(Jessica Leong) Living here in Sudan, I’ve learned to appreciate the little things.  The days can be long and hard here, spending 8 hours in the clinic in a small room with one window and no fan.  The day can often be overwhelming.  But…I’ve learned to look at things differently and I’m sure my perspective will continue to change as I’m only 1/4 of my way through my visit here.  The things I appreciate now…
…a breeze that comes in the room when the curtain is opened.
…the shower being bug-free.
…finding more gauze than I thought I had.
…sleeping in 15 minutes more than usual.
…the smile of a young child in the arms of its mother.
…hot tea in the morning.
…the cricket’s chirp outside my window as it sings me to sleep.
…licking the bowl and spoon after dipping marshmellows in chocolate.

(Jessica Leong) A busy day in wound care.  I seem to be the wound care consultant.  I’m not too sure how I got that job besides the couple weeks I’ve spent performing wound care on the Sudanese people that come into the clinic.  Anytime somebody comes in with a cut or bite or burn, I get the chance to participate in the decisions of how to treat it.  Melissa was working in registration that afternoon.   She came into my room asking me to take a look at this bite that this man had on his ankle.  I asked how it happened and she stated that it was from his girlfriend.  I immediately thought how bad this could be because of the increased chance of infection that a human bite has versus an animal bite.  I walk outside to see a man pointing to his ankle.  It looked a little bit swollen, but there were no teeth marks.  So again we asked what happened and again we got the same response.  The man was bit by his girlfriend.  “What kind of girlfriend bites a man’s ankle?” I thought.  Anyways, I had to believe the man.  So I look down at his ankle again, convincing myself that I must have not seen the teeth marks the first time.  But again, I see nothing except a small amount of inflammation.  I tell the man that he must wait behind all the other patients due to the fact that his injury was not very serious.  We ask again, this time the men around keep saying “girlfriend, girlfriend,” or so Melissa thought.  I finally figured out that they were saying “scorpion,” not girlfriend (the “p” and “f” sound very similar when spoken by a Sudanese).  Oh, well a scorpion bite!  That makes much more sense!  Of course this man is hurting.  Of course his ankle is swollen.  Of course he wasn’t bitten by his girlfriend.  Come to find out, the Dinka language does not have a word for girlfriend, so they were not even understanding us when we kept repeating back to them, “girlfriend?”  Oh the misunderstandings that occur between two people groups and two languages.  Girlfriend?  No.  Scorpion.

(Stephanie Williams) The other day, I asked Maggie (the senior Nurse-midwife and resident partner-in-crime) why so many of the women chose to deliver at home instead of coming to the clinic. Her answer was particular and I have to admit I wasn’t sure what to think.

She explained that when it comes time for a woman to deliver, the husband insists she deliver at home. She has little choice. But it was the reasoning behind it that caught me off guard.  She explained that here, a traditional midwives’ job aside from delivering the baby, is to illicit a ‘childbirth confessional’. Apparently, while the woman is in transition and especially as she gets ready to push, the midwife will yell at her. She will tell her that the labor is taking long because she slept with a man other than her husband. “Confess and you will deliver! Whose baby is this?!”

At first, I had to laugh at such a thought. It couldn’t be. Sure, promiscuity is the norm in this culture but really? Most woman I’ve seen in the pushing stage don’t have time to think, let alone make an intelligible sentence. So, I put it in the back of my mind to think about another day.

Then Bith came to the clinic to deliver.

She was a young mother expecting her fifth child and was evidently poor but oh so sweet and happy to be having her baby. She labored quietly and powerfully throughout the day and then barged into my prenatal visit sweating and ready to push. Not long after, she was squatting on the prenatal bed pushing with all her might.

She asked for her friend to come in and help with the pushing. Naturally! Her friend acted as a doula of sorts and immediately started massaging her back and encouraging her. “Chol! Push! Apathe Pei! Good work!” Everything was going well. Then all of the sudden the tone of her voice changed. It sounded like she was yelling at her.

I asked my mighty, mighty translator, Natali, to let me know what she was saying. He said that she was yelling at her to confess. Huh? “Whose baby is it? Who did you sleep with?” Yes. You guessed it. I was stuck in the middle of a ‘Childbirth Confessional’.

