Pediatrics avec Alexis- Athens

Not my first choice but I think that I can handle a month with the little rug rats. Their all doped up on Quinine anyways. The month went by fast and I hate to say it but I rather enjoyed myself. It might have more to do with my awesome co-worker Alexis. Thank God he knows some English. And he’s not lazy either so I didn’t have to do all the work. I actually think that he might have worked harder than me. He is a pro when it comes to baby IVs. I can’t find a vein anywhere and he just sticks it in and finds one right away. I’m in AWE!

And when there wasn’t babies crying and IVs to do he would help me with my French. I think it was enjoyable to hear me destroy every word that I tried to say.

One of the more memorable conversations with Alexi was about babies.

“Give me one white baby”

“Umm sorry I cant.

“Why”

“Well, one we’re not married so there will be no baby making. Two I’m not white I’m brown so the baby would definitely not be white. And im leaving in 8 months”

He looks at me for a second and I know that he didn’t understand everything I said. Then he says something that just made me almost pee my pants.

“You give me premature baby”

“hahahahahaha…..”

30 minutes later

“hahahahaha”

Wow!

Only 3 days left. Not to much activity. Lots of Malaria and IV Quinine.

I’m out passing meds when I stop at bed 18. I turn to hand the mother her babies meds and I’m stunned, frozen. His eyes roll back, quick eye blinking and bubbles are pouring out of his mouth. Seizure!

“Alexis!!! Convulsions!”

“Oú” (where)

“Lit 18”

He comes with stethoscope in hand. Baby’s respirations are less than 15 per minute which automatically cancels out giving him diazepam which could lead to further respirator depression. So what do we do? That’s the hard part, Nothing. Only one conclusion can account for the seizures Malaria has gone cerebral.

The next day I find bed 18 is still alive but has suffered 2 more seizures since last night. By 6:30pm three hours into my shift his seized two more times and then dies. I watch as his little chest slowly ceases to move.

What should have I done? Is there something else I’m missing? Has being in Africa and having nothing to work with made me stupid?

On the other side of the ward in bed 8 the baby with Malaria dies 15 minutes later. Really!?

Malaria is a curable sickness so why are people dying left and right all around me? T.I.A. (This is Africa)

Last day in Pediatrics. Where is Alexis? Well, I guess I’m running this show solo. Please God give me the wisdom and strength to make it through the shift without any problems. The night goes smoothly. I have one new admit and I say another quick pray God help me. I set everything up to start the IV and I see one vein…so I’d better make it count. YES!!!! I got it. Who needs Alexis…..ha ha I do but not tonight.

Just call me the survivor. Completing a month of working in the most hectic and chaotic ward with 27 beds and 2 nurses I can honestly say I’m prepared for just about anything life has to throw at me.

So I guess I left peds on a good note. I did enjoy working there and the kids and parents were a lot of fun to see and play with but I’ve had enough. I need so more action. Some blood and guts. I’m taking my act to the OR I hope their ready for me.

Alexis 

Malaria Round Two-Carlie

I came down with malaria and round two was a lot worse than the first time.  I woke up around one in the morning because I was so cold.  I was shivering violently and have to get my sleeping bag out for added warmth but it didn’t help.  I checked my temperature which was 102.5 F.  I also had the worst body aches I have ever had.  I hurt everywhere.  I tried to take some Advil to bring my fever down but started dry heaving and couldn’t keep it down.  By three in the morning my fever had reached 104.4 F.  Saying I was miserable doesn’t describe how I felt.  I tried to take some Advil again at this point and succeeded in keeping it down. By six in the morning my fever had dropped to 102.2

Athens then talked to Jamie and he came and drove us to the hospital.  My malaria test came back positive with a result of 0.25% which was higher than my last case of malaria with a count of 0.05%.  Talking with doctor we decided to IV quinine since I was nauseated and having trouble keeping pills down.  Athens and Bronwyn took me over to Urgence to get and IV put in.  They ended up putting an infant catheter in because my veins were so small.  But by then they had stuck me about 3 times.

I was then brought back to the house where I laid in bed for the next three days while I was on IV quinine.  I don’t remember much for those three days because I was basically passed out in bed.  I would only get up to use the bathroom.  Athens would stay with me during the morning to monitor my IV drip then when she would go to work Bronwyn would come over and stay with me.  We had had to go down to the hospital twice because my IV infiltrated and we needed to get another one put in.  The only good thing about my IV infiltrating was that it prevented my veins from hardening from the quinine.  Quinine might help treat malaria but it is poison to your veins.  After finishing IV quinine your vein is tender and sometimes becomes hard.  You also develop temporary hearing loss.  You feel like you are underwater and are listing to people talking above you.  Your hearing returns once you finish taking the quinine.  It was frustrating not being able to hear. 

After my three days of quinine I was put on oral quinine.  By that time I was feeling a lot better.  My fever had gone down and my body aches were gone.  I just felt very tired. Malaria is hard on the body, and all you want to do is sleep.

 I hope that if I do develop malaria again while I am out here that I will be able to take Malarone for treatment.  Malarone does not have the side effects that quinine does, and treatment is only for three days.  But you have little choice on the matter if you are throwing up and can’t take oral pills.  That’s when you are put on the poison IV quinine. Se pa bon!!

Living the dream. The Missionary nursing dream that is.-Athens

                I’ve finally done it! I not only got to meet the man that inspired me with his book “Nasara” by to be a missionary I got to work with him for a whole four days.

 Dr. James Appel books was a huge influence on mine and my families decision on coming to Tchad. His book is inspiring in how he was able to learn and adapt to the eviorment around him and to see the problems that we there and try to fix them instead of looking passed them like many other before him had. He also had a great time while helping people in one of the most remote third world countries and he also found LOVE. Romance is always a winner in my book.

                Coming to Moundou I had no idea what he had in store for me. I just said I was willing to help in any way that he needed. So straight to the OR I went. I was able to watch him in action and ask questions along the way. I wasn’t expecting to get to involved cause I’ve never been a part of a surgical team before but what better way to learn then from a great teacher like Dr. James. Oh the excitement is almost too much. But I’m a grown women and a professional so I’m going to act like one. But inside a gitty teenager.

                The first surgery I was able to watch was a urethral stricture repair. His bladder was the size of a grape fruit and had a history of difficulty peeing for the last 6 months. When they opened him up and placed a catheter they found that there was no stricture but he did have puss gushing out from his ureter. So essentially he has an infection in his kidney. Why that caused him difficulty in urination I have no idea.

A lady with a Above the knee amputation had necrotizing facites. The wounds on her leg were bluish green with a rank smell. I watched has Dr. James cut off dread skin from the wound.

