Screeching Halt.

Over the last few months, I’ve really felt the urgency to write. But I just didn’t trust myself.

The words I had to share were anything but up lifting. The troubles racing through my heart and mind sounded too much like the piercing screech of metal against concrete, right before impact.

The question was not “if” but “when” it would collide.

     What would it look like when the flames hissed out?

I talk about it each time I enter a new field. I talk about the stresses and strains, the chaos and calamity, and the eventual ear piercing screech of culture shock. But each time, it hits a little different. Some times the bumper is scratched, and on others the back window is shattered.

     Cosmetic stuff, really. Nothing more.

But the way those silly brakes lock and skid me about always gives me a shock.

    Yes. A shock.

There is no better way to describe it.

So there you have it. It’s no excuse. Just an honest observation.

This time the hardest impact hit around 6 months in... (September 2013) and has lasted until today. Even now, I’m still reeling from the force of it, like tremors. And as I move about, my body aches and my soul whimpers.

“What has been so hard?”

Nothing and everything at once. That is why it’s so sneaky.

One minute I’m driving along just fine, and the next... BAM! The airbag is inflated and the front left tire is in a ditch.

Sigh. And all I can think is... “Oh, No! Culture shock has struck again!”

I’m happy to report, however, that I’ve missed writing. I’ve missed reaching out into the great chasm of words and spaces, of dots and dashes, of blogs and bloggers and grabbing hold of an eye... and hopefully a heart.

    Have you missed me?

So, I’m back. Or at least I intend to be. Only time will tell if I am truly able to see straight enough to type.

But like before, I promise... not to hold any of it back --mangled chassis and souls alike.


Photos thanks to 123RF Royalty Free stock photos @ http://www.123rf.com/photo_12398003_cartoon-car.html

Gnarly-faced Second Cousin.

So as strange as this might seem to read... I’m baaa-aack!

Yes. It’s been ages since I’ve had something to say.

Yes. I’ve been terribly negligent of all things written and read.

Yes. Many of you have probably moved on to better and more interesting places.
    --And if so, that’s great.

But for those die-hards out there just waiting for me to find my voice again.

Achemmm. Mi-mi-mi-mi... Counting. One. Two.... Counting. Three.

It’s found!

Before I start rambling about the amazing things I’ve seen, tasted, heard, and done in the last few weeks --achem.. I mean months-- let me explain my silence.

One: Purpose.

This blog was created for my prayer warriors and supporters to know where I am, what I’m doing, and how to be in prayer. Thus explaining the many stories of my adventures and need for prayer over the years.

But for reasons I’ll get into shortly, this summer has been different. Although there have been many adventures, I didn't know how to share them. Plus, I was unable to write about them while huddled in a fetal position moaning --thus leading me to my second reason.

Two: PTSD

I’m a missionary, but I’m far from perfect. I struggle like you. I fail like you. I hurt like you. And the chaos of leaving Sudan, coming back to the States, and having to change missions organizations was in many ways too much for me to bear.

“Why is it so hard this time?” I kept asking myself. But no answers came. Just silence.

It was only by the second month of my return that it occur to me that the reason I struggled to unfurl from the fetal position was because of PTSD (otherwise known as: Post-traumatic stress disorder). But even after knowing the cause, how could I fix it?

Was I broken forever? Would I have to leave the field? Why couldn’t I make a decision? Why couldn’t I feel anything anymore? Why did I hate talking about Sudan?

I didn’t have any answers. Nor did I find many who could help.

Plus there was the shame factor.

How could I suggest that I was dealing with the same kind of stress of our honored soldiers did? I never walked through war? I didn’t suffer bombings; I didn’t struggle against insurgents. In fact, most of my time in S. Sudan was uneventful and even... peaceful. Nothing horrible happened, so why would I struggle so much? How could it be PTSD?

It was a mystery to me.

Nevertheless, what I experienced this summer was far from culture shock. It was culture shock on speed. It left culture shock in the dust. This gnarly-faced, steroid-infused, toothless, inbred, back-woods, second cousin of culture shock took me for a ride and left me reeling.

But by His grace...  the ride finally ended.

I can think again; I can feel again; I can write again. So here I am, writing to say Thank You.

Thank you for praying for me. Thank you for caring for me. Thank you for allowing me the time to send this ‘back-woods second cousin’ packing.

And with him gone... I’ve found my voice again.

So expect more stories soon. Very soon.

Home?

For those of you who think I've fallen off the edge of the earth... be reassured. I'm alive and well. I'm currently soaking up two years worth of hugs in my old stomping grounds of Mesquite, Nevada.

