Quarantine Catch-Up

A couple of months ago, I had a blog post started. I was going to talk about a trip I had made across jagged, muddy roads to Dourbali to report on a bunch of finished water projects. Naturally I went in a car that had no spare tire because I like to live life on the edge. As you know, having recently been in a car accident, I should have been more prudent, but I did make sure to drive slowly, and I had no tire incidents. I did get stuck in the mud twice, but Victor got me out. 

 I was planning to tell you about convincing nomad women to stop for photos, driving out to a new water project that we had worked so hard on and being surrounded by laughing happy people and new babies named after me and after the water, taking a sick old man to the hospital in the back of the truck and giving him my second to last Turkish airlines pillow (it’s the best airline pillow, if you travel Turkish Airlines, please get one for me to replace my devastating loss)…that trip was pretty fun, albeit exhausting.  

Then when I got back to Ndjamena, I found out that I had shingles. Claire was super psyched about this because she correctly diagnosed me, and it’s always nice for her to be reminded that she is a medical genius. I was relieved that it wasn’t one of those crazy African bugs that lays eggs in your skin. So anyway, I had to recover from that… 

I was very proud that I drove through this mess and didn't get stuck.

Pride goes before a fall. I got stuck here twice.

Just sitting and waiting for Victor to come in his truck to pull me out.

Preferable means of transportation in rainy season.

Kadidja shows me how she used to travel for hours to get water,
but now she has it right near her house.

She almost smiled! She and her friends
from another Chadian nomadic tribe, passed by a hand pump
that we upgraded into a solar pump. They all stopped to drink and fill up their jars.

With my friend Fatima and another girl whose name I didn't get.

 

This is the hospital in rural Chad.

More photos at the end! (I have several blog posts' worth of photos)

 Once I recovered from shingles, Joe and Flip suddenly got sick one morning. I called the vet, and tried to figure out what was wrong. The same day, the owners of my house were fixing the cement walls that were cracking and crumbling. They told me that the British vet was in town, and she came over to check on the dogs. If your camel needs medical attention, you definitely want the Chadian vet. If your dog needs medical attention, you want the British one. Katie (British vet) agreed. I don’t actually want to tell this story because it was really painful. Joe survived the sickness, but Flip died. It was really horrible, and I stayed up all night holding Flip while he screamed in misery, and I realized that I was also getting a fever. The next day I was miserable, the dogs were miserable, and I called the vet to come and I called Abiner, Antani’s youngest brother who loves my dogs. He really helped save Joe’s life. He helped give them water, injections, and all the care I couldn’t give because I couldn’t get up. We thought that Flip was going to pull through but he died later that night. I was pretty devastated by it. Flip was such a sweet little dog. I’d trained him to sit and shake hands. He followed me everywhere. Just a lovely sweet boy. I really miss him. But I’m so thankful that Joe is doing better. He’s back to normal now, and I’m down to two dogs. York went back to his owner. Joe and Pika are still with me. Though Moussa continues to call her “Kakilé”, Pika is now the official name of Tiny Puppy. Antani’s kids came over a lot with Abiner to play with the dogs while I was sick, and Pika is now the name that she answers to. 

The last photo I took of my pack of dogs.

I would always bring Flip and Joe to work with me.
Flip jumped in the car any time I opened the door--
was always disappointing for him when I opened it just because I forgot something in there.
I brought Flip and Joe to work and left York and Pika because Flip and Joe will sit quietly.
I think they somehow got rat poison or something while they were at the office,
as York and Pika were fine.

I pulled out the guest mattress for the sick puppies.
Abiner is helping take care of them.
Pika wanted to photo bomb the photo.
I was lying in bed when I took this photo.

Now it's just Pika and Joe and me, but Pika loves Joe
and Joe tolerates Pika and sometimes condescends to play with her.

