This is just a quick update to let you all know that I'm alive! I made it safely from Chad to Ethiopia, and I'm currently enjoying the beautiful mountains, cold weather (85 degrees), and good Ethiopian cuisine.
I'll have to write more later because I'm rather short on time, but I have lots of stories from the end of my time in Chad, and I'm already collecting stories from my time here in Ethiopia.
When I arrived at the market, I went first to the tailor's shop because I wanted to drop off the cloth to make room for vegetables and bread in my bag. The door was wide open, cloth was laying on the machine, and there were half-finished and finished products strewn about-- all signs that the tailor was in. Alas, despite these signs of life at the shop, there was no tailor to be found. All the women selling little things near the tailor shop looked at me, and I realized that they were all Arabic, so I couldn't even ask where he'd gone or when he'd be back. So I left to buy some vegetables, and came back to find the shop still empty.
The Arab woman across from the tailor shop motioned for me to sit on the bench and wait. So I did. I decided I would wait for 15 minutes, and if he didn't come, I'd finish all my market shopping, come back one last time, and leave if I couldn't find him. As I waited, the Arab women stared at me with unrelenting eyes. I looked everywhere but at them because it kind of made me nervous to be stared at. Finally, I looked at the Arab woman across from the shop.
She was making hand motions trying to communicate with me, but I couldn't understand. She would point to me, then point upward.
Somehow I don't imagine she's trying to say that she'll see me in heaven. What on earth could she mean?
In confusion, I said, "Arab maffie," and made a motion indicating that I didn't understand Arabic.
"Arab maffie?" she questioned.
I repeated, "Arab maffie."
"Ah, fie," she said triumphantly.
I laughed at the fact that she was implying that by my being able to say that I don't speak Arabic was a sign that I could indeed speak Arabic. She motioned for me to come over to her little hangar, and I complied wondering what she wanted me to come for. When I was right next to her, she motioned to her half-packaged bag of salt, and then motioned to me. She wanted me to help her bag the salt.
Her surprise when I actually sat down on her mat and motioned for her to give the bag to me made me laugh again. But she gave me the bag of salt, and I twisted it tight, and motioned for her to give me something to tie it. She did, and when I had finished I could tell that she had thought I didn't know how to do this simple task that she has done from the time of her childhood. She then motioned to the pile of natrone and handed me another little bag. I eyed how much natrone was in her already finished bags to sell, and filled the sac accordingly, twisted it, and tied it off.
She laughed as she said, "Kalass!" (it's finished, or no more) and then she shook my hand and thanked me. I smiled at her and the crowd of women who had gathered around, picked up my bag and headed home. I'm actually kind of glad that the tailor wasn't there. God worked out a different tailor for me, and if my tailor had been around, I would never have gotten to work for a moment with the Arab woman.
Another night shift in pediatrics. I had a feeling it was not going to be a good night. Ansley had told me that there was one baby with meningitis that had not been breathing well, and somehow I knew it was going to be trouble. Sure enough, around 2 AM, the family came to get me to tell me that the baby's breathing was getting worse. I came to look, and decided immediately to go get Dr. Jacques. The baby would breathe really quickly for a little bit, and completely stop for a while.
When Jacques came, he went to the OR to find the baby size ambu-bag. We both stayed by the bed and took turns pumping air into the baby boy's lungs. Every once in a while, we would stop to see if he was breathing better on his own, but we weren't seeing any improvement. After 10 minutes of bagging the baby, I said, "Jacques, what are we going to do? We can't keep breathing for the baby all night." He didn't answer me directly, and we continued. Then Jacques was called into the ER for an emergency. I stayed by the bed, pumping air, but my wrist started getting tired. All together, we ambu-bagged the baby for a little over an hour. Finally, Jacques was satisfied that the baby was breathing well enough, and he went back to sleep.
About 20 minutes later, the family came up to me again. "He's not breathing well, come see."
I looked and very quickly realized that he wasn't just not breathing well, he wasn't breathing at all. I started CPR and prayed hard. I didn't want to lose another one. I got him to breathe again and went back to my desk, but 20 minutes later, the family was back again to call for me. All through the night, from 3 AM until I got off shift at 8 AM, I went and did chest compressions on that little boy every 20-40 minutes. One time, he had stopped breathing and had no pulse as well.
By the time my shift had ended, I was exhausted, and as I passed off the patients to Salomon, I just knew in my heart that that little baby boy was not going to make it much longer. I went to the middle house to lay down and rest for a while. Then I went back to the hospital to find Salomon.
"Is the meningitis baby still here?" I asked, but I already knew the answer.
Lately I had been feeling kind of like a failure. I came here to be a missionary, to touch people's lives for eternity, and I'm afraid that most of what I've done is just make some really good friends and help to heal people physically. There's nothing wrong with that, and I know it's good work. But I had really hoped to make some kind of lasting impact on someone's life. Anyone. Even just one.
Then I read this line, spoken from the perspective of God in The Shack: "...with every kindness and service, seen or unseen, my purposes are accomplished and nothing will ever be the same again."
Since then, I have had a new perspective on things, and when I see opportunities to do something for someone, I try to take advantage of it, to accomplish God's purposes. Which, by the way, I believe that quote is very true. Anytime we choose to show love in any way, we are witnessing to the universe that we believe that God's way is the best way.
The other day I had a unique opportunity to show love. Ansley, Caroline, and I were walking back from the market with Simeon, a 10 or 11 year old boy who only has one arm. It was super hot because it was the middle of the afternoon, and we were tired from having walked to the market and buying things. Along the way, we saw a girl, maybe 6 years old, with a baby strapped onto her back, and another young girl who looked to be about 18 months old following behind. We watched as the smallest girl stumbled and faltered in a zig-zag pattern behind her sister, falling and then standing up to walk forward again. It looked like her legs were somewhat crippled, possibly from Ricketts. Then Simeon told us, "You know, she's four years old." We were in shock. It didn't seem possible that she could be that old.
Ansley shook her head and said, "Malnutrition." She's probably right. So Caroline took one of the girl's arms, and Simeon took the other and helped her walk along the path. She was still having some trouble walking and continued to stumble despite their help, and she was breathing hard. I asked Simeon, "Do you know where she lives?" He said he did.
I then picked her up, and she looked at me with little to no expression on her face. I was glad that she didn't cry because some of the young children here are really afraid of white people. We walked all the way to her hut, which was only about 2 minutes out of the way, and I walked into her yard and set her down on the ground. She stared up into my eyes, and then unexpectedly, she laughed. Her eyes smiled with her mouth, and that laugh was the most beautiful sound I have heard in a long time. I smiled back at her and waved goodbye to her older sister and the baby, and we continued on our way.
As my time here is coming to an end, I've begun to realize that it's the experiences like this that really make everything here worth the trouble.
Without pausing for thought, I said, "That's the number for my house."
Her eyes got wide with wonder. "If you call this number, your house will talk to you?!"
I laughed realizing that she had taken literally what I had said along with the fact that people only have cell phones here, not phones at their huts. I explained that no, my house cannot talk, but if I call that number my mother would pick up the phone and I could talk to her. Conversations like these have made me wonder just how much of a culture shock I'm going to have when I get home...
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