From NA to TA

This semester, I am teaching 3 health classes. I had so many people sign up for my nursing assistant/community health agent course that I decided to expand in order to accommodate them. Over 40 of these applicants were high school and college students; I created a special course just for them and so far, it is my favorite.

 

We meet two afternoons a week and I teach a modified version of the classic community health curriculum. The students take exams and learn practical skills such as blood pressure checks, bandage changes, and bed baths, but we also play games and do competitions as fun alternative ways to learn the material. Although those things make the class entertaining, it is my teaching assistants that make it my favorite.

 

Teaching hands-on skills to 40 students is no joke, so as I was planning the high school course, I decided to take my 6 best graduates and use them as teaching assistants. Each is fully responsible for a group of 5-8 students, taking care of attendance, weekly fees and hands-on skill practice, and helping me administer tests and run activities. When I am done lecturing and the TAs take over with a game or a skill, I watch them with a big goofy grin on my face. Hearing them re-teach things that I once taught them and seeing them encourage students in the same way that I encourage them just makes me glow.

 

 

 

We don't always see the fruit of our labor here in Haiti, but I see it every week in my TAs and I love it. I am very proud of them and excited to watch them continue to grow as instructors. Perhaps one of them will eventually take over all my classes...

"Desert becomes a fertile field"

There's a verse in Isaiah that says "...when the Spirit is poured out on us and the desert becomes a fertile field and the fertile field becomes a forest."

 

Gonaives is not naturally a desert but thanks to deforestation, erosion and flooding, it has virtually become one. Jubilee in particular, because of the salinity of the soil due to its proximity to the ocean, is a barren place.

 

 

My friends and I have prayed that verse from Isaiah over the land in Jubilee and we have made many less-than-successful attempts to cultivate a garden by our clinic and school. But in the last 10 months, under the steadfast labor of our neighbor JB, the garden is finally becoming a reality.

 

It may not seem like much to you, but to see a dozen trees that are as tall as JB or taller is very exciting for me. These sturdy little plants have withstood being gnawed on by goats and they've proven that they are tough enough to grow in the salty dirt. In the last 8 months, it has only rained once in Gonaives, but with JB's unfailing care, the trees have continued to grow.

 

My American friends who oversee the garden project are not in Haiti, so I have accidentally become the person "responsible" for it. In reality, all JB needs from me is access to the garden funds and affirmation for what he is doing, and he will keep working. Today he showed me the sights he has prepared for 30 new baby trees. They won't all survive, but even if only 2 or 3 of them do, we'll be thrilled.

As JB and I walked out of the garden, I said, "Just think, JB. In a couple years, our school kids will be able to play under the trees during recess." His face exploded in a huge grin and with shining eyes, he nodded. "That will be a miracle, Miss Keziah!" And he's right. It will be a miracle and an answered prayer. When the desert becomes a fertile field...

My extra students

Ever heard of auditing a class? You know, you attend the class and listen to the lectures, but you don't take the exams and you don't get a grade. 

 

My classes are audited by pigs. Every single day.

 

 

 

This is Haiti.

Bite size

I was teaching a community health class yesterday afternoon when a woman arrived. She was missing a chunk of her face! Apparently she and a business partner had gotten into a fight and the other lady had bit her, leaving her with a crevice the size of a quarter just below her mouth.  

 

So I did the best I could to stitch her up, but it's hard to fix a wound when a piece of flesh is missing. I was almost done when I heard a ruckus outside the clinic door. Guess who it was?

 

 

What do you know? It was the business partner, the one who had chewed a nugget out of my current patient's face, and she was there because she needed stitches too! When Lady #2 bit Lady #1, Lady #1 reacted by biting back, so as soon as I finished my first case, I started on the second. Hers wasn't as serious because there wasn't any missing tissue, but her lip was really mashed up and it took me a long time to put it back together.

 

I joked with my friends that in more than 6 years of work in Haiti, I have never sewn up a bite wound before, never mind two bite wounds in one day, both on the mouth. So you can imagine how hard we all laughed when this guy appeared at my door this afternoon. Yes, he'd also been bit on the mouth and he was missing a wad of lip. I sewed him up at my kitchen table.

Life is weird. Three bite wounds on the lips in 24 hours? Maybe it's a new fad in Gonaives, but if people would listen to the advice of the nurse, I would tell them to bite some other body part. Mouths are hard to stitch and you'll look really funny wearing a bandage on your lips!

Help fund Klinik Jubile

Not to toot our own horn, but I think that Klinik Jubilee is a pretty fantastic place.

 

Our current staff consists of 6 Haitians. Our RN Wisline sees patients 4 days a week and is so compassionate that one of the teenage moms who graduated from our prenatal program named Wisline the godmother of her baby boy.

 

Samuela and JB are graduates of the nursing assistant course that Martha started and I inherited. They also work all week in clinic and have never said no to any assignment we've given them. They are the first people you see when you walk into clinic and you can't help but grin when you see how cheerful they are.

 

 

We sent our former nurse, Vesline, to another city in Haiti to participate in a year-long midwife training course. She is back in Gonaives now part-time, helping with our prenatal program and training local midwives with her new expertise.

 

Valmy and Oscar, also graduates from the nursing assistant class, do our weekend visits to the elderly and handicapped children. I love watching them stoop down to their patients' level - something no typical Haitian would willingly condescend to do.

 

 

This week, the hospital in the neighborhood of Raboteau is on strike, not receiving any patients. It is one of two hospitals in this city of approximately 400,000. Our clinic may be small, but we see anywhere from 150-200 patients a week in our general, prenatal, malnutrition, blood pressure, and vision programs. Not to mention all the after-hours visits when our staff comes in, without getting paid, to stitch someone up or to put bandages on a burned infant.

 

 

We are struggling to raise the funds that we need this year to keep our staff paid and our clinic stocked. Last year, our budget was $12,000. This year, with staff raises and expanded services including more lab tests, infant formula, and specialized medications, we expect to need closer to $20,000. If you are looking for a cause to support regularly or would like to make a one-time gift to help us out, please go to muchministries.org and donate through PayPal. Make sure to note "Clinic" in the Comments box! Or you can mail a check made out to Much Ministries, memo "Clinic", to PO Box 24599 St. Simons Island, GA, 31522.

Haiti

When I walked into clinic today, I saw a handwritten sign on the wall. It read, "Welcome, Miss Keziah! Jubilee is so happy that you're back!" None of my staff would admit to writing it, but their huge smiles confessed louder than words.

 

Haiti. Home.

 

It's the heat and the exhaustion - I forgot a little about the heat and the exhaustion - but it's also the hugs and the squeals of delight. I think I forgot about those too.

 

Haiti. Home.

 

It's good to be here.

 

 

Jess

My friend Jess passed away on October 26th, exactly 6 months after being diagnosed with bone cancer.

 

I think many things about my time with Jess, her life and her death, but the simplest emotion is this: "Mwen sonje w". In Haitian Creole, that phrase means "I remember you" and it also means "I miss you." I love that, as if the very act of remembering you makes me miss you. As if the fondness that makes me remember you automatically evokes the sadness of your absence.

 

I remember Jess many times a day, every day. And therefore I miss her. So Jess, to you: a salute, and "Mwen sonje w."