us apart.



Holding thier breath and jumping really high so that maybe they'll be caught flying.



Here is Dinga. You've just got to meet her.




Shifts shifts shifts.





Esther and Dinga are beautiful.




Carrying firewood back from the river.

feet on american dirt.

Here is my heart in a photo at this very moment.

Goodbyes.....leaving Chad

 

Subject: goodbyes....Leaving Chad

We make sure to say heartfelt goodbyes to the ones we couldn't imagine
having never said hello to.   I always tell myself that I am going to
be prepared to leave a place.  I make lists of everything important to
do, every loose end to tie up, every gift to give, and every person to
connect to one last time.   But every time I find myself unprepared
for the splitting, running around trying to have that nice warm
feeling but instead, a feeling of dissatisfaction and frustration
seems to edge out my happy sentiments and I feel anxious.
I continued waving my hand out that ridiculously packed public
transport van even after I couldn't see my brothers and sisters
anymore. I felt a combination of feelings such as relief to be
leaving, guilt for abandoning, heart sore from the kind words said at
parting, uncertainty about what lay ahead, but yet, assured that life
still had that quality of surprise and forward motion which I so love
and that THIS was THAT quality not letting me down.  I would be
surprised with the next bend. And the next.  And the next.
But the next bend doesn't make the road easier.   I still had to hug
my African mother goodbye, kiss my little Armelle, and make promises
of soon reunion with my sister Dinga, knowing that life for those whom
I left behind was never guaranteed.
The feeling of relief came from the fact that I felt like I had made
it to a gas station after running on empty for a lengthy stretch of
highway.  You always think you know how far you can go on empty, but
you never know for sure.    There were times when I felt like I wasn't
strong enough and it was relieving to be leaving with my spirit
intact.
I felt a bit like a bad person when I recognized that those who
remained at the hospital would be facing the exact moments of intense
stress, frustration, and difficulty that I was checking my heart out
of by leaving.  Even now, when the clock ticks five o'clock I know the
patients are getting their bleach-water-dressing changes and at
midnight an overworked nurse gives that painful IV Penicillin.  I
envision the sick getting their malaria treatments, other meds, and
hopefully settling down for the night.
I felt guilt as I walked through the hospital for the last time.   I
watched a girl crying out in pain while her burns were laying open to
the air, yet shielded from the merciless insects by a thin mosquito
net.  I watched a baby's whole sack-of-bones-self, voice and physique
alike, cry out for milk.  I watched my friend Caroline, a nurse from
California, plead with a family to go buy the medicine for their baby.
 And even as I was walking out of the Pediatrics ward, a man came to
me and said, "My child's IV has stopped.  Can you come fix it?"
Caroline came over quickly and said, "I'll take care of that, she's
not working right now."    It's true.  I'd come to the end of my work
in Bere Hospital and something about it left a little guilty bite.
My heart ached at the kind words that were given to me at parting.
Jolie's embrace and four simple sobs, followed by the shaking of her
upward-facing-outstretched palms, a motion that our parting was
leaving something lacking, warmed me and ached me at the same time.
Mounden asked me, "What will I do when you leave, Emily?"   Then he
chuckled, "Who is going to give me money to buy pigeons?"  Laughter.
His last words as I sat on the public transport out were, "Emily," he
focused in through the slider window frame, "it is God who is going to
guard your heart."   What he said was so true that I wanted to jump
back out of the van, take his shoulders, and tell him he knew
something really important; that those weren't just words and that
indeed God, when we want it, guards our hearts; the in and outflow of
them.  Our hearts are shaped and well-learned by the hard things and
then filled and enlarged by our little and big bursts of happiness.
But our time for meaningful conversations was over for now.   I
continued waving my hand out the window long after my ability to crane
my neck in their direction had ceased.
A good friend of mine, named Kacey, sent an email to me soon after
leaving that told me, "The reason we sometimes hate to leave is that
we fear we will forget the things we have experienced."  Right now it
is all something that is so real at and means so much to you but we
all know as we slip back into our lives that the details of an
experience can start whispering instead of screaming their
significance.  But our hearts are forever changed.   Forever.
 I've been here with Fletcher and Nolan now for 5 days and it's been a
breath of fresh air.   I've been taking hot showers, napping, eating
healthy Ethiopian food, walking the hills meeting all these amazing
people who they've gotten so close to (these boys are gems), and just
watching them do their thing.
But, despite our contentment here, Fletcher and I have been having
these conversations that go something like, "What are you going to do
first when we get home?"   We can't wait.  But we will.   Only three
more days.  I'm looking forward to a bunch of hello's real soon.
Seriously, thank-you for being the awesome friends and family that you
are.  I am lucky and blessed.   Love Emily

this. that. here. and there.

it's the end of africa for now. we're here and there for a time
only. then we do this and that for the next bit of time. i can
honestly say this has been that thing i needed. but now i'm going
there and i'm going to be grateful for that. thank-you for
this. all of this experience. love emily

so it rained.

I feel like you must think that all I do is lay on mats these days
because that's all I write about. :) But yet again, last night we
were laying on mats and cots and bed springs and blankets. The sea
of people was quiet except for Jolie's melodic yet out of tune
singing, Tony and Izeedor talking mathematics by lamp-light, and then
Armelle who would cry once in a while for silly-spoiled reasons.

And then there was the wind.

The wind blew dust in my eyes and flowers in my hair. It also made
the tree above me sway like crazy and I kept thinking about how
exactly bad it would hurt to have a branch fall on you. We talked
about rain. I told them I had really wished I would have been here
for the rainy season and how fun it would be if it rained. But
Esther said, "It's not going it rain. This is just wind."

We drank tea from our cots which lay parallel and about two inches
inbetween. Jolie lay on her side and me on my stomach as we just
chatted. She's such a graceful, life-filled lady. Armelle climbed
up and found a niche against Jolie's body.

Soon we stopped talking and I turned to my back. I think it was the
way that the branches shook themselves at me, the way the stars were
fading in and out; appearing and disappearing. It must have been all
the anticipation of the dust and flowers landing in my
eyes. Whatever it was I was mealancholic and thought, "What's
next?" Most of my 'what's next' thinking is about school and life
etc. What do I do now with my life...and na na na bla bla bla. In
the time my mind was distracted, there were drops of water that
started making my eyes blink and my body flinch. The scent in the
air changed....to RAIN! When will the impossible stop
happening? When will "what's next" be "what I think?" Probably
never. It never rains until May. It's the dryest part of the year
right now.

So it rained.

It rained in the dry season and it let my mind trust more....knowing
that probability and uncertainty are uncertain themselves. What
seems to be or should be, might not be because life is miraculous and
spontaneous!

I'm ready to come home. I never feel settled leaving a place. I
always make these lists of things to do before the end and nothing
gets done on them and I feel like I'm leaving some puzzle
unfinished. But it's ok. I'm so grateful for everything that you
all have done. The letters, emails, prayers, packages, phone calls,
and just friendships in general. It is a huge gift to me to be sent
here. Thanks. Love Emily

p.s. during the night I felt somone climb on to the cot at my feet
and sneak under my blanket. I lifted my blanket and found Pabris
(4) who was cold and had burrowed a spot on my cot. During the
night he somehow made his way up from the foot of the bed to right
next to me. Then somehow Armelle rolled over onto my cot from
Jolie's and it was like a dog pile.

oh when it all comes to the end.

