Last week, Mindie and I attended a CHE conference. CHE stands for Community Health Evangelism (or Education – depending on the context). We traveled 8 ½ to the south of us – to what is called the Forest region here in Guinea. It is a beautiful place – one of the first to have the gospel, many years ago. Colleagues of ours, with CAMA services, have built a hospital there and they hosted the event.
Originally, there were to be 25 participants, but this being Africa, 35 people showed up and were allowed to attend. There were 6 women – one Guinean and 5 expatriates -three from the US, one from Britain, and a Swiss German lady. So, the room was busting at the seams with Guinean men – formally educated, Christians, leaders. The conference was totally in French and was taught by a Togolese man named Daniel. He was an incredible educator with a gift at communicating and drawing in his audience - amazing to watch.
As we filed in and found seats, we were given our first assignment. We were paired up with another participant and asked to get certain bits of information – relating to family, occupation, etc, and also their favorite meal. We were then to introduce that person to the rest of the class. Mind you, this can be a little intimidating when you are a white woman, not from the country, with French language skills (not my mother language) that are deteriorating the longer I live in the village and try to learn tribal languages.
With every tribal language that I try to add, and with every month that passes that I don’t use my French, what I have acquired seems to fall out of my brain, which of course, I don’t notice until I go to Conakry every 3 – 4 months and then I try to use the French. OYE!!!! There are some words that I just can’t find in French when I am speaking – so it all gets mixed up with tribal words – and comes out like a stir fry of languages….. But again, I digress.
I was paired with Daniel – a blessing, because he knew what information I needed and graciously wrote it all on a piece of paper so I didn’t need to remember it all. As the introductions began, I knew we were in for an incredible view into the culture as EVERY man, without fail, introduced his person by saying, This is __________. He is married to only one wife, and has ___________ kids. It struck me that in the US we would never say, Hi, I am Jim and I only have one wife. I thought, Buckle up – here we go!
The whole three days were like that – finding nuggets of information and getting this wonderful chance to see the worldview of our African colleagues. We listened to them pray and sing, watched them do skits, heard discussions and arguments, and watched as ideas of development and education struck them in a new way. It was really fascinating! They were gracious with our communication skills, and allowed us to express opinions, which often struck them as odd – judging by the look on their faces.
One of the most interesting exercises to me was when we began to discuss what were the major issues in Guinea that were the causes of poverty, poor health, and problems here – the things that are perpetually keeping countries like Guinea in a third world status. As an expat and as a nurse, I have many things that top my list, but it was interesting what came from the other participants. We each had to pick up an object in the room and place it in a line on the floor – noting with it one of the problems that we see. Daniel then wrote down the issues.
Frankly, it was a little discouraging to see such a LONG line of things that need to be battled. Things like lack of education, malaria, lack of clean drinking water, alcohol, malnutrition, diarrhea, sorcery, drugs, a mentality of poverty, brain drain (educated people leaving the country and never returning), and corruption, etc. topped the list. We then had to choose what we thought were the top three issues facing the country and voted by placing a piece of paper on each issue.
The votes were then tallied and the top 5 problems were each assigned to a group to come up with solutions on how they could be solved. It was really interesting to watch. Here are the top 5 chosen by the guys: malaria, lack of clean drinking water, lack of education, female circumcision, and tatouage (which I don’t completely understand but appears to be a time when boys are taken out into the forest and initiated into manhood through drugs and sorcery.)
The last two really surprised me – not that they were issues, but that the Africans saw them as top issues. I was in a group assigned to tackle how to solve the problems of female circumcision and the discussion was very revealing.
By the end of the three days, I was mentally exhausted from all of the French and sitting and interaction, but came away with a new appreciation for what God is doing in this country and a new heart of thankfulness that He is allowing our family to be a part of it!
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The Incredible Journey
With the song LIFE IS A HIGHWAY floating through the truck, five of us set off for the edge of the world. Mr. Bah, our driver, expertly piloted the vehicle, and Mindie and Elijah Tice, along with Marci (Mindie’s sister) and I bounced our way to the conference. Of the 8 hours, 5 are on great road and the other 3 on terrible roads. We dozed and chatted and munched our way along. Fuel was an issue as we stopped in every major town, asking if any was available. The answer was usually no. We finally found some about half way there.
Mr. Bah pulled up to the pump, but was distraught that we were sitting at a bit of an angle. When you buy gas here in Guinea, everyone LOVES to fill the tank to the very top – usually to the point of overflowing the tank. They stand there and rock the vehicle back and forth – trying to settle what is in there to allow for maximum filling! (For those of us who get car sick, the rocking motion, combined with the smell of the gas, is a sure way to get a sick stomach.) He was frustrated with the slant, so pulled forward and turned around.
