While I was excited to fly airplanes again here in Africa, I think what really had me spooled up was the prospect of getting involved in ministry - developing friendships, learning the culture, seeking to clearly communicate my own experience of God's grace and mercy to the people around me. Based on past experience, I thought the best place to start here would be to develop a friendship with someone involved in spiritual leadership. I've found that man. His name is Emanuel, and I wish everyone I know could meet him - funny, winsome, articulate, and equipped with a plus-sized heart. In addition to pastoring a church in an outlying village, he works for Flying Mission, managing a number of outreach programs that we are involved in as an organization.
The past couple of months he and I have been meeting, and I have been accompanying him on a number of the projects with which he's involved, with an eye toward discerning where best I can come alongside. Please pray for me as I become more engaged on this front.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Shelley writes
It’s certainly not what I expected - filling my days with work, work, work. And some days I do feel sorry for myself. This job really is a life-sucker sometimes. I work 8 or 9 hours a day. I work on Saturdays, I work in the evenings, I get up early every day. Every day there is something new to be depressed about – I have to do conferences this week, I have to advise a tournament on Saturday, I have to stay late . . . again. But thankfully Pete’s job keeps everything in perspective for me. It’s easy to feel sorry for myself until I hear about people who are 90% burned, their skin too charred to even give them morphine. Or about another baby who died of a respiratory problem.
And I do have so much to be thankful for. I’m living in the continent where my heart is. I feel at home in Africa. Of course, I love the sun. I love that our neighborhood is filled with roosters, goats, packs of dogs, loud hip-hop music, and the beautiful sound of children playing. I love that Caleb and Malena can go outside our gate and play with the neighborhood kids, buy ice lollies from the tuck shop right around the corner, walk the dogs all by themselves.
And I’m extremely thankful to be at the same school as my kids. They are getting a fantastic experience and I get to share that with them. What a blessing! Caleb and Malena are learning to speak Setswana. They get to take a real art class and a real music class. Caleb regularly gets to play the drums at assembly. Malena gets to take swimming at school, they only have 15 kids in their class and the students are from all around the world. We recently had an assembly at our school to celebrate Independence day for Botswana and the local chief came and gave a speech. Caleb’s class did traditional dancing and there was so much Botswana culture emanating from the auditorium - it was truly moving. I felt truly blessed to be in Botswana and I want to give a big shout out to God for giving us this amazing experience, and even though I will be working late today, I am truly thankful . . . . . . .
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
A Tough Week
This is what I came here to do. That doesn't make it any easier.
On Monday, we flew to the town of Kasane in the middle of the night to pick up two victims of a car crash - one with a broken femur, the other with both head and internal injuries.
On Thursday, news came that five men had been terribly burned out in the Kalahari desert, near the town of Hukuntsi, after they'd been trapped between converging bush fires. During this season, we often see these lines of fire, sometimes extending for miles, while flying at night - eerily beautiful dull orange slashes through the bush. Never had I imagined the nightmares they could produce. We launched from Gaborone into the ominous dark sky, timing our departure so that we would touch down on the unlit, unpaved airstrip precisely at sunrise. Out of the ambulance came a horror of charred flesh, second and third degree burns covering more than three quarters of their bodies. We did our best to put down the incongruous mixture of revulsion and compassion that we felt upon the sight of these poor men, and to concentrate on our jobs - getting them back to medical care in Gaborone. The last news I heard was that they were being cared for at the new private hospital here in town. Two had died; three were still hanging on to life.
On Friday, it was up to Kasane again to pick up the German victim of an elephant attack.
How does that old Peace Corp recruiting line go? Something like "the toughest job you'll ever love." I can't come up with a better description of my work here in Botswana.
On Monday, we flew to the town of Kasane in the middle of the night to pick up two victims of a car crash - one with a broken femur, the other with both head and internal injuries.
