I am living in a fairy tale.
I would love to write about all the things I've seen and done this week, but it would take several hours of typing just to communicate it all. The Mutomboko ceremony was Friday and Saturday. Zeger (a Belgian volunteer) and I went to pretty much all of it, and Timmy, Troy, and Jasmine joined us for the running with the chief. There was traditional singing and dancing, several different ceremonies, thousands of loud drunk people, a goat sacrifice, a few minor injuries, and more memories than one person could ever possibly remember.
We worked a little, too. Thursday evening we went to organize and inventory the clinic. Before we could put the medicine on the shelves, we had to clear the dust off. But then there was dust on the floor. When we tried to sweep it up, it coated the walls. Finally, we pulled everything out of the clinic and scrubbed the African dirt off of it. The linoleum was covering an impressive amount of termite leftovers, so we ended up yanking it up, bleaching everything from the ceiling down, and then putting it all back together again. What started as a 30-min tidying chore morphed into multi-day renovating escapade: the window needed a curtain, the door to the pharmacy won't close, the doorframe of the clinic has a busted piece, and the bed broke a few weeks ago when Zeger and I sat on it at the same time with Jessie.
After four days of work, the pharmacy still needs inventoried. The bed is almost done, and we need to clean up the mess created by painting and drilling, but for the most part the room looks really nice. I had a really great time doing it-- it gave me something to obsess over for a few days.
In other news, I have a pig skull! The Morrows roasted a pig (and by roasted I mean dug a giant hole, lit a massive fire, wrapped a pig in a piece of cloth and buried it for 24 hours-- it tasted like heaven) and Amy held back the skull, bones, and major organs for me so I can do anatomy lessons with the kids. I felt like a kid at Christmas. We're going to cover it all tomorrow.
There are a thousand other things I want to do this week too. I'm dying to make a solar system model with the kids. We need to make thank you cards for the volunteers who just left. We taught the kinders how to jig (courtesy of the Belgian) last week, and I really want to do it with them again. One of the Texas volunteers, Sarah, brought a bunch of super fun science stuff for the kids, and I definitely want to make the volcano erupt with the kinders. Beyond school, I'm also hoping to find some time to just hang out with the Morrow kids. We haven't really had time for that since the volunteers left.
I simply cannot believe that in just four days I will be leaving this paradise. I love this. I was made for this. I truly could not be happier. A friend told me to take pictures for others and memories for myself. I think I've made plenty of both.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Another Goodbye
Due to a mutiny somewhere between here and Germany concerning the internet service, we've been totally cut off from cyberspace for the last two weeks. Words can hardly express all that has happened since then, but since I can't figure out how to upload pictures then I suppose words will just have to suffice.
We lost baby Jessie.
Friday she was doing really well. Saturday morning we took her to the Falls with us. That evening we were dancing in the dining room. She was there with us, and her temperature dropped drastically. Then her breathing became unsteady again. She slipped back into a semi-conscious state. Monday afternoon we put an NG tube back in because she had stopped eating. Her eyes wouldn't close all the way. Most of us went to the Boma that evening to eat traditional Zambian food. Amy took the first shift with her that night. I came in at two, and I could tell by the way Amy was acting that she expected the worst. I fed Jessie through the tube and turned the TV on to keep me awake because I had left my alarm in my room. At about quarter after three, I woke up. She was more peaceful, but not in a recovering way. At 3:32am, she stopped breathing. Amy happened to get up about ten minutes later. One of the other volunteers had become every bit as attached to Jessie as I was, so Amy went to wake him up. I don't think I've ever been as grateful for companionship as I was in that moment. I really don't remember a whole lot more, but there was a lot of crying and hot tea involved.
The house is strangely empty without her, and so are my arms. When her grandmother picked up her quiet little body for the last time, I watched part of my heart walk away with that tired old woman. I'll never forget the sight of the grandmother and aunt walking into the distance down that dusty dirt road.
I've never loved anyone like that before. I fought so very hard to keep her. When her tiny body was in my hands, there was nothing in the world more important. When she was in someone else's hands, I was itching to get her back. Every breath, every little squawk, every sigh was a precious gift.
The following are some excerpts pulled from my journal. I would have blogged, but the internet was down.
"And so the spot in my chest where my heart used to be stands aching and empty but for a few broken pieces and a desperate longing for what was. Shattered hope and strangled dreams. Anger. Desperate, unbridled, illogical anger, against a world where babies die from preventable disease...
She likes to be held. She likes to be cuddled close so she can feel your heart beat. She likes warm baths as long as she's in the water, but she shrieks like a banshee the moment she's taken out. Make sure she has both her bows-- the purple one, and the pink and white one. She can have her hands free now, free to explore and touch and learn. She likes to ball her tiny little fists up on either side of the bottle while she eats. And she doesn't like to wait when she's hungry or needs changed. Now she can be clothed in brilliant white. It will be beautiful on her. She'll look just like an angel. She already did. She really likes to be sang to. I should have sang to her more...
I love how she shrugs her shoulders and widens her mouth into that froggy old man smile. I love the feeling of her head in my hand and her curly hair like silk between my fingers, her long delicate toes and tiny fingernails, and those eyes! Those gorgeous, intelligent eyes! Deep as the ocean and with almost as much strength. Even the pockmark on her ear is precious, and the soft spot on her forehead, and the ridges all the way around her head, and the thin layer of soft black hair that velveted her entire body. I remember the green birthmark on her shoulder and the fierce protectiveness I felt when I thought it was a bruise and that someone had hurt her. I love her perfect little freckled chin and her beautiful coffee-and-creme skin. I remember her fiery spirit. She fought every step of the way. She snatched at the NG tube and clawed at the ARVs. If only she had fought the right things... I love how strong she can be when she has to, how a baby with no discernible muscles could suddenly push her entire body up to stand on her spindly legs in an effort to dodge the medicine headed towards her mouth. I even love her scars. They are perfect by connection. I love how tiny and delicate she was, how even newborn clothes swallowed her...
I woke up and reached down to hold her firmly against my chest so I could sit up. She wasn't there. I want to scream... I'm not sure if it would be worse to reflexively reach for her every time I wake up or turn around, or to stop reaching for her at all...
