June 14th - 8 Months in Africa

Lowerhouse (Elly, Tianne, Janette and I) celebrating 6 months in Didinga!!!
June 14th will mark our 8th month in Sudan.

Baby Thabon

My ten year old neighbor Regina and I were planting basil in my garden when two women approached the fence. I didn’t recognize either of them and, to be honest, was more interested in the beautiful beads adorning the one woman’s neck then her complaints of what I interpreted to be a child’s stomachache. As the clinic was already closed for the day, I instructed the women to take the child to the clinic the following day. Not taking their complaints seriously, I turned and started to walk with Regina back to our neatly hoed rows.

However, Bead Woman was not satisfied with my response and continued to patiently repeat what I initially misunderstood. Eventually, I realized that Bead Woman’s daughter was not a small child with a stomachache, but a grown woman experiencing complications in child labor.

On the walk to her house, Bead Woman repeatedly asked if I was a nurse in America and each time she did, I assured her that I was not. We were almost to the house before I finally realized Bead Woman’s real expectations of medical assistance and my lack there of. I begged God for help.

I walked into the hut, blinded by the darkness, greeted by the crowd gathered. They all seemed excited to see me, even the mother-to-be. I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly they expected me to do.

After greeting the crowd, I proceeded to ask Regina, the witchdoctor/mid-wife, my repertoire of labor and delivery questions. Exhausting all of my Didinga child labor phrases and still unsure as to the actual problem, I felt the Mother’s taunt stomach, bulging here and there with baby’s sprawling body parts, not really knowing what I was looking for.

I walked outside and attempted to call Deborah, my fellow Timo teammate and trained American nurse. I found the walkie-talkie dead. After explaining to the group, I ran home. Tianne had just walked in and after a brief conversation, she offered to accompany me back up to the labor and delivery chet.

After quickly discussing the situation with Deborah over the radio and convincing Regina that I did not have a stethoscope, Tianne and I settled in for what I anticipated to be a long evening of waiting. We sat on an old feed-sack, little Nacarre nestled in Tianne’s lap and my constant shadow, Regina, hanging on my shoulders. The mother was sitting on a rock, directly across from us. Our view of her was partially obstructed by the seven women who encircled and cradled her from behind. Although the mother only moaned twice, the women surrounding her, literally pushing the baby into the world, screamed and coaxed the newborn to “EJAH!!!” - "COME HERE!!!"

Tianne saw it first, exclaiming that the baby had been born. I couldn’t believe it, after all, only ten or so minutes had passed since I had radioed Deborah. Not wanting to intrude (as if sitting in on a stranger’s labor isn’t an intrusion), I crouched behind the group, spying witch doctor Regina kneeling down beside the mother’s legs, holding the newborn. A little boy.

After seeing the baby, I stepped back, allowing the huge crowd gathered a chance for a peak of theiir own. There was a great deal of talking and confusion, but I was unable to decipher the cause of the commotion. Peering through the gathered women and children, I saw Regina, covering the infant’s mouth and nose with her own mouth, attempting to clear the baby’s airway by sucking out any remaining mucus.

As I watched Regina, eagerly anticipating the baby’s first cries, Bead Woman turned to me, blurting out words that I had never heard. She continually moved her hands up and down her nose. I was confused and, for a moment, thought that she wanted me to take my turn sucking the afterbirth from this baby’s mouth. I wondered if this was some sort of Didinga tradition, and quickly made up my mind that I would refuse to let my mouth be a part of it.

Tianne caught on before I did, exclaiming, “The baby isn’t breathing!” Confident in Regina’s mid-wifery skills and aware that baby’s don’t usually come out screaming, I wasn’t convinced there was a problem.

Everyone was talking. Bead Woman turned to me, begging that I do something. A few in the crowd yelled for me to come. My Homestay Mom, Pia, pregnant with her fifth child, demanding that I do something. I turned to Tianne and we both agreed that she needed to go out and call for “real” help. Holding the blue and completely lifeless infant in her hands Regina turned to me and demanded that I come. The crowd parted, pushing me down beside the mother. They were all telling me to do something. With my head spinning, I pulled on one glove, inadvertently jamming my middle and index fingers into the same finger hole. Before I could fix the first glove or pull on the second, the baby was passed into my arms. So much for standard procaustions.

