Just got a call from Heinrich.
Apparently, he's been running around today trying to get meds to Wilson Airport and on a plane. He said Steve called from LH today for an emergency shipment.
He said every household in Lopit has at least one sick child right now, and that babies and children are dying every day. The clinic is out of medicine, and the team has given all its away, too. Heinrich got some on this plane, which goes up tomorrow, from what I gather, so praise God for that.
Just really lift us up right now--especially the people on the ground and the LoPeeps!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Kmandie
Now, we still have good times. This should not go unsaid. And being in this time with only Kim has been amazing. I’m so blessed to have found a friend who I love so much, and it’s nice to be out—just the two of us—because our friendship can’t offend anyone.
It’s understandably hard for Pattie to live with us. She’s from a different generation, with a different sense of humor and, in some ways, different approach to life. (We’re more thinkers, while she’s a feeler.) We’re blessed in Lopitland, though, because God’s given us the grace to understand each other and communicate about it. And, oh yeah, we all love each other a lot. :)
So Kim and I have made a bit of a joke of ourselves here in Nairobi. There’s nothing to keep us in check, and it’s pretty clear we’re pathetically attached at the hip. So we’ve taken to making fun of it and exaggerating it. (Enter our sense of humor.) We’ve threatened to buy some cheesy friendship bracelets (circa… umm… fifth grade), and speak a lot in terms of “we,” “us” and “our.” We schedule meetings and appointments as “Kmandie… that’s two people.”
Hmm. This probably isn’t funny to anyone else. That’s often the case. Anyway…
The Nairobi Struggle
You might wonder what it is that we do in Nairobi.
Well, first off, I should say, Nairobi isn’t all relaxation. In fact, it’s quite the opposite for me. There are a lot of great things about being here, sure, but there are also crashing waves of culture shock and a lot of stress.
You see, when we step into Nairobi, there is a sudden onslaught of resources that we can only dream about in Lopitland. There is endless power. Water. Supermarkets. Cell phones. Internet. Food.
And, with all these things right at my fingertips, there is an intense drive inside me to make the most of it. There are emails to catch up on. People who want me to call. Supplies that need to be bought. Things that need to be researched online. Baths that need to be taken and somehow enjoyed.
You shop at stores that never have what you want, and you still have to struggle to understand and use African English. It takes three minutes to ask if someone has a garbage can so we can throw a scrap of paper away. (Happened three times just yesterday.) Nothing in Africa is easy—it takes a whole day to get done what you could do in an hour in the States, with more success. And you can drain your whole bank account easily.
Quite honestly, I’m just exhausted. Purely and truly and completely, exhausted. The last three months in Lopit have been the hardest so far, and I really just want to relax. But it’s hardly possible here.
Our guesthouse is full of people who want to know all about TIMO and Sudan, so you try not to sound tired or rehearsed when you tell them about it. (And I want to tell them about it!) You hear from others about the tanks lining up on the North-South border or that it’s only a matter of time until there’s war again. And you have to deal with the reality that our friends were and possibly will again be the victims of the horrible crimes against humanity that we read about in the books. The first few days we were here, Kim and I quite literally hid in our room. We’d go out during the day to get things done, but then come back and just huddle in our little hole and avoid the family-style dinners where you’re forced to make small chat with new people each night. For exhausted introverts, that’s not always so fun.
People from home want to hear from you, and you’re forced to do that at odd hours in the night for outrageous prices with delays that are just taxing on your already-stretched patience. And no one from home will ever, EVER understand what you’re going through—what life is like when your neighbors’ kids are dying or your house is a 24-hour community stage and your white skin makes you a constant actor. There is no green room, and there’s no makeup to cover up when you’re tempted into frustration or impatience or anger or discouragement, or when you’re just plain tired. People raise eyebrows when you—a missionary!—take advantage of a $7 pedicure, but can’t understand that you’ve spent the last three months walking mountain trails full of human feces and other assorted poop. Knowing that people, even your friends, are questioning your needing/taking a break can, in all honesty, make it impossible to enjoy your days away from the village, because you wonder if you should feel guilty, and you just want people to understand.
This is a huge, huge struggle for me, so please pray that we get some real rest. You’ve got to fight for it! I guess this post sounds a bit whiny, but… I’m all about telling you how it is, and this is how it is. I know very few of you will ever understand, but here’s to trying.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Merry Christmas!
I'm currently eating an apple.
You know what that means? That means I'm in Nairobi, the land of decent food.
We were given the choice to take our Christmas break now or actually at Christmas. KP and I chose now, since we want to be in the mountains for Christmas. Some of the others are out in different places; some are still hanging around LH.
Anyway, you won't get much from me for a bit. I'm spending most of my time eating.
Though, I did get a prayer letter out, so hopefully you'll get that soon.
You know what that means? That means I'm in Nairobi, the land of decent food.
We were given the choice to take our Christmas break now or actually at Christmas. KP and I chose now, since we want to be in the mountains for Christmas. Some of the others are out in different places; some are still hanging around LH.
Anyway, you won't get much from me for a bit. I'm spending most of my time eating.
Though, I did get a prayer letter out, so hopefully you'll get that soon.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Quick note…
We’re still getting stronger here. I think Justina has malaria now, though? It’s hard to keep track anymore.
Meanwhile, Kim has strange hives all over her body and has been itching for three days. She’s really miserable. She’s a bit sedated with antihistamines most of the time, so that’s always fun.
This spiritual attack isn’t just hitting the team. You could also pray, please, for the church people, as things just keep happening among them, too.