I have 5 days left and it's a short enough of a time to make
me realize what a good thing I have here in Africa. It's too bad
that sometimes we have to be looking at an end to REALLY value what we have.
The last few nights we've been sleeping outside. It's
blazing during the days now. I've noticed that Samedi and Jolie
have been just resting at home in the evenings and whether they are
doing it on purpose or not, it has sure given us some priceless times
here at the end.
I come around the corner and everyone is out on the
mats. I lay down and Jolie starts rambling in dialect, sending
orders all around and despite the speed and complicated grammar she
uses, I gathered that she ordered someone to go get me tea, someone
to go bring me a pillow and another person to go lay out her blanket
for me to lay on. She's the sweetest: the kind of sweet that
leaves you feeling completely undeserving.
The kids aren't allowed on her blanket because they haven't
bathed, but the rules always fade and soon the kids are all in a line
on either side of me. I pull my own sheet over me and toss my blue
fleece over both Dinga (13) and myself. Armelle (3) is to my right
and completely naked. I try to throw the other edge of the blanket
over her but she throws it off because she is hot. Jabbering and
singing, some crying and fighting, and soon everyone is asleep. I
wake up a couple of times. Once to a dog licking my face, another
time to Esther coming home from a party, and then the third time
makes me laugh even now.
It must have been two in the morning or so, but I woke up to
someone pulling off my covers. I didn't move but just opened my
eyes. I watched as Tony (12) pulled my sheet off of me, leaving
Dinga and I to share my little blue fleece. He snuck back over and
layed down, wrapping MY covers all around him. I laughed inside so
hard. I decided that if he was willing to steal my covers, that he
must be miserably cold. So I just fell back asleep.
The next morning the hazy light woke us up and everyone
started guessing what time it was. Four-thirty, Five,
Six. Everyone was cold by this time and those who weren't already
in our little line up, squeezed in so we were like ten bundles all in
a row. I asked Tony, with my eyes narrowed, if he was nice and
warm. A huge smile broke out over his face as I told everyone about
his theiving. Caught! Mounden said, "Let's go running! It's nice
and cold!" I said, "Yeah! Let's run!" I stood up and then
realized the depth of my fatigue. I fell back down onto Jolie's rock
hard pillow and said, "Let's NOT run!" Mounden moaned and
protested. :) We laid their a long while longer until Esther
started sweeping the yard, like she does every morning, and sending
dust all over us. And so the day began.
The next night we also slept under the stars. Esther was
laying on this old set of bed springs that sits in our yard. It's
just the bed frame and often there are a billion ripped up old
shirts, pants, fabrics etc that act as padding. I told her to make
room for me and she moved over rest on half of the bed. Then she
asked me if I was going to sleep outside. I said, "Yeah, right here
with you." We climbed in and talked until late. It reminded me of
sleeping with my cousins when I was little because Esther just was
sprawled out all night. One time I woke up with her head on my
shoulder and her arm linked through mine, and yet another time with
her legs thrown across mine. And she was breathing right into my
eyes. I tried to turn over but there was no room left before I fell
off and no wall to hug.
Last night Ansley came to sleep outside with me. At about
9:30, Samedi (my father here) came home for a short visit from his
night shift (we live really close to the hospital). She came around
the corner and said, "Ooo la la! All of these people are for
Samedi?" as he gazed at the sea of bodies all over the numerous,
huge mats. We all chanted, "Qui! Qui!" Tony and Mounden were
talkers and we talked about all sorts of thing ranging from Mounden's
future career, to Tony's lack of money, to the people whose
characters they admired the most.
The kids kept waking Ansley up because she falls asleep so
fast! And it's true, she does. They said, "Our Professor (Ansley
teaches English to them sometimes at school) is asleep
already!" There have been many nights I have slept in her hut and I
juuuuuuuuuust begin to ask her all the world's most important
questions when all of a sudden she's gone. Uhg. She sometimes
apologizes before she conks out but it still doesn't change the fact. :)
Dinga moved home to the house of her real mother but she
just can't seem to stay away from our house. She comes late every
night, probably after everyone has fallen asleep at her own house,
and comes to join us for the night. She wove her little body in
between Pabris and me and Tony came in at a right angle to share my
pillow. I woke up and his side of the pillow was soaked. I am not
sure what happened.....:) He had found a way to somehow get my
covers again too. So I had a little edge while he ended up with the
big square nicely fit to his warmth. :)
I love this way of sleeping. Honestly, I hate sleeping by
myself. I can feel Dinga who is sick to one side of me and
Armelle's deep breathing on my ear and Tony's head fighting me for
space on the pillow. I feel like the night is another day. You
often wake up so many times that it feels like you are getting to
know people better just through your funny interactions during the
night. It's hard for me to explain in an emails. Anyway, I'm sad
I have only three more nights.
Here's the schedule:

Wednesday: go to the fields and take a family portrait.
Thursday: goodbye party with slide show of the family.
Friday: leave in the morning to head to
N'jamena with sisters, Esther and Sabine
and stay with Samedi's oldest daughter.
Saturday: rest!
Sunday: go to the big market and then head
to the airport to get on my plane.
meet Fletcher in Ethiopia! Yay!
Monday: travel to Gimbi Hospital!
Tuesday-10th see what Fletcher's deal is all about.
The 10th: meet Alex B. Vercio in the Addis
Airport! it's been so long! There are
these little beautiful insects with wings
are flying all around in my stomach. :)
Then, Wednesday Evening, i am flying into Spokane Airport
and will be looking for the red lights which pinpoint tower
mountain. This adventure is coming to a close and I'm sure that
even when I am not sure how I feel about it all....the ends and
beginnings....the plan is in place already. Oh it's a good feeling.

edgy.

Dear friends,

It seems there is always this pushing point. I hate getting
caught. I hate getting in trouble. It's not like I melt under
reprimand or can't take consequences, I just don't like getting
caught. No one does though.
Last night left Carol, Ansley and me sitting in our middle room at
about nine o'clock with preparations already made. Ansley, of
course, had a backpacking pack, a head lamp, blanket, mattress,
Nalgene, toothbrush, toothpaste, candle with matches, and a snack (ok
so the last one isn't true, but she was really prepared and that's my
point.) Then, there was Caroline and I who had packed a bit lighter:
the scrubs we were wearing and gum (Carol said it was to ease our
consciences since we weren't brushing our teeth that night). I also
insisted that we take a blanket and sheet because I remembered the
night of using only my Santa suit as a blanket: bad news. We seem
to have this super similar outlook on preparation:

If you are ok with not having it, then you don't have to bring it.

So if we don't bring a flashlight with us, we have to be ok trekking
in the dark. If we don't bring a water bottle, we have to be able to
last till morning without drinking. If we don't bring a mattress,
then we better be able to tough it out without complaining.
We let Dr. Wilson (awesome visiting Dr. from California) in on our
plan. We explained to him that we wanted to sleep up on top of the
water tower. It is this big huge box set 40 feet high on
stilts. The generator is turned on probably once a day and water is
pumped from the cleanliness of the earth's core and then later able
to run out of our faucets at the hospital. It's awesome up
there. It's flat with no railings. We were worrying a bit about
falling off of it's not-so-large surface area and Dr. Wilson
volunteered to carry bricks up and place them all around the border
for us. He would have too. :) We told him we'd be find. I
suggested we tie our wrists together so at least would be like a
chain. No one thought that was that great of an idea.
So off we went.
But then we hit that pushing point. It's usually at the doorway of
the room to break into, the base of the ladder to climb, the edge of
the boundary to cross). This is the point where I say, "Guys, what
if......." and then I pose the worry about someone seeing us, getting
us in trouble, or us GETTING CAUGHT. Thankfully, it seems I always
have a friend who pushes me past that point. Once I'm past that
point, I'm all in. But if it weren't for edgy friends, there would
be alot fewer awesome experiences under my belt.
I remember on the road trip this last summer with Tara Becker, we
drove to the boiling mud pots in Yellowstone. These brown holes
just bubble! They steam too and we wanted so bad to touch them,
just to KNOW how hot they really were. BUT....there was this sign
that said, "Keep Off." Then there was a RAILING. Tara was like,
"Emily, let's just hop the fence, run down there, stick our finger in
the mud, and then run out." I am not sure why it was so worrisome,
but I just kept thinking, "We're gonna get caught! I know it!" But
Tara pushed me past that point and we ran down past the warning sign,
touched the boiling pots and found out that they were almost
cold! I would have always thought they were hot! We start walking over the hospital and it's nine at night. We go
through the metal gate and start walking across the campus. I see
people milling around and definitely not asleep yet. I say, "What
if someone sees us while climbing and thinks we are thieves?"
"Are you having second thoughts, Emily?" No. It's never second
thoughts. It's just that I have to say the worries, have someone
tell me I am being silly, and then I suck up my fears and go.
We found the super tall solid metal ladder. It took three of us to
get it standing on end and even then it was waving all over in the
air. The top would start swaying towards the metal roof of one
building and we would correct it by pushing it the other way, which
caused overcompensation, and then we'd almost hit another roof. Oh
man it was so crazy. Really heavy. Finally we got it in place and
started up. We took off our shoes at the first level and then
climbed up to the second. The big water drum is capped by this
semi-thin sheet of metal and that's what we were going to sleep
on. There was this big drum sound every time we'd shift weight and
it was impossible to be sneaky, especially after Ansley lit her
candle up there. :) But after getting settled, we were staring up
at stars. Just stars! We were so high, that's all you could
see. There were like 10 stars that shot across the sky. We had
awesome conversation.
My dad always says that there is something about both campfires and
hot tubs that makes them such good places for conversation. It's
like there is a reason for you to just sit still and good
conversation is the awesome side effect Silences are not awkward
because when conversation runs out, there is always that other reason
to stay: the heat of the fire, the comfort of the hot water.
I think I am going to add stars to his theory. Looking at stars
produces some pretty awesome conversation.
So then finally we went to sleep.
I'm having a hard time sleeping lately. My mind just won't turn
off. Jolie (my mother here) says that if you think too much you
will get skinny and sickly. Anytime she catches me daydreaming, she
reminds me I'll get sickly if I keep that up. :)
But despite the lack of sleep I've had these last few nights, I'm
thankful for the thinking time.
At 3 am Caroline told me she was freezing and wasn't going to make it
till morning. She headed down and walked home. Crazy girl. Then
at 4 am Ansley told me she was cold and wasn't going to make it till
morning. I begged her not to leave right then. Wait till it's a
bit lighter, then we'll go. So she toughed it out like the champ she is.

I have learned that good sleep is not usually part of a good adventure.

Love Emily

pots.

