Let This Not Drag On

What can I say?

This morning Kenneth the builder and his six men came to work on our yard. At 7:30 I received a call from a woman called Esitar. Not understanding anything, I hung up. The thought flicked through my mind that Kingsley, our former gardener/thief, was married to a woman with that name.

Later in the morning, who calls me but Kingsley! The connection was bad, so again I hung up. Why did I need to talk to him anyway?

Kenneth and his men overheard my conversation and he approached me. The men stood solemnly nearby. "Madam, I don't think you should let Kingsley come back to this house. He might bring black magic with him." I could tell they were serious.

Half an hour later, the triplets with their mom and grandma visited while returning from their two month check up. They are so precious and doing well, each one displaying his or her own personaliy. We got to hold them for the first time! Jedidiah held the tiny girl. Such innocence in one tiny bundle of chitenge fabric!

Our wonder was disturbed by someone approaching. Kingsley. Kenneth and his men stopped working to listen.

"You called my wife and told her that you wanted me here," he said.

"No, I didn't, Kingsley. She called me at 7:30 this morning." 

Coldly he replied, "Regarding what happened before, Madam, I forgive you."  

Steadily holding his gaze, I returned, "and I forgive you." 

He blinked, said the proper salutations, and left.

Kenneth and his men slowly resumed their work.

I thought about that exchange for a while, then went out to Kenneth and his men. I gave them a brief talk about our Creator God being much stronger than the devil, and that they don't need to be afraid while they are with God and while at our house. I don't know how Kenneth translated it all (one can never be too sure with him), but I hoped they heard something positive.

We ate lunch and put Abigail for a nap. After her nap, we wanted to go outside. But where were Abigail's shoes? She has three pairs of shoes--well, she had three pairs of shoes until Friday when we were gone to Satemwa Tea Estate for high tea. On Friday one of her Crocs disappeared, so now she has one pair of day shoes and one pair of church shoes that fit her. In the space of thirty minutes I turned this house upside down looking for them, including walking entirely around the outside of the house.

Back to Kenneth I went, determined that no one was leaving this house until those shoes were found.

"Kenneth, I need help. Abigail has three pairs of shoes. On Friday one of these disappeared," I held up a Croc, "and now the shoes that she was wearing today are gone. I need your guys to stop digging and look for those shoes now. I'll continue looking in the house." After some coaxing, they began searching. 

Back inside, I prayed. "Dear God, please be glorified in this. Didn't I just talk to them about trusting You? Please open my eyes to where Abigail's shoes are in the house, or else help those men to return her shoes. Please answer my prayer now, Lord, and let this not drag on. Thank You."

And guess what? Kenneth and three guys came around the house carrying Abi's shoes. He said that they were somewhere in the yard that she has not even played in today. My husband was frustrated, but I was glad. "God answered our prayer! We cannot make them stop stealing, but we have Abi's shoes back, and that's what we need. I'm grateful!" And truly, it did feel like success.

Thief

My body trembles, my heart pounds. Adrenaline still races through my body.

Tonight was a delightful Sabbath. Friends came over to play guitars, sing, and eat with us, and we enjoyed sweet fellowship. After dark we prayed together and went to our separate homes.

Then...well, wait. First I must tell you what happened yesterday.

Yesterday, I did something atypical. I reached out for support on FB and asked for prayer. Heaven heard about us yesterday and today in earnest.

Last night, I could not sleep. I cannot make it well past 9 p.m., but I was keyed up and didn't know why. After 11, I heard someone grab our doorknob and try to wrestle it open. The lights were on in the house and the curtains open. What if we hadn't locked it by that time?

Yesterday, the builder for our brick wall came to our house. At 2:45 he asked if he could help me in the house with a project while his men removed dirt where we need to build the wall. “Sure, Kenneth. Do you have time to fill the holes in the washroom? It opens to the outside.” He said that he had time to begin, pulled in an assistant and went to work. The concrete made a big mess, and he moved most of our stuff to the attached garage, which connects to the house through the washroom. When he was finished he pulled everything back into the washroom, except one thing. He left the bin of cat food in the garage, but I didn't know that...

until this morning. After church I went to feed the cat, and I couldn't find his food. “Oh, Kenneth must have moved it to the garage,” I thought, but then became distracted by something else before feeding Grady. I always feed him in the morning, but for some reason didn't today.

Tonight after everyone left, Jamie and I were getting ready for bed. He picked up Grady the cat and took him to the washroom where he sleeps. I told him that he needed to feed him. “Where's the food?” he asked. “It must be in the garage,” I replied.

Jamie went into the garage, using his phone torch. He usually walks in the dark but heard a sound. He quickly returned. “Call Marty right NOW!” he whisper-yelled. I tried to call Marty but couldn't get through, so I called Sharlene. She sent her husband with some big friends down, and by then I had reached Marty and he came with Alex. “Someone is breaking into our house. He's in our garage right now!”

Trembling with fear, I waited in the room with my sleeping children.

The guy hid behind some boxes, so no one saw him. Jamie said, “He's there! I was within one foot of him!” The men tackled him, laid him on the dirt and taped his legs together and his arms behind his back. The business manager and his guys took the thief to the police. He was wearing Jamie's old work jeans over his pants. It will be a bad night for him at the police station.

