Monthly Archives: May 2013

That’s just the way it is

Not sure where to begin this one.  A lot of people, seasoned veterans of African hardship, had made little comments about visiting South Sudan.  Not discouraging, not dramatic, just kind of a serious pause, a nod, and something like”it’s difficult there.”

I guess that’s as good a way to put it as any.  I have an unshakeable belief that our God loves us, each of us, whether we love him back or not.  And, as we do with our own children, He hates to see us suffer.  He went to great lengths, the ultimate sacrifice, to save us from suffering.

Which makes South Sudan difficult.  Suffering like I’ve never seen.

There are different kinds of violence.  People smarter than I have classified violence into palatable categories: natural disaster, war, interpersonal, etc.  Institutional violence, in my mind, is the most sinister.  I think there were probably very “good”, kind people who owned slaves in the pre civil war south.  I believe there were fine upstanding people processing the paperwork for the Jews to be brought to Nazi death camps.  Institutional violence is no ones fault.  It’s just there, nothing to get upset about, that’s just the way it is.

I’ve witnessed the other kind of violence: post-earthquake Haiti, Maoist bombings or hacking in Nepal, mass traffic accidents in Kenya.  This kind of violence is somewhat self-limited: it has a beginning, a middle, and an end.  Five or twenty or two hundred thousand people are killed, horrible suffering, but these forms of tragedy have edges, margins.  Of course I’m not minimizing this form of violence, I’m just saying that it can be defined, discussed, debated,  maybe addressed.

The truly sinister aspect of institutional violence is its banality.  There’s really nothing to get excited about, please settle down, there’s no point in making a fuss.  That’s just the way it is!

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Men in Traction for Fractured Femur

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listening to the baby prior to c-section

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Young child accidentally scalded by boiling water

That’s just the way it is.  Unless that means that one out of eight children die before their fifth birthday.  Unless more women die an agonizing death in labor than in any other place on earth.  Unless your family is starving because you can’t work because you’re stuck in traction with your broken leg.  Unless you have to make a choice between dying or having your leg cut off because there’s no one to do a simple operation to save it.  Unless a child burned by a careless nephew may die for lack of medicine, anesthesia, and surgery.

That can’t be the way it is!  That kind of reality can’t be accepted.

Thanks for letting me rant.

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Fly on a “sterile” glove during surgery

I came to Juba to explore ways to train South Sudanese surgeons at Kijabe Hospital.  That’s still why I’m here, but things are more complicated.  “It’s difficult there.”  Juba Teaching Hospital, the premiere hospital of South Sudan, has no supplies.  Unstable electrical grid.  Intermittent water supply.  When we got here, the two dedicated orthopaedic surgeons hadn’t been able to do an operation in two months. The electricity comes on sometime mid-morning, and shuts off in the afternoon.  Today, the water ran out, we couldn’t wash our hands for surgery.  When we did surgery, we couldn’t keep the flies off the “sterile field.”  Chaos reigns.

This is no one’s fault.  The country’s been at war, the government has no money.  The government has money, but they waste it on expensive trips.  The donor community doesn’t listen to what’s needed on the ground.  There’s no oil production because the north is charging too much for pipeline fees.  There’s no medicine and we haven’t been paid in two months…… that’s just the way it is.

Where to begin?  Despair comes to mind.  I think despair is an appropriate response to institutional violence.  Cruel, faceless, remorseless evil should bring about the worst of emotions.  I can’t deny moments of despair.  I’m just careful not to set up camp there.

So I don’t know what tomorrow might bring.  We continue discussions.  There is hope.  There are people who care about this.  There are bright shining stars who have lived through the wars, the poverty, the cruelty, and get up and do the best they can.  There are Sudanese surgeons who have left their families in Europe, to return to their homeland because it is the right thing to do.  So who am I to get discouraged?  “The way it is”, over the long run, is that love is stronger than hate, order is greater than chaos, and God’s grace is stronger than despair.

