As Sue said in her last entry...we are still in Rwanda. Somehow our tickets got issued for the wrong day and so we spent last night in Kigali trying to get me over my second bout with some kind of African bug. I am much better today and ready for the trip home. So I thought I would share a bit before turning off the computer.
Since my last entry we traveled north to a reconciliation village, met with Bishop John, took wonderful photos of the gorillas, said goodbye to our friends at Prison Fellowship, learned about a child being named after me, and camped out here for the night. What I would like to recall with you is an interchange at the village.
I am kind of a born politician. When I go to these villages I go around and meet everyone, shaking their hands, and exchanging a bit with them. As I was doing that I found myself talking to a very nice lady who had a three month old child resting on her back attached with a shawl. Her name was Sarah. She spoke perfect English and translated a bit for me. I have several photos of she and her child. Eventually she explained her husband was away somewhere and she had nothing. She finally said something to the effect she needed money to buy porridge so she could feed herself and produce milk for her baby. I have to confess my skin is tough when it comes to panhandlers. I found myself almost walking away from her with a comment like. "have a nice life". I did give her some money...and now I think of the exchange with a real sense of joy.
I wonder if there is a lesson for me to learn about generosity. It is perhaps not the object of the giving I need to focus upon but rather my personal relationship with the God who gave me what I have. Anyone who is interested...I intend to write one last entry after arriving home. God bless.
dlm
Monday, May 31, 2010
Don't Forget Rwanda
If I have learned one thing in a month in Africa, it is that plans can change. Last night we spent our "last" night in Kigali, had a nice Indian dinner (Chicken Tikka Masala, yum!!) and tried to confirm
our flight to Addis Ababa this afternoon. Three phone numbers were either incorrect or not functioning. Doug finally reached someone in the cargo division of Ethiopian Airlines, who tried to help but didn't get anywhere.
This morning I attended to some final details (the resident's grades for the month) at the hospital and bid goodbye to my friends. Esperance, the public relations officer who looked after me so well, told me about her experience during the genocide of losing her husband and her son, and her parents. She showed me the scar on her Achilles tendon and said they fractured her skull. She is such a beautiful person, filled with love for God and quiet dignity. I prayed for her and she then prayed for me, in Kinyarwanda. It was a precious experience. I know we will see each other again.
The staff at Prison Fellowship had us to the office to say goodbye and to have lunch together before taking us to the airport. They presented us with an African shirt for Doug and a long dress for me. I think they must have been studying our body types, because the clothes fit perfectly. Christine, the wife of pastor Deo, doesn't speak much English, but managed to communicate with me. She called me "Mami" and said "I love you."
She and Guma took us to the airport, and we again said goodbye. After waiting a half hour, we were able to check in at the Ethiopian desk. All went well until they asked us if we had changed the date on our ticket. It seems that the flights we were booked into don't fly today, but tomorrow! A wonderful ticket agent took on our cause, and rebooked us for tomorrow. He directed us to a hotel with airport shuttle, and we are comfortably nesting in a room with free WiFi. This is a positive turn of events, since we didn't sleep well last night and only today got some stronger cough medicine for Doug to try to shake his virus.
Esperance gave me a package when I saw her this morning. It has two tee shirts, one for me and one for Doug, printed with a traditionally shaped basket, and the words "Don't Forget Rwanda." I know that I never will.
our flight to Addis Ababa this afternoon. Three phone numbers were either incorrect or not functioning. Doug finally reached someone in the cargo division of Ethiopian Airlines, who tried to help but didn't get anywhere.
This morning I attended to some final details (the resident's grades for the month) at the hospital and bid goodbye to my friends. Esperance, the public relations officer who looked after me so well, told me about her experience during the genocide of losing her husband and her son, and her parents. She showed me the scar on her Achilles tendon and said they fractured her skull. She is such a beautiful person, filled with love for God and quiet dignity. I prayed for her and she then prayed for me, in Kinyarwanda. It was a precious experience. I know we will see each other again.
The staff at Prison Fellowship had us to the office to say goodbye and to have lunch together before taking us to the airport. They presented us with an African shirt for Doug and a long dress for me. I think they must have been studying our body types, because the clothes fit perfectly. Christine, the wife of pastor Deo, doesn't speak much English, but managed to communicate with me. She called me "Mami" and said "I love you."
She and Guma took us to the airport, and we again said goodbye. After waiting a half hour, we were able to check in at the Ethiopian desk. All went well until they asked us if we had changed the date on our ticket. It seems that the flights we were booked into don't fly today, but tomorrow! A wonderful ticket agent took on our cause, and rebooked us for tomorrow. He directed us to a hotel with airport shuttle, and we are comfortably nesting in a room with free WiFi. This is a positive turn of events, since we didn't sleep well last night and only today got some stronger cough medicine for Doug to try to shake his virus.
Esperance gave me a package when I saw her this morning. It has two tee shirts, one for me and one for Doug, printed with a traditionally shaped basket, and the words "Don't Forget Rwanda." I know that I never will.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Movin' On
It hardly seems possible. We are now in our last weekend here. I met yesterday with Guma and came up with a plan for the presentation of the vision for the street children. For approximately $130 per month they can be taken off the street, entered in a technical school, housed, clothed, and fed. Seems like a bargain.
Today is Friday and it is 4:30 am. We are to be picked up at 6:00 and transported to a reconciliation village for much of the day. It will be good to have Sue's reaction to that. We will then be taken to a town where Bishop John has a church, school, and compound. Bishop John is the force in a sense behind what is going on here. It will be great to see he and Harriet again. Tomorrow we are going to the reserve where Dianne Fosse gave her life for the gorillas. Everyone says the photo opportunity is amazing and I am ready!
We may not have much of an opportunity to be online after this. Thanks to all who have read our blog. It has been a learning experience. We will make at least one more entry when we finally get home. God bless all of you.
dlm
Today is Friday and it is 4:30 am. We are to be picked up at 6:00 and transported to a reconciliation village for much of the day. It will be good to have Sue's reaction to that. We will then be taken to a town where Bishop John has a church, school, and compound. Bishop John is the force in a sense behind what is going on here. It will be great to see he and Harriet again. Tomorrow we are going to the reserve where Dianne Fosse gave her life for the gorillas. Everyone says the photo opportunity is amazing and I am ready!
We may not have much of an opportunity to be online after this. Thanks to all who have read our blog. It has been a learning experience. We will make at least one more entry when we finally get home. God bless all of you.
dlm
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
1000 Photographs in Two Days
Akagera National Park is not well known. Someone needs to do something about that! I ran across a statement that it has wildlife roughly equivalent to the Shamwari Game Reserve...only not as much in terms of gross numbers and distances.
Sue is committed daily in such a way that she is not available for the two days it takes to make the trip to the park. I decided before leaving Rwanda to take two days after the marathon experience and go on my own. I contracted with Freddie to pick me up and take me to the north end of the park where Uganda, Rwanda and Tansania come together. As we entered the park I took photographs of zebra grazing in the same vicinity as domesticated cows. After entering we began to open Noah's arc and I took photos of giraffes, buffalos, zebras, hippos, monkeys, impalas, bushbucks, baboons, hyenas, antelopes, gazelles, topes, wart hogs, and numerous other birds, mammals, and reptiles.
I have fantasized often about such an experience and finally had it! How great is that!
Sue is committed daily in such a way that she is not available for the two days it takes to make the trip to the park. I decided before leaving Rwanda to take two days after the marathon experience and go on my own. I contracted with Freddie to pick me up and take me to the north end of the park where Uganda, Rwanda and Tansania come together. As we entered the park I took photographs of zebra grazing in the same vicinity as domesticated cows. After entering we began to open Noah's arc and I took photos of giraffes, buffalos, zebras, hippos, monkeys, impalas, bushbucks, baboons, hyenas, antelopes, gazelles, topes, wart hogs, and numerous other birds, mammals, and reptiles.
I have fantasized often about such an experience and finally had it! How great is that!
Monday, May 24, 2010
"Take my hand"
I have just had a jaw dropping experience, and now that the power is back on I can blog about it!!
The story begins at the "supermarket" about a forty minute walk from the guesthouse. I needed to stock up on food, and although I knew it would probably be dark by the time I finished, I set out this afternoon to get groceries. After choosing my items, I got in line and a woman appeared in front of me with a complex transaction. The store is a cross between WalMart and Fred Meyer, with appliances, furniture, and TVs as well as food. The largest denomination of Rwandan francs printed apparently is a 5000 franc note, which is about the equivalent of $8.00 U.S. The woman in front of me was counting out endless stacks of these notes, and the checker was recounting them, etc. etc. She must have been buying bedroom furniture or something.
After watching this action for a very long time, and seeing that progress was not being made, I put my things back in the cart and headed for another checkout line. A store employee saw me and took pity on me, opening another cash register and ushering me to the front of a line that formed quickly as he opened. There was an angry exchange between two locals and the store employee, during which the word "Mzungu" was frequently featured. This is the word for a white person.
My finely sharpened sense of defensiveness immediately arose. I was being misjudged, and I didn't like it. I didn't stop to ask myself how many times I've misjudged someone else, especially someone from another culture. No, I just wanted to set the record straight. After some very unpleasant glaring, I took my purchases and headed out the door, into the darkness.
This was the first time I didn't feel welcomed and accepted in Rwanda. I'm sure it had to happen eventually, but it was painful. My spirit was as heavy as my backpack of groceries as I picked my way along the "sidewalk," dodging cars backing out of driveways and motor scooters roaring along on the wrong side of the road. I had forgotten my flashlight and the streetlights weren't working due to a power outage, so I had to navigate by the light of those threatening cars and an almost full moon.
I was halfway home when I heard a voice to my right say "you're walking alone in the dark and you're not afraid?" I looked up to see a tall young man, white teeth shining in the moonlight. His English was quite good, and as we walked we chatted about our lives & what I was doing here. When I asked him where he was going, he replied "Nyamirambo," which is where the guest house is located. So I had a walking companion.
His name is Giovanni, and he is a student at KIST, the Kigali Institute of Science and Technology. He is studying civil engineering, still in his first of four years. He told me he has three dreams: He wants to be an engineer, to become a photographer and travel, and then after he has traveled he wants to settle down and have an orphanage. He wants to help people.
He is the oldest of four boys, who live with their mother in the neighborhood somewhere near here. She works, but as Giovanni says, it is difficult to feed four boys. He proudly showed me a book he had just bought, about do-it-yourself home repairs. He thinks maybe he can pick up some jobs to help with the home and school expenses if he learns how to fix things.