Now there are three guards with machetes patrolling my yard.

We have many unanswered questions about the thief, but also some others.

Why did Kenneth leave the cat food in the garage? Why didn't I feed Grady this morning? Why didn't Jamie turn on the overhead garage light as he often does? Why didn't the guy hit him when Jamie was right behind him? Why did it happen tonight when Ryan and Sharlene had several big man friends who speak the local language over?

I believe it's this: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28.

The Daze of Our Lives

It's 10:45 p.m. “Hey sweetie, a patient has a ruptured ectopic pregnancy and is in shock. I'm going to do surgery with Ryan. Don't wait up for me.” I won't, and I'm so glad we have a puppy.

Saturday morning we awoke to see an empty porch. What? Our porch furniture is all gone! And to add insult to injury, they took our perfectly ripe stalk of bananas! A rude awakening indeed.

Two weeks ago Jamie said, “Hmm, I thought we had $700 more than we have. Where did it go? Am I going crazy?” We calculated it and realized that the money was gone. We still had some doubts, though, which influenced what we did next.

We decided to go to the lake on Monday. Late Sunday night before we left, Jamie counted the money and wrote down the amount. We bid our gardener farewell Monday morning and told him that we would return Thursday. I saw a light turn on in his eyes. As we left we prayed that God would reveal to us if he was the thief.

The lake was windy and restful. It was so nice to get away. All was normal until four hours from home, Jamie saw some sheep. “I'm going to find the owner of those sheep!” We waited for one and a half hours, and finally a deal was reached. Our car was completely stuffed with stuff, besides two adults, two children, one dog, and now one ewe with two lambs. The sheep stunk! Every time the ewe needed to defecate, she kicked up a storm in the back floorboard under our son, who yelled, “It stinks! It stinks!” I remained speechless for a long time then looked at my smirking husband. I began to think that maybe he is going crazy. “This is not normal, you know,” I informed him. “You're going insane, and you're going make me insane. I need to take you home while there still may be a chance to rehab you to normalcy.” He said it was fun.

Immediately upon returning home, I put the children in a warm bath, unlocked the cabinet, retrieved the money bag, and sat on the toilet seat lid to count it.

“Jamie, didn't you say that one envelope had $2000 in it? I don't see anything like that here. Will you look at it? Maybe I missed something.”

“No, Shallena, it's gone. $1800 is missing.”

“Then it had to be the gardener. He is the only one with a key,” I responded.

We talked to the CEO of the hospital, who spoke sternly to the gardener the next morning. He completely denied anything.

Right after they left my house, Jamie called me. “I went to measure a patient. It took five minutes and when I returned, by computer was not in my office.” Are you kidding? This is unreal.

After talking with the police about the computer, they told him to return on Monday regarding our stolen money.

The next morning we were late for church, so I decided to drive down the hill. We ran around looking for the children's classes but couldn't find them. We hopped back in the car and began to drive. Suddenly the hazard lights began flashing and I heard a gurgling, boiling sound. The heat gauge started to rise. “Get out, Jedidiah! Hop out!” I slammed on the brakes, grabbed Abigail, opened the door for Jedidiah and habitually locked the truck. We ran into the hospital to find Jamie. While walking back to the truck, we heard the alarm blaring. Someone must have tried to open the door. Jamie drove it down the hill and back up and said it was fine. Okay, no it's not, but this all is starting to get to me.

That evening we took our little farm to the backyard: sheep, chicks, dog, cat, and people. It was cute. As sundown approached, we took the sheep to the front yard and put two big rocks on the rope tied around the ewe's neck. It took us about five minutes to round up the chicks in the backyard. Upon approaching the front yard with my box of chicks,--oh! Where are my sheep? This is unbelievable! “Our sheep are gone! Someone stole our sheep!” I shouted repeatedly. After about five more minutes, an American man and wife drive up. She was walking beside the truck leading our sheep. “They were about a kilometer down the road, but we heard that you bought sheep so figured they must be yours.” We thanked them and God, and I laughed about my overreaction.

They next morning, I stood on the doorstep with my little girl, when suddenly she started gagging and drooling. She looked at me with pain in her eyes and kept rubbing her tongue. I took her in the house and was going to give her charcoal because I thought she swallowed something. Watching her gag some more, it seemed better to not have her swallow anything and I flipped her over and pounded her back a couple of times. “Don't spank me,” she deplored. She obviously wasn't choking since she spoke to me, but her face was funny colored, she was in obvious pain and she was drooling a lot. So I did what any wife of a doctor would do, I raced to the hospital, horn blaring.

We jumped out—a little girl wearing an overfilled diaper and a shirt and me in my pjs and house slippers, little boy following behind. “What's wrong?” A lady at the steps asked. “I don't know!” I yelled. “Jamie, Jamie!” “He's in the main ward,” she said.

Jamie took Abigail to the OR and laid her on the exam table. Fearful tears ran down her little cheeks while Daddy and a medicial assistant looked in her mouth. Her tiny voice said, “My tongue hurts.” Suddenly I saw something small and orange in her fist. “What's in your hand?” I asked as I pried open her fingers. “Oh!!” we said in unison and laughed, relieved. She clutched tightly four spicy birds-eye peppers. We went home and gave her some ice.

