News

Greetings to all! I know I haven’t posted to this blog as frequently as I thought I would, but I sincerely appreciate those of you who are still checking it from time to time! Just a few experiences to share…

First, I’ve just finished a lovely visit with my Uncle George, who flew all the way to Liberia for one short week. What a saint! We had a great time and it was very special for me to have the opportunity to share my life here with someone from home. Of course, we didn’t get to do everything I’d hoped (we didn’t even get to Gbarnga, the main city around here, which is only about 15 minutes away by taxi) but I think we packed a lot into a week. We explored a little of Monrovia, went to Kpatawee Falls (featured in previously on this blog), spent time with a lot of my expat family, and checked out all three of the “restaurants” near campus, including Kilo Mike’s, The Best Bar in the World. George had the opportunity to speak about his passion, Ecology and Spirituality, to several groups of students here on campus, and formed a friendship with Fr. Tamba, our Campus Chaplain. I am very grateful for his time here and for his safe, if somewhat delayed, arrival back in Seattle.

Second, within one week I’ve been asked to be a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding and a godmother to the daughter of a professor on campus! This comes just at a time when I was feeling I wasn’t making the kind of connections I’d hoped to with people here. I freely admit that having a white woman participate in your wedding or baptism lends the occasion a certain elevated status, but I prefer to believe that that was only a small factor in these decisions. J Anyway, I’m very excited about both of these developments. The wedding: the groom is Peter, a nurse in the community health office at Phebe. He and I have been friends since I first arrived, although I’ve kept him at arm’s length because at the very beginning he announced his intention to ask for my hand. He’s truly a good-hearted man and I’m thrilled that he’s found a Liberian to marry. I haven’t met his fiancé but he obviously thinks the world of her. The shallow side of me can’t wait to see what the bridesmaid dresses will look like! As for the whole godmother thing, the professor who asked me is Ted Brown, who also befriended us soon after we arrived. He had a son named Clarence, who was kidnapped by soldiers during the war and was forced to live in the bush with them. He survived the war but got malaria so many times from all the mosquitoes in the jungle that his liver was damaged and he died shortly after returning to his family. Ted had twins after Clarence died, a boy and a girl whom he named Clarence and Clarencia in honor of his first son. They are now two years old and will be baptized this Sunday. Clarencia will be my goddaughter. I’m thrilled and only hope I can form and maintain some kind of relationship with this child who will not be old enough to remember me when I leave the country. But I am determined to return to Liberia so maybe I can see her again when she’s older. I hope to get some pictures on Sunday, which I will post here.

The third experience happened on Good Friday. We get 5 days off for Easter at Cuttington, so Robin, Martha and I went to Monrovia. We spent one night on the ELWA compound, slightly out of the city. It has a phenomenal beach and lots of NGOs and mission organizations have houses there for their staff and guests. We happened to meet a wonderful woman named Frieda, who’s a dental therapist (like a nurse practitioner for the dental world). She spent 7 years with Mercy Ships, an organization I seriously considered becoming involved with, and now she plans to stay in Liberia long-term. I mentioned that I’d been amazed to see that Northwest Medical Teams has a presence in Liberia and that the director lives on the compound, two doors down from where we were staying. Turns our Frieda knows her well and took me over right then to say hello. Wow! The community on that compound is amazing. It doesn’t sound like there’s much need for someone like me with NW Medical Teams, but it was great to make that contact. Frieda invited us over to her house for coffee Friday morning and those few hours were nothing short of astounding. First of all, Frieda’s house is a small oasis of luxury. She’s painted the walls in soothing colors and has a lot of aesthetically pleasing things inherited from people leaving the country; little white Christmas lights and decorative teapots and such. She served us mouthwatering fresh-ground hazelnut coffee as we sat around and shared stories. Her drive and positive attitude are truly inspiring, and her stories of success and facilitating constructive change gave me hope and real excitement about possibly returning to Liberia in the future. She was very supportive of all three of us, strangers to her 24 hours prior, and expressed a desire to help us find our niches in Liberia. (None of us currently sees herself staying at Cuttington long-term.) Frieda seems to have connections everywhere so I don’t doubt that she could do it. I’m very intrigued at the possibility of ELWA hospital. I’ve never even been in the building but the thought of living on that compound with the kind of people I’ve met there is a thrilling one. Frieda has a way of empowering people through her own strength and after leaving her cozy kitchen I found myself contemplating possibilities that had never before occurred to me. I wonder if ELWA hospital needs help on the pediatric ward? Hey, if I could come in as a head nurse for the ward, I could really make a difference in the way care is delivered here. Lasting, positive change! Never before have I seriously envisioned myself in that kind of leadership role, but something about my time with Frieda (probably paired with having recently stepped into the role of “university instructor”) made me feel that I had it in me. Maybe, just maybe, I could be that kind of person. I have to admit that’s a pretty exciting thought. I have to give credit to my wonderful priest Margaret who, in a phone call a few months ago, interpreted my overwhelming frustration and discouragement with the way things were going as an opportunity to become more comfortable with being seen as something of an authority figure. I didn’t quite follow her line of thinking at the time, but she planted a seed and in recent weeks I’ve begun to see that she was right. I find myself becoming more confident, less apologetic and timid. Standing in front of 50 college students and lecturing on the immune system isn’t easy but it’s not outside the realm of possibility for me. I’ve been able to set some clear boundaries with my colleagues in the nursing department; that was very difficult and I think they now see me as being a little lazy or uncommitted, but at least I don’t feel resentful about being “forced” to perform tasks that I consider to be unreasonable. I’m even toying with the idea of going back for my Master’s when I get home, because I think developing my assessment and diagnostic skills would allow me to function much more confidently in this setting, where there often is no doctor available for consultation.

