Doubly Thankful

My little cat Orio was gone all yesterday. I was a little surprised when I didn't see her first thing in the morning, but I didn't think much of it since I was getting ready to leave the house. However, when I returned home around midday and the kitty was no where to be found... I started thinking this was mighty strange. And not at all normal. Unprecedented.

Orio has pretty clear priorities, and breakfast is one of them. As is supper. (And chai time on school days, when she is always on the porch with us to sniff out any crumbs... or even to steal any unattended snacks!) Not only is she always ready for meals and handouts, but she's also always in or around the house. I don't think she'd ever ventured farther than the boundaries of the large property. As yesterday wore on, I grew less and less hopeful of seeing my little cat again.

I found myself starting to grieve. But in the grief I decided to focus on thankfulness. I thanked God for the gift that little cat had been to me. The joy and laughter she'd brought, how she'd been a little light during a stressful period. How I'd had something to take care of and love--which, I could now see, had made my house feel a little bit more like a home. I marveled at God's kindness in providing me that little furry bundle of blessing for the last six months, even as I cried to think that it was probably over.

The house felt rather empty, so after nightfall I was grateful to go to my friends' house for a movie. When I returned home, trying not to wonder whether I'd cry myself to sleep... There was Orio ready to greet me! What relief! She was none the worse for whatever adventures she'd had over the previous 24 hours, although she did consume a surprising amount of food by morning. I'm actually very comforted by the fact that she could be gone so long and return home again. I won't worry so much if she does it again!

Mostly, I'm just very, very thankful. I've been grateful for my kitten from the beginning, and yesterday was certainly a good reminder. And now I get to enjoy the blessing longer! Kindness upon kindness.

16 June 2013: I posted this originally on facebook, because I didn't want to talk about my cat again on the blog. Also, I felt pretty silly about how upsetting the experience was for me. But my reason for sharing it at all then is my reason for adding it to the blog now: God used my missing kitty to transform my thinking about loss, about his gifts, and about him as a giver. That he did all of that, giving me a thankful heart, before the cat came home, profoundly captured my attention. And that is worth sharing. :)

Tropical Diseases, Finally We Meet!

It's been four years since I first came to Africa, and in those four years I never contracted any of the various illnesses floating around me. That's a pretty decent run, I'd say. Well, the run is now finished.

I came down first with malaria, and then typhoid, in the space of one week.

On the evening of the previous Thursday (14th), I noticed a headache. Then it was there again Friday afternoon and evening. Except I wasn't exactly sure what it was, because I never get headaches. I chalked it up to weariness--my body demanding the sleep it hadn't been getting in a busy, stressful season. But I still felt less than great Saturday, head aching continually (unless I was eating... hmm!). By Sunday I was glad the weirdness had passed... except it hadn't. Evening came, and I realized the returning headache was now a low fever. I called my teammates to tell them I wouldn't be able to teach the next day.

So now I know how my body reacts to malaria. I'd heard about getting chills & stuff, but apparently that's not my style.

Because the "weirdness" was indeed malaria, in its beginning stages. As I was lying around Monday feeling weak from the temperature I was running, but not sick in any other way, my more experienced colleagues decided it was time to take me in for a blood test. Thanks to them, we caught it very early.

The fun thing about malaria is that the meds you take often make you feel worse than the disease itself. (That is, if you don't wait. Malaria is cyclical, coming back harder each time.) My fever kept rising, subsiding a little, and then rising even higher. To amuse myself, I cheered it on. "Come on, white blood cells! You can do more than that! Let's make 102.5°!" My WBC did even better, pushing the fever to 103° late that first night. I thought that was satisfactory, but Tuesday saw the thermometer register 103.7°. (That's 39.8°C, the highest I recorded.)

This was me on Tuesday, countering a 103+° fever with wet washcloths.

I didn't worry too much when the fever was still there on Wednesday. But when Thursday rolled around and my fever was still flaring, my friends took me back to the clinic for another test. This time it turned up typhoid! Why not? Anything else I can contract? Let's get this over with.