Then it was show time. He let me assisted him in amputating a man’s right testicle who had a hernia repair but developed internal bleeding and now had a hematoma in his scrotum. While he did the cutting I watched in Aww as this mans cantaloupe size scrotum poured out blood. Huge clots come and then came the kicker he took the scalpel and with  a few quick slices…. There was one.

Dilation and Curettage.  I’ve seen one of these in the states. It usually takes about 10 minutes to perform using the proper equipment. Here we do everything by hand. While I held the speculum in place and Dr. James scraped what was left behind from her miscarriage. If anything is left behind it can cause bleeding and infection. Blood was splattered all over my arms and feet. We spend almost 2 hours trying to get it all out.

I was able to scrub in a cesarean birth on a woman with twins who had preeclampsia. What!? Me!? scrub in…um YES Please!!! I’m looking all professional all gowned and gloved standing opposite Dr. James. He had to give me a stool to stand on so I could see the top of the table. It happen so fast cut….fluid rush….baby one out….Suction…..baby two out…. Suction…..placenta out…..clear out blood and clots…..close….Done. WOW! Rush!

When I wasn’t watching or assisting in the OR I tried to find other ways to be helpful. I worked with the laboratory and helped with blood typing, HIV and Hepatitis B testing and placing IVs.

When surgeries were completed early and there was nothing else to do I decided to have an adventure so took a leisurely 2 mile walk from the clinic into town to the market. I was so excited to see a paved road and actual building. Probably not the best idea being a lone female and not knowing much French but I don’t like to sit still and this town is so much bigger then Béré so I had to explore.

Friday came and as much as I loved the experience of working somewhere new  I was finally ready to go home to Béré. I was lucky enough that Augustine the Béré Hospital Administrator was in Moundou at the time and was able to give me a ride back. I had to take a cuando (moto taxi) to meet him and half a mile away from my destination the moto breaks down. Just my luck.  And of course everyone from a mile away wanted to come see the white person stranded. I had to push my way through the crowd to flag down another moto to take me the rest of the way.

The truck is a old rusted loading truck and is falling apart but it runs and that’s all I need. The road back is bumpy and hot. We get stuck 3 times!! The workers had to unloaded all the cement they were hauling each time to decrease the wait to we could push the truck. I probably didn’t help much but I like to show those Tchadian men that American women aren’t wimps. By 9:30pm its dark outside and we are 18 km away from our destination and I’m the only female and with 10 men. Thank God for Gary. He drove the distance to save me

Another African adventure but not the ride home I was hoping for but that’s just life in Tchad. I think God might have sent me here to test my patience.  

Merci- Carlie

I never thought I would see her again and didn’t want to. I wanted to forget that awful night in the OR, but it seemed that I wasn’t meant to forget. And I couldn’t seem to block the horrible memory’s that came rushing back when I looked into her eyes. She lay on a mat underneath a tree at the nutrition center.  I could hardly tell it was her, she was skin and bones with eyes so big they seemed to jump out of her face.  But in that those eyes I saw the pain, the sadness and the hopelessness that I know she feels.  I know how she feels because I was there two months ago in the OR, and felt her pain.

When I first got here I worked nights in maternity delivering babies.  It was exciting and scary experience. I don’t remember when she came in, but I remember it was soon after I got to work around 2100.  She came in after laboring at home for a couple days and not delivering.  We listened but couldn’t find a fetal heart rate, so the physician was called.  After confirming the baby was indeed dead it was decided that we would use the forceps to deliver the dead fetus.  What should have been a quick procedure turned into a couple of hours.

 I can’t and don’t really want to put to words what I saw.  It was a traumatic experience for everyone there. There were two physicians, two nurses, and a dentist in the room.  I was monitoring the IV and holding her left leg up.  The other nurse was holding her other leg while the dentist was handing out supplies while the two physicians tried to pull the dead fetus out.  But the fetus wouldn’t come.  No matter how much they pulled or tried to rotate the head the fetus would not move.  The head was too big for the birth canal, so it was decided that the fetus head would have to get smaller.  The only way to do that was to make an incision into the fetus head and drain out some of the fluid and brain tissue.  There was so much blood.  After the incision was made I watched as white particles I can only guess that was brain matter start to mix with the blood splattered on the cement floor.   Even after the fetus head was made smaller, it was difficult getting the fetus out.  It was a hot and sticky night, but standing under the bright lights of the OR made us all sweat profusely.  Soon we were all drenched in our own sweat.  I am not one to become squeamish from the sight of blood, but I had never seen so much blood.  It covered the cement floor at the end of the operating table.  Blood covered the physicians’ feet and was soon splattered on mine. I began to feel light headed and nauseated.  I was so hot and sweaty.  Sweat was running down my face and neck. When I couldn’t take the sight of all the blood, I would turn and look at her face as she lay there on the table.  I could tell she was sad, exhausted and in pain, both physically and emotionally.  With one had holding her leg up I reached up and grabbed her hand.  I wanted her to know how sorry I was, and that she wasn’t alone. I tried to share that all by holding her hand in mine.

Finally the dead fetus was delivered.  It was a little baby boy.  The father came in with a cardboard box and took the baby away.  The next hour was spent trying to stop the bleeding.  There was so much blood on the ground that it began to make a stream and flow into a drain in the cement floor.  At one point I had to step outside. I knew that if I stayed a moment longer I would either faint or star crying. I was so light headed, and even blinking furiously didn’t clear the moisture from my eyes. After five minutes I dried my eyes, splashed water onto my face and neck and walked back in.

The physicians got the blood stopped and she was moved to the maternity floor.  I always feel bad for the mothers who have lost their babies that are put on the open maternity floor.  There they lay in bed surrounded by other moms with babies in their arms when they have none.

I left work that next morning in a haze.  The scene in the OR running through my head, over and over again.   I couldn’t seem to stop the images that appeared or the look in her eyes as she lay on the operating table.  When I got back to the Roberts house everyone was eating breakfast.  I couldn’t eat, and instead went to take a shower and go to bed.  I couldn’t stop the tears from coming, and cried myself to sleep.  I didn’t even know her name, but I wanted to try and forget her.