It's good to be back in the States, but I honestly can't call it "Home". I laugh to myself when someone asks how it feels to finally be "home".

Home?

I'm baffled by the question, really. I tend to hesitate a bit before answering, almost as if I don't trust myself to speak. 

"Home? Here? Oh, you mean how does it feel to be back in the States?" I clarify.

They nod excitedly, often expecting me to tell them all the wonderful things I missed.
But I can't lie. I've missed nothing. Nothing that the States has to offer... except my family and friends.

Usually, I answer their question with a smile and say, "I'm so happy to see you again. I missed you. Being with you feels like home!"

It's the truth. I no longer feel at home in America. My friends and family are what draw me here. America can keep its cushy couches, air conditioned cars, and fancy fandangled coffee makers. I can happily do without.

Yes. I'm American by birth, but my citizenship is in heaven. My passport may say USA... but I still find Sudanese sand in my shoes.

Even as I write these words, I'm reminded that my lack of connection is just another symptom of my reverse-culture shock.

I confess, it's much worse this time.

Please pray that I'm able to enjoy my time in the States, and reconnect with what really matters --family and friends. Thanks.

Hamburg.

I arrived in Hamburg as the sun was westering low on the horizon introducing me to a cold I’d long forgotten after my years in the tropics.

The sun set around 4 pm casting a pale gray over the city like a thread-bare shawl, allowing the unfamiliar chill to soak into my bones. But despite the frigid air, I was greeted with warm hugs and laughter as my friend, Stefanie, welcomed me to the city of her youth.

Stefanie and I first met over ten years ago when we both lived in Spain. We’ve kept in touch over the years, seeing each other as time and distance permits. Reconnecting with her after all this time was like stepping back in time.

The day I arrived, Stefanie still had a few hours to work; so I walked around the city. Once she got off, she drove me back to her place where I met her husband for the first time and got a better look at her pregnant belly.

She lives on a beautiful suburban street, but one that is still marked with war relics. Tucked between the off-white apartment buildings and mini-vans, sits a WWII bomb shelter. Gray and solid, it blends into all the other buildings on the street except for one thing --it’s windowless.

A square rock. A symbol of refuge. A fortress too strong to destroy.

Apparently dozens of such buildings dot the city. They were built to withstand direct bombs; they were built to last. Today, they serve no purpose... but are too expensive to dismantle.

A symbol of an era. An unmarked tombstone of the realities of war. 

Each time I passed it, images of frightened children and trembling mothers flashed through my mind.  What was it like to run for its shelter as the sirens wailed? Did its walls shake as they slept through the bombs?  What did they wake to find the next morning?

But my mind did not stray too long on such thoughts. Seventy years have effectively hid the scars of war beneath towering trees and neatly trimmed gardens.

Stefanie took the day off to show me around town, so we toured the city on bikes.

As we sped along the Upper Alster’s shores, Hamburg’s beauty unfolded before us. The skyline of boat sails and church spires spread from East to West.

Taking it in while dodging joggers and mutts dressed in tiny coats, proved to be challenging but totally worth it. The twenty-minute ride downtown was one of the most picturesque of my entire trip. We crossed canals, weaved through parks, and meandered along river shores.

When we reached the city center we wandered through various Christmas markets and caught up on the details of life. But by 3:30 pm the sun was already starting to fade; we had to head home or risk colder degrees.

Later that night Stefanie had a swimming class, so she suggested I join her but go to the thermal bath part. I happily agreed forgetting that nothing in the building would be in English.

It was challenging not having my translator with me. Which bathroom was female? Was this the woman’s changing locker or the men’s? I hesitated, chose a door, held my breath, and entered. I sighed audibly to learn I’d guessed right and put on my swimsuit.

I had to ask a handful of people before I found an English speaker who could tell me where the steam baths were. But when I did, I happily flipped-flopped my way toward them and sat down.

Once inside I was surprised to learn they add special aromas to them --chamomile and camphor. As I breathed in their essences I could feel my body relaxing on a cellular level. 

Afterward I returned to the pool for the jet streams which massaged my back. Then I saw a door with ‘Sauna’ written clearly next to it. It was the only word I understood, so I pushed open the door and entered. Suddenly 120 degrees of heat engulfed me, drawing me in like a hug. I breathed in shallow gasps and lay down, remembering Sudan.

A few minutes later two naked men entered and sat down.

I sat up in surprise and asked in English (the only language I could muster):
--“Is this the men’s sauna?”
The men hesitated in this foreign tongue, exchanged glances, but eventually answered me.
--“No. This is mixed sauna,” one stuttered in a stilted accent.
--“Really?” I asked trying to hide my shock, “Men and women share the saunas here?”
--“Yes.” More hesitant glances.
--“Oh,” I said flushing in confusion and lay back down.

