And now I will go ride a camel

Tomorrow morning I am leaving with three friends to go to Egypt for 10 days!  I’m greatly looking forward to some time away, sunshine, adventure, pyramid-viewing, camel riding, and hopefully a little bit of life perspective.  I hope you have a good couple of weeks and hopefully I’ll return intact and send you photos of me and my friend the Sphinx!

Unremitting

I never wanted to write obituaries. They are shells, outlines that can barely begin to communicate the LIFE that flowed from the person being written about. We talk about who they were, where they came from, what they did and accomplished, what good causes they helped with, how much they will be missed. But in the end, none of that matters very much—the good things they accomplished, the success they earned, the accolades they received—what does it mean now?
Yet even knowing this, I have no choice but to write another shell of a story.

Wabela was 30 years old. He was married and had three children, ages 8, 9, and 11. He was loyal to his family and wanted to be sure his children were well cared for. He opened his home to his mother and sought to care for her as well. He used to work as a daily laborer. Over the past months as his illness robbed him of the ability to care for his family, his wife began to bear the burden of providing an income. Wabela fought hard to live. But he lost the battle.

Every time we lose a beneficiary, I feel my heart breaking all over again. Yesterday I went to Wabela’s lykso (wake). I hugged his wife and children, I said “I’m sorry”. What is there to say? These words seem so empty. I was sitting there, in the warm afternoon sun in a dim room crowded with mourners—family, friends, neighbors–who had come to sit, to share in the grief. Images impressed on my mind: Three babies amongst the mourners, crying, laughing–new life in the house of death. A tall lady clad in a long green shawl; I heard her wailing long before I saw her—as she entered the room her high-pitched weeping reverberated in my heart. People washing clothes just outside the door—life goes on. Then, a moment I will never forget, I dare not forget, I want to forget. I picked across the hard packed dirt floor, stepping over feet and shoes and spoons, and knelt next to Wabela’s mother. She gripped my hand and we embraced as the tears filled our eyes. Her face—a thousand wrinkles and gentle eyes crowned by a white turban—how much grief has she already borne? A sob rose within me, and she softly said, “Zem, Zem”. No, mother, my heart said. I can’t be quiet. He died, and he should have lived! We must always weep for the ones we lose in the battle.

All I wanted was tomato soup

I have a box where I keep my “stash”–my junky American comfort food plus a few other items I enjoy. It’s been a long week, and not an easy one, and by this evening I was weary and just wanted a break from it all. I decided the perfect dinner would be one of my favorite comfort meals–tomato soup and grilled cheese. Now, of course I really wanted Campbells and cheddar but I was willing to settle for the packet of soup mix and local white cheese I knew I had. So, I headed for my box of goodies. I lifted up the chocolate and granola bars to search for the soup, only to find that a MOUSE HAD FOUND IT ALL FIRST! I seriously did not think I could deal with this–of ALL the things the mouse could have eaten in the house, he had to get into my stuff that had successfully traveled 10000 miles over here and was supposed to last a looooong time. Chocolate covered raisens? Yep, bite taken. Kashi bars? Yep, bite taken. Trail mix granola bars? Yep, bite taken (out of every single one) Soup packets? Yep, bites taken. Argh!! To say the least, this was an irritating find. I know I can live without my goodies, but I wish I didn’t have to!! I still want some tomato soup . . .

Really?

I checked BBC weather (only because I was procrastinating doing something more productive).  It said it’s going to rain tomorrow.  And the next day.  And the day after that.  And the day after the day after tomorrow.  And all the days in the foreseeable future.  Ahhhhh.  I think I’m ready for rainy season to end.

Lidet Ken and Other Days

There are so many days in life when it seems you are on the last drops at the bottom of a shallow cup, and you wonder what’s going to happen when it all dries up.  Then at other times you are amazed by how full the cup is and you can’t see the bottom.  Last weekend, I truly felt like my cup was running over.  It was nasty, rainy, cool, grey weather, but even that couldn’t stop the joy of sharing life with friends and having life to share!  Here’s proof that I truly had a happy day, and that my lidet ken  was no day for sadness:-)

It’s the simple things in life, really–family, friends, food, laughter . . . and diet coke.