Pattie hasn’t been around that much, ‘cause she’s been keeping Cath company over in her village. (Jen is still gone.) Hence you’re getting a lot of Kimmie and Andi and very little Pattie.
But she’s here now, and she’s making some curry, so I’d best get on my way…
Meanwhile, Kim has strange hives all over her body and has been itching for three days. She’s really miserable. She’s a bit sedated with antihistamines most of the time, so that’s always fun.
This spiritual attack isn’t just hitting the team. You could also pray, please, for the church people, as things just keep happening among them, too.
Pattie hasn’t been around that much, ‘cause she’s been keeping Cath company over in her village. (Jen is still gone.) Hence you’re getting a lot of Kimmie and Andi and very little Pattie.
But she’s here now, and she’s making some curry, so I’d best get on my way…
Sodas
I think sometimes God creates Lopit “words” just to amuse us.
Like when Abuba swore up and down that “veranda” and “handkerchief” (said a little like ET would say them) were Lopit words.
But just recently we discovered what might be the best of all.
The Lopit word for sodas is…. drum roll please… ooooooouuuuuuurrp.
That is, the sound of a burp.
So, quite naturally, it was way more fun to walk around asking people if anyone had soda.
:)
Like when Abuba swore up and down that “veranda” and “handkerchief” (said a little like ET would say them) were Lopit words.
But just recently we discovered what might be the best of all.
The Lopit word for sodas is…. drum roll please… ooooooouuuuuuurrp.
That is, the sound of a burp.
So, quite naturally, it was way more fun to walk around asking people if anyone had soda.
:)
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Affections and Wouldings…
There are times in my life when I am seized, ruled and made miserable by a heavy cloak of what can most closely be called boredom, or some variation thereof. It’s this feeling of, What am I going to do? And nothing holds its regular appeal. I can’t muster up a way to even idly entertain myself. I feel useless and stuck, and maybe a bit hopelessly so. When these moments came before I was on the field, I would often turn my mind to finally getting out here, and not feeling this way anymore. But it turns out these overwhelming moments have followed me—they must be part of the human experience. Call it restlessness, or questioning my purpose. I imagine it’s the same feeling that causes men to stray from their wives, or successful business people to one day shrug their shoulders and walk away. It’s a strange thing to infect the Christian life, which is maybe why it surprises me so much, hits me so hard.
Anyway, it’s in these moments your will is tested. No longer can emotion carry you. You’ve got to dig deeper, and every move is consciously made. Jonathan Edwards said it’s the difference between wouldings and affections. Wouldings fail, but affections are the “spring of actions.” You have to have proper affections to live the Christian life day after day—you need proper fear, hope, love, hatred, desire, joy, sorrow, gratitude, compassion and zeal. Edwards wrote, “Everyone of us who has the power of godliness in our heart will be inclined to seek the things of God. And whatever our state, this power will give us strength enough to overcome our weak inclinations so that these holy exercises will prevail over our weaknesses.”
And it’s true. I see it in my life. The Holy Spirit spurs me when I cannot will to move; He constrains me when I long to go too far. Deep in my heart are these affections, and that is the power to overcome even these moments of restless boredom, when the tyranny of time and lack of sovereignty grip so tightly.
Anyway, there is joy in this for me, though that slow and steady type that seems more like resolve. And, too, a twinge of amazement, that even before I was a Christian—and in so many people who still aren’t—God gave me the grace not to be overcome.
(This probably doesn’t make any sense, does it?)
Anyway, it’s in these moments your will is tested. No longer can emotion carry you. You’ve got to dig deeper, and every move is consciously made. Jonathan Edwards said it’s the difference between wouldings and affections. Wouldings fail, but affections are the “spring of actions.” You have to have proper affections to live the Christian life day after day—you need proper fear, hope, love, hatred, desire, joy, sorrow, gratitude, compassion and zeal. Edwards wrote, “Everyone of us who has the power of godliness in our heart will be inclined to seek the things of God. And whatever our state, this power will give us strength enough to overcome our weak inclinations so that these holy exercises will prevail over our weaknesses.”
And it’s true. I see it in my life. The Holy Spirit spurs me when I cannot will to move; He constrains me when I long to go too far. Deep in my heart are these affections, and that is the power to overcome even these moments of restless boredom, when the tyranny of time and lack of sovereignty grip so tightly.
Anyway, there is joy in this for me, though that slow and steady type that seems more like resolve. And, too, a twinge of amazement, that even before I was a Christian—and in so many people who still aren’t—God gave me the grace not to be overcome.
(This probably doesn’t make any sense, does it?)
What news?
I’m unsure of what to update everyone on.
I’m getting strong again, so I’m getting out again. I might even go for a easy ride later today or tomorrow, on account of it being overcast today. Overcast! Would you believe it, during dry season?!
Oh, it RAINED last night. We just ran our tank dry and had to clean it. There were four—count ‘em, FOUR—fuzzy, floating mouse carcasses in there, along with a splattering of lizards and some unknown masses. This time, it really turned my stomach. Seriously, we bathe in that, cook with that… DRINK that. Meh.
Anyway, we were feeling the pinch of having no water. Life just gets instantly harder. Everything is more work. But then it rained. I laid in bed and tried to hear each individual rain drop for as long as I could, and thank God for each one. Kim was just laying there, too, happy. So now we have water—probably a third of a tank. I never been in such a situation, to be so dependent on and so joyful in God’s gift of rain.
