Coming Home

Well, it's been an emotional couple of days, and I'm anticipating another couple ahead. Tomorrow afternoon I'll leave Jos, spend a day in Abuja and take off to London on the morning of the 10th. Dr. Chris will be leaving to the US on Wednesday, hence the reason I'll have an extra day in Abjua.

I'm feeling a bit deer in the headlights; totally excited about going home and super sad about leaving my friends and family here. Mixed bag for sure.

More thoughts and reflections to come...

Update

I don’t know if it’s been writers block, or just a semi-unconscious way of shutting down in preparation for my departure. Whatever the reason, let this serve as my best attempt at breaking the silence.

First, I’ll start with a peanut butter project update: the oven was delivered to the Nutrition Unit yesterday, four hours after the guy said he would be there, only to find it was too big to fit though the door. You might ask what one does in a situation such as this. Well, I don’t know about other places, but here you break down the door and the surrounding concrete wall with a sledge hammer, naturally. The wash area was “completed” last week. However, the mason’s idea of complete and our idea of complete differ slightly. And when I say slightly I mean greatly. That said, there’s more work to be done on that front before we call it good. And we can now add on to that list, reconstructing the gapping hole that once served as door. Along side all this, still waiting for the power authority to come out and pull down another line (what all that involves, I’m not exactly sure) so we can run all the equipment in the unit. Also needed to find a couple volunteers to train to do initial production for the study, and get a certification from the Nigerian version of the FDA. Suffice to say there’s quite a bit that needs to happen before we actually start making the peanut butter paste, but it’s all in the name of progress nonetheless.

As for me, I’m just using these last weeks to soak up the presence of people I’ve come to love and respect so much. That’s about all I’ve got.

Peanut Butter Part Two

Back in October I wrote a post about a peanut butter project Faith Alive had been working on; to date we have all the equipment needed to start basic production-oven (buying this week sometime), grinder, mixer, scale, etc. All of last week Stephen and I worked along side Julie and Krysty, two women running the project, to sort out logistics and other loose ends that have been keeping things from proceeding thus far.

This week will be more of the same, organizing, coordinating, sorting out details of the study, etc.. We’re hoping by the end of next week we’ll be ready to start production of the fortified peanut butter paste. Once productions starts, we’ll need to get a temporary certification from the Nigerian equivalent of the FDA. Once we have that we can take our study proposal to five local hospitals to do a trial with fifty clinically malnourished children. We hope to generate results close to Dr. Manary’s studies; that is an 80% success rate with children fully recovering after a period of six weeks. Our study will run for a total of two months, at the end of which we hope to produce the peanut butter product en mass.

On a separate but related note, if you’re interested more stories/experiences from Faith Alive, check out Stephen’s blog at: http://stephen_gire.typepad.com/nigeria/ Lot’s of great pics and stories to add to anything I’ve been able to convey.

Ghana-Must-Go-Go

Back in the 80's (1983 to be exact) the government of Nigeria forced over 800,000 Ghanaians out of this country, sending them back to Ghana. In the mad rush to get out of town, these one of a kind bags adopted the name "Ghana-must-go".
This discovery came to me one afternoon while I was hanging out in Blessing's shop. Some of her students were going through a large bag, almost identical to the photo on the left, pulling out bits of usable material scraps. Just a couple days prior I was thinking of all the stuff I would be bringing back, not knowing if I would have enough room in my suitcase. In passing I mentioned I might need to get a bag like that when we next went to the market. "Ghana-must-go?" she said. Ghana must what? "Ghana-must-go" she said again. I laughed. You're not serious. That's what they're called? "Yeah" Why? "Because the Ghanaians had to go." she replied matter of factly. Ah. Well, then, there it is. I guess I'll be going with Ghana-must-go.