But my mind could no longer relax; it raced round and round.
--Am I allowed to wear my bathing suit in here? I’m not about to strip naked... so why did I care? Were these guys as uncomfortable as I was...? What’s the big deal? It’s only naked men...

As a third naked man entered I closed my eyes tighter and concentrated on my breathing.
--What made white naked men any different than black naked men that I might see in Sudan?

But I couldn’t relax anymore; my skin was red as much from the blushing as the heat. So I decided to head back to the pool and leave the mixed saunas to the Germans.

Later when I shared my culture shock with my friend she laughed and reminded me that “this is Germany. People don’t worry about being naked here.”    

I laughed with her.
    --Yes. Clearly they don’t care at all!

Next on the agenda... Switzerland!

One year anniversary.

Culture is a hard thing to get away from. A person’s culture is so ingrained in them that to extract it morsel by tiny morsel is impractical --if not outright impossible.

If one cultural fiber is shed, it tears at the others leaving ragged holes and insecurities.

I’m not suggesting that a person cannot change and adopt new ways of doing things or seeing the world; that would be foolishness. But I am saying that a person’s foundational culture --the stuff that motivates us and moves us in ways we don’t fully understand-- is tenacious and unbending.

But shouldn’t it be? I mean, come on. If it isn’t, won’t it all fall like a house of cards?

Sorry. I digress.

My point is: I am American.

I have had the privilege of living in a number of wonderful countries over the years. Each of those countries and cultures has changed me in countless ways. But at the base --at my very core-- I am American.

Why is this important? Well, lately I have been praying and thinking about life and the work I’m doing here, and I have been asking myself a lot of questions. But strangely, each time the answer to those questions is the same.

Culture.

Why have I felt so frustrated? Culture. What is shaking me to the core? Culture. What is at the source of this disconnect? Culture. 

My point is: As an American, I am faced with a new culture clash. This culture clash has been the hardest one of my life. To call it culture-shock is just not strong enough because the idea of a shock is fleeting. It assumes that eventually it will pass.

My culture-shock here in Sudan is not passing. It’s constant and unrelenting.

Part of my recent struggles is due to personal sickness and fatigue. But another part is due to this deep gulf of disconnect between my American culture and my adoptive Sudanese one.

I have been here a year and I’m still trying to build bridges of understanding. Will I ever make it?  I honestly don’t know.

My American enthusiasm has been stripped naked. Clinging to a limp and nearly dead ideal of optimism, I wonder if it has not all been in vain. Can I survive if it has? 

Let’s face it, Americans look for results. They like facts and figures. They want statistical and incremental proof that what they are doing is helping. Or else, they scrap the project and move on. Americans are a ‘bottom line’ people.

I am a ‘bottom line’ American. Hence, the disappointment.

It doesn’t help, either, that I am a product of my culture’s ‘microwave generation’. I expect results in minutes not years. I have been trained to believe that every story should be tied in a tight 20-minute knot which includes two commercial breaks and a preview of next week’s show.

Yes. I know. It’s stupid. Sigh. Nevertheless it’s true.

I am American.

I’m an American struggling to slow down and trust in a culture that has no sense of hurry. I am an American trained to insist, strive, work hard, and expect results in a culture that wants to talk and not do.

Yes. I am an American in Sudan. Sigh.

So recently when I looked at my calender and saw that I had been here a year, I stopped to take account. Has my coming made one iota of difference?

I’m not sure.

Yes. In this year, God has done some amazing things in this ministry. He has brought several to salvation, countless lives have been touched at the clinic, and the church is growing. God is obviously moving. And I’m honestly glad to be a part of it.

So why the struggle?

Again. It’s my American-ness. My cultural core is begging for a stay of execution. Will I be forced to throw out time expectations and perceived usefulness? Perhaps. Am I ready to do that? I’m not sure. What will have to change for me to make it through another year?

Culture. Specifically my culture.

Am I being too dark again? Can’t I just pretend all is well and bright and shiny? I could. But it wouldn’t be honest. This is me being honest. This is my struggle this month. This is what living in the mission field looks like for me. These are the questions I face.

Am I strong enough to make the necessary changes?

I hope so.

Please pray for me. Pray that I would not hold fast to culture but to God. Pray that I can gain new perspective for this work and live well among these people, showing them the love of Christ in culturally appropriate ways for them. Thank you.