Checking the airway with my index finger, I found it clear. Women were splashing the infant with cold water, taping rocks above its head and banging hoe blades loudly together. My mind was reeling, my prayers were desperately simple, “Oh God!”, “Oh God he’s not breathing!”, “Help me God, please help!”

Tianne returned, and I, staring at the baby, couldn’t see her, but her quick words, “Turn the baby upside down and smack it on the bottom!” were reassuring. Taking the baby once again from Regina, I did as I was told. Nothing. We repeated this process again and again. I looked up at the mother sitting silently beside me, no longer physically attached to her new lifeless son, as her placenta now lay on the ground. Her face was blank. Glancing again at the baby’s little arms, limp over mine, the reality of the situation filled my eyes with tears. Feeling totally helpless, I turned to Tianne and demanded that she radio again for help.

Time passed and still the baby was not breathing. I hesitated for just a moment, considering all the training I had received on blood born illnesses. My thoughts of self-preservation, for a moment battled my heart for the baby, dead in my arms. Desperate now, I covered the baby’s mouth and nose and passed tiny little breaths into his lifeless body. His tiny chest rose and fell, his left hand moved just once. Working together, Regina and I repeated this process of holding the baby upside down, dousing it with water and breathing into his mouth.

Then, all of a sudden, he opened his eyes, took a few little breaths and moved those tiny little feet!!! I couldn’t believe it and neither could the crowd gathered. Most of us gasped and then broke into laughter. Tianne yelled out, “Praise GOD!!!” My eyes were once again filled with tears and I just kept saying, “Aubunah God! – Good God! It was the single most amazing moment of my life. A miracle!!!

I squatted, sandwiched between the exhausted mother and Regina, who was still holding the little guy. With a broad smile Regina looked into my eyes and said, “Aubunah Jesus Christo – Aubunah Kim!” – Good Jesus Christ – Good Kim! Regina held the baby while Bead Woman, his grandmother, sang to him softly, tying off his umbilical cord with a wood pealing. They let me cut the umbilical cord!

When Thabon Lokong (Hard Labor, First Born Son) finally found the arms of his mother, we prayed together. Witch-doctor Regina knelt next to me with her arm resting on my shoulder. We thanked God for the gift of life and his amazing work not only in this baby’s life, but in the lives of all who were gathered there that afternoon.

Our God is a BIG God. A capable, loving Father. Sovereign and in control. As Tianne and I walked home, giddy with God’s blessings, we couldn’t help but acknowledge the work our Lord is doing in these Hills.

When our teammates Anne and Dustin were forced to return to Canada, due to Dustin’s severe back pain, witch doctor Regina sadly asked, “Abathee Jesus Christo?” – "Bad Jesus Christ?" Or, in other words, is your God incapable of healing Dustin’s pain? Yet, after Thabon took those first, long awaited breaths, even Regina recognized our Lord’s infinite love and power, “Aubunah Jesus Christo!”

The following day, Deborah heard a few Didinga women discussing Thabon’s birth. They said, “The baby was dead and then Kim prayed to her God and the baby lived!”

Yes, God is revealing his mighty power to move the mountains in these here Didinga Hills!

Tabon and My Wide-Legged Jeans

Last year, looking for a hot pink, three tiered party dress for an upcoming 80’s dance, I stumbled upon a pair of wide-legged jeans for $9.00 at Value Village. It was a steal! Now, imagine that same pair of dark blue, wide-legged jeans on my 6 foot 2, maybe, on a good day, 110 pound male Didinga neighbor, Thabon.
As a new, trusting and totally naïve missionary in Didinga I was robbed almost weekly. Shirts, gourmet, handpicked teabags, our clothesline, the infamous blanket and my wide-legged jeans were swiped in those initial months in Sudan.
Although, Carley’s stolen hat was spotted and recovered from the head of a nearby chief and a pair of turquoise underpants were returned, my goods seemed to be lost to the world. Until…one day, while greeting Thabon I couldn’t help but notice his dirty, but quite fashionable, wide-legged jeans.
Awkwardly, and with the most limited of language skills, I said something like, “You’re wearing my pants Thabon.” Not surprisingly, that in this land that has yet to be introduced to the female pant-leg, he was a bit confused by my statement.
Hearing about what was lost and now found, my teammate Bill had only one question, “Well, how did he look in ‘em?”
Our team leader approached Thabon, yet he refused to return what was not rightly his.
Months passed without word from Thabon, it seemed that the jeans had caused a “breech” in our relationship. Then one Sunday, arriving sweaty and late (some things never change) for church, I spied my wide-legged jeans hanging on the line.
Thabon joined us for church that day. The message was on the Parable of the Prodigical Son. “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.” Luke 15:20
In this land in which sons steal from mothers and youth are trained to kill for cattle, Thabon chose to go against the grain, he chose to right his wrong, he chose to give me back my jeans.