That was yesterday, today is Monday. It's a strange feeling to have no employees working outside, but I really can't dwell on it. It's time to put out the sheep and feed the chicks.

Chicks!

We got chicks. The children love them. One night, Jamie got a great idea.

The dog was thrilled.

The cat was unimpressed.

They became comfortable.

 Aww, aren't they cute?

So we asked our gardener to make a chicken coup for us. He cut down a few stalks of our huge green bamboo, cut down some young trees, and gathered rope and grass.

"Rope", harvested from the Mombo tree.

He cut the bamboo into quarters and nailed them to a frame made of freshly cut young trees. The roof was last.

Tying the roof with the rope. Finished with two year old approval.

Making Charcoal

 I love to learn the way people do things here. Our guys wanted to make charcoal from one of the dead trees that they cut down. Here's the way it works:

First they dig a shallow hole and lay the sticks in it. The big ones go on the top.
An opening is left on one end to light the fire, and three openings are left on the other end.

Then they pile dirt and grass/weeds over the wood.

The fire is lit. An unpleasant smoke odor fills the air for one or two weeks.

Charcoal!

Little Boy Feet

It had been a fairly “normal” morning for me at the hospital, and I had even made it home by 12:30 for lunch. I started to eat while my little people and wife finished off another delicious creation. Jedidiah had woken up early that morning, and played hard. He likes to play hard here. He is always busy moving part of our yard to another part of our yard, playing with our new German Shepherd puppy, or making firewood. He finished and reluctantly went to his mandatory “quiet time”, and Abigail went for her nap.

After the daily protest the children quieted down, and I finished lunch. I enjoy eating, and I really seem to do a lot of it here. I find that eating has become one of my major coping skills. I have never had so much stress in my life, and eating is just such a simple way to unload a little bit of it. It doesn't hurt anybody's feelings, my wife makes great food, and I find a lot of my free time eating. I would like to think it is relaxing and enjoyable, but in reality, I still have that nervous butterfly-bubbling-stomach-electric-calf-muscle-feeling even when I am eating that yummy food.

I finally finished, and started with my back-to-work ritual. Gather my bag, don't forget the keys, go say goodbye to the children again....today it was really quiet in Jedidiah's room. He stopped taking naps a couple years ago, but every odd day quiet time gets the best of him. Sure enough, 55 lbs of all-boy energy and enthusiasm knocked out on the bed. They are so cute when they sleep. I kissed him through the mosquito net and rustled his hair as I said a silent prayer that God would save me from losing these precious moments with my children. Just before I left the room I saw them. I don't know why they stick in my mind so vividly, but they are always there – little boy feet.

Now, little boy feet come in very useful. I remember those same boy feet. At first it was the wonder of how they could look just like mine but be 50 x smaller. I was the designated tiny boy toenail cutter because mommy was worried about hurting them. Then as he grew it was This Little Piggy, and Happy Patty Cake Feet in the air. One time mommy bought these bright red socks, and we still laugh about how they energized those feet that they danced and jumped up and down the house every time they turned red. I love that boy, and I love his little boy feet.

Today the red socks have been replaced by a chalky orange. This orange comes from Malawi clay, and Jedidiah's feet are rarely found without it. These days, his little boy feet are busy getting orange. I smiled and reminisced for another moment, then started back to work.

There is a struggle I have, and it happens at least twice a day. I move in and out of two different worlds. One world is familiar and comfortable – we speak English and discuss familiar matters. We understand each other with saying very little to nothing at all, and we are usually healthy and safe. The other world is the hospital. Here the security is stripped away, and the thin line between life and death—that line that I once thought was very big and long and heavy--reminds me that I and my family, and my endless stream of patients are merely mortal. Here in Malawi it is a very thin line.

As I re-enter the hospital world, I remember the events of the “normal” morning. There had been a 2 year old boy who was in a bad kind of way. He had come into the hospital with a high fever, seizures, and anemia, and was at the time of my morning review comatose. He had Cerebral Malaria – the most deadly complication from Malaria which kills 25% of those who suffer from it. The current thought is that death from Cerebral Malaria results from diffuse swelling in the brain and brainstem herniation, even though this disease is still poorly understood. Earlier that morning, the child had classic findings of Cerebral Malaria, but was also breathing fast with a fast heart rate. We decided to do a lumbar pucture to make sure we didn't miss treating him for meningitis, and started some IV fluids and antibiotics in addition to the quinine he was already getting. It wasn't meningitis, but at least we knew.

Unfortunately, this little guy hadn't improved at all from the morning. One glance at him now showed his little body was wearing out. I looked at his beautiful poor Malawian village family – Mother, Grandmother, and an Aunt all sitting dutifully, wrapped up in their best dirty clothes, expectantly by his side. Looking at me feeling very confident he would get better since an “Azungu” was taking care of him. His oxygen level was low, and his lungs were filling up with fluid. I gave the family a knowing look and tried to give an appropriate embrace as I knew that the wailing would start within the next half hour. All of this is unfortunately fairly routine. I was turning to leave the room and write a short terminal note in the chart when I saw them. There they were. I tried not to look, but it was too late: the little boy feet. Those chalky orange little boy feet. Surely a few days ago they had been running in the Malawian clay; they too succombed to naps at quiet time, and looked preciously cute when they were asleep. But today they have run for the last time, they are about to cross that fine line.