We came to a portion of the walkway which is badly broken up, with a three foot drop into an open sewer if you misstep. I told him I didn't like this part, but he laughed and said "I can walk here with my eyes closed. Take my hand." My defensiveness had melted by this time, and I was entirely comfortable. So, I ended up walking hand in hand with this young student!
How many of us would take a strange Rwandan by the hand and help him home? How many times have I withheld mercy because I could justify it to myself? These are some of the questions whirling in my head after this evening.
Doug and I have commented to each other about how the culture here seems to revolve around groups. Everything is done together. We see Rwandans walking hand in hand, or arms draped around each other. The anesthesia residents were shocked when they learned that in America anesthesiologists practice alone. They actually thought such practice was illegal! I have a lot to learn from these people about relationships.
When I got home, Giovanni and I exchanged emails. We both agreed that the world is a far better place because of the connections we can make via the internet. I will stay in touch with this young man, and I expect him to be a fine engineer. I am learning that one of my roles as an "older" person is to encourage the dreams of the young people I am meeting. Another role I intend to increase when I get home is to provide hospitality, hopefully as wonderfully as it has been provided to me in Rwanda.
The story begins at the "supermarket" about a forty minute walk from the guesthouse. I needed to stock up on food, and although I knew it would probably be dark by the time I finished, I set out this afternoon to get groceries. After choosing my items, I got in line and a woman appeared in front of me with a complex transaction. The store is a cross between WalMart and Fred Meyer, with appliances, furniture, and TVs as well as food. The largest denomination of Rwandan francs printed apparently is a 5000 franc note, which is about the equivalent of $8.00 U.S. The woman in front of me was counting out endless stacks of these notes, and the checker was recounting them, etc. etc. She must have been buying bedroom furniture or something.
After watching this action for a very long time, and seeing that progress was not being made, I put my things back in the cart and headed for another checkout line. A store employee saw me and took pity on me, opening another cash register and ushering me to the front of a line that formed quickly as he opened. There was an angry exchange between two locals and the store employee, during which the word "Mzungu" was frequently featured. This is the word for a white person.
My finely sharpened sense of defensiveness immediately arose. I was being misjudged, and I didn't like it. I didn't stop to ask myself how many times I've misjudged someone else, especially someone from another culture. No, I just wanted to set the record straight. After some very unpleasant glaring, I took my purchases and headed out the door, into the darkness.
This was the first time I didn't feel welcomed and accepted in Rwanda. I'm sure it had to happen eventually, but it was painful. My spirit was as heavy as my backpack of groceries as I picked my way along the "sidewalk," dodging cars backing out of driveways and motor scooters roaring along on the wrong side of the road. I had forgotten my flashlight and the streetlights weren't working due to a power outage, so I had to navigate by the light of those threatening cars and an almost full moon.
I was halfway home when I heard a voice to my right say "you're walking alone in the dark and you're not afraid?" I looked up to see a tall young man, white teeth shining in the moonlight. His English was quite good, and as we walked we chatted about our lives & what I was doing here. When I asked him where he was going, he replied "Nyamirambo," which is where the guest house is located. So I had a walking companion.
His name is Giovanni, and he is a student at KIST, the Kigali Institute of Science and Technology. He is studying civil engineering, still in his first of four years. He told me he has three dreams: He wants to be an engineer, to become a photographer and travel, and then after he has traveled he wants to settle down and have an orphanage. He wants to help people.
He is the oldest of four boys, who live with their mother in the neighborhood somewhere near here. She works, but as Giovanni says, it is difficult to feed four boys. He proudly showed me a book he had just bought, about do-it-yourself home repairs. He thinks maybe he can pick up some jobs to help with the home and school expenses if he learns how to fix things.
We came to a portion of the walkway which is badly broken up, with a three foot drop into an open sewer if you misstep. I told him I didn't like this part, but he laughed and said "I can walk here with my eyes closed. Take my hand." My defensiveness had melted by this time, and I was entirely comfortable. So, I ended up walking hand in hand with this young student!
How many of us would take a strange Rwandan by the hand and help him home? How many times have I withheld mercy because I could justify it to myself? These are some of the questions whirling in my head after this evening.
Doug and I have commented to each other about how the culture here seems to revolve around groups. Everything is done together. We see Rwandans walking hand in hand, or arms draped around each other. The anesthesia residents were shocked when they learned that in America anesthesiologists practice alone. They actually thought such practice was illegal! I have a lot to learn from these people about relationships.
When I got home, Giovanni and I exchanged emails. We both agreed that the world is a far better place because of the connections we can make via the internet. I will stay in touch with this young man, and I expect him to be a fine engineer. I am learning that one of my roles as an "older" person is to encourage the dreams of the young people I am meeting. Another role I intend to increase when I get home is to provide hospitality, hopefully as wonderfully as it has been provided to me in Rwanda.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Kigali Peace Marathon
Well...this morning was the time (8:00 am turned into 9:00) and Amahoro (Peace) stadium was the place. Talk about some amazing people all together for an event. The marathon is a brutal course and was conducted at mid day under equatorial sun as it turned out. It is an "out and back" course, each of four legs being a little over 6 miles in length. It is half strongly uphill and half essentially downhill. The Kenyans simply took off and the winner ran the course in 2 hours 2 minutes. They are so beautiful to watch. And they are all great runners. I think I counted 20...all of whom run together and have times in the 2 hours plus area.
For reasons that are not clear to me I was signed up for the full marathon and the rest of my "team" the half marathon. Had I known that was happening I would have made sure I was properly signed up with them. However, it was what it was and bottom line I cut after the half...came in last of my group but had a great time with them. They are so full of life and so appreciative. I would love to attach photos...we have many...but the internet connection here sucks so badly we have not been able to get that function to work. When we get home I'll email some photos of the most handsome group of Rwandans you will likely ever see to anyone interested.
I have had questions about my ability to regain any shape for running again. I think those questions can now be laid to rest. My various surgical sites seem to have held out just fine (thanks, Dr. Tony) and the real question now is getting myself in shape. A truly worthy objective. Bottom line today is it was a tough but wonderful day with great young people. And for those of you like my mom and sister who worried about me, I survived. Thanks for the prayers.
dlm
For reasons that are not clear to me I was signed up for the full marathon and the rest of my "team" the half marathon. Had I known that was happening I would have made sure I was properly signed up with them. However, it was what it was and bottom line I cut after the half...came in last of my group but had a great time with them. They are so full of life and so appreciative. I would love to attach photos...we have many...but the internet connection here sucks so badly we have not been able to get that function to work. When we get home I'll email some photos of the most handsome group of Rwandans you will likely ever see to anyone interested.
I have had questions about my ability to regain any shape for running again. I think those questions can now be laid to rest. My various surgical sites seem to have held out just fine (thanks, Dr. Tony) and the real question now is getting myself in shape. A truly worthy objective. Bottom line today is it was a tough but wonderful day with great young people. And for those of you like my mom and sister who worried about me, I survived. Thanks for the prayers.
dlm
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Nothing special here?
Thursday was my last evening in Butare, and I had a little time to explore. I walked along a dirt path that snaked downhill from the Hotel Credo toward a lush green valley. The late afternoon sun highlighted the tassels atop corn stalks, waving in a quiet breeze. Below, neat plots of trees, food crops and sunflowers spread along terraces stairstepped down the steep hill. Three kids looked wide eyed at me and one stopped, pointing to my camera. I held it up for them to pose. The kids here seem to like having their picture taken, and always giggle when they see the result on the LCD screen. As we were admiring their picture, a young man came along and tried to shoo them away in Kinyarwanda. I told him it was okay, I was making friends. The kids ran off so I got to make friends with him too.
His name is John. He pointed to his small house, probably two rooms, with a tin roof and likely no plumbing, clinging to this picturesque hillside with its lush vegetation. He and his friends were hauling wood furniture up the path and toward the main road, presumably taking it to town for sale. He is studying economics at the National University at Butare and has that Rwandan knack for hospitality that I have come to love in these last few weeks.
John asked me why I was taking pictures. I told him that the scene was very beautiful and he looked surprised. He said "here there is nothing special." If only we could see our familiar surroundings with the eyes of a visitor...
Friday afternoon I came back to Kigali in the company of two anesthesia residents and an orthopedic resident named Justin. Justin told me he had worked two years in district hospitals before starting his training in Orthopedics. The first position was in a setting where he worked with an experienced surgeon and learned a lot. The second position was in a different hospital where he was the only doctor, period. He said "it can be overwhelming sometimes, when five patients arrive at once from a road traffic accident and you aren't even sure what is wrong with them." He is halfway through his training, and told me "I just want to finish, to know how to save lives and to be successful." Not a bad ambition! While we drove along, the three young doctors pointed out an orphanage, an agricultural research station, a shelter for disabled people, and the "birthplace of our most excellent President Mr. Kagame." They commented on the harsh lives of poor Rwandans, especially women, and spoke about the need for family planning. They explained to me the meaning of an incomprehensible cassette tape chanting the myth of the Rwandan king's exploits in what they call the "ancient time." They insisted that I place my heavy suitcase with computer and books in their laps during the two hour ride because if I put it in the back of the pickup, it might be stolen.
The scenery around Rwanda, to the small extent I have been out of Kigali, is wonderful. Banana trees, coffee, steep eroded hills, cattle, people carrying loads of sticks or pineapples or ceramic pots on their heads, and always the volcanoes in the background. There are many risks in life here, from bicycle vs. car accidents to filthy drinking water to operating rooms without defibrillators. In spite of these challenges the Rwandans I have met have opened their hearts to me and have captured mine. The people here, as well as the scenery are, in fact, something very special.
His name is John. He pointed to his small house, probably two rooms, with a tin roof and likely no plumbing, clinging to this picturesque hillside with its lush vegetation. He and his friends were hauling wood furniture up the path and toward the main road, presumably taking it to town for sale. He is studying economics at the National University at Butare and has that Rwandan knack for hospitality that I have come to love in these last few weeks.
John asked me why I was taking pictures. I told him that the scene was very beautiful and he looked surprised. He said "here there is nothing special." If only we could see our familiar surroundings with the eyes of a visitor...
