A Day in the Life

My time in Congo was so full of laughter, joy, sadness, excitement, peace and fun, that it will be hard to describe in a few short paragraphs. However, I will hereby attempt to convey my experience of five weeks into one day. So here goes:

After a late night I dragged myself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Hannah and Kate were already up and spending time in quiet, having made steaming cups of Java. I was extra sleepy this morning because the radio had been going off at all hours the previous night. In my half asleep state, I wonder to myself... “Is it Papa Urbain or Papa Boni...? Or maybe I am just dreaming.” I dress for the day in a long skirt and tank top, fix tea and munch on some bread while reading my Bible. By that time, Paige, Esther, Rebecca and Arwen are already up and performing their respective morning routines. Ten till 7 I head off to Chapel, relishing the few minutes of quiet and coolness. By the time I reach the Chapel, I am well on my way to becoming a ball of sweat. It is, after all, 98% percent humidity, and a flowing skirt and the former don't mix all that well. The heat is damp and the air extremely muggy. Chapel is sparse today. Several staff—Papa Noel, Varly, Papa Corentin and Andreas—are already seated when I, and soon after the others, arrive. Stragglers trickle in as time passes.

Chapel finished, we all file over to Administration for morning report. I take my seat next to Paige. Charles, one of our beloved translators, sits beside Paige and Esther next to him. Arwen is on my other side—the Mondele (white person) corner, also known as the “long-haired friends of Jesus.” Paige and I lighten up the drab vibe of morning report by analyzing a conversation that Esther and Kate are having across the room and laughing at Esther and her funny facial expressions, as she, perhaps a little slowly (maybe from the late night previous), catches on to what Kate is saying.

Charles faithfully translates every last sentence. The patient inventory sometimes seems to go on forever. I stifle a yawn as I listen to Charles, informing us of every last patient's case, in a monotone drawl. Hannah and I exchange slight smiles when at one point Dr. Noe translates Dr. Loes's American French into French. Within a few minutes, Papa Urbain, the “heart” of the hospital, shows his face, looking somewhat sleep deprived. To put it simply, if Papa Urbain is smiling, no one has an excuse not to.

Morning report finished, the staff disperse to their various posts. I spend the first part of the morning in Surgery Fem. with Justine and her family. Here is where I learned to not take myself too seriously. Here is where I learned to choose my battles. Here is where I learned much of the little Lingala that I can speak today. And here is where I won the battles that needed to be won. Justine is a precious little girl who suffered from severe burns. Her entire back, as well as halfway down her legs and arms are severely scarred. By God's grace, and thanks to our incredible Bloc team, only a small open wound, about three square inches, is left at this point. Over the five weeks that I was in Impfondo I watched her progress from barely wanting to get out of bed to hobble into the wheelchair for a turn about the hospital, to walking at a good pace, smiling and even dancing a little, in an effort to mimic me. I had taught Justine and her siblings the “Head and Shoulders” song, so perhaps that is where the mimicking came in.

About midmorning, I fixed tea at our house, Bethelehem, and headed over to the Bloc with kettle and sugar in hand. When I stepped in the door, Rufin welcomed me with “Wow!” seeing that I came bearing good tidings of great tea. I spent some time there helping Rufin and Marie Rose assemble surgery kits for sterilization, as well as folding a boat load of laundry and surgery towels. Everything has to be done just right, and as I quickly discovered, there is really no polite way of saying that you are doing a bad job. Live and learn. Paige later informed me that the surgery robes have to be folded in such a way so they can be opened in one fell swoop. So all the flipping, rearranging and turning finally made sense. Again, I say, live and learn. Our work was broken up with “play” a.k.a. watching lengthy videos on Rufin's phone of his family sitting around and enjoying life together, much like a Barry family gathering.

Wound care was next on the agenda. Christopher is a sweet little boy whose face got very beat up from a motorcycle accident. He came to Rufin's office door, antibacterial cream in hand, looking a little too excited for his wound care. Rufin proceeded to tell me that I would do the wound care, not him. Apparently Christopher wouldn't let Rufin touch him. He preferred the inexperienced mondele over the specialist. Ask me why—he's a mondele-lover, that's why! Truth be told, within a few minutes the excitement turned to tears as Rufin and I pried off his bandages and applied the cream, ointment bandages, compresses and lastly, tape. My dumb mistakes consisted of touching the trash bin with my clean gloves, dropping a sterile compress on the ground and taking a set of gloves off at an inopportune time. However, Rufin was so gracious, and I learned so much from his patient demonstration.

