re-entry July 30, 2008

I don’t know where a year has gone, but it has gone.  My arrival back in the United States is scheduled for August 4^th, just a few days away.  In preparation for my return, let’s go through some basic guidelines for how best to interact with your favorite missionary.

 

Questions that you should NOT, under any circumstances, ask me:

 

1. How was it?

 

Um, seriously?  You expect me to sum up an entire year of Africa in some pleasantry?  Impossible.  It was amazing.  It was difficult.  It was frustrating and overwhelming.  It was heartbreaking.  It was incredibly fulfilling.  Sometimes all in one day.  It was the best year of my life, and I will not reduce the experience to “It was good”.

 

  2.  Are you happy to be home?

 

Of course I’m happy to be home.  Home is home, and home is comforting.  I’m excited to move to a new city and start law school.  I can’t wait to see friends and shop at Target.  It is so nice to get in a car without worrying about it breaking down.  Reliable electricity is such a treat.  I love the United States, and it is great to be back.

 

At the same time, I am absolutely devastated.  I have left 51 children that I love more than anything.  I don’t know when or if I will see them again.  It breaks my heart.  And I miss Africa.  Africa is an adventure, always.  I miss the feeling that I am doing something that really matters.  I miss the sun; I miss the bush.  A piece of me will be there forever.     

 

If you’re searching for something to say upon greeting me, I would like to suggest “It’s nice to see you again” or “We’re glad that you’re back”. 

 

Please also understand that I am not the same person who left in September.  Though I may still love Will Ferrell movies and high heels, a lot has happened in the past 11 months.  I have been witness to things that you can’t comprehend.  I have made choices that you never will.

 

 My entire perspective has totally shifted.  It’s going to require a lot more patience from me to listen to someone complain about their broken cell phone because I know people who don’t have enough food to eat.  And don’t whine to me about the price of gas until it costs you so much that you have to move into a mud hut.

 

Unless you have lived in Africa, you cannot understand.

 

 Don’t get me wrong, I want to share this year with you.  I am so looking forward to talking about what God is doing here.  I have dozens of amusing look-at-the-silly-white-girl stories to recount.  My kids are fabulous, and I want to tell you all about them.  There is much to say.

 

August 4^th.  First stop, Starbucks.  Caramel frappucino.  With whipped cream, because I’ve earned it.

no flashing lights, but there wasn’t much traffic either July 30, 2008

“We just passed by your place,” Sheri recounted on the phone, “and there’s a man lying by the road.  I don’t think that he’s dead, but maybe you could go take a look”.  8:30 am and there’s already a casualty.  “Sure,” I replied, “no problem”.

 

Well, this definitely isn’t my domain.  Dirty nappies, formula, and the occasional sewage challenge, those are the areas to which I am assigned.  I will just let the clinic get this one.  Walking over, I note that Sal isn’t around because he’s out in the bush, doing a rural clinic.  No big deal, that’s what the back-up clinical officer is for.  Jeffery will certainly go check out the unconscious man.

 

Unfortunately, Jeffery is in the middle of another emergency.  Hmmm, okay, plan B.  I will send one of the drivers.  I start asking around.  Turns out that Herrod has gone on the market run and Mwanza is conveniently out of the cell service area.  For a moment, I ponder just waiting to see if another person licensed to operate a motor vehicle shows up. But the minutes are passing and my pesky conscious keeps reminding me that there is a man lying by the road.

 

Fine, I’ll do it.  I grab a large, male clinic staffer and head out to the tarmac.  Sure enough, there is a man lying in a ditch beside it.  His bike and possessions flung out next to him.  We venture a bit closer and determine that, sure enough, he is still breathing.  He doesn’t appear injured, so we guess intoxication.  In any case, he is in rough shape.  Load ‘em up.

 

As the man moans in the back seat, I think about how messed up this whole thing is.  I mean, this man was literally splayed out by the side of the road and no one was attending to him.  Cars, including our friend Sheri, drove by and kept going.  What’s more, there was no one to call for help.  The police don’t offer pick-up services and ambulances don’t exist here.  I guess that we are who people call for help.

 

Pulling up beside the clinic, I jump out of the car and gladly relinquish all medical duties.  Turns out that our mystery man is indeed intoxicated.  However, it’s a bit more serious than that.  He has apparently spent the previous night lying beside the road and his body temperature is now freakishly low, like 94.  Warm towels from the dryer are prescribed.  He’ll likely have a massive hangover, but he’ll pull through.

 

Ambulance driver.  Is there anything left for me to do here?