 As for me, after Flip died, I accepted being miserably sick and just went to bed. Claire stopped by and went against her principles of requiring a malaria test before giving malaria meds. She saw that I was pretty feeble and just gave me the pills. The meds we use here are for 3 days—one tablet in the morning, one at night. It was Wednesday that she gave me the meds. They tend to work fairly quickly, but by Friday when I should have been improving as I was on the last day of pills, I was worse. Claire came back into town, driving through a huge rainstorm, to bring me into the hospital. The storm was so bad, my whole yard was like a swimming pool. I had to wade through water over my ankles to get out to Claire’s car. Once at the hospital (a 20-30 minute miserable bumpy ride for me despite Claire’s best efforts at smooth driving—the road always wins), she took me to the OR where the docs immediately tried to hook me up to an IV. I’ve got pretty pokey veins and it’s usually not hard to get in one, but I was pretty dehydrated, and it took many pokes in both hands before they got one in. They took some blood and did the malaria test and it was positive as soon as it hit the slide. Dr Tom told me that I have a serious case of severe malaria that is resistant to the tablets, so I had to have medicine in an IV. He said I was also very dehydrated and that is why I was suddenly freezing and not because it was a rainy day. I also had symptoms of typhoid, but Tom said there is no point in testing because almost all typhoid tests here always come out positive whether you have it or not. He gave me antibiotics anyway. It’s great that I have a friend like Claire who strongly believes in the efficacy of modern medicine. Left to my own devices, I probably would have tried to treat my illness with the power of my mind and/or some green tea and chocolate. It’s also great having a friend like Claire who lives on the hospital compound. She put me in her spare room, IV bag hooked up to the mosquito net pole. I was there all weekend, and everyone took care of me. A bunch of the MKs on the compound drew me pictures and made get well cards for me. Abiner took care of Joe and Pika. 

Positive malaria test, attempting to smile for the camera.
I was freezing here and Claire went and brought me a pillow and blankets 
from her house because I had to get 4 bags of fluid in me before they would let me leave.

When you're constantly sick or in recovery, you don't run as much.
It's spider season and they staked their claim on my shoes.

Once Joe was better, he desperately wanted to go for his walks.
Here he is getting closer and closer to me to demand I take him.
Unfortunately, I was too sick to stand up and the vet said to make him take it easy
for at least two weeks.

I’m very thankful to have wonderful friends who love me and help me when I’m alone and in need. While sometimes I feel like God doesn’t answer the deepest prayers of my heart, the ones that I bring to Him all day/everyday, I can’t say that He hasn’t consistently provided for my needs during difficult times. It’s a tricky thing because in this world I constantly see people in need around me, and I wonder sometimes—why hasn’t God provided for their needs? He has everything. But just like He used people to provide for my needs, I’m someone He can use to help others. If I’m not paying attention to the needs of others that He puts in front of me, or if I’m too selfish or lazy or caught up in my own comfort, I can miss the needs of others. I’m not saying that God relies on me to do His work-He doesn’t need me, but I think there are consequences to my actions, and that might mean someone doesn’t get the help that they need in particular moment when we were supposed to step in. We have a responsibility as the Church to be the hands and feet of Jesus around the world—if you remember, in the Bible, Jesus’s hands and feet were constantly serving the poor and needy right up until that moment when He gave up His life for all of us. If you say you love Jesus, you don’t get a pass on this. Going to church on Sunday, praying before you eat, reading a few verses of the Bible in the morning—all nice things. But if your life isn’t transformed to serve others in the name of the One who gave us everything, you’re missing it. We are not going to fix this world, not in our lifetime, not ever. This world is broken. But we are supposed to work to bring good, peace, life everywhere we can (i.e. the Gospel, the Good News-in word and deed). A little village in the middle of nowhere Chad got a desperately needed water source because people all over the world obeyed—giving money, moving to a new town and reaching out to the people around them, taking a pay cut to work with a new organization that wants to bring clean and living water to the poor through the local church. But there are many many more villages like this one that haven’t gotten access to water. More people are going to have to step up if we are going to help them too. God can do miracles, and sometimes He does. But miracles should be rare, otherwise they’re just normal, not miraculous. Usually He works through His people to do amazing things. Don’t you want to be a part of seeing amazing things happen? 

They're happy babies!

The village gave us a goat in appreciation of the new well.
Sadly, we ate it the next day for breakfast. It tasted good though.

My little pals.

Getting water from the new well!