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Telling The Story…

Before we arrived in Kijabe, I did not have a defined role for engaging in the work of the hospital.  I hoped that my skills and experience would be put to some use but looking back, I worried nonetheless that I would be left climbing the walls while the kids were at school!  For those of you who know me, I need to be engaged in work outside of the home to keep my sanity!  The time spent worrying was perfectly wasted as I soon found out after arriving here last September.

Explaining my professional background in International Development can be challenging.  I started out as a secondary / high school teacher of English and Geography.  Shortly after graduating from teacher training, I found myself working in a rural school in Lesotho, Southern Africa, for two years.  I fell in love with the continent of Africa – the myriad of cultures, languages, tribes, colors, and smells.

The two years spent living in this breathtakingly beautiful country were a time of immense learning and understanding.  As an English Language and Literature teacher, my responsibility was to teach Basotho children the joys of Shakespeare and expose them to other great western writers from the British Cambridge curriculum!  There was one major problem:  the students could barely speak English, let alone Elizabethan English from the 16th century!  The curriculum was highly inappropriate in its content and has remained focused on the acquisition of a western education, driven by western values.

I quickly became disillusioned about the contribution that I had hoped to make at this school.  The student teacher ratio was approximately 60:1 and resources were extremely scarce.  It was not unusual to see four or five students squeezed into a desk, sharing one textbook between them.  The classrooms themselves were bare concrete constructions with no doors or windows.  This was especially problematic during the cold winter months as the students would sit huddled together trying to keep warm.  Many children walked from one to four hours to get to school. Their one meal of the day was provided at lunch-time by the school.  It was difficult to watch parents struggling to pay school fees for their children – some would bring cash, but most would bring food items such as chickens, goats, flour or oil.  And yet, the odds of these students actually passing the Cambridge exams were very slim. The educational curriculum of Lesotho, rather than developing the students’ capabilities, undermined the development of an empowered and skilled population able to contribute towards their own communities and the national economy as a whole.

My experience in Lesotho taught me a lot and I enjoyed my two years there immensely.  I left motivated to acquire more understanding and knowledge about how education can inspire and empower people in a developing country.  I went back to Ireland and began working on my Master’s degree in International Development Studies.

My next assignment overseas brought me to an Anglican Diocese in Musoma, Tanzania, where I was director of an adult leadership training program and which is where I met Mike!…and that’s a whole different story best saved for another time….

International development or global development is a concept that lacks a universally accepted definition, but it is most used in a holistic and multi-disciplinary context of human development — the development of greater quality of life for humans. It therefore encompasses foreign aid, governance, healthcare, education, poverty reduction, gender equality, disaster preparedness, infrastructure, economics, human rights, environment and issues associated with these.  Development is distinct from aid in that it focuses on long-term, sustainable projects and solutions, while seeking to empower local communities and build their own capacity.

So, how am I applying my educational background and my experience to Kijabe Hospital?

I’ve been asked to help set up a Resource Mobilization Department at the hospital.  In order to communicate the need for critical resources, the story first needs to be told of what the hospital does…

…through the coordination of media, video, a newly designed website, a classy new logo, stories, relationships, grant-writing, communication of equipment needs, personnel needs, infrastructure needs, and the list goes on…

What Kijabe Hospital has accomplished over the last 100 years is nothing short of miraculous.  Some of its achievements include the following:

  • Kijabe Hospital is renowned as one of the best training hospitals in East Africa.
  • The main role of Kijabe’s medical consultants, half of whom are Kenyan and half expatriate, is to educate and train up the next generation of Christian leaders in the health care field in Africa.
  • The hospital sees over 120,000 outpatients a year and has one of the busiest operating theatres in East Africa.
  • Kijabe’s Registered Nurse Anesthesia Program is the first of its kind in the country and is currently impacting regions far beyond Kenya’s borders.