Once again, my memory fails me. I feel these last precious memories slipping like vapor through my desperate clutching fingers. Hanging her from a tree in a canvas bag at the falls to weigh her, dancing to "My Favorite Things," watching the stars-- even the hard memories, like the first feeding tube and stitch, reading the word "HIV" in her letter on the day she got here, and the persistant weight loss. I remember the very first time I saw her. Beatrice placed her in my arms and said, "Another little princess." That's when I fell completely and totally in love with her...
If love could keep a heart beating, she would still be here with us. My little African princess.
There's more of the same where that came from, but I'll spare you. I promise I got to a much healthier place after a couple of days.
If I seem a little mentally unstable right now, it's probably because I was. But you know what? If I could do it all over again, I would have loved her every bit as deeply. She deserved it. She was worth it.
We lost baby Jessie.
Friday she was doing really well. Saturday morning we took her to the Falls with us. That evening we were dancing in the dining room. She was there with us, and her temperature dropped drastically. Then her breathing became unsteady again. She slipped back into a semi-conscious state. Monday afternoon we put an NG tube back in because she had stopped eating. Her eyes wouldn't close all the way. Most of us went to the Boma that evening to eat traditional Zambian food. Amy took the first shift with her that night. I came in at two, and I could tell by the way Amy was acting that she expected the worst. I fed Jessie through the tube and turned the TV on to keep me awake because I had left my alarm in my room. At about quarter after three, I woke up. She was more peaceful, but not in a recovering way. At 3:32am, she stopped breathing. Amy happened to get up about ten minutes later. One of the other volunteers had become every bit as attached to Jessie as I was, so Amy went to wake him up. I don't think I've ever been as grateful for companionship as I was in that moment. I really don't remember a whole lot more, but there was a lot of crying and hot tea involved.
The house is strangely empty without her, and so are my arms. When her grandmother picked up her quiet little body for the last time, I watched part of my heart walk away with that tired old woman. I'll never forget the sight of the grandmother and aunt walking into the distance down that dusty dirt road.
I've never loved anyone like that before. I fought so very hard to keep her. When her tiny body was in my hands, there was nothing in the world more important. When she was in someone else's hands, I was itching to get her back. Every breath, every little squawk, every sigh was a precious gift.
The following are some excerpts pulled from my journal. I would have blogged, but the internet was down.
"And so the spot in my chest where my heart used to be stands aching and empty but for a few broken pieces and a desperate longing for what was. Shattered hope and strangled dreams. Anger. Desperate, unbridled, illogical anger, against a world where babies die from preventable disease...
She likes to be held. She likes to be cuddled close so she can feel your heart beat. She likes warm baths as long as she's in the water, but she shrieks like a banshee the moment she's taken out. Make sure she has both her bows-- the purple one, and the pink and white one. She can have her hands free now, free to explore and touch and learn. She likes to ball her tiny little fists up on either side of the bottle while she eats. And she doesn't like to wait when she's hungry or needs changed. Now she can be clothed in brilliant white. It will be beautiful on her. She'll look just like an angel. She already did. She really likes to be sang to. I should have sang to her more...
I love how she shrugs her shoulders and widens her mouth into that froggy old man smile. I love the feeling of her head in my hand and her curly hair like silk between my fingers, her long delicate toes and tiny fingernails, and those eyes! Those gorgeous, intelligent eyes! Deep as the ocean and with almost as much strength. Even the pockmark on her ear is precious, and the soft spot on her forehead, and the ridges all the way around her head, and the thin layer of soft black hair that velveted her entire body. I remember the green birthmark on her shoulder and the fierce protectiveness I felt when I thought it was a bruise and that someone had hurt her. I love her perfect little freckled chin and her beautiful coffee-and-creme skin. I remember her fiery spirit. She fought every step of the way. She snatched at the NG tube and clawed at the ARVs. If only she had fought the right things... I love how strong she can be when she has to, how a baby with no discernible muscles could suddenly push her entire body up to stand on her spindly legs in an effort to dodge the medicine headed towards her mouth. I even love her scars. They are perfect by connection. I love how tiny and delicate she was, how even newborn clothes swallowed her...
I woke up and reached down to hold her firmly against my chest so I could sit up. She wasn't there. I want to scream... I'm not sure if it would be worse to reflexively reach for her every time I wake up or turn around, or to stop reaching for her at all...
Once again, my memory fails me. I feel these last precious memories slipping like vapor through my desperate clutching fingers. Hanging her from a tree in a canvas bag at the falls to weigh her, dancing to "My Favorite Things," watching the stars-- even the hard memories, like the first feeding tube and stitch, reading the word "HIV" in her letter on the day she got here, and the persistant weight loss. I remember the very first time I saw her. Beatrice placed her in my arms and said, "Another little princess." That's when I fell completely and totally in love with her...
If love could keep a heart beating, she would still be here with us. My little African princess.
There's more of the same where that came from, but I'll spare you. I promise I got to a much healthier place after a couple of days.
If I seem a little mentally unstable right now, it's probably because I was. But you know what? If I could do it all over again, I would have loved her every bit as deeply. She deserved it. She was worth it.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Jessie
What a crazy busy week!
A team of ladies from Texas arrived Friday. Much of last week consisted of getting things ready for them. That, together with Jessie's antics, kept us pretty busy. We took Jessie down to the clinic last week to have an NG tube put in because she couldn't seem to keep any food down. She swallows a lot of air when she eats, and she is very difficult to burp. She was vomiting every time we fed her. Her color was ashy, and she would only take a about 15ml at a time every couple hours or so (NOT enough!).
I could fill a book with rantings about the inefficiency and inadequacy of the medical system here. The workers are doing the very best they can; they are overworked, and I'm sure they are tired. The midwife who inserted the NG tube was very hesitant. They don't even have NG tubes at the clinic (we took one with us), so he may have never done it before. Jessie's stomach is very active, and just the clenching of her stomach began to force the tube up as soon as he got it down. After much insisting and persuading, he consented to put a stitch through her nose to hold the tube in. He definitely hadn't done that before. They didn't have any suture kits at the clinic. He initially could only find an IV needle, which would have totally mangled her nose. Finally he came up with an internal suture kit, which had a larger needle than was necessary (but smaller than the IV needle). The thread with the kit was dissolvable, but it was the best we could do. He stuck her with some lidocaine, then tried to place the stitch.