Yesterday, I dragged myself up to Abuba’s just to sit there with her and crack peanuts. I enjoy just sitting here, trying to perfect my form. I even sort of enjoy it when they endlessly make fun of me for being too slow and inept. I don’t actually enjoy eating peanuts all that much, so it always makes me laugh when Abuba gives me two fistfuls and yells at me to “Sema!” (“Eat them!”)
That’s how the Lopit talk—they don’t ask, they demand. They’re yelling, aggressive folk. That took some getting used to. But I’ve realized that the three of us have taken up a lot of that same manner in our talking. That’s part of learning the language, I guess—you can’t just learn the words, you have to learn the form and the nuance. So it’s gotten less abrasive to my ears to marshal around my friends, just as they marshal us around. (“Mary, come and greet me! Drink this! Take this! We’re going to church. Go change your clothes and come. Give me that! Where are you going?! Why?! Fine. Go!”) You may think it’s impossible to do that and do act in love. But it’s not. It works, somehow.
I’m getting strong again, so I’m getting out again. I might even go for a easy ride later today or tomorrow, on account of it being overcast today. Overcast! Would you believe it, during dry season?!
Oh, it RAINED last night. We just ran our tank dry and had to clean it. There were four—count ‘em, FOUR—fuzzy, floating mouse carcasses in there, along with a splattering of lizards and some unknown masses. This time, it really turned my stomach. Seriously, we bathe in that, cook with that… DRINK that. Meh.
Anyway, we were feeling the pinch of having no water. Life just gets instantly harder. Everything is more work. But then it rained. I laid in bed and tried to hear each individual rain drop for as long as I could, and thank God for each one. Kim was just laying there, too, happy. So now we have water—probably a third of a tank. I never been in such a situation, to be so dependent on and so joyful in God’s gift of rain.
Yesterday, I dragged myself up to Abuba’s just to sit there with her and crack peanuts. I enjoy just sitting here, trying to perfect my form. I even sort of enjoy it when they endlessly make fun of me for being too slow and inept. I don’t actually enjoy eating peanuts all that much, so it always makes me laugh when Abuba gives me two fistfuls and yells at me to “Sema!” (“Eat them!”)
That’s how the Lopit talk—they don’t ask, they demand. They’re yelling, aggressive folk. That took some getting used to. But I’ve realized that the three of us have taken up a lot of that same manner in our talking. That’s part of learning the language, I guess—you can’t just learn the words, you have to learn the form and the nuance. So it’s gotten less abrasive to my ears to marshal around my friends, just as they marshal us around. (“Mary, come and greet me! Drink this! Take this! We’re going to church. Go change your clothes and come. Give me that! Where are you going?! Why?! Fine. Go!”) You may think it’s impossible to do that and do act in love. But it’s not. It works, somehow.
Team Update…
Everyone seems to be doing pretty well. That is, no one has flown out for medical reasons since… Monday. Darn near a whole week.
Salome and Philip are out of the hospital, I hear. Praise God.
We got official word that Daniel isn’t coming back. He found work that suits him better in Nairobi—work that uses his gifts and talents and is fulfilling to him. So, good for him.
It’s still sort of like getting your team’s leg cut off. But we’ll live.
We had a team-building day Saturday with Rod from TIMO HQ. You know, with a third of the team gone, haha. But it still went really well, so praise God for that.
Cath held Sunday School in the new building today. Wow, it just looked so good, all brightly colored and full of children singing songs and hearing about God. It made me happy to see. I think the kids were happy, too.
Pray for us as the weather dries up again and things get tight. Pray for all our ministries as we adjust to the seasons and movements of the Lopit people. Dry season is a whole different animal than the rainy days! Meanwhile, some folks came to drill a new well for Steve & Co. and the church compound, so that will provide them a lot of relief. G’pa P was glowing when the trucks first drove in.
I’m really growing to love P more and more each time I see him at the church compound. He’s just such a steady guy, and so in love with God and so committed to his flock here. I’m not sure I’d be so strong, were I in his position. He hasn’t seen his wife and children in 20 years. They’re in a neighboring country, and he’s been struggling to get them here for years. It’s always about money, or about instability, or about something or the other. Imagine, not having seen your own children for so long, and to have been through and experienced the war like he has. To have grandchildren you’ve never met. And to be the rock of the church here. I admire this guy. The first time I ventured out after being sick I went to sit with him. He gave me a big smile and welcome, bought me a soda and we sat and chatted for a while. I couldn’t have asked for a better afternoon.
Anyway, that’s just a random update, here and there.
Salome and Philip are out of the hospital, I hear. Praise God.
We got official word that Daniel isn’t coming back. He found work that suits him better in Nairobi—work that uses his gifts and talents and is fulfilling to him. So, good for him.
It’s still sort of like getting your team’s leg cut off. But we’ll live.
We had a team-building day Saturday with Rod from TIMO HQ. You know, with a third of the team gone, haha. But it still went really well, so praise God for that.
Cath held Sunday School in the new building today. Wow, it just looked so good, all brightly colored and full of children singing songs and hearing about God. It made me happy to see. I think the kids were happy, too.
Pray for us as the weather dries up again and things get tight. Pray for all our ministries as we adjust to the seasons and movements of the Lopit people. Dry season is a whole different animal than the rainy days! Meanwhile, some folks came to drill a new well for Steve & Co. and the church compound, so that will provide them a lot of relief. G’pa P was glowing when the trucks first drove in.