Anyway, moving on from the sermon, I’m currently in quarantine in Ethiopia. Initially, there was no required quarantine for traveling to Ethiopia. I waited until the last minute to buy my ticket, and so I had time to add another week to my trip when they added a 7 day quarantine requirement. THIS IS WHY YOU NEVER CAVE TO PRESSURE FROM PLAN-AHEAD PEOPLE. Last minute ticket buying is the only way to go in this uncertain world. Lucky for me, it meant I was on the same flight as Claire from NDJ to ADD. We did covid tests together—Negative! And got to the airport together. We did not get checked in together. At the airport they discovered that I was not a man, in spite of the fact that l’Hôpital Centrale had put “M” instead of “F” on the form. Everyone was concerned. I was informed that Ethiopia would send me right back to Chad because of this grave error. Two MAF pilots were in the airport vouching for me, but no one was swayed until a tired Chadian official came over to check on the hold up. He glanced at the paper and said, “Technically we only need the full name as on the passport and a negative test. We don’t even need the passport number or any other information. Why are you complicating this unnecessarily? We don’t need this. Let her check in.” What an amazing guy. I don’t know his name, but he is a pragmatic genius who should probably be in charge of everything. 

Waiting to pick up our covid tests!

So excited that it was negative, I didn't notice that I had turned into a Male.

In the airport in our matching Chadian flag face masks!

Claire and I planned to watch the latest episode of the Great British Bake Off on the plane, but my computer is old and not working very well and we couldn’t get the sound to work. We had fun talking about everything and eating the less than impressive airline food. Landed in Addis and said our goodbyes…and I went through immigration where no one mentioned quarantining or the fact that I’m actually Female. Claire discovered that many airport shops are open and the internet was working due to the airport not being packed to the gills as it usually is. I’m now staying with Paul Murphy and his lovely wife Almaz, who is treating my cold (unless it’s covid) with ginger lemon tea, while Gladys Hayes who is also in quarantine in the Murphy house along with her husband and two children (it’s a big house), smiles indulgently. Gladys is an actual doctor. But Almaz will heal me with Eritrean/Ethiopian health secrets, lots of love and care, and sheer determination. 

I like to sit in the garden while I'm in quarantine here.
I have to be in the sun though, otherwise it's too cold.

 I may write more after my trip to the field when I am tasked with getting many many photos and videos for Neverthirst. But possibly I will be too busy. If you want to see photos and videos for Neverthirst, follow us on social media because hopefully I’ll get one or two images acceptable for the public. And hopefully our local partners will film me better than I filmed Claire for a 3 minute testimony video that she had to do—I cut off the top of her head in the last minute of the video. She was already stressed about the video, and I ruined her perfect first take. After multiple subsequent takes, we finally got an acceptable one with head fully in the screen, but the people chose the head chop one to put on social media, so I feel bad every time I look at it. I’m sure they did it just to spite me. But it was a great story Claire shared and people really appreciated it. If I get my voice back in the next couple of days, due to the power of ginger lemon tea, I’ll hope to do as well as she did, though her accent is way better than mine (Devon is class).

I drove out to see Nesie's land.

Riding a donkey

Cuddling a little boy named Almi (water).

Good friend with his new solar-powered pump.

Dog bunk beds

Moussa's daughter (red head scarf) is a nurse.
She's training young mothers in proper care of their babies.

Cows like to ride in trucks.

Moussa and friends.

My little namesake, Amina, came by with her mother to visit me.

Some of the men from the village

Two nomad men who were in town visiting. 
They heard about our project and invited Moussa to their village.

Nomad ladies passing by on their way to sell stuff in the market.
They stopped to get water at one of our pumps.

Face tattoos are common in this tribe.

Nesie on his land with the owner who sold it to him.
They're good friends now.

Moussa and Joe shared a seat in my single cabin truck
on the way home from the office. Pika doesn't like the office.

The village elders with Moussa.
The man in the middle started this village.
Many people are related to him.

Selfie time!

Happy Thanksgiving from a Chadian turkey.
Moussa is looking for a female now.
He's got flocks of chickens, ducks, and guinea fowl.
He wants to start with turkeys too.

The Last Part Where the Exciting Stuff Finally Happens

Photo helpfully posted on Facebook previously by Moussa 

Finally the end of the saga, and if you made it this far -- nice work (I know it's you, Mom)! To remind you: we had just bought a new-to-us spare tire, and we were back on the road with another 350km to go at 5pm with an hour left of good daylight and the only good bit of road behind us.

I told you it is pretty out here.