It was brutal. I just remember desperately praying that the needle would come through. It finally did. He tied a loose square not around the tube. Then we spoke with the HIV/AIDS Clinic workers who were there that day. One of the kids was supposed to have gone down for a checkup and to get medicine, but in the craziness of the week it was forgotten. Several long conversations later, they finally just gave us the medicine to take back to him.
Finally, we took Jessie home. She did great for the first NG feeding that Amy gave her. I fed her the next one, and she nearly scared me to death...
She kind of coughed, puked, and convulsed all at the same time. My first overly-panicky thought was that she had seized. My next overly-panicky thought was a bit more colorful as I realized that she had either jerked or vomited her tube halfway out. Her eyes widened into giant saucers, and she began to choke. I pulled the tube the rest of the way out. The stitch placed by the midwife didn't hold-- the tube had slid right through it.
We left the stitch in hopes that the medical officer would be able to just retie it when he came to reinsert the tube, but two days later he still hadn't come. I ended up putting the tube down myself. We used the same stitch. She managed to cough it out a little a couple of times, but nothing too major. Then yesterday as I was changing her she got a hand on it and ripped it out, stitch and all. We tried giving her a bottle, but she's still not strong enough to suck down all 50ml, so down went the tube again. We ended up having to duct tape the tube to her face to keep her from forcing it out again. Duct tape fixes everything! She looks a little ridiculous, but she's eating, and her skin has a nice pink undertone again. Today we switched her to Lactogen milk because instead of filling out she actually seems to be losing a little. Hopefully her body will absorb it better. She's asleep on my chest right now. I love this little girl more than I thought was possible.
Today was very hectic, but things have settled down a bit now. I think it just feels busy because there are so many people running around this place now. The Texas group and I covered some nanny shifts, so we were pretty much with the kids all day. As far as I've heard, everything went well. Sarah helped me with the Kinders, and we got a ton done. The kids know most of the NT books in order, all of the apostles, and about half of the Lord's prayer. They also learned about the immune system today (which is super important knowledge to have in an HIV/AIDS inflicted area) and what colors mix to make other colors. Sarah did some math with them as well. It was a really productive day-- I'm a pretty happy camper.
The kids are doing well overall. Jack has a massive belly and jaundice. We're treating him for liver damage. Queenie has a mass of swollen lymph nodes just below her left ear. She's on amoxycillin, and it seems to be helping. There are a few runny noses, coughs, and rashes scattered around throughout the rest of them. Besides being really clingy, Gladys is perfectly healthy. Jessie is still breathing, and for that I thank God several times a day.
7/7
I wonder if I will ever be able to hold a baby again without literally counting every breath and jumping at every yawn.
Jessie has had a rough couple of days. A couple of nights ago, she began draining blood-tinged foam from the mouth. It lasted for a couple of hours. Every little gasp was strangled by the fluids that her body just didn't seem to know what to do with. She could not maintain her body temperature. We had to put on gloves because of the blood, and it just felt so wrong to not be able to feel her skin against mine. I truly and honestly believed with all of my heart that she was dying. I did not expect to find her still breathing in the morning. No one outright said it, but we prayed for her as a group, and as the other volunteers said goodnight to her it felt like they were also saying goodbye.
But God must have been listening. I can't say that He brought her healing (yet)-- she is still a dangerously sick little girl-- but He did give us one more day with her, and then another. For that, I praise and thank Him.
We switched her from formula to frequent administration of ORS per the recommendations of a doctor in Europe in order to give her stomach a rest and keep her hydrated. Penicillin can cause diarrhea, and dehydration could be deadly. She's wrapped in several blankets and sleeping on my lap right now. The bulk of the blankets makes her look even smaller. Anything not wrapped in several layers is cold to the touch (which at this point is just her nose and lips). Her respirations are shallow, irregular, and slightly elevated. She seems to be sleeping, but it's hard to tell because she can't shut her eyelids completely. She doesn't fight or cry at all. It's like she is just hibernating. We're going to ween her back onto formula in about an hour.
Amy just got off the phone with a doctor in Lusaka who says we're doing the right things. That's encouraging. I hope it's enough. She also recommended changing her ARV (HIV/AIDS medication). I hope and pray that we can find the medicine Jessie needs. There is so much red tape between sick people and medical care here.
Jessie is the third sick baby that I've dealt with since I got here. Each one has hit me a little differently. With Nicholas, I was mostly shocked. His situation was particularly difficult because I still don't really know what was wrong with him. Gladys and Jessie are a little different. I love all of the children, but I love those two. I don't know if it's just because I was here when they came or because I've spent sleepless nights with both of them. There was at least one time with both of them when I sincerely feared I was losing them, but so far they've both pulled through. Whatever the reason, there's a special corner in my heart for those two little girls. Still, Gladys and Jessie aren't really in the same category either. I'm not exactly a fan of Malaria, but HIV/AIDS gained an enemy when it chose to pick on this little girl. I've spent much of my free time in the past two days reading up on the infection process and mechanisms for treatment of HIV/AIDS. It is a brutal, relentless, crafty virus. I hate it. It can't have her. Not without a fight, anyway.
A team of ladies from Texas arrived Friday. Much of last week consisted of getting things ready for them. That, together with Jessie's antics, kept us pretty busy. We took Jessie down to the clinic last week to have an NG tube put in because she couldn't seem to keep any food down. She swallows a lot of air when she eats, and she is very difficult to burp. She was vomiting every time we fed her. Her color was ashy, and she would only take a about 15ml at a time every couple hours or so (NOT enough!).
I could fill a book with rantings about the inefficiency and inadequacy of the medical system here. The workers are doing the very best they can; they are overworked, and I'm sure they are tired. The midwife who inserted the NG tube was very hesitant. They don't even have NG tubes at the clinic (we took one with us), so he may have never done it before. Jessie's stomach is very active, and just the clenching of her stomach began to force the tube up as soon as he got it down. After much insisting and persuading, he consented to put a stitch through her nose to hold the tube in. He definitely hadn't done that before. They didn't have any suture kits at the clinic. He initially could only find an IV needle, which would have totally mangled her nose. Finally he came up with an internal suture kit, which had a larger needle than was necessary (but smaller than the IV needle). The thread with the kit was dissolvable, but it was the best we could do. He stuck her with some lidocaine, then tried to place the stitch.