But two months later here I was staring at the face of the women on the operating table. As she looks at me I briefly wonder if she recognizes me.  If she does she does she doesn’t show it.  Her name is Merci, which means “thank you” in French.  I am told that after her baby died, the horrible birth that I witnessed that she went home and didn’t eat.  No one knows if she chooses to not eat or if for some reason her family wouldn’t feed her.  But she was brought to the nutrition center to regain her weight.  She looks like a Holocaust victim, a skeleton brought to life.  As I help hold her head up while I feed her, I tell her in English how sorry I am and that I am praying for her. I know that she can’t understand me, but I feel better saying the words out loud.  I grab her hand and give it a squeeze, and once again my mind wonders back to that horrible night in the OR.  But this time I don’t block the memories, or try and forget. And that’s when I realize I wasn’t meant to forget, but in some small way contribute to helping her heal. I give her hand another squeeze wanting her to know that she is not alone, as we continue to sit together on the grass mat under the big tree enjoying the sun and the cool breeze.

The Amazing Properties of the Citron

We have eight citron (lime) trees on our property in Bendale.  Both Athens and I have begun to put lime in lots of our foods from curry, pancakes to popcorn. The Chadian people eat the limes like oranges but I have no desire to destroy the enamel on my teeth so I do not eat limes like the Chadians.

With eight trees we have more than enough citron, so one day I brought a bag of citron with me to work to give to the other nurses.  I was working with Hamadu that week in Urgence and when I offered him some citron he took only one.  I tried to convince him that I had plenty and to take more but he only wanted one.  I asked him if he didn’t like citron and he replied that he did but he only could have one a week. Por que? (why) I asked him.  And he told me that he could only have one citron a week because citron killed sperm.  Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight face when someone tells you something like that!! Holding in laughter hurts!!  He seemed oblivious to the fact that I was about one second away from laughing in his face and he continued to explain to me why he could only take one citron.  He told me when he was young and he didn’t love a woman he could eat many citron.  But now that he is married and loves a woman he must only eat one citron a week. 

Well I didn’t want to prevent him from having the 12 kids he wanted so I didn’t force another citron on him.  I didn’t want to be labeled as a sperm killer either.  After this very education talk from Hamadu of the dangers of eating too many citron I had to step outside.  I am proud to say that I made all the way to the dentist office where some of the SMs were hanging out before I dissolved into laughter.  It took me a few minutes to get my laugher under control so that I tell the SMs why I was laughing so hard.  Where did Hamadu get his information from!!??  I could have stayed there and tried to tell him the truth, but decided against it.  He probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.  And I don’t think I could get through telling him he was wrong about citron killing sperm without laughing.  If the Chadians are using citron as birth control it’s no surprise that they have so many kids.  It’s obvious that the birth control method is not working, or maybe the men are not eating enough citron per week!!

Discouraged- Carlie

 I am a nurse in the Béré Adventist Hospital in Chad Africa.  But there are days where I don’t feel like a nurse and I just want to give up.   I want to scream and yell at the parents of my patients, then walk out the door without looking back. I want to take their child from them, and tell them they are unfit to be a parent.  But if I did that for every child, soon I would be running an orphanage.  And really could I do much better than them with what they’ve been given?

Chad Africa is a hard place to live.  With death being so common, “survival of the fittest” is underlining attitude here.  Parents have lots of children because many of their children will die before reaching the age of two.  More children means more mouths to feed, but also means more help in the fields.

Working at the nutrition center and seeing so many malnourished children I couldn’t understand why they were not feeding their kids.  The parents didn’t seem to be lacking in food when you looked at them, but their child was skin and bones or plum with edema from lack of protein.  It’s so hard not to jump to conclusions and judge these people.  The kids could be getting food, but because of parasites they might not be getting the nutrition they need.  Also malaria can cause kids to lose a lot of weight and they might not be able to gain the weight back after having malaria.  But we also had a ten year old child at the nutrition center that weighed 8 kilograms and was so malnourished he couldn’t walk; all because his mom wouldn’t feed him.  Apparently she was mad that her husband for loving his second wife more and took her anger out on her son.  How can a mother do that to her child?  How skinny does the child have to get before they seek help?  What is stopping them from getting the help they need, especially when the help is free?  I just don’t understand.  I can’t describe the feelings of holding a child who is so skinny I can see all his bones, and knowing he is going to die and there is nothing I can do.  Though yelling at the parent might make me feel better it accomplishes nothing.  So I accept the death of yet another child.

The other day when I was working in Urgence we had a 5 year old child come in with his parent, and the child was diagnosed with malaria.  He had a temperature of 40 degrees Celsius and a malaria count of 0.25%.  Even after knowing this the parents wanted to leave.  We told the parents that the child would die if he left the hospital and didn’t get the treatment he needed.  His high fever would cause convulsions and most likely his malaria would turn into cerebral malaria without treatment.  But still they wanted to leave.  Thinking that money was the issue we obtained a free form for them so that their entire hospital bill would be paid for but even then they still wanted to leave.  It took us a good half an hour to convince them to stay so that their child could live. What is wrong with these people?  Why did I have to convince the parents to stay in the hospital so their child could live?  I was so angry at those parents.  At one point I left the parents with Alexis (the Chadian nurse I was working with) because I was so angry I was afraid I would start screaming at the parents, or burst into tears.  You shouldn’t have to convince parent to let their child live.  They didn’t deserve their child and shouldn’t be parents.  I just don’t understand, isn’t life precious? How can you live with yourself knowing because you did nothing your child is dead?

I had a family bring in a boy who ten years old and unconscious into Urgence.  The parents had come in on October 4^th because the boy had a high fever and wasn’t eating.  He was diagnosed with malaria with a count of 0.40%, which is high.  The parents left the hospital, taking their child home without getting him treatment.  Now four days later on October 8^th they return with him, and he is unconscious having developed cerebral malaria.  The family around the child’s bed looks at me like I am going to save their child. As if I, Carlie Munroe have the power to cure him of his malaria. They don’t realize that he probably won’t make it through the night.  They are crying holding his hand, but all I want to do is yell at them.  I have so much anger; I know the minute I start yelling I won’t stop.  So I hold it in and say nothing.  Why didn’t they get him the treatment he needed on the 4^th when he was diagnosed with malaria? Why are they here now four days later?! They act so sad, but this is their entire fault!  Their child will die because they didn’t get him treatment when he was diagnosed.  I want to yell at them and tell them how he will die because they didn’t get him treatment. I want them to realize that this could have been prevented!  But I don’t say anything; I hold my anger in check.  Instead I put an IV in and start his malaria treatment; knowing that it will not help.  He will be dead by tomorrow.

I am a nurse in the Bere Hospital in Chad Africa.  But I feel so useless at times.  I realize I can’t save them all, but it doesn’t make it any easier.  I have lost count of how may children I have seen die, how may I have held I my arms knowing death is inevitable.  Death is like a shadow here in Africa, always right behind you, and it is wearing me down.  I am so weary and my soul feels tired.  I have long since stopped crying over all the death I see; my tears have all dried up; there is none left.  I pray that God will soften my heart, but I feel like my heart has turned to stone.  I know if I let myself cry, that I won’t be able to stop.  So instead I pray to God for the strength to go one for another day, and remind myself that God’s heart is not made of stone.  That I might not be able to cry, but God does, and cares for every child in Africa even if the parents don’t.