Some More Thoughts

This is part of an e-mail from Erika, one of several who came to visit Faith Alive in January/February; adding more to the conversation concerning balance:

“I'm wrestling with some of the same things, and here's where I am today. It's so okay to not be perfect, but to take steps toward improving. Example: I don't want to be a total environmentalist -- but I will make sure to use less paper. I don’t want to be a self-sacrificing fanatic by selling all my stuff and not having anything for myself -- but I will try to balance that so when I indulge in a luxury that I'll spend the same amount of time and money for others...does that make sense? I think there's almost a self-righteousness, even a sinful nature, to trying to do everything right. That said, we're not called to stop at that thought and not try to do anything right. I'm praying for God to continue to reveal what's mine to do, and what's not. What's mine to give away, and what's mine to enjoy. Just on a daily basis, situation by situation. I don't want to get trapped in something like 'survivors guilt' -- or being a rich American while others are starving sort of guilt paralysis. After all, what we do or don't do for others isn't going to make a big dent in the world -- God's primary care is that we stay in close relationship with Jesus, right? Anyway, just some of my ramblings..."

Mother Teresa

"We cannot do great things on this Earth, only small things with great love." She also said: "I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love."

Exposed

Just for the record, I don’t feel super comfortable sharing some of my inner most thoughts with heaven knows how many people. And yet something inside me says to do it anyways. So here goes…

I was listening to this great song by Nichole Nordeman called “Brave” this morning. Here are a few of my favorite lines:

The gate is wide
The road is paved to moderation
The crowd is kind and quick to pull you in
Welcome to the middle ground
It's safe and sound and
Until now it's where I've been
Cuz it's been fear
That ties me down to everything
But it's been love, Your love
That cuts the strings
So long, status quo
I think I've just let go
You make me wanna be brave
The way it always was
It's no longer good enough
You make me wanna be brave
I am small
And I speak when I'm spoken to
But I am willing to risk it all
To say Your name
Just Your name, and I'm ready to go
Even ready to fall

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve blasted this song, windows down, singing at the top of my lungs. There’s something that rings so true; there’s a recognition of how easy it is to blend in. And at the same time there is a realization that things can be different. I need only step outside the crowd and say, I don’t want to go along with it any more. I want to be brave. And yet like most things, it’s easier said than done.

A couple lines from another favorite by Relient K entitled, “For the Moments I Feel Faint” go like this:

Am I at the point of no improvement?
What of the death I still dwell in?
I try to excel, but I feel no movement.
Can I be free of this unreleasable sin?

Never underestimate my Jesus.
You're telling me that there's no hope.
I'm telling you your wrong.

Never underestimate my Jesus
When the world around you crumbles
He will be strong, He will be strong

I throw up my hands
"Oh, the impossibilities"
Frustrated and tired
Where do I go from here?
Now I'm searching for the confidence I've lost so willingly
Overcoming these obstacles is overcoming my fear

For me personally, I don’t think I’m searching for a confidence lost as much as confidence at last.

Confidence I’m loved just as I am.

Confidence in myself to say ‘yes’ some of the time and ‘no’ others.

Confidence happiness does not come from things.

Of course I know all this conceptually…it’s my heart that needs to do the catching up.

Overcoming these obstacles is not, for me, overcoming a fear of failure, it’s a fear of success. Sounds silly doesn’t it? Because then what? What happens when I do the hard, ugly, messy self work?

The chains just might be broken. I might just feel free. (Is it ironic that I’m listening to “Free Fallin” by Tom Petty right now?)

I believe in balance; I don’t think it’s at all inappropriate to treat myself now and then, even splurge on occasion. My battle is drawing the line in the sand between once and a while and a way of life. To employ wisdom with each situation versus living by hard and fast rules. Which by the way is so much more difficult than it sounds. Sometimes I envy the early Jewish community-they had it all laid out before them, right down to how to plant the fields and what sort of cloth to wear. In some ways it would be so much easier to have it all in black and white. Yes, going out to diner two times a week is okay but three is too many. Or, one pair of earrings, yes. Three, no.

I celebrate this journey. No one is going to get it right one hundred percent of the time, I know. Keeping that in mind, I don’t feel like that gives me permission to sit back and coast either. I’ll succeed and I’ll fail. This is just one of many attempts to examine the dark rooms of my soul, shine the light and have a look around.

At the end of the day I know I am loved despite my imperfections, and at the same time I seek to live the way of Jesus, who lived perfectly. Aren’t paradoxes great?

And so it goes…one day at a time, one foot in front of the other.

