Day 29

Sunday

I don't really know what to say aside from that I'm frustrated.

It's not just this country or this culture. I think being here has opened my eyes to the fact that it is everywhere. Some places have people that are more educated than others making it easier for them to hide what they're doing and allow them to be more manipulative, but everywhere has people who are fueled by greed and base their entire existence on looking out for Number 1.

Yesterday, for example, we went to visit the crater lake. Being conscious of cultural traditions and attempting to be respectful of them, we sought out the village chief to gain permission to visit “his” lake. In short, we visited a village in shambles. A perfect example of poverty and breeding ground for disease. After being told many incorrect things about the whereabouts of the chief and experiencing verbal abuse from the chief's son (who was wearing very nice, expensive American clothing over his large belly...) they expected us to pay an absurd amount to visit a free, natural attraction. (The chief was first said to be visiting Limbe, then the son accidentally let slip he'd died 7 months ago. The grave was in the front yard.) His “reasons” were because the village, military and himself needed to be compensated. It was obvious with one glance where all the compensation was headed though. He questioned our motives for visiting the lake. Surely no white man just wants to go to visit something that is beautiful and said to have “mystical powers and mermaids”, we must have heard about diamonds there--or oil. What could we give them if he “gave” us the permission to see the lake, huh? White men are rich, we should at least pay 50,000francs. He forbid us to take photographs and said if we went he'd have the military that was stationed there follow us around and use their guns.

He insulted us for where we parked our car (as instructed by his villagers...). We should know who the chief was! How dare we go somewhere else looking for the chief! You wouldn't go to someone else's house looking for Obama would you? Pff Americans... Part of me wanted to pull out my B-card and tell him Obama wouldn't demand $50,000 from a group of 20-something year-old volunteers who already paid to work for free in in his country and that just wanted to see part of nature and that in America our president has more important things to do than to decide whom to allow to see lakes. I also wanted to point out that Americans know who our president is and can at least tell you which house is his... It wasn't so much the racist/sexist way I knew he came about the price (our group of 7 was mostly white and female)either, it was the fact that I knew none of the compensation would actually go to the village. He was wearing nice clothes while the kids across the street were barefoot in rags. The houses had holes in them you could see all the way through to the other side. His house was surrounded by the empty packets that whiskey and gin came in. I wasn't about to give him drinking money when “his village” was starving around him.

People are like that everywhere though, it's not just here. I mean, in America money isn't spread out evenly either. Here it is just more apparent because it's harder to hide. People walk around carrying cellphones with music playing on it just so people will know they have a phone. They'll carry a camera around in their hand just to show they can afford a camera. We do that in the States too. Ladies flaunt huge diamond rings--post pictures of them on Facebook even. Girls (and yeah, I'm one of them) “have nothing to wear to ____”. There are game consoles, cars, sports equipment guys “have to have!” The music videos we see in the mornings here are straight from MTV and it's all rap music. No wonder they think American's have so much money...the rappers are always wearing so many gold & diamond chains and gaudy clothes. They “make it rain”, drive ridiculous cars and have a plethora of half-naked women worshiping them in the videos. (Doesn't really help the white man's argument for women's equality, does it?) Everywhere people want to know how they can get ahead, they want the newest car, computer, cell phone, beach house...It's just frustrating because most people I've encountered (here especially) want to get it fast and go about it in underhanded and dishonest ways. And that makes it harder for those who want to play it straight and do the right thing. I've also noticed that it's always the ones who have the most that want more and it is the ones who have the least that are the most grateful and the most generous. It's hard to be nice without being taken advantage of.

It's exhausting to never let your guard down and it's less enjoyable when you can't throw your whole self into what you're doing because you're too busy looking over your shoulder or never fully trusting anyone.

It's hard for us, the “white man”, to really have a leg to stand on when every image we send out to the world contradicts what our volunteers try to teach. We need to figure some stuff out for ourselves before we try to fix the world.

