communication, perspective, and blogging continued

communication is a funny thing. i never thought that when i left sierra leone that my ability to communicate via internet and e-mail would so dramatically decline. i never thought the internet at the team house and the fistula centre – admittedly up and down – would be more reliable and generally faster than the internet at my house in van, texas. it has been wonderful to have my phone back – to hear the voices of the ones i love. despite that it’s taken quite a bit to not get frustrated at my internet-less state.

that said, i write this as we drive to beaumont, texas to move my brother into university there. he’s enrolled in the texas academy for leadership in the humanities, talh for short. it’s an accelerated high school program in which high school juniors and seniors enroll as full time students at lamar university, live on campus, and lead the life of a college student while all of their class credit counts to finish high school requirements as well. it’s a small program with a dedicated staff allowing for a smoother transition into college life. my sister went through the same program, and i would have as well if we had not moved that same year from the ship to the small east texas town of van. too many changes at once.

i want to keep writing here as i go back to school and continue along this adventure of life. my first plan was to use this blog as a tool over the summer to stay in touch with those far away and as a processing tool to deal with the many experiences i knew i would face. but i’ve been learning that life and its happenings can be almost anything you want it to be with a simple adjustment of perspective. having a blog forced me to keep my eyes open when i hit the doldrums of my summer in freetown and felt that i had perhaps written about everything worth writing about. but i was so wrong. peeling back the layers of preconceived ideas about what’s worth mentioning, i discovered a myriad of little things which each deserved its own mention: a look shared between two patients on the ward which, though silent, said so much; the little girl in the poda-poda wearing a wig that made her look twice her age, sitting on her father’s lap and swaying to the reggae music blasting through us and out the windows; the overwhelming feeling that hit me every time i sat down with one of the ladies for my study and recorded bits and pieces of her rich and textured life. but the pattern of life’s weaving is just as complex and detailed in east texas or in boston as in freetown. i just need to open my eyes, change my lenses – any number of cliches could be inserted here. :)

that’s all i wanted to say really. that and thank you to all of you who have been faithful readers. it’s much more fun to write knowing that you’re writing for someone not just the nameless void of cyberspace. i head back to bc on friday, and the adventure continues...

a turtle in east texas

home.

it’s such a fickle, flexible word.

i was talking to christa the other day, and she said that if she could pick one animal to describe her, it would be a monkey. i think my animal would have to be a turtle. someone that takes her home everywhere she goes. i realized that today when, as we pulled into the parking lot, i told my mother something about, “that’s just like home.” home being sierra leone. but sierra leone isn’t my home anymore. i have left that place, and i have taken my home with me.

but can east texas be my home for these few short days? i suppose it must be because i am here. funny logic, i guess.

but i am in east texas. that is for sure. i had the funniest experience the first day i got in. having sat empty for a month, our house and the refrigerator in it were empty. so i ran out to the grocery store. i was so excited, really, to be driving again – to go to a supermarket and know exactly what you were going to find there. it was my first real thing to do, having landed only a few hours earlier.

as i was checking out, an elderly woman came walking into the store holding a remote control in her hand. ‘ah need to git sum bat’tries fer this here ree-mote,’ she announced to know one in particular. ‘but ah cain’t git the back thingy off.’ the store manager appeared from behind one of the shelves, greeted her by name – apparently an old friend, and ushered her over to the display of energizer batteries while he took the remote to sort out the back. i smiled to myself and then turned my attention back to the cashier who was asking for my membership discount card.

a few minutes later, after everything had been sacked and reloaded into my cart, one of the clerks appeared to take my trolley out to the car. at brookshire’s you can never take your own bags to the car. he was a young guy, and we chatted about the weather. a dry spell has hit here leading to several weeks of temperatures over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. somehow it came out that i had been in sierra leone, and he asked if i was from teen mania. no – mercy ships. he had heard of us, and knew several people that worked up at the ioc. by that time everything had been loaded into the back of the car, and i was pulling out my keys and sunglasses. he turned to go, wishing me a nice day, but then he turned back. “is there anything i can be prayin’ for – for you or for sierra leone?” i looked from his clear, honest eyes, to the metal cross he wore on a leather cord around his neck. yes, i thought before answering, i’m back in east texas...

rain and re-entry

whenever i told anyone that my flight out of sierra leone was on the tenth of august, the reply was generally the same: the moment of thought, the widening eyes, then the same comment, ‘the day before the elections.’ no one ever said to me, ‘oh, the rainy season.’ but, in the end, it wasn’t the looming elections or campaigning or little skirmishes in the streets which made my journey out of sierra leone the adventure that it was. it was simply the rain.