Generally I enjoy excellent health, so some part of my brain found it interesting to make observations during the whole episode. I watched my energy decline farther than I knew possible from my own experience. Sure, on Monday I could put some of my forced "down time" to good use. Later I couldn't really do more than take stuff in, like watching a game or a show. Eventually even that was just not necessary. I would lie still for ages, not thinking, not bored, just... still. Sometimes I would remember that if I wanted a drink, all I had to do was move my arm--but did I really want it that much?

Meanwhile my teammates took good care of me. A couple of the moms stepped in to substitute teach, so my students' education continued, too. Because the classrooms share the property with my house, the adults would come check on me during breaks. The whole team filled my fridge with food. They also kept after me to actually eat it! (Even eating took so much energy, I could eat very little at a time.)

Has my refrigerator ever held so much food?

Here's a shot of one special gift I received: chocolate cake with a lovely get-well letter. :)

The typhoid antibiotics made a difference, and I was feeling better even by the next day (Friday). I gradually recovered over the weekend, but couldn't quite summon the energy to teach Monday, so one of the fabulous parents came yet again. They let me ease back into normal life by teaching just a half day on Tuesday. Everyone has been great, showing patience as I recover--and urging me to be patient with myself!

Now I feel like I can say I'm an experienced missionary in Africa, ha ha!

Life is Precious

Warning:  This post does not have a happy ending.  It is the raw reality of something I witnessed.

On Tuesday, August 28th, a little baby boy was born.  On the side of the road, just outside my gate.

It was right after school, and my teammate Chris Gilmore had just come to pick up her son.  She recalls seeing a woman slide off the back of a motorcycle taxi onto the grass.  As she drove out the gate a few minutes later, she saw that the woman had just given birth!  She must have been on her way to the hospital, not far from my house, when the baby decided he couldn't wait even a minute more.  (Can you imagine riding side-saddle on the back of a motorbike while in labor?!)

Chris quickly stopped the car and got out to help, calling for me to come, too.  The baby was alive... but not crying.  She tried to clear his mouth and nose, and could feel him responding to her touch, but he still hadn't started breathing for himself.  Feeling completely out of our depth, we lifted the young mother and her baby into Chris' car to rush them to the hospital.

The odd thing was, we seemed to be the only ones who felt any urgency.  The woman who had come with the mother, as well as a couple others who had joined us in the street, acted somewhat surprised by our concern.  The mother herself, poor thing, was exhausted--and already past hope.  We learned that she had given birth to one other baby, who had also died.  She didn't resist our efforts; she was just completely passive.  So Chris told me to rub the baby's gums, to continue stimulating him, as we rode to the hospital.  I could feel his jaws move.

Unfortunately, once we got to the hospital, the scary situation turned into a nightmare.  Chris ran inside to get help... and was laughed at.  Eventually, she persuaded people to come out, although they certainly took their time in coming.  The mother was helped onto a simple metal gurney, and a nurse cut the umbilical cord and examined the baby.  With Chris standing there, pointing out the signs of life, the nurse started to wrap the baby in a cloth, ready to pronounce him dead.  When Chris protested, insisting that he could be saved with help, the nurse grudgingly made some attempts--including holding the baby upside down by his ankles and shaking him so hard, he was whipping back and forth!  I can't get that image out of my mind.

They wheeled the mother and baby inside, Chris following to see that they received treatment.  (I stayed in the car with Chris' son Braden, who was patient throughout the ordeal.  It's not the first time his parents have suddenly turned into ambulance drivers.)  We waited and prayed.  When Chris came out later, she was visibly upset.  She kept saying that the hospital ward was the most traumatic thing she'd ever seen, that she was so glad I hadn't come inside, too.

She said the lack of facilities and training is horrifying.  Everywhere there were women in labor, screaming, with very little being done for them.  There was a single oxygen tank being used for four little newborns, with an attendant moving the mask from one to another, in turn.  And Chris said the man in charge knew even less what to do than she did.  She kept after the staff until someone brought a stethoscope, and they heard "our" baby's heart beating.  "He is a fighter," she said.  "With the right help, he could make it."

