Bright Lights, Big City (finale)

The golden arches have arrived!  Again we had no idea it was coming.  One day an expat friend was eating at this restaurant in our town that is on top of a hotel and rotates so you can see the whole city, and all of a sudden he saw the golden arches gleaming forth like a beacon of light only 2 blocks from where he was.  Unbelievable.  Call me Thomas but I refused to believe it till I saw it with my own eyes.  Naturally some friends and I had to go check it out.  It was great!  Not really the food, although the fries weren't bad, but just the experience.  Of course we had to comment on the irony of eating at a McDonald's that only serves chicken while we saw a number of cows pass the restaurant outside on the street. 

Like a moth to a flame, the golden arches draws in the foreigners.

Isn't it glorious?

Do we look excited or what?!!

The fries taste just like I remember.  Or maybe I've just been gone so long I've forgotten what they taste like.  Either way - they were good.

As you can tell, we enjoyed ourselves.

What trip to McD's would be complete without Ronald?

Bright Lights, Big City (part 2)

Part two of this three part feature is all about the sudden appearance of traffic lights in the city.  I find the addition to be especially perplexing for several different reasons.  First, there are already stop signs.  Of course I was under the impression they were merely decorative as no one stops at them.  Second, because of the British influence on my country, there are roundabouts everywhere, and I have always been under the impression that the purpose of the roundabout is to eliminate the need for lights and stopping.  Not here though.  Every roundabout in town has been recently remodeled with lights at every entry point.  This is what is especially amazing though because prior to the lights, I never remember sitting in traffic at the roundabouts, but now it is a common occurrence.  Finally, I don't think the lights have actually helped the traffic situation as much as hoped because as one friend recently shared, people aren't quite sure how to drive with the lights just yet.  I have already witnessed several cars running reds.  All of that to say, while  I'm shocked by the advancement that has happened to my city in such a short time, I will still continue to be extremely cautious on the roads, stoplights or no.

Not the best pic, but I'm so proud of how my little town is growing that I just had to share.

Tomorrow concludes the feature on the westernization of my city.  Anyone have a guess about the latest and greatest addition?  Tune in tomorrow and find out! 

Bright Lights, Big City (part 1)

This is the first post in a three part series on the westernization of my city.  The theme you will see recurring throughout the series is how each of these 20th century items suddenly made an appearance without any warning.  I was just going along one day, and then BAM! out of nowhere, these items from my past life just appeared.  The series kicks off with the tortilla chip.  (In preparation for this post, I did spend a little time on Wikipedia researching the tortilla chip to try and buff up on my tortilla chip knowledge, but unfortunately the exact year of the emergence of the tortilla chip could not be pinpointed.  At least on Wikipedia anyway. But no matter.)  After months of salivating over the dream of a bottomless bowl of chips and salsa, the dream is a reality.  Normally, I have to cart in tortilla chips from the capital city, but no more.  They are here, and they are legit.  I was just chilling it in my normal "grocery store" (Be advised - I use that term lightly.  Picture something smaller than Quik Trip and without the fresh donuts.), when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the bag.  I wasn't given any warning.  There was no formal announcement sent out letting all the foreigners know it was coming.  Of course, I immediately bought a bag.  And after tearing my way through a good portion, I had to go lay down and take a nap.  The shock was really too much.  Now if I can only get my grocer to stock Velveeta...

Stating The Obvious

I love it when people here state the obvious because really without their help I wouldn't know things like - I sweat a lot, it's hot, I'm a foreigner, my language is bad, I'm not married, I've gained a few pounds, etc.  Yesterday was the perfect example of it happening in a progression.  Here is a little excerpt of a conversation I had while visiting with my neighbor. 

Neighbor: "Your skin is bad.  What is that on your forehead? Pimples?"
Me: "Yes, it's from the heat."
Neighbor: "Why are your arms so hairy? You don't wax?"
Me: "No."
Neighbor: "Why aren't you married?"
Me: "I don't know."  Thinking to myself, it seems to me you just pointed out a few reasons.

It's not all bad though.  She did offer to come to my house and give me a facial.  As it turns out she is employed in a beauty shop, and she is going to bring all her supplies and give me "the works".  I think she considers it a test of her skill. 