10 August, 04:02 – awake to the sound of pounding rain rattling the windows outside. surprised to be hearing the rain over the generator, only to pleasantly realize that npa has come to 12 lumley road.

07:29 – ride to work for the last time. note the angry waves off of lumley beach.

09:13 – leave for bliss bakery. get relatively wet despite the nice young guy ferrying people from their cars under a giant beach umbrella.

10:37 – return to work. find that lumley roundabout has turned into a river.

11:56 – phone the helicopter and hovercraft. both are operating their 14:00 services.

12:10 – decide to try for the 14:30 helicopter rather than wait and potentially miss the 18:30 flight. the frenzy begins.

13:07 – grab a sandwich in terri’s apartment. begin goodbyes.

13:25 – tear off a massive piece of plastic with stefani to cover my rucksack. followed by a hilarious attempt to cover said rucksack.

13:45 – load into the 287

13:46 – realize the 287 won’t start

13:48 – load into the land cruiser

13:49 – last hug. last wave.

13:58 – arrive at the heliport. can barely make out the helicopter through the rain and wind. assured the helicopter will go on time. yeah, right.

15:32 – assured the helicopter will go by 16:00.

17:14 – load everything back into the land cruiser

17:18 – arrive at the hovercraft terminal

19:21 – hovercraft departs aberdeen. we were finally on our way as the rain still fell, although the dull roar had calmed to a steady trickle.

departing lungi airport deserves a separate post all its own. quite the experience, i can assure you, full of things like manually propelling the luggage conveyor belt, having to personally assure that your bags make it through the security check and on the carousel headed to the plane, and having your bags searched and a package of peanuts removed while the water was allowed to stay.

once on the plane, things went well. i was sitting next to a lovely elderly sierra leonean woman headed to the uk to help her daughter-in-law who just birthed her third child. three under four – i’m sure grandmum’s help was appreciated. at one point, the nameless woman leaned over to me and asked me in her quiet, whispery voice, ‘are you a believer?’ ‘yes, i am,’ i replied, with an equal measure of the solemnity the woman conveyed. ‘well, that is wonderful,’ was her final statement before returning to her book entitled ‘seven kingdom principles.’

seven hours later, we arrived in london, and the past thirty-six hours or so have been lovely. although, i must say i miss sierra leone terribly. i missed sierra leone when i went to say ‘tenki, ya’ to the immigration officer and then again to the girl behind the ticket counter at the train station and again in the store today. i missed sierra leone when i had to go back to the bathroom, remembering that we do, in fact, have enough water to flush the toilet every time. i missed sierra leone when i thought of the wonderful teammates i have left behind, and how i wish i could share the blessings of these past few days with them. stefani – i went to starbucks for you (twice!) :D i keep finding myself practicing krio in my head as has been my habit these past few months. i keep thinking about what everyone is doing back in 12 lumley road.

tomorrow is monday. tomorrow i will finish my journey and return to my house, to my room, to my life in the united states. tomorrow morning someone else will feed charles’s coffee addiction in the office. someone else will clap and sing in morning devotions. someone else will sit and pray with the women going in for surgery. someone else now somewhere else.

262,800

from this moment, i have seventy-three hours left in sierra leone. what those seventy three hours will bring, i have no idea. but that is four thousand three hundred and eighty minutes. that’s two hundred sixty-two thousand, eight hundred seconds. 262,800 moments – 262,800 more chances for 262,800 memories. it seems like a lot, but it isn’t enough.

being so close to the end lends itself naturally to times of reflection. but i’m trying my best to fight that urge because every moment i spend living in the past i miss a moment in the present. i’m also trying my hardest to avoid planning the future because, again, those are precious moments that i won’t get back. living in the present has always been one of my greatest challenges. my tendency is to be a forward-looker, a plan-aheader and i have followed this instinct for many years. but i have to say that being in africa rather forces you to live moment-by-moment. like when we woke up yesterday morning and the generator had gone off. you learn to adapt, light candles, boil water, etc. and when the generator would not turn on again last night, the adventure continued, including taking apart, repairing, and putting back together again several kerosine lanterns. no worries, all my camping friends, i now know quite a bit about kerosine lanterns. :)

you make plans here, but you hold them loosely. like my eight o’clock appointment who still has yet to come at 9:10. at restaurants its probably the best plan to select three good options from the menu in the common event that they do not have what you first ordered. like yesterday – at ramada’s beach bar, christa and i stopped in for a drink on our way back home from the centre. the situation went something like this:

- we have soft drink, juice, star beer...