However, as she composed herself to go back inside, her expression told me she wasn't confident the baby would get the help he needed.  Even the man in charge did not know CPR.  Chris said she listened as the baby's heartbeat grew fainter, and she felt his spirit leave him.

As we left the hospital, Chris mourned the prevailing attitude even more than the lack of training and facilities.  Everyone she saw thought she was crazy for caring about this baby.  Even the other mothers in the ward were laughing at her efforts.  The hospital staff, she was sure, wouldn't have taken action at all, if not for her pestering them to do this or that.

Also, we were disappointed, to be honest.  We know that God's plans are greater than our plans, but we had hoped He would step in, and that everyone there would see His power and care.  We had publicly prayed for the baby to live, wanting to see God reveal Himself and get the credit.  Instead He chose to have that baby experience only an hour of this life and then took him straight to heaven.  He knows best, and we have to trust that, even if we don't understand.

Meanwhile Chris and I were left with a strong impression of the fatalistic society in which we're living. "If it's meant to be, it will happen, and if it's not meant to be, there's nothing you can do."  This thinking drives Tanzanian behavior, just as ours is driven by cause-and-effect thinking, that we can influence outcomes by our actions.  I imagine that Tanzanians' fatalism helps them to cope with their very difficult lives.  But, as we witnessed, the laid-back mentality has a dark side.

Neighborhood Crime Watch, Tanzanian Style

I nearly lost my nice new phone last Friday.  Thankfully, it was recovered, and I got a nice look at "how it's supposed to work" in a community-oriented culture.

It started with a simple accident: I took a taxi to a teammate's house, and when I climbed out (carrying a fair number of things), my phone must have fallen out of my purse and landed in front of the gate.  I, of course, did not realize this.  (If I had, there would be no story!)  About an hour later, as we were sitting down to supper, my friends' neighbor boy showed up.  He's a teenager, and he often comes with my friends to play soccer with our group.  This boy, Michael, and his friend explained that they had seen a boy from their school pick up a phone off the ground in front of the gate--and when they urged him to make inquiries inside, the boy just ran off.

Sure enough, my phone was gone, and I immediately wondered if I'd see it again.  Michael, meanwhile, was volunteering to act as go-between, since he knew the guy.  We were so impressed and thankful!  The next hour involved Michael calling the boy who had my phone, getting assurances that he would come, reporting hints of a desired "reward", and all of us waiting... and then Michael would call again, and so on.  It was starting to get late, and my friends' night guard, Daniel, arrived and was informed of the situation.

Michael finally suggested we go find the guy, since he obviously wasn't showing up like he said he would.  This was a challenge, because it would be too far to walk, and my friend was alone with her three little kids, her husband being out of town!  She gamely got all three ready for a drive, and then we all--me, her, the 3 kids, Daniel, Michael, and Michael's friend--piled into the car for a trip to an unknown house in an unknown (and slightly shady) part of town.

We went to first one house and then a second, greeting this fellow's relatives and explaining the situation. He was not home (in either place), and it was starting to get dark, so we returned to my friend's house.  (I'd like to point out that she did an excellent job navigating various crowded alley-streets not really suitable for vehicles, and the kids thought it was all great fun and didn't want to go home!)  Daniel was not discouraged, saying that we had done a good thing in making our presence and situation known, that we would be well in place for further steps tomorrow.

Sitting in my friend's house, I was grateful for the calm I felt regarding the whole situation.  I knew I would be disappointed to lose my phone, but I wasn't exactly upset--and I figured that in itself was a gift!  "If it's gone, it's gone.  It's just a thing, and there are plenty of things that would be harder to lose."  I did wish that I could stop constantly thinking about it, but I suppose that's natural.  The kids were put to bed (late!), and my friend and I were in the living room, when--what was that?--Daniel called for me to come out, the guy with my phone had come!  (On foot, after dark...!)