Friday afternoon I came back to Kigali in the company of two anesthesia residents and an orthopedic resident named Justin. Justin told me he had worked two years in district hospitals before starting his training in Orthopedics. The first position was in a setting where he worked with an experienced surgeon and learned a lot. The second position was in a different hospital where he was the only doctor, period. He said "it can be overwhelming sometimes, when five patients arrive at once from a road traffic accident and you aren't even sure what is wrong with them." He is halfway through his training, and told me "I just want to finish, to know how to save lives and to be successful." Not a bad ambition! While we drove along, the three young doctors pointed out an orphanage, an agricultural research station, a shelter for disabled people, and the "birthplace of our most excellent President Mr. Kagame." They commented on the harsh lives of poor Rwandans, especially women, and spoke about the need for family planning. They explained to me the meaning of an incomprehensible cassette tape chanting the myth of the Rwandan king's exploits in what they call the "ancient time." They insisted that I place my heavy suitcase with computer and books in their laps during the two hour ride because if I put it in the back of the pickup, it might be stolen.
The scenery around Rwanda, to the small extent I have been out of Kigali, is wonderful. Banana trees, coffee, steep eroded hills, cattle, people carrying loads of sticks or pineapples or ceramic pots on their heads, and always the volcanoes in the background. There are many risks in life here, from bicycle vs. car accidents to filthy drinking water to operating rooms without defibrillators. In spite of these challenges the Rwandans I have met have opened their hearts to me and have captured mine. The people here, as well as the scenery are, in fact, something very special.
Friday, May 21, 2010
It's Friday but Sunday's a'commin'
For those of you who have heard the Good Friday sermon It's Friday...but Sunday's a'commin'...you will understand. The rest of you need to go to YouTube and play it. But today is Friday and the Kigali Marathon is Sunday. I guess we'll see what this old body has left in it. The marathon starts at the National Stadium (Amahoro) and goes up and down a hill, around the downtown area and back to the stadium four times. That makes for a relatively uninteresting run except for the people participating.
While waiting in line at the stadioum for my number, etc. I looked around and realized I was in the company of the elite runners. The Kenyons had arrived. I was in a corner flirting with a few Rwandans when one of them came over to introduce himself. You can tell the truly good runners by the way they hold their bodies, the confidence they display in their smile, and their thin, stong bodies. This one fit the part. I asked him where he was from and then said he looked strong and fast. He allowed that was true through an engaging smile. He then told me he had run in Italia, Serbia, Hong Kong, and several other places. I'll probably see him at the front of the pack Sunday running his four minute miles times 26.2. I told him to look for me in last place and he looked me over without saying what was probably in his mind...that I probably was right.
I can't recall the last marathon I participated in but think it might have been the Seattle Goodwill Games which I think was about 22 years ago. Could be interesting. It looks like it is all in place now. The young men who are running with me are excited. This is a very big deal for them and it is an honor and privilege to be a small part of it.
dlm
While waiting in line at the stadioum for my number, etc. I looked around and realized I was in the company of the elite runners. The Kenyons had arrived. I was in a corner flirting with a few Rwandans when one of them came over to introduce himself. You can tell the truly good runners by the way they hold their bodies, the confidence they display in their smile, and their thin, stong bodies. This one fit the part. I asked him where he was from and then said he looked strong and fast. He allowed that was true through an engaging smile. He then told me he had run in Italia, Serbia, Hong Kong, and several other places. I'll probably see him at the front of the pack Sunday running his four minute miles times 26.2. I told him to look for me in last place and he looked me over without saying what was probably in his mind...that I probably was right.
I can't recall the last marathon I participated in but think it might have been the Seattle Goodwill Games which I think was about 22 years ago. Could be interesting. It looks like it is all in place now. The young men who are running with me are excited. This is a very big deal for them and it is an honor and privilege to be a small part of it.
dlm
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
"They live in the bushes"
Yesterday I was hanging around the office brainstorming how to communicate with people like me the wonderful work being done by the people here. A small commotion stirred outside and I found myself moving with everyone else to the back yard. I discovered six young men from around six to seven up to around nine or ten. They were orphans and had been living alone; they had heard there was a place where they could find a meal and wash up...so here they were. We found some ill fitting donated clothes and put them to use as they washed their old rags.
I asked Guma to find out exactly what they meant when they said they "lived in the bushes". Come to find out it is illegal to be a vagrant, however young you are and compelling your story may be. If they let themselves be found by the police they would be arrested. They had not socialized with anyone outside their group for two years. They, of course, were not receiving an education and had not seen a doctor. When I last saw them, their old clothes were strewn about on the lawn drying in the sun and they were eating their first square meal in memory.
It is said that if the entire population of the planet is represented by one hundred people, fifty-seven live in Asia, twenty-one in Europe, fourteen in North and South America, and eight in Africa. The numbers of Europeans and North Americans is decreasing. Fifty percent of the wealth of the world is in the hands of six people, all of whom are American. Seventy people are unable to read or write. Fifty suffer from malnutrition. Thirty-five do not have access to safe drinking water. Eighty live in sub-standard housing. Only one has a university or college education. Most of the population of the globe live in substantially different circumstances than those we in the First World take for granted.
I wonder what the responsibility of the one with the college education is?
dlm
I asked Guma to find out exactly what they meant when they said they "lived in the bushes". Come to find out it is illegal to be a vagrant, however young you are and compelling your story may be. If they let themselves be found by the police they would be arrested. They had not socialized with anyone outside their group for two years. They, of course, were not receiving an education and had not seen a doctor. When I last saw them, their old clothes were strewn about on the lawn drying in the sun and they were eating their first square meal in memory.
It is said that if the entire population of the planet is represented by one hundred people, fifty-seven live in Asia, twenty-one in Europe, fourteen in North and South America, and eight in Africa. The numbers of Europeans and North Americans is decreasing. Fifty percent of the wealth of the world is in the hands of six people, all of whom are American. Seventy people are unable to read or write. Fifty suffer from malnutrition. Thirty-five do not have access to safe drinking water. Eighty live in sub-standard housing. Only one has a university or college education. Most of the population of the globe live in substantially different circumstances than those we in the First World take for granted.
I wonder what the responsibility of the one with the college education is?
dlm
Breaking waves and bonds
Yesterday was an island of solid rock in a sea of chaos. Well, not exactly solid rock; at least slippery mud is better than breaking waves. Today, I'm afraid it was back to breaking waves...
Mondays are the "academic day" when we have lectures, study questions on the anesthesia textbook and resident presentations. The slippery mud was displacement from our usual room, malfunction of the powerpoint projector, six power outages with the replacement projector, and a twenty minute resident presentation that lasted forty five minutes. However, around 3:30 this afternoon, I would have given anything to go back to yesterday.
Today began with a difficult intubation in an uncontrolled hypertensive diabetic lady, followed by signs of angina on her EKG (later resolved, along with the angina I was experiencing! :-) I was called from that case to help with a patient whose airway was partially occluded by a malignant thyroid tumor. The surgeons had been unable to perform a tracheostomy and had given up, unfortunately leaving her in a very precarious situation and bleeding into her trachea. Next was a one month old with obstruction of his stomach, unable to feed and very dehydrated and weak. Just as that case was starting, a cardiac arrest occured in another operating room, and that is where I spent the next four hours, after doing CPR twice on the patient, who had severe injuries from a traffic accident.
This appears to me to be a typical day at the Kigali hospital, or perhaps I've had a string of bad luck. In either case, I continue to be amazed at the resilience and kindness of the staff who work there. The anesthetists are eager to discuss physiology, and their manual skills with IVs and intubations, spinals, etc are topnotch. They have completely accepted me, this unknown woman from America. They ask my permission (!) to give meds, ask how I would handle specific situations, and put up with my endless inquiries about drugs and supplies they don't have. They speak English for my benefit, since I am the only person in the room who doesn't understand either Kinyarwanda or French. We have formed a bond through suffering together several really tough cases.
Today, when we didn't have anything suitable to reduce the BP or nitroglycerin to treat the angina, I said to Francoise "at least we can pray." Later this afternoon Francoise was helping me transport the man who had survived two cardiac arrests. He came and said "let me help you. I think you are tired."
I was reminded of a sign we have posted in our study:
"Sometimes the Lord calms the storm; sometimes the Lord lets the storm rage and calms His child."
Mondays are the "academic day" when we have lectures, study questions on the anesthesia textbook and resident presentations. The slippery mud was displacement from our usual room, malfunction of the powerpoint projector, six power outages with the replacement projector, and a twenty minute resident presentation that lasted forty five minutes. However, around 3:30 this afternoon, I would have given anything to go back to yesterday.
Today began with a difficult intubation in an uncontrolled hypertensive diabetic lady, followed by signs of angina on her EKG (later resolved, along with the angina I was experiencing! :-) I was called from that case to help with a patient whose airway was partially occluded by a malignant thyroid tumor. The surgeons had been unable to perform a tracheostomy and had given up, unfortunately leaving her in a very precarious situation and bleeding into her trachea. Next was a one month old with obstruction of his stomach, unable to feed and very dehydrated and weak. Just as that case was starting, a cardiac arrest occured in another operating room, and that is where I spent the next four hours, after doing CPR twice on the patient, who had severe injuries from a traffic accident.
This appears to me to be a typical day at the Kigali hospital, or perhaps I've had a string of bad luck. In either case, I continue to be amazed at the resilience and kindness of the staff who work there. The anesthetists are eager to discuss physiology, and their manual skills with IVs and intubations, spinals, etc are topnotch. They have completely accepted me, this unknown woman from America. They ask my permission (!) to give meds, ask how I would handle specific situations, and put up with my endless inquiries about drugs and supplies they don't have. They speak English for my benefit, since I am the only person in the room who doesn't understand either Kinyarwanda or French. We have formed a bond through suffering together several really tough cases.
Today, when we didn't have anything suitable to reduce the BP or nitroglycerin to treat the angina, I said to Francoise "at least we can pray." Later this afternoon Francoise was helping me transport the man who had survived two cardiac arrests. He came and said "let me help you. I think you are tired."
I was reminded of a sign we have posted in our study:
"Sometimes the Lord calms the storm; sometimes the Lord lets the storm rage and calms His child."
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Inside the prison
Yesterday I was taken to my first Rwandan prison. On the way Guma matter of factly stated something to the effect I would be preaching. Well...talk about cross culture. I have done a fair amount of extemporaneous speaking so the speaking part wasn't particularly a problem. However, what do you say to 3600 people in prison for genocide down to you name it?
The prison is close to the Burundi boarder and is as close to the end of the earth as I have been lately. Its director became a good friend who invited us into his office, shut the door, and asked us to pray for the sermon and the service to follow. Afterward he escorted us into a mud and brick barriered structure with a large iron rusting gate. We marched past prisoners seated cheek to jowl and awaiting who knows what. They began by singing several kirwandan songs, setting up an ancient microphone, and eventually handing it to me. Guma translated. After warming up I decided to share some thoughts about a lawyer 2000 years ago. He had been a persecutor of those he believed to be bad people. He sought them out and killed them believing his actions to be obviously correct. He then had a vision of Jesus asking him why he persecuted His people and calling him to share the good news with others even more unlike him...the gentiles.