- what juice do you have?

- we have mango, pineapple, guava...

- i’ll have mango

- okay, no problem

(several minutes later, the waitress returns bearing guava juice)

- we have no mango juice

- guava is fine. :)

you really become used to it, and you hardly even notice anymore when it happens. or, you notice it, but you stop being surprised.

so what do the next now 261, 900 moments have in store for me? i’m not sure, but i’m excited...

the planned day v. the actual day

i am slowly but surely running out of creative ways to begin my blog-posts – not that how i have been starting them has been particularly creative. how many times have i started my posts with ‘it’s been a busy day’ or ‘it’s raining’? :)

i think i’m finally caught up on rest, though. i went to bed early last night, and woke up on my own accord at five thirty, so i guess i had gotten enough sleep at that point. you know, i just have to say, i love weekends. i love weekdays as well, but i love that on a weekend, i can get up, pad around – make a whole pot of tea instead of just a cup, and spend the whole morning drinking it. i love that i can choose not to take a shower and wear my most comfortable clothes.

i’m leaving in about half an hour to head down to lumley beach to see the sierra leonean amputee sports club (football team) practice. they usually scrimmage for a bit, and then maybe play a short game if the weather is nice. it looks as though the rain may hold off, which would be so wonderful. the past few days have been much less wet than before, but you never know. stefani is coming with me, and after we’re going to walk up to bliss patisserie – a little lebanese-owned restaurant where they sell coffee, pastries, and food. it’s a heavenly little oasis – one of the only places out that i’ve found that serves proper coffee – everywhere else is hot water and instant nescafe. not bad, but somehow fails to hit the spot when you want a good cup of coffee. :) then this afternoon, we have our long-awaited cooking lesson with abdul. a full day, but i’m looking forward to it all! it’s crazy that it’s my last weekend. at dinner last night, someone asked me what i particularly wanted to do on my last weekend, and i nearly fell out of my seat – i hadn’t even realized that i won’t have another saturday or sunday in sierra leone. not for a long time, at least. so weird....

i just wanted to jot a quick note about my day on thursday. stefani and went out with to new steps at waterloo. they send out mobile health teams every day to a few different sites on a kind of rotating schedule. as it was thursday, we headed out to rokupa – a village in between the outskirts of freetown and waterloo. after picking up vaccines from a local clinic, we headed out and set up shop outside a blacksmith’s shop. it’s operated by a man named pa mustafa, and it’s operated entirely by polio victims. pa mustafa is a victim of polio himself. so incredible to see – this extremely muscular man whose body suddenly shrivels up below the waist. a super friendly man, though. i wished that i could stay and chat with him a while, but we had plenty of patients waiting. i was afraid that i would end up spending the day just observing – so i spoke to the nurse, helen, telling her that i was a nursing student and more than happy to help. ‘nor worry, laurence,’ she said. ‘we get plenty work for you to do,’ and she was right! i ended up being in charge of all the well-baby checks. i weighed all the under-fives in our little hanging scale, charted their growth, and immunized the ones who were due for an opv and pentavalin.

it was absolute madness. i hunkered down to my task around ten am, and the next time i looked up, it was three. there was a seemingly endless stream of mothers with babies of various ages – the majority of which receiving their vaccines out of order or at a time other than the recommended age specified on their vaccination record.

every child should receive at birth bcg (against tuberculosis) and their first opv (against polio). then at six weeks it’s the first dpt/hep – a combined vaccine against diptheria and hepatitis – and the second opv. these two are to be repeated twice more at ten and fourteen weeks. then at nine months, the vaccines are completed with one yellow fever and one measles vaccine. out of the fifteen children i saw, i think one was on schedule. two were over the age of two. the vaccines themselves were out of date, and we didn’t have alcohol swabs to cleanse the injection site. the sharps container was nearly full when i began, making proper disposal of the syringes difficult. the cotton, when i retrieved it from the container, was swarming with ants. all in a day’s work, i suppose. it was a really eye-opening experience to the realities of a community clinic in a developing country. at the fistula centre and the opc, we are extremely spoiled in our accessibility to materials and medicines, and even they are not as nearly well stocked as almost any clinic in america. i was becoming extremely frustrated with it all, but then i saw the mothers standing in line, clutching their infants with a look of mixed anxiety and awe. i realized that to them i – childless, husband-less, younger, and less life-worn – was an authority figure. the weight of their expectation and trust was overwhelming. and so i did my very best possible by all of my tiny patients. i laughed with the mothers and with the crowd of little kids who gasped every time i uncapped a needle. it was an amazing experience – but absolutely exhausting. it has taken me until today to really overcome the aching tired which set in thursday afternoon.