On Thursday, news came that five men had been terribly burned out in the Kalahari desert, near the town of Hukuntsi, after they'd been trapped between converging bush fires. During this season, we often see these lines of fire, sometimes extending for miles, while flying at night - eerily beautiful dull orange slashes through the bush. Never had I imagined the nightmares they could produce. We launched from Gaborone into the ominous dark sky, timing our departure so that we would touch down on the unlit, unpaved airstrip precisely at sunrise. Out of the ambulance came a horror of charred flesh, second and third degree burns covering more than three quarters of their bodies. We did our best to put down the incongruous mixture of revulsion and compassion that we felt upon the sight of these poor men, and to concentrate on our jobs - getting them back to medical care in Gaborone. The last news I heard was that they were being cared for at the new private hospital here in town. Two had died; three were still hanging on to life.
On Friday, it was up to Kasane again to pick up the German victim of an elephant attack.
How does that old Peace Corp recruiting line go? Something like "the toughest job you'll ever love." I can't come up with a better description of my work here in Botswana.
Elephant Attack
Olga and her husband were sleeping peacefully in their tent. They had camped here in Chobe National Park several times before, and their experience gave them great respect for the wildlife around them - particularly elephant, which are found here in the greatest concentration of anywhere in Africa.
Nothing prepared them for what was to happen next.
At about 5:30 in the morning, they started to hear the rustling, breaking branches, and heavy footfalls of an elephant herd approaching. With no discernible provocation, one elephant became suddenly agitated, trumpeting and stamping very close to the tent. Suddenly a tusk came through the wall of the tent, pierced Olga's back, and lifted her off of the ground. In shock, neither husband or wife was able to move before one of the elephant's legs crushed the side of the tent, quickly followed by another tusk which this time completely impaled Olga.
I was sitting in the office on flight standby when the call came. We knew that with the level of medical facilities available in the town of Kasane, we would have to be as fast as possible in getting advanced care to Olga, and just as fast in transporting her to the hospital in Johannesburg. We launched with a doctor and a medic on board, and after a two hour flight had Doc and Collin busy stabilizing her and preparing her for the flight south. When they returned from the hospital, we were fueled and ready to load her and her husband onto the aircraft.
When we have patients on board, we use the radio callsign "Mercy One." This tells the traffic controllers and other aircraft that we require a clear route ahead, with no delays to our flight because of its critical medical status. Upon our safe arrival in Johannesburg, Olga's husband shook our hands, saying in his broken English, "You are called Mercy One. That is a good name. Thank you for showing us mercy today."
I am thankful that the Lord has given us here at Flying Mission the ability to translate, in some small way, the deep mercy He has shown us into mercy for others.
Nothing prepared them for what was to happen next.
At about 5:30 in the morning, they started to hear the rustling, breaking branches, and heavy footfalls of an elephant herd approaching. With no discernible provocation, one elephant became suddenly agitated, trumpeting and stamping very close to the tent. Suddenly a tusk came through the wall of the tent, pierced Olga's back, and lifted her off of the ground. In shock, neither husband or wife was able to move before one of the elephant's legs crushed the side of the tent, quickly followed by another tusk which this time completely impaled Olga.
I was sitting in the office on flight standby when the call came. We knew that with the level of medical facilities available in the town of Kasane, we would have to be as fast as possible in getting advanced care to Olga, and just as fast in transporting her to the hospital in Johannesburg. We launched with a doctor and a medic on board, and after a two hour flight had Doc and Collin busy stabilizing her and preparing her for the flight south. When they returned from the hospital, we were fueled and ready to load her and her husband onto the aircraft.
When we have patients on board, we use the radio callsign "Mercy One." This tells the traffic controllers and other aircraft that we require a clear route ahead, with no delays to our flight because of its critical medical status. Upon our safe arrival in Johannesburg, Olga's husband shook our hands, saying in his broken English, "You are called Mercy One. That is a good name. Thank you for showing us mercy today."
I am thankful that the Lord has given us here at Flying Mission the ability to translate, in some small way, the deep mercy He has shown us into mercy for others.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Mozambique and Beyond
We just returned a week or so ago from a long road trip through South Africa, our much-loved Mozambique, and (briefly) Swaziland. There were many highlights on a very memorable trip indeed, but chief among them was the great joy of introducing Malena to her homeland. Caleb was about four when we left, and he has a surprising breadth of memories of our time there - his very earliest memories, in fact, are of Moz. But Malena was only one when we departed, so all she knew of the place were stories she'd been told and pictures she'd seen.
