Tim Travels To Masoyi, South Africa, '07

For 3 weeks, I will be in South Africa helping an orphan aid organization with urgent construction. Here unfolds the next chapter of my life. Won't you join me?

10.25.2007

T.I.A.

It's been exactly one week since I wrapped up the final details at work and waited, with much anticipation, as one of my teammates picked me up in his black Odyssey outside of the Calgary Petroleum Club. That started a journey that saw the team travel to London, on to Johannesburg, and finally to Masoyi where I now compose this journal. Weeks of team training were meant to prepare me for the different experiences I would encounter and, all in all, I think I was prepared. For the most part.

Today it rained. It wasn't a spectacular tropical rainstorm, the type that might wipe out roads or put a stop to our construction work. Instead, it was a steady mist that kept drizzling all day. It was also very cold, cold enough that I thought prudent to don my long underwear. This combination of wet and cold set the stage for what I was about to see.

We waited for our transport to the Jerusalem clinic where our Home Based Care involvement would begin. We then waited again for our transport to the different parts of the community. "T.I.A. - This Is Africa!" From what I heard from my other teammates, it seemed like the most number of families visited in one day would not exceed 4. In total we visited with 7 families. Most that we saw were bedridden and needed the help of a family member to welcome us. Chairs, no matter how humble they were, were brought into the often cramped bedrooms (often, the only room in the places that we visited) and, out of respect, we would sit on them. We travelled with David, one of the very few nurses that works for HBC. He patiently worked through his assessments, pausing appropriately to translate for us. In most situations, his visits were meant to review the progress of a prescribed regiment and to remind the community member to get to the clinic for follow up. On one occasion, he provided an older lady with mild pain relief and "rub rub", a leg cream for a common occurring condition that is defined by pain in the legs. At the end of each visit, he would ask that we pray for the community member.

At each visit, David would take out his tattered notebook (not spiral bound; think of the type usually used in primary grades) and start writing details for clinic referrals he would draft up later. We noticed that he was writing with a very unique pen. Its shaft was thin, the body was transparent, so one could tell exactly the amount of ink remaining. However, upon closer inspection, we realized that David wasn't using a pen at all. Instead, he was using a pen refill, the ones used in cheap ball point pens! Des just happened to be carrying a pen (a free one given to him from Husky Energy) and gave it to David. He was thrilled because pens are so hard to get here; they're like gold!

Besides the strong smell of exhaust, sitting in the van that transported us from location to location was a treat because it meant that we were able to warm up. The reason for this was because, though we were visiting these community members inside their homes, most homes were so poorly put together that it was just as cold inside as it was outside. Most places lacked electricity and the only light in the room was from the poorly constructed roof where there were gaps that allowed light in. On a day like today, it also meant that it allowed in the rain. On more than one occasion, I had to watch my step in the dimly lit home to avoid stepping on the scrawny dogs and chickens that were free to roam. What was very noticeable was how quiet the many children that we encountered were. They were obviously curious about the strange looking visitors, but most were quiet, almost frozen in a state of lethargic reticence. We left each home after saying a prayer. It didn't take long for frustration to set in for me. Yes, I could pray the most eloquent prayer, but did it help that they did not understand what I was saying? There had to be more that I could've done. I lack the medical training to heal them physically, but hoped beyond hope that I could somehow be an encouragement. In the face of hopelessness, where one can't even heal properly because the bedroom gets so damn cold because the walls are cinder blocks with left over mortar holding it together, what is there to be encouraged by? How is one supposed to feel dignified like this?

I discovered that I needed to bridge the communication gap with more than just a silly grin and lots of nodding when the illness was being translated. It's amazing how something as simple as providing a greeting in the right language pays dividends. I started paying attention to how David greeted these community members and tried to imitate. Right away, I saw the change in posture of the people we visited. I can imagine that they must see foreigners come by all the time, each one observing them as if visiting a zoo. But, to take the time to engage in a meaningful way means that someone is caring.

"Sawubona!" =Hello!
"Yebo!" =Hi!
"Q'unjari" =How are you?
"Sikhona" =I'm fine
"Salagersha"=Goodbye!

posted @ 13:54

1 Comments:

At October 26, 2007 at 10:53 PM, dkf said…

T, it's been wonderful following along on your journey. Thanks for updating this blog, it really brings what you're experiencing to life even half way across the world ... it reminds me of the time J and I went on HBC visits via Faith Alive in Jos, Nigeria. Thinking of you and your team as you continue to reach out in your own unique ways ... silly grin or even an off-kilter greeting ... whatever it is, I'm sure your presence speaks louder than words. Peace be with you and may you continue to pray ceaselessly for these brothers and sisters in SA and may this experience transform you beyond your expectations. D