Naturally, Bith ignored her words and pushed with all her might. I, however, got all up in her business and told her to stop yelling such nonsense. I affirmed that the birth was not taking any time at all and that everything was very normal. This silenced her. She actually seemed happy to hear it.

No confession came but a  beautiful baby girl was born minutes later – sweet and sleepy and calm.

We started today off with Suzy giving her testimony at devotion.  Some of you reading this may be familiar, but it sure was new and inspirational to me.  In a nutshell, it was her personal version of amazing grace and the radical turning around of her life after she heard God calling to her.  To me, this message was one of utmost optimism and hope because I know that I’ve got many flaws that I would like to change about myself and things that I am not particularly pleased with myself over.  It was uplifting to have Suzy remind us all that God wants each and every one of us, no matter what the state our lives.

Life at the clinic is still one of new learning opportunities and offering ourselves in different ways to help the patients we see.  From a medical student’s perspective (like my brother John and mine), this experience continues to be quite the dream summer.  We see things in the clinic here that I certainly haven’t yet seen in my education so far.  My brother and I helped to treat a bad hyena bite, I cared for someone who was bitten by a poisonous spider, and I watched as the clinical director removed a worm from one patient’s leg.  Some of these are even things that I likely will not experience during my 4 years of medical education in America (which makes this exciting stuff for a med school nerd like me)!  In addition to the unique cases that we see here, I’m learning skills that I will not be formally trained in for another year or two back in the states.  This week, I sutured up my first wound, placed my first i.v. line, and gave my first intramuscular injections.  My brother John and I joke that we should save our money by holding off on our next 3 years at school and just staying here for a a few years, since we’re both learning at such a wildly accelerated rate.  The attached picture is of Richard and John, two of the awesome interpreters that we rely on daily in the clinic.  I think they’ll be very excited when they hear that their handsome image will be posted in cyberspace (I’m already anticipating being able to give them the good news tomorrow morning).

Last Saturday, we went to the market here in Tonj, which is essentially a collection of small huts selling different types of goods.  Some merchants sell clothing, others food, others doo-dads and knick-knacks and what-have-you’s.  This was quite a fun and novel experience for a bunch of Americans like us, who really don’t have anything to compare this to in the States.  For one, everything is bargained for (and we had the distinct impression that the starting asking price for a given good was jacked waaaaay up when they saw folks looking like us stroll up to make a purchase).  Another unusual thing was the hustle and bustle that breathes life into the market.  Kids running around, merchants trying to corral you into their hut, and even motorcycles riding through all contributed to a real vibrant (and distinctly un-American) shopping experience.

Hello from Tonj again.  We just finished our first entire week here, and are enjoying the weekend again.  Suzie and Sabet gave us a bit of history today on how In Deed and Truth came to be what it is today.  One particular phrase really struck a chord with me.  I might be a little bit off, but the gist was this: we are not here to die for a bandaid.  In their 11 years of serving southern Sudan, they have both certainly put their lives in danger, especially considering the various other places this world they could surely call home.  So in their eyes, it’s got to be worth it.

Though IDAT serves the community in an immediate way by administering health care, this is not the focal point of the ministry.  For if the clinic were to disappear tomorrow, sickness would surely persist.  They strive for a more lasting and elemental effect.  At the heart, I think it should be our goal to leave a footprint that will not wash away when high water comes, and Suzy and Sabet have certainly done much to this end.  Primarily, they accomplish this by bring the message of Jesus to the people.  By looking to plant this seed in hearts, minds, and souls, the many changes it can bring to people’s lives can outlast any medicine prescription ever will.  It can be spread from person to person, making each subsequent generation see God and his creation differently than the previous one.

Additionally, there are other programs I have seen in my short time here that favor true change over bandaids.  One obvious example is the medical training we share with a staff of young Sudanese men.  They come to work and learn 6 out of the 7 days a week, and in return for their work, they obtain real world clinical knowledge and hands-on experience, among other valuable skills.  And recently, we have begun serving a village about 45 minutes away from Tonj with healthcare services.  But again, the bandaid is not the point.  Though we do administer healthcare, there is also a representative from this village who has begun an integrated medical training with us, so that he may take this education back to the village.  Again, lasting solutions.

Those are my thoughts from today.  Thanks for reading, and see you in a week!

John Lazar