It was brutal. I just remember desperately praying that the needle would come through. It finally did. He tied a loose square not around the tube. Then we spoke with the HIV/AIDS Clinic workers who were there that day. One of the kids was supposed to have gone down for a checkup and to get medicine, but in the craziness of the week it was forgotten. Several long conversations later, they finally just gave us the medicine to take back to him.
Finally, we took Jessie home. She did great for the first NG feeding that Amy gave her. I fed her the next one, and she nearly scared me to death...
She kind of coughed, puked, and convulsed all at the same time. My first overly-panicky thought was that she had seized. My next overly-panicky thought was a bit more colorful as I realized that she had either jerked or vomited her tube halfway out. Her eyes widened into giant saucers, and she began to choke. I pulled the tube the rest of the way out. The stitch placed by the midwife didn't hold-- the tube had slid right through it.
We left the stitch in hopes that the medical officer would be able to just retie it when he came to reinsert the tube, but two days later he still hadn't come. I ended up putting the tube down myself. We used the same stitch. She managed to cough it out a little a couple of times, but nothing too major. Then yesterday as I was changing her she got a hand on it and ripped it out, stitch and all. We tried giving her a bottle, but she's still not strong enough to suck down all 50ml, so down went the tube again. We ended up having to duct tape the tube to her face to keep her from forcing it out again. Duct tape fixes everything! She looks a little ridiculous, but she's eating, and her skin has a nice pink undertone again. Today we switched her to Lactogen milk because instead of filling out she actually seems to be losing a little. Hopefully her body will absorb it better. She's asleep on my chest right now. I love this little girl more than I thought was possible.
Today was very hectic, but things have settled down a bit now. I think it just feels busy because there are so many people running around this place now. The Texas group and I covered some nanny shifts, so we were pretty much with the kids all day. As far as I've heard, everything went well. Sarah helped me with the Kinders, and we got a ton done. The kids know most of the NT books in order, all of the apostles, and about half of the Lord's prayer. They also learned about the immune system today (which is super important knowledge to have in an HIV/AIDS inflicted area) and what colors mix to make other colors. Sarah did some math with them as well. It was a really productive day-- I'm a pretty happy camper.
The kids are doing well overall. Jack has a massive belly and jaundice. We're treating him for liver damage. Queenie has a mass of swollen lymph nodes just below her left ear. She's on amoxycillin, and it seems to be helping. There are a few runny noses, coughs, and rashes scattered around throughout the rest of them. Besides being really clingy, Gladys is perfectly healthy. Jessie is still breathing, and for that I thank God several times a day.
7/7
I wonder if I will ever be able to hold a baby again without literally counting every breath and jumping at every yawn.
Jessie has had a rough couple of days. A couple of nights ago, she began draining blood-tinged foam from the mouth. It lasted for a couple of hours. Every little gasp was strangled by the fluids that her body just didn't seem to know what to do with. She could not maintain her body temperature. We had to put on gloves because of the blood, and it just felt so wrong to not be able to feel her skin against mine. I truly and honestly believed with all of my heart that she was dying. I did not expect to find her still breathing in the morning. No one outright said it, but we prayed for her as a group, and as the other volunteers said goodnight to her it felt like they were also saying goodbye.
But God must have been listening. I can't say that He brought her healing (yet)-- she is still a dangerously sick little girl-- but He did give us one more day with her, and then another. For that, I praise and thank Him.
We switched her from formula to frequent administration of ORS per the recommendations of a doctor in Europe in order to give her stomach a rest and keep her hydrated. Penicillin can cause diarrhea, and dehydration could be deadly. She's wrapped in several blankets and sleeping on my lap right now. The bulk of the blankets makes her look even smaller. Anything not wrapped in several layers is cold to the touch (which at this point is just her nose and lips). Her respirations are shallow, irregular, and slightly elevated. She seems to be sleeping, but it's hard to tell because she can't shut her eyelids completely. She doesn't fight or cry at all. It's like she is just hibernating. We're going to ween her back onto formula in about an hour.
Amy just got off the phone with a doctor in Lusaka who says we're doing the right things. That's encouraging. I hope it's enough. She also recommended changing her ARV (HIV/AIDS medication). I hope and pray that we can find the medicine Jessie needs. There is so much red tape between sick people and medical care here.
Jessie is the third sick baby that I've dealt with since I got here. Each one has hit me a little differently. With Nicholas, I was mostly shocked. His situation was particularly difficult because I still don't really know what was wrong with him. Gladys and Jessie are a little different. I love all of the children, but I love those two. I don't know if it's just because I was here when they came or because I've spent sleepless nights with both of them. There was at least one time with both of them when I sincerely feared I was losing them, but so far they've both pulled through. Whatever the reason, there's a special corner in my heart for those two little girls. Still, Gladys and Jessie aren't really in the same category either. I'm not exactly a fan of Malaria, but HIV/AIDS gained an enemy when it chose to pick on this little girl. I've spent much of my free time in the past two days reading up on the infection process and mechanisms for treatment of HIV/AIDS. It is a brutal, relentless, crafty virus. I hate it. It can't have her. Not without a fight, anyway.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
The Greatest Is Love
My dad used to tell me that I wear my heart on my sleeve. He's right. I cried when the alien got sick in ET. He tried to talk me out of pursuing medicine because he said I would get too attached to my patients. He's right. Especially if that patient is a child.
I'm okay with it though. In fact, I don't think I would want it any other way. I mean, I wouldn't mind being able to maintain a tearless eye when I want to, but I do not lament my propensity to care very deeply for the people I encounter.
Every day at 11:15, I step out the door and yell "CIRCLE TIME!" Immediately, six little kindergarteners pop out of whatever corner or room they were playing in and dash up to our special spot in the grass. The majority of the next 45 minutes consists of a Bible story and memory verses. I usually try to review what we covered in school time that morning as well (order of the planets, which body organs do what, etc.).
A couple of weeks ago, it struck me how odd it was that I drill the children on memory verses but was not deliberately memorizing any myself. I have somehow continually come back to I Corinthians 13 during my quiet times. I'm very familiar with the passage already, so I decided to commit it to memory.
I've probably read that chapter hundreds of times over the years, but somehow I've never actually read it.
