Home

This evening I was walking home from the hospital, I realized that this is home.

It doesn't always feel that way. Not at all. But after being gone for 2 weeks (in Cameroon! More on that later), coming back to somewhere familiar has been really nice. When I walk through the hospital, I see multiple people who I know and stop to say hello. When I go out to buy more megabytes for my phone, I see people there who I know. And as I walk down the street, I hear my name, and look up to see someone who knows my name, although whether I know them or not is debatable. (It does help that multiple Sarah's have been here over the years...it's a safe guess if you see a white girl.) Coming back after being gone (in big, unfamiliar cities) has made me realize that I have friends here.

Living here isn't always easy. For multiple reasons. One of them, for me, is the very friendly, involved culture. I'm an introvert. The only one in Chad, I sometimes think. I love people, but I don't always love talking to them, and I don't always want to be with them 24/7. That hasn't necessarily changed here. But I'm learning. I'm learning how to talk to people that I don't know. It's especially fun when we don't speak the same language. At all. I'm learning that sometimes I just want to go in my room and close the door, but playing with my kids is more rewarding. And I'm learning that relationships are rewarding. And those are built, incidentally, by talking to strangers. I've learned a lot of things here. I still have a lot to learn, but I wouldn't change the experience I've had here. When I leave, a piece of my heart will stay here always.

But while I'm talking about home, one month from tomorrow, I leave Béré. I few days later, I arrive back in Portland, my other home. I definitely left a piece of my heart there when I came here, so it will be good to be back. Maybe someday I'll have left pieces of my heart all over the world, so that wherever I go, I'll be at home.

Dance

I live with a local family, just off of the compound. It's often an interesting experience; there are about 9 kids in the family, although it's not at all uncommon for a couple of extras to appear for a few days. My schedule at the hospital (ok, more like my poor time management skills) sometimes makes it difficult to spend an appropriate amount of time with them, so this week, after a week of working nights and barely seeing them, it's nice to spend more time there.

The other evening I arrived at home, and was promptly presented with an invitation to a birthday party scheduled for the next day. I don't think that birthday parties are common here, so it was kind of a big event. The next morning, my sister asked me if I knew how to make a birthday cake. Unfortunately, I said yes. And further, I agreed to help her make one for the party. Now, excellent cooking skills are in my blood (and by that I mean my family), but my personal cooking skills often leave something to be desired. I contribute this mostly to the fact that I don't tend to use precision in the kitchen. I mean, I know about how much a teaspoon is, so why bother actually getting out the measuring spoons and dirtying them? Anyway, I can cook, but baking isn't much my thing.

After I agreed to make the cake and told my sister what ingredients we would need, it occurred to me that I had never successfully made a cake in my life.

Anyway, the cake was almost a success. The frosting was far from successful. The combined result was quite mediocre. Oh well. I think everyone liked it, and for at least some of them it was probably the first time they had eaten birthday cake. So they didn't know what was missing.

The party itself started in the mud afternoon and lasted through most of the evening. When I arrived with the cake, there were already a few kids there, dancing to the radio. We blew up balloons and hung them everywhere, ate candy, and radio continued its serenade. In total, there were over 40 kids there. And maybe 5 parents. There was food and cake, and then dancing.

I think that dancing comes almost as naturally as walking here. My nine year old sister can (and did) dance for hours, effortlessly. She's tiny and graceful. I love watching her. It seems to be an important part of every celebration. And sometimes of everyday life, too. It's almost like its the preferred form of expression. I like it.

As I sat watching the many dancers with interest, I received several invitations to join them. I replied by telling them that I don't know how to dance. Which is completely true. But when one of the ladies literally pulled me to my feet and gave me no choice, it became really fun. I still don't know how to dance, but I had so much fun. Especially because it was dark, and we were outside in the beautiful, fresh evening. It rained on and off, so we alternated between the veranda and the courtyard. After awhile, Chantelle, a little girl who is probably about 6, took my hand and wouldn't let go. She didn't care that I don't know how to dance. :)

Evening in the Courtyard

Since I started working at the hospital here, almost all of the time that I've spent there has been during the day. There have been exceptions, but not many. Generally I work in the morning/afternoon and do other things in the evening. This week, though, I've been working evenings on the surgical ward.

The surgical ward is generally an interesting place. There are generally more than 20 patients, they generally (at least this time of year) spend very little time in their beds, there are flies everywhere, and we have a resident mouse who pops in from time to time. The vast majority of these patients have recently had surgery. Occasionally there is one or two who are waiting to have surgery. Right now, laporatomies and amputations are what most of the patients have had (one or the other, that is...not both). 

Outside of the surgical ward, there is an expanse of...I don't know, dust, sand, dirt. Whatever you want to call it. This extends from the surgical ward over to the medical ward, not too far away. There are a few trees, and a whole lot of mats on the ground for people to lay on. During the day, there are people milling around, talking, cooking nearby. But in the evening the courtyard (it's really not a courtyard, but I have no better word for it) begins to change.

It's evening now. Some women are cooking dinner for their families in an open structure not far away. Some of the men are sitting around eating. Others are talking or resting on their mats. There is a rhythmic drumming sound. I look over and see a naked baby sitting on the ground, beating out a rhythm (of sorts) with two empty water bottles.

It's starting to get dark. The women are starting to exchange their complete outfits for just a pagne (basically a piece of fabric; two yards of it) wrapped around them just under their arms. Or some of them just take off their shirt and wear their bra for the night. The number of mats laid out is increasing. There are people laying everywhere. Some of them have been here for a long time. They all seem to know each other. This is almost like a tiny village. They have all of their food, bedding, things to wash with, and the whole family here with them.

We start passing out the evening meds. One of our patients is a cute little boy with an infected foot. He's about 8 I think. His sister is probably 10. She's cute and friendly, and likes to help us find the patients we're looking for to give meds to. She follows us around, and if we can't find someone, she tries to locate them. When we give her brother his meds, she brings him water, or holds a flashlight so we can see.

In the evening, this seems so much more like a home, a family. I like it.