‘Mid-Missionary’

When I arrived in Zurich, I was greeted with warm hugs and delighted screeches of joy! In a whirlwind of excited chatter, two of my Swiss classmates from Newlife Midwifery School, welcomed me to their picturesque stomping-grounds.

My first time in German-speaking Switzerland, I was glad for personal ‘tour guides and translators’ who expertly walked me through the city’s cobblestoned streets.

Since it was noon, we made our way to a gourmet sandwich shop, joining one friend’s new husband for a pic-nic by the lake. Easy laughter and excited questions continued all afternoon as I slowly realized the privilege of having such friends!

Topics bounced from babies to weddings to life in Sudan. Being surrounded by women willing to talk about the hard stuff, moved me to tears at times. These women know what it’s like to be missionaries. They know the realities of births. Unflappably patient, they took the time to listen. 

They mercilessly asked the hard questions, and then waited for me to find the right words.

Stories, that had become mundane to me, astounded them even though they read this blog. Only then did it occur to me that I only write a fraction of my life in Sudan. There is still so much I struggle to describe-- mostly emotions and impressions.

How do you blog about turmoil? How do you explain a tone of voice? How do you depict loneliness and isolation? These are things that if voiced somehow become real.

Such impressions are the white noise filling the gaps of everyday humdrum. They are the details of life in the mission field. Not everyone is interested in white noise, but these precious women were. They listened to me share, drawing out stories I’ve never shared with anyone. For that... I cannot thank them enough.

That day remains a blur of hugs, sunshine, and compassionate love.

These midwives helped me labor the hardest emotions; they loved me through the transition of culture shock, and even dislodged the mental blocks of debriefing.

For me, they can now add the title of ‘mid-missionary’ to their many degrees!

I love you ladies! Thank you!

Labor of Love April 2011 ~ Newsletter

Happy Easter!

This is my most recent newsletter. It's a tad bit late since I've been off frolicking in Europe. Please enjoy. It's mostly my attempt to describe culture shock... ha ha. As I've had lots this month.

But when I think of the culture shock Jesus must have had when He stepped down from heaven, the perplexing emotions I feel, just don't seem that big anymore. Thank you for following me on these grand adventures!
                      Love,
                             Stephanie
Labor of Love April 2011 ~ Newsletter
If you have trouble reading the link above, try here.

Labor of Love April 2011

Une Vie de Reve!

Years ago, I came to France to study a year abroad. The first family to receive me didn’t work out, and by Christmas I was packing my bags to go home. However, the student exchange directors encouraged me to give it a second chance. They told me about a kind couple who lived in the South. Would I consider meeting them before hopping on that plane?

Having nothing to lose but a few weeks, I told them I’d give it a chance.

The week I spent with them was a bit tense. I thought they’d be just like the first family (who considered me a nanny/house help), but they surprised me.

The couple was also a bit leery; they were so disappointed in their first exchange student. Later they would tell me that they were looking at me in suspicion, as well. Would I rebel or cause trouble like the last one?

After our allotted week, we had a conversation.
“Do you want to stay?” they asked.
Shrugging my shoulders in teenage nonchalance: “Why not?’” Then a bit more hesitantly, I asked in turn: “Do you want me to stay?”
They looked at each other and nodded.        
            -- I guess it was settled.

At that moment, something clicked inside. We had only 6 months together, but we all fell in love. In that short time, they spoiled me like nobodies business, we traveled extensively all over Europe on my school breaks, and I continued my studies.

That was 17 years ago.

I won’t bore you with the details.... suffice it to know, they are more than friends. They are my ‘French Parents’. I’m never a guest in their home. When I’m with them, it’s family.



So in coming to France for my break, in essence, I was coming home. Sigh.

It has been a whirlwind of AM-AZ-ING food, laughter, reminiscing, and hugs. I cannot tell you how delightful it has been.

In this short week, I’ve gorged myself on ‘all things culture’. We’ve listened to opera practically non-stop while discussing the finer qualities of Verdi, Donazetti, and Puccini.

We visited two fabulous museums and delighted ourselves in modern dance productions, movies, and monuments. We’ve talked of Mozart, Chopin, Chagal and Soulange while nibbling chocolate and sipping espresso. (There is no pretense in France, this is really how they live!)          -- I loved it!

Years of ‘cultural drought’ have brought a ‘renaissance’ of desire. I want to write poetry, sing opera, dance ballet, and paint the walls in yellows and reds!

Oh... and the food! I don’t think I can describe the array of culinary delights without making you all so very jealous, that you refuse to read on! Suffice it to know, I’ve gained a few well deserved kilos... and loved every bite! 