Yesterday Timmy was telling me about a British orphanage in Zambia. The missionaries had been run out of the country after several years of devoted work. We talked a lot about the bitterness and frustration that comes when repeated efforts to make a difference are met with resistance or apathy. I've seen it in nurses in the States-- you beat yourself to death trying to save everyone you come in contact with, and eventually you just burn out.
Later that night I was reading the memory verse taped to my wall.
"If I can speak in the tongues of angels and of men, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal."
If I repeatedly teach and instruct these children and nannies but forget to love them, I am wasting my words.
"If I have the gift of prophesy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing."
If I have all the answers to all of their questions (and mine), and if I believe with all of my heart that Zambia can change, but I forget to actively and deliberately love her people, I might as well not even be here.
"If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing."
I can spend the rest of my life feeding starving babies, teaching orphaned children, and providing healthcare in a place that sorely needs it, but I do not do those actions in love and for Love, then at the end of the day and the end of my life, I have gained nothing.
I'm a fixer. I like to solve problems. I like to make things better. I like to create solutions. As far as I know, there's nothing wrong with any of that. My gentle reminder from heaven this week has been to search my motives and my attitude. When I'm teaching a nanny something, am I doing it because I love her and the children she is caring for and want the best for them? Can she see that by the way I speak to and interact with her? When I teach a child to read, does he know that I believe he can change his world, that I'm proud of him, and that I hold him as dear to my heart as my own little brother, or does he only feel my pressure to work harder, read faster, and learn more?
I try to put myself in the shoes of those British missionaries. Would I be bitter and angry? Would I feel resentment towards a people who won't do it "my way?" If my motivation is humanitarian progress, then yes, I probably would. All the more reason to be fueled by love.
After all...
"Love never fails."
I'm okay with it though. In fact, I don't think I would want it any other way. I mean, I wouldn't mind being able to maintain a tearless eye when I want to, but I do not lament my propensity to care very deeply for the people I encounter.
Every day at 11:15, I step out the door and yell "CIRCLE TIME!" Immediately, six little kindergarteners pop out of whatever corner or room they were playing in and dash up to our special spot in the grass. The majority of the next 45 minutes consists of a Bible story and memory verses. I usually try to review what we covered in school time that morning as well (order of the planets, which body organs do what, etc.).
A couple of weeks ago, it struck me how odd it was that I drill the children on memory verses but was not deliberately memorizing any myself. I have somehow continually come back to I Corinthians 13 during my quiet times. I'm very familiar with the passage already, so I decided to commit it to memory.
I've probably read that chapter hundreds of times over the years, but somehow I've never actually read it.
Yesterday Timmy was telling me about a British orphanage in Zambia. The missionaries had been run out of the country after several years of devoted work. We talked a lot about the bitterness and frustration that comes when repeated efforts to make a difference are met with resistance or apathy. I've seen it in nurses in the States-- you beat yourself to death trying to save everyone you come in contact with, and eventually you just burn out.
Later that night I was reading the memory verse taped to my wall.
"If I can speak in the tongues of angels and of men, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal."
If I repeatedly teach and instruct these children and nannies but forget to love them, I am wasting my words.
"If I have the gift of prophesy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing."
If I have all the answers to all of their questions (and mine), and if I believe with all of my heart that Zambia can change, but I forget to actively and deliberately love her people, I might as well not even be here.
"If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing."
I can spend the rest of my life feeding starving babies, teaching orphaned children, and providing healthcare in a place that sorely needs it, but I do not do those actions in love and for Love, then at the end of the day and the end of my life, I have gained nothing.
I'm a fixer. I like to solve problems. I like to make things better. I like to create solutions. As far as I know, there's nothing wrong with any of that. My gentle reminder from heaven this week has been to search my motives and my attitude. When I'm teaching a nanny something, am I doing it because I love her and the children she is caring for and want the best for them? Can she see that by the way I speak to and interact with her? When I teach a child to read, does he know that I believe he can change his world, that I'm proud of him, and that I hold him as dear to my heart as my own little brother, or does he only feel my pressure to work harder, read faster, and learn more?
I try to put myself in the shoes of those British missionaries. Would I be bitter and angry? Would I feel resentment towards a people who won't do it "my way?" If my motivation is humanitarian progress, then yes, I probably would. All the more reason to be fueled by love.
After all...
"Love never fails."
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Sleep-Deprivation Induced Paranoia
Has anyone else noticed how terrible I am at blogging consistently? I promise it's not because I have nothing to say-- quite the opposite. Sometimes I sit down to write and there's just so much that I want to put down but don't know where to start that I end up saying, "Aw, hang it all! I'll blog later...."
Yesterday morning I came in the house and Timmy said he thought there might be a new baby. Does that ever happen to you?
Anyway, I ran down to the nursery and did a quick headcount, and there appeared to be the correct number of bobble-heads, so I came back to give Timmy a hard time about it (all in good fun, of course...). A few minutes later I went back down to the nursery for something and one of the nannies handed me a baby I didn't recognize.
Whoops.
Making a mental note to eat my words, I took a look at Gladys. She's allegedly five months old and has a decent amount of baby fat, but her records (written in pencil in a small notebook by month, but not by date) show that she has lost a couple of ounces over the last 2-3 months. Her skin is wrinkled from dehydration, and she refuses to take a bottle. Her Aunt said they had been feeding her porridge for the last two weeks since her mother fell ill. I finally got her to take some milk by dripping it into her mouth with a spoon. Yesterday she took about 25mL every hour or two, one painstaking drop at a time. She was running a pretty nasty fever, but it broke last night. She went to sleep about 10pm and would wake up screaming about every hour. She refused milk all night. I haven't gotten anything down her since 10pm yesterday. She's with the nannies now; I'm going to try and sleep for an hour and then try again.
I think her problem is both that she can't/won't suck a bottle and that her belly hurts. When she woke up in the night, she would scream and arch her back in obvious discomfort, and she is incredibly gassy for a child who isn't even swallowing anything. She does not act like she is hungry at all.
Please, take a moment now and pray for Gladys. Pray that her body will accept the milk that she needs. Pray that she will feel hungry and want the food. We're treating her for Malaria. Please pray also for wisdom on our part as we care for her. Send up a prayer for my little Kindergarteners too-- I didn't see them at all after morning school time yesterday because I was working with the baby. Johnny came and found me yesterday evening, told me he missed me, and promised to pray for Gladys.