Friday nights, for worship, we have been listening to the Pineapple
Story. It's a funny man speaking about his mission experience in New
Guinea. He has a problem because people keep stealing all the
pineapples out of his garden...the garden that he is starting to help
the people. It is so upsetting to him and he tries all sorts of
things to keep them from stealing. Anyway, finally, he decided that
he didn't care anymore. He told God, "You know what, I am trying to
do this for you anyway, these are your pineapples Lord. If you don't
want them stolen then do something." And so it went. The man just
started spreading the word that he had given his pineapple field to
God. Soon after, everyone stopped stealing pineapples because they
couldn't justify stealing from God!
I love this idea. Just give everything to God and leave the
success to him. If you give everything to him then he can take care
of it or "give it" away as he feels. We worry less about things and
become more generous.
I've been painting the inside murals of the church for four days now
and things are starting to shapen up. We've got big winding trees
and rivers and bubbles and huge colorful sunshines. The other
workers (TB patients) have learned alot about painting. There is
ALOT of paint all over the floor, and they start with new shades of
blue mid-wall sometimes, but we're taking the mishaps and mess-ups in
stride. When it is finished, we will call it abstract, deep, and
meaningful so that anyone who questions our techniques will simply
have to realize that they just don't have artful eye that these
Chadian painters did.
Everyday there are funny requests for just a little bit of
paint. The first day it was Jon Jac (the night watchmen) who wanted
a little paint in a cup to paint the bed in his watchtower. Then
there was Degal (the gangly other night watchman) who wanted me to
paint his family name plate (rusted rectangle metal sheet nailed to
his mud-hut wall) and then write his name (all three of them) along
with his title at the hospital (I painted it bright orange...I'm not
sure it's what he had in mind). Oh dear. Then the women come
everyday with their metal pots. The original factory paint coat has
chipped away in some places and there are these spaces of silver
showing through. It doesn't look bad. If fact, I've seen my mom
come home with things that looked very similar from the antique
stores. But in their head they have this idea that it is better to
have paint on the pot. So they come and dip their fingers in my
paint cans and smear red, green, and yellow into the chips. Now the
pots look real....different. I can't help but laugh and I am more
than happy for them to take some of the paint for their pots. It's
such a little thing that is seemingly making them very happy. I
did think for a second, "Oh man, Emily, if you start giving out a
little paint, EVERYONE will want paint." But then I thought about
the pineapple story, about the story of the 5 loaves and 2 fish. My
paint is nowhere CLOSE to running out. So now the paint is God's
paint. If he wants it splotched on pots around Bere, Chad, I'm all for it.

cleaning is very messy.

I feel like TB had to have gotten in my body somehow. Four of the
TB patients and I moved all of the beds out of the ward. Then we
scrubbed all of the walls with brooms and soap. One of the guys was
throwing soapy water up on the walls, three of us scrubbed with
brooms, and another rinsed with a hose. The water ran brown off the
walls and soon we were standing in these lakes. We started using the
already dirty water to loosen who knows what off of the walls. They
let me have the job of throwing water for a while, but I was so bad
at it and I kept soaking everyone. It's so hard to hold onto a
soapy bowl when you are flinging it in an upward motion to soak the
walls. One time especially, I just totally missed and water went all
over the guys. Good thing they know how to laugh. They took it
away from me at the point.
After everything was scrubbed (even the high ceiling), we shoveled
the water out of the sanctuary. It felt like shoveling snow off of
sidewalks. We were filthy by this point. Just soaked in the mess
of the trashed TB ward.
Part way through I ran over and filled two jars will water and then
put some drink mixes in them. Jacob (an SM from Southern) left a
bunch of these "Greens to Go" drink mixes. They have all these
green pieces of....maybe lettuce....I don't know....and look really
questionable. But they have tons of vitamins and so with this
argument, I got all of the workers to drink the stuff.
We finished and it was beautiful. "Proper" as they liked to call
it. The men asked if they could pour my precious bleach down the rat
holes. They hate the rats. I've never seen so much disgust and
expression coming from their faces as when they were explaining to me
how the rats come in the middle of the night and run around their
beds and across their chests. Sarah suggested we buy a cat to live
in the sanctuary. Anyway, it was absolutely clean and while I
wouldn't have licked the floor, I probably would have slept on
it...which is saying alot.
They men worked so hard. They didn't stop once. If it so happened
that one of their jobs came to a close, they would come take my work
from me before they themselves would stop working.
In the morning, I had asked Augustan to help me hire some of the
patients. He came and we hired the people not giving them a
wage...just saying we would give them a little something if they
helped. So now it was time to pay. I went back to Augustan and
told him that they worked really hard, that I wanted to pay them
well. How much? He said...."Two dollars...they will be blown
away." Two dollars.... that's double a days wage. So I went back
and gave them all the 1000 francs. They accepted their money with
two hands. I love the gesture. Afterwards, they said, "Emily, can
we have the extra soapy water to wash our clothes?" Yes. Yes, you
most definately can. So all the wives came with their buckets and
filled their buckets with soapy water. They'll be all proper for
tomorrow. Tomorrow we start the painting. I still haven't taken a
shower. I need to. I feel like TB germs are all over in my ears and
nose and eyes and mouth. I feel like these little air-borne bugs
are hovering around me! I'm having so much fun. Today I felt so
energized. It was the hype of working with others who were also
working hard. I loved it.

little stuff.

I detached Armelle from my back and after the 10k round trip trek to
the river, we had created a damp layer between our two bodies. Three
year olds are not meant to be carried like that and I was
exhausted. But after Jolie got over her shock that we had actually
gone to the river and back like that, she brought me her nice soft
horse blanket from her own bed. She laid out the big mat and spread
the blanket down. Then she told me to lay down. She rushed around
getting me tea and shooing the rambuncious kids away. I laid down
and Armelle came and laid down next to me. Jolie came and we all
sipped tea. Armelle was extra affectionate and curled up against
me. She told Jolie in her sweet little dilect, "Emily is my
friend." Then a bit later she said, "Emily is my sister." Oh the heart.
We have a game that we always play. It's called, "bung pna," which
means "give one." I always have my hair in braids and she does
too. She'll say, "give me one of your braids," and I'll ask for one
of hers and give it a little tug. Sometimes, when she's feeling
extra funny, she'll ask for all of my braids. :) Oh it's the
little things that make us happy. That's something that has come
to the front of my mind here. It's the little things.

tandem biking.

Three weeks left. It's not everyday that you are in Africa. Yes,
right now it seems like it is since I have been here for 5
months. But despite that feeling, the truth is, that this day, in
Africa, is a very exceptional day compared to the rest of my
life. So, I've been trying to make as many memories, experience as
many things, and learn as many lessons as I can in this last
stretch. I know my friends always roll their eyes when I use this
wonderful motto but.....

If you are given a moment and you could either let it pass you by or
make a memory, ALWAYS make a memory! Or M.A.M., as Tara Becker so
wonderfully abbreviated it.

So the other night I took my camera (I know my mom would have a fit
if she knew how few pictures I have actually taken) and went out on a
long walk in search of things to photograph. As I walked out of
town and towards the river, a wrinkly, elderly man on one of those
rickety bikes that I have talked about, came riding up beside
me. "Lapia, Lapia, Lapia!!! LAPIA BUJA!!! " Alrighty little guy
calm down. He was so cute though and he stopped his bike to
talk. After finding out that we were going in the same direction,
he told me that I could ride on the back of his bike. Wow! Like
hitch-hiking! I would never in my life pass up a chance like that

So, I sat on the little metal platform behind the bike seat and hung
my legs down incase the take off wasn't as smooth as we wished. He
tried to get going, but honestly i was definitely bigger than
him. His little frail leg muscles just couldn't push us through the
sandy path on this dying bicycle. So we decided that I would give it
a go and he would ride on the back.

So off we went. Lisa (my cousin) and I have lots of practice riding
double on bikes. One of us will usually sit on the handle bars and
the other peddles down College Ave. (Spring Quarter here we come Lisa!)

It got tipsy in a few places and there were times I even thought we
were for sure going to take a tumble. However, we pulled it off. I
even managed to take a snapshot of the two of us WHILE driving the bike.

We rode a few miles. This was no short jaunt. A could times I
would ask him, "Should we turn her? Should we stop her?" He would
always hurriedly shriek his answers, "No! not yet! I'll tell you,
I'll give you warning before the road comes!" I think he was worried
that if we stopped that we wouldn't get going again. Soon we got to
the next village and the little man introduced me to his family and
one of his wives.

But soon they started making plans to feed me and I knew that it was
getting dark. I still had to run back 3 miles mind you. So I got
back on the road and the sun had already set. It got darker and
darker and I started passing some interesting types of people on the
road. I started jogging. Soon, a young boy came up beside me on his
bike and started talking to me with all of the English he knew. He
accompanied me all the way home in the dark. Not that I'm afraid of
the dark or anything. :)

Count-down.

-Go to the river and collect firewood and carry it back like those
ladies who were doing their thing.
-Sell random goods at the market with Ansley.
-Go to the Arab Village.
-Trap mice out in the fields and fry them to eat.
-Organize a 5k in Bere.
-Sleep a full night outside. (Not a half a night and then have to go
in because you are so cold.)
-Gather junk fabric from off of the streets for sewing when I come home.
-Paint the murals in the church.
-Put together a slide show for my family.
-Cook a meal for my family.
-Be the one to kill the chicken. (I don't know that I have the heart to do it.)
-Family Portrait

my dilemma.