In Romans 7:14 to 8:1 Paul describes his inability to live correctly...his need for Christ Jesus...and the healing he found in experiencing God's forgiveness, grace, and love. As the sun got lower in the sky these sad souls comprising my audience considered their need for the same God in their lives. I have to confess, so did I. What a powerful thing to think that God can reach inside a genocide offender's heart and begin a healing process. Guma leaned over and informed me I needed to ask them for a commitment. And commit they did...so did I.
As we prepared to leave the prison we were greeted by the women prisoners and their children. Talk about a broken heart! The women bring their children into custody in this hell hole with them. All I could do was fight back the tears and try to show a bit of love...a cup of cold water.
My personal wiring is such that I always want to make a change. Here change is palpably needed but impossible to imagine on the scale required. Like Sue I struggle with the question of why and how. The why is best set out in Adam Hochschild's book, King Leopold's Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror, and Heroism in Colonial Africa, and General Romeo Dallaire's book, Shake Hands with the Devil...The Failure of Humanity in Rwanda. We, the first world, have a whole lot to feel guilty about. But then, guilt rarely solves anything, does it? Maybe the real question is how do I, we, love these children of God? Maybe the real answer is in not giving up, but staying committed to their journey up close and personal.
The prison is close to the Burundi boarder and is as close to the end of the earth as I have been lately. Its director became a good friend who invited us into his office, shut the door, and asked us to pray for the sermon and the service to follow. Afterward he escorted us into a mud and brick barriered structure with a large iron rusting gate. We marched past prisoners seated cheek to jowl and awaiting who knows what. They began by singing several kirwandan songs, setting up an ancient microphone, and eventually handing it to me. Guma translated. After warming up I decided to share some thoughts about a lawyer 2000 years ago. He had been a persecutor of those he believed to be bad people. He sought them out and killed them believing his actions to be obviously correct. He then had a vision of Jesus asking him why he persecuted His people and calling him to share the good news with others even more unlike him...the gentiles.
In Romans 7:14 to 8:1 Paul describes his inability to live correctly...his need for Christ Jesus...and the healing he found in experiencing God's forgiveness, grace, and love. As the sun got lower in the sky these sad souls comprising my audience considered their need for the same God in their lives. I have to confess, so did I. What a powerful thing to think that God can reach inside a genocide offender's heart and begin a healing process. Guma leaned over and informed me I needed to ask them for a commitment. And commit they did...so did I.
As we prepared to leave the prison we were greeted by the women prisoners and their children. Talk about a broken heart! The women bring their children into custody in this hell hole with them. All I could do was fight back the tears and try to show a bit of love...a cup of cold water.
My personal wiring is such that I always want to make a change. Here change is palpably needed but impossible to imagine on the scale required. Like Sue I struggle with the question of why and how. The why is best set out in Adam Hochschild's book, King Leopold's Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror, and Heroism in Colonial Africa, and General Romeo Dallaire's book, Shake Hands with the Devil...The Failure of Humanity in Rwanda. We, the first world, have a whole lot to feel guilty about. But then, guilt rarely solves anything, does it? Maybe the real question is how do I, we, love these children of God? Maybe the real answer is in not giving up, but staying committed to their journey up close and personal.
Intensive days in Intensive Care
It is Saturday morning in Rwanda, and I've had a cafe au lait and crepes at a small coffee shop frequented by ex-pats. I needed a taste of Western life after two hard days at the hospital. Even more, I needed time to process these experiences with my best friend and partner of 29 years, Doug. We are at our best when engaging in introspection together.
Thursday I spent the day with Claude, the resident currently assigned to the Intensive Care Unit. We made rounds on the patients, some on ventilators (everything from an antique pressure ventilator to a rather current model), some recovering from head injuries, some head injured and clearly not recovering. I won't burden you with the medical details.
Claude is quiet, not overly self confident, and eager to learn. I must admit ICU care is not my forte, and I told him that. However, we could google on the subjects and learn together, so this is what we did. I would explain concepts that came up in the articles, and also some of the English abbreviations, which are very hard for the Rwandans to understand. There are several patients who are in pulmonary edema, so we spent time learning about ARDS and other forms of lung injury.
One of the frustrations for me and I think for the residents also is the vast gap between what one reads about optimal management of illness and what is available here in Rwanda. Imagine being taught that the best medication for a certain condition is X and you only have access to Y. Sometimes, Y is not even mentioned in the discussion because it is NEVER used for this purpose in the countries doing the research and writing the articles.
On Thursday evening two brothers were admitted through the emergency room with severe burns. They had received good initial treatment at the district hospital and needed further intensive care. The little one is only five months old, the other 3 1/2 years. We were concerned about the baby because his burns involved his whole face, so decided to protect his breathing by placing a breathing tube down to prevent swelling and obstruction. Claude placed the tiny tube, but the tissues of the mouth and larynx were already swollen and it was not correctly placed. He gave it a second try but then Dr. Bosco, the Rwandan staff doctor placed it successfully. Claude was very quiet. When I left for the evening, I told him that this case was good for his learning. He replied "I failed." I remember that feeling so well from residency, the sense that I would never be able to do a procedure correctly. I told him that it was not a failure to gain experience with a situation you have never before encountered, but that this experience would be in his memory next time he faced a burn patient. I hope he understood.
Friday I went with another resident, Christian, to the maternity area. There were no scheduled cases, but another postpartum woman in pulmonary edema. The entire morning was swallowed up with managing her care and eventually tranfering her, in her hospital bed, down the ramps, along the sidewalks, parking lots with potholes, etc. to the ICU. A nurse walked beside the bed with an umbrella over the patient's face because it was raining. When we arrived there she had a respiratory arrest (the oxygen in ICU had run out) and we did CPR. Her heart restarted but she never regained consciousness and this morning when I stopped to inquire about her I learned that she had died.
I don't have any words of wisdom about these experiences. I do know that God is good, and I have to trust Him to show me how to live each day. I Skyped Mom and Dad this morning and they were very encouraging and supportive, and reminded me that discouragement is not from God. I am grateful for them, for Doug and for those of you at home who pray for us, because we are dependent on His grace to sustain us.
Thursday I spent the day with Claude, the resident currently assigned to the Intensive Care Unit. We made rounds on the patients, some on ventilators (everything from an antique pressure ventilator to a rather current model), some recovering from head injuries, some head injured and clearly not recovering. I won't burden you with the medical details.
Claude is quiet, not overly self confident, and eager to learn. I must admit ICU care is not my forte, and I told him that. However, we could google on the subjects and learn together, so this is what we did. I would explain concepts that came up in the articles, and also some of the English abbreviations, which are very hard for the Rwandans to understand. There are several patients who are in pulmonary edema, so we spent time learning about ARDS and other forms of lung injury.
One of the frustrations for me and I think for the residents also is the vast gap between what one reads about optimal management of illness and what is available here in Rwanda. Imagine being taught that the best medication for a certain condition is X and you only have access to Y. Sometimes, Y is not even mentioned in the discussion because it is NEVER used for this purpose in the countries doing the research and writing the articles.
On Thursday evening two brothers were admitted through the emergency room with severe burns. They had received good initial treatment at the district hospital and needed further intensive care. The little one is only five months old, the other 3 1/2 years. We were concerned about the baby because his burns involved his whole face, so decided to protect his breathing by placing a breathing tube down to prevent swelling and obstruction. Claude placed the tiny tube, but the tissues of the mouth and larynx were already swollen and it was not correctly placed. He gave it a second try but then Dr. Bosco, the Rwandan staff doctor placed it successfully. Claude was very quiet. When I left for the evening, I told him that this case was good for his learning. He replied "I failed." I remember that feeling so well from residency, the sense that I would never be able to do a procedure correctly. I told him that it was not a failure to gain experience with a situation you have never before encountered, but that this experience would be in his memory next time he faced a burn patient. I hope he understood.
Friday I went with another resident, Christian, to the maternity area. There were no scheduled cases, but another postpartum woman in pulmonary edema. The entire morning was swallowed up with managing her care and eventually tranfering her, in her hospital bed, down the ramps, along the sidewalks, parking lots with potholes, etc. to the ICU. A nurse walked beside the bed with an umbrella over the patient's face because it was raining. When we arrived there she had a respiratory arrest (the oxygen in ICU had run out) and we did CPR. Her heart restarted but she never regained consciousness and this morning when I stopped to inquire about her I learned that she had died.
I don't have any words of wisdom about these experiences. I do know that God is good, and I have to trust Him to show me how to live each day. I Skyped Mom and Dad this morning and they were very encouraging and supportive, and reminded me that discouragement is not from God. I am grateful for them, for Doug and for those of you at home who pray for us, because we are dependent on His grace to sustain us.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Rwanda Steven
The Biblical account of Steven's death is straightforward. Because of his faith in Jesus he was stoned to death; the first follower of Christ to be martyred for his faith. It is not surprising to me that I have met a number of "Stevens" in Rwanda...the most recent of whom is a friend of a friend. We spent a few hours together yesterday and I have to share a bit of his story.
Rwanda Steven was born in Uganda 37 years ago. He was part of the diaspora of Tutsis from the 1960s. He grew up as a displaced and eventually orphaned child. caring for his siblings in the absence of his parents. He now cares for a bit less than 100 children and I think he said 60 HIV/AIDS women who are the victims of rape during the genocide. I told him of hearing a devotional recently by Christiana in which she explained the purpose of prayer as the preparation of our hearts to receive the seed of God's purpose in our lives. The candle was lit.
Rwanda Steven said it is wrong to focus prayer on outcomes...health, answers to our problems, etc. If the hypothesis is true that God exists He by definition will have His way. However, if I view my life as His gift to me daily, prayer is an opportunity to both thank Him and prepare myself for His provision...If I can do that the seed will grow into a tree from which the fruit of the Spirit will grow in ways I can never imagine...love, joy, peace, patience, kindness. Steven said that in his situation he has placed it all on the line. One alternative is to be bitter about the loss of his family, the limitations of his life, etc. The other alternative is his: By faith he believes the hypothesis is true and therefore there is nothing to lose...begin throwing the rocks.
