a 'good' whipping.

My little buddy sat on the salmon-colored examination bench. He had
dropped his pants and they hung around his ankles as he sat bare
butted. His bandage was dirty and I peeled the grippy tape from his
little leg. The tape sticks SO well to dry skin. In fact, as I
peeled it off, the top layer of brown skin came off with it. Almost
healed was a clean slice about 3 inches long on his upper
thigh. The dressing change only required washing the healed wound
with bleach water and scrubbing some of the dirt from around the
edges. It really looked quite good. I asked him if it hurt as I
washed it. He said, "No, it's ok." As I put another piece of tape
over the wound, I asked him how this happened. I thought it was a
weird place for an injury like this. He said, "My teacher hit
me." Uhg. This kid had to come to the hospital because his teacher
hit him with a stick. The stick had cleanly laid open his his
leg. I felt ANGRY. I finished my shift and went home.
Showing up at home is usually such a joyful time because the kids
come running to greet me and there is usually food on the little coal
fire. Everyone is so relaxed and usually laying on grass mats just
talking. I love it. But today was different. Everyone was kind
of tense. I went and got my things to shower and walked towards the
little mud enclosure where we shower and pee....(the same
place...yes, I know). Right before I went in though, I heard some
commotion. I turned around and saw Izeedoor (remember he's one of
my favorites) and Tony (he's twelve and one of my other favorites),
arguing with eachother. Then out of nowhere, Jezue (the
oldest...he's married and just had the new baby) came onto the scene
and he was furious. I have never seen him like that (except one time
when he got into a fight with the neighbor). Usually he is so
kind; so compassionate and loving. So I was a little shocked. He
came out of nowhere with a long stick in his hand. He started
whipping both of the boys and yelling things I didn't
understand. His first hit broke the stick over Izeedoors
shoulder. My heart cracked. The next few hits made my muscles
tense all up. Tony escaped but Izeedoor got caught by the neck of
his shirt and dragged over under the central tree in our
courtyard. Jezue reached up and broke off another branch from the
tree with his one free hand. Izeedoor got the whipping of his life.
I couldn't watch. I knew I couldn't stop this. There were people
I respected alot that were simply letting this situation play
out. I just went into my hut and sat on the edge of my cot. I
just could not bear to watch.
I've sat on the edge of that cot many times after shocking
situations here in Bere. It's a familiar position now. When the
screaming stopped it was replaced by crying. Just sobbing. I went
out and walked over to Jolie, my mother here. I asked her why he
was treated like this. She told me that Izeedoor had insulted his
uncle...that he is little and needs to respect his elders...that it
was good that he got this beating. Uhg. I told her it was not
good for my heart. She nodded that she understood. Izeedoor stayed
hidden behind the tree for the next two hours. I wanted to go over
and just hug him, but culturally, I needed to let him stay there and cry.
Just because something is CULTURAL doesn't mean it's right. I am
learning that this is true. I am also learning that BECAUSE
something is cultural, you must understand the culture before you
pass judgment. Deep down...actaully....no, not even that deep
down...pretty superficially...fairly clearly...I knew this was not
right though. I hated seeing him hit so hard. I hated seeing such
unharnessed anger.
This last summer I worked at camp and we watched the NOOMA videos
(by Rob Bell) on Sabbath mornings for staff worship. One of them
was about anger. It said that anger is not bad in itself. It said
that God was angry at times and there were times when Jesus was
motivated by anger into some action. But it talked about how the
way that you channel your anger is what determines the purity of
it. Does it motivate you to bring about rightness and
goodness...bettering the situations that are wrong? Or does is
motivate you into simple revenge; perhaps hate, grudges or uncontrolled rage.
I have so much to learn and I was talking to Samedi (the dad of my
household and the head nurse at the hospital) this morning over
breakfast and I said, "Samedi, I have so many questions but I don't
have enough French to understand the answers yet." He laughed and
said, "You'll get there, Emily."

when your heart stops.