It's all so comfortable by now. The 15 kids, the coals
burning red, the attention starved dog, the never-ending jabber, the
mats spread out, Mounden saying he's hungry still, and the metal bed
springs that we love to lay on. There are a million inside jokes
that I have with only this African family. A hundred wonderful
memories that no one else was there for except them. Last night I
just took time to watch. I watched as everyone teased Dinga (13) of
stealing Jolie's silky night-gown, as Jolie made Aaron (7) cry by
telling him he couldn't sit next to her because his legs were "white
with dirt", as Esther sang "My head, my shoulders, my knees and my
toes," but kept getting her anatomy all wrong. I died laughing when
Izeedor chomped on a rock in the rice and everyone pointed to Esther
because she was the one who hadn't prepared it well! Jolie told me
that Alex had called her that day and told her that he didn't like me
anymore and that I shouldn't come back to America. :) "Urra Americ
di, Emily" You're not going to America, Emily. Tony piped up that
Jolie was a liar and that Alex didn't call her. Thank-you Tony. I'd
be in tears if it weren't for him. :) Soon things quieted down and
the littlest kids were sprawled out on the mats, tugging at the
shared covers in their sleep. Goma, an irresistable two year old,
started crying after Pabris pulled all the covers off of him. I
reached one hand down to him and he reached two up to me. I pulled
him up to my lap and in five seconds he was asleep again.
Ongen (Goma's mother-Jolie's sister) decided to go home and
so Merci, Esther and I said we would walk her home. What a nice
African tradition. As we walked, I taught them to say, "Why are you
laughing?" But they kept mispronouncing and instead saying something
more like, "Where is the bathroom." So I just taught them that
instead. So here are these three Africans saying, "Where is the
bathroom??" as we walk through the village. I just couldn't help but
laugh. Then they started saying, "The bathroom is THAT way!" which
they learned thanks to Nathaniel who was the SM English teacher from
Denmark a few months ago. They say it with his British accent which
added even more flavor and fun to this moment.
We got to Ongen's house and were met by her husband. We had
some fun conversation on the bench outside and then said we were
heading home. He said to wait a minute. He disappeared into his
house for quite a long time. I said, "Esther, should we go?" She,
knowingly said, "No, wait just a bit." Soon he came out and said he
would walk us out. (I had almost fallen in a big hole thanks to my
awful yellow tinted pen-light and the girls had kindly made like
three jokes about me falling within our ten minute visit.) We walked
out and when we got to the end of his path (path not driveway mind
you) he gave each of us a 100 franc coin (20 cents) and told us to go
get tea with it! I felt like my grandpa had just given me spending
money in the 1920's. As soon as we got a little way down the road,
Esther and Merci both held up their coins and broke into excited
laughter! "We have money!" Their excitement was totally contagious
and I caught it in a flash. We all started jumping and running down
the road with our little coins! I've never been so excited about twenty cents!
We got back home and rubbed it in Dinga's face that because
she was lazy and didn't walk Ongen home with us that she was 100
francs poorer. :) Then it was time to get all the kids into the hut
to sleep. They HATE getting moved after they have already fallen
asleep outside. But nonetheless, they'll get eaten by the mosquitos
if they don't go in. So, Esther goes around shaking all of them
telling them to go inside. She thoroughly enjoys it I can
tell. Everyone is whining and complaining and as she pulls them up
to their feet by the arm, they just fall back down, followed by more
whining. :) I picked up Aaron and hauled him in, laid him on the
mat and then went back for Armelle.

What will I do when I have to leave them? Can you see my dilemma?

At moments I'm stressed beyond belief and want nothing more
than to be far far away from here, and at other seconds in time I
can't imagine that day I get on the plane. So life goes. The
thing that will tip the scale is the fact that MY family is waiting
for me at home. Oh I can't wait to see them. I am still just
throwing thanks to all of you for helping me come here. What a gift
you have given to me. Love Emily

TB: I am tired BUT....

Have you ever walked into a church that was empty?

I'm sure all of you have. There's that silent sound. Ok, imagine
that sound. Instead of carpet and hymnals....picture metal beds and
spider's webs. You can still picture a pulpit because it is still
there up front. Then imagine that you're a breathing is a little
bit short because you keep thinking about all the tuberculosis that
lives in the sanctuary. Breathing deeply seems risky and so you
subconsciously don't.
Despite the ghetto, there is this mystical recuperative
atmosphere that is linked to the community of those who are all
living under the same roof. Like one big, drafty dorm room. Tall,
skinny church windows climb the walls every five feet and about 20
metal beds (some with and some without mattresses) randomly occupy
free space.

The old church: This is the Tuberculosis ward.

The people who are diagnosed are given free treatment
through a program called DOT. Directly Observed Treatment. This
means that someone watches them take their pills each morning,
ensuring that they will get better. If you don't treat TB
CONSISTENTLY for 3 months, it will never go away. So these people
have this experience...hopefully a once in a life-time thing...where
they live together under the church roof while ridding their bodies of TB.
I used some tithe money that one of my good friends sent to
buy paint the other day. The next two weeks will be a painting
marathon. Happy murals. They are turning this current TB ward
into the new Pediatrics ward., making room for many more babies.
I walked in at about two in the afternoon to do some
brainstorming and only one man sat in his bed. He had an IV
(probably being treated for malaria on top of TB) and couldn't go
outside like the rest of the patients tend to do during the day. He
just sat with his legs hanging down off the edge of the bed. I had
to do a double take because I couldn't tell if there were legs in his
pant legs. He was just so skinny. That is one sign of TB. Rapid
loss of weight.
I said, "Lapiaga?" He slllooooowwwwlllllyyy reached up and
took my hand and said almost in a whisper, "Lapia." It means kind
of like, "Things are good." or "I am happy."
He asked me back, "Lapiaga?" I said, "On gilla di
di." I'm a little tired. Without missing a beat, in just the same
whisper, he said, "Kouma ma bumma." God will give it.

God will give what?
He didn't say what God would give.
I said, "Qui, Qui," Yes, Yes, like I already understood the depth of
what he said. But really it didn't sink in until it sat in my head
for a while.

How is it that this man, the sickest of all the TB patients, would
without a second thought tell me that God would give me what I needed
for my fatigue.

I am tired BUT....God will give it.
I am stressed BUT....God will give it.
I sick BUT God will give it.
I am lonely BUT....God will give it.
I am worried BUT....God will give it.
I am less than perfect BUT....God will give it.

It.
It.
It.

Whatever it is....

...the things HE knows we need.

I think I'm going to paint that on the walls somewhere. God will
give it. "What is 'it'?" people will ask. I don't know. It's
probably not what we think that we need. It's probably something
surprisingly and perfectly fit to our problem. I am tired BUT....

Kouma ma bumma.

Let Her Cry

Let her cry.

Her baby is dying and her husband doesn't care a
bit. She's the only one who cares at this point
and you want her to quit with the tears.

Let them flow I say.

I'm so glad that SOMEONE'S heart is hurting because this baby is hurting.

Sarah Sexton, one of the SM's from last year,
reminded me that God loves each of these children
more than we ever could. Even if the father of
the baby here on earth could care less about the
child, the Father in heaven is caring his heart
out. He LOVES the baby. Really loves him.

Dr. Howe (Ted…Ansley's dad) is here
visiting. Ansley, he, and I all went to the
market earlier in the day. As we were walking
the dirt path home, a woman passed us. She had
her baby stiffly propped up and over her shoulder
and as we looked closer, the babies eyes were
just rolled back into his head and his little
mouth foamed with saliva. His seizing made Dr.
Howe's heart break. I could tell.

As I walked back I felt hopeless for
that baby and also anxious about the night shift
I was going to work that night. This baby that
we followed back to the hospital might die under my watch.

I got to work and sure enough, there
he was. A sweet small baby with big legs. His
mom layed on the plastic mattress with him. The
doctor comes and decides to do a lumbar puncture
testing for Meningitis. Three dollars. We put
together that puzzle of finding the money. Your
friend will give you twenty-five cents, you will
trade in one medicine that you bought a lot of
already, then you will put your phone as credit
until you can search for the
rest….somewhere. The baby's mom couldn't watch
and I took over holding the baby in a little C
shape. while the doctor did the puncture. And
the spinal fluid came. But instead of clear, it
was murky gray-a sure sign of Meningitis. More money searching.
We came to give the mother the
results of the test and as my headlamp dimly lit
up her face I saw that there were little rivers on her cheeks.
Dr. Jaque immediately laid into her.
" Stop this crying! What is this?!" he mocked
with his finger motioning tears down the
face. "What, you think this crying is going to
do something for your baby?! Give your baby
milk," he tapped at the mothers breasts, "and put
sugar on his tongue…and QUIT crying!" The
mother scrabbled to follow orders that she didn't
really even understand because she didn't even speak French.
I couldn't bite my tongue any
longer. "Why can't she cry?! You don't like
crying? She doesn't know what to do for her baby. She has no idea."

I went and got some other things done.

Dr. Jacque is fresh out of medical school. He
went to school in Togo, Africa and is here for
just one year. When he first arrived I was
amazed at his dedication and compassion for the
patients. But, this place has rubbed him a little raw too.