So basically, I’ve had a lot of exciting experiences lately, and I feel there may be more to come. I’m dying to see what the next phase of my life will hold. You all remain in my thoughts and prayers.

Vacation!

I’m sitting on CeCe Beach attempting to take in the beauty of this place, trying to absorb it all so that I can take it with me back to Cuttington in a few days. We’re on semester break right now and Robin, Martha, and I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to get some R&R. This place feels so far removed from anything else we’ve experienced in Liberia that it’s difficult to believe that we’re still in the country.

The hot sand on which I sit is a rich tan with hints of red and occasional black swirls which the waves have brought up from the deep. It’s not too fine, not to course…just perfect for walking or reclining in. Small breakers crash about 30 yards out, in the sea whose color has no name. “Blue and grey and green,” as described by the main character in my favorite childhood book, Sarah, Plain and Tall. It’s more green than anything else but luminous and cloudy and clear all at the same time. It’s a texture as much as a color. I can’t describe the feeling of floating along in the warm, salty water, bobbing up and down with the waves, whichever way they choose to send me. The ocean is so massive and powerful, mysterious and unpredictable; to be at its mercy is a bit terrifying but exhilarating and peaceful at the same time. It’s heavenly!

Waves crash on the rocks just offshore, creating white halos at their bases, and larger, water-worn boulders jut out from the beach just to my right. They are red-brown, incredibly smooth, and hot under bare feet. Past these rocks the beach continues to curve around to my right, past palm trees, fishing boats, and the ruins of what must have once been glorious homes, terminating in a low spit far in the distance. To my left it extends toward a bustling fishing village and is littered with dug-out boats, long, shallow, and narrow. Almost like canoes. They are brightly painted just like the taxis in town, wish slogans like, “Help your neighbor” and “God’s time is best.” The fishermen will paddle these vessels out to sea and raise a single square sail made from rice bags which have been stitched together. It must be difficult to navigate these boats with no rudder or keel, through the strong current and past the rocks and sand bars that are visible at low tide. Farther down to the left, past the former hotels and restaurants looms the remains of Hotel Africa, which used to be of unparalleled splendor but is now a dark, ominous shell hulking on the horizon. Very poignant. And even beyond that I can see the outline of Monrovia, ghostly through a haze of mist and air pollution.

We have the beach virtually to ourselves. The sound of crashing waves competes only with the African music being played at the bar behind me, the occasional small bird chirping away, and the pleasant rustle of palm leaves overhead, stirred by the gentle breeze. The beach is scattered with coconut palms, and stuck in among them are white tables and chairs, each resting under a small thatched roof. The effect is very romantic and picturesque; at night it looks like a fairyland, with a small light at each table creating silhouettes of the palm branches. I have abandoned the shade of my thatched roof for the time being, and am soaking up the hot rays of the sun. Skin cancer? What’s that? I’ve always said sunshine is good for the soul! J It’s funny that the black people in this country value lighter (“bright”) skin, while the white people here spend time trying to become darker.