Of necessity, I stiffle the emotion somewhere inside, and move on to see the other baby in the room who is also dying of meningitis. The “normal” day continues with just a few flashbacks of little boy feet. The wailing starts from the pediatric ward, and I take a deep breath. I feel hungry, but I know food won't fix it, how can someone cope with losing little boy feet?

Apparently all of the food hasn't been doing its job, as I can't write this story without tears.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” Revelation 21:4.

One day soon the thin line will be destroyed, and the little boy feet of the world will run in the chalky orange clay of heaven, and I will be eating heavenly food with Jesus without that nervous butterfly-bubbling-stomach-electric-calf-muscle-feeling. I can't wait.

--jamie

Grandma's Adventure

Jamie’s mom visited and took us on vacation. We stayed in the Sunbird Nkopola lodge at Lake Malawi, located just past Mangochi.  While there we took a one hour speedboat ride to small Bird Island. We fed the fish eagles and snorkeled with cichlids. On the opposite side of the island we viewed cormorants and five foot long monitor lizards sunning themselves on rocks. It was fun to feel the wind and the sun, and I wondered why I have not boated much in my life.

Fish Eagle

Cichlids

However, that was not enough “adventure” for Grandma.

The next day we drove up to Cape Maclear. She wanted to eat at a place called Danforth Yachting. Upon arrival we encountered a locked gate with a call button. Pressing the button and stating our intention, we were greeted with a stiff British voice stating that the restaurant was for paying hotel guests only. Grandma didn’t really seem to like the sound of that, and she is always ready to try something new. This was the perfect setup for what happened next.

Driving from there we passed the entrance of a national park. About five men were standing there who seemed to be doing nothing. As we slowed around the turn, they ran up to the truck. It went something like this.

“We can give you a really good deal!” they shouted.

“What’s that?” Grandma asked. Oh brother, I thought.

“When you enter the national park, we can give you a very nice tour of the lake. You can feed fish eagles and swim with the cichlids. We’ll take you to a natural aquarium.”

“We did that yesterday,” Jamie said.

“But our tour is very good. We are tour guides from an association. He’s the president, he’s the treasurer, and he’s the former president.”

“We don’t want to pay the national park fees,” Jamie argued.

“No problem. We’ve got a boat near Danforth Yachting, ready to go. No fees there. There’s a place to park your car.”

“At Mgoza lodge today they told us that if we wanted a tour, they could call some tour guides for us…” Jamie began.

“IT IS US!” A jubilant proclamation! Grandma’s eyes were dancing. I could tell where this was headed.

“It’s 12:30, the children are hungry.” I attempted to be a voice of reason.

“Don’t worry about that. Don’t worry for anything. We’ll cook some food for you. We’ll have it done by 2:00. We are PROFESSIONALS!!”

“It will be four,” I muttered.

And that’s how we found ourselves driving behind some guys who were running down a dirt road leading us to their parking lot. Dan announced himself as captain and promptly disappeared. We saw him only upon return.

And how we boarded the stalling Nety and sailed for Diamond Dust Beach, which was really a very dirty looking tiny beach on an island that had a black section of sand. It appeared to me to be charcoal from their cooking fires. They, however, assured me that it was diamond dust.

The Tour Guides and their vessel

Natural Aquarium was really a tiny rocky stop on the island. Bird poop covered everything. An old German guy in speedos arrived shortly after us, and sat on the only other rock directly below ours chain-smoking. I took the children to sit on a rock at the water’s edge. Grandma went to talk to the old guy. The cichlids were beautiful.

And that is also how we found our vegetarian selves in the Nety anchored at dirty Diamond Dust Beach, devouring nsima and vegetables made with the biggest packet of beef flavoring that I have ever seen, with our hands on dishes borrowed from naked boys swimming nearby. At four o’clock.

Our cook

“That was so fun!” Grandma said as we left. After she returned to the states she emailed, “That was so much fun, but it probably wasn’t the wisest decision. Don’t take any more African adventures like that. At least not without me!”

Monitor Lizard

--shallena

Unqualified!

Most days practicing medicine in Malawi I feel like I don’t know very much.  I am trained in Family and Preventive Medicine – they are specialties, but very broad.  I was trained mostly in outpatient medicine, but work mostly in the hospital.  I was trained to use an advanced set of diagnostic services, and here there are few.  Put into a tropical context the depth of understanding and experience I have regarding what I do on a daily basis is quite limited, and I feel incompetent every day.

A few nights ago I was called around midnight by the clinical officer, “Doctor, I think there might be two babies, will you come and do an ultrasound?”  As a diagnostic tool ultrasound is very practical here.  We have a small portable unit, and it is invaluable – if you know how to use it.  I had very limited training in residency with ultrasound – I could measure the fluid around a baby, tell if its heart was beating, and whether its head was down or not.  I could also probably tell whether somebody had a liver or not…

It seems like it should be pretty easy to tell whether there is one or two babies in a women’s belly.  I always pictured it as a black and white matter, but at 1:00 am this morning it didn’t seem so easy to me.  I looked around in the very round abdomen (which was definitely larger than the 33 week gestational age reported by mom) for about 30 minutes, and was pretty sure that I saw one head down, and one head up.  I was also pretty sure that I saw two different hearts with different heart beats.  It had taken a while, but I felt pretty sure of my diagnosis – “Twins!” 