It’s been heaven!

However, one of the finest moments came not in activity but silence. As I sprawled out on the lawn and breathed in the aromas of spring, I could feel the garden yawn beneath me. Stretching out each flower laden branch of pinks and whites, it stirred languidly from its wintery slumber, intoxicating me with scents of honey and wet earth.



Tenderly caressing my skin, the westerly sun lulled me to sleep where I dreamed of nothing-- absolutely nothing. Distant lands of harsh winds and blistering suns, were so far away as to seem unimaginable; my brain strained to remember them.

Unbelievable even to me, my memories seemed foreign. Could there really be a land of spear-carrying giants that spit? Or did I dream it?

Succumbing to my lotus-eating ways, I forgot everything and slept. Divine!

Sigh.

However, my ‘French Dream’ has come to a bleary-eyed end; I rub my eyes and stretch as I slowly wake. Although sad to say goodbye, I’m excited for what’s to come.

Today, I’m off to Switzerland. During this last half of my trip, I’ll be able to catch up with family and friends in the land of chocolate and cheese!     --Woohoo!

Who knows, I might even get to see the Matterhorn this time.

A girl can hope, right?

Baffling Silence.

For those who are part of my newsletter list or friends on Facebook, my silence has not come as a surprise. However, for those who only know me by this blog, my silence must have been a bit baffling. Sorry for that.

I’m new to blogging. I wasn’t aware of what my silence would do to my faithful readers. I get that now. Please forgive my blunder and let me explain.

The work I do in Sudan is taxing. It is 24/7 of unrelenting pouring out. In wisdom and concern, my directors told me before coming, I’d need to leave Sudan every 3 to 4 months for a little R&R.

After 12 years of living and working in Sudan, they knew that taking a break would help me maintain perspective. At first, I thought it was a bit excessive, but now I see the wisdom of it all.

Living in the Sticks doesn’t facilitate a weekend away. In order to get the needed rest, I have to fly to Kenya (our base country). But since there is only one flight in and out each month, I often have to leave for a month at a time.

My first R&R was last September. I spent my time getting used to my new setting and meeting other missionaries in the area. It was refreshing but VERY expensive.

When I complain to my Kenyan friends that Nairobi is expensive, they often try to disagree with me. For Kenyans Nairobi is pricy but not exorbitant, but for Mozungus, it’s outrageous.

Perhaps my reference points were all twisted during my time in the Philippines (where you can eat a meal for 50 cents), but I find Kenya to be a tourist trap of outrageous price-gorging and luxury.

Sigh.

So, as my second R&R approached, I felt conflicted. I knew I needed to rest --- my brain was fuzzy with fatigue-- but I also dreaded the idea of spending so much money in Kenya’s capital.

Sharing my dilemma with friends in Europe, they instantly suggested I come to spend my time with them.

At first I laughed. There would be no way I could go to Europe for cheaper than staying in Kenya. But when I looked into it, I was surprised to find out I could.

That is how I’ve found my way to Europe.

As I sit in this chilly cafe, techno music drowning out the espresso machine, I can’t tell you how far away Africa feels.

Was it all a dream to which I’ve woken with a start?

As I shake off the sleepy confusion of these crowded few weeks in Europe, I find myself trapped in a mire of culture shock. Sigh.

I’ve never felt more disoriented. I’ve never felt more unnatural. I’ve never felt more at home.

An illegal alien, but one adept in dissimulation and mimicry, I’ve slipped into my European cloak. No one suspects me for the intruder I am.

Here, I’m not a Mozungu. Here, no one calls me Kowaja. Here I’m a faceless number in the crowd-- a short smile that passes by in scarf and jeans, unworthy of note.

It has been a time of forgetfulness and escape. I’ve lost myself in this crowd. It’s been oddly comforting.

Thank you for praying for me to have this restful break. Thank you for making this trip possible. Thank you for loving me so well and caring for me so dearly. I’m unwinding... but there are still a few persistent knots.

Please pray with me as I slowly unravel them. They are tricky knots soaked in tears and confusion. Please also pray for my personal Bible study time, it’s more of a chore then ever to read His precious words. Pray I can take my knots to Him and find rest. Thanks.

Common Knowledge.

Some days teaching is a blast. Some days... not so much.

I've been teaching our health workers to count fetal heart tones and take pulses. Simple stuff, Right? I thought so. But it isn't getting through. Today I asked one of them to count a woman's respiratory rate for 15 seconds. But after waiting a good minute he still wasn't done. I figured he was just losing count and restarting. Then I thought... maybe he thinks he needs to count 50 seconds not 15.