She is a precious little thing. Every few hours, when she is awake and feeling alright, she'll let out a little chuckle. She likes to be sang to and bounced, and placing her on her stomach puts her to sleep almost instantly if she's tired. The cat is rather fond of her as well. All night long Chai went back and forth from me on the couch to the little baby bed. Gladys would start whimpering in her sleep, then Chai would curl up purring at the small of her back and Gladys would calm down.
In other news, we've started bringing the babies up to the main house for a little while every evening again. This is usually a normal part of the schedule, but schedules have been pretty crazy over the last couple of weeks due to illnesses, arrivals, departures, visas, etc. Thursday evening, I discovered something really interesting about Ephraim. First of all, he laughs like an old man. Second, he fits perfectly in my arms. I wouldn't think anything of it if I hadn't noticed that Jack too fits perfectly in my arms. So does Gladys. I smell a conspiracy. The true cunning of the culprit is that these babies are all different shapes and sizes. Ingenius. I need to hold all of the other babies for extended periods of time in the next day or so to see if they too have been sucked into this scheme. It's like my arms were made to hold these children.
I think maybe they were.
I'm okay with that.
Thanks for walking with me on this journey.
May every step bring Him glory.
Yesterday morning I came in the house and Timmy said he thought there might be a new baby. Does that ever happen to you?
Anyway, I ran down to the nursery and did a quick headcount, and there appeared to be the correct number of bobble-heads, so I came back to give Timmy a hard time about it (all in good fun, of course...). A few minutes later I went back down to the nursery for something and one of the nannies handed me a baby I didn't recognize.
Whoops.
Making a mental note to eat my words, I took a look at Gladys. She's allegedly five months old and has a decent amount of baby fat, but her records (written in pencil in a small notebook by month, but not by date) show that she has lost a couple of ounces over the last 2-3 months. Her skin is wrinkled from dehydration, and she refuses to take a bottle. Her Aunt said they had been feeding her porridge for the last two weeks since her mother fell ill. I finally got her to take some milk by dripping it into her mouth with a spoon. Yesterday she took about 25mL every hour or two, one painstaking drop at a time. She was running a pretty nasty fever, but it broke last night. She went to sleep about 10pm and would wake up screaming about every hour. She refused milk all night. I haven't gotten anything down her since 10pm yesterday. She's with the nannies now; I'm going to try and sleep for an hour and then try again.
I think her problem is both that she can't/won't suck a bottle and that her belly hurts. When she woke up in the night, she would scream and arch her back in obvious discomfort, and she is incredibly gassy for a child who isn't even swallowing anything. She does not act like she is hungry at all.
Please, take a moment now and pray for Gladys. Pray that her body will accept the milk that she needs. Pray that she will feel hungry and want the food. We're treating her for Malaria. Please pray also for wisdom on our part as we care for her. Send up a prayer for my little Kindergarteners too-- I didn't see them at all after morning school time yesterday because I was working with the baby. Johnny came and found me yesterday evening, told me he missed me, and promised to pray for Gladys.
She is a precious little thing. Every few hours, when she is awake and feeling alright, she'll let out a little chuckle. She likes to be sang to and bounced, and placing her on her stomach puts her to sleep almost instantly if she's tired. The cat is rather fond of her as well. All night long Chai went back and forth from me on the couch to the little baby bed. Gladys would start whimpering in her sleep, then Chai would curl up purring at the small of her back and Gladys would calm down.
In other news, we've started bringing the babies up to the main house for a little while every evening again. This is usually a normal part of the schedule, but schedules have been pretty crazy over the last couple of weeks due to illnesses, arrivals, departures, visas, etc. Thursday evening, I discovered something really interesting about Ephraim. First of all, he laughs like an old man. Second, he fits perfectly in my arms. I wouldn't think anything of it if I hadn't noticed that Jack too fits perfectly in my arms. So does Gladys. I smell a conspiracy. The true cunning of the culprit is that these babies are all different shapes and sizes. Ingenius. I need to hold all of the other babies for extended periods of time in the next day or so to see if they too have been sucked into this scheme. It's like my arms were made to hold these children.
I think maybe they were.
I'm okay with that.
Thanks for walking with me on this journey.
May every step bring Him glory.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Mansa and Other Musings...
Against all odds, I think I have actually come to enjoy cooking. I've learned a lot in the kitchen over the last two weeks. Unfortunately, many of my dinner escapades end in disaster.
A couple of nights ago Jasmine asked me to make whipped cream. Um, okay. "How exactly do I do that, Jasmine?" "You take the cream... and you whip it."
So that's what I did. It actually turned out really well at first. I took it to Amy to see if it was "done," and she suggested adding a couple of tablespoons of sugar. I dumped a little in and started to mix it, and I was horrified! The whipped cream was clumping and separating right before my eyes!
Convinced that I had unwittingly murdered the integral ingredient of the night's desert, I carried it sorrowfully over to Jasmine. Apparently, I whipped it too long and ended up with butter. Bummer. We ate it anyway.
Yesterday, I went with the whole family to Mansa (about 3 hours away) for the weekly shopping trip. I also needed to go to Immigration and straighten out my visa. I asked and payed for a 30-day business visa at the border, but they only gave me about 10 days. Because I'm a little bit of an idiot, I didn't check my passport and didn't realize what had happened until Amy asked about it a week later. My visa expired. Amy and Thomas were both traveling over the next week, so I just kind of chilled at the orphanage (because running into an Immigration Officer in the village did not sound appealing). The day before she left, Amy called the Officer in Kazembe to see if he would take care of it. At that point I still had 2 days on my visa. He refused to help us because the Morrows have sometimes had to go to Mansa to handle passport issues that have to be done at a bigger office. Petty Zambian politics.
Anyway, it all turned out well, and with a minor amount of hassle we were able to get my visa extended for the full 30 days yesterday. I'm officially legal again. Wahoo!
I went with Amy to Shoprite to pick up the week's groceries. First of all, do you have any idea how much food it takes to feed 20+ kids for a week? I assure you, it's a lot. Amy has a nice little itemized grocery list that is organized by aisle, so picking up the food was not nearly the hassle that it was for Timmy and I in Lusaka. Timmy and I only picked up a few things, but we kept going from one side of the store to the other and back again because we didn't know where anything was.