As he shut off the vehicle, he realized that the gas tank was now on the wrong side of the truck. (I was glad to see someone else do that too.) His solution was for Mindie and Marci to roll down their windows and pass the gas hose through the back seat. That proposal was unanimously nixed in very short order and we assured him that we were okay with filling the tank – even if it was not overflowing. So we turned around again.
The rest of the trip was uneventful – until we reached the last big town where we needed to turn off to find the clinic. I was the only one who had been there before – when Kaleb had his emergency appendectomy several years ago – but at that time, we were following someone who lived at Hope Clinic so it was not a problem. I, however, was not worried. I knew that if we would find the right road, I would recognize the clinic. I had forgotten, however, what a BIG town it was. I could not find the turnoff. So we began to ask for directions.
After about 6 people had, with great confidence, given us conflicting directions, I began to get discouraged. Finally we found a helpful police man, but he wasn’t sure where to go. He trotted off to confer with some people, and returned with a man and his ten year old boy. The man knew Hope clinic well, and began to explain how to get there – but that was less than helpful, since we had NO idea where we were. Finally he said, here is what we can do. My son here knows the way to the clinic. I will send him with you to give you directions and then I will come in a while and pick him up.
We were dumbfounded. Here is a man, whom we have never met in our lives, offering for us to take his ten year old son off in our truck. Mr. Bah was thrilled and told me- move over, move over. So I got out and let the little boy in – both of us sharing the front bucket seat. Off we went. The little boy bounced along – giving Mr. Bah directions – turn left, go straight. He was adorable. We gave him a sucker. He led us straight to where we needed to go. (As we thought about it, we were amazed at the difference between the US and here – NEVER would you send your child off with a truck full of strangers – offering to come at a later time to pick him up! Our message of Never get in the car with strangers and never take candy from a stranger went right out the window!)
We arrived without further incident and got settled. The dad arrived, and we offered him some gas money. He tried to refuse it, saying that this was his town and he just wanted us to have a good stay but we insisted. He helped us one last time by taking us across the road to the village and helping us find the house where Mr. Bah was going to stay.
Mr. Bah pulled up to the pump, but was distraught that we were sitting at a bit of an angle. When you buy gas here in Guinea, everyone LOVES to fill the tank to the very top – usually to the point of overflowing the tank. They stand there and rock the vehicle back and forth – trying to settle what is in there to allow for maximum filling! (For those of us who get car sick, the rocking motion, combined with the smell of the gas, is a sure way to get a sick stomach.) He was frustrated with the slant, so pulled forward and turned around.
As he shut off the vehicle, he realized that the gas tank was now on the wrong side of the truck. (I was glad to see someone else do that too.) His solution was for Mindie and Marci to roll down their windows and pass the gas hose through the back seat. That proposal was unanimously nixed in very short order and we assured him that we were okay with filling the tank – even if it was not overflowing. So we turned around again.
The rest of the trip was uneventful – until we reached the last big town where we needed to turn off to find the clinic. I was the only one who had been there before – when Kaleb had his emergency appendectomy several years ago – but at that time, we were following someone who lived at Hope Clinic so it was not a problem. I, however, was not worried. I knew that if we would find the right road, I would recognize the clinic. I had forgotten, however, what a BIG town it was. I could not find the turnoff. So we began to ask for directions.
After about 6 people had, with great confidence, given us conflicting directions, I began to get discouraged. Finally we found a helpful police man, but he wasn’t sure where to go. He trotted off to confer with some people, and returned with a man and his ten year old boy. The man knew Hope clinic well, and began to explain how to get there – but that was less than helpful, since we had NO idea where we were. Finally he said, here is what we can do. My son here knows the way to the clinic. I will send him with you to give you directions and then I will come in a while and pick him up.
We were dumbfounded. Here is a man, whom we have never met in our lives, offering for us to take his ten year old son off in our truck. Mr. Bah was thrilled and told me- move over, move over. So I got out and let the little boy in – both of us sharing the front bucket seat. Off we went. The little boy bounced along – giving Mr. Bah directions – turn left, go straight. He was adorable. We gave him a sucker. He led us straight to where we needed to go. (As we thought about it, we were amazed at the difference between the US and here – NEVER would you send your child off with a truck full of strangers – offering to come at a later time to pick him up! Our message of Never get in the car with strangers and never take candy from a stranger went right out the window!)
We arrived without further incident and got settled. The dad arrived, and we offered him some gas money. He tried to refuse it, saying that this was his town and he just wanted us to have a good stay but we insisted. He helped us one last time by taking us across the road to the village and helping us find the house where Mr. Bah was going to stay.