I’m really growing to love P more and more each time I see him at the church compound. He’s just such a steady guy, and so in love with God and so committed to his flock here. I’m not sure I’d be so strong, were I in his position. He hasn’t seen his wife and children in 20 years. They’re in a neighboring country, and he’s been struggling to get them here for years. It’s always about money, or about instability, or about something or the other. Imagine, not having seen your own children for so long, and to have been through and experienced the war like he has. To have grandchildren you’ve never met. And to be the rock of the church here. I admire this guy. The first time I ventured out after being sick I went to sit with him. He gave me a big smile and welcome, bought me a soda and we sat and chatted for a while. I couldn’t have asked for a better afternoon.
Anyway, that’s just a random update, here and there.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Discouragement.
I think it’s easiest to be tempted into discouragement when discouragement seems so warranted.
And, being given new reasons for discouragement every day, I’ve found it ever more important to keep Jesus before me.
Today, they had to get Faith, Joshua and Justina’s second child, back from a fever of 42C. That’s 108F. And absolutely nuts.
I’m telling you, it just keeps coming.
Maybe real/super-spiritual missionaries aren’t supposed to say things like this, but, being of made of the same fabric as any other “regular” Christian out there, I’m willing to say, after two weeks of being sick and recent fits with fever of my own, I am looking forward to our next break. It’s funny, because not long ago, I was dreading it—this short break half of us are taking in November, instead of at Christmastime, with the rest. But now, I wouldn’t mind at all the luxury of ice. Yay, even ice water. Or a bath tub.
Faith is sick.
Salome and Philip are in the hospital.
Jen is still getting things sorted out.
I think we’ve as good as lost Daniel.
And our neighbors are all sick. Adwina’s two other kids have malaria, too.
Anyway, that’s not a cheery update from here, but probably better than the one I sent Mark the other day. Just keep praying, if you will.
And, being given new reasons for discouragement every day, I’ve found it ever more important to keep Jesus before me.
Today, they had to get Faith, Joshua and Justina’s second child, back from a fever of 42C. That’s 108F. And absolutely nuts.
I’m telling you, it just keeps coming.
Maybe real/super-spiritual missionaries aren’t supposed to say things like this, but, being of made of the same fabric as any other “regular” Christian out there, I’m willing to say, after two weeks of being sick and recent fits with fever of my own, I am looking forward to our next break. It’s funny, because not long ago, I was dreading it—this short break half of us are taking in November, instead of at Christmastime, with the rest. But now, I wouldn’t mind at all the luxury of ice. Yay, even ice water. Or a bath tub.
Faith is sick.
Salome and Philip are in the hospital.
Jen is still getting things sorted out.
I think we’ve as good as lost Daniel.
And our neighbors are all sick. Adwina’s two other kids have malaria, too.
Anyway, that’s not a cheery update from here, but probably better than the one I sent Mark the other day. Just keep praying, if you will.
Update…
Add Heinrich to the sick list.
They’re flying out today because Philip and Salome are really sick.
Cath is recovering, but weak. I still feel like blah.
Our friend Adwina’s youngest died from malaria two days ago. Took the little one in less than a day.
We went and sat under the moonlight among the crowd of wailing women and in the dry season wind. Kibaki—Adwina’s next child—sat in my lap.
I guess just keep praying.
They’re flying out today because Philip and Salome are really sick.
Cath is recovering, but weak. I still feel like blah.
Our friend Adwina’s youngest died from malaria two days ago. Took the little one in less than a day.
We went and sat under the moonlight among the crowd of wailing women and in the dry season wind. Kibaki—Adwina’s next child—sat in my lap.
I guess just keep praying.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Out of the Fire…
You know those times when you’re so sick people talk over you in hushed tones, as if you’re not there?
I’ve had a lot of that lately.
Not ideal.
I can only remember bits and pieces, but I seem to remember being quickly declared a “poor thing” and the phrases “she is really miserable” and “bless her heart” being often on Pattie’s lips. (The latter phrase makes me curious, as she’s often explained that in Texan, it’s a sort of well-intentioned caveat phrase. For example, “Aw, he’s so stupid… bless his heart.” Or, “She’s just terribly incompetent… bless her heart.” Hmm.)
Well, (bless my heart) I’m finally feeling a bit better. Which is good, because one more night of body-wrenching headache and my body rejecting everything—even water—and I don’t know how I would have survived. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so miserable or so helpless. I don’t even know what it was, except to know that it wasn’t malaria, otherwise there might have been some small thing we could do. Meh.
Thank God for Pattie, our resident caretaker. She really comes alive when one of us is sick, which is especially good because KP and I are inept in that particular area. Left to ourselves, we’d probably just sit and stare at the sick person with a confused look on our face.
Anyway, like I said, I think I’m on the upswing. Though I’m a lot skinnier and weaker than I’m used to, at least I have my wits about me now, for which I’m thankful!
Keep praying, if you will, because a lot of us are getting sick. Kim just got over malaria. Iris had that bad case not long ago. Jen is in Nairobi now, seeing a specialist. Martin and Cath have malaria now. Little Salome and Philip are really being tossed about, and I’m sure all these long nights of nursing people are going to crash down on Pattie soon enough.
I’ve had a lot of that lately.
Not ideal.
I can only remember bits and pieces, but I seem to remember being quickly declared a “poor thing” and the phrases “she is really miserable” and “bless her heart” being often on Pattie’s lips. (The latter phrase makes me curious, as she’s often explained that in Texan, it’s a sort of well-intentioned caveat phrase. For example, “Aw, he’s so stupid… bless his heart.” Or, “She’s just terribly incompetent… bless her heart.” Hmm.)