The gate to the front of the hospital is so creaky. It opens
towards you and I ALWAYS slam into it when I try to leave the
hospital....can't I learn to PULL it to open it? A crowd had
gathered right outside the gate and I walked over to see who was
coming to the hospital at 2 am. It could not be good. A woman was
there in the back of a wooden-cow-drawn cart. She was laying amidst
a bunch of rice bags and her family members were crowded around
her. She was really stiff and when she threw up she could hardly
move from the position she was in which caused her to be a mess. The
family had her wrapped in a blanket tightly and so all we had to do
was pick her up like a mummy and put her on our stretcher. We
carried her into the delivery room because they said she was three
months pregnant.
She was so cold. I have never felt anyone so cold before. The
temperature didn't even register on my little glass thermometer. If
she hadn't talked to me I might have guessed she was dead. I tried
to take her blood pressure but it was no use. I couldn't hear a
thing. Augustan tried to find her pulse but there was nothing in
her wrists and he went up to her neck and found a faint beat. I
grabbed my little Costco blanket (thank-you goodwill) that I'd been
sleeping on just twenty minutes before and we tucked it up around her
and over her head. She was so cold.
Next, we searched for a vien on her. All of them were so clamped
down but finally the IV was started on her forearm. Fluids ran in
and this let us rest a bit easier. James had been called and
slipped into our crowded delivery room. The woman had been bleeding
for 2 days now and this indicated that it was a spontaneous
abortion. She was taken into the surgical ward where they preped
her for a curettage. They needed to clean out her uterus. It was
one of the messiest things I'd seen. The woman was given some
ketamine and the surgery began. She was hooked up to a heart monitor
and the beeping played this little one-noted song.
Then, it all stopped. We heard nothing. No more song. One of
the nurses jumped and started thumping her chest. James stopped
them and we waited a little longer. Everyone just held so
still. You see here in Chad you are at the mercy of alot of
things. When a baby is not breathing well, it's not like you can put
her on a respirator. It's not like you can monitor the increase and
decrease in pulse all through the night for every deathly ill
person. And it's not like you can jump start a heart with a
defibrillator. You simply do your best and when people pull
through, it doesn't ruin your day and when they don''t, it really does.

Soon the beeping came back...her heart started again.

I hated hearing that silent sound. It was stressful. James
explained that she was just so cold and that maybe everything just
constricted for a minute or two. The woman pulled through and the
morning came for her.

fulthankday.

thank-ful list!

-thankful for health. i am not doubling over in pain from bad
bacteria crawling along my gastrointestinal linings.
-i haven't had malaria. miracle.
-i have amazing mom who sent me a Santa suit to Africa! I'm so excited!
-i work with absolutely incredible people at Bere hospital.
-the two littlest kids in my house make me smile so big that I almost
let out a gaspy sob of joy.
-i wake up without an alarm at 5:30 most mornings...I've never been
more rested.
-i fall asleep easily with lots of noise.
-the people love to run here.
-i don't feel like I'll die of heat.
-the mornings are even cold.
-the river is close.
-i have dried milk.
-there is a guitar here.
-we have email ever tuesday and friday.
-i have a clean water source. never have to purify my water.
-there are lots of colors in Africa.
-i have time enough to read here.
-when i go home there will be vitamins and vegetables and fruit right
at the grocery store.
-i have a phone that my parents can call me on.
-spices.
-stars.
-bucket showers.
-coal fires.
-my mosquito net.
-pictures on my hut wall.
-here, the world is not quietly telling me i should be something that i'm not.
-francs.
-peanuts.
-bruille in the morning!
-wonderful paths to walk around town.

this is.....more than enough to give praise for.

The poor man built his house out of mud...and the walls went washing away.