Now if that were the end it would be a nice story, but there were a couple other questions: the patient had a gush of fluid 6 hours ago, and the midwife had felt a pulsating cord next to the presenting part when she did a vaginal exam.  I checked the cervix myself – it was 3 cm dilated, the head was not engaged, and I did feel a pulsation on the left side deeper in the pelvis.  Now, at this point I should put a bit of a disclaimer here – I am a Family Physician – not an obstetrician.  I have never delivered twins, seen a cord prolapse, and have always transferred patients with preterm rupture of membranes to the nearest obstetrician on call.  So there was a bit of perplexity that found its way into my diagnostic algorithm because tonight I was THE doctor on call. 

After a little discussion with the clinical team and patient we decided that we should pray and give her some steroids (to help the baby’s lungs mature), antibiotics(to prevent an infection since her membranes had ruptured), and salbutamol (to try to slow down her contractions). 

I headed back up the hill to get a little sleep.  About an hour and a half later my phone rang again, “Dr, the cord has prolapsed. See you in the Theatre (OR)”.   I was afraid that would happen.  I hurried back down the hill.  When I entered the Operating Theatre, sure enough there was the umbilical cord.  It had a strong rapid pulse.  I had once read a story about a missionary doctor who had held a baby’s head off of a prolapsed umbilical cord for several hours while they drove to a surgical facility.  It made sense to me, so I put on some gloves and pushed the baby up off the prolapsed cord while the clinical officer prepared to do a caesarian section.  The anesthetist placed the spinal anesthesia, and the surgery commenced.  I was impressed with the surgical skills of the clinical officer.  I thought about his training – he has three years of training after high school, but he handles any emergency in the hospital whether pediatric, adult, obstetric, or trauma.  The Malawi health system depends on clinical officers – they are the clinician of Malawi, and at least ours do a great job for the training they have had. 

He finally opened the uterus.  I had been pushing the baby up for about 30 minutes, and the pulse was unreliably present by this time.  With a little trouble he extracted the first baby which was the one I was pushing on.  The baby was clearly asphyxiated – blue, breathless, floppy, but had a heartbeat.  We took Baby 1 over to the resuscitation table where we dried and stimulated the baby, but with no response.  We started to bag the baby with oxygen.  The color was starting to improve when the nurse brought another little blue baby and set it down.  Baby 2 was also floppy, but was at least breathing intermittently.  We started to do a bit of a unique resuscitation – two babies, one bag mask – hyperventilate a little here, then there, dry, stimulate, suction, etc.  I was feeling pretty bad right about now, as it looked like both babies were in a bad way.  I was working on the babies with the anesthetist when he said, “Go get the other one”.  Other one?  

Then the nurse handed me a tiny Baby 3.  This one was almost half the size of the others, but she was breathing, had good color, and normal tone.  She joined her two brothers on the table, and we just settled in for a cozy resuscitation.  After about twenty minutes Baby 1 started to breathe on his own – thank goodness!  Baby 2 by this time was pink and moving, but still with rapid shallow breathing.  Baby 3 was just chilling – eyes open taking in the newness of life, looking for her first meal. A few minutes later Baby 1 started to holler, and didn’t stop until I left.

Baby 1: 1.6 kg  (3 lbs 8 oz)

Baby 2: 1.5 kg  (3 lbs 5 oz)

Baby 3, Girl, with Grandma

Baby 3: 950 gm (2 lbs 1 oz)

I looked at the three babies with their hand-knit hats bundled up in their sheets, and I was grateful.  I was the least qualified to help them come into the world, but here they were.  In Malawi, 25% of children die by the age of five.  Unfortunately, these three have a much steeper mountain to climb.  They are small, premature, and had a bumpy start, but at least today they are alive.

“The Lord has done this and it is marvelous in our eyes.” Psalm 118:23.  Despite my limitations, God made something beautiful.

In medicine it is easy to feel that our success is dependent on our experience, knowledge,  and qualifications.  If you are getting  bogged down in that kind of thinking, come visit us in Malawi where there is a different kind of medicine – the kind where God doesn’t depend on our qualifications.  We need a qualified obstetrician.

--jamie

Serving

                                                                                                                      March 30, 2013

The sound of wailing fills the air. Looking up toward the road, I see several women, one of which has a baby tied to her back. But oh, this is different! The child’s head is tightly covered. Suddenly I realize that the mother has just lost her baby. She is carrying him as she always has, except this time she is carrying him to his burial place. The voice of their pain fades as they pass. I look down at my little beauty, her inquisitive brown eyes searching my face. Gently I twirl one of her curls between my fingers. My blonde boy is happily hoeing the dirt, beaming as he works hard. My precious treasures, that I get to keep for a while longer. Life is so uncertain.