I asked, "You know you only need to count 15 seconds right?" Yes. He says. He understands... only 15 seconds. So he does it and comes up with 75. What?

I tell him that's impossible. She'd be hyperventilating. So I ask him... you do know what 15 seconds means, Right? He just cocks his head to the right and looks at me.

Then I grab the clock and point out 5... 10... and 15 seconds on it. Then the lights turn on! OOOOHHHHHHH!!!!!! So that's 15 seconds!

Huh?

Then he proceeded to count for 10 seconds. I showed him again. 5... 10... 15.... Let's try again. By the third time he got it.

I'm not saying he isn't smart. He's one of our best health workers. I'm saying, I have to remember that what I think is common knowledge isn't here. I keep forgetting that.

Most of the women I treat don't know how to read let alone what month it is. Many of the health workers we are training have only gone up to the 5th grade in school. They are very smart men... just not educated in the same what as I was. Sigh.

Lord may I have patience to train them properly and always remember that common knowledge isn't always so common in Sudan.

First Impressions...

Much of my day is spent trying to remember simple things - like to breathe. Today happens to be one day when breathing comes naturally. It helps that I've had a day off from the clinic.

I've only been in Tonj for 5 days and yet it feels like longer. The things I've seen so far... the smells... the sounds. It feels both familiar and foreign.

Each morning I'm greeted in my new Dinka name... Kuac. I hear, 'Chibek, Kuac' and am saluted. I respond with a hand shake and smile. 'Chibek?' means 'How are you?' I'm told that my new name means 'White cow with black spots all over.' :- ) Yes, I'm named after a cow!

But I'm digressing... Let's back up a bit.

Tuesday, I arrived with the rest of the team on a small plane. It only seats 10 - including the pilot. But such small planes afford extraordinary views. We flew just above the cloud line and from my small window, I marveled at the patchwork below.

As we left Nairobi, it seemed like each inch of land was parceled out in neat little farms and quartered off in fences. But as each hour passed,  and we traded the deep luscious farms for grasslands, a new part of Africa was revealed - An Africa with rolling hills and towering peaks. An Africa with deed mountains that rival the Alps in every way but color. An Africa with rivers so deep they empty out 2000 miles away in the Mediterranean. Yes. the White Nile wiggled below us in all its muddy splendor. But by the time we landed, the ground was spotted in round mud huts set quietly among grassy fields and scraggly trees. The diversity was breath taking.


My first impressions of Tonj are too confusing to draw any conclusions. The town seems brimming with activity... but I've only seen it once. The roads are dirt and dusty. And the landing strip had a wrecked airplane at its end... someone forgot to apply the brakes! I wanted to take pictures but didn't. There were armed guards in military fatigues helping us unload our things... or where they just watching? I can't recall. All I remember is they were right in the middle of everything.

Hugs and great excitement greeted us by the staff and has remained the same. I'm impressed with the team here at the clinic and the Kuj family is lovely. I look forward to knowing them better. We only had a day with some of the team as a handful left the next morning for a little R&R. Our pilot over-nighted with us and flew out early the next morning before the rain descended.

When the rain came... it came with power and force. Many of my patients opted to wait it out for hours. I'm told, when it rains, no one comes to the clinic and now I understand why. Streets become rivers and rivers become lakes. I love it... but only because I had no where I needed to go.

It's winter here now with days of 80 degrees and cool evenings and rain. It is muggy and warm. I worry to think it will get hotter. But such is life for them... why not for me too. :- )

What's OSHA anyway?

  Yesterday, in an effort to get our team the best meat products we went to a specialty butcher. The place was clean … well, for the most part. Our butcher was very friendly, suggesting the choicest cuts. We decided on goat and marinated chicken. 

He took the goat out of the display case and put it on the counter. No gloves. No protective sleeve on the scale. Not even a sink in sight. He then proceeded to take the chunk of goat in back and chop it up for us. He returned with nice little cutlets which went back on the bare counter. He trimmed the fat, weighed it and we settled on a price. Great.

Next we went to the chicken section of the display case. Mind you, he still has goat parts attached to his fingers, the scale has not been cleaned and my OSHA alarm bells are going off. He hand picks a half dozen chicken thighs, piles them on the scale and again we agree to the price.

I’m not sure why this bothers me so much. Perhaps it the endless ‘Food Handlers’ licensing classes I’ve had to sit through over the years. I tell myself to get over it, that’s how it’s done here, etc. But I can’t. 

My stomach churns in dread. Just how many microbes am I going to have to digest today?

All this gives new meaning to praying over your food!

 

No foreigners here!

