Changing gears

I never learned to drive a manual transmission car, but it looks like I need to start learning.

I'm back in the U.S. of A., and that in itself is changing gears for this blog. Obviously, for the next few weeks I won't have any touching stories from the hospital in Nigeria.

But the reason I need to learn to drive a stick shift is in preparation for returning to Nigeria permanently - and soon. (Automatics are hard to find in Nigeria.) God has placed in me a passion for Nigeria and its people, and I'm overwhelmed with gratitude that He's called me to live there full-time. I always expected this would come in the form of some sort of work opportunity, but God works in mysterious - and surprising! - ways. God brought into my life a wonderful young doctor who's asked me to be his wife, and I've agreed.

Dr. David Dennis Nege is a first-year resident in family practice (yes, he is a full-fledged doctor!) at our hospital and is from Taraba State in east-central Nigeria. He's been a family friend for two years, and I've known him since last summer, when he was finishing as an intern. We plan to marry in November in Nigeria. Only three months away!

So for now I'm here in California, packing and sorting. There are so many uncertainties and questions. But I'm trying to let God work out the things I can't solve myself. I'm terrified and excited about all that's in store for me, for us. And I really miss Nigeria. But there it is. Anyone have wedding ideas?

Today's farewells

This summer has been a summer of farewells, and today is no exception.

Today, Baby Elizabeth is going home! She's been on admission for two months, and yesterday weighed 1.85 kg (4.1 lbs)! Baby Elizabeth is shown here with Dr. Dennis. She's roly poly and has finally been weaned off oxygen. We're all terribly excited that she's ready to go home, but I personally will miss her.

Of course, I would miss her anyway because I'm leaving today. My heart breaks, as usual, to be leaving this land I love. But sometimes farewells are necessary, and this is only for a little while.

So I'll shake hands - hugs aren't the cultural norm - and say, "Sai na dawo" (Until I come back). For I will be back and soon. This is home.

The Road Not Taken

I could give you a whole literary analysis of Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken." Even the title itself is a statement. But if you know the poem you'll understand why I really like it just now.

My life came to a crossroads this summer, and I shocked myself and everyone I know by the road I chose. I had planned to go to medical school, to become a missionary doctor and return to Nigeria. Everyone was excited for me. But the road was long: going to medical school would mean not returning to Nigeria full-time for at least another ten years.

I fought the battle of indecision that I so often face (as an extremely indecisive person) and finally came out on top. I decided not to go to medical school. Instead, I decided to return to Nigeria as soon as possible and make a life here.

Within days of making this decision, it was confirmed by certain relationship developments regarding a young Nigerian doctor. I'm reluctant to jump the gun, but my hopes for our future are extremely high, and I believe we can face and overcome many challenges together. Nigeria is my home, and I rejoice that God has led me to be here permanently.

My current plans? I leave Nigeria on August 13, spend several days with my sister and her family in Scotland, and then return to the U.S. to find closure. I'll be packing up, selling my belongings, and saying my goodbyes to familiar people and places (and food!). I hope to return here by mid- to late-October. I have no income and no prospective job yet, but I'm trusting that God will make a way for us.

It's scary! And I'm sure that some days I'll regret it. But I am convinced this is my future, and I accept it with joy.

Returning

There are reasons I haven't written... not good ones, perhaps, but they are reasons. I was sick for several days – not malaria, thank God! - and have been away from the hospital since then. Why? Good question!

This week I became a substitute Middle School English teacher! Our full-time teacher hasn't arrived in the country yet, so I'm teaching her classes for two weeks.

I have to admit I never saw myself as a middle school teacher. I finished middle school only ten years ago myself, and I still remember it vividly. My days were full of cat fights and bitter backstabbing. (Maybe that's why I became friends with the guys instead.) It's different as a teacher, I expect, and my first three days have been super!

I'm cheating, though. Because I'm only here for two weeks, I'm not following the curriculum but trying to get the kids interested in learning first. We're doing a lot of creative writing (my specialty and passion) and reading aloud. Yeah! I have just about 85 kids total, in grades 6 to 8, and they've been good to me so far. We'll see how the next five days turn out.

The cool thing about my school is that I've got kids from all over: U.S., Canada, Nigeria, Korea, Syria, Lebanon, India, New Zealand, Australia, to name a few. And the funniest part is they almost all sound American!

Find out more about the school at www.hillcrestschool.net.