As a lawyer I have always had respect for testimonies. If truthful, a witness' account of his or her experience is unshakable. It is in fact that person's experience. This guy has accepted more responsibility than most people I know without as much native support or resources. And he appears to wear that responsibility with a kind and generous heart. I guess one could call his life "faith in action". And so, thanks Kelly Bean, for the introduction. And thanks to you for reading.
dlm
Rwanda Steven was born in Uganda 37 years ago. He was part of the diaspora of Tutsis from the 1960s. He grew up as a displaced and eventually orphaned child. caring for his siblings in the absence of his parents. He now cares for a bit less than 100 children and I think he said 60 HIV/AIDS women who are the victims of rape during the genocide. I told him of hearing a devotional recently by Christiana in which she explained the purpose of prayer as the preparation of our hearts to receive the seed of God's purpose in our lives. The candle was lit.
Rwanda Steven said it is wrong to focus prayer on outcomes...health, answers to our problems, etc. If the hypothesis is true that God exists He by definition will have His way. However, if I view my life as His gift to me daily, prayer is an opportunity to both thank Him and prepare myself for His provision...If I can do that the seed will grow into a tree from which the fruit of the Spirit will grow in ways I can never imagine...love, joy, peace, patience, kindness. Steven said that in his situation he has placed it all on the line. One alternative is to be bitter about the loss of his family, the limitations of his life, etc. The other alternative is his: By faith he believes the hypothesis is true and therefore there is nothing to lose...begin throwing the rocks.
As a lawyer I have always had respect for testimonies. If truthful, a witness' account of his or her experience is unshakable. It is in fact that person's experience. This guy has accepted more responsibility than most people I know without as much native support or resources. And he appears to wear that responsibility with a kind and generous heart. I guess one could call his life "faith in action". And so, thanks Kelly Bean, for the introduction. And thanks to you for reading.
dlm
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Holy ground
Yesterday all I knew was that I would be "picked" by Jeffrey at 7:00. Eventually it became clear that we were making our way with Guma, Felix and Pastor Steven to another reconciliation village. This one has 110 houses and I think is the original.
What happened throughout the day is called training in restorative justice. I found myself sitting behind the front table while Felix and Steven presented. And present they did. As they talked in their language for four hours I looked out over the group and saw everything from western dress to traditional colorful African costumes. I was looking right into the eyes of a tall fellow who had the bearing of Kevin Garnett. The intensity in his face tended to draw my attention away from the facts that his head bore the scar of impact over its crown in such a way one can imagine a machete striking him full on the scalp. When he stood he did so with the aid of a cane molded to his forearm.
As Felix and Steven led the group, and as translated by Guma in my left ear, the object was in part to help these folks identify how they had been injured, to help them share it with a greater group, and to look to God for healing. Eventually Kevin G stood up and shared his story. I couldn't follow it all but it was as intense as his visage. He was both living with the scars of his suffering and the healing of restoration. He was sitting right next to a Hutu offender who likewise openly shared his story. To be in the same room is astounding. To share the same story on a journey toward reconciliation is no less than supernatural.
The day was filled with many more experiences, including more connections with lovely people, children of all ages, sharing the wit and humor of a mentally disabled member of the community, and riding a local bicycle on invitation of its owner. However, as I reflected upon my experience with Kevin and the others I could only think of how powerful God is. The particulars of the meeting could be moved to anywhere and any time. They could occur in a twelve step meeting or a prayer meeting. They however do require me to open my eyes and see the burning bush. When I do see it it is indeed holy ground and as Moses who saw the bush a few hundred miles from here a few thousand years ago I feel a need to remove my shoes.
I just want to tell you how great it makes me feel to see "followers" and "contributors" on this blog. In a strange way I feel like a journalist reporting back from some far place where interesting and important things are going on. Thanks...you are each a part of my holy ground.
dlm
What happened throughout the day is called training in restorative justice. I found myself sitting behind the front table while Felix and Steven presented. And present they did. As they talked in their language for four hours I looked out over the group and saw everything from western dress to traditional colorful African costumes. I was looking right into the eyes of a tall fellow who had the bearing of Kevin Garnett. The intensity in his face tended to draw my attention away from the facts that his head bore the scar of impact over its crown in such a way one can imagine a machete striking him full on the scalp. When he stood he did so with the aid of a cane molded to his forearm.
As Felix and Steven led the group, and as translated by Guma in my left ear, the object was in part to help these folks identify how they had been injured, to help them share it with a greater group, and to look to God for healing. Eventually Kevin G stood up and shared his story. I couldn't follow it all but it was as intense as his visage. He was both living with the scars of his suffering and the healing of restoration. He was sitting right next to a Hutu offender who likewise openly shared his story. To be in the same room is astounding. To share the same story on a journey toward reconciliation is no less than supernatural.
The day was filled with many more experiences, including more connections with lovely people, children of all ages, sharing the wit and humor of a mentally disabled member of the community, and riding a local bicycle on invitation of its owner. However, as I reflected upon my experience with Kevin and the others I could only think of how powerful God is. The particulars of the meeting could be moved to anywhere and any time. They could occur in a twelve step meeting or a prayer meeting. They however do require me to open my eyes and see the burning bush. When I do see it it is indeed holy ground and as Moses who saw the bush a few hundred miles from here a few thousand years ago I feel a need to remove my shoes.
I just want to tell you how great it makes me feel to see "followers" and "contributors" on this blog. In a strange way I feel like a journalist reporting back from some far place where interesting and important things are going on. Thanks...you are each a part of my holy ground.
dlm
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Cobras to kiss
This blog has become a way for me to review the day and try to make sense of it. I apologize in advance for this post, as I am planning to write a lot of medical stuff, but I promise I won't do this often.
I spent the day in the operating room ("theatre") with Theoneste, a senior resident. We began by looking in on the recovery room patients to see if anyone could be transferred out. The recovery room was filled, because the wards were filled and no one could begin operating until we cleared some space. The candidates for discharge were a two year old with a snake bite wound debridement, a 6 day old with a birth defect discovered on exploratory surgery (intestinal atresia,) an "old" man, 57, with GI bleed and metastatic cancer in the abdomen, and a 31 year old woman still intubated after repair of TMJ arthrosis (unable to open her mouth due to "frozen" jaw joints.) We chose the woman, extubated her and watched her for awhile, then she was discharged.
At about 9:45 we finally started our first case. A seven pound 2 month old having his fourth abdominal surgery. His mother appeared to be a teenager, but I didn't detect any fear in her demeanor, only resignation. The anesthetic technicians are very slick at starting tiny IV lines in these scrawny infants. We filled plastic gloves with warm water and laid them around the baby to keep him warm. At the end of the surgery, I asked about a commonly used drug to counteract the muscle paralysis that we use in surgery. I was told "we don't have." An ampule of this drug, Neostigmine, probably doesn't cost more than 25 cents. The baby was hand ventilated for about 20 minutes while we waited for the relaxant drug to wear off!
Next, a two year old with hemophilia who had a bleeding wound on his lower lip--he was the easy case. Lastly, a preteen girl with a malignant muscle tumor of her shoulder (rhabdomyosarcoma) with metastatic disease in her lungs. They took off her arm and shoulder blade, with the tumor, which had been there only 7 months, weighing about 6 or 7 pounds. She has no options for cure, but this surgery was to relieve pain and give her comfort for what time she has left.
The patients I've seen so far have extreme disease, mostly because they don't come to medical attention until late in the course of their illness. The explanations for this include fear, lack of money, spending time with traditional healers, and something as simple as lack of a vehicle. Also, surgery here is often a means of diagnosis, so the term "exploratory" surgery is literally true. Without CT scan, without endoscopy, without even the ability to perform basic blood tests (no test for electrolytes in the hospital lab) the surgeons are forced to do operations just to figure out what is wrong.
I am challenged and also inspired by the attitudes of the doctors, nurses and patients to their appalling situations. They are saddened, frustrated, moved to tears and yet continue courageously plunging ahead with their work. I can only hope I would be willing to stay here if I didn't have that plane ticket home and my American passport. I would like to serve the residents and staff here in a way that eases their load or at least shares it by being a witness to their reality.
On a lighter note, I have been delighted by the African figures of speech I am learning. Did you ever consider how meaningless "the tip of the iceberg" would be in a landlocked country close to the equator? Here, if you wish to speak of something large hidden beneath the surface, you speak of the "ear of the hippopotamus." And as I commiserated with the surgery resident about the many blood vessels to be avoided during the shoulder disarticulation, he smiled and said "Yes, we have many cobras to kiss this afternoon."
I spent the day in the operating room ("theatre") with Theoneste, a senior resident. We began by looking in on the recovery room patients to see if anyone could be transferred out. The recovery room was filled, because the wards were filled and no one could begin operating until we cleared some space. The candidates for discharge were a two year old with a snake bite wound debridement, a 6 day old with a birth defect discovered on exploratory surgery (intestinal atresia,) an "old" man, 57, with GI bleed and metastatic cancer in the abdomen, and a 31 year old woman still intubated after repair of TMJ arthrosis (unable to open her mouth due to "frozen" jaw joints.) We chose the woman, extubated her and watched her for awhile, then she was discharged.
At about 9:45 we finally started our first case. A seven pound 2 month old having his fourth abdominal surgery. His mother appeared to be a teenager, but I didn't detect any fear in her demeanor, only resignation. The anesthetic technicians are very slick at starting tiny IV lines in these scrawny infants. We filled plastic gloves with warm water and laid them around the baby to keep him warm. At the end of the surgery, I asked about a commonly used drug to counteract the muscle paralysis that we use in surgery. I was told "we don't have." An ampule of this drug, Neostigmine, probably doesn't cost more than 25 cents. The baby was hand ventilated for about 20 minutes while we waited for the relaxant drug to wear off!
Next, a two year old with hemophilia who had a bleeding wound on his lower lip--he was the easy case. Lastly, a preteen girl with a malignant muscle tumor of her shoulder (rhabdomyosarcoma) with metastatic disease in her lungs. They took off her arm and shoulder blade, with the tumor, which had been there only 7 months, weighing about 6 or 7 pounds. She has no options for cure, but this surgery was to relieve pain and give her comfort for what time she has left.
The patients I've seen so far have extreme disease, mostly because they don't come to medical attention until late in the course of their illness. The explanations for this include fear, lack of money, spending time with traditional healers, and something as simple as lack of a vehicle. Also, surgery here is often a means of diagnosis, so the term "exploratory" surgery is literally true. Without CT scan, without endoscopy, without even the ability to perform basic blood tests (no test for electrolytes in the hospital lab) the surgeons are forced to do operations just to figure out what is wrong.
I am challenged and also inspired by the attitudes of the doctors, nurses and patients to their appalling situations. They are saddened, frustrated, moved to tears and yet continue courageously plunging ahead with their work. I can only hope I would be willing to stay here if I didn't have that plane ticket home and my American passport. I would like to serve the residents and staff here in a way that eases their load or at least shares it by being a witness to their reality.