I've learned a lot in four weeks.

Day 32

Wednesday

Thursday, a new volunteer from Yorkshire named Laura came to work in the local orphanage. Laura is studying Social Work at Leeds and is an absolute pleasure to be around. I've really enjoyed getting to know her the past few days. Once her situation gets completely sorted out she will spend some time working here before going to Ghana to work in another orphanage for eight weeks.

Sunday night a couple from the U.S. came to Buea. Lara and Nick are entering Juniors at Nevada University (the same school USM beat in Hawaii this year apparently...SMTTT!) studying Biology. They're here working in St. Luke's, too. Unfortunately for them (very fortunate for the patients!) everyone is healing nicely and admissions are down, so the work at the hospital is dwindling.

Which brings me to my next topic:

I made bracelets for the patients at the hospital. Just simple, twist-knot friendship bracelets using the beads I brought. I made them and gave the first to Charles. He grinned from ear to ear and his mother kept saying “Oh, look how pretty your sister made for you!” For most children here I am Auntie Emily, but for Charles I am his sister. That means a whole lot. When I visited the general ward before dressing changes I told them I had made a little gift for each of them so when they healed and left the hospital they could remember me. I tied the first bracelet on and they all sat up in their beds exclaiming things in French and Pidgin and holding out their arms. It reminded me of the children that visit our porch and excitedly wait for stickers. They were so excited and so proud to get the tiny little pieces of beaded strings. So many “Ahh, bootiful, bootiful!”s and “Tank yoh tank yoh” s and “Oh so nice!”s. When they all had them on, two of the men's wives had come in and heard the commotion and were asking for bracelets and (luckily) I'd made two extras. When I went to give them to the women the men started shouting “NO! They not patients! Hahaha!” It was so much fun. They just all kept looking at their arms and admiring them. I almost cried. They were so grateful just to receive a tiny piece of knotted string with beds, just to receive a small gesture of kindness.... Later that day during rounds, the doctor was talking to one of the men and the man said something to the effect (French/pidgin) of that he'd be out in no time now that he had “the healing power” and held up his fist. I thought my heart was going to explode.

Charles got the word he's might be discharged on Monday! He has been healing so quickly it's amazing. Not only his surgical site, either. All the scrapes and wounds from being knocked down by the auto. He asked for my phone number so he could call me, but it would be too expensive to call my American number and my Cameroonian phone won't work once I'm home. I gave him my my email and promised to send him the photos of us together. I really hope he emails me, his mother promised they would.

Yesterday when I got the hospital, the man whose pelvis was torn open asked me to please make some bracelets for his three little ones at home so he could tell them about me and also have something pretty to give them when he goes home. This is the man I was able to draw blood from for the first time. Before the surgery started he grabbed my hand and said “Emily, take good care of me today.” When I was leaving that afternoon he was sitting upright unassisted on the edge of his bed eating his meal, a huge improvement from the man I met five weeks ago when wiggling his toes pained him greatly. The doctor told him to train his bladder over the next three days and he will be allowed to go home on Friday. I worked on three more bracelets last night and gave them to him this morning. He's so excited to go home! I'm so excited to see him doing so well! He has gone from laying in bed in his own sweat and urine, paralyzed with pain with flies crawling on bandages soaked with urine and blood to sitting upright in bed, sitting on the side of his bed, doing leg exercises and rolling over in bed to avoid bed sores....it's such an improvement!! He's going to walk again and he's going to walk again soon. He's going to be able to teach his children how to play football. He's going to be able to have a fourth child (if he wants). We kept our promise, we took good care of him. He's going home!

There is one patient who has been at the hospital for eleven months. The doctor will not do surgery to fix the fractures to his tibia and fibula until skin has closed over the bones. Unfortunately, infection has set in and we are trying to avoid (what already looks like) osteomylitis. He gets very discouraged and sometimes...well, a lot of times...he refuses to have his dressings changed. Some of the nurses have gotten impatient with him so I started asking to do his dressings. I started doing them by myself this week and so far, he hasn't missed a dressing change. He may be stubborn, but I am too. (My mom and dad can attest to that.)