Paralyzed

I know it’s still six weeks away, but I’m already feeling the pressures and anxieties of returning home. It’s a hybrid of excitement and hesitation to re-enter a world and a way of life which seems so foreign. Life is pretty simple here. I don’t drive, I barely make use of the cell phone I have and “going out” doesn’t extend much beyond the clinic, church and occasional the market excursion. Add onto that, I’ve been living on $100 a month, most of which is given to others. When I started thinking about itemized expenses I’ll need to attend to upon my return: cell phone, car, car insurance, gas, credit card, application fees, food, etcetera, I felt a little deer in the headlights.

It’s quite possible I’m thinking about all of this way too soon and it just might be better if I stayed in the here and now. But it’s going to come up eventually. And as I see it there’s no preferred or convenient time to work through this stuff. No better time than the present, right?

The problem I face is not so much about having money to pay for said items, as it is parting with money, period. Thinking about how little one needs to live here contrasted with how much it takes to live there has my stomach in knots. They’re what I used to refer to as “basic expenses”, those things that keep me in the race with everyone else. I would hear people, including myself, talk about how disgusting our consumer driven society is and yet, in the same breath fail to recognize we are the consumers of that phrase. It’s much easier to blame a nameless, faceless system. We talk about how heart breaking it is that one third of the world lives on less than a two dollars a day and then in the same breath (if you’re me) think about when you’re due for your next upgrade on your phone. I might felt a little guilty at first, but hey, at least I have a Razor…and I feel cool. Everyone has to have a cell phone, right? And everyone has to have a car. How many people do you know who don’t have a computer and the internet? These things are not even questioned; it’s assumed everyone in “this day and age” has the staples, the “basics”. Whereas in the majority of the world it’s simply not so.

And that’s just one side of this ugly coin. There’s a whole other conversation when you start to think about how much we spend on entertainment, recreation and leisure. I’ve noticed in my own life such expenditures usually follow the statement, “We should get together…” immediately followed by, “What do you want to do?” as if spending time with people automatically implies spending money. Oh, I don’t know, let’s see a movie. Or, let’s grab dinner later. Or, how about we go for coffee?

There’s so much pressure to keep up this pace and it’s exhausting. Makes me anxious just thinking about it.

Gandhi in all his wisdom once said, “We must be the change we seek”. It’s warm and fuzzy in theory but it reality it’s like going to battle. It’s totally uphill when you think about all that influences you. First, there’s the radio, which of course has all the latest new songs, which (again if you’re me) causes you to take mental pause to remember to look that up later and download it from iTunes. I mere ninety-nine cents a song is all; keeping in mind that was half a child’s income for the day in a sweatshop in India. Then later when you turn on the tv, you’re reminded of the 352 ways to spend your time aside from watching the show you’ve tuned in for. Go see that new movie that’s coming out. Swing by Red Lobster for that sizzling new deal on jumbo shrimp. Go to the mall and check out the Big Red Sale going on now only at JC Penny’s. And if that’s not bad enough, we’re walking advertisements to each other. Hey where’d you get that cute sweater? Oh, got it on sale at Target. And what about those earrings? Well, there’s this cute little shop downtown…

Yes friends, I’m paralyzed. There are so many things I’m excited for, namely being able spend time with (via phone or in the flesh) my favorite people and yet there are so many things about going back that cause me to pause and say, gross. How do I reconcile these two worlds? I’m not even home yet and I already feel the pressures of playing the part. I don’t want to be one of five fish swimming up stream. Why? Because it’s hard work! And let’s be honest, it’s much easier to just give in and go with the flow. Not saying I will, not saying I won’t, I’m just sayin…only time will tell.

What $100 Can D0

I watched a couple surgeries the other day. Dr. Akwaras had come to me earlier that week and told me about a woman he met during a consultation who needed to have her appendix removed. When the group from my church came over they brought with them some monetary donations from some friends of mine. I told Dr. Akwaras shortly there after to keep his eyes out for ways the money could go to good use, knowing there were more than enough people who needed such help. This particular case was $100. Dr. Akwaras doesn’t charge any surgeon fees, so the money strictly covers the costs of the OR, utensils and drugs, both anesthesia and post op. Most times Dr. Akwaras, in addition to providing his services free of charge, will pay the hospital fees etcetera out of his own pocket. Amazing isn’t it?