Driving into Maputo brought back to us all we'd forgotten, and revealed how different it is from Gabs: crowds of vibrantly dressed people all over town, riding perched on top of 18 wheelers, hawking steering wheel covers on the side of the road, women carrying their little ones wrapped up in capalanas, commuters packed by the baker's dozen into honking, sidewalk-driving minibuses. Maputo is a seaside mix of high-rise communist era apartment squalor, decaying excesses from the days of the Portuguese, interminable hovels made of concrete blocks and aluminum roofing, and narrow slices of opulence, which the cynical among us would say are inhabited primarily by UN aid workers and other governmental development people.
We stayed with my old Air Serv boss, Chris Branks, and his family for a few days while we reacquainted ourselves with the city. It turned out to be quite an adventure. Riots started in the city over a rise in the government-set price of a basic staple, bread, just 36 hours after we arrived. We were forced to hunker down for a couple of days, listening to sporadic AK-47 fire and keeping a close ear on the radio news. We were distraught to hear that ten or so folks died and a good number were injured in the chaos, with people lighting tires on fire and burning buses and cars around the city. Mozambique remains one of the poorest countries on the planet, with a vast gulf between the rich and poor. What we consider an inconsequential rise in food prices can have a substantial impact on those living on very little indeed.
Fortunately, things calmed down enough to get around the city a bit. We visited our old house, which we believe the current tenants have not improved.
We also were able to visit the Hospital Central where we first found Malena, and to see the orphanage where she would have grown up had we never met. At the orphanage, Malena spent a bit of time with a baby that looked much like her at six months. I found myself simultaneously occupying both 2003 and 2010, looking down at the beautiful daughter that God brought into our lives, and that other little girl that very well could have been Malena seven years ago. I wondered what Malena's life would look like today, and perhaps more acutely, what our lives would be like today had we never met. We wouldn't know it, but we would be impoverished beyond reckoning had this clever, lovely, and funny girl never entered our lives.
We also spent some great time catching up with our dear friends the Reeves, and had some serendipitous chance meetings with a number of old friends and acquaintances around town. Then it was north to Chris's beach paradise near the town of Xai-Xai, the subject of my next post. . .
Driving into Maputo brought back to us all we'd forgotten, and revealed how different it is from Gabs: crowds of vibrantly dressed people all over town, riding perched on top of 18 wheelers, hawking steering wheel covers on the side of the road, women carrying their little ones wrapped up in capalanas, commuters packed by the baker's dozen into honking, sidewalk-driving minibuses. Maputo is a seaside mix of high-rise communist era apartment squalor, decaying excesses from the days of the Portuguese, interminable hovels made of concrete blocks and aluminum roofing, and narrow slices of opulence, which the cynical among us would say are inhabited primarily by UN aid workers and other governmental development people.
We stayed with my old Air Serv boss, Chris Branks, and his family for a few days while we reacquainted ourselves with the city. It turned out to be quite an adventure. Riots started in the city over a rise in the government-set price of a basic staple, bread, just 36 hours after we arrived. We were forced to hunker down for a couple of days, listening to sporadic AK-47 fire and keeping a close ear on the radio news. We were distraught to hear that ten or so folks died and a good number were injured in the chaos, with people lighting tires on fire and burning buses and cars around the city. Mozambique remains one of the poorest countries on the planet, with a vast gulf between the rich and poor. What we consider an inconsequential rise in food prices can have a substantial impact on those living on very little indeed.
Fortunately, things calmed down enough to get around the city a bit. We visited our old house, which we believe the current tenants have not improved.
 | ||||
| Caleb and Malena believe our old back yard may have shrunk in our absence |
 |
| outside Hospital Central |
 |
| getting to know some of the kids at Primiero do Mayo orphanage |
 |
| Primiero do Mayo |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
