Goodbye for Now

I am leaving Kibogora today. As all goodbyes usually go, it’s a bittersweet moment. Of course I am excited to get back to see my family and friends, wear shorts, drink some Diet Dr. Pepper over crushed ice, go to Starbucks, and eat as much fruit as I want until my heart is content, but the longer I have been here, the more I have grown to love this place and to feel at home. Yesterday we had a final lunch with the surgical staff, and as I looked around the room at the fifteen people there, I realized that these were some of the key reasons why I was sad to leave.  I knew each of their names, from the scrub nurses to the anesthetists to the maintenance staff. They were so warm and welcoming from my first day in the OR, and as we sat around eating lunch, sharing stories and funny cultural differences, I found it very hard to say goodbye.

 

Also, in the past couple weeks I have gotten to know some of the patients very well. Dr. Berg had the brilliant idea of me helping with the physiotherapy for some of the patients. There is a physiotherapy unit at the hospital, but they are usually swamped with many outpatients as well as all of the surgical inpatients, so many patients who need to be doing exercises daily often only are seen about once a week. I started out with about six patients, but after a few were discharged, I ended with four who I worked with several times a day. Marie had a very bad case of necrotizing fasciitis, and it destroyed most of the muscle and other tissue in her leg. She had been in the hospital since April, and was just recently starting to maintain her weight. She was walking with a walker, but she would barely put any weight on her injured foot. My purpose was mainly to encourage her to walk and to force her to put weight on her leg. Basically, I was her cheerleader (literally—I actually did a little chant/dance when I walked with her, which always made her smile).

Beautiful Marie

Samson, another patient of mine, had stage four prostate cancer, which was not realized until after surgery when they saw that it had spread into his colon. When I first saw him last month, he was consistently drenched in urine because his bladder was shred, so instead of draining into the catheter, it was leaking out through any opening, including his sutures from surgery. My heart really went out for him; he seemed so dejected, and he was constantly exposed to everyone. He had the sweetest wife and little girl.  His wife would give him sponge baths and constantly be at his side, and his daughter laughed when I held her (which I loved because many young children are afraid of me). After a month in the ICU bed, he was gaining enough strength to walk, so my job was to support him in walking. This was probably one of my favorite times in the day. We would walk around the hospital, and with a huge smile on his face, Samson would greet just about every person we passed. He would teach me Kinyarwanda, and I would teach him English. He gained enough strength that he will probably be discharged soon. 

Samson and his wife

Marie had a patellar fracture. I had met her during the “prayer rounds” a few weeks before I officially started doing physical therapy with her. [Side note—the prayer rounds are when I go on Sundays to just spend time with the patients and to pray with them. This was something started by another surgeon, Carl Albertson and his wife Francie. I really enjoyed it because one of my good friends translated for me and I was able to communicate well with the patients instead of with random words I knew.]  I learned her sad story—she had given a drink of water to a man who had been working in the fields and was tired, and the man’s wife thought that something was going on, and she hid behind a bush and attacked  Marie when she was walking home and broke her patella. Marie’s biggest prayer request was just go be discharged to go home because had left her baby at home (the village was taking care of her). So when I started working with her, passively flexing her leg to 90 degrees, whenever she complained of pain I just told her, “komera, komera” (the equivalence of be strong)—and knew that the harder that we worked to get her knee functioning, the quicker she would be able to go home.  Obviously, in the states this would be an outpatient PT appointment and no patient would ever be in the hospital for weeks with a broken knee cap, but here, almost every patient is an inpatient because they live far away from the hospital. Anyways, needless to say I was ecstatic when the doctor told me that she could be discharged yesterday! Seeing hard work payoff is such a beautiful thing!

Working with Maria.