A few minutes later the doctor spoke to me in
English. "Emily, I don't want you to have a bad
impression of me." I said, "No, it's not
that. It's just that Africa is so
different." I was thankful he had started in
English because I really wanted to communicate a
certain message without scrambling for
meaning-filled words in French. "When I look at
that lady, I just think, 'Africa is hard! Her
baby has got a horrible disease that is wreaking
havoc on his little body. Let her cry!' But
in Africa, why is it that you have to be so tough
and you aren't aloud to just feel how you
feel? I mean, did you see how the woman jumped
to do every little thing you asked for her
baby. They went and bought sugar, she fed him,
they searched high and low for money. She hasn't
been to school. She doesn't know anything about
fevers, about convulsions, about
glycemia. She's helpless to do anything and
convulsions are scary. Let her cry."
He explained that he is tired of
people not searching for the health of their
children. I get that. I think we understood
each other. He also said that he hadn't thought
about her really not knowing or understanding
what would help her child. We've got to talk about these things.
The rest of the night was
hard. Two babies cried almost all night. I
can't sleep because I feel like there's something
I have to be doing…when really: it's all been
done. After all the perfusions have been hung,
after all the wet clothes have been laid on the
feverish bodies, after all the valium has been
given to stop the seizing, everything is just
left to God's larger knowledge. But when I laid
down next to Kristin in the ER, on our blanket
which padded the cement floor….not at all…..I
just kept having to get up and go to "check on"
the babies. What was I doing? Nothing! Just
going to their bedsides and maybe touching their
stomach, watching for breathing. Somehow there
was part of my own heart/conscience that needed
to be treated along with the bodies of all those
sick babies. The treatment I guess was this
absolutely useless "checking on" of the
babies. I want to be a slave to nothing. Not
even my conscience. God give us peace for the
things we are not big enough, smart enough, or
powerful enough to have control over.

Their Thing

I was talking to my parents on the phone this
morning and told them that I had overcome my fear
of riding horses alone. And more specifically of
riding them to the river alone. My dad said,
"Emily, you really shouldn't go to the water
alone. Just take someone with you when you
go." There is something about being looked after
that is so nice. There is also something about
living on the edge that is so enticing.
So off I went again this morning with Libby,
Ansley's horse. I was riding out the main gate
of the compound when Samedi (my African father)
caught me. "Emily, where are you going?" "I'm
going to the river." "Who are you going
with?" "Myself." "Emily, that's not safe. It's
better if you go with someone else." "Hey, that's
what my real father said just this morning. But
don't worry Samedi. I know how to swim." With
a shake of his head and the use of my favorite
French phrase: "toi la," meaning, "you, there," he wished me well.
I rode out and passed lots of dogs who spooked my
horse a couple of times. I just make sure we
are running really fast when we go by dogs. The
quicker we get by them the better.
I got to the river and tied Libby to a
tree. Then stripped to my swimming suit and
dove in! So cold! I swam for a while and then
swam across the river to this beach where I laid
out in the sand. My mind went from thinking
about the water quality of the river, to my
faucet at home, to the flies that were landing on
my eyelashes, to HIPPOS. At that point I started hearing things.

Sure enough, people were coming. Have you ever
met people who were just doing their thing and
whatever their thing is, it's just so inspiring
because of how they are doing it? It's not like
their thing is some big amazing thing. It's just
something about the WAY they do their thing.

Well, these ladies were doing their thing. Each
of them was carrying a LOAD of long skinny
firewood branches. I couldn't have gotten my
arms around one bundle if I tried.. Please
don't think that by bundle I mean a pile of
kindling. No sireeee. Each stick was like 7
feet tall. Each lady looked like a stick
themselves. Four sticks dressed in big baggy
SHORTS! They were working and noone was telling them what to wear.
As they got to the river, I
realized that they were going to cross. They
hiked their baggy shorts up around their stickish
legs and strode across the current, all the while
balancing the bundles on their heads.
I called out to them, "Mn loogia buja!" You work
a lot! They called back, "Oo Oo!" Yes!
Yes! "Mn pulkaga?" You are bathing, they asked
me? "On pulka, joge joge on dikuna." I bathed
and now I'm going to sleep. "Mn. Gba pulka
danga?" Will you come bathe too, I asked. At
that they leaned all their big bundles teepe
style around a tree and came to join me.
So here we are, in this dirty river,
bathing together. I told them they should get
all the way in that it felt good, but they only
replied, "Kala Buja!" Freezing cold!
After a while of this funny small
talk, I said I was going back over to my beach to
sleep. I got back to my beach and did a snow
angel in the sand. Oh the laughter.
"Wenda, soor shaiga?" An invitation
for tea tomorrow. That, I would love. They
loaded their heads again with their wood and
chatted more as they intensely started out on their hour walk to the market.
Just doing their thing. That way that they do their thing….so great.

Velcro

This morning, I am 23.

I came home last night after a sweet birthday
celebration of puffy chocolate cake (we were
trying to make brownies….but TIA…this is Africa. J)
After some good laughs with the girls I unlocked
my hut and started getting settled for bed. As
I climbed into my little bug-proof tent, I
realized that I had done laundry earlier that day
and that my sheets and blanket were hanging on a
line over at the hospital. Hmmm…no sheets. No
blankets. I was too tired to walk over and get
them. Plus, the hot evening air tricked me into
thinking that it would be hot all night long. I
was wearing my Indian pants/capris and so my
ankles were quite cold. I grabbed the Santa
outfit that my mom had sent at Christmas (good
times) and wrapped it around my feet. Naively,
I hoped I'd sleep all through the night without
any blankets. Wrong. I woke up
freezing. Really freezing. I pulled my arms
inside the body portion of my shirt and tucked
the sleeves behind my back so no drafts of
freezingness would come in. I just tried not to
think about it and I made it to the morning. I
woke up with this bitter bitter taste of Quinine
(malaria pills) in my mouth. Yes malaria has
caught me. I got up and thought, "Emily, that
was a rough night. But hey! You're 23!"
I went outside and looked around. I judged from
the sun that it was about seven in the
morning. I went back into my hut and grabbed my
running shoes. I banged them on the ground to
get all the scorpions out (ok, so none have ever
fallen out but I have seen scorpions in my room
and I can just imagine how much it would hurt if
one stung my toe) and sat down in my doorway to
pull them on. I went over the middle house and
brushed my teeth really good to get rid of the
Quinine taste! As I was putting my toothbrush
back on my shelf I saw a bunch of the shoes which I still had not given out.
So many of you sent shoes and it has been SO fun
slowly distributing them to kids who I know are
going to use them. I want to tell you my thought
process about the shoes right now and I'm a
little ashamed of it but I think it's valuable to
tell. So don't think less of me. J
I got shoes of all kinds in the mail. I got
Nike, Polo Sport, Keds, all different, new and
used. Amazing! Two of the pairs of shoes were
Velcro and older. They were navy blue and just
old school; comfortable, but not sporty. I kept
thinking that I didn't know who to give those to
because all the kids would be wanting the nice
new running shoes and I thought they'd get upset
if they were the ones who got the old school
Velcro ones. (I had forgotten the appreciative
and content attitude of the Africans.)
My dad has always inspired me to not worry about
what other people think. He wears things that
are so old and we laugh at him because his light
blue work jacket is SO old…a complete wreck
(sorry dad J), and our cross country ski set is
from the 70's and our helmets for biking are
ancient…like mushroom style. J But I love that
about my parents. It's not about having the
nicest things….people will always have nicer
things. So this is why I am a bit ashamed that
I looked down on the blue Velcro shoes at all.

Longwinded…I know that was longwinded…sorry.

Anyway.

This morning, when I saw the Velcro, something
clicked and I thought: Kousummia!

Kousimmia led the pack the other evening. Barefoot runners.
We were running little trails on the flat, dry
rice fields when Kousimmia said, "We are all
birds!" He threw his one arm out to the side
birdishly in flight while the other, long ago
amputated down to a knob, flapped under his shirt
sleeve. Everyone followed his lead and for the
next 3 minutes straight we WERE like a stream of
geese flying south, flapping our arms. These
kids didn't even THINK about how silly we looked. They loved it. So did I.

One winged birds are something amazing. This
was the first time I had seen one.
Kousimmia is a flier, even with just one arm.

The kids make fun of Kousimmia sometimes. Some
bully will shake their arm around behind their
body as if it is detached. They'll laugh when he
misses a shot in basketball. But Kousimmia just
seems to shake it all off. He has learned so
much basketball. He runs. He is learning English really well.

At the airport, Alex gave me a small little copy
of the book, "Jonathan Livingston Seagull." It's
about a seagull who gets tired of the role of
seagulls: eating and perching. He wants
something else. He learns that his wings do
actually really amazing things. He puts behind
him the shame that comes when a bird falls and he
learns to do these high-speed dives from
unimaginable heights. He crashes a lot and
soaks himself in the ocean but failure is absolutely nothing to him.

In the seagull book it says, "The trick is to
stop seeing yourself as trapped in a forty-two-inch wing span." YES!