The ‘hospital’ was on the ground floor of what looked like a strip mall off the street. The operating room was something else, like we were walking into an abandoned warehouse, but it was actually the OR. Sanitary is certainly not the first word that came to mind. More like, seriously? A couple of mosquitoes buzzing overhead. Two of four fluorescents flickering above us. An operating table that looked like something straight out of a MASH episode, complete with wooden slats inserted on either side of the table for the patient’s arms to rest on. Which by the way didn’t do a whole lot of good after the patient had her anesthesia, they were flopping all over the place. Her OR gown, was a dark forest green, with a couple of holes here and there. There is very little use of “disposable items” such as paper gowns here. They can’t afford such luxuries. Only the basics. The mask I was wearing smelled like it had been sitting in a dust pile for heaven knows how long. The instruments came wrapped in checkered cloth with masking tape wrapped around it. At one point in the middle of the surgery the lights went out. Can you imagine? Laying on an operating table and boom, power’s out. “Hold that thought doctor, shouldn’t be long before we get the generator going…” Incredible. All that to say it was quite an experience. And yet the job was done and done well. Without the fancy equipment, the monitors, the team of doctors and nurses. Even without light at one point. It’s not that these things wouldn’t be nice to have, I’m sure they would jump at the chance to update their archaic equipment. But at the end of the day surgeries need to be done. A lot of them actually. So what do you do? You do the best with what you have and pray God takes care of the rest.

Getting Close

Or at least it feels like it’s getting close. One of my best good friends, Stephen will be coming out the 2^nd of March staying until the 10^th of April, also the day I’ll be leaving, just incase anyone was wondering…

So as I said before, I’m “teaching computer” which in all actually means I teach typing. I would say over 90% (and I’m being generous) of people at Faith Alive don’t know how to type. A fun little factoid about me: I HATED typing as a kid. I hated typing class, I hated typing exercises, I hated everything that had to do with typing. And now I’m teaching it. Talk about your ironic circumstances.

So anyways, I went to meet my first appointment of the morning at 10:00 sharp. It was only hour later that realized she wasn’t coming. Checked on her later that day, she got caught up doing something else and forgot about it. No problem I thought, I got some nice reading in (I’ve smartened up from previous no-show experiences) At 11:30 when I hadn’t seen the next person who was scheduled I thought, the heck with it, I’m leaving. On my way out I ran into him. “Oh, was that this morning? I thought it was in the after noon.” No no, it was this morning. I’ve discovered there’s a lot of initial excitement about learning computer/typing, but not a lot in the way of follow through. There have been a handful that have come as scheduled, but most my experiences have looked something like my morning.

So, after all that I decided I would do something ‘productive’ and swing by Blessing’s shop and have her walk me to the market to return a faulty DVD. I wasn’t expecting super high quality it was $4 after all. On the way to the market, there’s this street that’s lined with wagons and makeshift tables and carts over flowing with pirated, I mean, totally legal and legitimately made, DVD’s. The guy who sold it to me said I could bring it back to him if it didn’t work. This was after a very long and extensive conversation about why I had doubts the cover with Chinese symbols was going to play in English. Turns out the guy “wasn’t around”, at least that’s what the guys standing next to his booth said, “You can come back tomorrow” You bet I will. At least I got a nice walk out of the deal. You see all sorts of interesting things on foot that you might miss from a car window. But mostly you’re dodging cars and motor bikes. Number one, there seems to be no official rules of the road, or none that are closely followed anyway. Number two, they just don’t look where they’re going. I’ve had some pretty close calls with both car and motorbike alike.

Post lunch I had two more appointments back at the clinic. I had seen both of them earlier in the morning so I was feeling pretty confident they wouldn’t be standing me up. Sure enough, at exactly the stroke of 2:00 Dauda was waiting for me, all smiles. And then an hour after that, there was good ‘ol Alex, who, by the way, has never touched a computer in his life. I’ve been doing a lot of deep breathing with that one. Until next time, A-S-D-F-G space, H-J-K-L-; space.

It's Been a While

As many of you may already know, a group of eight (plus a few others) from my church were in Jos the last week and a half. There aren’t enough words to say what a much needed visit it was. Seriously. For the last couple of days I’ve been adjusting back into life in Jos sans peeps. I knew it was going to be hard, just not this hard.