When people clean here it seems like one of the dirtiest things
ever. I jogged through the village this morning. All the women
were out sweeping in their dirt yards, throwing up dust all over the
place! This dust consists of the dried particles of everything they
let drain on to the ground...yikers. I almost choked a couple of
times. Then the men add to the haze with their little smoking
circles and the Arab cow herders by driving their cattle right
through town. What are they thinking? The children are burning
trash on the paths and so the mornings have this thick orange cloud
to welcome them in. It's actually kind of cozy...like a campfire
feeling every morning. The kids wear little parkas for the first
hours of the day and I even saw a little boy in a snow suit. Who
sent a snow suit to Africa? Confess now. :) They think it is
cold right now. Sure...it's a bit cool in the mornings...but it
takes two hours and we're back to the blazing heat.
The sky is big here. You know when you go to a very flat
place...maybe parts of Wyoming (Tara you remember this?) you see more
sky than you do land and so the sky FEELS bigger. It's blue I'm sure
but the sun is so bright that I can't ever gaze up long enough to
appreciate the blue. The rainy season was GREEN! And wet! The
first week I was here, we took a walk to the river, which, at that
time was like walking through mash potatoes or something. Everything
was soaked through and through. Nathaniel acquired worms on this
trip. Apparently you can get them right up through your feet
(especially when walking in wet lands). This is what has deterred
me a bit from running around barefoot. That and my father's scolding. :)
I tried to think of some comparison for the houses here. I thought
of a gingerbread house and how a really good one is made of only
edible materials. The huts here are a collage of ALL natural
things. The mud bricks (mud, water, sand, some vegetation and alot
of heat), the branches for trusses, the grass roof, the grass ties
around the trusses, and the dirt floor. You could smash this house
down and not leave a bit of garbage. Kind of neat. But when the
rainy season comes, houses are destroyed left and right. The mud
walls just disintegrate and there is alot of rebuilding done after
the rains stop.
One night, at like 10:00 p.m., I was in my hut, sitting in the dark,
just listening to the rains crash on my tin roof (yes I have a tin
roof...this has kept me quite dry.) It's a crazy sound. All of a
sudden a woman was yelling outside of my door. She was banging for
me to let her in. I was already totally out of my element in this
crazy storm and was afraid of what I'd find when I opened the
door. I cracked the door and as soon as I did the wall of rain hit
me. Remember, this was the first week. My french was really awful
and the rain was demanding that we shout over it's ruckus. I
couldn't understand anything she was saying but, as we stood under my
door frame, I could hear with my eyes that she was worried about her
baby...that he was sick...that she had no money...and she wanted me
to fix it. The mother was drunk and I was scared. Since I live
right next to the hospital, I told her rather shortly, to go over
there; that there were nurses there to help her. She only shook her
head and ran off in the rain, trying to stay under her umbrella.
There I stood. Not knowing if I had done the right thing. Being a
little disappointed at how I had reacted. The questions started
parking themselves in my head: How did she know where I lived? Was
the baby really sick? Why was she so panicked? Should I have at
least brought her in my hut, out of the rain? Maybe she really
didn't have any money and this was why she didn't go to the hospital.
I closed my door and ran my hands over my clothes. Soaked. I
pulled them off of me and as I did I realized that the walls of water
had been hitting my dirt hut, throwing mud all over me. I was soooo
dirty. But my mind couldn't stop running this weird situation
through my head and all I wanted to do was sleep. After I got my
muddy, wet clothes off, I just climbed into bed and put ear plugs
in. The morning brought clearer thinking for me. I washed up and
ate a cup of bruille. I don't know where the woman went. I wish my
reaction could have been a little more loving and less fear motivated.
I think we can kick ourselves for not acting this way, not doing
that just a little bit differently, not biting our tongue, not being
a better friend, sister, or teacher. But kicking ourselves just
leaves us all beat up. Instead of being resilient and rising up, we
just look like the beaten puppies of Chad (animal rights activists
have a lot of work to do here). We're mistake makers. We're
imprefect. We'll never be perfect until we get out of this
place. Bounce back. Attempt. Pray. Fail. Learn. Try again.
Everyone makes mistakes. Hopefully next time a woman comes banging
on my door in the middle of a fear-inducing storm I will react
better...I'm not sure when that will ever happen again. :) You never know.

Josephine.