On a lighter note, I have been delighted by the African figures of speech I am learning. Did you ever consider how meaningless "the tip of the iceberg" would be in a landlocked country close to the equator? Here, if you wish to speak of something large hidden beneath the surface, you speak of the "ear of the hippopotamus." And as I commiserated with the surgery resident about the many blood vessels to be avoided during the shoulder disarticulation, he smiled and said "Yes, we have many cobras to kiss this afternoon."
Middle age
So, I spent several hours with the kids yesterday. At worst they are homeless with no parental figure. At best they have one parent who is in prison and another who is likely suffering from HIV/AIDS. They range in age from about 3 or 4 to around 19. My track team is between 10 and 19. We "trained" together for several hours last night. The training turned into male role modeling. As I walked down the one paved road holding hands with two of these kids I asked them their ages...15 and 16. Both had that "natural" stride coaches used to tell me they looked for in distance runners...head not moving up or down, efficiency of movement, and love of running. A different time and place...who knows.
I had just read the statistic that in Africa today the AVERAGE age of locals is 16...think of it...16. I wondered what the life expectancy of these kids I was holding hands with could be. When I got home I looked it up on my computer. Get ready! Survival life expectancy in Sub-Saharan Africa AFTER live birth: Sierra Leona: 25.9 years; Niger 29.1 years; Malawi 29.4 years; Zambia 30.3 years; Botswana 32.3 years; Uganda 32.7 years; Rwanda 32.8 years; Zimbawe 32.9 years; Mali 33.1 years and Ethiopia 33.5 years. My runners are middle aged! Their life expectancy is about the same as their years lived on the streets.
Two years ago I retired at age 63. I went on Medicare at age 65 last year. I am somewhat unclear as to my current life expectancy but it is somewhere around ten years. Not much different than my new friends. I no longer can think of myself as middle aged. But my 15 and 16 year old vibrant, young and beautiful friends? They somehow learn survival skills that include a passing knowledge of my language. Their promise is limitless except for one factor: the location and condition of their birth. I am shocked.
I don't know how many people are reading or will read this and it probably doesn't matter. However, love must include an effort to understand and to empathize. I can't say hope includes the expectation of a long life for these folks. But it does mean hope for the compassion and love of the rest of us just as Jesus calls us to give. And I guess minimally that means that once the cat is out of the bag we have to deal with it in an ongoing way. Jesus would not turn His back on this problem however unsolvable it may seem.
I had just read the statistic that in Africa today the AVERAGE age of locals is 16...think of it...16. I wondered what the life expectancy of these kids I was holding hands with could be. When I got home I looked it up on my computer. Get ready! Survival life expectancy in Sub-Saharan Africa AFTER live birth: Sierra Leona: 25.9 years; Niger 29.1 years; Malawi 29.4 years; Zambia 30.3 years; Botswana 32.3 years; Uganda 32.7 years; Rwanda 32.8 years; Zimbawe 32.9 years; Mali 33.1 years and Ethiopia 33.5 years. My runners are middle aged! Their life expectancy is about the same as their years lived on the streets.
Two years ago I retired at age 63. I went on Medicare at age 65 last year. I am somewhat unclear as to my current life expectancy but it is somewhere around ten years. Not much different than my new friends. I no longer can think of myself as middle aged. But my 15 and 16 year old vibrant, young and beautiful friends? They somehow learn survival skills that include a passing knowledge of my language. Their promise is limitless except for one factor: the location and condition of their birth. I am shocked.
I don't know how many people are reading or will read this and it probably doesn't matter. However, love must include an effort to understand and to empathize. I can't say hope includes the expectation of a long life for these folks. But it does mean hope for the compassion and love of the rest of us just as Jesus calls us to give. And I guess minimally that means that once the cat is out of the bag we have to deal with it in an ongoing way. Jesus would not turn His back on this problem however unsolvable it may seem.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Papa Mzungu
I suppose it is unlikely anyone would be surprised if I told you the last week was simply amazing. Among other things, I have found myself introduced a number of times to groups of people...the introduction is often rather lengthy and I have not understood much of anything said (not uncommon for me even in English!}...except throughout these speeches I have heard the word "Papa". The response has often been a knowing nod from the community.
Yesterday Sue and I were on our way home from a walk when we encountered a small family outside their home. I watched as a small child went from happy, playful, smiling and confident to terrified in only a moment. Tears streamed down his face as he struggled to find the comfort of his mother's arms. Through the screams I could make out the word "mzungu" repeatedly. I had heard the word is an unflattering identification of white people and resolved to see what wikepedia said about it when I got home.
Turns out that "mzumgu" is classically not unflattering...in some sense. It means "those who run around in circles" as well as those who bring things and are responsible. The running thing has to do with traders who came and went with no seeming explanation...but brought good things and carried responsibility. Well, we all know that eventually the races got that as well as a lot else really screwed up...assuming we ever had it right. As for me, it seems like if the shoe fits you wear it. I have seen enough photographs of these beautiful people and me to display the obvious...I simply am not as beautiful as they and my washed out white skin is anything but beautiful!
Today is still Mother's Day in USA. Happy Mother's Day, Mom, and all you other wonderful people of both gender who have mothered me over the past many years. We do tend to forget how very interdependent we all are on each other. All races, genders, ages, religions, strengths, weaknesses, intelligences, etc., huh? I guess love must mean at the very least we set aside our own personal bead on all those things and assume the best in each other at least for this moment. Well, that's enough preaching for one day...I warned you at the beginning of this I didn't know what I was doing with the blog thing! Those who know me well know eventually I would spring with a sermon. Sorry!
Papa Mzungu
Yesterday Sue and I were on our way home from a walk when we encountered a small family outside their home. I watched as a small child went from happy, playful, smiling and confident to terrified in only a moment. Tears streamed down his face as he struggled to find the comfort of his mother's arms. Through the screams I could make out the word "mzungu" repeatedly. I had heard the word is an unflattering identification of white people and resolved to see what wikepedia said about it when I got home.
Turns out that "mzumgu" is classically not unflattering...in some sense. It means "those who run around in circles" as well as those who bring things and are responsible. The running thing has to do with traders who came and went with no seeming explanation...but brought good things and carried responsibility. Well, we all know that eventually the races got that as well as a lot else really screwed up...assuming we ever had it right. As for me, it seems like if the shoe fits you wear it. I have seen enough photographs of these beautiful people and me to display the obvious...I simply am not as beautiful as they and my washed out white skin is anything but beautiful!
Today is still Mother's Day in USA. Happy Mother's Day, Mom, and all you other wonderful people of both gender who have mothered me over the past many years. We do tend to forget how very interdependent we all are on each other. All races, genders, ages, religions, strengths, weaknesses, intelligences, etc., huh? I guess love must mean at the very least we set aside our own personal bead on all those things and assume the best in each other at least for this moment. Well, that's enough preaching for one day...I warned you at the beginning of this I didn't know what I was doing with the blog thing! Those who know me well know eventually I would spring with a sermon. Sorry!
Papa Mzungu
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Rwandan manners and hospitality
Outside the guest house kitchen window, scores of Rwandans walk in the rain. They are nicely dressed, some with high heeled shoes, picking their way through the rocks and mud. Some carry umbrellas, while others seem to ignore the rain. Most of them are conversing, singing, walking arm in arm. They are returning from church, going to celebrate Mother's Day, or just doing their shopping, carrying a dozen eggs in a little holder. The Rwandans seem to love greetings and good byes. They embrace, clasp hands and arms, laugh and make little speeches to each other. One of the residents rode back to Kigali with me Friday evening, and before he exited the car he said several paragraphs of good wishes for my weekend, plenty of rest, greeting for Doug, thanks for my teaching, etc.
Some of the Rwandans I have met have the most remarkable names! The young lady behind the counter at the Butare Hotel Credo was practicing her English with me Friday while I waited for my ride back to Kigali. She told me about her family, how she couldn't afford university, but that her job at the hotel was good. She has enough money to buy "lotions, and clothes" and hopefully someday to move out of her parents house and get married. When I asked her name, she pronounced a Kinyarwanda word, then smiled broadly and said "Peace...my name is Peace." The administrative assistant at the Kigali hospital is named Esperance (Hope), and a man in the grocery store told us proudly that his name is Samuel and his three year old daughter's name is Faith. The "house boy" here at the guest house is Melody. One of the Rwandan anesthesiologists is named Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc) and one of the hospital drivers is named Innocent.
Doug and I found a restaurant about a block away yesterday. It didn't look open, but we walked into their courtyard and nosed around. Several groups of men were having beer, and the TV was on, so we knew they were at least serving drinks. The young people at the bar assured us that indeed we could get good food, and recommended the brochette of goat...we went for a little more familiar fare. Just before the food arrived, a beautiful young woman came with a basin, pitcher of warm water and soap. She poured the water over our hands as we washed. At the end of the meal, she arrived again for the same ceremony! What a refreshing form of hospitality.
I have been studying and trying to think of more relevant and exciting ways to get the teaching points across to the residents. I am hoping to have a more engaged discussion for the lectures tomorrow. The challenges of teaching are humbling. And, the rewards are great. Just thinking back to the resident's departing speech and thanks makes me smile...
Some of the Rwandans I have met have the most remarkable names! The young lady behind the counter at the Butare Hotel Credo was practicing her English with me Friday while I waited for my ride back to Kigali. She told me about her family, how she couldn't afford university, but that her job at the hotel was good. She has enough money to buy "lotions, and clothes" and hopefully someday to move out of her parents house and get married. When I asked her name, she pronounced a Kinyarwanda word, then smiled broadly and said "Peace...my name is Peace." The administrative assistant at the Kigali hospital is named Esperance (Hope), and a man in the grocery store told us proudly that his name is Samuel and his three year old daughter's name is Faith. The "house boy" here at the guest house is Melody. One of the Rwandan anesthesiologists is named Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc) and one of the hospital drivers is named Innocent.
Doug and I found a restaurant about a block away yesterday. It didn't look open, but we walked into their courtyard and nosed around. Several groups of men were having beer, and the TV was on, so we knew they were at least serving drinks. The young people at the bar assured us that indeed we could get good food, and recommended the brochette of goat...we went for a little more familiar fare. Just before the food arrived, a beautiful young woman came with a basin, pitcher of warm water and soap. She poured the water over our hands as we washed. At the end of the meal, she arrived again for the same ceremony! What a refreshing form of hospitality.
I have been studying and trying to think of more relevant and exciting ways to get the teaching points across to the residents. I am hoping to have a more engaged discussion for the lectures tomorrow. The challenges of teaching are humbling. And, the rewards are great. Just thinking back to the resident's departing speech and thanks makes me smile...