But Kousimmia wanted shoes. He has
been running with out them….but he wanted
them. So this morning when I saw that pair of
Velcro shoes, I thought, this is the reason the Velcro shoes came.
Taking the shoes in hand, I asked
the kids where Kousimmia lived. They directed
me there and I found Kousimmia's family standing
around with their big bull cow. I stood at a
distance because if this bull simply nodded his
head in the wrong direction, he could put a whole
in you with his horns. The littlest boy held the
cow on a rope and I asked him if he wasn't even a
little bit afraid. He said, "No," and at that,
he hugged this massive cow. Then he crawled
down under the cow and squatted between the bulls
two front legs. This kid is fearless.
I told Kousimmia that I had some shoes for
him. He was thrilled and his crooked side smile
just shot forth. I strapped the shoes on
him. They fit perfectly. HE LOVED THEM! Lace
up shoes just wouldn't work for him because he
can't tie them with only one hand. I said, "You
wanna go now?" "Yes!" So we went. Koomakung,
his little brother (a 6 year old) came with
us. With incredible endurance Koomakung didn't
stop once. I couldn't believe it. It was such a good birthday run.
I can't believe I didn't see the value in those
velcro shoes. It seems like I've got it
subconsciously in my head that we have to have
the best best best! The best is not always the
best…and God knew that. Thanks for sending the
shoes. Especially the pair of velcro
shoes. I'll never think badly of Velcro shoes
again. I promise. Love, Emily Star.

Bitter Defensive.

Bitter Defensive.

Over and over and over. It happened again. I
want to lay it out for you clearly: this
situation that seems to play out over and over and over again.

Mother and father come to hospital with extremely
sick child. They pay for the
consultation. Doctor tells them what the child
needs to get better. Blood. Pills. Perfusions. Hospitalization.

Parents say,

"We don't have the MONEY. "

This response is almost everyone's
response. Because really, honestly, the money
could EASILY go to another basic need of
theirs. Food. Clothes. Schooling. They have
money, but not much of it. There have been
parents that after they see that noone is going
to pay for them, will pull money out of their
pockets and put it on the table.
It is SO hard to tell who really needs the
money. I'm learning that to pay for everyone's
child's hospital bill would take away all
responsibility of the parent to their
child. It's true. If parents learn that they
don't have to take responsibility for their
child, families will fall apart. And that's not what we're about.

However.

When someone really DOES NOT have the money, when
do we give them a break. When do we say, "Hey,
you need help." Do we step in only when their
right about to die of starvation? Do we wait
for them to walk out of the doors of the hospital
because they can't pay and then run after them
and say…"ok ok ok so you really don't have
money…come back in here." It is just hard to
distinguish when everyone is struggling.

I was presenting the patients to Dr. Jaque for
rounds the other day and the baby in the first
bed was sick with malaria but even sicker because
he was malnourished. Fever, respiratory
infection, and lack of appetite coupled with
vomiting. The doctor took a look at the chart,
wrote for what needed to be done further and I
explained it to the man. He said, "This is too
much. I don't have the money for this. We want
to be discharged from the hospital…to go
home." Dr. Jaque instantly laid into him. "You
want to leave the hospital when your baby is like
this?! Do you understand that he will
die?" The man simply said, "We don't have the
money." Dr. Jaque said, "Do you want your child
to get better? Do you? Do you?!" My heart
went out to the man because I honestly think he
was telling the truth. The man said in a low
stern voice, avoiding contact, "If I had the
money, this would be that simple. But it's not
simple." The doctor was frustrated I could
tell. He sees so many people scamming to get
free care at the hospital. People who can pay
but just don't want to. The doctor said, "Ok,
give me your carne. I will discharge you. If
that's what you want!" Then the man just slowly
handed the carne over. The doctor said, "This
is on you! This is not my fault. This is not
the hospitals fault. YOU are deciding to
leave!" The man just took it SADLY. He hung
his head and frustratedly said, "YES. I know. I
understand. It's on me. It's all because of me."
I asked the doctor if I could talk
to him. We left the ward and I asked him if he
really thought he actually had money. He said
yes..maybe. I said I didn't think he did. The
man was handicapped with no feet…just knobs and
his clothes were really low end. The doctor said
he thought the man had money. I said ok. He
knows these people better than me I suppose. He
went back in and discharged the man. The family
went home. It still gets me. Are we so bitter
and defensive that we can't recognize need? It
is one of the hardest things about this place.

A second story. Same principle. A
young Arab girl comes in with a hemoglobin of
2. She's weak as can be. Frail as ever. She
needs to get blood. She gets checked for blood
type. Then each of her family members are also
checked. The policy here is that we check the
family. If they have matching blood, then it is
their responsibility to give it for their
daughter. So when noone has a matching blood
type, then the volunteers, SM's, and hospital staff volunteer.
The only matching donor was the
girls father. They told him that he should give
blood for her or she would die.

He said, "I don't want to."

WHAT!? It made me so angry. I don't even know
Arabic, but I marched over there to where he was
sitting next to his curled up daughter and gave
him a piece of my mind. It's amazing what hand
signals and facial expressions can do. He just
sat there and stared off into the distance. (Ok,
so I guess they don't do that much) I went back
over to Augustan who had sent away the family. I
said, "Augustan, I am A positive blood
too. Let me give." He said, "No. This is the
family's responsibility. If the families learn
that they can just be irresponsible and that
someone else will pick up the responsibility,
everyone will do this." I REALLY respect
Augustan. But at the same time, I couldn't
justify it in my mind that the little girl would
die a preventable death. It wasn't her fault
that her father wouldn't give blood. That was a
really hard night. There has got to be a better
system. Systems, systems, systems. I know they
are necessary…but I sure am not a fan the ones I've seen lately.

What if the right thing in a situation was not
the right thing most of the time. Are we so
rigid and structured that when God says jump we
say , "oh no Lord, we don't jump…it's
dangerous…we know how this world works God, take
it from us." I don't know what the right thing
is. It's a sticky place here. Lots of sticky situations.

Hard

I used to look at clothes here in Chad and I
think, HOW in the world do they get so many holes
in them? They must be ancient! Holes
everywhere! Not just in places like the
neck-line or armpits where you would expect, but
holes smack in the middle; and lots of them! But
now that I've been here for 4 months, my clothes
are starting to get holes in them. Wear and
tear. Chad is hard on everything; including me lately.
The last two weeks have actually
been extra hard and I've found myself spending
more time away from the hospital and more time
with my African family. I also have found myself
calling home more often. I have just felt worn down.
After a particularly rough day,
Steffan and I decided to give the horses some
exercise. We started out through the village,
out the east exit. These little kids ran as fast
as they could to try to keep up. One little boy
ran out from his hut and was doing the horse skip
(you know the one little kids do), making the
clippody-clop sounds as his feet threw up poofs of dust.
There are a lot of mango trees here in Chad
(about the only green thing at this point) and
the trail out is lined by them. So as we are
riding, sometimes the branches hang low and you
have either dodge them or close your eyes and
turn your head so you protect your eyes. I saw
one coming up and went to do this, but at the
same time remembered that now there are very
hard, unripe, green mangos hidden within the
branches! I had a little moment of panic and
as the leaves brushed over my upper body I was
just WAITING in anticipation for a mango to hit
me right in the face or
something. Miraculously, I went through the
whole batch of branches and didn't hit a single
mango. The next tree I came upon caught me a
bit off guard. I wasn't paying very good
attention and soon I looked ahead and saw a huge
thick branch hanging low. Not just leaves…this
was the real deal. Just in time, I threw myself
forward onto the horses neck and we barely made
it under the limb. Yikers! It was really
close. I laughed out loud after, a bit out of
shock and a bit out of "Emily you are an
idiot…people only get knocked off their horses by
branches in movies. That was really close." I
could have been hurting real bad.
10 km later we arrived at another village named
Kalymaye. In Kalymaye, Steffan knew the pastor
so we went to his house. He brought us a bench
and let us tie up our horses. He was just
walking out some other guests so we waited. A
swarm of kids gathered around us finding seats
for themselves so they could have a good view for
staring. We hadn't thought to bring any water
with us and so Steffan asked for some. Soon a
kid came out with a bowl of water. It's like
gambling when you drink well water. But at this
point, our odds were better for survival if we
drank bad Giardia water than if we didn't drink
ANY. Soon our buddy came back and we sat down
for some good conversation. His wife brought us
tea. Another tea party. I love it!
We needed to get back…it was getting closer and
closer to sunset. We said goodbye but before we
could leave he insisted that he give us a bunch
of beans. He double bagged them but I knew they
were going to break out of the horrible plastic
once the horses started running. Sure
enough. Like five minutes down the road I look
ahead to Steffan and his horse and saw beans
flying out from either side! One boy took us to
his house and got us more bags for the
beans. We rode the horses hard all the way
home. It really boosted my spirits.
I had another especially hard
day. I can't explain everything that happened,
but all of it combined had left me in tears more
than once. I got home just drained. Esther (my
sister here), at first glance, was so perceptive
that my day had been a wreck. She just came and
grabbed my shoulders and asked me if I was
hungry. I wasn't really so she thought for a
second and then said, "Come with me." We started
walking and as we did some of the boys started
coming with us. Both of us turned around at the
same instant and threw our hands up in a stopping
motion saying, "GIRLS ONLY!" We looked at each
other and laughed because we were so on the same
mind track. We walked all these trails and she
let me vent a bit. Soon we arrived at her
friend's house. She was making supper but went
and got us a bench and brought us water. Then
she brought us some bread. So sweet. I knew
the little kids of the house. One of them is
this super stringy, big-mouthed, feisty girl
named Lucie. She started running her little
fists in circles and saying in Nangjere, "fight
me Emily, come on, fight me!" She'd crouch down
and scrawl out a boxing circle/ring. Right after
she had finished the circle in the dirt, she tap
her hand to the ground all threatening like and
said again, fists in the air, "Come on, fight
me." I told her I didn't want to make her
cry. I told her she was small….like a mosquito
and that I wasn't afraid. If anything could have
made me feel like tomorrow was going to be a good
day, it was this little rough and tough girl wanting to fight me. J
I'm really in love with the people
here, but the work is really hard sometimes
because I'm not fully trained and a lot of the
time I'm on my own to solve problems, in a
different language, with a lack of
knowledge. That, along with the sadness can
really take you down. Wear you down. Put holes in you.
I'm trying to figure out how you get
the downs to not bring you all the way down. But
at the same time, how do you stay sensitive to
value of life and yet not become a constantly
mourning person because of death? How do you
encourage parents to take responsibility for
their children's health and yet not be hard
hearted to someone who needs a break…someone who needs help with money.

