Many aspects of life here in Barat
just take more time as we lack many conveniences we are used to in the
States. Learning language and culture definitely
takes time, but in some areas I still get surprised. Our first year in Barat I didn’t use any beef
in my cooking. Finally, we discovered not
only where to buy beef, but that we
could also get it ground into hamburger.
I had a similar experience with chicken this week. I usually buy a whole chicken once a week; it
is slaughtered and chopped up while I wait.
It comes with the organs, neck, and all the meat on the bones. A friend told me just last week, you can ask
the butcher to take the meat off the bones, what a concept, I never thought
this was possible. Unfortunately, the first
butcher I asked, just looked at me funny.
So this week I tried another butcher and I came home with the meat in
one bag and the bones in another! At
first I thought of just pitching the bones, but I use chicken broth quite a
bit, which I have to make from scratch, so the bones worked well for that
yesterday.
The other incident that had not
happened before, thankfully, was a semi-emergent visit to the local
clinic. We’ve visited the local clinic before,
when Caedmon had an eye infection, to learn about malaria rates in Barat, and
for a pregnancy check-up, but this time was different. It was 9:30 in the morning, last Tuesday, when I received a
call from one of Whitman’s teachers. She
informed me that she and Whitman where at the local clinic because he fell at
school and split his chin open. It was a
small wound, but the nurses at the clinic recommended at least 2 stitches. The teacher was calling because Whitman would
not let them stitch him up without me or John there. The phone conversation began with the teacher
apologizing for bothering me. Thankfully
I was given a great deal of peace and enough of a level head to ask which
clinic they were at before hanging up. I
proceeded to place sleeping Evangeline into the carrier, grabbed my own first
aid kit, and set off. I rode a mini-bus
downtown, then found a Pedi-cab to take me to the clinic. I probably could have ridden the mini-bus the
whole way, but I wasn’t exactly sure where the clinic was and I was sure the Pedi-cab
driver would know.
I arrived at the clinic and was
quickly greeted by Whitman’s teachers.
They led me to a small room where Whitman was laying on a stretcher
looking tired and concerned, but not crying.
After getting the full story from the teachers, I looked at the wound,
which was no more than a centimeter in length and not too deep. I decided to just use steri-strips to keep
the would closed. I’m still not sure
what the nurses, who would have done the stitching, or his teachers thought of
this, but it was small and from shadowing nurses at a hospital in the big city,
I assumed the needle which they were to use to be dull from multiple uses (well
sterilized though). Whitman was very
happy to not get stiches and we left within a ½ hour of my arrival.
 |
| Brave Whitman |
 |
| Steri-stripped |
On the way home Whitman related
how a friend at school had pushed him while they were sitting to recite prayers. He fell forward, but didn’t realize at first
that he had an “owie.” He said, “I
curled up like an egg and cried.” Then
when he got up everyone saw blood. Two
of his teachers took him on a motorcycle to the clinic, without his helmet
which he did have at school. Whitman
said, “Even the teachers didn’t wear helmets," and "I got a little blood on one of my teacher's shirts, so she had to change."
The rest of the day Whitman was himself, only twice saying, “I wish I didn’t have this owie on my chin.”
It was a very smooth experience,
we are thankful Whitman is well, that we were called by his teachers, and that
they took such good care of him. One
teacher even returned to the school only to be replaced at the clinic by a teacher
to whom Whitman is closer with.