Friday, May 7, 2010
Mile high, mile deep
It is true. Kigali is around a mile high. That means, like Denver the air is thin. Add to that I am almost 66 years old, fat and out of shape and I have the makings of a real problem. Somehow I got the notion that it would be a good thing to invite some of these homeless kids to run with me in the marathon in two weeks. That's the mile deep part. How big a hole have I dug for myself? Probably 26.2 miles deep!
I started out wanting to sponsor a couple of kids. The really good news now is there are...count them...twelve signed up! Not only that but they are the best looking track team I have ever been a part of. They are so excited. Tomorrow Guma and Jeffrey take them out to get shirts, shorts and athletic shoes.
We spent about an hour and a half together this afternoon and I seriously doubt I can describe the event. It began with Christian, a heavy set middle aged woman, softly clapping a rhythm. Then a young man turned over a plastic water jug and began beating it like a drum. Then more people began clapping. People began singing with one young fellow calling out a theme and everyone joining in the melody. Then kids began jumping up and running to get between the crowd and where I was seated. As they did so they joined each other in improvised dance steps like I have never seen before. Wow! One would egg another on and then another until the whole place was bursting in pride. There is something to be said for the theory some of it is in the genes.
So, now this old man is going to "train" with these kids for the next two weeks. The smart money says at least some of them will finish the marathon...don't know about me. I've been pretty sick for the last week and a half and finally got about a five miler in this morning. They finished their meeting today praying for me...the prayer sounded very sincere and I do hope it included my survival in the marathon. Could be a mile deep!
dlm
I started out wanting to sponsor a couple of kids. The really good news now is there are...count them...twelve signed up! Not only that but they are the best looking track team I have ever been a part of. They are so excited. Tomorrow Guma and Jeffrey take them out to get shirts, shorts and athletic shoes.
We spent about an hour and a half together this afternoon and I seriously doubt I can describe the event. It began with Christian, a heavy set middle aged woman, softly clapping a rhythm. Then a young man turned over a plastic water jug and began beating it like a drum. Then more people began clapping. People began singing with one young fellow calling out a theme and everyone joining in the melody. Then kids began jumping up and running to get between the crowd and where I was seated. As they did so they joined each other in improvised dance steps like I have never seen before. Wow! One would egg another on and then another until the whole place was bursting in pride. There is something to be said for the theory some of it is in the genes.
So, now this old man is going to "train" with these kids for the next two weeks. The smart money says at least some of them will finish the marathon...don't know about me. I've been pretty sick for the last week and a half and finally got about a five miler in this morning. They finished their meeting today praying for me...the prayer sounded very sincere and I do hope it included my survival in the marathon. Could be a mile deep!
dlm
Thursday, May 6, 2010
"Better for learning"
Yesterday I left Kigali and was driven to Butare, about two hours away, to spend two days teaching in the OR at the medical school hospital. The road curves over and around terraced, cultivated hills. Some of the crops are recognizable, like banana trees and sugar, while some are a mystery. My driver was not able to help me, between my French vocabulary and his English vocabulary of about a dozen words each! Butare is a little higher elevation, and near the rainforest. There was fog this morning and rain off and on.
The hospital here is well stocked, with several medicines not available at Kigali. I spent the day with two trainees at the end of their first year, named Fred and Alfred. I am impressed that they are expected to take quite a bit of responsibility, even so early in their training. The monitors, anesthesia machines and equipment are antiquated, and simple things like tape, paper towels, a scissors, a pen are often hard to find. The patients present with advanced disease states. Today's patients had a breast mass present for two years, and an abdominal mass treated with cutting and scarification of the abdomen by a traditional healer. This woman had a large ovarian cyst, and when the surgeons opened her abdomen, everything was stuck together with widespread adhesions, likely from pelvic infection. They called in the general surgery resident and eventually the attending surgeon to help. She was anemic pre-op, with a hemoglobin count of 8 (about 60% of normal.) As the blood loss was accumulating, I was quite anxious to get blood to transfuse her. The resident's response was to look at her conjunctiva (the lining of the lower eyelid) and comment on its color. In most of us, this area is pink. Her conjunctiva was pale to begin with, but by the time we got the blood to tranfuse her, it was absolutely white. I think the trainees here are exposed to more desperate conditions than in the U.S. Neither Fred nor Alfred were visibly anxious about the situation. At the end of the day, Alfred told me that cases like this one I am describing are "better for learning and more interesting." I have to say I have a few more gray hairs after today.
The hospital here is well stocked, with several medicines not available at Kigali. I spent the day with two trainees at the end of their first year, named Fred and Alfred. I am impressed that they are expected to take quite a bit of responsibility, even so early in their training. The monitors, anesthesia machines and equipment are antiquated, and simple things like tape, paper towels, a scissors, a pen are often hard to find. The patients present with advanced disease states. Today's patients had a breast mass present for two years, and an abdominal mass treated with cutting and scarification of the abdomen by a traditional healer. This woman had a large ovarian cyst, and when the surgeons opened her abdomen, everything was stuck together with widespread adhesions, likely from pelvic infection. They called in the general surgery resident and eventually the attending surgeon to help. She was anemic pre-op, with a hemoglobin count of 8 (about 60% of normal.) As the blood loss was accumulating, I was quite anxious to get blood to transfuse her. The resident's response was to look at her conjunctiva (the lining of the lower eyelid) and comment on its color. In most of us, this area is pink. Her conjunctiva was pale to begin with, but by the time we got the blood to tranfuse her, it was absolutely white. I think the trainees here are exposed to more desperate conditions than in the U.S. Neither Fred nor Alfred were visibly anxious about the situation. At the end of the day, Alfred told me that cases like this one I am describing are "better for learning and more interesting." I have to say I have a few more gray hairs after today.
Paradigm Shift
Have you ever had one of those days? A day when you awaken and know life will never quite be the same afterward? I am old enough those days are infrequent but today was one. I was picked up at 7:30 and eventually taken to a "restoration village". There are a number of these created by Prison Fellowship Rwanda. They are a communal living situation for both ex-offenders and survivors living in very close proximity.
Janet, the leader of the community had everyone to her house which is made of brick and mortar, built by the released prisoners. We sat in a big circle and they began to share their stories. Incredible. I have heard it said there are no atheists in fox-holes. Well, there were none in that room either. I'm here to tell you! How does one forgive a rapist or a murderer? Especially if the victim of the offense was your family? How does one ever trust again? I think the answer must be that it simply cannot be done without God at work. After we shared our lives a bit these lovely people broke out in song in their native Kinirawandan language. How good does it get?
On the way home, Guma and Jeffrey quietly talked in Kinirawandan. Guma then politely asked if I wanted to stop at a "memorial". When I answered in the affirmative the pickup quickly darted to the right and into a parking lot of a Catholic church. The room we found ourselves in was permitted for 1000 people. During the genocide 10,000 people somehow crammed themselves together in hopes the holy place would protect them. It did not as bullet holes and grenade fragments in the broken entry bear testimony. On the alter is a machete, two knives and a cross. On the seating benches are 10.000 suits of clothing, many bearing blood stains. In the basement areas there are said to be the skulls and remains of 45,000 people. All I know is I think my spirit couldn't bear the sight of another. In the back is a collection of clothing worn by the slaughtered children. The ceiling has holes throughout created by bullets and grenade fragments. On the way home I did the math in my head. If you kill a person a second it takes 12.5 hours to kill 45,000.
On a happier note, I am sponsoring a team in the Kigali Peace Marathon. One of the groups we are working with is made up of homeless street children...so I am buying them all shoes, shorts and shirt...perhaps the first time they have ever had new stuff. That should be a trip! I get to meet my team mates tomorrow afternoon. The run is in about two weeks. I think I know who will come in last on my team! You should see some of these physical specimens. God's love.
dlm
Janet, the leader of the community had everyone to her house which is made of brick and mortar, built by the released prisoners. We sat in a big circle and they began to share their stories. Incredible. I have heard it said there are no atheists in fox-holes. Well, there were none in that room either. I'm here to tell you! How does one forgive a rapist or a murderer? Especially if the victim of the offense was your family? How does one ever trust again? I think the answer must be that it simply cannot be done without God at work. After we shared our lives a bit these lovely people broke out in song in their native Kinirawandan language. How good does it get?
On the way home, Guma and Jeffrey quietly talked in Kinirawandan. Guma then politely asked if I wanted to stop at a "memorial". When I answered in the affirmative the pickup quickly darted to the right and into a parking lot of a Catholic church. The room we found ourselves in was permitted for 1000 people. During the genocide 10,000 people somehow crammed themselves together in hopes the holy place would protect them. It did not as bullet holes and grenade fragments in the broken entry bear testimony. On the alter is a machete, two knives and a cross. On the seating benches are 10.000 suits of clothing, many bearing blood stains. In the basement areas there are said to be the skulls and remains of 45,000 people. All I know is I think my spirit couldn't bear the sight of another. In the back is a collection of clothing worn by the slaughtered children. The ceiling has holes throughout created by bullets and grenade fragments. On the way home I did the math in my head. If you kill a person a second it takes 12.5 hours to kill 45,000.
On a happier note, I am sponsoring a team in the Kigali Peace Marathon. One of the groups we are working with is made up of homeless street children...so I am buying them all shoes, shorts and shirt...perhaps the first time they have ever had new stuff. That should be a trip! I get to meet my team mates tomorrow afternoon. The run is in about two weeks. I think I know who will come in last on my team! You should see some of these physical specimens. God's love.
dlm
Monday, May 3, 2010
An afternoon Blessing
Today was the first "academic" day, when I met with the residents for lectures and presentations. It was a little rocky for the first hours, but as the day progressed we all became more comfortable with each other and I think everyone learned something...most of all ME! The residents are very polite and respectful. Although I keep telling them that I am not an academic doctor, they insist on referring to me as Professor Susan. They say to each other "as Professor has been saying,..."
I ate lunch with several residents in the hospital cafeteria. The food is typical Rwandan, I am told, and nutritious if not interesting. Beans, rice, vegetable sauces, something that looks like Palak Paneer but doesn't taste like it. We had a lively discussion about maternal mortality in Africa and what needs to be done to reduce it. I am so proud of these young men, who are passionate about their country, who understand better than anyone else what will be required to deliver better maternity care (for that matter all kinds of care) and are keenly aware that the task is squarely on their shoulders. I feel privileged to be here helping train them for this huge effort.