How do you be content in a place like this?

Even as I wrote that last sentence
just now, I look at it and think, "We AREN'T
supposed to be content with a place like
this! I AM supposed to look forward to a day
when I won't see the hurting. For now though I
need to find a peace about it all though. That
would be nice. Thanks for EVERYTHING you guys
are doing back home. Your letters and notes of
encouragement help me so much. Thank-you! Love Emali

one of the brothers.

Mounden, one of the adopted children in my
family, has been intriguing to me from the
beginning. Now he's just precious. He's
15. He thinks. He doesn't know for
sure. None of the kids know for sure…they all
argue about how old they are. No one celebrates
birthdays. Maybe it's because they don't write
down when they are born and when you have 10 kids
it gets hard to remember. But back to Mounden.
He doesn't like to bathe. Our
family teases him all the time. "Mounden
doesn't bathe." Then we pull up his pant legs
to show his dirty calves and feet. Everyone
laughs and he smiles and starts defending
himself. "No! No! I bathe! Mamma! You lie!"
he says to Jolie as she is the ring leader of these common attacks.
He urinated in the corner of the hut two nights
in a row. It's really cold and I'm sure he
didn't want to go outside…so he just let it soak
into the ground of the hut. That did not go over
too well the next morning. Jolie (mother Africa)
was really disgusted and quite mad.
He is super kind. One night I came
home and no one was there except Jolie and
Mounden. Jolie got a phone call and took our
flashlight with her. That left Mounden and I
sitting in the dark. We talked for a while and
then I said, "Mouden! Let's have a tea
party!" He smiled and got really excited. I
went and found some lemonade mix and Mounden got
the wire-basket-coal-fire going. Then we made
our tea. It was so fun and opened up some awesome conversation.
Mounden was born into a family who
had no money. One day, he, his sister, and his
mother came through our village of Bere. Jolie
saw the woman with her two crying children and
asked her where she was going. The woman said
she was here to find food because she had none
back at home. Jolie could see that they were
incredibly hungry and she invited the woman
in. Then she brought a big bowl of hot buille
for her and for the two children. She gave the
lady a bag of rice and about two dollars in
francs. The woman was so appreciative. She
left and went back to her own village with the kids.
Maybe 2 months later, the woman
returned. The woman brought Jolie a chicken to
say thank-you for the help she had
given. Mouden was so skinny and Jolie could
tell that he wasn't eating well. Jolie talked
to Samedi and they offered to let Mouden stay
with them in Bere. The woman obviously didn't
have food to feed the children and she agreed.
So for the last 10 years, Mouden has
been living with my family. Jolie and Samedi
have offered to take Mouden to see his mom in
Cameroon where she now lives. But Mouden
doesn't want to go. He really loves his home
here and he calls Jolie "mama" and Samedi "papa".
Now that is dedicated Christianity
I'd say. This family didn't stop at giving
money or a place to stay for the night. THEY
TOOK A CHILD IN!! It's not like they needed
more children either. We have A LOT of kids in
our house. I am really impressed with how
unselfish that was of them. Now, of course, we
wouldn't trade Mouden for anything.
He is still extremely skinny. I
mean if I didn't know better…I would think noone
gave him food. But this is his own fault. J The
family all eats together and so everyone needs to
be there at meal times. Mouden often runs
around town and misses meal times. When he
comes home, the food is gone. There are never
leftovers in my house. He will learn. He is
growing tall too…so this stretches him out a lot.
Mouden is really good with his hands
and very good at fixing flashlights and radios,
playing with batteries, arranging wires etc. He
is always rigging something up. I gave him some
scratched up CD's that I found in a drawer here
and asked him if he could make a hanging mobile
for baby Galas to look up at. He did. Then
with one of the CDs, he drilled little holes all
around the circumference and then inserted these
tiny little lights. He connected all these
wires to each light and then hooked it up to a
battery. It shines and reflects all around the
surface of the CD. Genius boy. I asked him
what he wanted to be and he said, "A pilot." I
talked to Gary the pilot and asked if he could
take Mouden up with him soon. He said he would
do it. I can just imagine what it will be like
for him! Can you imagine going in a small
airplane for the first time! I think I'll
surprise him…not tell him where we are going.
Somehow, time goes by, and then one
day you blink and realize that someone means a whole lot to you.
We built a pigeon house the other
day. Yeah. From the ground up. Out of mud
and sticks. It is awesome. It even has a flag
pole on top of it….still need to make the
flag. I hauled so much water and we mucked up
mud with our feet! It had that feeling that I
imagine swimming in jello would have. We were
so dirty and not worrying about it. We put mud
on our faces to exaggerate the intensity of our
work. We used mud bricks and threw mud into the
cracks, rubbing the walls smooth. Then we put
long sticks for the roof covered by rice stalks
and then mud on top. It says "the Pigeon House"
across the mud roof. Mouden rigged some doors
and circular pigeon entrances. He bought some
pigeons and locked them in the house until they
learned that it was their home. Now they happily
come back every day and have their little nesting areas in the pigeon quarters.
I miss my brothers, Taylor and
Fletcher. A lot. A ton. A bunch. So these
little kids like to wrestle like brothers and
have water fights and trick me into eating
dirt. Oh brothers I'll pin you good when I get
back. I have a secret wrestling move. No one can get out of it. ;)

tinsel!

We spent Christmas Eve at Gary and
Wendy Roberts house. They are such Christlike
Christians. Their generosity is like a
reflex. So much a part of them. I fell asleep
on a mattress to my friends singing Christmas
carols. I woke up homesick. Gary gave us a
ride home on his moto. But when I got back to
the middle house, instead of hanging out with
everyone, I just went home…missing my
family. When I got there, Jolie (my
mother here) was sitting around the coals with
two of her cousins. I came and sat down with
them and we just started talking. The
conversation went from America, to marriage, to
how I hadn't showered that morning, to what it
would be like for my family to visit me in
America, to Mouden and how he missed supper and now was super hungry.
I tried to make room for Mouden
(he's 15) to come and sit with us, but Jolie
said, "No! He is a boy!" So he sat at the edge
of the circle of ladies. Eventually, he ended up
in the circle with us…I still don't know how that
happened. J We are all crowded so close,
touching shoulders almost, hovering over the
coals and everytime something was really funny,
Jolie would place one hand on my leg the other
one around my shoulders, and just throw back her
head in laughter. I felt so loved. She told me
that, last weekend, when I went to Moundou (a
city about 3 hours away) for 2 days that she kept
thinking about me and when she wanted to talk to
me, I wasn't there. Then she told me that when
I leave for America, that she would lose a
daughter. My daughter. "Ma fille," she called
me. She even told me that someday, when I got
married, that I must to call her and tell her so
that she could send up balloons for me. I smile
just thinking about that gesture. Oh I just love
her. How could I feel this much love for a
group of people in such a short amount of time.
Christmas morning I woke up early
and finished putting the tags on all my wrapped
up little presents. Then the kids started
coming out around 6:30. Their little shoulders
were all caved forward as they held their hands
between their thighs to try and keep warm. It
was such a funny little sight. All these
freezing little kids with their hands between
their legs. So I brought out all my scrub tops
and some of my other shirts and the kids pulled
them on for warmth. We looked like a child Chadian OR team. J
Then I brought out all the paper
snowflakes that we had made the day before (I
made most of them….it turns out they never
learned out to use scissors) and hung them from
our mango tree. The branches of the tree are
like a canopy that we always sit under so if you
can imagine all the snowflakes hanging at the
same head level…it was so FUN. Then we strung
tinsel and ribbon all over. It felt different
than when I used to decorate our tree at home…but
somehow it still felt so Christmasy!
By this time, the neighborhood had
gathered and I realized that when I wanted to
open presents under the tree, that there would be
lots of disappointed people. So I didn't bring
the gifts out. We were waiting for Samedi (my
father here) to come home from working night
shift, so I went over into one of the huts where
Esther and Dinga were resting on mats.
Soon Samedi came home. He came
into the hut where us girls were and I said,
"Samedi, I have a little gifts for each person in
your family. But I don't have enough for all
those people out there. I feel bad." He said,
"Oh, don't feel bad Emily, we can all come in
here…just the family. I'll go get
everyone." So all twenty of us piled into this
little mud hut. I told them what Christmas
meant to me (kind of chopped up in French) and
Samedi translated into Nangjere. Then I started
handing them little gifts that had their names on
them. I've never had so much fun giving. I
anticipated it would be not that fun…I thought it
would be like me giving hand outs and all the
kids scrabbling to get something. But I think
because each gift had their name on it, they
didn't envy eachothers gifts. All I got were
sweet sweet merci's. And people never say please
and thank-you here. So I was a bit
overwhelmed. I gave Samedi one of those
pack-lights, which he loves (it's the brightest
light he's ever owned.) Mouden got the
mechanical music box…only the inside moving
parts…and he watched it for a long time trying to
figure out how it worked. Dinga got the floam
that the Andreggs sent. Noone knew what it was
and soon I looked over and they were all tasting
it! (floam is like a bunch of little balls of
foam with a jelly-like substance holding it all
together). It looks and feels exactly like the
boulle that we eat! I quickly said, "NO! Don't eat it!"
All in all it was an awesome
Christmas. I missed my family a lot though. I
thought a lot about toasty fireplaces and drifts
of snow. I'm missing everyone a lot. But I
just keep trying to tell myself that the reunions
will be SO good. Just be patient, Emily.