Yesterday I started helping out at a special needs school not too far from Faith Alive called Open Doors, working with kids who have disabilities. One of the gals on the team was/is an occupational therapist and worked on a handful of the kids out there. I shadowed her for a couple days, got a crash course in child development and BAM! I’m now serving as a stand-in OT. Let’s just talk about how much patience is required to work with kids in general, and then you add on to that kids with disabilities.

When I’m not at Open Doors I’m going to be doing computer training with the staff at the clinic. With the long term goal to go electronic, it’s no surprise beefing up computer competency amongst the staff is at the top of the priority list. I don’t consider myself a computer guru by any means, but with most people I’m literally saying, “This is a mouse; this is what it means to double click; this is how you save a document, this is how you create a folder; etc.” For others it’s a little more advanced, like “This is Google, this is how you perform a search” Hmmm, yet another lesson in patience. Is God trying to tell me something?

Couple of Things

First, I love holding babies. This is true of any baby, but I've just recently found I'm particularly fond of African babies. I could do it for hours, seriously. Especially this one little girl, she's two months old. One of the sewing students babies, ah, so cute, you don't even know. Second, I've made some head way with the kids who call at me everyday from the street, Ouybo! (white person) Now they say, "Nikki". Well not all of them, but some, and let me tell you, it makes me feel warm fuzz on the inside. It's like now, I'm more than just the random tall white girl they see every day, I have a name, and it's personal . I'm trying, although not very successfully, to learn their names. Of course they're all traditional which makes it ten times more difficult to pronounce let alone remember. Lastly, the girls in the sewing shop have been helping learn Hausa. It's a slow grueling process, but they've been so patient and persistent with me. Every once and a while I'll say something that makes sense. The rest of the time it just mumbo jumbo. They tend to have a good laugh, either way.
Sunday a group of peeps from my church arrive, really excited about it, needless to say. Time is flying, hard to believe it's the end of January already. Which by the way means I've been here for a total of four months! Woo hoo!

Holy Dust Batman

I was aware of the dust factor when I first arrived, but seriously? I swear it's a thousand times worse. As in, I wiped down the dust yesterday, tables, chairs, headboard, etc. And this morning it looked like a sandstorm came through over night. And it's not just the furnishings, it's my clothes, my sheets, my bedspread, the curtains, everything! It's doing a number on my allergies, that's for sure. And on another note, I've suddenly become aware of the unwelcome changes in my skin. "Dry" does not even begin to describe, it's sort of like, rhino meets reptile. It's not cute folks. I've given up on trying to keep my feet clean. One trip to the clinic and back and my feet look like they've been doused with dirt and mashed with mud. Then add to that just a thin thin layer of dust that coats everything else, legs, feet, arms, etc. Not exactly glamorous. I think I took a bucket bath three days ago. Yeah, something like that. I attempted it yesterday, but the air was so cold I only got as far as washing my feet. Think of it like this: a fall morning in Colorado, except that's the temperature inside the bathroom. Cut to, bucket of steaming water staring up at your from a cold porclin tub. It's not exactly inviting. I had goosebumps from head to toe just from soaking my feet. The thought of pouring water over my body in such crisp conditions was more than I could bear. Mornings have become quite chilly, at first a welcome change to the swealtering heat. But now, sort of a nuisance with the whole bath factor in mind. Having said all that, I'm still greatful to be able to bathe indoors, many don't have such a luxury. I'm thankful that I have water to bathe with, and a stove to boil water on. There's been a strike at some level of the government which has somehow caused a water shortage in and around Jos. I haven't been affected to badly, but I know many others that have. Count your blessings, right?