Guess Who's Back, Back Again... Anna's back.

I thought about titling this post It's Me Again Margaret but decided instead to keep with the Eminem reference in large part because my mother will not understand to whom I am referring.  This will undoubtedly prompt her to ask my friend Annie about it which can only lead to an awesome conversation about who is the real slim Shady.  This is just my way of squirrelling up both my mother and Annie from halfway across the world.    But I digress....  Most of you know that the last month was kind of a bumpy one.  To be honest the last month wasn't the only rough time I've experienced since moving here.  What made the last month more difficult than all the others was that for the first time since the battle commenced, I felt like a casualty.  At one point I looked in the mirror and seriously thought I was down for the count.  I thought the battle of the last 9 months had finally caught up to me and taken me down.  I had lost my laugh.  It was a body blow.  If you know me well, then you know what this means for me.  The Word says that I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  It says that the Maker of the Universe knit me together with great care, purpose, and love.  Who I am, my personality and strengths and weaknesses, those are gifts from my Maker to be used for His glory.  I love to laugh and be with people and share life with people.  I love to laugh so hard that it hurts.  I love to make people laugh and help them forget their problems.  I love to laugh and make people laugh just for the joy of it, because it feels good.  I love to sit with people and talk about everything and nothing all at the same time.  Being with people, being around people, loving people and letting people love me, these are all things I enjoy.  This part of the way Dad made me, and it has been so neat to see how He can use this part of me in this culture as I sit with women and girls in their villages and homes.  So you can imagine my distress when I felt like 3 weeks ago I just couldn't laugh.  I couldn't be around people.  I had nothing to give anyone.  I have never felt less like myself, and it was a scary feeling.  So.  What to do?  Something else about me that some of you can attest to is that I'm action-oriented.  I think it's the nurse in me.  When I encounter a problem, I want to immediately start working on the solution.  But I knew that with this particular beast I needed to be careful.  I knew that what I needed was the peace and rest only He can give, and that if I go off half-cocked trying to "fix" myself, I would wind up father up the creek.  There was no perfect plan or formula to follow to make me feel like me again. There needed to be a delicate balance of resting in Him and wrestling with Him.  I knew that only in returning and rest and in quietness and trust would I be saved and find my strength.  But I also knew that along with rest, I needed to wrestle with the Word and be in deep times of pr@yer.  I also felt Dad tell me that I needed to be more accountable to people so I shared my heart with some friends and was completely honest about what I needed.  This isn't my usual style, but it was good for me to be vulnerable with people and allow them to serve and minister to me.  So I did these things.   I rested, physically.  I was still before my G#d and listened.  I opened His Word and let it wash over me and teach, correct, and rebuke me.  And I spent lots of time with people who weren't having any trouble laughing and let them laugh for me until it became easier for me to laugh along with them.  PTL!  I'm back!!!  In quietness and in rest, in seeking Him through His Word and prayer, in letting others minister to my needs, Father has blessed.  I feel better now and more like myself than I have in a very long time.  I just want to be clear about one thing.  It can be dangerous to let mood and feelings dictate the day.  I am so thankful that no matter how I "feel", He NEVER changes.  The truths of His Word are still true.  He is always good.  He is always with me.  His joy is my strength, and it never runs dry.  He is the same, yesterday, today, and forever. 

Here are a few pics of the ladies who helped me laugh the last few weeks.
 I'm so thankful to call each one friend. 

This is my friend Ashlee.  She is always saying the craziest things.  I love hanging out with her because she laughs like me, often and from the gut. 

This is my friend Z.  I love sitting and just passing the chat with her.  She has the craziest stories.  She can discern my mood almost better than anyone.  Knowing I've been down lately, she has been calling nonstop to make sure I'm okay, stopping by for visits, and inviting me to her house.  She is a good friend.

This is my friend Laura.  I seriously feel like every time we are together something crazy happens.   We both love living overseas because of this crazy unpredictability factor.  I enjoy her flavor in these crazy situations. We make eye contact, and I can tell we are both thinking the same thing.  It's nice to have someone who also enjoys the sheer craziness of this life so that we can laugh together. 

A Mother's Love...