What a privilege to tell the story of what God is doing in this part of the world – about how Kijabe Hospital’s mission is to serve the most vulnerable who otherwise would not be able to afford basic healthcare.  Despite its accomplishments, there is so much need that still exists.  As the hospital strives to serve the most vulnerable, the demands on the hospital have grown exponentially.  With a 280-bed capacity that is typically at 100% occupancy, the hospital urgently needs to expand its infrastructure in order to cope with the increasing numbers of patients as well as medical trainees coming to learn at Kijabe.

While all of the above communication efforts are currently in the process of being designed, approved and moved forward, take a look at this video that my good friend, Beth Fischer, made for the hospital.  She has graciously given the last four months of her time and God-given skills to serve the hospital through the production of two compelling videos.  Whilst these are not yet ready for public consumption, here is a taste of what is to come…

http://vimeo.com/61697803

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Twins

Taking off from Jomo Kenyatta Airport.  At 7:30 in the morning, the sun is bursting up over the horizon.  A short flight that will take us to a new world, from the relative affluence and cosmopolitan flare of Nairobi to Juba, the capital of the newest country in the world. The Republic of South Sudan will celebrate its second full year as a country this July.  The plane takes off east, straight into to the brilliance of the equatorial sun, then makes a 270-degree bank to the right.  As we rise, we take in the vast expanse of Nairobi; glittering high rises next to sprawling slums.  Mount Kenya appears to our north, until it passes out of sight, and the snow capped peak of Kilimanjaro, just over the Tanzanian border to the south, comes into view.  The banked turn continues over the plains south of the city, where giraffe munch lazily on yellow acacia trees and lions nap in the shade.   The steep turn continues, finally pointing us north, quickly passing from the southern to the northern hemisphere, and on towards South Sudan.

The history of Sudan is sadly defined by the evil twins of violence and poverty.  Though clashes continue in the contested Abyei region, and inter-tribal violence claims many lives, South Sudan is enjoying a period of relative peace, hope and development.

The reason for this trip is to explore ways to provide surgical education services for South Sudan.   This might seem an odd priority for a country just emerging from war, with deeply deficient basic infrastructure, but access to surgery is vital to the South Sudanese people.  As South Sudan rebuilds its water supplies, electrical grids, and roads, the healthcare system also needs rebuilding.  While healthcare in the poorest countries has rightfully focused on clean water, immunizations, and control of infectious disease, public health officials are growing increasingly aware that the complete lack of surgical services is harmful to the poor.

South Sudan’s grim health statistics reflect this:  with the highest maternal mortality rate in the world, South Sudan is the most dangerous place on the planet to have a baby.  Poor roads, lack of traffic law enforcement, and unsafe vehicles contribute to a high rate of severe trauma.  Parts of South Sudan are not yet de-mined, and violent conflict continues.  Trauma victims languish in depleted hospitals, life saving surgery completely unavailable.

In this setting, even the most basic anesthetic and surgical techniques can save thousands of lives.  Spinal anesthetic can be safely administered for the cost of a needle and half a teaspoon of local anesthetic.  Caesarian section can be done with only a scalpel and some soap, saving two lives for less than five dollars.  How can we stand by when help is so cheap and easy to provide?

I’m travelling with Dr. Lewis Zirkle and Jeanne Dillner, two people responsible for reducing suffering and death for literally hundreds of thousands of the world’s poor.  Lewis is the founder and Jeanne the CEO of SIGN International, a non-profit based in Richland, Washington.  SIGN designs, manufactures, and distributes for free advanced surgical implants for the developing world.  These elegantly simple devices, along with Dr. Zirkle’s tireless education of surgeons around the globe, have transformed trauma care in the poorest countries.

Studies conducted by the World Health Education have shown that the repair of a fractured femur (thigh bone) reduces suffering and death nearly as cost-effectively as an immunization program.  As ministries of health and donor agencies wake up to this concept, more and more of the world’s poorest people are gaining access to life and limb saving surgery.  We’re headed to South Sudan to meet with representatives from the World Bank and South Sudan Ministry of Health, to listen and learn how we can help educate a first generation of surgeons for South Sudan.