After the day was over, I was waiting at the hospital gate for the driver who takes me home. He was tied up and I spent about thirty minutes standing in the sun. A smiling man came by to ask if I needed to hire a taxi. I explained to him that I was waiting for a ride. Then, he offered me a seat in his taxi while I waited. "You look tired of standing" he said. We had a nice conversation while he practiced his English. His wife died in an accident, and his three preteen children are at a boarding school. Business is not brisk; in fact he referred to the "economic crisis." After we had spent quite a while chatting, I asked him his name. The word he said was in Kinyarwanda, the native language. I tried to repeat it, but he laughed and said, "In English, it means Blessing." So, I was blessed by Mr. Blessing as I waited for my ride home...
I ate lunch with several residents in the hospital cafeteria. The food is typical Rwandan, I am told, and nutritious if not interesting. Beans, rice, vegetable sauces, something that looks like Palak Paneer but doesn't taste like it. We had a lively discussion about maternal mortality in Africa and what needs to be done to reduce it. I am so proud of these young men, who are passionate about their country, who understand better than anyone else what will be required to deliver better maternity care (for that matter all kinds of care) and are keenly aware that the task is squarely on their shoulders. I feel privileged to be here helping train them for this huge effort.
After the day was over, I was waiting at the hospital gate for the driver who takes me home. He was tied up and I spent about thirty minutes standing in the sun. A smiling man came by to ask if I needed to hire a taxi. I explained to him that I was waiting for a ride. Then, he offered me a seat in his taxi while I waited. "You look tired of standing" he said. We had a nice conversation while he practiced his English. His wife died in an accident, and his three preteen children are at a boarding school. Business is not brisk; in fact he referred to the "economic crisis." After we had spent quite a while chatting, I asked him his name. The word he said was in Kinyarwanda, the native language. I tried to repeat it, but he laughed and said, "In English, it means Blessing." So, I was blessed by Mr. Blessing as I waited for my ride home...
Sunday, May 2, 2010
First Impressions
This is Sue--
I went for a walk yesterday in to the Union Trade Center, where the American style grocery store is located. (I was looking for cough medicine for Doug...the least I could do after infecting him with my virus!) The streets were busy, as May 1 is a holiday here...apparently similar to the Soviet Union's celebration of laborers.
I attracted the usual stares, but I am not 12 inches taller than the local women, as is true in Central America. Several of them were taller than me! Their hair styles are elaborately braided, some in tiny plaits no thicker than a millimeter. I also saw the other extreme; hair clipped to about 1/4 inch length. According to a friend who has lived here the last year, this is a growing "natural hair" movement. Rather than straightening their hair chemically, women are trying to work with the natural texture.
Sidewalks in Kigali require concentrated attention. There are large gaps in the concrete, and then often the hard surface suddenly fades away into mud. This is the end of the rainy season, but apparently this year has been unusually dry. We have had two pounding rainstorms since we arrived, one with lightening and thunder, but both times we were indoors. The green beauty of Kigali is worth the rain.
My Rosetta Stone study paid off yesterday! I saw a girl about 7 years old holding her mom's hand and staring at me. I smiled and waved, and she waved back. After I passed them, I heard her running to catch up with me. I said Hello and took her hand. She said Bonjour. I gulped hard, and said Je m'appelle Suzan, and to my delight she responded Je m'appelle Deborah. To which, after I got over my shock that she had understood me, I said Enchante', meaning something like "Charmed, I'm sure" Her mother caught up with us and we went through the same drill, with her name being something like Davite. Then she told me where she lives. I tried to say "I live in Etats Unis" but I obviously didn't say the Etats Unis correctly, and she looked confused until I said "america." Anyway, I was happy to have a small conversation and to be spreading some goodwill toward tourists. We said Au Revoir and I walked back to the guesthouse smiling.
I went to my first Rwandan church service this morning. The music was familiar songs of praise, but with more swaying, clapping and smiling than in the U.S. I loved it! The congregation listened attentively, and the message was well spoken. With communion (at the rail) it lasted about two hours. After church I met a man from an organization called Engineering World Health, who is here in Kigali training biomedical technicians. Their commitment is to train a technician for each district (= community) hospital in Rwanda, 45 in all. This is a desperately needed skill, as everywhere I've gone in the developing world, ORs and hospitals have rooms full of monitoring and lab equipment that is broken and not fixable. I was so encouraged by this man, and will try to visit his classroom at Kigali Heath Institute when I am there teaching anesthesia technicians.
Enough for now. Like Doug, I feel a little sheepish writing all this out, and hope we will not wear out our welcome in your brains. We are certainly grateful for your interest, support and prayers and for the part you all have played in our being able to do this amazing month! Thank you. Pray for us.
Love, Sue
I went for a walk yesterday in to the Union Trade Center, where the American style grocery store is located. (I was looking for cough medicine for Doug...the least I could do after infecting him with my virus!) The streets were busy, as May 1 is a holiday here...apparently similar to the Soviet Union's celebration of laborers.
I attracted the usual stares, but I am not 12 inches taller than the local women, as is true in Central America. Several of them were taller than me! Their hair styles are elaborately braided, some in tiny plaits no thicker than a millimeter. I also saw the other extreme; hair clipped to about 1/4 inch length. According to a friend who has lived here the last year, this is a growing "natural hair" movement. Rather than straightening their hair chemically, women are trying to work with the natural texture.
Sidewalks in Kigali require concentrated attention. There are large gaps in the concrete, and then often the hard surface suddenly fades away into mud. This is the end of the rainy season, but apparently this year has been unusually dry. We have had two pounding rainstorms since we arrived, one with lightening and thunder, but both times we were indoors. The green beauty of Kigali is worth the rain.
My Rosetta Stone study paid off yesterday! I saw a girl about 7 years old holding her mom's hand and staring at me. I smiled and waved, and she waved back. After I passed them, I heard her running to catch up with me. I said Hello and took her hand. She said Bonjour. I gulped hard, and said Je m'appelle Suzan, and to my delight she responded Je m'appelle Deborah. To which, after I got over my shock that she had understood me, I said Enchante', meaning something like "Charmed, I'm sure" Her mother caught up with us and we went through the same drill, with her name being something like Davite. Then she told me where she lives. I tried to say "I live in Etats Unis" but I obviously didn't say the Etats Unis correctly, and she looked confused until I said "america." Anyway, I was happy to have a small conversation and to be spreading some goodwill toward tourists. We said Au Revoir and I walked back to the guesthouse smiling.
I went to my first Rwandan church service this morning. The music was familiar songs of praise, but with more swaying, clapping and smiling than in the U.S. I loved it! The congregation listened attentively, and the message was well spoken. With communion (at the rail) it lasted about two hours. After church I met a man from an organization called Engineering World Health, who is here in Kigali training biomedical technicians. Their commitment is to train a technician for each district (= community) hospital in Rwanda, 45 in all. This is a desperately needed skill, as everywhere I've gone in the developing world, ORs and hospitals have rooms full of monitoring and lab equipment that is broken and not fixable. I was so encouraged by this man, and will try to visit his classroom at Kigali Heath Institute when I am there teaching anesthesia technicians.
Enough for now. Like Doug, I feel a little sheepish writing all this out, and hope we will not wear out our welcome in your brains. We are certainly grateful for your interest, support and prayers and for the part you all have played in our being able to do this amazing month! Thank you. Pray for us.
Love, Sue
Sunday, May 2
We are safely in Kigali. Amazing trip...the better part of two days. Before leaving Oregon Sue contracted a cold which I managed to take from her last Wednesday. I am now sick and hoping to recover by tomorrow. Yesterday (our 29th anniversary) we had the privilege of meeting the leader of Prison Fellowship Rwanda, Pastor Deo, and his assistant, Rachel. What can I say except I am truly grateful to be able to be even a small part of this movement. What a way to celebrate 29 years together!
Deo explained to us over lunch that he originally (around ten years ago) felt a strong need to reach out to the offenders in prison. He believes the origin of this to have been from God. He personally began that ministry without any support. People would ask him how he could possibly care about the people who had attacked his friends and loved ones. The only answer he could give was that God has placed the belief in his heart that He loved these people just as He loves us. He then went into the prisons where he would be confronted by prisoners who would ask him why he cared about them. His answer was that he was sent by a "big boss" who cared about them and loved them. From that beginning a movement has developed that has gone into the government of the country and from there to the neighboring countries suffering from the same human trauma. Today he leaves for a month long training program in Toronto on the subject of restorative justice. I guess I won't see him again on this trip but consider it to be a true high point of my journey to have spent time with him yesterday.
Tomorrow I am planning to spend the day with the staff who have much of the next four weeks planned for me. It sounds like I will go to two prisons for two days and nights, will spend time with ministries directed toward misplaced youth who have no families and have developed drug problems in part because they are so hungry. Additionally I will participate in the reconciliation process in at least one village and will see the ministries to HIV women who are attempting to develop an economic foothold for themselves and their children.
Sue begins her work at the medical school tomorrow and will share her experiences later. I think it is fair to say both of us are deeply moved by this experience and feel somewhat odd about sharing it through this vehicle to our families and friends. Please bear with us as we learn how to not seem too self absorbed. Please also pray for health and for open spirits to God's ministries in the lives of His beloved children.
dlm
Deo explained to us over lunch that he originally (around ten years ago) felt a strong need to reach out to the offenders in prison. He believes the origin of this to have been from God. He personally began that ministry without any support. People would ask him how he could possibly care about the people who had attacked his friends and loved ones. The only answer he could give was that God has placed the belief in his heart that He loved these people just as He loves us. He then went into the prisons where he would be confronted by prisoners who would ask him why he cared about them. His answer was that he was sent by a "big boss" who cared about them and loved them. From that beginning a movement has developed that has gone into the government of the country and from there to the neighboring countries suffering from the same human trauma. Today he leaves for a month long training program in Toronto on the subject of restorative justice. I guess I won't see him again on this trip but consider it to be a true high point of my journey to have spent time with him yesterday.
Tomorrow I am planning to spend the day with the staff who have much of the next four weeks planned for me. It sounds like I will go to two prisons for two days and nights, will spend time with ministries directed toward misplaced youth who have no families and have developed drug problems in part because they are so hungry. Additionally I will participate in the reconciliation process in at least one village and will see the ministries to HIV women who are attempting to develop an economic foothold for themselves and their children.
Sue begins her work at the medical school tomorrow and will share her experiences later. I think it is fair to say both of us are deeply moved by this experience and feel somewhat odd about sharing it through this vehicle to our families and friends. Please bear with us as we learn how to not seem too self absorbed. Please also pray for health and for open spirits to God's ministries in the lives of His beloved children.
dlm
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