Well, (bless my heart) I’m finally feeling a bit better. Which is good, because one more night of body-wrenching headache and my body rejecting everything—even water—and I don’t know how I would have survived. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so miserable or so helpless. I don’t even know what it was, except to know that it wasn’t malaria, otherwise there might have been some small thing we could do. Meh.
Thank God for Pattie, our resident caretaker. She really comes alive when one of us is sick, which is especially good because KP and I are inept in that particular area. Left to ourselves, we’d probably just sit and stare at the sick person with a confused look on our face.
Anyway, like I said, I think I’m on the upswing. Though I’m a lot skinnier and weaker than I’m used to, at least I have my wits about me now, for which I’m thankful!
Keep praying, if you will, because a lot of us are getting sick. Kim just got over malaria. Iris had that bad case not long ago. Jen is in Nairobi now, seeing a specialist. Martin and Cath have malaria now. Little Salome and Philip are really being tossed about, and I’m sure all these long nights of nursing people are going to crash down on Pattie soon enough.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Welcome Return, etc.
We’ve been quite lonely around here lately, as Laudina went off to town and Abuba went in hiding.
So we were pretty thankful when Abuba came back yesterday, unscathed save for having lost a lot of weight because of being sick.
Praise God she’s back.
I haven’t got the full scoop yet, but I know there was a “hearing” yesterday at the main mongot about the cows. Let’s hope they’ve got it all settled.
Also, J came to church. And his brother, too. And his brother stood up not once, but twice, and was professing God. So we’ll see what comes of all that. One more kid has fallen sick, as well.
Also, pray for G’pa P, the main pastor, because he’s got a bad burn on his leg and it might have gone septic. He’s also diabetic.
Clearly, I’m too tired to write in detail. Just keep those things in your prayers, please!
So we were pretty thankful when Abuba came back yesterday, unscathed save for having lost a lot of weight because of being sick.
Praise God she’s back.
I haven’t got the full scoop yet, but I know there was a “hearing” yesterday at the main mongot about the cows. Let’s hope they’ve got it all settled.
Also, J came to church. And his brother, too. And his brother stood up not once, but twice, and was professing God. So we’ll see what comes of all that. One more kid has fallen sick, as well.
Also, pray for G’pa P, the main pastor, because he’s got a bad burn on his leg and it might have gone septic. He’s also diabetic.
Clearly, I’m too tired to write in detail. Just keep those things in your prayers, please!
Next…
Apparently, one of the symptoms of malaria is being a big sissy.
This, in my very medically informed opinion.
Based mostly on my current experience.
That is, the fact that I couldn’t pull myself any further than our closest neighbor’s compound last night. Oh, and, also, the other day when KP woke up for a bit, sat there staring absentmindedly, licked two envelopes closed, then declared she’d exhausted herself and needed a nap.
Anyway, it’s pretty obvious I have malaria, but I’m trying to give it the cold shoulder and hoping it just passes quietly away. Meh.
Meanwhile, Kim has developed a more-than-healthy fear of mosquitoes (read: slightly irrational fear) and is seeing malaria behind every bush. She pleaded with Pattie yesterday to start me on malaria medicine because I’d nonchalantly said I was a bit achy.
To hammer home the point here, she’s also started an intense hand-washing campaign and just handed me a whole chunk of bread… because a fly had landed on it, and she refuses to eat it. It’s my pleasure, at this juncture, to point out that mosquitoes spread malaria, not germs. But, as I wrote my mom the other day, at these moments it’s futile to resist completely (such was the case when she, coming out of malaria and getting hungry, cut up what must have been 3lbs of potatoes to make French fries for the two of us) but instead to softly suggest moderation.
Even that didn’t work yesterday, as she was scuttling around my room, surrounding my ‘death bed’ with everything I could ever want. That is, until she suddenly realized that any mosquito that bit me would be carrying malaria, and her simple presence in the room—good-willed or otherwise—put her in danger of getting it again. I wish you could have seen her face when she did get bit. Oh wow.
So, yeah, tonight promises to be rather hellish, so please be praying as I have to go through the throes of this.
This, in my very medically informed opinion.
Based mostly on my current experience.
That is, the fact that I couldn’t pull myself any further than our closest neighbor’s compound last night. Oh, and, also, the other day when KP woke up for a bit, sat there staring absentmindedly, licked two envelopes closed, then declared she’d exhausted herself and needed a nap.
Anyway, it’s pretty obvious I have malaria, but I’m trying to give it the cold shoulder and hoping it just passes quietly away. Meh.
Meanwhile, Kim has developed a more-than-healthy fear of mosquitoes (read: slightly irrational fear) and is seeing malaria behind every bush. She pleaded with Pattie yesterday to start me on malaria medicine because I’d nonchalantly said I was a bit achy.
To hammer home the point here, she’s also started an intense hand-washing campaign and just handed me a whole chunk of bread… because a fly had landed on it, and she refuses to eat it. It’s my pleasure, at this juncture, to point out that mosquitoes spread malaria, not germs. But, as I wrote my mom the other day, at these moments it’s futile to resist completely (such was the case when she, coming out of malaria and getting hungry, cut up what must have been 3lbs of potatoes to make French fries for the two of us) but instead to softly suggest moderation.
Even that didn’t work yesterday, as she was scuttling around my room, surrounding my ‘death bed’ with everything I could ever want. That is, until she suddenly realized that any mosquito that bit me would be carrying malaria, and her simple presence in the room—good-willed or otherwise—put her in danger of getting it again. I wish you could have seen her face when she did get bit. Oh wow.