Saying goodbye with hope

Baby Peter died today.

I don't even know the details. I know that he was "gasping" yesterday when the electricity went off for a half hour, and no one thought to connect his oxygen mask to the oxygen tank... And I guess he just didn't really recover. He had three or four more apnoea attacks and finally "packed" at 16:15 today. I was at the paediatric ward but not present when Peter died. And now he's gone.

And I remember the songs I've heard about babies' deaths, including "With Hope" by Steven Curtis Chapman.

But still somehow, after having seen Baby Peter every day for the past month, a little bit of me has died with him. Still, I believe babies go to heaven, so I will say goodbye with hope.

May I have this dance?

Why do I love spending time in the paediatric ward? Because of...

Samuel!

Samuel is three years old and one of our HIV+ babies receiving anti-retroviral drugs. I met him five weeks ago when he climbed onto my lap during PEPFAR clinic. He smiled and sat happily on my lap, playing with my beeping watch, for at least twenty minutes. I wished I'd had my camera.

So the next time he popped into the paediatric clinic carrying a drum, I immediately got out my camera. After I took this snap, he sat on my lap, and we played the drum together. Whenever I stopped hitting the drum, he grabbed my hand and forced me to drum again! The child is stubborn and knows how to get what he wants with his winning smile!

I saw Samuel again on Monday. This time I scooped him up into my arms and took him around the ward, showing him the animals my aunt has been painting on the doors and walls. His favourite was the monkey, and we kept returning to the door so he could touch the monkey's mouth. There was music on TV, so I danced around the ward, a handsome boy in my arms. The visit was short (because he was well), and his caregiver came to get him before I was ready to let go.

But I'll never forget the day I danced with Samuel.

Off to See Ahmadu

We visited Ahmadu on Thursday. He'd been into the paediatric clinic just the day before, and there had been a commotion over whether or not he was on course with his anti-HIV drugs. So we paid his family a visit to see for ourselves. Stephanie drove us less than ten minutes into the Muslim part of town – the wrong way down a one-way street – and we parked outside a shop. The remaining trek was along a dirt path beside a stream. There were women knee-high in the water, scooping sand from the bottom to sell. Nearby was a group of women making mud bricks. I baaed at the goats we passed, and the children watching us laughed.

“You can hear his grandmother's grinder from here,” Stephanie pointed out as we came within a few hundred meters of the house. I averted my eyes as we walked past a group of men seated outside a house. We turned a corner, and there was a young woman with Ahmadu on her hip.

“Sannu! Sannu!” she greeted us and welcomed us into her tiny home. There was just enough couch space for the five of us visitors, so the rest of the household sat on the table against the far wall, and Ahmadu and his grandmother sat on the floor. Stephanie was delighted to see Ahmadu looking so well. To me he looked thin and wasted, but to her he looked like someone brought back from the dead.

“You should have seen him a few months ago,” Susan said later. “He was just skin and bones, too weak to suck or sit up or grab things. It's a miracle what God has done for this little boy.”

Ahmadu is 15 months old and fighting HIV. His grandmother cares for him, feeds him and makes sure he gets his medication. Whenever Ahmadu wasn't in his grandmother's arms, he began to cry. But he sat on the floor without falling over. When the grandmother placed a container of kwashpap* powder near him, he grabbed at it and tried to get a handful of powder. We laughed.

Stephanie confirmed that Ahmadu was taking his medications faithfully after all, and she left him some paracetamol for the lingering fever from his malaria. We snapped some photos, prayed for the child and his family, and left – all within 15 minutes. We left with optimism about little Ahmadu and his future. He may look scrawny and sick, but this baby is growing and getting well. Let us hope the best for little Ahmadu.

*Kwashpap is a nutritional porridge given to malnourished children.

Licking Wounds

Did you see that match? Did you watch it? Kai!!

France just lost the World Cup, and I'm still ranting about it. They lost fair and square - Italy played better, in truth - but it's still a hard blow. I'd only been rooting for France for about a week, once my favourite teams were out (Ghana and Brazil)... But still. Oh oh.

I watched the match tonight at the home of one of our doctors. We had minerals (sodas) and popcorn, and I listened to the live running commentary provided by my doctor friend and my uncle. Even though some of us were rooting for Italy and some for France, we were all equally disappointed about the red card in overtime. What a way to end one's career.

I have no eloquence tonight. Just needed to vent. Vive la France!