Marta had a strange condition—both of her knees were bent up underneath her, stuck like that, so that she could only move around by crawling. For twenty some knees, she had been like that, until she came to Kibogora Hospital and Dr. Albertson had the idea to slowly cast one of her legs in progressions, straightening it over time. He determined which hip was strong enough to support her, and decided to try to work on that leg. By the time I was working with her, the leg was almost straight, and they were trying to work on getting her to hop around with a walker. When I started working with her, the first few times I supported about half of her weight by holding her under her armpits. She soon gained enough confidence to use the walker to get around on her own, and she only needed my help on uneven ground or on stairs. On my last day, we walked past a large group of people waiting in the consultation area, and one woman saw Marta and I walking by and started shouting and screaming “praise God.” I was wondering why she was so hysterical, but then she began acting out to everyone that Marta used to only walk on her knees, and she showed how Martha is now upright and walking almost normally. She could barely recognize Martha. I could tell that Martha was embarrassed, but it was a good embarrassment, because everyone was patting her and giving her a thumbs up and seemed so genuinely happy for her. In a place where handicapped people are often neglected and ignored, I cannot imagine how this change has made an impact on her wellbeing. 

Walking with Marta

Two sweet boys who were both in the hospital for osteomyelitis.

What I have liked the most about doing physical therapy with the patients is seeing how much all of the patients support each other. The hospital truly does become a community. The patients recognize each other’s struggles, they share their troubles, care for each other’s children, share food, and celebrate each other’s successes. Marta, who never before needed shoes because she could not walk, would borrow a sandal from someone else when she wanted to get out of bed. When I walked with Marta, Marie, Maria, and Samson, the other patients and families would give us a thumbs up. Quickly, I learned that “nbiza cyani” means “very good” because the family members and other patients that gathered outside said this to me often as I passed by with a patient.

As I reflect on my trip here, there are many reasons why I loved my time here. I have met many amazing people and formed many lasting friendships with both Rwandans and other missionary families. The Bergs, the reason why I came to Kibogora, are such an amazing couple who have wonderful hearts. The Lands, another family who is here for a year, welcomed me into their home, inviting me to join their family dinners, go on day trips with them, and join their work outs. Stephanie and Regan are such kind, generous people and they have raised three amazing kids. Macy, their fifteen year old, has the wisdom of a 40 year old yet the innocence of a teenager. The Greens were another sweet family who I loved to spend time with. They had a 10 year old, a six year old, and a three year old. It was fun to have kids to play with. I also loved shadowing Joel at the hospital. Paula, his wife, was the sweetest woman and I enjoyed her company greatly. I’m pretty much in love with their entire family.

Valerie, a high school student who was out here to tutor Macy in math, was such an awesome person to be around. She also spent almost every afternoon in the pediatric ward so I was able to see her often. Kim and Beth, two nursing students from the UK, were wonderful as well. Kim was always there to talk with me, share funny stories. She did small things here and there that really meant a lot to me, like preparing chilled coffee for me because she knew my obsession with iced coffee (and then rubbed it in when she returned home to the UK and got to go to Starbucks). Beth taught me my favorite new phrase “I can’t be bothered” and was constantly providing comedic relief. Sherie, a pediatrician who I lived with and shadowed, was someone who I liked and respected immensely. She is very intelligent, kind, and compassionate. She brought all sorts of games and treats for the kids, and you could tell that she cared about each of her patients. I hope to be able to come back and work with her again someday.

Anyways, there is my mini essay to complete my Rwanda blogging series. I am so thankful to have had this experience and that God has continued to open doors for new opportunities and so many wonderful friendships. I have a feeling that this is not my final goodbye to Kibogora.

Give Me Your Eyes

I was recently listening to Brandon Heath’s song “Give Me Your Eyes,” and realized that the lyrics began to reflect a prayer that I have had in my heart for me to see each person I encounter in Rwanda as a child of God and see them through Christ’s eyes rather than my own, jaded ones.

Lord,

Give me your eyes for just one second,

Give me your eyes so I can see everything that I keep missing.

Give me your love for humanity.

Give me your arms for the broken hearted, the ones that are far beyond my reach.

Give me your heart for the ones forgotten.

Give your eyes so I can see…

Give me a second chance to see the way you have see the people all along.

Lord, give me your eyes.

During my first trip to Africa, I remember being so shocked as I rode a bus through South Africa on the way to Swaziland. We passed several communities composed of tin shacks, and less than a quarter of a mile there was a brand new gas station! I remember being indignant—how can you build a brand new, luxurious gas station next to people who are dirt poor? Does no one see the disparity?  On that first trip, I often felt so guilty that I skipped lunch when we were out in the community, giving my bagged lunch to the pastor to give to the children who were most in need.