So, yeah, tonight promises to be rather hellish, so please be praying as I have to go through the throes of this.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Malaria misery…
KP has been miserable with malaria for the past two days, which makes us all a bit miserable, since there’s not much we can do for her.
It’s always nice to be the one who doesn’t have malaria, for obvious reasons. But there’s an added bonus around here, because you’re sane enough to see how the people react to it.
This morning all our friends streamed by and were asking again and again how she was. I’d tell them she hardly slept all night and the medicine was refusing to work but now she was resting and yadda, yadda, yadda, and it was kind of neat to see them grimace up their faces and shake their heads with concern. They all asked if they could come “look” at her—such is the culture, you come to look at the sick person and sit with them—but I’d try to put them off ‘til later, saying she just needed to sleep. It’s nice, because as we’ve started to understand their culture, they’ve learned a lot about how we function and don’t push things like this anymore. They know when we’re sick, we normally just like to sleep and be left alone. On some things, we meet in the middle. That’s part of love, I guess.
Anyway, I think poor Kimmie is feeling better this morning—finally, after more than 24 hours of kicking and being restless, her body has finally relaxed. But keep her in your prayers, and Baby Philip, too, who also is suffering. We probably picked up the malaria from the mosquitoes in Loki, which means I’m likely the next victim—I not only slept under the same mosquito net as Kim there, for four nights, but was locked in the same room with her for five days. Ugh.
I really, really don’t want malaria—again, for obvious reasons. But I’ve already had about nine weeks of sleepless nights, battling on other fronts, and was surprised to find I’ve lost—errr, misplaced?—about 3 kilos in that time. Not necessarily an unwelcome change, but not one that will carry me into dry season or through malaria well, haha. So, if God would be so kind to spare me…. that would be just super.
It’s always nice to be the one who doesn’t have malaria, for obvious reasons. But there’s an added bonus around here, because you’re sane enough to see how the people react to it.
This morning all our friends streamed by and were asking again and again how she was. I’d tell them she hardly slept all night and the medicine was refusing to work but now she was resting and yadda, yadda, yadda, and it was kind of neat to see them grimace up their faces and shake their heads with concern. They all asked if they could come “look” at her—such is the culture, you come to look at the sick person and sit with them—but I’d try to put them off ‘til later, saying she just needed to sleep. It’s nice, because as we’ve started to understand their culture, they’ve learned a lot about how we function and don’t push things like this anymore. They know when we’re sick, we normally just like to sleep and be left alone. On some things, we meet in the middle. That’s part of love, I guess.
Anyway, I think poor Kimmie is feeling better this morning—finally, after more than 24 hours of kicking and being restless, her body has finally relaxed. But keep her in your prayers, and Baby Philip, too, who also is suffering. We probably picked up the malaria from the mosquitoes in Loki, which means I’m likely the next victim—I not only slept under the same mosquito net as Kim there, for four nights, but was locked in the same room with her for five days. Ugh.
I really, really don’t want malaria—again, for obvious reasons. But I’ve already had about nine weeks of sleepless nights, battling on other fronts, and was surprised to find I’ve lost—errr, misplaced?—about 3 kilos in that time. Not necessarily an unwelcome change, but not one that will carry me into dry season or through malaria well, haha. So, if God would be so kind to spare me…. that would be just super.
Rat races…
The rats have launched a full siege again, which always gets me riled up. I admire their stealth night attacks, but the most recent involved eating a candy bar and my underwear, which is a blow that’s far too personal to be overlooked.
This definitely means war.
This definitely means war.
Shot heard ‘round the village…
I gave our neighbors a start this morning, and I blame my dad’s secretaries for it. (Yes, I mean yous.)
First, you should know that everyone is a bit on edge because Abuba and her kids recently “escaped” to her mom’s house, on account of her husband’s brother wanting to kill them all. I know, interesting, right? Something about her husband “consuming” all their father’s cows, a very bad deal ‘round these parts. I guess some big deal went down while we were at team day—the “best” things always happen in our absence—which spurred them to flee and, as Mary told me this morning, caused the whole village to fear and the children to cry. So that’s on their minds. (And, obviously, mine, since Abuba & Co. are pretty dear to us.)
Second, you should know that the ladies at work gave my dad a wee can of bug spray for his trip out here, which he graciously left to my use when he went home. I’ve since used it up, and somehow the can slipped into the trash this morning as I went out to burn it.
So, there I am, happily and innocently burning the trash in our front yard, when the wee can EXPLODES and goes shooting up into the sky, then clatters back down to the rocks.
Everyone—and I mean everyone—stops what they’re doing. I hear the village come to the consensus that it came from the house of the whities. I’m left to stand there, holding my fire stick and wide-eyed in my guilt, trying to look as apologetic as possible. Next thing I know, Mary’s hollerin’ at me, wondering what in the world I was doing and if I had somehow acquired a gun—which, apparently, was what all the men looking down at me from the mangot were also wondering. I told her it was only a can, and she laughingly scolded me and told me everyone thought Abuba & Co. had come back and the brother had shot them.
I gave an apologetic wave up to the village—it’s weird, knowing everyone is always looking at you, but it’s worse, knowing this time they’re looking at you with good reason—and slinked into the house as soon as possible.
I had to bear the story about four hundred more times, as Mary took tea in my kitchen and told every passing person. Ibeja is so silly. Ibeja is always causing mischief. Oh, that ridiculous, white Ibeja. And I’m sure it’s being convey through the mountainside—the those-stupid-whitefolk stories are golden ‘round here and never seem to die away completely.