Inch by Inch, Row by Row...

Clearing land with my Homestay brother, Peter.



Planting with my neighbor, and constant shadow, Regina.

I LOVE to garden!!!
To be honest, I am a bit addicted. I have been known to clear land at dawn, weed for hours and check the progress of my little plants daily.
Green and leafy veggies...oh, the anticipation!

April 16, 2009

As Didinga days go, this was one much like all the others. I had agreed earlier in the week to meet with Emilio, one of the school teachers, at 8 am down at the local school. I ran into my neighbor Margaret on the way. She was on her way to an early morning Methe party at Emilio’s compound. She invited me to join her, but naively in Emilio punctuality, I refused the invitation.

Considering this an “official” school meeting, I arrived promptly at 7:50 am. Finding the school grounds empty, I sat down and gazed across the green fertile valley, up to Emilio’s hillside compound. Even from the distance, I could recognize the crowd of Methe drinkers gathered.

Hours passed, I waited and Emilio never came. Students began to congregate, kicking a small mud clot. I eventually realized that even if Emilio somehow managed to find his way to the school, he would, by this time, be far too drunk to intelligently consider the business we intended to discuss. Around 11 am I walked home, leaving the students patiently awaiting the arrival of their intoxicated teachers.

The afternoon was just as interesting. Our team nurses were lying low, treating their own aliments, leaving us novices to care for Didinga’s ill and wounded. With weak knees and often squirming more than our “patients,” I helped Tianne clean and bandage a beautiful baby girl’s foot, burned more than a week before. As Tianne washed the seeping and infected flesh, I tried to convince myself that this was just a foot, rather than a wee one’s unattended wound.

Using my very limited Didinga medical vocabulary, at times awkward charade imitation and reminding each of my “patients” that I was not a nurse, I tried to convince the hungover to drink water, rather than Methe, the flu-stricken to rest and the worm-ridden to avoid the rabbit trails and describe all of their symptoms, even the…unmentionable.

When I was a little girl I dreamed of simultaneously working at Albertson’s Grocery Store, living at the end of my parents’ driveway and as the first female president, running the country. I never wanted to be a nurse. I am perhaps the worst “nurse” to have ever assumed the role. However, after diagnosing and treating a girl’s advanced Urinary Track Infection, I felt quite exhilarated, if not on the verge of American incarceration for impersonating a doctor and unlawfully distributing drugs.

We made it home just in time to hear the thunder rolling across the valley. After dinner, sitting in the lantern light, my roommates and I swallowed our 6 month preventative deworming pills and finished off a prized pitcher of Crystal Light – toasting just another Didinga day and dreaming about the next.

Dtanura - The Ugliest Skirt I Have Ever Made...

- Dtanura Sewing Party -
The Dtanura is the optimum of Didinga high fashion.
This hip accentuating polyester skirt not only dries quickly, can hide a week's worth of dirt and, on occasion, may get caught in a breeze, giving one the illusion of an Olympic ice-skater.
This skirt, accesorized with a multi-purpose ceremehm, is nothing short of extraordinary!
Dressing up Didinga...yes, we really do wear this.
One missionary and 5 Didinga Boogeches (childless women)

What is the What - Lokichoggio

"I could die tomorrow easily enough, she could not watch me forever. So I walked with her to please her to quiet her, and at first light, we were in the middle of the desert with ten thousand others. This was to be our next home, we were told. And we stood in that land and we waited that day as trucks and Red Cross vehicles came and left more people there, in a land so dusty and desolate that no Dinka, would ever think to settle there. It was an arid and featureless and the wind was constant. But a city would grow in the middle of that desert. This was Lokichoggio, which would soon become the staging ground for international aid in the region."
What is the What – Dave Eggers
What is the What is one Sudanese refugee’s story of survival.
As an eye-witness to the brutality of war, a hungry and orphaned boy and later, as a struggling Lost Boy in America, the author never complains. Yet, when he steps in Loki, our team's refuge from Didinga, he writes these "flattering" words.
Sitting, sweating and waiting for my flight to Nairobi....in Lokichoggio.