Food for Thought

Last week I was observing in VTC (voluntary testing and counseling), essentially the place where they test for HIV. The process looks a little something like this: person X sits down with one of three counselors, they collect some basic info and ask them why they’re there. Most people respond with “to do a test”, to which the counselor says, “what kind of test?” Once it’s clear they’re there for an HIV test the process continues. The counselor explains very briefly what HIV is, in that it’s a virus, not a disease, and it attacks the body’s defense system. They use this analogy: We have soldiers in our body that fight infections; HIV attacks and kills our soldiers. When the body doesn’t have it’s soldiers, it has a hard time fighting diseases and infection. They explain how HIV is contracted, through human fluid or blood. They further explain what that means; HIV can be passed from a positive mother to her child during pregnancy, through unprotected sex, blood transfusions that have not been properly screened and sharps that have not been properly sterilized such as blades and scissors from barber shops. Side bar on that, it’s very common for men to go to a barber to have a shave. And when I say shave, I mean old school, single blade shave. There are many cultural misconceptions about what HIV is and how you get it. For instance, some people believe it’s a curse caused by evil spirits and spells, while others believe it’s a disease that can be contracted like the common cold. There are so many people who are shunned from their families and communities when they become aware of their status. It’s for this reason, some people would rather not know than live in potential isolation and shame. Some who do learn of their status will go so far as to keep it from their marital partner, afraid they will leave them if they find out. So anywho, they go through this informational session and then are sent around the corner to do a rapid test. About fifteen minutes later the results are out and they return to the counselor, who then delivers the news, positive or negative. If it’s positive they’re sent to the clinic’s main building to do a second confirmation test. Sometimes the rapid test will show a positive result when it is actually negative; these cases are pretty rare, but it can happen. If it’s negative they will tell them to return in six months to take a second test, allowing for the “window period” in which HIV can develop.
So anyways, there was this one woman who had her baby with her, still breastfeeding. Actually she was feeding her while was being counseled. Also really common, women will fully whip out their breast in the middle of a conversation, a doctor consultation, in the waiting room, on the street, in the market, just about anywhere. They were speaking in Hausa so I was catching the translation in bits, but basically her daughter is a year and a half, the mother didn’t know her status when she was pregnant and has been breastfeeding since birth. Cut to the diddy about HIV, what it is, how you can get it and she was off to do the test. When she came back to the room, she handed him the folded piece of paper that had a big black stamp that read “HIV positive”. The counselor then advised her to have the baby tested. Again, she came back with a folded slip of paper, and it read “HIV positive”. I could have cried right then and there. I was looking at a beautiful baby girl, not even two years old, and HIV positive. It was totally surreal. How could this be? It’s just not fair! I wasn’t quite sure how to sift through the relentless waves of emotion, one right after the next. It was inconceivable. Later that day I did an inquiry and found out that at Faith Alive alone, there are over 200 children receiving ARV drugs. Children with HIV. The words ‘cruel’ and ‘unjust’ come to mind, but even that doesn’t seem to capture the gravity of how I feel about this said reality.
MTCT (Mother To Child Transmission) can happen at several different stages.
It’s possible transmission can occur in the womb, during delivery and/or through breast milk. If no precautions are taken, there is a 45% chance the baby will be infected with HIV. If a mother is aware of her HIV status and is taking ARV drugs during her pregnancy, the baby’s chances of contracting HIV are significantly reduced. There are special birth attendants, trained in a particular delivery procedure that can then reduce the chance of transmission during birth. Just by eliminating breastfeeding and substituting strictly with formula, the chances of the child contracting HIV is reduced to 30%. If all the above precautions are taken there is only a 2% chance the baby will contract HIV from her mother. So, what are the challenges? Well, number one, the mother must know her status. If a mother is pregnant and knows her status she is automatically placed on ARV drugs. Okay, so let’s say a mother knows her status, now she needs to be receiving pre-natal care and counseling on the advantages of using a trained birth attendant. This in and of it’s self is a huge battle. Many women don’t go to the hospital to have their child let alone get pre-natal care. Cost of medical care and transport to and from the hospital are just a few of the obstacles. But let’s just say for the sake of example, she knows about Faith Alive and gets hooked up with pre-natal are and a trained birth attendant. Now we move into the issues associated with formula feeding. Number one, it’s not widely accepted, and by that I mean culturally. Many husbands and extended family members will pressure a woman to breast feed, because it’s just what you do. There’s ‘no reason’ not to. Then add to that the cultural sigma of HIV and you have pressures coming at you from every direction. Okay, so let’s say she can get beyond that, her family is aware of her status, and is supportive of her formula feeding. Now we’re looking at cost. One tin of formula is about 700 Naira. That’s approximately six dollars. If exclusively breastfeeding, she will need to buy about 8 tins a month. That’s 5,600 Naira. Minimum wage in Nigeria is 5,000 Naira, and most people don’t even get that. The challenge here is obvious. The problem has no easy solution. And the children suffer.