While we were in Mansa, I needed to have passport photos taken to submit with my request for a visa extension that I will need to submit in a couple of weeks. Between the bank and the next building was a man with a digital camera who takes passport photos. The sign said 8 for 20k kwacha. He had a red piece of fabric that he stuck to the side of the bank with sticky tack. Then he held the camera in my face and snapped a picture.
While he ran off to print them, I amused myself by reading the postings on a nearby tree. One of them was a letter from the village mayor addressing the issue of citizens who were behind on their payments. He explained his remorse but said that after repeated pleadings with individuals who still refused to pay, he had authorized the bailiffs to pounce. He further communicated that people could go ahead and pay their dues before the bailiffs pounced but that there would be no mercy once the pouncing had occurred.
I dare you to think about pouncing bailiffs without smiling. You can't do it, can you?
Finally, the man came back with my pictures. He handed them to me and I counted them. There were only six. After I badgered him a little bit, he finally produced the other two from his pocket (creeper!). The smallest bill I had was a 50k kwache. I asked him if he could make change, and he said he could. Then he handed me 25k kwache, which was 5k less than he owed me. I asked for the rest of it and he said, "No, I am from Lusaka." I replied that while I'm sure Lusaka is a very nice place, he still owed me 5k kwacha. Just when I was about to give up (5k kwacha is worth just over a dollar...), he gave me my change, called me a musungu and stalked off.
The ride home was pretty cramped as we all crammed in the back of the vehicle with the groceries and tried not to crush the vegetables. Riding on the roads here is like riding a rollercoaster. The roads are in truly terrible condition. There are potholes larger than the average vehicle, so the driver is constantly swerving from one side of the road to the other or completely off the side to avoid these pits in the middle of the road. I fell asleep for a little while, and when I woke up Tom was sitting in the passenger seat with an umbrella opened above him, presumably to block the sun. Maybe it's because I was only half-conscious, but it was pretty amusing at the time. On down the road we pulled over so he could inquire as to the price of a piglet.
When we finally got home, all of the kids came to help unload the car. It's so cute that they're still young enough to enjoy that. ;)
We ate (an absolutely SCRUMPTIOUS) dinner, watched some TV, and went to bed early.
This morning, I spent an hour or so mapping out a curriculum for next week. I'm really excited. I love teaching the kids. The only downside to spending the day in Mansa yesterday was that I barely saw the kids at all, and we don't do school on Saturday or Sunday. I'm having withdrawals. Saturday is just too long!
Much love!
A couple of nights ago Jasmine asked me to make whipped cream. Um, okay. "How exactly do I do that, Jasmine?" "You take the cream... and you whip it."
So that's what I did. It actually turned out really well at first. I took it to Amy to see if it was "done," and she suggested adding a couple of tablespoons of sugar. I dumped a little in and started to mix it, and I was horrified! The whipped cream was clumping and separating right before my eyes!
Convinced that I had unwittingly murdered the integral ingredient of the night's desert, I carried it sorrowfully over to Jasmine. Apparently, I whipped it too long and ended up with butter. Bummer. We ate it anyway.
Yesterday, I went with the whole family to Mansa (about 3 hours away) for the weekly shopping trip. I also needed to go to Immigration and straighten out my visa. I asked and payed for a 30-day business visa at the border, but they only gave me about 10 days. Because I'm a little bit of an idiot, I didn't check my passport and didn't realize what had happened until Amy asked about it a week later. My visa expired. Amy and Thomas were both traveling over the next week, so I just kind of chilled at the orphanage (because running into an Immigration Officer in the village did not sound appealing). The day before she left, Amy called the Officer in Kazembe to see if he would take care of it. At that point I still had 2 days on my visa. He refused to help us because the Morrows have sometimes had to go to Mansa to handle passport issues that have to be done at a bigger office. Petty Zambian politics.
Anyway, it all turned out well, and with a minor amount of hassle we were able to get my visa extended for the full 30 days yesterday. I'm officially legal again. Wahoo!
I went with Amy to Shoprite to pick up the week's groceries. First of all, do you have any idea how much food it takes to feed 20+ kids for a week? I assure you, it's a lot. Amy has a nice little itemized grocery list that is organized by aisle, so picking up the food was not nearly the hassle that it was for Timmy and I in Lusaka. Timmy and I only picked up a few things, but we kept going from one side of the store to the other and back again because we didn't know where anything was.
While we were in Mansa, I needed to have passport photos taken to submit with my request for a visa extension that I will need to submit in a couple of weeks. Between the bank and the next building was a man with a digital camera who takes passport photos. The sign said 8 for 20k kwacha. He had a red piece of fabric that he stuck to the side of the bank with sticky tack. Then he held the camera in my face and snapped a picture.
While he ran off to print them, I amused myself by reading the postings on a nearby tree. One of them was a letter from the village mayor addressing the issue of citizens who were behind on their payments. He explained his remorse but said that after repeated pleadings with individuals who still refused to pay, he had authorized the bailiffs to pounce. He further communicated that people could go ahead and pay their dues before the bailiffs pounced but that there would be no mercy once the pouncing had occurred.
I dare you to think about pouncing bailiffs without smiling. You can't do it, can you?
Finally, the man came back with my pictures. He handed them to me and I counted them. There were only six. After I badgered him a little bit, he finally produced the other two from his pocket (creeper!). The smallest bill I had was a 50k kwache. I asked him if he could make change, and he said he could. Then he handed me 25k kwache, which was 5k less than he owed me. I asked for the rest of it and he said, "No, I am from Lusaka." I replied that while I'm sure Lusaka is a very nice place, he still owed me 5k kwacha. Just when I was about to give up (5k kwacha is worth just over a dollar...), he gave me my change, called me a musungu and stalked off.
The ride home was pretty cramped as we all crammed in the back of the vehicle with the groceries and tried not to crush the vegetables. Riding on the roads here is like riding a rollercoaster. The roads are in truly terrible condition. There are potholes larger than the average vehicle, so the driver is constantly swerving from one side of the road to the other or completely off the side to avoid these pits in the middle of the road. I fell asleep for a little while, and when I woke up Tom was sitting in the passenger seat with an umbrella opened above him, presumably to block the sun. Maybe it's because I was only half-conscious, but it was pretty amusing at the time. On down the road we pulled over so he could inquire as to the price of a piglet.