I am a nurse in the Bere Hospital in Chad Africa.  At times I am discouraged, but the good moments far out way the bad ones. God brought me here to serve his children and I am trying to the best of my ability.  As I recheck the quinine drip on my unconscious child I let go of some of my anger towards his parents; and as I do my heart of stone starts to beat again.

Janna

WE MISS YOU!!! We hope that you don’t suffer from severe cultural shock going back to life in America. If you do you can always come back to Tchad

.

We will remain friends until the electromagnetic plates shift and the world falls through the cracks into the great abyss….then we won’t be friends anymore.

Criminal Intentions- Carlie

I am planning murder.  I day-dream about it, and it has become an obsession is some ways.  Its premeditated murder and I accept full responsibilities for my actions.  Those who know of my plan, who could be labeled as accomplices shall not be named.

There are different ways to commit murder and I have thought of many.  Strangulation, stoning, bow and arrow, knife, sling shot (if it was good enough for David, its good enough for me) and being buried alive are some of my options.  Taking it captive and forcing it to live in a cage as my pet also has merit.  My many options for death are causing me to be indecisive, but the result is the same.  Though I don’t relish the idea of being in jail in a foreign country, in the end it will be worth it.  That stupid bird most DIE!

When I was younger I wanted a parrot.  An African Grey Parrot to be exact.  I wanted to walk around with bird on my shoulder like a pirate.  To teach it to talk, and mimic what I say.  But after being here in Africa I have lost this desire.  Until two days ago I didn’t know what kind of bird I was planning to murder, I just knew it had die.  But now I know that I will be murdering a King Fisher.  He is all white with bright sky blue wings with black tips, and a orange beak.  He is beautiful. And he makes the most annoying sounds I have heard. He makes a sound like a beeping alarm clock that starts to get faster and raises an octave after each note.  This blue parrot sits out on a tree outside my window and repeatedly makes this sound over and over again.  Normally I could care less, I mean birds make sounds all the time.  But this bird decides to do his annoying sounds outside my window at five o’clock in the morning!  And this is not just every now and then; this is EVERY morning at the same time!  I could set my alarm to this bird!  Except for I don’t, because I don’t want to get up at five o’clock in the morning after getting home from the hospital each night at 9:30. I want to sleep for another hour or so.  And unlike Methuselah our owl, when I yell at the bird to shut up he does not listen.  I thought that maybe he doesn’t speak English so I have tried yelling at him in French, Spanish and the local language. (I might have even thrown out some Marshallese just for good measure. It was hard to remember because it was five o’clock in the morning!!) Apparently he does not speak any of those languages because he continues to make the same sounds every morning. (Athens was gone for four days and didn’t witness me start yelling and speaking in tongues at five o’clock in the morning.  She probably would have thought I was going crazy!)  And to add to my misery, he sometimes decided to come back at six o’clock and do the same thing. He is on my list, and that’s not a good list to be on! He is asking for it, and I will retaliate!!

So the other morning while I was laying in bed, after being woken up by the annoying parrot at five in the morning, after yelling at him to shut up for more than ten minutes, I decided that I had, had enough!  The King Fisher has been warned multiple times in several languages, and now must pay the consequences.  The bird must die.

You know you’ve been in Chad to long when……

You growl after you snatch the last piece of chocolate….Carlie.

Pooping in a toilet is a luxury.

When a dozen flies land on you and you just don’t care.

When the smell of urine, vomit, breast milk and diarrhea doesn’t bother you.

When you don’t stop for the children in the middle of the road.

When the sounds of church bells, screech owls and funeral drums don’t keep you up at night.

When your able to tell when a baby is about to pee on you.

When you think that dark area on your arm is a tan when really its built up dirt.

When the condition of a 3^rd world hospital appears normal. (rats, bats and topless women)

When you don’t notice that everyone is staring at you.

When you answer when someone yells out “Nasara”.

When your primary language is “Frenchlish”.

When you prefer the outside shower surrounded by a grass fence and occupied by lizards instead of an indoor shower.

When your worst shopping addiction is ethnic handmade baskets.

When it drops below 85^oF and you reach for a sweater and a blanket.

When getting mail feels like you’ve won the lottery.

When you can predict the weather by how well your cell phone is working.

When you race out of the shower because you thought you heard an elephant but it ended up being a cow in distress.

Life is never boring in the bush.

African road trip/one day church- Athens

4:45 am- We are loaded up in the car Joanna and Darren, Kaleb, Franco and myself. While Jonathan and Melody are on the Motto. The back end of the land cruiser is packed full of our luggage and the roof is piled high with ladders and a scaffolding. Our destination is Kumra 230k southeast of Béré which with paved roads and no problems it should only take 4 hours to get there but this is Africa and we have neither. The first hour of the trip is constant swerving and hitting pot holes and bouncing everywhere in the car. Before we even reach the next village Lia our brakes go out. We pull over and while the men try and repair what they can I take a nap in the back seat J

The brakes aren’t perfect and we need to pump them several times ahead of time… we keep going. The roads start to have a pattern to then deep sand, deep hole, lots of mud, deep puddles etc. But no matter what you just keep going otherwise we’ll get stuck. The roads continued like this until half way between Lia and Doba where the river from got so high it completely whipped out the road. The locals had conues ready to take mottos and people across to the other side but that didn’t really help our car situation. So we waded through the water to measure the depth to determine if we could make it across in the car. In the end we went for it. Just keep going. As we make it successful through the deep water and round the bend we are greeted with  another long stretch of water that is deeper and less promising then the first. After much contemplation and prayer we go for it. The water was seeping in the bottom of the door and it was almost covering the hood but we made it through. 

I spend most of the trip in miserable pain. I’m dreadfully car sick and I think I might have a concussion from hitting my head on the roof repeatedly from the creator size holes in the road. We stop every so often to buy food and to use the rest room…which is crouching in some ones field.

When we finally make it to Doba I could barley believe my eyes….paved roads!

Rules of the Tchadian roads: Keep one foot on the gas, one hand on the horn, continue, continue.

The trip from there was a lot faster and smoother with the occasional speed bump and toll booth.