Now that we have two more volunteers at the hospital I may take a day or two off to do something fun like climb the mountain or visit another city. I have enjoyed Buea, but I don't know when I'll ever be back in Cameroon. I'd hate to come home and say I'd only seen one city in the country. Cameroon is not that big and traveling is not that expensive, it'd be a wasted opportunity if I stayed here the whole time. But....we will see. I know I'd feel bad for not seeing my patients for that long. They've already counted up the number of times they will get to see me before I go home...

The rainy season has begun to set in. Because Buea is located partially up the mountain clouds and fog are everywhere. We walk around in a constant mist between downpours. The nights and evenings are cool and the afternoons warm up only slightly when warm air is pushed down from the mountain peak with the rain. At night I sleep with the window open and fall asleep to drizzle on the tin roof. Periodically in the night the rainfall is so hard on the tin roof that it wakes me up, but it's always easy to fall back asleep and the cool, damp air is very welcome. I say that it has cooled off, but really I have no idea what the temperature is. Before it started raining it felt like a humid 100-110 F (kind of like summers at home...). Now I don't know if it really is THAT much cooler or if I'd just acclimated to the heat and now that it has reduced to a wet, lower temperature I find it chilly. But I'm not the only one wearing a sweatshirt in the evenings, so I know I'm not crazy.

A mouse just ran into my room. While that is much more welcome that a tarantula or monster roach, I really don't fancy him chewing my wires or nesting in my luggage. So here is where I will say good bye and log off to play Pest Control.

Proverbs 3:27


UPDATE:

Day 35

Saturday

I told myself I'd lock up and write my application today while it stormed outside.

I awoke to an absolutely gorgeous, sunny and clear day here in Buea. There are only a few fluffy white clouds in the sky and I can see the entire peak of Mount Cameroon perfectly. Of course.

While I'm waiting on both motivation and the caffeine in the coffee (freshly brewed from my Quick Cafe, thanks mom!) to kick in, I figured I'd write a blog to post later that was a little more up-to-date. Granted, not much has changed since Wednesday. My US phone still won't connect to the service here (even though it's a pretty day...), my local phone either stopped sending Japanese symbols instead of texts or John Caleb and Momma have learned to read Japanese, no new volunteers have come since Elena arrived from Spain, the pigs outside our windows still squeal like something out of a horror film every morning at 730 as if on cue, there is still a mouse (or four) in our house, killing roaches has become a daily routine (I still have a hard time with the spiders though...), the Orocks are just as charming as usual —I just realized I've never really talked about the family that feeds, houses and treats us like their own. How ungrateful of me. Since I'm procrastinating anyway...

The Orocks are a large family whose head, Mr. Thomas Orock, is the founder of United Action for Children. He's also head of about a handful of other organizations, clubs and in short: is a big deal here in Molyko. Scratch that, he's a big deal in all of Buea. He is a very welcoming man with exceptionally dry humour that, thanks to growing up with Marcus Evans for a father, I'm able to catch onto and enjoy. His wife is Madame Amelia Orock (which is pronounced Emily in French). She is a very strong and slightly intimidating woman, but once you get to know her she is very good natured and equally as welcoming as her husband. There are about fifteen others that live in the house and faces are always changing as people leave and are replaced with other cousins, nieces or nephews. The main children we see on a regular basis are: Big Magbo, or Big M, who is one of the older daughters (high school age, maybe 17). She cooks for us sometimes and is just one of those people you like the minute you meet them. There is Little Magbo who is quiet but always friendly (about junior high age), Evelyn, a sassy girl of about 11, Clara, the youngest, liveliest, and in charge of the entire family. Judith is the family cook and boy can she cook. I'll be coming home twice my normal size, prepare yourselves. There are two or three other girls whose names have escaped me....Then there are the boys: Adolf is Mr. Orock's nephew who came to stay while Mr. Orock is injured to help him get around, Roger (roh-jeh) is one of the younger boys, maybe about 13 who loves to come visit me with his cousin Kevin and look at pictures on my laptop of my trip to the Nola Aquarium or hear stories about airplanes, Dan is the son who runs the cyber and dreams of going to a European or American tech school to be further certified in IT. He is always watching the Discovery Channel. The boys aren't as out spoken as the girls, so I don't know all of their names, but one of the older teen boys lent me his Animal Farm book a few weeks ago after he'd had a test on it at school and many of the boys always play football in the yard and stop by to play at our houses when they are bored or want to avoid work (Kevin). A lot of the neighborhood kids like to visit our house (they love Amelie from having her at school) and always ask us to show them where our homes are on the map on our wall. One boy likes for me to trace my flight plan so he'll “know where he'll be going in a few months.” I digress...

