This is Life

     This is going to be a hodgepodge blog. For once I do not need to fill you in on a holiday, so I am going to give you a little peek into my everyday life. Hold onto your hats.

     As a farmer’s daughter, I know to discuss the weather first.

     It is actually the cold, dry season right now. It feels like Fall in the mornings, Summer in the afternoons, and Spring in the evenings. I love it. The air is crisp in the mornings so the jackets and coats have come out of storage. The Africans really bundle up but it is probably in the lower 60s. By the time the sun is at full power it gets pretty toasty. Then it starts to set and the temperature turns to mellow, glowing warmth.

It is incredibly dry so red dust is constantly coating your skin, getting in your eyes, and creating a carpet over every exposed surface. Clando drivers on their motos sport dust masks and a thick layer of dust on their hair and eyelashes. Sometimes trucks spray water in particularly dry places. I don’t know where they are getting the water because our family has been forced to leave the compound to find enough water for 6 people. The wells are low, and probably will be for a while. This isn’t dire, just inconvenient. Dry is normal for Chad. Chapstick has become my new best friend.

     My mornings usually start a little before 7am when the house help arrives and the kids in my family leave for school. It is impossible to sleep through morning noise because my windows are just screens (luxury!) and shutters. I drink very sweet tea and eat bread for breakfast. Most days I hop on the back of my host father’s moto and take a 15 – 20 minute ride to Altonodji. If I am not teaching, I am speaking poor French or English with the other teachers, preparing lessons, or shaking hands with fascinated kindergarteners. The school day ends around one, and I head for home around 2.

     Lunch is sometimes as late as 4:00, though we all eat at different times and in different places. I usually eat with my host father (known to the community as Papa Joe) in the house. This meal is always boule with some sort of sauce that I eat with my hands. Then the rest of the afternoon is for naps, homework, and socializing. I made friends with a Danish nurse at the hospital across town and we like to get together for smoothies or internet time at the cyber café. There are also volleyball games twice a week at the church that I try to wiggle my way into.

     It starts to get dark around 5:30 or 6:00 so I have to find my shower water before then. If the tanks at our house are full the water will be warm from sitting in the sun. Right now, that is a good thing because the evenings are cool. After a bucket shower I can prop up at flash light in my room and try to work, but most evenings I sit on my carpet and listen to books on my ipod. (A huge thank you to my brother for that foresight.) Sometimes I will perch on the edge of the kitchen and watch my host sister prepare supper, but the mosquitoes are a problem. We eat by lamplight at 7:30 or 8:00 (usually something other than boule, which is nice), and then finish the evening by praying and singing together at 9:00. By that time it has been dark for over three hours and I am ready to pass out.

     So that is a day in the life of Kelsey. Of course every day has its own unique moments. For example, I have malaria again so that has thrown a little wrench into my schedule. Thankfully, it is just a light case so I am still functioning. And this last week on was on the Chadian radio doing some advertising for the English speaking classes at CENTRAM. Didn't expect that.

I realize that people at home enjoy hearing actual stories so I will leave you with a highlight of my week.

       The first and last teacher of the day prays with his or her class. I finish of my Saturdays with a short English prayer in my younger class. This last week I finally wrote out my prayer and I noticed that some kids copied it down. I always ask the students if they want to pray but they always turn me down. But on Saturday one girl, my best and most quiet student, raised her hand, stood up, and prayed a flawless English prayer. I can’t tell you how surprised and proud I was. Busting my buttons, you might say. So even when it feels like I am completely useless over here, there are moments of absolute accomplishment.

     

Here is your picture, Mom! This is Dadi and me in my classroom. The photo was taken by a very talented MCC photographer.

  Wishing you all the best!

Kelsey's Christmas

Well, it was hard to believe, but Christmas came.

 Somehow or other, it came just the same. How could it be so? It came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes or bags!