- - - - - - - -

that was what i wrote this morning, intending to post from bliss, but they apparently do not have internet, so i've had to wait until now.

as always, the day ended up a bit differently than planned. in fact stefani and i were just commenting on how our time in sierra leone has definitely taught us both to hold all plans loosely - with the expectation that something will change or end up differently.

we made it to the beach right on time, only to find no football players. thinking we may be a bit early, stefani, christa, and myself spent some time just walking on the beach. we happened to pass one of the football players - the team's striker, and he told us that the coach had just phoned him to say that practice will be cancelled for the month of august - rain, elections, lack of funds, all combined to make meeting on a weekly basis too much of a hassle. so, fortunately, stefani has some pictures from when we went last time (when i had forgotten my camera), and i'll hopefully get those uploaded soon.

our time at bliss was good - but also different than we had expected. they did not have wireless internet, and i had packed everything up this morning, but not my adapter to plug my computer in. i totally didn't even think of it, completely forgetting that the restaurant would obviously have the different plugs. so i managed to get a fair bit of work done before my battery died, which was great.

the cooking lesson went really well - but again a bit different. abdul had done so much prep work that everything came together within forty-five minutes. :) i determined that i really liked eating with my hands, that fufu is good if a bit bland, and that okra soup is relatively easy to make if you have all of the right ingredients. i also determined that i do not particularly like palm oil, and i was reminded that africans generally have a much higher tolerance for the tiny hot peppers that you put in.

and this afternoon/evening has been a quiet one. it was a beautiful, clear day, and the rain has just begun to fall again. tomorrow's agenda: church one last time at st. luke's, a quick trip over to the clinic, and the beach (if the weather allows!)

more later...

roots redux

this morning, i started writing my final report today for my advanced study grant. at lunch, i had a deep conversation with terri about moving on from this time and this place. this afternoon one of the nurses who i won’t see again due to shift scheduling said goodbye to me. i’ve started to get this creepy-crawly feeling like goosebumps on the inside. when i think of leaving, my stomach knot and unknots itself in rapid succession – an altogether unpleasant experience.

this is how leaving always is for me – even if i have only been in that place for a short while. here is an excerpt of something i wrote over a year ago when i was leaving to return to school after christmas break. i stumbled across it the other day, and it’s funny how it still rings true:

the human tendency to put down roots. the most insidious part of this tendency is the fact that we don’t realize that we have put down roots until we have to tear them up. we tie strings from our hearts to people, places, special times, or significant others. then when the time comes to move, the only alternative is to rip away, breaking all of our bonds like a hot air balloon snapping its moorings, like ripping up the hair on our arm or leg when removing a band-aid, or like pulling up a plant by its stem.

as the pulling begins, there is a moment of greatest resistance, and if the pull is strong enough for long enough, the lines begin to break. it’s a kind of sucking pop which sickens the heart and yet is strangely satisfied in its own right.

some ties are harder than others to break, and generally the harder the break, the harder the hurt...

it’s a healthy pain, though. just like a tree or grapevine, our heartstrings must be pruned in order to be more fruitful and grow more strongly. the funny thing is that i don’t regret putting down roots, and i won’t hesitate to put roots down again. part of the reason why i won’t hesitate again is because i won’t know that i’m doing it. and ignorance is bliss.

sunshine and joy

i would say today was a fairly productive day.

i got up in the morning, and really had no idea what to expect. yesterday had been relatively slow, and rather heartbreaking. i was in the opc with guido when we had to tell a mother that her two week son, born with spina bifida, would not survive. it was mind-numbingly painful to see the face of this mother as she sat, cradling her convulsing infant realizing that she must begin to say goodbye just as she had begun to say hello. i was pretty shattered by the whole experience, and i was still a bit off this morning. but i had a good cry and the prayed for joy. sunshine and joy were my two prayers for today. and i would have to say they were answered.