Here is an update on baby David that many of you have been asking about.  He left the hospital yesterday and headed back to his village after about two weeks in the hospital.  He is still small and has a long road ahead of him, but I can tell a small and yet noticeable difference in his condition from when I first saw him two and a half weeks ago.  It's amazing the difference regular feedings and IV antibiotics can make.  On my latest visit his mother couldn't wait to show off how much better he was doing. She talked about all of the special care he will need at home so I know she is aware that he is still frail.  But I also think she is looking for any reason to hope that he is going to be ok.  She clings to hope because she can't face the alternative, not after all that she's been through to have him.  David is her first and only child.  He came after almost 15 years of marriage.  This is a culture where so much of a woman's value is derived from her ability to produce a child so the fact that she was able to finally conceive and bear a son is no small thing.  On this most recent visit she told me how much she had pr@yed for a child and how she had taken a pilgrimage to a holy site in a different state to pr@y there.  I know she loves this little boy.  I know she loves him.  You know how I can tell?   It's not because of what she told me about how she struggled to have kids.  And it's not because of what I know about the culture and that now she no longer bears the disgrace of not giving her husband a child.  It's not because of what I know about her culture or her story.  It's because when I was sitting across from her she couldn't take her eyes off of him.  Even when she was talking to me, she was constantly making faces at him and stroking his face.  It's because since my last visit he gained 0.1 kg, and she couldn't wait to tell me.  Only a mother looks at David and thinks he looks strong.  Only a mother hopes like that.  A mother's love looks past all of the obstacles and just sees her baby.  That is a mother's love.

In My Head, In My Heart

I have this picture in my head of a little boy, two-months old, and so small, that the first time I saw him I asked his mom 3 times to be sure I was getting the age right.  I couldn't believe a 2 month old could be that tiny.  His mother assured me that yes he had been born two months ago.  He also as it turns out was born two months early.  I have a picture in my head of a little boy so tiny that the blanket he was wrapped in completely swallows him.  I have a picture in my head of a little boy who was only being fed 3 or 4 times a day because his mom thought he wasn't hungry.  See he wasn't eating that much at one feeding because his little tummy is so tiny so the mother thought he didn't need any more milk.  I have a picture in my head of a baby boy whose mother promised me wasn't being fed buffalo milk, but I know how expensive formula is and since she isn't able to breastfeed, I know the likelihood that he is getting exclusively formula is slim.  And if he is being fed buffalo milk, it is only a matter of time before he gets sick with diarrhea.  I have a picture in my head of a boy so small that I know his little body will not be able to fight off any sickness.  I have had this picture in my head for the last week since I met him for the first time, and every time I close my eyes, I've seen his little face staring back at me.  With this picture in my head, this week I went back to the village where he lives armed with a baby scale, formula, and some teaching on preemie care.  Upon arrival at his house, I learned he had been taken to the hospital the day after my last visit and no one had heard anything since.  Now with this picture entrenched even further, the next day I tracked the little boy down at the local hospital.  I hate it when I'm right.  He had gotten an infection from a dirty bottle/buffalo milk combination.  Now he has meningitis.  If I can read the doctor's chicken scratch correctly(seriously apparently doctors all around the globe have the same terrible handwriting), he weighs right around 4lbs.  His cry is sickly.  Don't think me callous, but this is the situation. The baby boy looks simply pathetic.  And as I looked at him yesterday in the hospital, I tried to tell myself to be reasonable.  I am a nurse after all, and I've lived here long enough to know the harsh realities that await this baby.  If he survives, and that is a big if, he will battle illness and be behind developmentally all his childhood.  Still as I looked at him, I was filled with hope.  Praise G#d.  I have hope.  That is something the darkness and weariness of this place cannot take from me.  I have hope in a Maker who heals and is all powerful.  I know the One who created that life.  I know the One who loves that life the most, and I know the One who can heal that life.  I shared all that with the mother and grandmother yesterday in the hospital.  Then I pr@yed with them in the name of the One who died for all our lives.  I've started calling the baby David.  No, that's not the baby's real name, but the way I see it that little boy has what seems like an insurmountable fight ahead of him.  By calling him David, I hope to always remember that against the Almighty One no adversary is too big.  So now this picture is no longer just in my head, but it is in my heart as well.