 It came without carols! It came without snow! It came without that Christmas-light-glow! It also came without candy canes, candles, or cookies. It came without Christmas concerts and Yultide meals. It came without presents or stocking stuffers. It came without electricity. It came without water. And the biggest difference – it came without my American family. How can Christmas come without all of those things?

Unlike the United States, Chad does not celebrate Christmas for a whole month before the actual day. Chad celebrates Christmas Eve and the 25^th, and then they move on. On one hand, this was a relief. It is hard to be away from home for the holidays (I think I mentioned this in the last blog) and I wasn’t looking forward to moping around on Christmas. On the other hand, it really didn’t feel like Christmas was actually here. For me, Christmas was a season instead of a few days off work. But the day approached and I celebrated Christmas Chadian style, as different as it was from my usual South Dakota Christmas.

Village Altonodji wrapped up its first trimester on the 20^th with a short gathering at the school for the presentation of bulletins (something like reports cards that the teachers put together by hand – no computer help here!) Most of the orphans headed off to spend their vacation with their extended families, leaving just a handful behind to celebrate Christmas at the orphanage.

When I got home from school that day there were three little boys sitting in our yard. They were going to spend the night and then catch a ride to N’Djamena the next day. I couldn’t believe how still they sat the entire afternoon and evening, speaking in whispers and staying out of everyone’s way. I’ve seen other Chadian children do the same thing, and I still can’t figure out if they have been trained to be motionless for hours on end, or if it a cultural expectation, or if some kids are just that shy. I didn’t seem natural to me and my heart went out to them (what if they were lonely or scared??), so the next morning I got out a French comic book and nonchalantly sat down in a chair to read. Slowly, like stray kittens smelling food in your hand, they crept up next to me to read also. Once our book was finished, I fished out crayons and a coloring book I had brought with me and we colored 101 Dalmatians, Simba, and some Aristocats. I was beyond delighted when they unconsciously relaxed, started to giggle at each others’ color choices, and made the little clicks and snaps that all little boys make. That may have been the highlight of my Christmas vacation, and the little guys (Charles, Samuel, and Klaton) left with most of my coloring book.

The Church put on something like a talent show for a few nights before Christmas day. The choir sang well-known songs, children recited poetry in a Baptist-preacher-style, and teenage girls performed choreographed dances. It was very entertaining and very different than Salem-Zion’s Christmas program. The sound system was louder and fuzzier, the atmosphere was livelier, and it was held outside so we had stars instead of candles to send us home. However, on Christmas Eve after our evening prayers, I sat on the swing outside our house, looked up at Orion’s belt in the stars, and sang Peace Peace quietly to myself. Because no Christmas of mine is complete without that song. I am happy to say that this was the only time I almost teared up during the whole week.

Christmas day meant a packed Church with many singing groups. I think most of these groups were families because they wore matching outfits in traditional bright patterns. It was fun, very long, and a little embarrassing because my host mother kept pushing me (the only white person in a congregation of over a thousand) to the front to take pictures.

My host sister was away visiting family and my mother works at the church, so my host brother and I were given the assignment of making lunch. I am ignorant when it comes to cooking in Chad, and Rondouba is a boy, so traditionally he doesn’t cook. Together we made an attempt at omelets to eat with bread. There was a big mess, lots of shoulder shrugs (“Is this how Mama does it?” “Beats me.”), and lots of laughs. For those of you who think that omelets are super easy, remember we don’t have a stove, the pan was actually a bowl, we flip and stir with a big knife, and I had to cut the onion in my hand because we don’t have a cutting board. I was actually very proud of our Christmas lunch.

Chadians also do not really give out gifts, but the children go from house to house, sometimes dressed up and pounding on drums, to get candy and money from their neighbors. We got some visitors who were just as eager to gawk at me as to collect their bonbons.

And that was my Christmas day. Not bad at all, but definitely not the Christmas I was used to. I saw a little more of the western Christmas when I went to N’Djamena to spend a few days with the MCC Reps, Jon and Angela, their four children, and Angela’s parents. After a long bus ride from Moundou, I walked into a house with English speakers, a Christmas tree, and presents! Aside from a MCC T-shirt and rice crispy treats, I got packets of baking powered and ranch seasoning for Christmas. I was incredibly satisfied.