Today I got shot! Shot with immunizations that is. Apparently, keeping up on your vaccination card is VERY important. When I told my nurse that I didn't have an immunization booklet with proof of all my shots, she seemed a bit surprised and quickly got me a new one. It looks very official with a handful of very cool stamps. Now I guess I'm cleared to fly into the wild unknown!

Next we went shopping for a SIM card and phone credit. I got the card but it doesn't work on my US phone and I may have to buy a cheapy just to get a few texts out. I'm holding out for some place to just hack my blackberry, but I guess that isn't as common as in the Philippines. There has to be a way!

And this evening, Gordon and I and two other missionaries from the Sudan all went to see a movie. We watched Robin Hood. It was nice. But afterward, the couple from the Sudan (Dan and Laura from Minnesota) ate in a restaurant, whereas Gordon and I went shopping for fruit! :- )

I have missed the tropical fruits and am thrilled to find them! Would you believe grapes cost roughly 500 shillings a pound but you can get big juicy mangos for 20 shillings a pound! Yum! Mangos it is!
I can handle that.

But while we were at the store, he asked me if I were comfortable here in Kenya. I told him I was very comfortable but I couldn't quite place my finger on why. So while I walked through mountains of papaya and heaps of pomelos, I considered his question.

Then it hit me! No one was staring at me. No one was calling out to me, 'hey joe!' or making cat calls behind lewd glances. I was all together uninteresting. That's it. I'm comfortable here -very comfortable- because no one treats me like a foreigner. It's refreshing.

In the Philippines, men would call out after me as I walked to the market. "Marry Me! I Love You! What is your name?" I'd laugh and keep going but it was very disconcerting. I was always made to feel like a foreigner there. I never liked the attention but eventually I got used to it.

In Haiti, instead of the silly 'proposals', I got glares and distrusting glances. I wasn't loved because of the color of my skin. I was made to feel 'less than' and seemingly hated as a result of it. I don't mean to pick on Haiti but I must say, the overall effect was to make me feel very uneasy. It was clear I was NOT one of them.

Here, all that is different. I like the fact I draw little to no attention. I enjoy being of no consequence. I appreciate blending in with the crowd. It makes me feel very much at ease and .... yes, even comfortable! Just one more reason to love it here, I'd say!

Pilgrims

I leave the grand ol' USA in a few short days - 3 1/2 to be exact.
It's hard to imagine what my upended life will look like a week from now... let alone a year from now. But I'm excited.

This place seems so real... and my destination... well.... it seems imaginary, exotic and strange.
My brain in an effort to understand what it will be like, has started superimposing the images I've seen of Tonj with what I see around me. The overlap just doesn't mesh.
And to be honest, I almost want to run and hide.
But instead I take a deep breath and I pray.
I've been praying for this and preparing for this for years.
Yes, my new home will be quite different but then again, aren't we just pilgrims on this planet after all?

.... closure?

As I prepare to go home... I've been thinking a lot about the things I'm going to miss, as well as the things I won't! This week, I took all my assignments to a book binding/photocopy center to get them bound. I want to use them to study for my NARM exam this coming August. They told me to come back the following day. But when I got there, the place was CLOSED. For reasons that are still unclear to me, the city shut them down and sealed off the premises.

As I stood there a bit confused (but laughing inside), just staring at the barred up doors and official seal, the owner's son saw me and came my way. He told me not to worry; that they would be open the following day! Sure enough, the next time I passed by, they were open and my books were safely returned- beautifully bound.

Moral of my story~ a year ago, that would have stressed me out. Two years worth of assignments are taken hostage by the city's closure?!? I probably would have gotten a bit flustered and tried to be all "American" on them and stuff. But after seeing how normal that is, and being subjected to it for over two years... I think my Surprise-O-Meter is broken. All I did was shrug, laugh and come back another day. However, I must confess, I won't be missing this when I leave.

Up in Smoke!

So immigration is not a place you want to spend much time. I don't care if you are talking about the American immigration or in any foreign country. It's just not a pleasant place. You have lines. lots of them. You have uncomfortable chairs and flickering neon lights. And you have hot, cranky, impatient foreigners mindlessly tapping their feet and staring off into space. The staff are sometimes friendly but often they are just disinterested and going through the motions. It's not a job I'd sign up for personally so I can empathize with the monotony. Well, this morning I found myself standing in those lines and waiting in those seats. They took my papers and informed me they'd be going on lunch (a two hour lunch!) so I should return after 1 pm. That's fine with me. I'd rather be doing other things too. So i left and had lunch with a patient in the hospital down the street. I had to transport her because of signs of hypertension. It was a nice lunch and she let me cuddle her cute little girl, Charmaine. When I returned, I waited as they came back from lunch and start my paperwork. But then, all of a sudden there was more flickering of the lights than normal. There was fluctuating power surges then POOF!!! one of the computers went up in smoke. The women screeched. The men ran to cut off the power and everybody in the lobby started for the doors. except me. I just walked closer for a better look. It was only a computer. :- ) I would have unplugged the computer and turned back on the power. it's an easy fix. But here they went the opposite direction. They closed down the office and asked everyone to come back another day... So I won't be renewing my immigration status today. Perhaps tomorrow. Assuming nothing else explodes while I'm there.