Straight out in front of me floats a large abandoned ship. It is anchored at the stern and the bow drifts in and out with the tide, causing it to pivot throughout the day. They tell us it’s been there since September, when a fire broke out onboard and most of the sailors died. It’s not that far from shore but there was no way to rescue them. There’s nothing like the Coast Guard here. I can’t imagine the feeling of helplessness that must have come over both those sailors and those on shore watching the disaster. The ship was carrying fish from the port in Town and all the local fishermen braved the deep waters in their tiny vessels to collect the cargo and sell it in the city. I can only hope that some of them thought to collect the diesel too, because no one is going to do anything with that ship. It’s just going to sit there and disintegrate until it sinks. I can only imagine the oil slick, and there will be no one to clean it up. I’m not sure it would even occur to most people here, even if they had the knowledge and resources necessary to do it. To think of this pristine beach spoiled like that is literally painful. The ship looks perfectly intact from this distance; it seems like such a waste to just let it rot there. These are the types of things you don’t even think about when considering the differences between places like the US and Liberia. Such completely different worlds!

Those fishermen I mentioned are living on the brink of poverty or even death, no more than 200 yards down the beach and here we are, relaxing in the sun, each paying the equivalent of a housekeeper’s monthly salary for every night we’re here (all of about $30, but still…). The juxtaposition is stark and I’m constantly aware of it; it bothers me, but not as much as I would have expected. I was discussing this recently with Martha and I agree with the way she articulated it: This contrast makes me keenly aware of how incredibly fortunate I am in my life. And I’m very grateful for that. Wallowing in guilt doesn’t change anything. Honestly, we could go broke trying to help everyone who asks and it still wouldn’t make much difference. I’ve come to see that giving handouts only encourages a culture of begging and a lack of empowerment. (That lack of empowerment seems to be a huge problem throughout this country, extending even to our students and colleagues.) I really believe that we’re in a position to do more good at Cuttington. As they say, teach a man to fish and you feed him for life. That’s the kind of help that will make a real and lasting difference.

So I guess for now I’ll just have to lie back, appreciate the beauty of this place and my ability to enjoy it, and allow myself to be rejuvenated for next semester… J

The Waterfall

Hello all!

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas. Ours here in Liberia was great...hardly a trace of homesickness. We were having too much fun to mope around! The other day a wonderful couple from Cuttington, Father and Mother Wreh, took us to the most beautiful spot in the world. It's called Kpatawee Falls. It's like a little hidden paradise. A huge, dramatic waterfall nestled in the jungle. You'd never know it was there until you practically fell in. We spent a fantastic day swimming and eating Mother Wreh's delicious cooking. Just wanted to share a picture, and to say that if anyone wants to come and visit I promise to find a way to get you to "The Waterfall." Gotta run!

Rehab Village Kids

"Leper Colony"

November 11, 2006

Two days ago I was blessed with a unique opportunity; I got to visit a “leper colony.” Okay, that’s a melodramatic way of putting it, but it gets your attention, right? To put it in more contemporary terms John Lunn, the administrator of Phebe Hospital, was kind enough to let me tag along on his visit to the Phebe Leprosy Rehabilitation Facility. I had heard that such a community existed near Cuttington and had wanted to visit since before leaving for Liberia. My friend Robin had a chance to see it several weeks ago and was profoundly touched by her experience there. She has been talking about it ever since, which naturally intensified my desire to go. When I learned at the last minute that John was traveling there I dropped everything and jumped at the chance to join him.

Also along for the ride were Dr. Rigmor, a Swedish orthopedic surgeon here for a 6-week assignment, and Rev. Padmore, a Lutheran pastor from Liberia who is very involved with the community. The village is located at the end of a very long, very bad road which most vehicles in this country would be unable to negotiate. When we finally emerged from the rubber plantation through which we’d been bouncing and saw the village I was struck by how much it looked like any other village around here. I don’t know what I was expecting, but certainly not a run-of-the-mill cluster of homes. The houses consist of mud walls with roofs of either thatch or corrugated tin. I noticed the ever-present chickens pecking at the dirt, and outdoor cooking areas nestled between the banana trees.