I went out and greeted him and a couple of his relatives/friends.  Wanting to assume the best (and keep the discussion positive), I said, "I hear that you found my phone!  I'm so glad!"  And then my part was practically done!  Daniel took over, and although I couldn't follow everything that was said, it was a masterpiece of diplomacy.  He set about "saving face" for the guy, explaining "No one is talking about stealing, we weren't telling your relatives you stole anything.  This is what happened... and we were just looking for you, and you weren't there."  However, Daniel did let the guy see his options: "You found her phone, and now you can return it, and the whole thing is done.  But if her phone is not returned, well, then we will have to come with police to look for it."  And everyone agreed that there was no need to bring in the police!  So in the end, one of the guys pulled my phone out of his pocket and handed it to me.  More concluding remarks were made; then they shook my hand, wished me good night, and left--without even mentioning a reward!

Evidently our trip to the guy's neighborhood was exactly the right thing to do.  He couldn't very well claim "finders keepers" or sell my phone to someone else with his whole community knowing that the mzungu (foreigner) was looking for him.  I saw Daniel again recently, and he told me the guy probably couldn't figure out how to turn it on, it's such a different kind of phone--so he probably figured he might as well return it!  (Anti-theft tip: buy nontraditional phones!)  Meanwhile, after recovering my phone, Daniel and I went next door and gave Michael a reward for his honesty and helpfulness!

Day of Mishaps, Day of Blessings

During the orientation program in Dar es Salaam, our group had a free afternoon one Saturday when we could go to an island just off the Tanzanian mainland. We went to a hotel down the road that sends boats out to the island. The tide was out, so we waded part of the distance ourselves, until we reached the boat. Then we could ride for the rest of the trip, which was especially nice since one of our number had found a sea urchin with his bare foot.

a small island we passed on our way

The island is actually a marine reserve of some kind, very pretty. Although the wind was a little too strong for me to call the afternoon "relaxing", it was still a cool place. I enjoyed walking around taking pictures:

"The last boat" came at 4:00 to take people back to the mainland. However, there were far more tourists wanting to return than even the two hotel boats together could carry. So we all congregated in this little cove and waited our turns as the boats went back and forth over the next hour. See the waves in the picture below? The boats are supposed to make their last trip at four because of the incoming tide. Each time they arrived to pick up passengers, the two guys manning each boat had more and more trouble keeping the boat in place for people to climb on.

By the time our group was boarding a boat, the waves were monsters. The tide was so high that you couldn't always see the approaching mammoth until it broke right in front of you. This I unfortunately learned the hard way. The boat was filling, and only two of our group were left. The guys from the boat urged us to hurry, so I made my way through the water (which came up to my hips), holding my bag tight against my chest to keep it dry, waiting for the lady ahead of me to make it over the boat's side. Too late I saw the wave coming for me, and I couldn't retreat fast enough. It took me under, knocking me backwards into the sand under the waves.

A miunte later I was up, still clutching my bag and spitting out salty water. Amazingly, my glasses were still in place. The boat couldn't wait any longer, so I staggered back to the beach to wait with the last few passengers. My mind was focused on my bag and its contents--I had my phone, camera, and ipod with me--were they ruined? My friend from the group suggested I get them out of my wet bag immediately and put them in her backpack. After that was done, there was nothing to do but wait and try to sun-dry. I really was a sight. By the time we got back to the mainland, and I wasn't nearly as sopping wet, a friend told me I looked like a mermaid. Yeah, I suppose they must be pretty pitiful sand-encrusted creatures when they come out of the water!

a precursor to my own little friend

Back at our own hotel, I thought my adventures were over. I showered (a long, exhausting, and not completely successful process) and went down to dinner. When I returned to my room afterwards, it had been broken into and some of my belongings stolen, namely my lovely little computer. As we went through the long evening of identifying what had been stolen, consulting with the hotel staff and later the police, I realized that my little incident on the beach was actually providential--my phone, camera, and ipod were all safe in my friend's backpack, still in her room! I have no doubt they would have been stolen, too, if they had been in my room as usual.

(But do the gadgets still work? In fact, both the ipod and camera survived their dunking. The cell phone had not been as well protected in its outside pocket, and it never came back to life. That just leads to another blessing, though: A week later some friends I saw during my travels shocked me by simply giving me their extra phone! Is that kind of generosity even allowable? Wow!)