I have the best job in the world.  I’m an orthopaedic surgeon at Kijabe Hospital, a small rural hospital in central Kenya.  For reasons that are clear to me but hard to explain, Kijabe has become a center for surgical education in Africa.  Though we only have one paved street, no banks, and only one local restaurant, somehow this muddy village has become a place for world-class medical education in Africa.  The nursing school provides bright students the education to become excellent nurses.  The award-winning nurse anesthetist program produces a steady stream of highly qualified anesthetists for Kenya and beyond.  Certified programs train young African physicians to become family practitioners, general surgeons, orthopaedic surgeons, pediatric surgeons, and neurosurgeons.  Once in a while I take this for granted, and then snap back to the unlikely reality that this little rural hospital is functioning as a major medical university.

Because these training programs already exist at Kijabe, we are perfectly positioned to extend training to surrounding countries.  Kenya either shares a border or is very close to some of the most challenging environments in the world.  Our neighbors include South Sudan, Somalia, Ethiopia, Central African Republic, DR Congo, Rwanda, and Burundi.  My dream is to eventually have a “Kijabe School of Global Surgery”, providing training in the most essential surgeries.

The flight was uneventful, except for the fighter jet toppled off the edge of the runway as we land. As we flew over the southern part of the country, the defining geographical feature of South Sudan became evident:  it’s flatness.  Flat like Kansas.  Flat dusty areas, scrub vegetation.  Then greener, and greener, then puddles, then ponds, then, a river.  The Nile.  The land is so flat here, that sometimes the Nile is within its banks, other times it spreads out into separate channels and swampy areas.  The word Sudan is derived from the word for swamp.  In the rainy season, large parts of the country become impassable swamp.  As we land, we can see beautiful thatch roofed traditional Sudanese homes across the countryside.

At the airport, we are jubilantly greeted by two very tall men in “SIGN International” T-shirts!  They are Dr. James and Dr. Akau, the entire orthopaedic firepower of this country of 10 million people.  Dr. Zirkle and I have just doubled the number of orthopaedic surgeons in the country.  Don’t break your leg in Juba today, because we’re all having coffee together.2013-05-19 11.53.11

Next on the agenda is the 20-minute ride to our sleeping quarters.  I’m braced for eye opening African scenes of poverty, bad roads, and chaos.  But I’m shocked:  perfectly smooth paved roads, shiny white SUV’s, and then, incongruously, a four wheel drive turbo-charged Porsche Cayenne.  Uh oh, the international AID community is here.

It turns out Dr. James was a general in “The North’s” (Sudan’s) military.  After independence, he was ousted, as he is a Christian in the Muslim north.  So he’s now the deputy commander of the health corps, overseeing all the military hospitals in the ten states of South Sudan.  His desire:  to see an orthopaedic surgeon in each of the ten states.  I asked a local doctor to describe his hospital, the premiere hospital of his country:  “Irregular electricity.  No water or sewage. Frustrating.  Bad.  Inhuman.  A Hospital in Name only.  No light at the end of the tunnel.  The people have no faith in the healthcare system, and they are right.  We have ex-freedom fighters driving Porsches, and we have no IV fluids in the hospital.”

Dr. Akau has returned to Juba from Norway, where he was in practice and where his wife and children remain.  Why did you return to S. Sudan?  “My colleagues thought I was crazy.  Why would you go to hell?  You live in Norway, it’s beautiful here.  In Scandinavia, they value human life.  Here, people die like flies.  I came here with no expectation, that has helped.  I thought, ‘I can put on an external fixator under a tree!’  Then I got here, and found there was no external fixator, only a tree.”

