Fuel Get Your Fuel

The prices soar and the complaining can be heard throughout the streets. Reports are seen on every news channel. It’s a phenomena that every American citizen is aware of and complains of daily. I can remember back when it was a dollar per gallon, one person might state. A friend might meet that statement with, well I can remember back to when it was 50 cents per gallon. The average cost of fuel in America is anywhere between 3-5 dollars. People are restricted in driving because they can’t afford to fuel up their car or people are buying eco cars that run on electricity.

It’s a whole different story here in Malawi. The past few weeks there has been NO fuel. Take a walk down to the closest BP station and you are met with a line of cars a mile long, waiting for hours to receive a couple liters of petrol. Petrol tankers arrive only a couple of days a week with a reserve supply of gasoline and diesel. Crafty business men are travelling across the border to Mozambique or Zambia to buy fuel and bring it back to sell. Who knew that being a black market petrol seller would be so profitable? As far as I know there is no end in sight and the lines, high black market prices, and pure madness is expected to continue awhile longer.

Kind of puts the complaints of America into prospective. At least fuel is at your finger tips, even though it may be a little on the expensive side.

Worms Anyone??

Several years back Upper Columbia Academy took a trip to Malawi to do some building and VBS. That year there were three different choices for mission trips; Africa, Borneo and Ecuador, and I choose to go to Ecuador. Like any group of high school students we seemed to have a silent competition going on between everyone. When all of the mission trips returned everyone was comparing their experiences, defending that theirs was the best. A few weeks after everyone returned we found out that those that went to Africa had to be tested for parasites and tuberculosis. The rest of us thought it was hilarious that they might have gotten parasites from Lake Malawi. We teased them for days, even after we found out that they were negative. That trip was known by everyone that didn’t go on it, as the one where their friends possibly came home with worms in their guts.

Well its now my time to be in Malawi, and exposed to strange African diseases. Guess who should be laughing now? My luck has run out. My first African disease is upon me. Over Christmas break we traveled several times to Lake Malawi. Our first location on the lake was kind of questionable. We got out of the water pretty sure we wouldn’t escape Balharzia (the parasite in the lake). Supposedly the parasite is wherever there are snails, and of course where we were was covered in snail shells. Lucky us! So here we are about 6 weeks after swimming in the lake and the parasites have decided our bodies are pretty nice homes. One of the symptoms is skin rashes and lesions. Well since I seem to have such great luck with skin conditions; out of all the symptoms, my body has developed this one. I feel like a walking blister. Since we are in Africa and medicine isn’t as controlled here as home, getting the treatment medication is pretty simple. Yesterday we walked over to the hospital and wrote down our weights, got a few signatures and the next thing we know we have the medication to nuke our bodies and kill any extra creatures inside. Welcome to Malawi, the land of never ending adventures.

Simple Procedures

the main operating theater

The steady beep of a pulse echoes through the halls, the odor of bleach and water fills the nostrils. Pink crocs rest on my feet. Blue scrubs cover my legs. An oversize green shirt envelops my shoulders. A green net holds back the few stubborn pieces of hair away from my face. Only my eyes peer out curiously through a blue sterile surgical mask. My feet make the few anxious steps through the swinging doors, a new rush of sounds, smells, and sights rush into my senses.

Today was my fourth day of getting the chance to observe procedures in the operating theater. I haven’t seen anything rare or exotic, but even though the cases I’ve witness may be considered normal or routine in the hospital they are such a rare sight in my eyes. Each day is a little nerve racking and thrilling at the same time. Who knows what my eyes will get to witness in the next hours.

I stood back on the side of the operating table, peering intently at the side of a woman’s head as a scalpel and fingers of a surgeon do their job. She walked into the hospital today with the knowledge of having cysts removed from her neck. She is now in a deep dream world, unaware of the knife, scissors and fingers cutting and gently moving around all the layers of veins and muscles. The first cyst rested below the ear, and was removed quickly. The second cyst was closer to the front of the head, but kept escaping the grasp of the surgeon. As I stood watching, shifting weight on my feet, and trying to stay focused on the small openings into the neck I heard the words that a lot of people in medicine long for, “Do you want to scrub in.” What kind of question is that? Of course I jumped at the chance and the next thing I know I am scrubbing my hands, getting tied into a sterile gown and slipping on sterile gloves. I edged my way closer to the table and was handed a tool. My job (which does not sound very glamorous or exciting) was to hold back the skin at the top of the incision, pulling it up towards the mouth. No, I didn’t get to do any cutting or anything super significant, but with my small amount training and capabilities I was jumping inside to just be a part of it all. I was actually assisting in a surgery! Something that I would have to be in med school or working as a theater nurse to even come close to do in America. It made the somewhat mundane surgery extremely interesting and fun. We were able to successfully remove the second cysts and after a little pain and healing the woman will be as a good as new.