We finally make it to our destination at 5:30 pm, a whole 12 hours later. Pastor David the man in charge of showing us where we are sleeping and building is still not there. We wait there until 8pm when he finally shows up to tell us about the building projects. We came with the intention of building three one day churches in three different locations. One of the locations was completely inaccessible due to the flooding and another had land donated by the government but because they waited so long to build the government took the land back. So we were left with one location to build at. Slight teeny problem the building materials aren’t here. Hmmm. Even though we were told before we came that everything was ready and materials were at the locations. Oh the frustration, but im to tired an I just want to stretch out and sleep after being cramped in a car all day.

The next morning we go to our site that is 15k away from the village we are staying at in Kumra. The village there has tried to build a church in the past but it was blown down by the wind not the best. There foundation that they had was still usable but to big for the One Day structure. We start clearing the area and doing what we can in order to prepare for the following day…. We are hopefully the building materials will arrive so that this trip would not have been for nothing. After we have done all that we can do we spend some time trying to improve the break further and visit with people from the village. They grasesoly left us use there shower. It’s a dirt mound with stick walls that don’t even reach my shoulders so I have to be careful not to stan to straight. I enjoy the view of the field, trees and sunset as I wash away the gallon of sweat that is plastered to my body. By 7pm we are heading back to our sleeping quarters. When we arrive we are greeted with the unfriendly sight of a mound of steel…. Not what I was hoping for.

Sorting building material; for 3 churches at 10pm in the dark with nothing but our head lamps while bug make their way into my nose mouth and eyes is not how I envisioned relaxing before bed. But we all work together to sort out materials and are relived that we don’t have to get up at 4 am to do it then. And now we have what we need to build a church.

Up again at 5am to pack up the car with the building materials and all out stuff. I decide to use the bathroom and when I walk inside and see cockroaches the size of small dinosaurs. I retreat in fear. My fear of bugs has decreased since living in Tchad but I do not do cockroaches. I decided I would rather get a UTI then relive myself in front an army of cockroaches.

When we reach the building site again we start right away organizing everything. Everyone has a task but me… I’ve never build a one day church so I have no idea what is going on. They had me a screw gun and show me what to do. So I go to town drilling anything and everything that needs to be drilled until that is my new friend Demi a young man that lives in the village want a turn at drilling too. And soon are task is done. Now we just have to wait for the men on the latter’s to put up the roof. I sit back with the rest of the women and watch as the locals work at building alongside the rest of the group. And I an amazed at how chaos can turn into organized structure so quickly. We are interrupted by a brief rain storm and everyone scatters.

When the rain stops we are back to work. Demi and I have teamed up again to secure the lowest part of the roof and even up this high I am slightly anxious. Heights are not my thing. Continue, continue. And by 5pm we are finished. There is singing and drums and prayer and shouts of joy. We sing some songs in English and they record us on their ancient boom box tape player. And play it back when we’ve finished.

After everything is put away and we have all showered we are invited to the pastors house for a meal. Yum!!! I love local food. And I’ve only eaten gatos (fried dough, pretty much like a doughnut) and bread for the last 3 days so beans and rice taste like heaven on earth. Some of the people in the village are so greatful for the church that they give us gifts like tomatos, corn, eggplant and peanuts. This is how they make their money to what they survive on so giving it to us is a sign of great respect.

The trip home the next day is long. We are up by 4am and on the road by 5am. We stop in Doba to get are breaks repaired again so that we have a safer trip home. The trip takes just as long to get home and to fight the nausra and car sickness I stick my head out the window like a dog and just take in the sceneary. It is so beautiful and are we pass by everyone waves and yells “nasara”.

We make it back home at 5pm just in time to get ready for the Sabbath and a welcome home dinner from the rest of the group. Perfect ways to start the Sabbath. Rested, fed and with friends.

African Suitor -Carlie

So I have an African suitor.  His name is Renee, and he came for me.  He is an intern at the hospital and works in the lab.  He got off of work the same time I did and so I gave him a ride home a couple of times.  Since he lives in Bendale close to my house, I never felt like I could tell him no when he asked for a ride on my moto.  He speaks French and very little English, and since I speak English and only a little French we could communicate very little.  But as I was dropping him off one time, he asks me in English, “May I come for you?”  In my head I am thinking, Come for me?  Like as in another ride home tomorrow? So in my ignorance in not really understanding what he is saying I reply, “Ahh… sure why not.”  After that he walks the rest the way home and I go into the house thinking nothing of it.

So later that evening I am washing the dishes in the kitchen when I hear Bronwny at the door.  She walks in and asks me if I know a guy named Renee because he is outside and in his own words, “Has come for me.”   I stare at her in shock, and yell, “WHAT!! No!!” I look out the window and there he is, Renee…. And he has indeed come for me.  I proceed to tell Bronwyn the story and what he said to me and plead with her to help me get rid of him.  She thinks this is hilarious and is laughing her head off.  Athens has been gone the whole for the last couple days to help build a church so I am home alone and am so thankful the Bronwyn arrived to help deal with him.  She has been in Africa for a year and speaks French so I feel more confident stepping outside to talk to my African suitor.

We walk outside together to great Renee.  He is dressed extremely nicely for an African, with a nice collared shirt, and black dress pants. Seeing him all dressed up makes me feel slightly guilty, but he needs to go pronto!!  Bronwyn starts to talk to him in French and he doesn’t say much why he is here.  We all stand there in awkward silence.  Bronwyn leans over and whispers to me that she feels like a third wheel.  I quietly but strongly inform her that this is NOT a date and that she is not going anywhere! But my mind is running wild with thoughts of why he is at my house. Does he think this is a date? Is this a date?!! Do Africans date?! What exactly does, “May I come for you” mean…. Did I just agree to marry him?! Or is he planning to take me to his compound where I can’t leave and forced to be his woman?! That last thought makes me laugh out loud, because there is no way that is happening!  I try to get a grip on my crazy imagination and participate in the converstation. But then I guiltily remember that is my entire fault that he is here because I said “yes” to his asking to come for me.  How was I supposed to know that’s what he meant?! Oh, why didn’t I plead ignorance which really wouldn’t have been a lie because I had no idea what he was asking me!! We all continue to talk for a few more minutes with periods of brief awkward silence, when he finally tells us to have a good night and leaves. 

As he walks away Bronwyn asks me what I will say next time someone asks if, “They can come for me?” Which I reply with a big fat, “NO!!”  Now my African suitor story has become a big joke among the missionaries as they jokingly ask if they can, “come for me”. Not funny.

Dirty Fun

Two weekends ago Janna, Bronwyn, Athens and I decided to go have some dirty fun and go mudding on the motorcycles.  We have had lots of rain recently and the main road is covered with huge puddles.  We decided to take advantage while we could.