Why is it that this place always rings with gunshots—they’re so common, even we don’t jump at them anymore—but the morning I blow up a can, apparently everyone is at rapt attention?
Haha. Ugh.
(And, ladies, I hope you feel the weight of your guilt… or at least some of my embarrassment…)
First, you should know that everyone is a bit on edge because Abuba and her kids recently “escaped” to her mom’s house, on account of her husband’s brother wanting to kill them all. I know, interesting, right? Something about her husband “consuming” all their father’s cows, a very bad deal ‘round these parts. I guess some big deal went down while we were at team day—the “best” things always happen in our absence—which spurred them to flee and, as Mary told me this morning, caused the whole village to fear and the children to cry. So that’s on their minds. (And, obviously, mine, since Abuba & Co. are pretty dear to us.)
Second, you should know that the ladies at work gave my dad a wee can of bug spray for his trip out here, which he graciously left to my use when he went home. I’ve since used it up, and somehow the can slipped into the trash this morning as I went out to burn it.
So, there I am, happily and innocently burning the trash in our front yard, when the wee can EXPLODES and goes shooting up into the sky, then clatters back down to the rocks.
Everyone—and I mean everyone—stops what they’re doing. I hear the village come to the consensus that it came from the house of the whities. I’m left to stand there, holding my fire stick and wide-eyed in my guilt, trying to look as apologetic as possible. Next thing I know, Mary’s hollerin’ at me, wondering what in the world I was doing and if I had somehow acquired a gun—which, apparently, was what all the men looking down at me from the mangot were also wondering. I told her it was only a can, and she laughingly scolded me and told me everyone thought Abuba & Co. had come back and the brother had shot them.
I gave an apologetic wave up to the village—it’s weird, knowing everyone is always looking at you, but it’s worse, knowing this time they’re looking at you with good reason—and slinked into the house as soon as possible.
I had to bear the story about four hundred more times, as Mary took tea in my kitchen and told every passing person. Ibeja is so silly. Ibeja is always causing mischief. Oh, that ridiculous, white Ibeja. And I’m sure it’s being convey through the mountainside—the those-stupid-whitefolk stories are golden ‘round here and never seem to die away completely.
Why is it that this place always rings with gunshots—they’re so common, even we don’t jump at them anymore—but the morning I blow up a can, apparently everyone is at rapt attention?
Haha. Ugh.
(And, ladies, I hope you feel the weight of your guilt… or at least some of my embarrassment…)
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Making Culture
I’m having trouble remembering what I have and have not written up here. Forgive me for my redundancy or negligence, whichever side of the evil I fall upon.
The other morning, all of our friends were nowhere to be found. They’d all somehow disappeared without us noticing, even as Kim was waiting for some of them to pick her up to go to the fields. Quiet doesn’t go long unnoticed here, so eventually our ears were perked to the nothingness and we started wondering what in the world was going on.
Our friend, Soil, came by and we asked him where everyone was.
“They’re making culture,” he said.
Making culture. Excellent.
They’d all gone up the mountain for a goat sacrifice, an attempt to ward off all the sickness that is taking the village—and maybe the curse that seems to be taking J’s family. (His brother’s boy, the baby, did die Tuesday morning. No word on the other one—did I mention another was sick? I don’t even know.)
We ran up there too late to catch what exactly happened, but Martin later gave us the details of it, and we could see for ourselves the goat intestines and feces splattered on their clothes and heads. I won’t try to give the whole thing in detail, but they sure did “make a lot of culture” from the sound of things.
Sigh.
Sometimes, I’m forced to remember where I’m at. The other day, the whole mountainside went NUTS with people wailing and banging their gates. I guess it was the new moon or something, and it’s some animistic tradition. Imagine, thousands of people, along a huge mountainside, all uniting at once in this huge, subhuman howl. Funny that Halloween is so close. Ha.
And the boys outside our house were frantically yelling at me to bang on my door, too, lest I get sick soon. We asked every passing person just what it was about, but never got a straight answer. Many say this and that about “Hollum” (the Christian God), while others will slip up and let out a “Joik” (the bad god who eats children). Most have learned by now to simply cloak all of this kind of stuff with the blanket statement, “It’s just our culture.”
It’s just so discouraging, knowing some of these people have heard the Gospel, time and time again, and yet they don’t hear.
I’ve said before that the wider tribe that our village comes from is called the [Ok, I guess I can’t really write the name of the] tribe, which in the language means “deaf.” They certainly are deaf right now to God’s message, and to the warnings in His Word against stuff like this.
We’re powerless to open their ears, but—Lord willing—we’ll keep speaking the message.
Pray for perseverance!
The other morning, all of our friends were nowhere to be found. They’d all somehow disappeared without us noticing, even as Kim was waiting for some of them to pick her up to go to the fields. Quiet doesn’t go long unnoticed here, so eventually our ears were perked to the nothingness and we started wondering what in the world was going on.
Our friend, Soil, came by and we asked him where everyone was.
“They’re making culture,” he said.
Making culture. Excellent.
They’d all gone up the mountain for a goat sacrifice, an attempt to ward off all the sickness that is taking the village—and maybe the curse that seems to be taking J’s family. (His brother’s boy, the baby, did die Tuesday morning. No word on the other one—did I mention another was sick? I don’t even know.)
We ran up there too late to catch what exactly happened, but Martin later gave us the details of it, and we could see for ourselves the goat intestines and feces splattered on their clothes and heads. I won’t try to give the whole thing in detail, but they sure did “make a lot of culture” from the sound of things.