The room smelled of burning flesh and bleach. I slipped my surgical mask up over my nose to cover some of the smells. I stepped through the swinging door and entered the second operating theater. A older man is looking up at the ceiling, listening to the surgeon and nurse chatter back and forth and the clinking of metal tools. As I walk closer I see something I’ve only seen in first aid books, or random medical books. This man is a preacher out in Zomba (an hour drive from Blantyre), he came in several weeks ago with severe infection on his left leg. A healing incision lies on the inside of the leg. A open about wound, about 3 inches wide, runs from the top of his foot, across his ankle and half way up his shin. When he first came in, the doctors told him he will most likely lose his leg, since the infection was too far through it. The surgeon decided he would open it and see how much he could save. The infection was able to be scrapped clean from both the incision and wound. The incision had enough skin around it to just sew it back up, however the wound was too wide for any hope that stitches would solve the problem. This is now his second procedure, today the main task was to scrap the dead skin away and prepare the flesh for a skin graft. The surgeon looked at me and told me that what they are doing is pretty simple, “you just scrap until you get bleeding, and that’s your healthy flesh.” The bottom part and top part of the wound was starting to heal nicely and only had a few layers of dead skin removed before blood appeared. However the middle took a lot longer to complete the debriment. So many layers had to be removed to reach the healthy flesh that the surgeon had to deliver disappointing news. The skin graft couldn’t happen today, another week would have to past before they would try again. You could tell the man’s spirits fell and he struggled to understand why it could not happen. Unfortunately since so many layers of tissue had to be removed the wound became too deep for a skin graft to take. The blood vessels were cauterized and the wound was dressed. Next week hopefully it will be healed and fleshy enough to complete the skin graft.

I have had the opportunity of being able to witness and help in a total of about 20 procedures, so far. From the simple removal of an abscess, to c-setions, removal of a ovarian cysts, endoscopies, cistoscopies, head trauma, and getting to collect the tissue for a biopsy on section of the esophagus. I don’t think I have the discipline to become a surgeon, but being able to see these procedures has strongly secured that my career choice is exactly what I want to be doing the rest of my life.

Cultural Differences

I have been exposed to many different cultures and lifestyles in the past 5 months. Malawi culture, obviously, but also Hindu and Muslim and a few others. Two nights ago we were asked by our coordinator here if we wanted to go to a Muslim wedding reception. We jumped at the chance. We've gone to Muslim's home for Eid earlier in the year so we are aware of huge parts of their culture but this was all new. We got dressed up in our nicest clothes we have here and headed off. The invitation told us to be there at 7:30 sharp. Like all of Africa and most Indian and Arab culture, time is a lose term. We were the first ones to arrive, people didn't start showing up until 8:30. Woman after woman walked through the door, dressed amazingly( it felt like we were at a fashion show) all in their beautiful Saris and dresses, we felt very under dressed. We all sat and waited some more. We waited a total of 2 hours until the bride and groom showed up. They were truly beautiful, dressed in rich colors and perfect fabrics. As soon as they sat down it became a feeding frenzy. Everyone dashed for the buffet tables and scooped up as much Indian food as they could. In typical Indian style there are no silverware so its all with the hands, it can get quite messy. After 20 minutes of consuming food we noticed the room had grown more empty. Apparently Muslim wedding receptions are all about the food. You sit and wait until the wedding party graces you with their presence and then the food is shoveled in and away you go. A true example of eat and run.

Adventures in Zambia- Merry Christmas

The past 8 days have been filled with many hours of driving and hours of exploration and adventures. Last Friday we loaded up a little Toyota Sprinter(Sputnik) and pulled out of Blantyre, heading for the Zambian border. We crossed through the Malawi countryside, through the Zambian jungle and cities, all to reach Livingstone. The home of the great Zambezi river and Victoria Falls. Here are a few stories and adventures we encountered that I wrote on the way.

Malawi- Zambia Border: Dec 17

We made it! Its official, we are now in Zambia. The border crossing was slightly confusing and frustrating but not as bad as we thought. We pulled into the Malawi gate and parked out little Sputnik car, at the gate. The officers kept telling us we needed a gate pass, but not how to get it. We were finally directed to the right office and began filling out the exit papers. Since we’ve been here for 5 months our tourist visas have expired and our temporary work visas have been in processing since October. We were given receipts and letters from the immigration office explaining that our TEP’s were processing, so we could leave the country. The immigration officer at the border was so ignorant and irritating. He kept telling us that we didn’t know what a receipt was and that we didn’t have the right papers to cross. He refused to call our immigration worker that gave us the papers and refused to read the letter that had his boss’ signature on it. I finally slide him my receipt and he accepted it for both of us. Such a joke!

Zambia-Victoria Falls: Dec 19

Today I accomplished something that many may dream about but never get a chance to do. We not only saw Victoria Falls, but swam at the edge of the several hundred foot drop. We pulled into the park and were met by beware of baboon signs and the thunder of the falls. The mist ripples through the trees. The fact that you’re are so close to all that natural power and wonder is amazing. Since its December the water level is decently low and clear. Even though the falls is not at its full potential it is still so majestically beautiful. I can’t even imagine David Livingstone’s thoughts and excitement when he found such an incredible piece of nature for the first time.