sleepover.

All of the elements of my own life before Chad
are emerging slowly here. I've started seeing
selfishness, motherly love, prank-playing, bad
money management, best-friendship, and last
night, I saw family problems and elderly wisdom.
There is this little girl named Estella. I have
NEVER seen eyes that lock into mine like
this. First her eyes fill up and find
yours. Then her smile breaks out and she starts
jumping up and down. But even though she is
moving up and down, somehow her eyes never leave
yours. I will video it because I CAN'T explain
it. Never seen anything like it. Anyway,
Estella, her mom and her sister Merci live down
the road from me and they use our well to get
water for cooking, bathing, etc. Her mom's name
is Brigette. Brigette is warm as can be. She's
amazing. She is older but has a bit of the same
energy that Estella does. Her eyes do the same
thing, but it's not as intense…maybe dimmed over the years.
Last night I was sitting on the mat with my
family. It was about 8 pm. Armelle (4) was
wearing her new New Years dress, but got cold and
brought me a huge piece of cloth to wrap her
in. She spun in a circle while the fabric wound
around her. Then she plopped down in my lap
like a little mummy. She fell asleep
quickly. We sang a few songs…head, shoulders,
knees and toes…talked about our days….but soon
were interrupted by some commotion. Ferdina (the
oldest boy who is visiting from another village
for the holidays) came running in and said there
was a fight going on with Brigette.
The five of us got up and went out to the edge of
our wall. There was Brigette. She had run
barefoot from her house and was a little
frantic. She said that her husband was really
mad and hit her. Estella and Merci were still
at home with their dad. Brigette tends to drink
rice wine all the time. She's never out of
control but always a little extra free with her
words and unaware of any personal
space. Apparently, she had gone to the market
and slept there all day, leaving the kids alone
at home (not that unusual in Chad). The father
didn't like that and I'm sure it was an
accumulation of other things…but he told her he didn't want her anymore.
As Brigette told us this I just felt
so bad that someone would tell her they didn't
want her anymore. So, in my totally broken
Nangere, I said, "Brigette. I like you a
lot. You can stay with me in my hut tonight. I
have an extra bed." At this, Jolie wrapped me up
in a hug and burst into laughter along with
everyone else. What? I thought. I was
serious. J Apparently, my Nangjere along with
my offer to stay in my hut was just a little funny. I didn't really get it.

Brigette came in and "hid" with us in our courtyard for a while.

Samedi came home. After he got home, Samedi was
filled in on the story. He LISTENS so well. He
said, "Ok, I will go talk with your husband." Up
he got, and he went over to Brigette's house.
Samedi is seriously one of THE MOST kind and
wise people. All of the people in the village
call him Papa Sam. Samedi started out as a
janitor at the hospital and today he is a
surgeon, doing C-sections, hernia repairs,
EVERYTHING. I am amazed at how much he
knows. Many times he's given me encouragement or
talked to me about the stuff I'm seeing here that
upsets me. He gets up and checks all of our
doors three times each night. He said it's his
duty as the father. He always takes time to
greet the patients and never blows ANYONE
off. He also said told me the other day that he
prays everyday that I won't get sick.
Soon, we got tired and I told Brigette I was
going to bed. I said my offer was serious and
she could come stay with me for the night. She
did. I moved my things off little cot and she
slept there. I tried to give her a blanket but
she said she just needed her little sheet. These tough Africans. J
I love to talk at night before I go to
sleep. When I was younger, I used to sleep on
Taylor's floor and talk his ear off. Then
Taylor was never home and I'd sleep on Fletcher's
floor. I talked his ear off too. If fact,
sometimes Fletcher would say, "Emily, if you are
going to sleep in here, you can't talk….I want to
sleep." Haha. Then I lived with Tara Becker
and I'd go sleep in her room. She also would
tell me that if I was going to come sleep in
there, I had to be quiet. I share a twin bed
with Lisa sometimes and she humors me and talks
with me for a while. Thanks Lisa. :) It's just
that when I lay down at night, my mind really
starts up. It's not my fault…I can't help it.
So I started talking to Brigette as we lay there
in the dark. She answered a few things and then
said, "Ok, Emily, sleep. It's time to
sleep." Hahah. I laughed inside and almost out
loud because even when you come to a completely
new place…some things about you just DON'T change.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, Samedi knocked on
the door. He said that he had just talked to
Brigette's husband. Her husband, after a lot of
convincing, had decided that he would not hit
Brigette and that he would take her
back. Brigette got up and said that she would go
back over there. After she left and the door
shut, Samedi said, "Emily, you should lock your
door." I told him that the lock didn't work from
the inside. He said, "What! It hasn't worked
all this time! Well, you should put something in
front of the door then." He then got me a brick
to put on the inside of the door. I love it
that my family looks out for me. What amazing
people. Amazing, amazing people.

be brave or be human?

There are those moments when someone starts hurting and you don't
know whether to be sympathizing with or strong for them. Be brave
or be human. Be optimistic or frank.
I'm laying on the floor in the dark OR room where Ansley is now
sleeping on the gurney after Dr. Bond cut out her angry, angry, angry
appendix. Kristen and I are getting ready to sleep here next to the
drain for the night. Ansley's breathing is saying, "whew. ah. I made
it through surgery in Chad with the lights coming on and off because
of lack of electricity and this crazy reality being worse than the
dreams I was having under ghetto Ketamine and spinal anesthesia." Exhale.
Somehow, Ansley has this way of getting herself to believe she is
not sick and setting the pain aside. For example: We were
horseback riding, galloping, and swimming in the Chadian river only
24 hours before the knife cut out the problem from her right lower
abdomen. We are all so grateful that things happened like they
did: Ansley feeling pain in the right place. Bouts of nausea in
the middle of the night. Leukocyte count elevated to 16,000 (high
end normal is 10,000). All of these things pushed Dr. Bond to do the
surgery. She couldn't have waited much longer. It was one BAD
piece of inner organ.
Before Ansley went into surgery she said she was just scared of
hurting during the surgery. She asked for us please to not let her
hurt. We see the anesthesia not working all that well all of the
time here in Chad. The doctor takes the knife to the skin and the
patient jumps because they are still a bit connected to their
senses. Then they have to give a little more of something. After
seeing this, and then knowing that you'd be in the same place, it's
hard to get your mind to feel peace going into surgery. Once you
are under a little bit, it's not like you can say, "Excuse me, that
scalpel hurts....I am still feeling....and I am going to need 50 more
mg of Ketamine...IV push please." No. She was going to be the
patient. I know she was really scared.
Nearing the end of the surgery, with her organs still being pushed
back in through the little incision, Ansley started wincing and
crying/moaning a bit. It could have been just the effects of the
Ketamine. But none the less, it's real hard to see your friend in
pain and not be able to change it. Especially when she asked you to
make sure she didn't hurt. She would move her fingers motioning for
us to take her hands and then when we did she'd squeeze
them. Fortunately, Ansley says she doesn't remember hurting during
the surgery. She does however remember her spinal anesthesia. She
is brave. brave. brave. What a tough girl.
She'll recover really well. Like I said, thanks to Dr. Bond, her
incision is really small and the surgery was really smoothly. She's
getting fluid IV right now (the dreaded IV! She hates them!) and
will sleep the next few days a fair amount. Keep praying for a
courageous spirit to be put inside of her. We love Ansley here. We
need her back in full. Love Emily