The Orocks held a celebration/farewell dinner for the guys from Coaches Across Continents last night at their home. The guys stopped through for a day or so on Friday on their way to the airport from Mamfe. It was cool to sit around a room and realize we had people from all over the world and even all over the US: Hawaii, California, New York, Nevada and Mississippi, in the same room to share a common meal with no formalities just old friends around a TV in Cameroon watching the Euro Cup (DeutschlandTTT). We had people from the US, Germany, Wales, Yorkshire, Spain, the Netherlands and Cameroon who had all known each other for different amounts of time, the shortest being 3 days, but it made no difference....it was like family. It was nice.

I was also reminded how this “family” is forever changing here. Already I've met and said goodbye to six people in my time here. Out of the seven left, Nick and Lara will leave before I do. Laura is waiting to hear back from Ghana and may leave in the next week or so, Nathan is waiting for the word to head back to Mamfe. I have no idea if anyone new is coming. I had no idea coming into this I would meet so many new people from around the world. It's only been five weeks! Which reminds me...

This week the pelvis patient (I hate not using his name...but HIPPA haunts me even though there is no HIPPA here. I already feel bad for using Charles' name haha) went home! He went home on Friday afternoon and was beside himself with excitement. I was allowed to do his final dressings by myself and took a photo with him and his wife which they asked to have printed out for them to pick up when he goes back for his check up. I'm not sure if that will be before or after I go home, but I will have the photo ready and waiting for him. I just hope someone gives it to him if I am gone....