We hired a guide to take us to the top of the falls and to swim in Devil’s Pool. He showed us the different parts of the falls. The whole length of the falls is 1.7 km , 1 km is on the Zambian side and 700 m is in Zimbabwe. We hiked across the whole length on the Zambian side. We walked 200 meters on a 3 inch dam across the Zambezi River. We walked hand in hand crossing the Zambezi river right above the mighty falls. It was incredible. We finally reached Livingstone Island, in the middle of the falls. We reached the main falls and was told by our guide to just jump out in the river and let the current push us to the edge. Um wait, what? Let the current push us to the edge, doesn’t exactly sound like the safest plan. But like blundering tourists we followed our guide, jumping into Devil’s Pool. In fact the current was not very strong and we just slowly floated to the 3 foot thick cliff separating us from the 300 foot shortcut to the Indian ocean. Just another day in Africa. J

Zambia-Victoria Falls: Dec 20

Swim the Zambezi- P

Swim with crocodiles-P

Raft class 5 rapids- P

Didn’t flip while rafting the Zambezi- P

The last 12 hours have been a full time adrenaline rush. We woke up early and hopped on a safari truck from our hostel. We were joined by 3 other brave souls, out in the search of big holes, fast water, and surprisingly crocodiles. We met the rest of the people willing to risk their lives, and the crew who was willing to extract money from those that are crazy enough to risk their lives. After getting a run down of safety and other important information, we headed down to the “Mosi-oa-Tunya” (Victoria Falls) to hop on the Zambezi river and begin our adventure. Pathetically it took us 5 tries to paddle into the first rapid ( we had to enter half way through it) but we made it and the adrenaline continued for the next 8 hours and 30 km of river. The rafts with us each took turns flipping or dumping out passengers in various rapids, ours however conquered all. We did flip one person out, get stalled for a couple minutes in a hole, and flip completely vertical; but we never flipped. The great Zambezi, like most rivers in Africa, are known for crocodiles. This fact did not cross our minds until towards the end of the trip and we began seeing baby crocodiles resting in the sun. Of course where there are small crocodiles around there are bound to be big ones as well. Thankfully crocs do not like whitewater, so they stay clear of that, but they love the calm, warm water. Several times our experienced river guide told us to jump in and swim a smaller rapid (class 2-3), no hesitation I was in ready to be hit in the face with water and ride the waves. I didn’t think much about the fact that the river was home to crocodiles, until we reached the flat water. All of our eyes were peeled to the rocks and water lines, watching for splashes, we made slow movements and made sure our feet were up (not sure it would of made a difference). Thankfully no crocs were hungry today and we made it to the take out site. A gondola carried us 200 ft out of the canyon, on to live another day.

My Hope is Found

In moments of weakness I remember the little things of home that I miss. I miss the way the world seems to stop when snowflakes fall. I miss my family and the comfort and warmth of home. I miss the holiday celebrations and the excitement of being with all of my family. Its in these moments of weakness that I get so wrapped up in myself. I worry about what it will be like to return home, I worry what it will feel like to leave Africa. In the end, yes Africa has changed me and I can honestly say I will never be the same, but I did not come to Africa to cause that change in me I came to help impact other people. In these moments of weakness I have to stop and try to see the big picture and look away from myself and see that there are people hurting, struggling around me. God has placed me in Malawi for a speific purpose and its easy to loose track of that

Now for those of you that know me really well, you know that I am in love with the Owl City. He is by far my favorite band, and I get excited at any new music he releases. One of the biggest reasons I love Owl City so much because he is Christian. Even though he has a huge career and he is making a ton of money he has not lost sight of his mission in Christ and his relationship with his Father. A couple weeks ago I discovered one of his new releases; In Christ Alone. Now this is a pretty famous Christian song but as I listened to it, it brought me to tears and gave me a sense of encouragement. The lyrics pull you out of yourself and your problems, and make you look at the bigger picture. You may be going through "moments of weakness" or through hell and back, but when we stop and reach for God, our hope is found.

In Christ alone, my hope is found


He is my light, my strength, my song


This cornerstone, this solid ground


Firm through the fiercest drought and storm


What heights of love, what depths of peace


When fears are stilled, when strivings cease


My comforter, my all-in-all


Here in the love of Christ I stand

There in the ground His body lay


Light of the world by darkness slain


Then bursting forth in glorious day


Up from the grave He rose again!

And as He stands in victory


Sin’s curse has lost its grip on me


For I am His and He is mine


Bought with the precious blood of Christ

No guilt in life, no fear in death


This is the power of Christ in me


From life’s first cry to final breath


Jesus commands my destiny


No power of hell, no scheme of man


Can ever pluck me from His hand


Till He returns or calls me home


Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand

Snapshots

Old Man Falls, Mulanje

The Blantyre girls at Malamulo
Samantha and I in the bush

Mbiza church, we rode bicycle taxis to get to
Hudson and I, one of the missionary kids at Malamulo