I arrived home yesterday evening and am now spending my evening with my host parents, sipping Pepsi and munching on little cookies. The power is on for the first time in three weeks (although it is off in my room due to a small and harmless fire in my ceiling) and we are enjoying lights and the French news. The new year arrives in a few hours, and the Christmas season is about over. It was strange Christmas, but overall, I am content.

You probably know how I am going to end this, and in Chad I feel the Grinch’s words ring more true than anywhere else.

"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas… perhaps… means a little bit more."

Christmas definitely was not from a store this year, and that reality pointed to what makes Christmas “a little bit more.” My family and friends are far away, but in these last few months my heart has grown another size to fit in another set of family, friends, and children. I have had the opportunity to celebrate Jesus’ birth with them, and although Christmas day was lower key than other years, this community intentionally includes Christ in their everyday lives. I feel blessed to spend 2014 with them, overcoming challenges, celebrating accomplishments, and building relationships.

 Merry Christmas to all of you, and a Happy, Happy New Year!

The Thanksgiving Post

Is it really November? Did Thanksgiving, possibly my favorite holiday, really occur yesterday? You would never know it in Chad. It is hot, sunny, and devoid of the plethora of decorations that litter US streets by now. Nevertheless, I celebrated Thanksgiving this year, even if it was without my family, autumn colors, or apple pie. It is not difficult to find things to be thankful for, and I made a short list to share with you all.

Kelsey’s Thankful List

Children

      I love kids. The most uplifting moments of my SALT experience have involved a child. Teaching here is tough, but I’m pretty sure my students enjoy me as much as I enjoy them. My favorite part of the day is in-between classes when my students can find me and spit out a few English phrases. The other day I found myself surrounded by about 20 or 30 children under the age of 9 (younger than my students) who all wanted to shake my hand and know my name. We giggled at each other for a good 5 minutes before I headed off to a friend’s office. I was followed by a gaggle of children – a white duck with 10 little, black, delighted, ducklings.

I also have a fan club of children in my neighborhood. As soon as one spies me coming home they all gather together and chant “Nasara! Nasara! Nasara!” – white girl. I get to shake everyone’s hand before I close the gate to my yard. Then they peek through the crack in the door and laugh and laugh. What a blessing!

Electricity

      Every hour that we have power is a good hour. Besides being able to use my computer and charge my little phone, it also runs the ceiling fan in my room and the light in my bathroom. I dislike using the bathroom in the dark (who doesn’t?) and my room gets pretty hot by the end of the day. In addition, our family has a mini-fridge where we store filtered water. If the current is strong enough and we have had enough hours of power, we can fight the heat with a cool drink. It is amazing how much the temperature of water matters when you spend your entire day sweating buckets.

Mosquito nets

      I have grown to cherish my mosquito net. I got malaria a few weeks ago and it was not fun. Anyone can get bit just walking outside, but there is comfort in knowing that once I crawl into my bed at night I don’t need to worry about the little devils hovering next to my ear. Another perk of having a mosquito net is the protective barrier it forms against other critters that wander around my room at night. Moths, cockroaches, and spiders stay out of my bed (other than that one exception that I’m ready to talk about). My net also protects me from the little geckos that like to scurry over my walls. They are actually very cute when they are little, but I’ve learned that they grow up and try to live in my closets. After finding three in my *ahem* undergarments, I finally cracked and brought in outside help. There was a lizard massacre as my host father and brother, armed with cockroach spray and a squeegee, rid my room of geckos. The tails really do fall of and wiggle around on their own. I digress – I am thankful for my protective mosquito net.

