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

skin and bones and teeth and eyes.

I gave a shot IM (intramuscular) today and there was no "M" on the little boy.

I hate malnutrition.

How does a 3 year old get to have
ankles the size of my thumbs before the parents
see that their baby is SICK! The little joints
are all swollen up, while the skin just hangs
over the bones. I started his IV today and got
worried that when I put the tourniquet on that
his bone might break. The skin is so loose that
it pulls inches away from his little body,
reminding me that his body was never meant to be this small.

He was meant to have a lot more life and strength in him.

He vomits up everything that goes
into his stomach. He just refuses to eat
now. The mothers here use their fingers to smash
down the noses of their babies and then pour the
liquids in their mouth, forcing them to
swallow. The little nasally, nose-plugged cry
is just straight up associated with malnutrition for me.
I keep reminding the mother that she needs to
wash the boys clothes….wash the drape that she is
wrapping him in. I said, "Take off this shirt
that is covered in vomit and get him a different
one." The father kind of stopped and thought for
a bit, "We don't have another one." Ah…. I
remember now. It's not like you wanted this for
your baby…but times are tough. He smells like
urine and it just makes me want to take him away
and put him somewhere where he can actually get
better. These are some of the worst conditions to get well in.
Sometimes I think about all the
people that I could give these babies to back
home. This one could go to the Davis'. This
one could go to my grandparents. I'll bet
Carley Brown would take this one and he'd be a
cyclist someday. I know we can't just change
the world by moving people out of the bad parts
and into the good parts though. We have to try
to make the bad parts good. You'll never move
everyone out of the bad situations. Oh but
sometimes you just want to fly home with these
kids and put them in a bed with covers. You
want them to sleep in a room that doesn't smell
so bad and eat food with vitamins in it.
This is a rather depressing email
I'm realizing and next time I promise I'll write
about something happy. But sometimes I have to
get it all out. I had a little explosion the
other day. J I'll tell you about it sometime
when I get home. You know those moments when
everything has just built up and you LOSE IT!?
Alex wrote to me the other day. In
his email he said he had read recently that
REALITY can be changed by our PERCEPTION! When
we see something as GOOD, we make it
BETTER. Doesn't that just click in your head
when you hear it?! There is a song by Relient K
that I heard again today. It's old. But speaks
about just what I've been experiencing
lately. All these things are just building up
and sometimes it's hard to go into a day and feel
fresh. But I love the last line that I give of
this song. What if today I had no
discouragement and only hope and
assurance. What if I had never seen defeat here
in Chad, and when I walked to work in the morning
I anticipated that God was going to do something
amazing. So here is a bit of the song:

Let it all out.
Get it all out.
Get it out. Remove it.

Don't be alarmed, when the wound begins to bleed.

We're so scared to find out.
What this world is all about.

So scared we're going to LOSE IT.

And knowing all along…that's exactly what we need.
Today, I'll trust YOU Lord, with the confidence,
of a man who has never known defeat.

Miss you all. Love Emily

driving fast in the fog.

Yikes! Stephan, Ansley and I RACED the horses
tonight. It was the EXACT same feeling that I
have when I drive in the fog. We have a hilly
road called Willow Springs and when it's foggy
and I'm coming home, sometimes I just let go. I
drive the normal speed limit because if something
runs out…I'm hitting it anyway. I know you're
all probably thinking…that's stupid Emily. I've
only done it a couple times…don't worry. It's like a risky, edgy feeling.
The SAME thing with this horse. We
were flying. I can hold the reigns tight but
tonight I just let them go! It was
beautiful! The only thing is that the horse I
was riding is really scared…of everything! He
jumps to the side all the time and you never know
when he'll do it. So you have to be ready!
It was so fun though to let them
fully run! I honestly felt like I was pushing
my luck though. Falling off at those speeds
would really hurt. J We came to a grove of trees
and the sun went down. So we turned around. We
got home and unsaddled the horses and I went home.
When I got home, Jolie was just
going to see her sister. I said, "I'm just a bit
hungry Jolie, is there any food?" She said that
they had saved me some. Cecil, the daughter in
law of Samedi, brought me boulle and peanut
sauce. I sat down in the pitch black with just
a fiery red bit of coals burning. I looked up
and the STARS were BRIGHT!!! Little Galas…the
new baby in our house…started crying. I picked
him up and tried to rock him back to sleep. But
he was hungry and just kept crying. So then I
started singing. I made up a bunch of my own
lullabies. No, you guys will never hear them…I
only made up songs because no one could
understand my English. Galas stopped crying and
I just had this moment…like….Emily! Do you
realize what you are doing. You are singing
lullabies to an African baby outside his hut by
the light of a coal fire. These are the moments
I'm living for here because there are other moments when I just miss home.