Now, a short four years later, this is my fourth time in Africa. I realize that in a lot of ways I have become desensitized to the poverty that surrounds me. The need here is so overwhelming—even people who are considered well off and have nice jobs would be on welfare in the US—that at times I wonder how I can help without causing more harm than good. I have been cautioned not to give out money on the street because it just reinforces the kids’ behaviors. The first English phrase that the kids learn is, “give me money.” I get asked for money so many times a day that now I almost come to expect it when a child approaches me and I either ignore the request or say no. 

When did my heart become so hardened in this aspect? When did I stop looking at each child as a child of God? I realize that in some way, it is a survival mechanism. If I walked down the dirt road and gave each child 100 francs (about the equivalence of a 15 cents) like they ask, would that do any good? They could maybe buy a loaf of bread (or more likely a piece of candy), but the next day, they would be hungry again. And before the day is over, I would be out of money. I feel like there is so little I can do individually that at times I find myself asking why do I bother to do something at all? I know that this is very cynical. It is an issue that I have been grappling with since I got here. 

Plus, I hate that some people here see my white skin and think of me as a means to get money. I know that this is not the case for every person, but there have been many times when I feel like I am being used and that people only try to be my friend so that they can get something from me. For example, there was a student who I passed every morning who kept asking me if he could run with me. I agreed to run with him one morning, and the first thing he asked me was to pay for his school fees (about 800 dollars).

I have had some experiences here that have made me reflect on how good intentions can only get you so far. Recently, we tried to partner with compassion (an international organization that helps children in poverty so that they can get meals, go to school, etc) in an event that we thought would result in children getting sponsors, but ended up in a catastrophe. It’s a long, complicated story, but in short, we thought there would only be about 15-30 children there who were registered in the program but did not have sponsors and we agreed to take pictures with the kids and try to find sponsors for them at our churches once we were back in the States. When we got to the small compassion center, there were hundreds of people gathered. Then we learned that none of the 30 children who were supposed to be there were there, and instead there were hundreds of other village children and their mothers crowding the tiny office. We almost just turned around and left, but the compassion leaders urged us to take the pictures anyway, which they could use if these other children decided to register for the program in the future. (Side note—in order to register, the children have to come to the office with a guardian and apply, and the program then determines if they are poor enough to qualify). Things got out of control quickly with many people trying to sneak in the back door and a riot almost ensued. Mothers, desperate to have their children in the program, were shoving their kids into the door. It got to the point where we were afraid that people would get hurt, so we shut it down and left. We found out later that there was a lot of backlash and anger in the community because supposedly the people thought that they would get paid by the mzungus if they got their picture taken-- no wonder they were so frantic to do so! Somehow word had gotten out to all of the village leaders and health ministers to send their poor to get sponsored (and once people heard that they had an opportunity to get money, everyone showed up). It was also sad because there were kids there who really needed the aid, but there were also kids who were healthy and rather plump who really did not need it! Anyways, it was a mess, and it made me realize that even if you have good intentions to help, if you do not go through the right avenues you actually cause a lot more harm than good. It was a hard, but important lesson, and it kind of made me realize that it’s pretty complicated as a missionary. There are plenty of times where our actions help to contribute to the dependence in the society. We need to find ways for them to empower themselves rather than look for handouts.

Hundreds of children and their mothers lined up hoping to be enrolled in the Compassion program.

I want to end this blog on a positive note—because 99% of my experiences here have been amazing. I love how I can walk down the street and almost every single person greets me, I love how the patients in the hospital care for each other and share food, and I love how the staff at the hospital welcome any newcomer who is here to help or just observe. The majority of people my age (nursing students and other hospital staff) who I have gotten to know are remarkable. I have made several good friends. There is one guy, a first year nursing student, who I run with almost every morning and helps me to translate on Sundays when we go around and pray with the patients. He has gotten to be a close friend, and he even invited me to his house to watch the USA-Belgium game and eat with his family. There are other students who have invited me to come play soccer with them, and others who have helped me to shop in the market so that I can get a good price. There are several others who put a smile on my face every time I see them. The one generalization I can make is that the people as a whole are very friendly and welcoming, and that is something that has made me fall in love with the Kibogora community.