I MISS MY CAT!!!

So..... I've been thinking... wouldn't it be nice to have a kitty! One that would sit in my lap and shed on my clothes... one that would sleep on my face and hunt all the geckos. But, those in my life are just not as excited about me getting a cat as I would hope!

I got a CAT-igorical NO when I asked!
So, I thought... what about a bird! They are all self contained and I could pet a bird and pretend it's a cat.... I could train it to attack geckos... and who knows.... meow! But that was ex-nayed as well.

So what are my options? What causes absolutely NO PROBLEMS? What won't catch flea, shed or run away? What won't make a lot of racket, bite off your nose or smell funny? What won't cause any allergic reactions or keep you up at night? Yep... you guessed it FISH!

There is only one problem.... Fish suck! Unless of course you lightly bread, pan fry and garnish with a cilantro mango chutney! :- ) Yumm!

All I can say is.... I MISS MY CAT!!!!!

Studying.....transporting....and erasing...

Hello one and all!

Life here has been very busy because I've been cramming for my assignment! I wrote a freakin' book! 60 pages long... not including the craft project and vocab cards... Some days, i study (if you can call blankly staring cross-eyed at a wall... studying) for hours ad infinitum. I figure i study at least 40 hours a week and then i work on top of that two to three birthroom shifts and one prenatal shift a week. :-) that is about another 21- 35 hours a week! :-) Did i say i was crazy busy or what!!! :-) But i just want you to know! i love it!!! :-) i love every minute of it.... well not EVERY minute... some of the studying is HARD WORK!! if i didn't know any better I'd say my brain ignites from time to time! and not in the good sense... we're talking grinding gears and whizzing cogs... and a smell that reminds me of fried electrical panels.... you know... the kind that makes you wonder if your blender needs to be replaced!
OK. I've informed you. it's been busy. But i finished my assignment. I have a day or so respite before i have my exam (which is on Friday! please pray!) and I'm feeling good. I'm actually able to update my blog and smile! all at the same time! Way cool!!!

Now for confession time! I've been having a really difficult time since getting here with one particular issue and I've only recently made a break through! I have struggled with the transportation here! I'm frankly overwhelmed! There are SO MANY different ways to get around... and NO house numbers and BARELY ANY street signs... and nobody gives you CLEAR directions... and the ONLY map i can find doesn't even have all the road names on it.... it's just a bunch of squiggly lines with random dots telling me where to shop!!!! AAhhhh! i like shopping and all... but we're talking NOT CLEAR!! Alright... I've vented. I'm happy to report that i have FORCED myself out of the house! (I've even borne the shame of going ALONE) and I've mastered three quarters of the transportation nightmare! I will prevail!!! Ha!
there is hope! i DO see the light at the end of this transportation tunnel! yippy!
There will be NO stopping me now!!! He he he ;-)

I would be adding more pictures right now... but guess who erases 75 plus pictures off her computer today! Yep! you guessed it!!! your one and only goof-for-a-brain-impossible-to-figure-out-electronics Stephanie!!!! Pray that I'll be able to restore them somehow! for the moment they are completely lost in my computer hard drive! I can hear them calling to me... let me out... free me... and i'm deeply troubled! But what can be done? What... ?

ok... you can tell i need some sleep... must be off.... much more to follow!

This little fellow is one of the babies delivered at Mercy Maternity Clinic! He's what makes this all worth while! :-) Fortunately i didn't erase his precious face! :-) maybe i'll find his friends!

D-day!

Howdy one and all! D-day has arrived! Please pray for our trip! As we have some seriously harry lay-overs and enough luggage to sink the Titanic!!! Also I'm fighting a nagging cold... (I WILL PREVAIL!!!) Even garlic hasn't killed it outright... it must have some garlic resistant strain or something!!! :-) So far I've only managed to ward off any local vampires and gross out my roommates! :-) good times... good times... ! But my important papers got here on time! Hallelujah! love- SW