Belovèd,
The hour draws late. You have my promise
that this missal will ramble, but I will give my most valiant effort to provide
for you a brief account of my perspective of our last two weeks. Should it wax overly verbose, I beg your
indulgence.
We have been, thus far, blessed. The Scriptures assert that we will be known by our love for one another. To the extent that I have been able to observe, this has been well-demonstrated. Yesterday we were deprived of the company of several of our number due to the expiration of their leave from hospital duties in the states. Their absence stings sharply, save that they removed with them the last remnants of some respiratory plague that I have thus far managed to avoid. Our forest canopy excursion of last weekend apparently incited the ire of some of our allergies, but I remain relatively booger-free. If my fortune holds out likewise regarding Kunta Kinte’s revenge, I shall count myself blessed indeed.
All told, we have eschewed several potential ills. Traveling mercies have abounded, the fare is, at worst, palatable (with the possible exception of the fried whole-sardines that were served up the other day), our spirits remain healthy, and we are enjoying our work. As far as that’s concerned, my own experience is somewhat divergent from that of my peers. While their souls languish in the hospital, I spend my time in the laboratory. I’ve always had an affinity for laboratories. Most of the people there are without communicable diseases, there are lots of nifty scientific-looking glass thingies, and I get to see color changes in glass tubes. The only appreciable difference in this lab is that it is situated at the top of a hill looking out on the Rwandan country side. The view is truly spectacular.
They call this place “The Land of a Thousand Hills.” They undersold themselves. Land of a Thousand-Foot Hills would be more apt. I am convinced this oversight was intended so as to not intimidate American missionaries. I find myself gasping for breath half way to breakfast in the morning. I’m sure it has something to do with the elevation. Yeah.
At any rate, the people in the lab at the top of the hill (when I finally manage to claw my way up there) are a lot of fun. A couple of them speak decent English. They said today that my French was “mediocre.” I believe that’s because their vocabulary doesn’t include the word ‘abysmal.’ Whatever the case, we have a good time. They all enjoy laughing, and seem to have a pretty good outlook. The first day I worked with them I had been there with one of the better English-speakers for about 2.5 hours and I noticed we were alone. About that time he looked at his watch and said, “We are late for tea.”
“What?”
“Tea. At 10:00 we have to go to tea time.”
Doubting, but not challenging the imperativity of tea time, I followed him up and down a series of inclines to the Kanteen across the street from the hospital where we enjoyed a cup of African tea and some kind of fried biscuit thing. The African tea was more like tea-twinged milk sweetened with sugar and served at a temperature approaching that of the surface of the sun. The consistency biscuit thing was reminiscent of various sporting implements with which I have collided in my ill-fated athletic endeavors, but it tasted pretty good too.
This picture has repeated itself in one way or another daily since our arrival. In the last couple of days they’ve incorporated me into the lab work, and it’s pretty entertaining. I find it an interesting indictment of our system that after four years of medical school I’ve had to come to Africa in order to do a Gram stain. Should I grow tired of the bacteria, there are always birds to photograph.
We have been, thus far, blessed. The Scriptures assert that we will be known by our love for one another. To the extent that I have been able to observe, this has been well-demonstrated. Yesterday we were deprived of the company of several of our number due to the expiration of their leave from hospital duties in the states. Their absence stings sharply, save that they removed with them the last remnants of some respiratory plague that I have thus far managed to avoid. Our forest canopy excursion of last weekend apparently incited the ire of some of our allergies, but I remain relatively booger-free. If my fortune holds out likewise regarding Kunta Kinte’s revenge, I shall count myself blessed indeed.