Music

      This one does not need a whole lot of explanation. The Chadians love their music. You can tell by the way they throw their bodies and voices into a song. The church dances with the choir, singing words they memorized as children. This is no Swiss Choral singing. It is music almost shouted than sung with no thought to blending or pitch, but it somehow manages to give me goose bumps every time. I am slowly learning some of my host family’s favorite songs because we gather to pray and sing every night at 9 o’clock sharp. By now I’ve got some of the melodies down, but the French words give me some problems. It is a great way to learn a language, and everyone is delighted when they catch me humming a familiar tune during the day.

People

      A huge topic, I know, but when it comes down to it, this is what is most important, right? I miss my family and my friends and my community. Even sitting in the middle of Africa, I am incredibly thankful for the people at home who have shaped me into a person strong enough to take on this experience. It is incredibly hard to be this far away, with inconsistent communication, from the people I love. But I am thankful for every letter, every email, every rare and poorly connected phone call, every package (!), and every prayer that I know is being said. And I am thankful that all the things I miss about home will be there when I get home.

      Lastly, I am thankful for the people God has placed here with me. My host family could not be more hospitable and gracious. I have learned an incredibly amount from them in the short time I’ve been here, and I am already dreading saying goodbye at the end of the year. My fellow MCCers have also been a Godsend. I think all the SALTers in Chad can agree that Angela and Jon Austin are amazing and supportive Reps. The teachers at CENTRUM and Altonodji are quickly becoming my” in” into Chadian life and I treasure every cup of tea with them. And then there are the people whose names I don’t know, who cannot even pronounce my name, that greet me every time they see me at church or wave from a passing moto.

     

My cup, with blessings, overflows.

So Happy Thanksgiving! Eat an extra slice of leftover pie for me and know that I am thanking God for all of you.

Puppies at Altonodji!

The Bug that Bit Me

I had an interesting and educational experience at the hospital this last week. Forgive me if this is long and detailed, but this is one of those moments I want to remember for a while.

You know the phrase, “Don’t let the bed bugs bite?” Well, technically it wasn’t a bed bug, but it definitely bit me. On the arm, to be specific.

I don’t have any proof that the little culprit attacked at night, but last Monday morning I noticed the crease in my arm looked a little red. By that afternoon there was a bright red crescent on the inside of my arm. It looked like I had been neatly bit by a Chadian vampire. I smeared some aloe vera on it and figured it would go away.

The next day it was worse. It looked a little bumpy and it burned. My host parents took a look and decided right away it was an insect bite. They picked some aloe vera and applied it to my now nasty-looking arm. It didn’t help. Although I was in pretty good spirits, I couldn’t use my right arm. The little bugger picked the right spot to keep me from bending and extending my arm comfortably. So I ate, hauled water, and brushed my teeth with my left hand (anyone who thinks that is easy should try brushing their teeth with their other arm. not as effective).

Wednesday morning my arm began to bubble. It was doctor time. Sem (our go-to guy and my new best friend) took me to a clinic near his house. By now I was pretty self conscious about how gross my arm looked. Most Chadians looked at it and made that noise that seems to indicate that situations that aren’t good (“iiiiee” – phonetically). I followed Sem onto the tidy hospital grounds and to a tiny house area that turned out to be the office/pharmacy. They filled out a little paper book with my name and age and, after eyeing up my little wound,  sent me to the next building (no paperwork necessary).

This next building had cement benches around the door that seated about 30 people; an outdoor waiting room. I was the hot thing to watch as a nurse weighed me and stuck a thermometer in my armpit. Then she pointed me into the hospital, gesturing that I should remove my shoes before I entered the curtained doorway. The room I walked into housed 4 beds separated by curtains, and one of those blood pressure machines. I got my blood pressure checked, then sat on the edge of a hospital bed and tried not to touch anything or get freaked out. The place was very clean and neat considering where it was located, but it was also very basic and smelled like…a hospital.

