I just got back from an emergency with Dr. Jean a few moments ago. A strapping young man about my age, just arrived unconscious with no palpable pulse. By the time we arrived, he had aroused but was still in presumable septic shock for reasons we still don’t know. His left shoulder, upper arm and the left side of his chest were swollen and he his left toe was split open down to his foot. He hadn’t been bitten or hit or scratched and the gash was from the moto he came in on. It was odd, very odd. After almost 2 liters of fluids and all the antibiotics Dr. Jean has available here, he came back to his senses and his blood pressure was normal. All good signs, so we left him and came home to go to bed.
I got a major slap on the hand by a sixth of a loaf of bread today. They have what they call sugar bread here, and it is to die for. It’s not so sweet as the name implies, but it’s soft and dense just the way I like it. I discovered this special kind in Yendi that is second to none, and I am on the last little bit of it. When I came out to the kitchen this morning, I noticed Aggie had it out and my gut reaction was “move away from my sugar bread sister!!” Slightly annoyed, I stood there for a moment and watched her. She cut it in small pieces, put them in a bowl and set it down on the floor in front of sweet little James to eat for breakfast. I quickly turned from my post in the doorway and skirted back to my room to put myself in time out.
This is the second time here I have genuinely been disgusted with myself. I sat down in my chair and forced myself to replay what just happened over in my head. I felt myself split into angry mama Nikki about to give super snotty Nikki a verbal lashing. “So, you were mad because Aggie, who barely makes ends meet, was going to have the rest of your sugar bread and you were about to go so far as to take some for yourself? HMMM?!”
Oh this was so humiliating…
“Because you can’t get more sugar bread right? And that’s why it was so pivotal you have every last crumb rather than James RIGHT?”
I wanted to unearth the cement floor and crawl underneath. God, forgive me.
It’s moments like these that, had this never made it into writing, no one but God would have ever know. But it’s also moments like these that reveal your true character. I came here from many reasons and one was to beat the selfishness out of me, knowing that my human nature will never leave me, but with a lot of heavenly help, I know I can rise above my fickle ways. I have such an attachment to and desire for comfort, financial freedom and “my stuff” and it’s really quite unbecoming if I am to be totally honest.
So here’s to the wrecking ball for my tower of selfishness. It must be come down.
I learned today that my lab friend Nelson just buried his mother. I was devastated when I heard the news and intently asked when this happened. Three years ago. I tried to hide my surprise and gave my sincerest condolences and marched to the lab. Three years ago?! Emery had some explaining to do.
The grieving process varies significantly between tribes here. Emery is a member of the Ewe tribe (for all you sheep people reading this, that is pronounced “eh-way” not eweJ) and they bury their dead within days then have a funeral, a memorial service and a final funeral on the one year anniversary.
The Konkombas do it much differently. They may not bury the body for one or even two months, but have ways of preserving the body. They will have the burial, which is very important as to how it is done because that directly affects how you will transition into your next life. Three years later, they will have a funeral if it is a man and the woman’s funeral will be four years later. Why Nelson’s mother’s final funeral was three years, I don’t know, but I was so intrigued by this. I have not had the opportunity to partake in one, but when these funerals go down, it’s a four or five day celebration with dancing, of course, feasting with all the animals slaughtered for the occasion and the all important send off to the next life. Most are Christians so this is all down out of cultural tradition rather than pagan ritual. Often times, they will celebrate the life of as many as eight of nine people at once so people can share the cost. It’s also just more practical because if it wasn’t done this way, there would be a funeral every singe day.
I really appreciate their understanding of the length of the grieving process. They understand that after three or even four years, the pain of losing a loved one is still very much alive. We should take a few pointers from them.
I also learned today there are not just three white people in Saboba, but four. Four Americans at that. There’s a Peace Corp volunteer who teaches physics at one of the high schools. I was shocked when he came in to get his blood drawn today and I gave him the “what the heck are YOU doing here look?” like this is my town or something… He’s been here way longer than I have, which is why he has malaria and typhoid for the SECOND time, and is really nice. He's from Mississippi and an Ole Miss fan. It was very nice to meet him today. And no, he’s not tall, dark and handsome. Darn.
Dr. Jean gave me the opportunity to help her today. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to have the job of organizing and cleaning her bookshelves for her. I feel so helpless here sometimes because I don’t know anything medical yet!! So thankful I get to go to school in the fall so I can make myself useful. Anyway, these are going to be the most well organized, finely dusted bookshelves you’ll never see so you’ll just have to trust me. I get sidetracked every time I pick up a new book, so this might take me a while. This place is a gold mine of knowledge. Most are surgical books of everything imaginable, but there’s several on pediatrics and tropical medicine. I could “nerd out” as my brother Gavin says and sit in that office for hours thumbing through these books. I nearly gagged looking through the dermatology one today, but I was too fascinated to put it down.
Trinity, one of the house girls, came over tonight so we could get started on getting her ready for this math test she has in May. If she doesn’t pass this test, she doesn’t go to nursing school. If she doesn’t go to nursing school, she will never leave her compound by the blown over baobab tree in Saboba. We must get this math in her head! I sent her home with multiplication tables to memorize and a quick review on fractions. She had never really learned about them before. If the education system here had a face, I’d punch it. Really hard. It’s just terrible, and they push these kids through just to get them out of their hands. I really hope I can help her. She’s a very smart girl and very motivated, so that makes me happy.
Oh my gosh…. It’s been about an hour since we left the hospital. Dr. Jean’s phone just rang and I saw her face drop. The man who we just saw. He’s dead. He tanked shortly after we left, started vomiting and quit breathing. Just like that.
I don’t know what to say.
I am sorry this is a weighty entry, but this is the reality I pray every day I am strong enough to cope with. I hope that whatever is going on in your lives you are comforted knowing you don’t have to carry it or go it alone. There’s always hope.
Baby wipe bath and beauty rest. A new day needs to begin.
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