This week I also sort of got into a disagreement with a nurse over Charles. I'm not sorry about it. He has, from his accident, scabs on his hand and foot. Good scabs as Dr. Hatten would call them. To pull them off would only reopen the wound and increase the risk of infection, especially considering there is a spot starting to produce a discharge on his upper leg. The said nurse ripped the scab off of his foot while it was dry and not peeling away. I asked why they would take the scab off when it was really doing what it needed to do and it would come off when the skin underneath was ready. To expose anything underneath to the possible infection on the upper leg risked creating a mess. They told me I was wrong and that it needed to come off because it wasn't a scab it was bad skin and they wanted to take it off. When it began bleeding in places their excuse was “See? There was still a wound underneath there.” (um, yeah...) Charles was absolutely screaming in pain. He's eleven, I mean come on. His mother was holding him and he was screaming “You're hurting me! PLEASE? You're hurting me!!” while big alligator tears ran down his face and he rocked in his bed. The nurse then covered the wound in Bedadine causing him to cry more. He was squeezing his other foot and shaking his hands so I gave him mine to squeeze...dude, that kid is strong. He actually kind of hurt my hand. When they had finished they tried to start on his hand but he sat on it and begged them to do it another day. So they told me to dress him and left. I apologized and asked to see his hand he gave it to me. I saw where a piece of gauze had been left on so long the scab had formed into the gauze. It was going to hurt and bleed a lot if she just ripped it off. I told him I'd ask to do it if he would let me. The next day there was a big argument between that nurse and a male nurse (who is SUCH A GOOD NURSE. HE IS SO GENTLE). The male nurse was mad because the scab had been removed and he tried to explain that that was the skin's natural mechanism for healing and once epithelial cells had finished healing the spots (I'm trying to quote it, but a lot was in pidgin) they would push the scab up and it would fall off or peel off easily without tearing open the skin and bleeding. The nurse got flustered and embarrassed (after having been told this before and then being reprimanded again by a fellow in front of me) lied and said there was pus underneath it. The male nurse and I left to go to Charles' dressings and I stopped him and we talked about the foot and what to do about the hand. It was refreshing to have someone agree with me for once. The night nurse came in and asked what he was saying about the wound, she didn't believe the other either and we explained why a scab isn't “bad skin” and that if there was pus underneath it would not have been dry. I also suggested that if a scab needed to be removed, like the one on his hand, it should be soaked with dilution solution (what Dr. Hatten would call “squirt squirt”) so that the skin becomes soft and releases easier. They let me “debride” Charles' hand as an example. After soaking the gauze I was able to tease it up and away from the skin without causing any bleeding. Once softened with solution, all the dry skin and scabs came off with just a little effort and healthy, pink skin was underneath. The biggest spot under the gauze was still open, but very superficial and I used the solution and gauze to clean it and debride it gently before drying and lightly dressing it. Instead of crying, Charles watched us with interest and the male nurse actually explained to him what we were doing. It was such a nice change of pace. I thank God for that intervention. He was truly involved in the entire situation from the argument to the dressings and Charles was able to endure having his dressings changed without pain.

God is so good! Earlier this week, the man who insists he has “the healing power” from my bracelets told me he figured out the power: the bracelet means love. I find it absolutely incredible that no matter what cultural or language barriers you face, God's love can still translate through. That has been made abundantly clear to me here in Cameroon.

I sat down at my computer to write essays for my medical school application but nerves got in the way (like they always do). I have always wanted to do medicine (aside from wanting to be a cat when I was five) and I have prayed my whole life that I will be able to be a doctor. I just feel like that's what God has for me. I signed up to go to Cameroon on a whim because I felt God was calling me here. Out of blind trust or what some people would call a gut feeling and believers would call faith, I showed up alone and pretty clueless in a country ranked in the Top 50 World's Most Corrupt and allowed God to do amazing things. Why am I so worried about medical school? If it is what God has in the books for me there's not much anyone can do to stop that from happening. Everything I have seen and experienced here has shown me that His plans will be carried out one way or another, but most of the time in the least obvious ways. I do not think the lack of ability to communicate home is a coincidence because I find I spend a lot more time in prayer and reading my Bible. I don't think God sent me here to teach people as much as He sent me here to learn. I don't think He sent me here to help people as much as He sent me here to be helped. By sharing His love I've gained a deeper faith in Him.

My window is open and weather very similar to what I would describe as “Birthday Weather” is creeping in. I think I'll have another cup of coffee.

Today is a good day.

“Put God in charge of your work ,

then what you've planned will take place.”

Proverbs 16.3

“We plan out the way we want to live,

but only God makes us able to live it.”

Proverbs 16.9

“Thank you! Everything in me says “Thank you!”

Angels listen as I sing my thanks.

I kneel in worship facing your holy temple

and say it again, “Thank you!”

Thank you for your love,

thank you for your faithfulness;

Most holy is your name,

most holy is your Word.

The moment I called out, you stepped in;

you made my life large with strength.

When they hear what you have to say, God,

all earth's kings will say “Thank you.”

They'll sing of what you've done;

“How great the glory of GOD!”
And here's why:God, high above, sees far below;

no matter the distance, he knows everything about us.

When I walk into the thick of trouble,

keep me alive in the angry turmoil.

With one hand

strike my foes,

With your other hand

save me.

Finish what you've started in me, God.

Your love is eternal-- don't quit on me now.”

Psalm 138