the day broke to heavy rain, and as it was still going strong when we piled into the land cruiser this morning, it looked as though we would have our sixth straight day of rain. but by the time we arrived at the clinic, it had stopped, and by ten the sun had begun to beat down on the soggy earth. i quickly took advantage of the moment and walked down with christa to the lumley beach arts and crafts market, was obviously mobbed by shop keepers who haven’t sold anything in ages, but managed to get some good deals on a few things i had on my list before heading home. after being relatively chilled the past few days, it kind of felt good to sweat a bit on the walk back. sunshine.

upon getting back, i heard that there was a lady who i could interview waiting out in the courtyard. so i rushed over with my book, only to find that she was here for a consultation after receiving surgery somewhere else, and that she didn’t qualify for my study. but then, there was another woman there (who i had assumed was the first lady’s traveling companion) who apparently is a former patient, and one of the women whose homes i had visited in all of my searching. so i got my interview after all...

after lunch, i sat on the ward for a bit to cover for the nurses while they had a staff meeting. some of the girls have been teaching my fullah, one of the eighteen tribal languages of sierra leone, and when i was teasing her about how i was about to lose my teacher (she goes home tomorrow), she sat me down and began in earnest to teach me all the basic things she deemed i needed to know. so now i have a half sheet of paper that holds all the fullah words for the parts of the body, basic foods, formal and informal greetings, and the numbers one to ten. it was great! they all laughed when i read the words back to them – astonished that their language could be so perfectly captured on paper. i laughed so hard with them. joy.

sunshine and joy...

rain and a weekend ramble

well, i awoke this morning to the third consecutive day of rain. it ebbs and flows, ranging from a drizzle to a downpour reminiscent of a hurricane (with winds to match), but it never really stops. but one blessing out of it all is how cool it has been. yesterday i had to bundle up with a sweater and a woven blanket i had bought at the market. last night i was downright cold. it's been fun, though, getting caught in the rain and then warming back up again with a cup of tea or hot chocolate. not exactly what i had in mind when i packed for my time here in west africa!

in two weeks exactly, i will be landing in london, and sierra leone will be far behind me. then all i will have is the memories in my heart, the pictures and video clips on my computer, and the various things i have picked up along the way: two calabash (a type of gourd) bowls, a few strings of beads, a blanket, and some wooden animals. it's a rather depressing thought, actually. but with change always comes growth, and i am beginning to look forward with great anticipation to the coming semester. i have some really wonderful classes ahead of me, a family of loving friends, and many adventures in store.

the one thing that i am probably looking forward to with the most is the independence of being at school. any feminists which feel that american women are oppressed by the male race really should step out of the box a bit and come to sierra leone. it's not so very awful at least on the surface. but when i hear that our women (who are advised to remain sexually abstinent for six months in order to heal fully) can't go back to their husbands right away because they will be forced into sexual intercourse, or about husbands who leave their wives because they having children and take any children she has had with him, or about the beatings and violence - i begin to see a glimmer of what i have been so blessed as not to experience.

for me here, it only becomes evident as a vague feeling of discomfort. it comes in the calls of 'hey white girl' from across the street, in the winks of the male passersby, in that indescribable look of ownership and hunger in so many of the faces of the young men i have met along the road which speaks so clearly: you are a woman and i can do whatever i like with you. you are white and therefore you are an especially exotic toy. generally, i brush it off. but the hardest to endure is when it's a couple walking together and the husband or boyfriend blatantly flirts with me while his wife/girlfriend is standing right there. she stands there, eyes cast to the ground. glancing up, our eyes catch and i see a brief flicker of something. pain, anger, sorrow, despair? i can't be sure. but my heart aches as i continue along the way. i have begun to take a perverse pleasure in completely ignoring all the men i meet along my walks, acknowledging the women only. these greetings are often met by surprise and, just maybe, a smile.

don't get me wrong, not every relationship is like that. i have seen husbands come to the clinic faithfully to visit their wives. sitting with them and touching them when no one else outside the hospital will. i have seen women so strong and forceful that you almost fear for their husband at home. i have seen women who know that they have a value independent of who they are married to, how many children they have, or how much they sell at market. but i also live in freetown, and i know that the rest of sierra leone - the real sierra leone - is much different.