All told, we have eschewed several potential ills. Traveling mercies have abounded, the fare is, at worst, palatable (with the possible exception of the fried whole-sardines that were served up the other day), our spirits remain healthy, and we are enjoying our work. As far as that’s concerned, my own experience is somewhat divergent from that of my peers. While their souls languish in the hospital, I spend my time in the laboratory. I’ve always had an affinity for laboratories. Most of the people there are without communicable diseases, there are lots of nifty scientific-looking glass thingies, and I get to see color changes in glass tubes. The only appreciable difference in this lab is that it is situated at the top of a hill looking out on the Rwandan country side. The view is truly spectacular.
They call this place “The Land of a Thousand Hills.” They undersold themselves. Land of a Thousand-Foot Hills would be more apt. I am convinced this oversight was intended so as to not intimidate American missionaries. I find myself gasping for breath half way to breakfast in the morning. I’m sure it has something to do with the elevation. Yeah.
At any rate, the people in the lab at the top of the hill (when I finally manage to claw my way up there) are a lot of fun. A couple of them speak decent English. They said today that my French was “mediocre.” I believe that’s because their vocabulary doesn’t include the word ‘abysmal.’ Whatever the case, we have a good time. They all enjoy laughing, and seem to have a pretty good outlook. The first day I worked with them I had been there with one of the better English-speakers for about 2.5 hours and I noticed we were alone. About that time he looked at his watch and said, “We are late for tea.”
“What?”
“Tea. At 10:00 we have to go to tea time.”
Doubting, but not challenging the imperativity of tea time, I followed him up and down a series of inclines to the Kanteen across the street from the hospital where we enjoyed a cup of African tea and some kind of fried biscuit thing. The African tea was more like tea-twinged milk sweetened with sugar and served at a temperature approaching that of the surface of the sun. The consistency biscuit thing was reminiscent of various sporting implements with which I have collided in my ill-fated athletic endeavors, but it tasted pretty good too.
This picture has repeated itself in one way or another daily since our arrival. In the last couple of days they’ve incorporated me into the lab work, and it’s pretty entertaining. I find it an interesting indictment of our system that after four years of medical school I’ve had to come to Africa in order to do a Gram stain. Should I grow tired of the bacteria, there are always birds to photograph.
Having realized that we are in a part of the world with
endemic species of chameleons, I made it my aim to find one. It didn’t take long. Walking along a pencil cactus hedge I spotted
three of them basking in the sun. I am
convinced that they are the neatest vertebrates extant in Creation. As if they weren’t adequately fascinating
with their independent turret-eyes and lobster hands, they have prehensile
tails. Let us not forget the tongue
trick. These notwithstanding, some
species have horns like triceratops. Top
that. Ok, ok, plants that eat things are
pretty awesome too, but I digress.
Nightly we take the opportunity to share time pondering The Word. We have undertaken to go through II Timothy. Given our diversity of perspectives it makes for a most edifying discussion, at least by my account.
Nightly we take the opportunity to share time pondering The Word. We have undertaken to go through II Timothy. Given our diversity of perspectives it makes for a most edifying discussion, at least by my account.
Evenings are relatively free, offering the opportunity for
much-needed introspection. It is my hope
that my friends have found these times of meditation likewise regenerating. Having
been given a sweet—albeit brief--respite from many of the concerns inherent in
the eighth semester of a medical education, I find myself pondering questions
of Creation and its Author the resolutions of which I have had to defer until such
a time as I could muster adequate resources to attempt their cogent incorporation
into my meager synthesis of His work. Words
fail me to express the value of the precious hours I have been given to
consider these matters. I can’t really
explain this impulsion save that it is inherent in my creation. I’m far from unique in this regard. Seeing the same deep-seated passions, though
to different ends, among my brethren I am constantly reminded of what it means
to be but a member woven into the Body of Christ. Each of us is such a small part, some more
honorable than others, but each so valued by God that He considered it
preferable to sacrifice His own Son for our individual and collective
redemption than to allow our bearing the full consequences of our transgressions. It’s a love that I can’t understand. It’s a love that I cannot get over, and I
pray I never shall. What wondrous love
is this, O my soul, O my soul…
Grace in Christ,
--Goose.
--Goose.
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