Day Six - Florence Nightingale is in the Village

After a full day of painting and the long drive from the clinic to the Pestke’s home in the city, I was glad to be able to jump in the shower.  Another missionary family in the area, the Tsoukalas’ (pronounced soo-ka’-las), had invited the Pestke’s and me over for dinner that night, and I didn’t have much time to change out of my painting clothes.  I asked Savannah is she had a small piece of steel wool that could be spared.  I was preparing to use it to scrub the remaining oil based paint off my body.  Plain water wouldn’t remove anything, but surely if I applied a little abrasion, I’d have success.  My epidermis would probably suffer, but at least I would have fewer paint patches on my body.   I laughed when I looked in the mirror at my clothes and my skin.  Praise the Lord I hadn’t gotten any paint in my hair (a miraculous feat considering I hadn’t worn a hat or scarf all day).

the Tsoukalas family

We made the short drive to the Tsoukalas’ home and were greeted warmly by several frisky, family dogs.  Jimmy, Julie, and their daughter’s were great hosts.  Jimmy has been deaf since birth, and he’s doing a wonderful job teaching and discipling at the Magwero Deaf school, located outside the city limits.  Julie is a great cook.  We ate, laughed, ate some more, and enjoyed a wonderful time of fellowship.

Once I got back to my room, I began to put together the layette kits for babies born at the health clinic.  The clinic averages about 30 births per month, so I was very thankful for all of the donations of baby items.  I brought two suitcases with me to Zambia, and one was filled completely with cloth diapers, newborn onesies, baby hats and mittens, rubber diaper pants, and diaper pins.  I would like to say a special word of thanks to Vickie Pendleton for hand sewing all of the diaper bags.  They looked beautiful, and the women loved them.  I thought I had taken careful inventory of all the items I packed, but once I started dividing everything for the bags, I realized I was missing 20 diapers.  I couldn’t understand it.  It has become a common occurrence whenever I travel internationally that airport security chooses my luggage for their ‘random’ security searches.  I don’t think my suitcases look suspicious (they are just basic black like the majority of the bags), but it never fails.  I don’t have any proof of this, but I’m assuming that one of the baggage agents had a baby at home and needed the diapers.  I could only hope that someone was getting some good use out of them.  Sleep came easily after a very long day, but I was looking forward to returning to the clinic to finish up the work.

 
Just as she had done every morning since my arrival, Analiese knocked on my door and called out, “Miss Phylicia.”  She was always a welcome sight.  Our morning routine usually involved tying back the curtains in the living room, chitty-chatting about this and that, and looking through my pictures stored on the laptop.  Three year olds are so incredibly honest.  As Analiese looked through the photos, she would comment and ask questions.  “I like your face in this picture.”  “What is all that white stuff (my Wisconsin snow pictures)?”  “Can we look at something different?  I don’t like these.”  “It sure is a mess in here!”  When it was time to leave, she helped me gather up all the diaper bags that I would be taking to the clinic.  I loved the different color fabrics that were used to make each bag, and Analiese is pictured carrying my favorite print (a yellow background patterned with trees, giraffes, and monkeys).

Dan and Kevin needed to stop at the hardware store in town to get more paint, rollers, and other materials for the work we’d be doing that day.  Dan drove to the ‘down shops’ to get the supplies.  While they were shopping, Mr. Robert Zulu happened along.  Mr. Zulu is married to Doreen, and he seemed to be everywhere.  It had been warm and spring-like since I arrived in Chipata, yet Mr. Zulu was dressed in a long sleeve shirt, heavy sweater, and he even had on wool socks.  Kevin commented on the unusual attire for such a warm day.  Mr. Zulu responded, “You can never be too sure when the weather will suddenly change.”  I had no idea how accurate his forecast would be. We arrived at the clinic and began to unload everything.  A skeleton crew was present to help finish up the painting, plastering, and fitting of door frames.  Literacy class had been canceled the day before so that the students could help at the clinic.  Doreen was returning to a normal class schedule, so none of the women had come to help paint.  I gathered up all the bags and walked into the main clinic building.  Mable Phiri was busy, as usual, attending to the needs of her patients.  I greeted her warmly and placed all of the diaper bags on the table in the office.  I explained that the bags had been made for the mothers of newborns and showed her the items that were in each.  Kevin had also given me some gospel tracts to place inside.  I asked if she’d been busy that morning.  She nodded her head and said that she had delivered a little baby boy just a few hours earlier.  I was so delighted.  I asked about the birth and the mom, if they were both doing alright.  Mable said everything had gone smoothly, but she looked tired as she talked with me.  I knew she had been working around the clock with little sleep.  Her life gave new meaning to the term ‘being on call.’   Mable and Kevin both suggested that I take one of the bags to the mom who had just delivered and present all the baby gifts to her.  The tears welled up in my eyes, and I could only whisper, “Really?” Kevin smiled at me and said, “Why don’t you give her your favorite bag.”  Fighting back tears, I nodded in approval and said, “OK.” 