Sigh.
Sometimes, I’m forced to remember where I’m at. The other day, the whole mountainside went NUTS with people wailing and banging their gates. I guess it was the new moon or something, and it’s some animistic tradition. Imagine, thousands of people, along a huge mountainside, all uniting at once in this huge, subhuman howl. Funny that Halloween is so close. Ha.
And the boys outside our house were frantically yelling at me to bang on my door, too, lest I get sick soon. We asked every passing person just what it was about, but never got a straight answer. Many say this and that about “Hollum” (the Christian God), while others will slip up and let out a “Joik” (the bad god who eats children). Most have learned by now to simply cloak all of this kind of stuff with the blanket statement, “It’s just our culture.”
It’s just so discouraging, knowing some of these people have heard the Gospel, time and time again, and yet they don’t hear.
I’ve said before that the wider tribe that our village comes from is called the [Ok, I guess I can’t really write the name of the] tribe, which in the language means “deaf.” They certainly are deaf right now to God’s message, and to the warnings in His Word against stuff like this.
We’re powerless to open their ears, but—Lord willing—we’ll keep speaking the message.
Pray for perseverance!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
More Tragedy…
As a Christian, I love it when I can connect the dots of God’s plan—when I can see for myself that this one thing happened so that this other thing could come from it. That’s sort of how I felt the other day when I wrote about James’ son dying and James and Grace coming to the Lord through it. What a wonderful thing, to know life can come from death!
But God just threw us a curve ball, and I’m left wondering.
James’ baby boy died tonight. He was maybe two months old.
I can’t even imagine the family and village’s grief—they buried the other boy not even five days ago, and now this new tragedy is heaped on them. And on Heinrich and Doris, as they feel with their Lopit friends. They had nearly the whole village out trying to find Michael—the clinic’s head nurse—this afternoon, so they could get the right supplies and know-how to try to save the baby, who was fading fast.
Just please pray for James and for his family. Pray his commitment would be proved true through these trials—that the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead would keep James through this timing of mourning and testing.
But God just threw us a curve ball, and I’m left wondering.
James’ baby boy died tonight. He was maybe two months old.
I can’t even imagine the family and village’s grief—they buried the other boy not even five days ago, and now this new tragedy is heaped on them. And on Heinrich and Doris, as they feel with their Lopit friends. They had nearly the whole village out trying to find Michael—the clinic’s head nurse—this afternoon, so they could get the right supplies and know-how to try to save the baby, who was fading fast.
Just please pray for James and for his family. Pray his commitment would be proved true through these trials—that the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead would keep James through this timing of mourning and testing.
Could be loaded…
Have I ever told you that Mark thinks American children are all trained, from the age of five, in all the arts of war and battle? Yeah, it’s true. Little soldiers, the whole lot of them. I’m not sure where he gets it. But he insists emphatically that it’s so.
Anyway, if he could have seen Kimmie and I on the path the other day, he might have known we’re taught more to fear guns than how to shoot them.
We came up behind our dear, kooky neighbor Ibiong on the path, and she swung around to give us an excited hello. Well, she had a AK-47 slung across her chest, so our natural response was to duck. Not from fear, just from instinct. You never point a loaded gun at someone, right? Not even a play gun. Any child knows that.
Imagine every mother’s terror at skinny little Ibiong swingin’ this thing around like it’s no big deal. She’d repeatedly turn around to say something to us as we walked, and we’d swoop down out of the line of fire. (More then, I’ll admit, for humor than anything else.) She really got a kick out of it. She insisted she didn’t know how to shoot it, so we shouldn’t be afraid. She fiddled with the trigger a bit, in an attempt to demonstrate her ignorance. I do believe at that point we nearly flung ourselves into the bushes. A few times when she’d turn around, she’d plug the end of the barrel with her index finger. You know, ‘cause then it’s not at all dangerous.
We taught her how to say “I gotta gun” in English. She took to saying “gun, gun-gun-gun-gun,” as if it were the shooting sound. This woman is hilarious; I wish I could even explain it.
Anyway, our adventure ended when she stepped off the path to greet someone and we dashed by. She laughed after us, “Erruat itia!” (“You’re escaping!”)
Anyway, if he could have seen Kimmie and I on the path the other day, he might have known we’re taught more to fear guns than how to shoot them.
We came up behind our dear, kooky neighbor Ibiong on the path, and she swung around to give us an excited hello. Well, she had a AK-47 slung across her chest, so our natural response was to duck. Not from fear, just from instinct. You never point a loaded gun at someone, right? Not even a play gun. Any child knows that.
Imagine every mother’s terror at skinny little Ibiong swingin’ this thing around like it’s no big deal. She’d repeatedly turn around to say something to us as we walked, and we’d swoop down out of the line of fire. (More then, I’ll admit, for humor than anything else.) She really got a kick out of it. She insisted she didn’t know how to shoot it, so we shouldn’t be afraid. She fiddled with the trigger a bit, in an attempt to demonstrate her ignorance. I do believe at that point we nearly flung ourselves into the bushes. A few times when she’d turn around, she’d plug the end of the barrel with her index finger. You know, ‘cause then it’s not at all dangerous.
We taught her how to say “I gotta gun” in English. She took to saying “gun, gun-gun-gun-gun,” as if it were the shooting sound. This woman is hilarious; I wish I could even explain it.
Anyway, our adventure ended when she stepped off the path to greet someone and we dashed by. She laughed after us, “Erruat itia!” (“You’re escaping!”)
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