When we finally got home, all of the kids came to help unload the car. It's so cute that they're still young enough to enjoy that. ;)
We ate (an absolutely SCRUMPTIOUS) dinner, watched some TV, and went to bed early.
This morning, I spent an hour or so mapping out a curriculum for next week. I'm really excited. I love teaching the kids. The only downside to spending the day in Mansa yesterday was that I barely saw the kids at all, and we don't do school on Saturday or Sunday. I'm having withdrawals. Saturday is just too long!
Much love!
Monday, June 6, 2011
Of Doves and Serpents
On Sunday afternoon Jasmine, Troy, Timmy and I sat down to study and pray together. They're working through a series by Max Lucado. Part of Sunday's lesson was about leaving it all at the cross-- grudges, frustrations, bad habits, pride, laziness, fear, and anything else that stands between us and the life God calls us to. As we each contemplated the things in our own life that needed to be left at Calvary, my heart turned towards my interactions with the people of Zambia.
There is so much about this culture that is both heartbreaking and bewildering. For instance, the nannies don't really play with the children. I suppose it's a byproduct of living in a place where mere survival takes precedence. But then, I think these wonderful ladies are also just tired, and who am I to say that my way is right or theirs lacking? I can see the love these women have for the kids in their care. The nannies here are like family to the kids; they spend more time with them than anyone else. I am so privileged to be welcomed into their little unconventional family. Another culture-confusion example: at any given time of day, one can see mothers walking by on the dirt road in front of the orphanage with their babies and toddlers strapped to their back. The babies are generally wearing way too much clothing (sweatshirts and winter hats) and are drenched in sweat, making dehydration that much more likely, especially if the child were to fall ill. Again, it's apparently a cultural thing, but it's really concerning to me. Babies are carried everwhere and may therefore be delayed in learning to walk, but then what choice do these mother's have? No cushy daycares here. The people here are strong; they are survivors. It is easy to say that they have much to learn, but oh, I believe that they have so much to teach. I do not wish to approach them in judgment; may God forgive me for the times that I have.
Anyway, back to Sunday...
I feel a great burden not only for the kids that I chase around all day but also for the staff members that I work with throughout the day here at Kazembe Orphanage. It is so very difficult to strike a balance between "shrewd as serpents and gentle as doves." I want to leave my fruatrations and judgments at the cross. It is so easy to forget that my way may not be the "right" way. I want to teach and lead firmly but without demeaning, and more importantly, I want to be willing to be led. Because I don't know what it is to lose a child to Malaria, or to carry water from a well every day, or not be able to afford education for my kids. I want to interact with patience and compassion, and most of all with humility. I have a really hard time keeping the names of the nannies straight since they change out daily and I really work mostly with the kindergarteners, but my jr. high Sunday school teacher once told me that we leave an impact on everyone that we meet. I want to be the reflection of Christ for these women to the best of my ability.
Some of them I have really grown to care about. I love the kitchen staff. They both do a really good job (as far as I can tell anyway). I've spent a little time with both of them learning about their families and their lives. One of the nannies that works with the babies is especially sweet. She obviously really cares about the kids. I often see her interacting with them or cleaning up messes that really weren't her responsibility to take care of. If I do need to explain something to her, she listens attentively, asks questions, and seems to do her best to do whatever needs to be done.
I'm not really sure where I'm going with all of these musings, but this thought process has been weighing on my heart for a few days now. The more I learn and experience here a Kazembe, the more thankful I am that God sent me here and the more compassion and desire to serve and help I feel for these people. Every "negative" or "frustrating" interaction only makes me love them more, and more often than not, I find that the one whose attitude needs adjusting is me. May God grant me the grace to communicate His love with patience and clarity.
There is so much about this culture that is both heartbreaking and bewildering. For instance, the nannies don't really play with the children. I suppose it's a byproduct of living in a place where mere survival takes precedence. But then, I think these wonderful ladies are also just tired, and who am I to say that my way is right or theirs lacking? I can see the love these women have for the kids in their care. The nannies here are like family to the kids; they spend more time with them than anyone else. I am so privileged to be welcomed into their little unconventional family. Another culture-confusion example: at any given time of day, one can see mothers walking by on the dirt road in front of the orphanage with their babies and toddlers strapped to their back. The babies are generally wearing way too much clothing (sweatshirts and winter hats) and are drenched in sweat, making dehydration that much more likely, especially if the child were to fall ill. Again, it's apparently a cultural thing, but it's really concerning to me. Babies are carried everwhere and may therefore be delayed in learning to walk, but then what choice do these mother's have? No cushy daycares here. The people here are strong; they are survivors. It is easy to say that they have much to learn, but oh, I believe that they have so much to teach. I do not wish to approach them in judgment; may God forgive me for the times that I have.
Anyway, back to Sunday...
I feel a great burden not only for the kids that I chase around all day but also for the staff members that I work with throughout the day here at Kazembe Orphanage. It is so very difficult to strike a balance between "shrewd as serpents and gentle as doves." I want to leave my fruatrations and judgments at the cross. It is so easy to forget that my way may not be the "right" way. I want to teach and lead firmly but without demeaning, and more importantly, I want to be willing to be led. Because I don't know what it is to lose a child to Malaria, or to carry water from a well every day, or not be able to afford education for my kids. I want to interact with patience and compassion, and most of all with humility. I have a really hard time keeping the names of the nannies straight since they change out daily and I really work mostly with the kindergarteners, but my jr. high Sunday school teacher once told me that we leave an impact on everyone that we meet. I want to be the reflection of Christ for these women to the best of my ability.
Some of them I have really grown to care about. I love the kitchen staff. They both do a really good job (as far as I can tell anyway). I've spent a little time with both of them learning about their families and their lives. One of the nannies that works with the babies is especially sweet. She obviously really cares about the kids. I often see her interacting with them or cleaning up messes that really weren't her responsibility to take care of. If I do need to explain something to her, she listens attentively, asks questions, and seems to do her best to do whatever needs to be done.
I'm not really sure where I'm going with all of these musings, but this thought process has been weighing on my heart for a few days now. The more I learn and experience here a Kazembe, the more thankful I am that God sent me here and the more compassion and desire to serve and help I feel for these people. Every "negative" or "frustrating" interaction only makes me love them more, and more often than not, I find that the one whose attitude needs adjusting is me. May God grant me the grace to communicate His love with patience and clarity.
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