Screaming. I was sitting in the nurses station, sketching,
journaling, and waiting for the next nurses to come take report, when
we heard crying. We ran into the next room and saw Josephine
wrapped up in her daughters arms, her eyes rolled back into her head
and mouth moving in completely unnatural ways.
Josephine is so sweet. She has corn-row braids that follow her
scalp from her forehead to the back of her neck. She's missing her
front two teeth. She came to hospital maybe a month ago. She was
rushed here after a moto accident that left her bone sticking out of
her ankle. An open fracture. They put her back together in
emergency surgery and now she has been resting in Bed 6, taking her
antibiotics and getting dressing changes on the crater of infection
that the bone left. Everyday she is really chipper. Somehow she
creeped into my heart with a chair and has stayed there the past few
weeks. She only speaks Nangjere and every morning when I ask her,
"what's going on?" she simply says, "nothing..." and smiles. We
have talked about her leg, if she's hungry, if I had worked alot that
day....very simple conversations since my Nangjere is oh so simple.
The daughter was up on the bed with Josephine, trying to manually
close her eyes as I imagine the contorted expression was scaring
her. But in the process she was pushing Josephine's neck down to her
chest, completely cutting off good airflow. This is a really
common reaction of the people here. I have pulled so many parents
away from their children because they are panicking and smothering
them. We pulled her sister off of her. We checked Josephine's
pulse. Normal. Called the head nurse. The head nurse then was
Augustan, a really good nurse. Josephine kept seizing. Her neck
would whip back and forth and her hands clench down on mine, sending
muscle spasms up her arms as well.
There is alot of witch-craft and meddling with dark things here in
Chad. I don't completely understand all of it. I know that alot of
times people will try witch-craft first to fix their health problems
and then when that doesn't work, they come to the hospital (alot of
times with all their money used up). Josephine had an episode
somewhat like this when she first came in and Augustan believed it
could be something spiritual that she was dealing with. He gave her
a drug to calm her down and Kristen prayed for her.
She settled down and the crowd started to disperse. She still
hadn't responded to any of us; hadn't recognized us. I started
asking her what her name was. She responded with her full African
name. :) "This is Emily, Josephine." She said, "Lapia", the
greeting here. I just kept fanning her and half singing her
name: "Josephine...." to which she responded in a sing-song tone,
"Emaleen" which really humored me that she had rhymed our names
together. I asked her how she was and she responded with a answer I
hadn't heard before. I asked the sister what she had said, and the
sister said that Josephine had expressed that things were not going
well. I asked if we could pray again with her now that she was
conscious. Josephine said, "Emily, there is only one God." I
agreed and so we prayed. She said,"Merci Buja, Merci Buja," still
grasping my hand. We stayed and talked a while longer through
broken Nangere, broken French and lots of smiling. She asked me to
stay and eat with her, but I told her I needed to go, that maybe
tomorrow I would eat boulle with her. She said, "Yes". She asked if
we could pray one more time and then if we could pray tomorrow as
well. I said for sure we could.
I went back a little later and peaked around the corner. She was
sleeping soundly. God can work his good and life changing magic
against the magic that so many people have meddled in; the dark magic
that destroys their lives. I wish that we came to God more often
with each other. Just stop to talk to him. How will our father
know us if we never talk to him. I hope Josephine wants to pray
together more. Maybe we can pray together in the mornings. I'll
have to ask her.

Fw: Getting the party started.

 

 

GETTING THE PARTY STARTED

Have you heard people say that you are a painting of all your
choices.   That you reflect what you choose in life. They say that
you are the one at the wheel and your ability to drive, put on the
brakes, pedal to the metal, navigate (or get real lost) is the beauty
of human choice.   I've always kind of thought that way.   But what
about the people whose mothers never took them to a steep hill to
learn to drive (stick shift) and are suddenly given the junkiest car,
the longest road, and then told they have to drive, blindfolded,
through downtown Seattle at rush hour.  Short sticks drawn, bad hands
dealt; where is the freedom to choose the high road? It's more like a
survival mission for some people.
What we have isn't what we would have always chosen.   And that's just ok.
I just keep thinking, "I'm not usually some patriotic-flag-bearing
rallier, but I sure do recognize that the balance has tipped in my
favor as an American."

I am so thankful I wasn't born in Chad.

There I said it.

  It feels like I shouldn't being say it: like it's an unspoken truth
that, when spoken, just reveals me as quite spoiled.