So with Athens on the back of my moto, and Janna on the back of Bronwyns we tore down the road, spraying water everywhere. Some of the puddles here at least knee high and as I drove up to a puddle I would uncousiously slow down but was quickly reminded to “step on it” by the peanut gallery in the back (Athens). We drove down the road hitting all the puddles, getting soaking wet and all laughing hysterically.  I had to remind myself each time I drove through a puddle to keep my mouth shut and not laugh so I wouldn’t swallow any puddle water.  But it was hard to stop laughing, and I am sure I got some of that nasty dark brown water in my mouth.

 We finally had to stop because the road turned into a river.  From that point on they were taking people down the road in canoes.  Or some people would walk through water that looked like it was waist deep in some parts.  Even though I would have loved to keep going, I knew it would have been death of our bikes so decided to see if there was a way to go around the river that was the road.

So we followed a smaller pathway looking for a way around, but our search only led us to a field that had become a swamp.  When life gives you water, go swimming. And that’s what we did We parked the bikes in some bushes and went tromping out in the swamp to investigate. And in the middle of that swampy field was a lone canoe just asking to be sat in.  How could we resist? After sitting in the canoe we quickly realized the reason it was abandoned…it had a hole in the bottom.  But being as wet as we were it didn’t make much difference to us that canoe was slowly filling with water. We reenacted Pocahontas’ “Just around the river bend” and Christopher Columbus’s discovery or America.

Carlie thought she was the Captain but everyone knows that Athens is the only true pirate at heart. Arrrr!

We decided to do some exploring/swimming in the flooded rice field.  So we started off walking towards deeper water further out in the field.  As we were walking in a line one after the other in water that was up to our knees I had a vague feeling of déjà vu.  As we kept walking, I kept scanning the water for snakes, and that’s when it hit me; Anaconda the movie!  (Horribly done movie, and not worth seeing for those who have not seen it.)  But in that movie there is a scene where there are people walking in line through the swamp just like we were doing.  Then all a sudden a huge anaconda come and grabs both the person in the front and the person in the back of the line dragging them underwater.  As the scene from the movie runs through my head I decide that being the leader of this swamp expedition is not the smartest idea, and let Janna pass me so I am now in the middle. Its survival of the fittest here in Africa! Feel less exposed in the middle of the line, I decided to share the movie scene with the others (which they don’t find amusing at all), and before I know it I am back in the lead.  No one wants to be the leader now that I brought up snakes.  I should have kept my mouth shut. To make myself feel better about being the leader, I tell myself that most likely the person brining up the rear would get taken. As I look at who is bringing up the rear I think; Bronwyn is a good friend, and that I will miss her.

Vogue 

We finally reach a point in the field that we decide is far enough to go swimming.  The water is not that deep only about waist high but that doesn’t stop us from taking full advantage of the muddy field water.  Not many people can say they have gone swimming in a rice field in Africa. It’s not on my bucket list of things to do before I die, but I mentally check it off anyways. 

After awhile I decided that I want some picture of me in the water by the rice stalks.  And that turns into swamp vogue shoot. Athens is sticking leaves and rice stalks in my hair and Bronwyn is smearing mud on my face.  I look like this crazy Amazon swamp woman with vegetation sticking out crazily in my hair and mud smeared on my face like war paint.  Soon both Janna and Bronwyn are looking like fierce Amazon warriors and we are vogueing in the swamp, while Athens is playing photographer.  (And if anyone asks to see these pictures I will plead ignorance, so forget about seeing them!)  What happens in Africa stays in Africa! Until Athens puts them on facebook.

When our photo shoot is done we head back to our bikes that our thankfully still there.  The drive back through the puddles is just as much fun as it was before!  I am hitting the puddles at full speed, splashing anyone who gets to close, shouting sorry in French (Désolé) as I speed by.  Bronwyn and Janna do wipe out on the way back, but thankfully no one was hurt including the bike.  We stop by the side of the road to take pictures of the big sign that welcomes you to Béré. And Athens teaches some kids that are swimming in a nearby puddle how to “Tebow”. Then we head for home, soaking wet, cover in dirty and who knows what else, but with smiles on our faces.  It was a dirty fun day!!

Armpit Abscess- Athens

The day after my Malaria is officially gone I discover a lump in my armpit. Carlie thinks it’s a swollen lymph node, Janna thinks it’s a parasite, and well I’m not really sure what it is I just want it to go away. I spend the night sleeping all awkward because it caused me so much pain.

I gave in and went to see the doctor two days later and one look at it and she says it’s an abscess. I guess Olen and Jamie have both had on in their armpits too. So I am not alone in this. She prescribed me Cipro and told me to put warm and cool compresses on it. I guess we’ll see where it goes from there.

I’ve had this abscess for 1 week now and it has grown to the side of a very large almond. It would throb with pain very time I moved my arm or leaned on it. I’ve had to sleep on my back with my arm at a 45 degree angle from the side of my body just so I could sleep without pain. I’m not even going to go into the fact that I can shave my armpit because of the mass and the pain. It’s so gross!!!

2 weeks- My abscess is still there the pain has minimized a great deal but the size is the same but it has become firm and when palpating around you can feel a mass beneath the protrusion. Danae says it could turn into cellulites. That would be just my luck! My eyes wide she sees that I’m appalled. “Can’t we just cut it out?” She says yes, thank God.

3 weeks- It is going down by itself. No surgery needed. There is a small lump underneath the skim and a darkened area where it was but I’m pretty much abscess free. Just pray it does not return with a vengeance. And now I can shave my armpit finally! 

Abscess in the flesh, literally. Unshaven and stinky. 

Grand pappy comes to visit

I’m standing in the hanger as it rains listening to the sound of the airplane and watching the sky. I see it. It make a large loop in the sky and positions itself to make its decent to the run way. It has been raining all night and day the muddy clay runway is slick and I pray feverishly that they land safely. I have so many emotions as I watch them land I’m nervous because I’m so excited to see that tall balding white haired man with contagious smile that I call grandpa.

He stumbles out of the tiny cramped airplane and I am the first to rush to him and wrap my arms around him with great joy and I am met with and wonderful scent of home. He smile and makes a couple humorous comments then he continues to makes his way around to greet all the others and them he puts his business face on and it’s time for work. And when grandpa puts on that face everyone knows not to waste time. We load up the bags and head to the house. We unpack him fast and un-wrap all the tools that he has brought and quickly organize them so he can see everything.