Before we could even pile out of the jeep the people were gathering around it to greet us. The first were three men with something of a Western air about them, who seemed to be in charge. They were gracious and welcoming, flashing huge smiles and offering confident handshakes. My initial reaction was one of surprise that they were so bold. I had imagined that they would be so oppressed and ostracized that they would shy away from outsiders, particularly white foreigners. That was the first of many pleasant surprises that afternoon. It was these men who showed us around the village and answered our questions.

The first building they took us to was a multi-purpose structure which serves as a worship space and occasional school. Francis, one of our guides, proudly pointed out the corrugated tin roof which was apparently relatively new. Inside, the single large room was dim and I noticed a broken blackboard and two or three mangled chairs. That was it. Rev. Padmore informed us that there are almost 140 children in the village, and that they do have several teachers but that the funding is so sporadic (consisting of whatever donations he can elicit from outside sources) that they often go a year without being paid. I had the impression that the academic calendar is as erratic as the funding. I saw no educational materials of any kind.

Here I should probably mention the children. Simply put, they captured my heart. The cluster who were present when we arrived had by this time grown to more of a herd. These are the children you see on the Save the Children commercials. No clothes, filthy bodies, every belly a swollen one. Many of them were brave enough to shake my hand and tell me their names. Even those who weren’t graced me with beautiful smiles, some shy, some impish. I could hardly walk to keep up with the rest of the group because they were crowding so closely around me. They kept staring up at me with enormous brown eyes and it wasn’t long before the temptation to break out my camera became too great. There was one beautiful girl, probably about 10 years old, carrying a naked toddler on her back. Something in her face captivated me and I asked if I could take her picture. Well, as soon as the camera appeared pandemonium ensued. There would be no individual pictures; everyone began clambering to be in the shot. So I took a picture of the whole group and when I showed it to them you should have heard the roar. Squeals of amazement and delight such as I’ve never heard. “Take another, take another!” Four or five pictures later the children were beginning to get rowdy, pushing and hitting to get a better view of the camera screen. Soon I realized that the rest of my party had moved further into the village and I had to scramble to catch up.

One of our hosts pointed out a boy, probably about 13, who was “one of our new cases.” In other words this boy was one of 5 people in the village who have contracted leprosy in the last few years. All the patients in this village can theoretically receive free treatment from Phebe so the fact that people are catching it means that there is a breakdown in the system. Leprosy, or Hansen’s Disease as it’s called these days, is caused by a bacteria that’s closely related to that which causes Tuberculosis. Contrary to popular belief it’s very difficult to catch and is usually only passed between people who live together for many years. It does not actually cause flesh to fall off, but it causes nerve damage so the person may unknowingly injure the affected limb and later lose it to infection. If a person is treated with antibiotics (often for more than a year) he or she will no longer be contagious. Hence, the children in this community should not be catching the disease if all the adults are being adequately treated. But this village is so isolated that walking to Phebe Hospital is virtually out of the question and the hospital-sponsored treatment that is supposed to be brought to them is not completely reliable. Then there’s the problem of actually getting people to take the medication every day. Even Robin and I, who have a scientific background and know the importance of taking our anti-malaria medication don’t remember our doxycycline every day. Only about 54 of the 240 inhabitants of this village actually have leprosy; the rest are family members or others who are simply part of the community.

During my psychiatric clinicals in nursing school I remember being floored by the realization that the patients I encountered were, by and large, “regular people” who happened to have a disease affecting one aspect of their lives. In other words, their illnesses didn’t define their lives; they may have been hearing voices that I couldn’t hear, but they had families and interests just like I did. I discovered I was not so different from them as I would have liked to think. I had a similar epiphany on my visit to the Rehabilitation Facility. The people I met are part of a tight-knit community and although they are living in what I would call crushing poverty, they refuse to be crushed. Thinking back on the experience later in the evening, I was filled with a sense of peaceful joy and contentment. I should have been overwhelmed by the appalling conditions under which those people live (and without question it did make me want to find ways of helping them) but instead their joy was what stuck with me. Clearly, these people know something I don’t. They neither wallow in self-pity nor accept the stigma that accompanies their disease. They, like my psychiatric patients, refuse to be defined by their illness. I was gratified to hear Rev. Padmore say that the disease doesn’t carry the stigma here that it used to. Many people from the Rehab Village are accepted as part of the larger community and are regular fixtures in the markets. Still, their life is not an easy one; I was humbled by the spirit and pride exhibited by the beautiful “lepers” I met that day and the memory of them will not soon fade from my mind.

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Home, Sweet Home

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