The freedom for us isn't in our ability to make the choice of every
left right and rest-stop on our path.   God knows that we've all
tried to make choices that were met with big rocks that we couldn't
do anything about.  We were handed things that we had to deal with
even though we never asked for them.  Maybe our free-ness is the
ability to choose a direction and be motivated to keep in that
direction no matter what we get put on our plate.  Directionally motivated.
Alot of people here are directionally motivated.   They don't have
much, but they're putting it use to move in some direction that they
can call good.
The other night we had a party.   Chadian-style party.   When I think
party, I think of a certain atmosphere.  You know.  Celebration. The
host and guests bringing the best things forward to share.  Lots of
effort made to connect with people.   I was really curious how that
same atmosphere would be created here because I didn't know where we
all were going to sit (chairs are a bit of a luxury here), what we
were all going to eat (do they have other things besides rice?), what
we would all talk about (such a language barrier sometimes), or  if
we were going to listen to music (static radio maybe...).  How was
this party going to get started?
People started arriving.   The guests came in the front courtyard
gate and the air was so partyish.   Everyone was anticipating food I
could tell.  Nathaniel told us not to eat...that there would be alot
of food.   I saw little "tables" all set up with the "china" set
out-all mismatched.  They had these savory "crepes" and the CHOICE of
two different sauces!   There was a second course of JUICE!   The
third course was rice boulle (with more sauce) and by this time we
were full.   The vegetarian (non-goat) sauce was this green leafy
sauce that I just knew was not a good party food because everyone
would have green stuff in their teeth!   But just as i was thinking
that, the host walked around and gave us each a toothpick for our
teeth!   "That was a very awesome Chadian party thing to do," I
thought.   We all left full and went to sundown worship at the
church.  It was the beginning of the Sabbath.  We agreed that the
party was not over yet though and that we would all come back to the
hut for a bon fire (rare in Chad because wood is a bit scarce), for
singing,  some chadian dancing, and for a 4th course of food.   The
fire was going when we arrived and worship continued in singing,
guitar, african drums and then moments of silent contentment that
also is such a form of praise.  There was even some teaching of
African traditional dance that made us all laugh SO hard.  It was
like a "just shake your body violently and move your hands around"
dance.  I'm so glad I wasn't pulled up to give a
demonstration.   :)  The party felt so celebratory.   I couldn't
believe how what they had was used to move us all in this direction
of connectedness!   The extravagance was in their generosity not in
what they put on the dinner table.   It reminded me so much of the
woman who gave so little but it was all she had.   Jesus said she had
given all she had and that meant the world!  What a party when people
put their best forward for YOU.   You just feel it.

Fw: i am a disco dancer

 

I AM A DISCO DANCER

Daniel (a local Chadian French teacher here in Bere) and I stopped
for two seconds, waiting for Ansley and Jacob to catch up on their
bikes (if only they would stop taking breaks to smell the
flowers).   But two seconds was plenty of time for the mob to close
in.   No one asked, "Where are you from?" or "What's your
name?"  Nope.  Just good-old, silent, arms-crossed staring.  I don't
mean like three people either.  One person seems to be permission for
twenty-five others to join in the steady gaze.   I'm fairly used to
it by now, but sometimes I want to just give them something to look
at.   Maybe do a dance, start singing a loud solo real off tune, or
run at them screaming like a crazy girl.   Then they'd have something
actually interesting to watch.  :)  But I was too tired to do
anything interesting and I just let them stare.  But then Daniel said
something that struck a beautiful chord in me.  He was also at the
center of this ring as we waited and gave a quizzical look directed
at the spectators and kindly pointed out in French, "What are you
looking at kids?  She is a person just like you."    I'm a person
just like you!
Before I came here to Chad, Fletcher, Laura, my dad and I went to
the fair.  I love being a third wheel with Fletcher and Laura.   They
are so fun.   Of course my dad is absolutely the best so it was an
evening to remember.  Fletcher, Laura and I decided that we wanted a
funnel cake.  The line was pretty long in comparison to the Elephant
Ear line but we decided the wait would be worth it.   Soon, the
greasy wall of hot air hit us and we knew we're getting close to the
front.  We'd been standing in line with other drooling patrons for
quite a while and so I was starting to feel a little bonded to
them.  I decided I would comment on our common ground.  I leaned
forward to the girl ahead of me and said, "Wow, I almost caved in and
just got an Elephant ear."  The girl totally didn't hear me.  Or
maybe she just completely ignored me.  Either way, I was left hanging
on my last word, waiting for a response that wasn't coming, while
Fletcher and Laura laughed hysterically at my very unsuccessful
attempt to connect to this girl.
Common ground (when you stand on it) is awesome.   Sometimes here in
Africa it's like, "Wow, we are from really different worlds.  What do
we have in common?"  But then there will be times when I connect in
funny moments like when my mother here did a cartwheel triggering a
gymnastics session together or when Mounden sang, "I am a disco
dancer"  (thank-you static radio) or when we played soccer out in the
blazing sun behind the church.   Connection!  Gotta' keep trying to
connect to people.   Even if you get shut down from time to
time.   Even if attempts at connection fail.  The few times when
sparks fly and you, for a few seconds, actually feel like you're
reading the same page of the same book and laughing at the same
parts....So worth it.   Risk-to reward ratio:  Very good.