Please Support a Newborn's Head. . . and Other Myths
So, I was at delivery this week and it was a beautiful baby girl. My neighbor had her on Tuesday morning. By the time I arrived, the baby was not far from being born, but the mom was in labor -sitting on the dried cow dung/dirt floor (hello tetanus!) so I went home to get some plastic for her to sit on. By the time I returned, the baby was out, lying on a dirty cloth and with her tiny arms covered with dirt.
The dad had gone off to town to see if he could buy a razor blade to cut the cord with, but I decided not to wait and used my equipment instead. Then I grabbed her and suctioned out her nose and mouth and bundled her close to me so she would not get cold. (The Africans think I am just hysterical about how much I worry about cold stress with newborns. They just laugh and laugh at me – sorry, but there is too much pediatric nurse in me still. Africa has not sweated all of that out of me just yet.)
Anyway, I was cuddling her as they heated water on the fire to wash her and as we waited for the dad (who had returned with the razor blade but was now off looking for soap to buy so we could wash the baby…. Those nine months just pass so quickly and it just kind of sneaks up on you, even if your wife has been in labor for 3 days……) But I digress. The water was finally warm, but the dad was nowhere in sight, so off I went to my house to get some soap. We got the water in the tub and I began to scrub the baby.
The soap I had was not great – something we got from a hotel, I think – and was not doing a good job. Finally someone brought some other soap so the midwife and I worked on getting her clean. The midwife decided to finish so we could rinse her off. She scrubbed and scrubbed – and as she scrubbed each arm, she would pull it far behind the baby’s back – like she was getting ready to handcuff her. Then she did the other side. Finally she pronounced her clean, and rinsed her, and stood up.
I reached out with a clean cloth to take the baby so I could wrap her back up (all that cold and all) but alas, the midwife was not quite finished. She proceeded to take her by each arm and give her a few good shakes as she dangled over the tub. Then she grabbed her by the feet and shook a few times again. After putting some soap on her finger and cleaning out the baby’s mouth, I was allowed to grab her and swaddle her.
As I watched the process, two things came to mind. The first was an old commercial for (I think) ziplock bags where someone puts some kind of liquid inside a bag and then holds it upside down and sings, shake-a-shake-a –shake…… The other was that we are just WAY too paranoid in the US about holding babies and thinking that they might break. Invariably, when a baby is born and someone goes to hold it, everyone warns, SUPPORT THE HEAD. Wow, these babies are pretty hardy out here. I am used to seeing 1 week old babies being swung up by one arm to be gently tossed onto their mothers back, but this was the first time I had seen the shake treatment at birth.
Mind you, I am not a new advocate for that kind of action. It makes me wonder if it plays any part in the high infant mortality we see out here. But, I do have to say, that, with each passing week, I wonder more and more about the bubble we place around newborns in the US. However, don’t worry, if you wander into our village and see me cleaning a newborn – you will still see me cuddling it close and I can promise that I will not be reenacting any ziplock commercials.
The dad had gone off to town to see if he could buy a razor blade to cut the cord with, but I decided not to wait and used my equipment instead. Then I grabbed her and suctioned out her nose and mouth and bundled her close to me so she would not get cold. (The Africans think I am just hysterical about how much I worry about cold stress with newborns. They just laugh and laugh at me – sorry, but there is too much pediatric nurse in me still. Africa has not sweated all of that out of me just yet.)
Anyway, I was cuddling her as they heated water on the fire to wash her and as we waited for the dad (who had returned with the razor blade but was now off looking for soap to buy so we could wash the baby…. Those nine months just pass so quickly and it just kind of sneaks up on you, even if your wife has been in labor for 3 days……) But I digress. The water was finally warm, but the dad was nowhere in sight, so off I went to my house to get some soap. We got the water in the tub and I began to scrub the baby.
The soap I had was not great – something we got from a hotel, I think – and was not doing a good job. Finally someone brought some other soap so the midwife and I worked on getting her clean. The midwife decided to finish so we could rinse her off. She scrubbed and scrubbed – and as she scrubbed each arm, she would pull it far behind the baby’s back – like she was getting ready to handcuff her. Then she did the other side. Finally she pronounced her clean, and rinsed her, and stood up.
I reached out with a clean cloth to take the baby so I could wrap her back up (all that cold and all) but alas, the midwife was not quite finished. She proceeded to take her by each arm and give her a few good shakes as she dangled over the tub. Then she grabbed her by the feet and shook a few times again. After putting some soap on her finger and cleaning out the baby’s mouth, I was allowed to grab her and swaddle her.