About an hour later, I was braking for potholes or goats or something, when I felt the brake push all the way to the floor. I am not a car person, but on the giant Land Cruiser trucks that I have been driving, when the brakes are working, you push a little on the pedal and feel the catch pretty quickly. In this case, the catch wasn’t there, and I had to push all the way in, like how much you have to push the clutch in before there was any catch (pretty much all the way to the floor, which means Sister Short Legs here is almost standing), and it wasn’t a strong catch. I knew it was probably the back brakes, which we had just had fixed, but likely they hadn’t been fixed as well as we had hoped. A car person gave me his theory as to what happened because it has happened to him before--possibly someone forgot to tighten the thing when he was fixing the other thing and then the thing fell off and didn't do what it was supposed to do. I really appreciated his efforts at the explanation, which actually made sense at the time, but unfortunately all that remains of his attempt to educate me are that the thing wasn't tightened. Anyway, we were in the middle of nowhere. There was nowhere to fix the brakes or re-tighten the un-tightened things. There was nothing to do except convince myself to drive more slowly, which, along with remembering names of car parts, is not one of my stronger skills. I told myself to stay in 4^th or below, but you can go pretty fast in 4^th too. I told Nesie what had happened, and I asked him to pray.

About 20km outside of the last town before N’djamena, it was almost dark and hard to see. It was too light for the headlights to help much but too dark to see very well. I really wanted to get to Massaguet (the last town) by 7:00pm because it was a stupid goal that I had set for myself. From Massaguet there are only 80km left before N’djamena. I was hoping to get home by 8:30, and I remember thinking to myself, if anything happens, it will be way after 8:30 before you make it home, so try to drive carefully!

The aftermath. You can see that I had the lights on, but it's still light-ish out.
At this point everyone was really worried about me, but I was really worried about the chickens.

Clearly I don’t listen to myself because when I swerved to miss some tire-killing potholes I saw at the last moment because it was hard to see, I lost control of the car, it slid across the road and flipped on its side landing in the grass. I remember lying there for a moment listening to Nesie pray and Antani scream my name thinking, “Yeah, we aren’t getting home by 8:30.” And then I told Antani I was OK. And everyone else said they were ok. Two young men walking by who had run for their lives when I lost control of the car and it looked like I was heading for them, ran over to help us. They broke the passenger side window and helped pull us out of the car. That’s when I noticed my dress was ripped and my left shoulder and arm were dripping blood. My right hand was ripped up too, with one nail broken in half. Fortunately, no one else was injured. I did what I always do when I think I might need medical help: I called Claire.

I was pretty upset and not very coherent. We were attracting a crowd. I genuinely had no idea what we should do and how we could get out of there. Claire told me to get to Guinebor Hospital (where she works) if I could and they would help me get stitches (it was clear that I needed them) and clean the wounds, but that was another 100km or so away and we had no transportation. I looked over and found that a crowd of 15 men lined up by the truck and “one-two-three” pushed it back upright! Fortunately I got that on video because say what you want about Chadians, but this is the night before one of the big Muslim holidays, and they’re all dressed up and off to festivities, but they happen upon a tipped over car and they say, “Hey guys, let’s fix this!” They flipped it back over and went on their way like it was no big deal. Then a Chadian military car stopped to check out the situation. They were on their way to Massaguet. The “Captain” (the other guy called him that so I assume that was his rank) told us to get in his car with his driver and he got in our car and they drove us to the “hospital” in Massaguet, dropped us off and then headed on their way to their festivities. The Captain said, “The car works, but the engine seems to be getting really hot so you should probably fix it here if you can.”

My efforts at posting the video of the guys pushing the car back up.

Another effort in case the other one doesn't work. Likely neither one will work.