Mable went to the storage closet and took out a baby blanket from a box of donations that had been provided by the Chick-fil-a Winshape team a few weeks prior.  She added the blanket to the diaper bag that I would be presenting.  As we walked to the maternity ward, Mable told me that the mother had arrived at the clinic with nothing for the baby.  I was suddenly sad and happy at the same time.  This woman had nothing (the thought made me feel sad), yet I had something that would be such a blessing to her new baby (the thought of that made me feel so joyful).  We entered the room, and there on the recovery table lay a sweet woman and her little baby boy.  Mable told her why I had come, and she smiled.  I asked the mom if it would be alright if I took her and the baby’s picture.  Thankfully, she said yes.  Mable picked up this beautiful, healthy, baby boy.  He weighed 3.4 kilograms, which is almost  7 ½ pounds.  The little guy was wearing rags of some sort for his diaper, and he had already ‘pooped’ in it.  Mable cleaned him off, discarded the rags, and took one of the new cloth diapers from the diaper bag.  I handed her the diaper pins, and she showed the mom how to secure the diaper with the pins and put the rubber pants over the diaper to keep the baby’s clothing from getting wet.  The mom just kept smiling.  Mable wrapped the baby in his new, warm blanket, removed his hat so that I could see his full head of hair, and they posed for an official portrait. I thanked the mom for allowing me to take her picture, and I touched the baby's cheek (just briefly). Then I LEVITATED out of the recovery room, so thankful that God had allowed me to take part in a simple exchange of kindness and see the joy on the face of the one who received the blessing.

As Mable and I walked back to the main building, I asked her if she could spare about 15 to 20 minutes for an interview.  I wanted everyone in my circle of influence back home to know about the work she was doing at the clinic.  I explained that I would write a brief synopsis about her life and work and post the story on my website, along with her picture (click here to read the write-up of that interview).  She agreed, and we both went about our duties.  Mable had dozens of patients who needed attention, and I had a just a few walls, window and door frames that needed more paint.

We met during her lunch break.  Mable had a very modest home on the compound, so she was always available for patients. Florence Nightingale, a British nurse who lived in the late 1800s and is considered the founder of modern nursing, was known as the lady with the lamp because she faithfully made her rounds in the dead of night, checking on her patients to make sure their needs were met.  Until a few weeks ago, Mable had been the lady with the candle - delivering babies by candlelight at all hours of the day and night.  Now, she had entered the 21^st century, and had control of a light switch.  I got giddy with excitement every time I thought about it.  Mable invited me in and offered me a seat.  I started the interview by asking general questions about her place of birth, schooling, and family upbringing.  I didn’t want to keep her too long.  She told me that she used her lunch hour to catch up on sleep, but she was enjoying the conversation we were having.  We were developing a fast bond, and she shared, voluntarily, so much about her family life – events and experiences that she’d never told anyone before.  Our conversation turned to spiritual matters, and I felt compelled to share my salvation testimony with her.  She told me that it was her faith in Christ that had sustained her during those really difficult years when her family was suffering.  I invited her to come to the bible study I would be teaching the next day for the ladies at Big Tree Baptist Church.  She said she would try to make it if the clinic wasn’t too busy.  Then, for no apparent reason, she told me that her grandfather was a pastor who had lived in the Congo and started a church there.  I was completely intrigued – an African pastor in the early 1900s telling other Africans about Christ.   I asked her who told her grandfather about Jesus, and her simple response was, “missionaries.”  At that moment something seemed to hit me inside my gut, but I didn’t say anything to her at the time.  Forty five minutes had passed.  Mable hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, and it was time for her to get back to work.  I gave her a big hug, apologized for letting the interview go on for so long, and she and I walked back to the clinic together.   Before I rejoined Kevin, Dan, Levi, and the others who were still working, I needed a few minutes to gather myself.  

As I mulled over my conversation with Mable,  I began to realize that it was quite possible I had just conducted an interview with the granddaughter of an African pastor who came to Christ because of the direct influence of missionary David Livingstone while he was exploring and mapping areas of the Congo, searching for the source of the Nile River in the late 1800s.  I would probably never know for sure this side of heaven, but the thought was staggering, to say the least.  Late that afternoon on the drive home, Kevin asked me what God was doing in my heart.  I’m not certain he was prepared for my response. 

Tomorrow:  African Winter