We’ve installed and air conditioner in his little room so that he doesn’t sweat to death in our African heat. As I unpack him and make his bed with the sheets that he has brought and they smell of home too…it’s the best smell in the world and it makes my eyes go misty cause itmakes me miss home even more. He grabs what he needs and shouts some orders at people and he’s off to the hospital for that rest of the day.

They come back well after dark and I am surprised to see Freddy one of the locals translators with him. It turns out on their way back they got lost so they just started talking to people but no one speaks English here and they just happen to run into him. So he hopped in the car and helps them find their way back safely. I can only imagine where they would have ended up.

 Carlie and I have slaved away in the kitchen for hours….more Carlie then I… and we are happy with the turnout of spaghetti, garlic bread made from homemade bread and baked eggplant. To us this is a feast from our normal rice and beans. Everyone is delighted and happy and we spend the time catching up and listening to grandpa and Alan talk about building business. When I leave then at 9pm for work they are sitting around the table still doing they thing and when I return at 6 am the next morning they are in the same spot just with different clothes and different food on the table.

It’s another long day for them out at the hospital and their only full day here. They come back part way through the day to make a trip out to the nutrition center to see the progress and the little rug rats that are running around. But after that they are back off to the hospital and I’m back in the kitchen…. grandpa says that where I belong…oh grandpa… That night we sit around the table and we laugh at the wonderful stories of his different trips to other countries and the experiences he has had. He’s been so many places and done so much for so many people and I am inspired.

In the morning he is the first one up yet again and he is eager to make another trip to the hospital to take pictures. When they return we talk about the future plans and the arrival of the Maranotha group that will be coming and about his return in October and if all goes as planned and the container of building materials arrives on time he will be accompanied by Christopher… Oh the excitement!!

We gather his things and we make our way back to the hanger for their departure and we make it just a little late to morning worship. Grandpa is asked to share a thought and like always he talks of his travels and of the wonderful things that he has seen and I am inspired once again by all that he has done. We prepare the plan for departure and push it out of the hanger and we say our good-byes. Grandpa and Alan are forced to squeeze into the back seat of the airplane and I laugh at the sight of them so cramped shoulder to shoulder. As they make their way onto the run way I am sad to see him go and I get the sudden feeling of loneliness as I see them make their way down the runway and into the sky. But I shake the feeling away and smile and start to count the days till his next arrival.

Thanks again grandpa for making another trip into the armpit of Africa. J

Doing some manual labor

Saying Good-bye

Stuffed in the back of the tiny airplane.

Pets

I found a huge scorpion in the house yesterday. So I put him in a jar and named him Hercules.  He is really scary and big and not to mention POISIONESS!!  Athens two scorpions Jeorge Clooney with a J and Curious George both died but she is to emotional to part with them so they are still in the jar.  I guess after being in a jar for two months without food will do that to you. So now we just have the mammoth scorpion named Hercules. Or other pet is an screech owl who lives in the rafters of our front porch whose name is Methuselah.  Janna one of the other missionaries named him.  He is a screech owl, and he sounds like a screaming woman when he screeches at night. The screeching usually wakes me up and I have to go to the door and yell at him to be quiet.  Most of the time it works, and he shuts up.  We also have a huge gecko that lives in the house that I named Simon.  I am pretty sure it’s a female gecko because I have notices a lot of baby geckos lately.  Or maybe it’s the same baby gecko I see every time… not really sure.

Addiction

Athens and I have a developed an addiction here in Africa.  They say the first step in recovery is acknowledgement of that addiction and to seek help.  We acknowledge our addiction and have even mentioned to other missionaries here that we need help. We keep saying how we need to quite, but we are still struggling to overcome this addiction; our addiction to African hand-woven baskets.  It started out innocently enough, with the buying of one basket.  But we couldn’t seem to stop there, or say no.  The minute we see the “basket man” coming we are running for the door with our money.  It is almost as good as a mall trip back home, except for the “basket man” brings the baskets to you!  When he comes he brings an assortment of different baskets; some are big with handles and a lid, others are small and squat and have no lid.  They can be colorful with purple, yellow or red stripes running around the baskets. When we see him coming we never know what kind of baskets he is bringing, which only adds to the excitement of our basket addiction.  We don’t need these baskets, and we are running out of places in the house to put them but still we buy them. We are becoming hoarders!  There needs to be a ten step program to overcoming your addiction to African hand-woven basket.  I can just see it now, “Hi my name is Carlie and this is my friend Athens and we are addicted to African hand-woven baskets.”  Until we receive the help we need to overcome this addiction, there are still places in this house that would look good with a basket.

Malaria- Athens

We just said good-bye to one of our friends not even 24 hours ago and who crawls into bed with body aches, chills and a head ache. I pray I don’t have Malaria. I check my temperature throughout the night, 102.2 SHOOT! An hour later 102.4 OH NO!! I take some ibuprofen and pray that it goes away two hours later 101.9 that a little better but I’m not satisfied, another hour later 101.7. By morning my chills are gone but I’m sweating bullets left and right my bed is soaked and I’ve already changed my clothes once cause I sweat through them. By 7:30 am when Carlie comes home my temp is down to 99.7 but my head is pounding like a race horse. We go to the hospital and both get tested for Malaria. Carlie’s comes back negative. Mine comes back positive .45%. Why do I have to be the one that gets a dangerously high Malaria count the day after someone dies from it? The doctor tells me I need to stay overnight in the hospital on IV Quinine but there is not a chance I would ever spend the night it that dirty rat infested hospital so I say “No thanks, I’ll take my chances at home” I get my prescriptions and head for home with Nurse Carlie to take care of me.

Monday- I layout my medical supplies on the table and Carlie prepares to start an I’ve on me. It takes her 4 trys to get it but she get it and we hook me up to the quinine. I’ve heard horror stories about this drug and im not looking forward to the side effects but right now the only thing I’m thinking about is how I will not be shipped home in a box!!

My head isn’t pounding as hard but it can still feel the pressure up there and my hearing is starting to get a little fuzzy but so far so good.

All my medical supplies.                                                                   

                                                                    



Tuesday- I get up to use the rest room but instead I end up dry heaving over the toilet. My head is spinning and my legs feel like Jell-o. I make it back to bed and lay down but the nausea doesn’t go away it just lessens. I sit up and nothing but green bile comes pouring out. Not the most attractive thing to see first thing in the morning.

Dr. Olen wants me back at the hospital to see how I’m doing but there is no way I could hold on to the back of a Moto. So Darren saves the day by driving us in a car which makes me feel claustrophobic because I haven’t been in one for so long. We make it to the hospital and I am up right just long enough to walk up to Olen with my bucket in hand and then I’m down for the count. Both hands on the bucket in front of me knees on the muddy ground while Carlie and Olen converse over my medical condition. I try one more time to stand erect but fail miserably and just head to the car to lie down. When we finally get back home I spend the rest on the day in bed. Carlie tries to make me eat and I try but not much of an appetite.