It’s been a good week, but I’m glad that it’s Friday again.  I’m tireder than usual–maybe it’s because I’ve spent so much of the week trying to stay warm!  Even in saying that, though, I’m struck by how much stuff I have.  I have layers of clothes and stacks of blankets and a house that doesn’t let the rain drip in.  How would I deal with life if I stepped outside my gate and lived like my neighbors?  What if I had on all my clothes, and they were wet from my morning trip to the health center . . . and I was huddled under the one thin blanket I owned, but still trying to share it with my 3 kids . . .  and the cold rain was dripping into my mud and rusty tin house?  It’s easy to just say, “oh, that’s not what God gave me.  so I just need to be happy where I am”–that’s true on some level, I’m sure.  But it doesn’t help with the stark inequality in our world–inequality stemming from brokenness and injustice and desperation.

We have a new beneficiary in Kolfe who is very, very ill . . . he’s lost so much weight, both because of AIDS and because he cannot afford enough food to feed his family–and they have eaten before he has.  There are not quick fixes, and I’m still American enough to want that–a test, a medication, an IV line that will save him.  But those things are not the options here, and they are not what will save Wabela. 

He desperately needs a high nutrition food that will convince his body to start absorbing nutrients again–but what to do?  I’ve spent days thinking about what we could do when our last can of powdered Ensure ran out, and one day this week I nearly ended up in tears because I was so frustrated by the lack of answers out there.  Has no one done this before?  Every time I came up with some guide for high-nutrition foods, they included ingredients that aren’t available here.  I know the turn for Wabela is coming soon, and it will be for better or worse.  He cannot live long like this.  And we, we cannot give up on him.  In the end, we found a recipe to use as a base and we spent a couple of hours in Derek and Jim’s kitchen on the main project compound measuring and mixing rice cereal, sugar, powdered milk, ground peanuts and other yummy stuff together.  The end result is edible, and while it’s not the exact nutrient proportions that I wanted, it’s a start.   So we’ll keep fighting, keep trying new things, and most of all keep praying for mercy to overflow in Wabela’s life.

While we were hiking (seems more appropriate than walking, which sounds much too simple!) through Kolfe the other day, I took this photo. Once I loaded it, it really grabbed my attention.

I long for the day when all of this will be a new world.

I should have bought the monkey . . .

and other strange moments in my life!

The other day  I was walking down a very muddy road in Kolfe, the new area we are working in.  It was filled with mid-morning, sunny-day hub-bub.  Horse and carts jostling by, cars and vans and buses honking and trying to squeeze past people heading every direction, vendors calling out in sing-song Amharic.  Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a dog on a leash–which would have been a pretty unusual sight on its own.  But on second glance I realized that it was not a dog, and was most certainly a monkey.  He was a little thing, and obviously had a mind of his own, as he kept dancing sideways away from his owner.  I didn’t do more than glance at him and smile, but immediately the guy holding the leash called out, “150 birr!” (about $18 bucks).  I just laughed and shook my head, and he promptly came down to 8o birr (less than $10 bucks)!!  I said, “No, I don’t want to buy him” and everyone around us was laughing.  Really I was just thinking I wanted to stay away from the monkey–even though he was cute in a mischievous Curious George sort of way–because of all the many nasty diseases monkeys are prone to carry.  After we walked on, though, I thought, “I should have bought the monkey!!”  Then for the rest of my life, whenever I got stuck in those slightly uncomfortable ice-breaker group settings where you have to tell something unusual about yourself and you just sit there thinking, “I’m so boring!  There’s nothing unusual to tell!”,  I could say, “Once I bought a monkey.”  And it would be the perfect answer.  Alas, I didn’t buy the monkey.

Yesterday, Derek and I were in the supermarket, stuck behind about 15 people who were trying to get through the checker line (this is not Walmart I’m referring to. There are normally like 3 people in there!).  Next to the checker spot was a wall of cheap plastic toy items–police cars, happy birthday headbands (I did buy those!), “rainbow dream” stationary kits.  I glanced up after something fell from the top shelf and saw a play doctor’s kit!  I proceeded to become inordinately excited over the tiny BP cuff and stethescope, and for no real reason contemplated spending $3 on it.  I vividly remember my first black-bag doctor’s kit–it was complete with a reflex hammer, stethescope, BP cuff , syringe, bandaid, and maybe a couple of other things.  I think by the time I got it I already knew I would be in medicine some day, but it provided me with my first experience:-)  Nonetheless, my supermarket moment sent me back to some fun childhood memories!

It’s after noon on Saturday, and I am enjoying a very lazy day with my friend Dorinda.  It’s a little drippy and gray out, but with hot tea and blankets it’s cozy in the house.  I’m glad life isn’t boring here, but I’m equally glad for quiet days like this one!