Sometimes it is so easy to get caught up in the “stuff”. You know, the “stuff” I tell my children, such as, “I can’t go on a walk with you now. I don’t want to leave the house. What if they steal more of my stuff?” and “I have to get this house cleaned. Go play.” And “Can’t you children play nicely while I try to make you some supper?” and “No, I don’t want to sit down in the dirt and play. There might be bugs and it’s dirty, besides, I have to go do….” And “I just need a break from these children. They are wearing me out today.”

Have I stopped to really focus on them today? Have I openly listened to them today? Or have I treated them as if they were nuisances getting in my way of … serving myself.

Woah. Where did that come from? But that’s what it is, isn’t it? All the things I have to do are for me if I’m trampling my innocents’ tender spirits while claiming that it’s for them.

That reminds me of Jesus saying that whatever we have done for the least of these brothers of His, we have done it for Him. He also said that it’s better to have a millstone tied around my neck and to be thrown into the depths of the sea than it would be for me to keep one of these little ones from entering the kingdom of Heaven.

Am I so busy “taking care” of them that I don’t show care for my children?

Am I so taken up with my “to do” list that I forget to be with the ones most worthy of my effort?

Am I so intent on trying to make a home that I neglect to display tender love—what really makes a home—to my lovely ones?

Am I so focused on my discouragements that I cannot bring encouragement and simple joy to my little joys?

Am I so preoccupied with being a missionary that I overlook my closest mission field (my children)?

“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto Me.”

Lord, please help me to lay up my treasures in Heaven, where thieves do not break in and steal, and moths do not destroy. Let me remember that my children are my first treasures, and they are worthy of my best efforts. Let me remember that serving them is meeting their physical and spiritual and emotional needs, and that I will be serving You. All the business of the day can be accomplished in a way that encourages them to come near to You. Please bring me closer to You, and give me Your wisdom while they are still young. Oh how we need You, Jesus!  

Sticker Shock

                                                                                                                           March 7, 2013

I've wanted to make this post for a long time. People tend to think that Africa is poor so everything should be cheap. But I'd like to tell you that if you, as an expatriate, would like to have any of the conveniences of home, almost all of which are different here anyway, these are the prices that you can expect to pay. For those of you who would like to offer the opinion that we should live as the common Malawians do (because the Malawians who have money here drive nicer cars and have nicer clothes, hair, and houses than we personally ever did in the States) then I would respond that you are welcome to come do so and tell me how it works for you. There are people who are able to release all they know--even while they have small children--and live as the local people, and I respect them immensely.

Some of these items were found at Game stores, which is associated with Walmart.

Here it goes:

Stick Deodorant: 4640 mk, $12.18

2 pack Pilot G2 pens: 2980 mk, $7.82

Small wire trash can: 4880 mk, $12.77

Bleach, 1 Gallon: 9000 mk, $23.62

White flour: 1620 mk, $4.24

Plastic, basic high chair: 61,400 mk, $160.73

One bag of cheap diapers: 56 count, 9200 mk, $24.15

Snickers Minatures, one small bag: 3400 mk, $8.90

1 pack of 64 baby wipes: 2360 mk, $6.18

1 bag of six rolls of tp: 2940, $7.70

500 grams cocoa: 3200 mk, $8.38

C-cell battery: approximately $4.00

400 ml bottle Head and Shoulders Shampoo: 7100 mk, $18.59

1 gallon of motor oil: 13,450 mk, $35.21

Two door refrigerator/freezer, ON SALE: 599,000 mk, $1,572.18

Half size electric stove with four burners (fits half a cookie sheet), ON SALE: 210,000 mk, $551.18

One pound of butter: approximately $9.00-$10.00

Soccer ball, not superior quality: 11,000-15,000 mk, $28.87-39.37

Plain sheers, Walmart style: approximately $45.00

Diesel: $7.51/gallon

Petrol: $7.75/gallon

And last but not least.......

One bottle of CocaCola: $0.40

The cost of a vehicle from the 90s seems to average $10,000. The vehicles that I've seen advertised that are less than 10 years old are priced at least double that amount.

Local produce, which is found in season, is very affordable. The beans and rice must be thoroughly sorted and cleaned--a timely process! Beans can be found prepackaged that do not need to be sorted, but then you get to pay for that.

Also of interest are the uncommon flavors of some common items.

Ketchup: jalapeno, chili, and more!

Chips: Fruit chutney, spring onion and cheese, smoked beef, Mexican chili (which is weird because we have been able to find nothing Mexican in this country so far), and more!

Blueberry Mint Dentyne, anyone?

--shallena

Blessing

                                                                                                                        February 26, 2013

"Odi?"

I waved her over. As she cautiously stepped toward me, I noticed a baby tied on her back over her ragged dress. 

"Hello!" I called.

"Hello?" she repeated, confused. She began mumbling something, and I noticed that her eyes pointed in different directions.

Kingsley, our gardener, ran around the house. "I'm sorry, Madam. I told her we have no piece work. She is asking for piece work to feed her children, but she is abnormal. I did not realize that she walked around the house to the khondi."

"Would it be okay to give her some money?" I asked, still unsure how to proceed sometimes. "Can I give her 100, 200, or 500 kwacha?"

"Yes, you can give. Maybe 500." It was the amount of a daily laborer (400-500 mk) and I knew the average Malawian would not give her so much. 

"How many children does she have?" 