Medical Records

It occurred to me recently that I haven’t talked much about the work I’ve been doing at the clinic. For those who have been curious (thanks for the reminder grams) here’s the 411:
The last, oh, three or four weeks, I’ve adopted a project of sorts in medical records. To understand what I’ve been doing you’ll need to know a little bit about the place and how it works. Every patient that comes through Faith Alive, either receiving ARV’s (Anti-Retro-Viral’s) for HIV or those coming for treatment of the common cold (malaria, typhoid, etc.) has is file with their name and hospital number. Every morning when patients line up outside the clinic, their name goes on a list (first come first serve) to be seen by the doctors. If they’ve been here before they have a hand card that has their name and corresponding hospital number for the medical record staff to locate retrieve their file.
Now, if a patient loses their hand card medical records has essentially lost their ability to locate their file. Or have they?
There was/is a system in place to curtail such a predicament, however it hasn’t exactly been maintained. With each file there is supposed to be a small index card with the patient name and hospital number. These cards are to be filed in drawers alphabetically, so that, in the event a hand card is lost, medical records staff can easily look up their name and thereby locate their hospital number. Sounds logical, right?
Well here’s the thing, these cards that are supposed to be neatly alphabetized and organized in their little card catalog like drawers have, to date, been living in one of two places: a box on the floor or in rubber banded stacks inside the drawers. The work, no doubt, of volunteers before me.
And just so ya know, there’s about 8,000 files in medical records. Which means if staff have been following due process and creating a little blue card for every file, there should be something like 8,000 cards to alphabetize and organize. And it doesn’t stop there. Turns out the cards are too big to fit into drawers, so after I’m finished with the alphabetizing, I’ll be cutting, 8,000 little cards. How jealous are you? Seriously…
Right, so with that said, here’s where I’m at in the process:
Step one: Gather up all blue cards and start sorting by first letter. Check.
Step two: Alphabetize by letter. Nineteen down, seven to go.
Step three: Cut cards to size. Pending completion of step two.
Step four: Pray someone maintains the system after I’m done.
When I’m not working on step two, I’m usually in medical records either pulling files for the morning clinic or helping the staff post files back in the afternoon. So that’s work in a nutshell. Any questions?

What Would Jesus Do?

A child, his face sunken and emciated, teeth missing from his smile. His body, a pile of small mangled, deformed bones, birth defect or disability, difficult to know.

A woman, late 60's, crawling on her hands and knees. Old t-shirts wrapped around her knees to somehow protect her knees from scraping agains the gravel streets. Her skirt tattered and torn. Her feet bare, caked and crusted with dirt.

A man, mid 40's, paralyzed from the waist down. He moves around in a seated tricycle powered by his upper body. His face is sullen, his eyes filled with sorrow. A begging bowl sits beneath him, empty.

We've seen the bracelets, the necklaces and the bumper stickers. But what would Jesus do? I don't remember any accounts of Jesus dashing the leapor his spare change. Or dropping a few coins in the blind man's bucket. What did Jesus do? He healed them. He made the blind to see and the crippled to walk. Amazing.

And I understand why like I've never before. Have you seen a crippled boy laying on the street corner? Have you watched a grown woman crawl in the dirt scrounging for scraps? I never had. If I had the ability to heal, believe me I would, in an instant. But since I don't, it begs the question, what do I do? Sure, I can give money, but it dosen't seem like it's enough. I feel so helpless. It's not fair. It's not right. Why him or her and not me? These are questions that cannot fully be answered, but they are questions nonetheless.

The poor. It's easy to forget about them, because we're not. It was easy for me to spend my time on My Space, Facebook and e-mail. It took no effort at all to watch a season (or two) of Friends or Grey's Anatomy in a weekend. When I had nothing better to do I'd wander the aisles of Target, cruise the sale rack at Gap or grab a Starbucks just because. Never giving a thought to what a luxury, no what a privilege, it is to know how to drive much less, own a car. To have the access to constant electricity, to own a tv, to afford cable or to have a job that allows me the great gift of two days off in a week.

It's humbling friends. It's kick you in the stomach, break your heart in a million pieces, cry your eyes out, humbling.

Nelson Mandela

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

--Nelson Mandela in his inauguration speech in 1994

Hello?