Ready to go. Quinine has to be administered
 with Dextrose to help prevent hypoglycemia.

                   

Wednesday- First thing I notice when I wake up is that my arm is sore, swollen and tight. My vein has gone bad. I wake Carlie up to start a new line but I’m so dehydrated and cold that my veins do a vanishing act. She tries 9 times and fails. Finally she calls for Darren to take us to the hospital again and the anesthesiologist get a line started. I stay at the hospital the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon to finish my IV Quinine in the dentist office in the dentist chair. I sleep through the dental clinic. I open my eyes and I see people setting up chairs. I open my eyes again and the room is full of people and patients getting their teeth pulled. I open my eyes a third time and the room is dark and everyone is gone but Marci who keeping a watchful eye on me.

The nausea is gone the IV Quinine is finished I have a little bite of an appetite and I down a yogurt and some rice and egg concoction and I’m sent home on oral Quinine pills for 5 days.

Monday- I’m back to almost normal. My energy is back to normal my head is pressure free and I’ve taken the last of that horrible Quinine. And tomorrow I head back to work. The only thing that is missing is my hearing. But I’m told it will come back gradually. I’m already hard of hearing and Carlie has to yell everything at me. YAY!! I survived Malaria!!!! Story to tell the grand kids haha J

Minnie

Minnie is a fellow missionary from the Philippians. She works for the hospital doing community outreach in the village teaching about health and hygiene. She had been here for a year already and was planning to stay another year. She was kind of quiet and timed but not shy to speak her mind and was always willing to help when anyone asked. She came to the Nutrition center regularly to visit the kids and to help.

On Monday July 30^th she went in to the hospital and got a Malaria test done it came back positive and she decided to keep it to herself and try to get rid of it naturally. She was familiar with Malaria from home in the Philippines. One of the things people take is “Nim tea” as a preventative measure for Malaria. She had cured her malaria before using it and she thought she could do it again. On Tuesday is when she was held up in Bronwyn’s hut. Wednesday she was puking and just about fainted when she stood up. Thursday she was finally forced to go down to the hospital to take another Malaria test and it came back as .75% WOW!!! That was the highest malaria count that they had ever seen. The doctors made her stay in the hospital and by Friday she was having convulsions and in a coma. Saturday she had decreased reflexes to painful stimuli but her convulsions had stopped. By Sunday morning at 1:30 am she was dead. At 5:15 am we all met up at the hanger and sang songs and prayer for Minnie and shared stories about what we would remember and miss about her. Then we watched as they carried her tiny body into the small airplane and took off for N’Djamena (the capital of Chad) where she would be shipped back to her family in the Philippians in a box.

It’s hard enough trying to teach the people here in this village how to take care of themselves and how to keep their children alive. It should be that hard to keep one of our own alive.

The river/rice field

                Just another Saturday afternoon adventure to the river. Relaxation and cool water was in our near future. Hahaha. Not so fast.

Somewhere on our little road trip the river we noticed that the road we were driving on got a lot smaller but we just kept going and we ended up in the middle of a rice field. But Did we give up and turn around to look for the road? Nope!!!  Cause that would have been the American thing to do.  We forged ahead deeper into the muddy rice field in hopes that the road that we were once on would reappear on the other side The farther we drove into the fields the deeper, and muddier the ground became. We were fishtailing it in every direction. And while Carlie the fearless Moto driver she is was just tearing through the field like a mad women not caring whos crop she was destroying. I was on the back holding on for dear life and praying big time that we wouldn’t die.

Finally the inevitable happen Bronwyn and Janna our road trip companions WIPED OUT. They were muddy and burned from the exsost on the bike. (Everyone down here gets one eventually they refer to them as “Chadian tattoos”.) When we did stop to help our counterpart we got stuck as well. I had to push while Carlie drove and when we were final to semi-solid ground I was covered in mud. I lost my flip flops, and had mud up to my knees. I was wearing a black dress at the time and it was completely splattered with mud from Carlies’ back tire and I just could not be happier. What’s the point of living in foreign country if not to have crazy moments like this?

By this point all the locals that are working in the field and those just walking by were all starting to stare at the crazy white people in the middle of their rice field with a moto stuck in the mud. Still not a road in sight we hoped back on out motos. Some of the local children ventured over to see what was going on and we ask for directions. They point to a large grassy wooded area not far and we took it. As we pop out the other side of the trees what do you know the RIVER!!!

First thing I did it wash the mud out of my dress and scan the river for Hippo and Crocodiles. When the coast is clear we splashed around for a bit and spend the sometime laying under the trees relaxing. Every day is an adventure in Chad.

Our Chadian Names

                The people here can’t seem to say Carlie or Athens.    I don’t know why they find it so difficult, but they do.  So my name has been changed to Karolin and Athens has changed to Atens .  They pronounce my name, “Kar-o-lin”, dragging out the o in the name.  They pronounce Athens as, “At-tins”.  I hope by the time I get home I will still be able to respond to my real name.

War Zone- Carlie

Athens and my feet/ankles look like they have been in a war….. and we are not winning.  The mosquitoes seem to only like that part of our body, and seem to bite the most there.  I have gotten bit even on the bottom of my foot!!  We try and not scratch, but the bites will not be ignored!! It takes us a good hour to fall asleep at night because we end up having to spend time scratching our feet!  And once you scratch one bite, you have to scratch them all, and it ends up being a viscous cycle that we can’t seem to break.  The really bad bites that itch like crazy we like to say are malaria bites.  So at the moment I have about 4 malaria bites and counting!!  (For those who don’t know, this really isn’t a sign of Malaria.  We both sleep under a mosquito net, and put 100% deet on.  But Malaria is very prominent here and I am sure I will be getting it again.)

Jorge Clooney

                I have a pet scorpion named Jorge Clooney. He lives in a peanut butter jar. Mon ami (my friend) Everest found him while he was building us a pathway to our shower. He is small and light brown. He likes to play dead and comes alive when Carlie plays with him. Bronwyn dropped him on the ground after she found out that her two pet baby birds died just to get even with me because I didn’t like them. But Jorge Clooney lives on! I gave him a cracker and a caterpillar but the caterpillar just made a nest in the cracker and Jorge doesn’t seem to have any interest in it so I guess ill get a pet butterfly out of the deal.

 We found another scorpion in our house so we just added him to the peanut butter car and another caterpillar but this one has scary red spikes on its back. It will give Jorge a run for his money.