"Two." She patted her fussy baby's bottom, trying to comfort it.

Quickly, I ran inside and got the money. Walking out of the house, I saw her sitting on the ground, nursing a very skinny little girl. One of the mother's breasts was completely shriveled up; she was feeding the baby from the normal side. I handed her the money.

A look of wonder, a tiny smile. She held the money almost reverently. "Zikomo kwambili," she whispered. (Thank you very much.)

"How old is her baby?"

"One."

"How many months?" I asked.

"She doesn't know how to count months," Kingsley replied after asking the mother.

"I think I have a dress for her. Would it be okay to give it to her?"

"Yes. If you do, she will know that she has been blessed by God."

I returned with a beautiful red dress, one that Jamie had picked up somewhere for Abigail. It was polyester, so would help her stay warm, and the color was perfect for the mud here. She rolled it up and stuffed it into a bag she carried. It was the kind of bag used for packaging, had no handles, and looked as if she found it in the street. I fished out a proper sized grocery bag with handles from the closet, then helped her put her few things in it. She turned and walked quietly away. As I watched her, I suddenly realized that Kingsley was speaking to me. "God bless you, Madam," he said earnestly. 

Me? Here is a woman who is obviously mentally handicapped, trying to take care of her two children. Maybe she is married, maybe not. Someone in her position is easily used by others, and has no hope of rising out of poverty. In the USA, there are government programs to help people like her, but here there is nothing. By all rights, she could have asked for a handout. Who would need it more? But she came asking for work, so she could earn money to feed her children. How could I not help her? God has already blessed me with a good mind, an excellent husband, abundance of food, shelter, and a hope and a future even while on this earth. How could I stand by and watch her nurse her obviously malnourished baby, trying to do her best for the little one, and do nothing? From the blessing God has given, I am compelled to give. This is one reason that He put us here.
--shallena

Wood!

Here is another blog about tree felling--only this time it happened intentionally.

In our front yard were two trees, a dead ironwood tree, and a beautiful samba tree, both of which had to go. The ironwood because it was dead and in a bad location, the samba because it was shading our house, which is currently half filled with mold.

Jamie had the great idea that if the trees had to be cut, they could be made into boards! Ironwood is excellent wood, and samba is great for firewood, but he thought if cut into boards, it could be used for rough framing for exterior projects.

That's how a crew of three guys came to our house with a two-man saw, a rope, and a panga knife (machete.) (Well, actually, they used our knife.) After removing the branches, they brought down the massive samba, and were so proud of themselves that they didn't land it on the roof.

Then commenced the board cutting.

They hoisted it up, supporting it with small limbs. 

Scabs of the ironwood tree. It is beautiful wood.

Filling their line with battery acid, they mark the truck to the desired thickness. After removing the scabs, they begin sawing it into boards, like so:

And that is why we are now attempting to dry loads of lumber in our garage during the rainy season!

Timber!

Excitement happened around our house two weeks ago. My husband got an idea from the locals to dry out a tree before cutting it down, like this:

The idea is to leave it standing for a couple of weeks and then chop it down and cut it into firewood. He did this to two trees in the backyard, a hard wood tree (pictured above) and a masuku (sapote) tree, the was growing close to a tall papaya tree.

One day after the maintenance crew left our house, the children and I were standing in the front yard (thankfully) when suddenly we heard, "Creak, crack, BOOM, CRASH!" Jedidiah and I looked at each other, not sure what had just happened. Cautiously we went through the house to view the backyard, and there we saw it.

Timber!

The masuku tree had toppled, taking the papaya tree up by the roots.

The roots of the papaya, underneath the trunk of the masuku tree.

Really, it was quite exciting.

Jedidiah immediately began clean up.

But playing on it was more fun!

Local "Guests"

Below are photos of creatures in and around the house. 

Little Chameleon

Medium Chameleon--camouflaged!

Oh, there he is!

Some of the creatures are new, and some aren't. The people here tell us which ones are dangerous or not. Here's one example:

Not Dangerous

Dangerous

Have you ever seen a garden snail like this common snail here? 

Garden Snail--nearly 6" long

This little guy is no guest. He's part of the family.

This was in the tub at our host's house in Blantyre.

Grady, napping in our mosquito net, his "hammock."

My Heart Went Out

                                                                                                                           February 3, 2013

It’s hard to write with the helicopter fan blinking shadows under the fluorescent light. My eyes have never liked that effect.

Last week Jamie told me about a woman who came to the hospital with postpartum bleeding. She died, leaving behind an eleven day old baby. The family cannot afford formula, so their solution is to have an auntie who has seven month old twins to nurse the baby.  The consensus at the hospital is that the baby will be back, hopefully before it’s too late.

People here take care of orphaned children, but it seems that the orphans are not equal to their biological children.  How could they be? Most people struggle to feed their own.  Malawians tell us that they have many children so that when some of them die, they will still have children left.

A couple of days later there was a woman in labor in the hospital, fully dialated, but would not push. Jamie broke her water and saw meconium. The clinical officers took her to c-section. The baby aspirated meconium and died.

This morning Jamie ran for the hospital at 6:30. A pregnant woman seizing! With aching heart I prayed for her and the baby, and for Jamie.