As I watched the process, two things came to mind. The first was an old commercial for (I think) ziplock bags where someone puts some kind of liquid inside a bag and then holds it upside down and sings, shake-a-shake-a –shake…… The other was that we are just WAY too paranoid in the US about holding babies and thinking that they might break. Invariably, when a baby is born and someone goes to hold it, everyone warns, SUPPORT THE HEAD. Wow, these babies are pretty hardy out here. I am used to seeing 1 week old babies being swung up by one arm to be gently tossed onto their mothers back, but this was the first time I had seen the shake treatment at birth.
Mind you, I am not a new advocate for that kind of action. It makes me wonder if it plays any part in the high infant mortality we see out here. But, I do have to say, that, with each passing week, I wonder more and more about the bubble we place around newborns in the US. However, don’t worry, if you wander into our village and see me cleaning a newborn – you will still see me cuddling it close and I can promise that I will not be reenacting any ziplock commercials.
Hampered By A Hangnail
Okay so I am a little bit of a wimp. I am not a big fan of pain. Take my infected hangnail for instance….
I have an infected hangnail on my finger. I have been moderately working on curing it. I have soaked it in hot salt water and put antibiotic ointment on it, but it is not getting better. I am not over diligent about doing those things, mind you -just when it starts to bother me. Well, it is progressively getting more painful. Several times this week, I could barely stand to pump up the blood pressure cuff to check the blood pressure on my patients because of the pain it caused in my finger. I thought about telling my family that I could not cook and clean – but alas, even I am not that much of a wimp!
But JUST about the time I begin to think I am really suffering, someone shows up on my porch with an actual reason to complain! Honestly, it amazes me what people here can endure. Over and over, people of all ages come with burns. I am not talking a little “I burned myself on the oven” kind of burn. I am talking whole sections of bodies – a woman who was cooking topless and dumped hot water down her front, a little girl who tumbled backwards and sat down in a cooking fire, a little boy who accidently knelt down in hot coals. And what amazes me even more is that, often, the burns are days or weeks old. I cannot even fathom that kind of pain. So I dress the wounds and give them Tylenol and Ibuprofen and the relief that it brings is amazing.
I also see wounds – big, deep, gaping wounds that would level most grown men. But not here! I am currently treating a man who was attacked by a monkey and has 2 incisions on his calf from where the monkey got him – both about an inch deep. He is up walking around, even though it hurts. Other people show up with infected hands or legs or feet – swollen 2 – 3 times bigger than the other one. And they are still functioning! I treated one lady whose whole face and neck was swollen and hard from a tooth infection gone bad! It never ceases to amaze me what the human body can endure.
So, when I see those people, and hear how grateful they are for help, I try to suck it up and not complain. Really, what is a hangnail compared to what they have to endure. I try to be more grateful for access to medical care and Tylenol that I can dispense myself. This reminds me, I need to go take some – all of this typing is hurting my finger!
I have an infected hangnail on my finger. I have been moderately working on curing it. I have soaked it in hot salt water and put antibiotic ointment on it, but it is not getting better. I am not over diligent about doing those things, mind you -just when it starts to bother me. Well, it is progressively getting more painful. Several times this week, I could barely stand to pump up the blood pressure cuff to check the blood pressure on my patients because of the pain it caused in my finger. I thought about telling my family that I could not cook and clean – but alas, even I am not that much of a wimp!
But JUST about the time I begin to think I am really suffering, someone shows up on my porch with an actual reason to complain! Honestly, it amazes me what people here can endure. Over and over, people of all ages come with burns. I am not talking a little “I burned myself on the oven” kind of burn. I am talking whole sections of bodies – a woman who was cooking topless and dumped hot water down her front, a little girl who tumbled backwards and sat down in a cooking fire, a little boy who accidently knelt down in hot coals. And what amazes me even more is that, often, the burns are days or weeks old. I cannot even fathom that kind of pain. So I dress the wounds and give them Tylenol and Ibuprofen and the relief that it brings is amazing.
I also see wounds – big, deep, gaping wounds that would level most grown men. But not here! I am currently treating a man who was attacked by a monkey and has 2 incisions on his calf from where the monkey got him – both about an inch deep. He is up walking around, even though it hurts. Other people show up with infected hands or legs or feet – swollen 2 – 3 times bigger than the other one. And they are still functioning! I treated one lady whose whole face and neck was swollen and hard from a tooth infection gone bad! It never ceases to amaze me what the human body can endure.
So, when I see those people, and hear how grateful they are for help, I try to suck it up and not complain. Really, what is a hangnail compared to what they have to endure. I try to be more grateful for access to medical care and Tylenol that I can dispense myself. This reminds me, I need to go take some – all of this typing is hurting my finger!
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