A blessing walked around the corner when a blonde girl, a little older than me, appeared to ask me some questions in beautiful English. She and another girl, both Danish, were spending a month in Moundou working at the hospital. Like most others, she didn’t know what exactly was happening on my arm. Unfortunately, the American doctor who ran the clinic was in N’djamena so I met with another Chadian doctor. He was young with a round face and slightly spastic manner. I must have made him a little bit nervous because he giggled a lot (or maybe that was his personality). He introduced himself (giggle) and then took my hand and physically led me to a curtained doorway (giggle). Then changed his mind (giggle) and yanked me the other direction. Now, I am not a huge fan of strangers touching me especially in a foreign hospital, but the big problem was that he happened to be pulling on my tender arm. I hate to admit that I made some quick and unfair judgments right then about this man’s credentials.

The young doctor must have decided that his office was the best place to go because I was led into a small room with a desk. Thankfully, Tine, one of the Danish girls, followed along with a Chadian woman who I think was a trainee. Tine told him that I might have been bitten by an insect and he agreed without really looking at my arm. He decided I was having an allergic reaction to a bug bite and prescribed some pills (similar to benodryl I think) and an ointment. By the time I left the trainee was asleep in the chair next to me and I was not feeling particularly confident that I would recover quickly.

Sem and I ended up searching Moundou’s pharmacies (all which were run by Muslims, interestingly) and only finding the pills. Sem sent for the cream in N’djamena, although I never got it. The pills made me drowsy and that was about it. The next day the little bubbles on my arm were turning colors, although it didn’t hurt quite as bad. This meant another trip to the doctor on Friday!

I actually felt better on Friday, but we made the trip anyway on the rumor that the American doctor would be in. I went through the whole process again and ended up seated, again, on a hospital bed trying not to watch a sick woman get an IV. One of the Danish girls walked by and said, “You’re back! Is it worse? Oh, yes it is.” The American doctor, and young man in his 30s named James, was there but was pretty busy (saving lives by the sounds coming from down the hall ) so guess who I got to spend some more time with?? Dr. Giggles!!

This time he really did inspect my arm, which was a little scary because he was pretty rough and kept getting really close to it while pointing things out. We actually played tug of war with my arm for a while until he giggled and noted that I was scared. No kidding! He decided I should start taking antibiotics and put the prescription in my little book. I decided to be proactive by now and asked if they could at least clean it and wrap it up. He thought this was a good idea and handed me over to Tine. After going to the little pharmacy to buy the gauze Tine needed, I ended up in a little examining room. Again, the place was clean but so stark. Tine cleaned my arm with a mixture of chlorine and water (which she says actually works) and right before she smeared zinc on it the American doctor peeked in.

He glanced at my arm and said that it was definitely going to be ok with just some cleaning. Before he could disappear I asked if he knew what bug bit me. He said nonchalantly, “Oh yeah, in Chad there’s these bugs that drip acid. It’s a good thing it wasn’t in your eyes.” The said antibiotics weren’t necessary and disappeared. I got wrapped up and sent on my merry way, feeling much better about my health and a little worse about Chadian insects.

In all honesty, I never really felt too bad during this experience. I had faith it would work out and felt lucky that it was only a patch of nasty on my arm. The hospital I visited was a good one, especially compared to the others in Moundou where even mending a break does not often go well. I paid under 20 US  for everything, but I also saw how far behind Chadian healthcare really is. It is incredibly sad. The American and European doctors that decide to give their lives to third-world medicine are selfless and brave.

I guess I need to rescind my previous statement saying that I was bit by a bug. I should say that I was dripped on by a bug. Hopefully now he can keep to himself.

Seriously, my parents were worried that this acidic drip would mar my experience, but I haven’t felt that way at all. I have had wonderful people take care of me (I gorged myself on fried plantains made by Sem’s amazing wife) and have had the opportunity to see what medical treatment might be like if I was not an American. I feel fortunate to have witnessed this, although it was from a distance. Again, this was another week where I discovered what a blessed life I lead. May everyone reading this be happy, and healthy, and aware of your blessings.

and don’t let the bug bugs bite…