So last weekend my friend Krysty left her room to go fetch some water. She was gone maybe five minutes. When she got back to her room she noticed her phone was missing. She searched all around but couldn't locate it. She borrowed her neighbors phone to call her number, and a man answered. She asked, "Who are you? Where did you get this phone?" The man said the phone was left in his shop. When she asked where the shop was he hung up. She tried dialing the number again but he had switched it off. What's interesting is no one saw anyone enter into her room, and what's even more fascinating is the fact that there was 600 Naira on the table next to where her phone was, but he only took her phone, not the money.
Later that day she went to the phone shop to block the phone line and salvage her number for when she's able to get a new handset. When she arrived there were over 150 people waiting in line for the same thing! All of whom had their phones stolen recently. The woman at the counter told her this was "light" compared to what it usually is.
The appeal for stealing handsets (cell phones) is for re-sale value. "Used" (which may often turn out to be stolen) handsets are re-sold for more than half what a new phone would cost. You can find handsets such as these in the markets all around Jos. Just another little snippet of life in Nigeria.

Clown Car

A couple weeks ago I went to church with Blessing. I've told you about the bike situation (the motorbikes) and how I wouldn't touch one with a ten foot pole. Right, so with that said, Blessing said we could take a cab to church. A cab I thought, now that seems reasonable, I can get behind that. Okay, so where do we find such a thing? We just look for one she says. Hm. Okay, let's go look for one. So there we are standing on the side of the road in our Sunday best 'looking' for a cab. What exactly are we looking for, I asked her. She looked at me and smiled, um, I don't know, one will just stop. Finding all this very interesting, I stood faithfully at her side waiting for one to "just stop". Every once and a while she would stick her hand out at her side, a signal of sorts to cab passing by? After about five or so minutes of this clunker of a car pulls over. She negotiates the price of the drop through the window and motions for me to get in. Now, I don't quite know how to describe this said 'vehicle' that we entered, but I'm going to give it my best. First of all of the paneling on the inside of the door was missing, the inside wreaked of gasoline, and the area where the controls would normally be for radio, heat, air etc. was totally gone. Just a big hole showing straight through to metal. There were noises coming from places I'm sure they shouldn't be and other smells that were unidentifiable. I seriously didn't think this thing was going to make it three blocks, let alone three miles. But sure enough, old Bessy got us there, all in one piece. Hallelujah.
After church we went through the same process: standing on the side of the road waving down cars that look like they may be a cab. The best I can tell, you look for the oldest, junkiest, most beat up thing on the road and wave it down. So again, after about 5-10 minutes a car pulls over. Now mind you, the car is full, three in the back, one in the front, and Blessing is negotiating with him as if we're actually going be be getting in. Standing beside her I said, "Um, Blessing, there's no room in this car." She laughed and said, yes, we can fit. Are you serious? Where?! I didn't say that, but that's what I was thinking. So Blessing got in the front, half sitting on a random man's lap and I got in the back, one cheek half wedged between the seat and the door, the other riding up the side of the window, bracing myself for dear life. We went on like that for a mile or so, hit some traffic, which was awesome, and then arrived at our dropping point. I'm guessing most, if not all of the people ridding in the car were estranged to one another, but let me tell you, by the end of it they might as well have been family. Heaven knows I've never been that close to complete strangers before.

Death and Dying

The first week I was here I visited two women, home bound and dying of AIDS. The images of them will forever be engraved in my mind. To say they were emaciated would be an understatement. They were so weak (and frail) they could barely walk. I'm not at all exaggerating when I say skin on bones. One of the two women died about a month after our visit. The other, Habbibat, I just found out passed away yesterday. Her husband died long ago, he was the one who infected her. Extramarital relationships are very common especially with the Muslim population. She had three children, two of which are currently in school courtesy of Faith Alive scholarships. The oldest, a teenager, is still in the village, uneducated. The worry now is what will happen to the two that are in school. Will they be able to stay with her sister here in Jos? Or will they be sent back to the village? Faith Alive of course is pushing for them to stay here and continue their education. I guess only time will tell.
I've seen and heard about more deaths in these last three months than I have in the last 24 years. Death due to bike accidents, car accidents, AIDS and other illnesses. Makes me realize how much I take for granted.