Meanwhile, I was ushered into the “hospital” by my very concerned passengers (none of whom had even a scratch) who had been traumatised by my stupid driving but were all mostly concerned for me, as I was dripping blood all over the floor. It’s ok because the floor was already covered in mud and bugs. I use quotation marks around the word “hospital” because it was one room with a man in a lab coat, a table with some medicines on it and a few beds pushed around the corners of the room. One light bulb lit the room, and that wasn’t sufficient to see the wounds, so one of the ladies standing around who was presumably a nurse, but could also have just been a friend of the guy in the lab coat, whipped out a nokia phone and held the tiny flashlight over my arm. Another lady helpfully snipped off a chunk of my dress, along with a bit of my hair, so that I could pull my arm out. The doc and another kid in a lab coat start rubbing down my arm with betadine (?), which I think is iodine in English? (Red stuff that burns.) They dug the cotton swabs in my wounds and marveled at my ability to speak Arabic. In between my groans I told them my life story, and they were excited about all my time in the Arab world. Then I noticed the doc grab a large syringe, and I figured things were going to get worse. He poked the needle down into one side of my jagged elbow wound, then twirled it a bit and poked it up out of the other side of the wound, like he was trying to sew it shut. At first I thought he was starting the stitches, and then I realized it was the local anesthetic as he squirted the liquid all over the outside of the wound. Then the young kid in the lab coat popped over and started sewing. I’ve been told that proper procedure is to give the local anesthetic a bit of time to start working before sewing up the wound. Also, I’ve been told that usually it’s given before they start swabbing out the gashes with burning red stuff. And I think that generally when medicine is administered by injection, it is supposed to go inside of the body and not be squirted on the outside, but I'm no medical professional. Anyway, I definitely felt the stitches, but later while I was sitting on one of the beds waiting for Urbain to show up, I noticed that there was a bit of numbness in my arm.  I also noticed that the guy who wrapped the bandages around my stitches did not wear gloves, though the others had, and he also tore strips of tape and gauze with his teeth. I don’t want to blame him for the infection I developed later, but he is on the suspect list.

They have gloves on!

It’s 80km from Massaguet to N’djamena, as I’ve mentioned previously. It took Urbain nearly 2 hours to drive that distance to come pick us up, which is not because the road is terrible (it isn’t great, but it is not terrible), but because he doesn’t drive fast at night (a lesson that some of us should take into account, I realize), and he didn’t crack 60kmph even once. Covid curfew at the time was set at 10pm, but we had a doctor’s note from the doc in the lab coat, clearly the most official person present (so why did they let the kid intern do the stitches?). He wrote a nice note on fancy doctor paper, declaring that I needed an xray ASAP. It is possible that he really believed that. To me, a non-medical person who does not own a lab coat and has been known to use candy as medication and the power of positive thinking to cure headaches, it seemed fairly clear that no xray was needed, but whenever we were called upon to produce that permit to drive after curfew (3-4 times actually), the fact that I hadn’t been given any actual pain medication this whole time and the fact that my dress was covered in blood and blood was soaking through the bandages as well, really sold the medical emergency. It did not spur Urbain to faster driving, which is probably good, though I was pushing the gas pedal for him in my mind.

Don't say I only post photos of me when I look good.

We made it to my house at 1am. Because they wouldn’t have my pained facial expressions to convince police that we were ok to be out after curfew, everyone stayed over at my house that night. The men slept on beds and mattresses in Henry’s house (since Henry is back in Kenya now and Victor was in Dourbali), and Antani slept on a mattress in my house. The next day, everyone headed to their respective homes, and Claire came to pick me up, fill me with drugs, drive me to her hospital (about 20 minutes out of town) to have me checked over by Dr Tom of Guinebor Hospital, bought me lunch and escorted me to an Art Show with Tea put on by the Guinebor Kids (so classy are these multicultural little TCKs), and then drove me home and then went back out to Guinebor. If you have a friend who is that caring, selfless and wonderful, you are pretty blessed, aren’t you? I know I am.

Claire told me that she looks serious in this photo because this is serious business.
She helpfully wrote out everything for me about the meds
because I did not pay attention when she was talking. 

Dr Tom was actually fairly impressed by Kid in a Coat’s stitches, so I felt bad for doubting him. He did say that he should have stitched up the cut at the top of my shoulder though. I don’t blame Kid in a Coat for that—the nokia phone light was just not powerful enough, but that could have been a cause for the infection too. Fortunately, due to double doses of antibiotics from Claire, Pharmacist Extraordinare, that didn’t last long. It maybe lasted a bit longer than it would have since the pain meds made me barf up everything for two days. Claire drove in AGAIN to bring me anti-nausea meds, which I later misplaced, and when I couldn't find them, I immediately assumed that the dogs ate then (which was unfair to them, but they do cause a lot of mayhem and destruction in my house). Later I found them in my bag (where I had put them and promptly forgotten), so it was all good, as I was really worried that the dogs had eaten them, but I would never find out because they wouldn't be able to barf them up--because anti-nausea. Claire is very kind to put up with me. I will say that a convenient thing that happened this year is that I have learned how to throw up. It took me a long time, but it is amazing how much better you feel after. All it took was a year of consistent trauma, pain, and frequent medical issues to help me re-learn a skill I presumably was born with.