Lunch was at 12:30 with the “Dynamic Duo,” as Hannah dubbed Dr. Noe, who is from the DRC, and Dr. Loes. Much of the laughter and fun that we shared, as well as incredible food, was during this wonderful hour. Conversation would range all the way from “Good moments running quickly,” religious background (be you Catholic, protestant or non-denominational), the dreadful confusion that English idioms invoke to the latest medical update. In short, lunch was always a good time. Dr. Loes would give Dr. Noe a hard time about his English. He would jokingly punch him and tell him that he “needed to speak more English.” I am sure everyone of us can testify that Dr. Noe did “speak more English,” improving considerably during his time at the hospital. Or perhaps he spoke fine English all along and just got nervous around the Mademoiselles.

Some time after lunch, Rufin's wife Berchavie came with their baby Rufina Molly to get a malaria shot and begin treatment. The poor little thing was very congested with glazed eyes. As we were leaving morning report earlier that morning, Rufin had told me that Berchavie would be bringing Molly. Rufin and I were working at the Bloc when she arrived in all her intensity and spunk, so we headed over to the chapel to meet her. Berchavie is a beautiful woman and we shared some joyful moments together. I knew we would have been wonderful friends if we could have communicated better. We were good friends as it was. I sat with her as she fed Molly. At one point she let me know she was hungry, so I set out to a doughnut stand across from the hospital compound to purchase some doughnuts. As a Mondele, it is pretty easy to attract a crowd, so within three minutes of me standing over a bucket of doughnuts exchanging money with the seller, ensuring that I was receiving the correct amount for my money, three or four innocent bystanders had accumulated to watch the “show,” if you could even call it that. It is just the way things are around here. Sometimes you can't really help making a scene, even if it is something as simple as purchasing a few measly doughnuts. I brought my purchase back to the chapel, gave a doughnut to Berchavie as well as Rufin. He gave me a shy grin, as he promptly passed it off to a grateful woman nearby. However, he knew that I would not have it, so the next one I produced from my bag he ate himself. I briefly stepped over to the Pharmacy, where Papa Urbain and Varly were working and gave them the last of my doughnuts, for which they were grateful.

When it came time for Molly's shot, Berchavie plopped the crying baby on my lap and walked off. Rufin vigorously jabbed the needle into her thigh as I attempted to sooth the unhappy baby. I know second hand that malaria shots are very painful because of the oil content, and in that case the process is all around longer in addition. That done, Rufin affectionately pinched Molly's cheek, Berchavie scooped up her baby, and without so much as a word to him or myself made her fast and furious exit.

Several days ago a Ba'aka woman had brought her little baby Nowa in because of malaria. My heart went out to her. She looked quite sad and worried, and who knows how far she had traveled to get here. It is generally the Ba'aka people who are unable to afford their hospital bills, so I was determined to cover her fees. Now, something you must know: Half a day could be spent in going from one ward to the next simply trying to find people so you can accomplish what you need to accomplish. In order to pay this women's bill, I needed the following: The baby's fishe (medical record), a translator, money, Pastor Paul and the bill inventory. Let me tell you, it is a process. You just have to accept the hard cold facts. In no more than two hours, thanks to Destin, the task was complete. Immediately following, Destin booked it to the airport to catch his flight to Brazzaville with a response of “It is better to serve than to not” in his dreamy-like voice to my many thanks.

About mid-afternoon I stepped into emergency with Rebecca for a few minutes. A little girl named Zara, who had pneumonia and couldn't have been more than 5 or 6, was there. She was on oxygen, but was dying. We gave her grandmother water, as well as prayed for Zara and her family. We really didn't know how much longer she would live. Dr. Noe stopped by briefly, looking very concerned. He asked me to pray for him that God would give him wisdom for this situation. The hospital only owns three oxygen concentrators, and they are not all that effective. Obviously this one really wasn't doing its job. It is truly a saddening thought that many people die simply because of the lack of equipment or the lack of effective equipment. Zara's toenails were painted pink. She did not make it through the night.

Paige and I mutually agreed to brave the market that day after hours (around 3:30). We met at the hospital entrance and set out. The walk to the market is fairly long and of course very hot, especially at that time of day. The squeaky cries of “Mondele! Mondele!” and an occasional “Good Morning!” follow us all the way. I was hoping to find lanyards to give to some of the guys as going away presents. Easier said than done...extremely so. We knew the word for “key,” so we commenced in picking our way through the crowded, maze-like market, splattering mud on our ankles and skirts with every step in search of said lanyards. It had rained very hard the previous night, causing puddles as well as the dangerously slippery mud. We stopped at just about every shop asking for keys and gesturing at our necks to communicate key holder or chain. After an hour or so, daylight began to be dusk, and we really needed to head back. Thankfully I found something remotely close to lanyards—springy key chain type things, and bought cookies as well. They would be small gifts, but I knew they would be appreciated.

We began the trek back to the hospital—tired but successful (mostly). It was really a quiet, relaxing walk, for the most part. Paige cooked dinner for everyone that night. Afterwards, all of us girls decompressed with a movie, ensured the radio was charging and let our mosquito nets fall as we slumped down on our beds—exhausted. And yes, just a few hours later, we would begin again.