Just then a man in a threadbare, frayed shirt knocked on my door. “Please, Madam. I need work.” It seems that most Malawians have a sad story, and they do not hesitate to tell us. A man with a wife and two or three (I couldn’t figure it out) children who hasn’t had a job for four years. He lives in a village near the hospital, and there’s really not much other employment close by. He worked at Malamulo until the funding stopped or slowed. We’ve met several people who lost their job then. “I’ll do anything. Daily pay is fine.” That got my attention. He is the only person we’ve interviewed that has not balked at daily pay. My heart went out to this man who is desperately trying to care for his family. 

I cried out to God, "The people are hurting! They have so many needs! Please show us how to best help them. I can't carry this alone." How grateful we are that we can cast all our cares upon God, for He cares for each one of His children.

Inauguration

                                                                                                                                                                                                                   
                                                                                                                     February 1, 2013

I stared at Jamie. My stomach dropped and nausea filled me.

“Yes, Shallena, $4000.00 US dollars are gone,” replied Jamie.

“That is my car, my independence! That’s tile on my broken concrete kitchen floor! That’s a washing machine! It must have been the painter. He’s the only one who had time to look through all our stuff and find where we had hidden the money.”

We called the administrator, because it must have been someone hired by the hospital. He and the business manager came to my house to hear the case. Assuring me they would take care of it, they left. For two days I heard nothing. Then I thought to call the police. Jamie phoned the admin, who said it had not been done yet. Why didn’t we do that right away? Frustrated and angry, we went to the police. They also came to my house, but I’ve not been convinced that much was done about it.

Two days later, I fired the girl who was cleaning my house because she was lying to me. She worked three days.

The next night Jamie’s boots disappeared off of the porch. In order to see those boots, a person had to walk up to our doorstep. That caused me to feel the most violated, because we are the most vulnerable when we sleep.

The next day I was unpacking one of our bags that was left here when we stayed for a month in Blantyre. Inside were the few children’s toys I had brought along. But where are the watercolor paints? They’re not here! No way, no they didn’t. Someone took my children’s used watercolor paints!!! They have crossed the line! I am furious!

Up walk two guys from the electric board. “We are shutting off your electricity because you didn’t pay your bill.”

“I didn’t receive a bill.”

“You didn’t pay the bill. This is your second notice.”

“No, it’s not! I have lived in this house one week! This is not my bill.” By now the gardener had walked up, hearing the heat in my voice.

“Okay, madam. We will not turn off your power. Only you must speak to the business manager about this bill.”

You better believe it I will, Buddy.

The next day I decided that it was enough. I was livid, and I haven’t felt that way in years. At the peak of my fury, the administrator knocked on my door. “Hi, Shallena.”

“Hello.” My voice was flat.

“Everything okay?”

No, everything was not okay and I let him know it. He listened, and told me that I was not alone in my feelings, everyone goes through this and it will pass.  He told me that someone would come to spray the house (which hasn’t happened) and I told him that would do no good since I don’t have screens on the windows. He sent maintenance up to clean their junk out of our garage and the next day to put screens on the windows. When I first got here someone told me that people will wait to see if I get angry before they do anything. I responded that I didn’t think that would happen. What did I know? 

With that inauguration to our home at Malamulo, I definitely trust people less. Yet after my uncharacteristic fury was spent, I felt so much more at peace, and somehow began to see the plight of the people a little more. I wonder why? But I am grateful.
--shallena

To Be Used

                                                                                                                              January 30, 2013

"Use me...".  I have prayed that prayer many times, in different circumstances, countries, and continents. I think it betrays the deep need I have to be useful, to do good things, and to help others.  Recently the answers have been a little unexpected... 

There was the friendly man who stopped me to promise a load of manure for only 5000 kwacha (~$15).  Well the money went, but the manure must be pushing up tomatoes in somebody else's garden.   

There are hands -- hands that reflexively poke in my white face: asking, begging, demanding.  Ripped clothes, dirty faces, bare feet, skinny hungry belly buttons. 

There was the naked man who threw his wet clothes at my feet in silent protest that I could be so well dressed in my right mind, when he wasn't.

Then last week we donated several thousand dollars to the local economy.  We're not sure when or where it went, but its gone.  

My boots disappeared off the porch a few nights ago.  

The other day some village children wandered through our yard looking for mangos and firewood.  I said "Hi", they said, "Give me money".  I gave them firewood and mangos.

At first it was easy to give it away -- poverty is everywhere, and we are rich.  But over time its easy to become cynical when people want to be associated with you because your lack of melanin betrays your deep pockets.  

But can I really blame them?  If my children cried to sleep hungry, what would I do to get them food?  If they died because they didn't have shelter, would I resort in desperation to immorality?  I only know that I cannot answer such questions -- not that I don't want to (because I really don't), but because I  cannot. 

And how do I relate to God?  "Dear God, please bless me today...help it to rain...help it not to rain...help the people give me back my money...help me, help me, help me..."  

Am I any different? Do I pray from true devotion in my heart, or am I using God? Do I long for an easy life, or do I long for the trials that will refine my heart so that one day I will be ready to be used?

"For he will be like a refiner's fire or a launderer's soap. He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver; he will purify the Levites and refine them like gold and silver" Malachi 3:2,3.

--jamie