honestly, i'm not sure where i am going with all of this, but these are the ramblings that fill my mind on these rainy, rainy days. i think that time will bring equality to sierra leone. already i see women beginning to question the status quo - the result of the efforts of countless men and women working for a handful of ngos over the years, as well as the efforts of many a pastor and politician. as the elections approach, i wonder honestly what will happen. i wonder if the special strengths and skills of the sierra leonean women will be embraced or once again placed on the back of a shelf somewhere. in neighboring liberia, the presidency of her excellency ellen sirleaf-johnson is a wonderful example of what african women have to offer. my times in the kitchen at the clinic, helping with cooking and picking out bits and pieces of the Krio chatter, have taught me that i certainly couldn't measure up to these bold, courageous, and altogether amazing women...

in more general news, things at the clinic are small-small. the rains and the upcoming election have slowed our steady stream of patients to an ever dwindling trickle. we'll be down to one ward on monday - thirteen patients altogher, i think. but as all the girls that i have become so close to leave to go home, it makes my own departure that much easier.

a full head

it's funny. the thing which i have treasured most about my time so far in sierra leone, is how my head has been perfectly empty. life and my particular role therein was relatively simple. actually almost non-existent. all i have really had to do was be sure to wake up and get out to transport on time. but things have been different today. it's not that i have been particularly busier or that my day has looked that different from any other day. but for the first time in nearly two months, i had to make a to-do list.

for those of you who know me from school, you know that i operate on a perpetual cycle of to-do lists. i love the feeling of getting everything that's swirling about down in such a concrete way - on paper, on the computer, on my calendar, in my day-planner. for some reason, seeing everything neatly bulleted and organized makes me feel as though it can all get done. since arriving in sierra leone, i have not had to make a single one. until today.

very little of the list has to do with life here, actually. it's all focused on things i need to do before i go, things i need to do when i get home, and a few things that have to be done before the weekend or before the end of the day. i greet this first of many transitions back to my former life with a mixture of pleasure and dread. in a way, it's like returning to a long-lost friend. in another way, i didn't particularly miss that buzzing feeling in my head of countless thoughts which consistently refuse to be tied down.

but it really isn't so bad as it sounds. when i think of many of the aspects of school which lie in front of me - the relationships, the activities, the excitement, the adventure, the lessons to be learned. it really is wonderful. and if i have to heighten my stress level a bit, and take on a bit more responsibility, then so be it...

from yesterday

it’s such a surprise. today i am sitting on my bed in my room typing by the filtered light of late afternoon, and it’s only five thirty. we all left the centre by five, which hasn’t happened since i came back from liberia. it actually makes little difference whether we get back by five thirty or six thirty. there’s always something to do at the centre, and we don’t get power here until after dinner. but it is nice to have a bit of time to unwind before sitting down to eat. and it gives me a proper time to sit and update my blog!

it’s amazing how you start the day with no real plans or to-do list, and the day fills itself up. today i came to work with nothing really on my plate. three former patients were tentatively scheduled to come for a visit and chat with me, but the torrential rain, which started last night and ended up continuing until about two or three this afternoon, made those prospects fairly slim. but then i got to work, and everything sorted itself out. there were discharge cards which had to be made, operative reports which had to be filed, the admin office to clear out and clean, patients to talk to, toenails to paint, and before i knew it, it was ten to four. then one of my participants ended up showing up, and i had a wonderful little interview with her.

so now i’m here, and i’m looking forward to a long evening with my book. terri has loaned me ‘the devil that danced on the water,’ which is the autobiography/memoir of a woman who grew up in sierra leone during the tumultuous times of siaka stevens. her father was actually the finance minister and the right-hand man to the promising apc leader-turned tyrant. i’m only half-way through, and i really have no idea what’s coming next. but it’s written in such a nice way – a series of short stories and memories – that i can really pick it up for any amount of time, short or long. i highly recommend it. :)

it was, in the end, a simple day. so many things now just fall into place, and only every once in a while do i wake up out of myself and the reality of where i am and what i am doing hits me. i am so incredibly blessed to be where i am. it’s like a mantra which flows within me throughout the day: i am blessed. i am blessed. i am blessed. when i make a patient laugh by my unreserved attempts to speak fullah. i am blessed. when i get to sit with and touch a patient who hasn’t felt human touch for years because of her fistula. i am blessed. when i greet the staff by name and hear my name returned. i am blessed. when i sit in the growing dark of the falling dusk and hear the sounds of the freetown suburbs – so different from the suburbs of home. i am blessed...