Our accommodations are a bit surreal.  We drive through Juba, through a heavily guarded gate, with a banner-like sign proclaiming “SPLA Headquarters”, the Sudan Peoples’ Liberation Army.  suvWe’re told not to take photos, and driven past a dilapidated barracks, which we’re told is South Sudan’s military hospital.  We continue through another secured gate, to a clean row of pre-fab buildings.  A US military ambulance sits in the compound, and we learn these housing units are built by the US State Department.  We’re shown to our rooms; clean brightly painted, free Wi-Fi, and freezing cold.  I turn off the air conditioning.  We’re escorted past an outdoor thatch roof bar with soccer on the flat screen TVs, to a small cafeteria, with fresh mango juice and coffee.  I see some mountain bike shoes outside one of the doors and find there are two mountain bikers here.  Weird.

We were told a story by one of the surgeons.  A woman came to the hospital in labor.  The baby was in breech position and she needed a C-section.  The husband, a soldier, went to get money to pay for the operation.  While he was gone, the labor progressed to the point where both the baby and the mother were in danger.  Without a signed consent form, the surgeon went ahead and attempted an emergency C-section.  The soldier returned to find his healthy new baby, but his wife had died.  He left, returned with his weapon, and killed the surgical team.

The evil twins of violence and poverty.  It can be overwhelming when viewed up close.  Right now, I’m not sure what the plan forward might be.  But I’ve found with some patience and collaboration, little threads can come together to form a fabric of healing.   I would appreciate your prayers as I search for the way Kijabe can be a part of this.

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Foreign Exchange

We’ve been in Kijabe for 8 months now, and our focus has shifted from “how to survive” to “how thrive in a foreign culture.”  So many things have happened.  Moving the family here was a big project:  packing, shipping, unpacking, sourcing medical supplies, trying to anticipate our needs in an African village while sitting in an American town.  For those of you who know Ann and I, it will come as no surprise that Ann was the organizing force for all of that.  Once we landed in Kijabe, we were like babies learning to walk.  Every detail, from where to get food, what water is OK to drink, schooling, how to drive, had to be re-learned.  This process involved many pleasant surprises:  the community here is so warm and welcoming, and many aspects of life are simpler here.

One of my concerns leaving the US was losing my sense of community, belonging, integration.  I loved walking in to a coffee shop in Bend, and knowing half the people at tables and most of the people behind the counter.  I was anxious about losing this sense of integration.  I needn’t have worried.  Kenyan culture is very integrative.  Our western sense of autonomy is seen as odd, simultaneously selfish and self-destructive.  While life in Nairobi is quite modern and western, in most areas of Kenya, community means survival.  Autonomy, or isolation, is not a viable lifestyle.  If food, shelter, or safety are not assured, then family, kin, community,  become the social safety net.  One simply doesn’t make it alone here.

For an American, this takes some getting used to.  It manifests in many different ways.  Patients ask for and expect my mobile phone number.  If someone is walking down the road and gets tired, he might decide to have a nap in your yard.  Strangers knock at the door, seeing if you’d like to buy some samosas or grapes.  This can be a little uncomfortable, encroaching, for us.  But the flip side of this is a strong sense of community.  When I was fooling around with the kids and managed to get our 4WD Turbo-diesel bad—  Landcruiser stuck at the end of our driveway, everyone stopped to offer “pole sana” (very sorry.)  The one minute walk to the hospital usually takes ten or fifteen, stopping to greet and chat with friends and colleagues on the road or outside the hospital.  The community here is pretty small, so everyone makes it a point to get together for dinners, games, or a cup of chai.

The whole concept of “locally sourced” makes a lot of sense here.  When it gets cold, and we want to build a fire, we buy wood and charcoal.  But where does that wood come from?  And how is the charcoal produced?  We live on the side of the Great Rift escarpment, so when illegal logging for firewood leads to landslides, disaster strikes.  Last week, a landslide came right through the village, bringing large trees and even a railroad tie careening down the main (0nly) road.  The village next to us fared much worse:  three children were killed.    Cause and effect.  No theoretical debates about global warming, greenhouse gasses, etc.  If we don’t take care of our environment, we experience  it later that day.