Doc Tom and I in our super-cool Chadian facemasks.

A fun thing about being in an accident or in hospital for any reason here, is that people will come to visit you and check in on you. When you are alone, as I am, you are then responsible for dragging yourself out of bed, sitting in a chair and smiling awkwardly while hoping you have something in the cupboard to offer them. Fortunately, I always have cookies, and since I wasn’t eating due to nausea, there were still plenty to offer to my guests.

Céline came by to fix my bandanges.
Yes my house is unorganized and the couch cushions are like that
so that the dogs don't mess them up and the mattress is in there
because Antani slept there and I couldn't move it out with only one functioning arm.

Observe the beauty and order of Claire's house in contrast to mine.
She only has one cat. Also she's better at interior design than I am.
Also I have no interest or abilities in interior design.

Moussa showed up with Victor on Saturday to pick up some supplies and check in on me. He took some videos and photos, which he diligently posted on Facebook on my behalf (thus informing many surprised people who I'd not told that I had been in an accident). He also tried to give away my dogs because he says there are too many. He is right, but I haven’t given any away yet, though I have locked them out of my house a few times. He actually called Emelie and told her to come take the one he calls Kakilé, which I actually decided officially to call Kwach in honor of Henry, though in reality I still call her Puppy even though she's now bigger and fatter than both Flip and York because she is a glutton. Anyway,  Emelie knows me too well and didn't follow orders to pick up her new puppy. She does want Kakilé/Kwach/Puppiko (that's what she calls her) though, and I'll probably cave and give her the dog, but right now Antani's kids and myself love her too much.

How can I give up this puppy who so graciously steals my laundry
off the drying rack and then wears my bra around her neck because she knows it makes her look good?

Moussa was so proud to help Nadji cut the bandages for me.

Nadji and Céline (both nurses from Guinebor and friends of mine) came in alternate days to change my bandages. Nadji insisted on doing it even when I thought it could wait because he was worried about the infection.

Gross photo also courtesy of Moussa

And finally the end to the saga: Céline took the stitches out. She invited me over to her house for lunch and stitches removal (Claire was invited too). Lénaëlle (Céline’s daughter) put on a “spectacle” (the Guinebor kids are artists and performers for sure) and decorated the table with flowers in honor of our visit. Stitches came out fairly easily. I do not have to drive out over the bumpy dirt road to Guinebor for a while, though I can now because I have a big truck. And I did the next weekend to make cinnamon rolls with Claire. I had to learn the trick of turning the key, warming up the car system (turn key to light up dash but not start engine, then wait until the squiggle on the dash goes out), and get the horn fixed (I cannot drive in Chad without a horn), and fix the windshield wipers because it’s rainy season. I also learned that in order for the driver’s side door to stay shut while you’re driving, you must lock it (see the last post when I nearly took out a motorcycle driver when my door swung open while I was driving). Anyway, all’s well that ends well. And I’ll be off on another trip soon, and this time I will drive a bit slower. And bring more food. And leave as early as possible. And refuse to run any more errands for passengers. And make sure the brakes are working.

Stitches are out grâce à Céline and flowers in my braids are grâce à Lénaëlle.

And I was back later that week to make cinnamon rolls with Claire!
While they were baking we took many timed geography quizzes online
 because we are nerds who know how to have a good time.

They turned out well, don't you think?
Not pictured: cream cheese icing

Oh-and one important thing I forgot to mention: the chickens survived the crash! And then somehow they survived the night in my compound full of dogs--they are truly impressive creatures that will probably taste really good when Antani cooks them up.

  

This is not a photo of the chickens that survived,
but this is a photo I took on a previous trip to Bitkine
when we stopped to buy some chickens to bring back to N'djamena.
Clearly chickens here are tough birds.