While we make forays into the big city (Nairobi) for specialty items like sausage or cheese, most of our food comes from here in the village.  Peter brings chickens to the door, mostly butchered, and Ann spends an hour trimming away the feathers and inedible parts.  The local market has every imaginable fruit and vegetable.  This is an agricultural area, less than one degree off the equator, so everything grows.  We have a shamba (garden) in our yard which produces amazing tomatoes, three different kinds of lettuce, cauliflower, beans, cilantro, and soon, herbs.  We’ve met the cows that produce the manure that grow our food!  We buy their fertile waste for 200 shillings per 300 pound bag.  The shamba is enclosed by chicken wire on all sides, including the roof, to keep baboons and monkeys from helping themselves.  Peter the flower man brings us roses, 200 shillings ($2.75) for twenty of the most beautiful, fresh cut roses you can imagine.

So we feel comfortable, at home, somewhat settled.  A number of blogs ago, I discussed “the chaos bridge.”  We were taught this concept in our pre-deployment training.  Bridging from your passport culture to another culture inevitably involves chaos.  This is envisioned as a bridge over turbulent waters, a transition from security, to chaos, and then some return to normalcy.  We really feel like we’ve passed through the peak of the chaos.

Now that we’ve survived the worst of the transition, Ann and I have had a chance to really think about the reason we were sent here.  The root of this is faith.  We believe in a God who loves us, wants the best for each of us, and has a plan for each of our lives that will bring us closer to Him.   To do so, we’ve been asked to transition from the currency of the world to the currency of belief.  The currency of the world, power, control, money, and possessions, has to give way to the currency of belief, of shalom.  Faith calls for a release of control, to the interdependency Kenyan culture has perfected.  Daily, we rely on the generosity of others to continue our work here.  Autonomy is not a viable lifestyle.  While this might sound a little scary or insecure, the reverse is true.  We are filled with joy on a continuous basis at the way this life works.  God’s plan becomes obvious.  On a regular basis, at the exact moment when a need arises, the need is met by a miraculous “coincidence” or act of generosity.  While we don’t take this for granted, we do rely on it!

Ann moved here without an obvious role.  Her background is in international development:  the formation of sustainable systems in the developing world.  While this skill set is desperately needed in Kenya, Ann moved here with the goal of getting the kids settled before she committed to any project.  This was a leap of faith for her, but, true to form, the perfect opportunity presented itself.  Kijabe Hospital has longed for someone to spearhead a “Resource Mobilization” department.  This involves organizing website development, media production, fundraising, and grant writing to keep the hospital financially viable.  Perfect match.  She’s now fully engaged ensuring, as Kijabe celebrates its centennial,  that it will still be around in another hundred years.

This currency of faith is sometimes scary.  In a world built on relationships and generosity, things can move with blinding speed.  Kenya shares a small length of border with South Sudan, the newest country in the world.  South Sudan has very little medical infrastructure, and the highest maternal mortality rate in the world.  Kijabe Hospital has stepped up to provide training for the first class of South Sudanese anesthetists.  Their ministry of health has crunched the numbers, and estimated that each anesthetist will be responsible for saving 10,000 lives in their career!  Many of these are women and infants who would not survive the birth process without emergency c-section.  I’ve expressed an interest in seeing if we could also now help with training surgeons for South Sudan.  Be careful what you pray for!  Five or six emails have flown back and forth, and I’ll be on a plane for South Sudan on May 19th to meet with Ministry of Health officials in Juba.  I’m too excited for words, and simultaneously terrified.  This has been a dream of mine since we moved here.

So we’ve exchanged our currency of control, autonomy, and ownership, to one of exhilarating but sometimes scary dependency.  We are dependent on prayer, on relationships, on the kindness of others, on “coincidences”, on God.  Thank you for being part of our journey.

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