Sunday, July 21, 2013

The Summer of 13

So while our summer should have ended last week since Jacob started classes, we decided to extend it a week for a very special reason.
But overall, the summer was great.
First there was PMI. Always a fun time, especially the coffeehouse where missionaries tell anecdotes from far away lands that will have you in stitches!
Then we were off to Surprise! No really... that's the name of the city. Old friends, new friends, red friends, blue friends, the whole nine yards.
We swung by the Grand Canyon, which tried to kill me.
When we got back, friends from my undergrad who we hung out with a lot while they lived here were house sitting and we got to spend a few days with them before they headed back east.

A friend from GIAL works at Medieval Times and scored us free tickets. A dinner out and a jousting show was fun change from normal date night. While we were at Medieval Times, we spent the pre-show time in the Torture Museum. This was a $2 poorly spent. They started off with the stocks and gallows and guillotine, but then we sunk into the dark ages with torture devices that were sick and vile. That people actually invented for the new ways to violate, humiliate, and torture other humans. I slipped out early and found a comrade in thought sitting on the bench at the exit. "People actually used that stuff," she said to me shaking her head. I just shook my head as I focused on stilling my hands. The horsemanship and swordmanship of the main event was significantly more lighthearted. It was a great show. And our serving wench was amazing.


Looking on the D Magazine event page, I noticed a performance of the Shakespeare Company, The Bible: The Complete Work of God (Abridged). I saw The Shakespeare Company's The Great Works: Abridged in Norfolk once and Jacob had seen their play, The Works of Shakespeare (Abridged). The three man comedic play was not one I would be missing. I saw the manuscript for The Bible on my first exposure and knew it would be great show.
And it was. I think it would be even more funny for a non-Christian, who are not concerned with irreverent comments. Jacob and I, even as firm believers in God's sense of humor, hesitated at a few jokes wondering if they had crossed a line. "Was that a line?" "That might have been a line." "...." The only thing sacred was the Crucifixion and Resurrection before the play resumed their humor with the Axe of the Apostles. But with only a handful of profanity and a few lewd remarks, the play was hilarious.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

The Day I Almost Got Eaten by a Crocodile: A Short Story

When I asked if there was anything in the water that could hurt me and she hesitated, I should've known.

Martha habitually took a short walk away from the village to the river we went fishing in to go swimming on Sundays. As it's inappropriate for a woman to venture into the bush alone, she generally was escorted by a gang of national girls who would spend their time swinging off vines and splashing into the water. (It is the jungle.)
But this was just after my fishing experience and I wanted some time of just quiet. So I convinced Martha to sneak off with my instead of summoning her escort. And equally enamored by the idea of not having the squealing clamor of the girls, she agreed and we made it away. 

Slipping into the water, I asked if anything could get me, looking about apprehensively as I sank down to my shoulders and she hesitated. At her less than prompt reply, I stood up abruptly attempting to minimize the amount of me that could be suddenly attacked. 
"Like... snakes?"
I'm not afraid of snakes, per se. I'm afraid of being unexpectedly and fatally attacked. Water snakes just tend to be particularly adept at that. 
"No. No water snakes."
"Piranhas!?!" 
Same principle.
"No. Just, crocodiles swim in these waters. But that's why we brought the dog. The crocodile is way more likely to go for Nandi than us."
Reason #2 for guard dogs: Bait/distraction
While no crocodiles attacked, when we returned from the village the girls scolded us saying that after fishing, with so many dead fish in the water, that's when the crocodiles come around to feed. 
Apparently, I was quite lucky not to have been eaten that day!
Martha seemed to think this was hilarious. 

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Vengeance is Savory: A Short Story

So you know those farm scenes where the rooster crows waking you up in the morning?
It leads you to believe that roosters crow when the sun rises. 
LIES!
Roosters crow ALL THE TIME. 
Are you familiar with "Roosters go cock-a-doodle-doo!"?
LIES!
Roosters sound like women screaming bloody murder. 
And while we were in Samban, the first time I was in Papua New Guinea, it set the whole team on edge. One person was so affected that they demanded to be the person to prepare our gift rooster for dinner. 
Vengeance is savory. 

One night in PNG, I was having a dream, I don't remember what about, but it was a good dream. 
But I remember my focus switching to dream-Lindy who was dying. Real-Lindy was sick with malaria. Dream-Lindy was screaming and I tried to run to her. But it was a dream and what's up with running in dreams?!
I woke scared for her when dream-Lindy's screams morphed into real-roosters dying howl. 
It was 2:00 am.
Needless to say, I was quite displeased. 

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

How to Not be a Crazy Tourist

One day we were in the market when we heard someone shouting. We turned to see this white woman
approached nationals and was shouting at them about the cool way they were holding their babies. Gesticulating wildly and shouting the whole time, she removed her backpack to pull it on her stomach like a baby carrier to show them how they held babies in America.
We deducted that a cruise ship had docked somewhere and tourists were led to the market to rub elbows with the nationals. They were everywhere, shouting, standing in clusters looking frightened of the world, and haggling. 
You can tell the tourists from the local white people easily. And that's because tourists act so ... touristy. 
And if you're from Hampton Roads, you know what a grave insult that is. 
Coming from Hampton Roads, I was raised hating tourists. (Pronounced ter -ists. It also needs to be spat out as if the word is distasteful.) And the reasons for our disdain was well founded. ALWAYS in the way. LOUD, RUDE, IGNORANT. I can go on and on about this but I won't. 

The main thing is, you may be a tourist, don't seem a tourist.

  • Dress appropriately.
    Maybe you don't know the cultural expectations. Just look out a window and do what the majority are doing. DO NOT see ONE girl sporting skinny jeans and think that's ok. You don't know her reputation. 
  • Shhh!
    If you don't know the language, shouting is not going to help. If you're lucky enough to be in Papua New Guinea where the trade language sounds almost just like English, speak slowly and clearly with simple vocabulary. If they do know some English, it's more likely they'll understand "too much" than "exorbitantly priced."
  • Listen!
    Some places you're just going to stick out, like me in Papua New Guinea. I'm the center of attention ALL THE TIME. If you love the spotlight, trust that it will come to you, but spend as much time listening as you can. You'll learn way more that way that if your mouth is going a mile a minute.  
  • Be a Follower
    No one expects you to take a class on cultural expectations before you come, but if you don't want to be a tourist, look around. Is anyone haggling at the market? Not in PNG. That would be rude. Trying to say their food isn't worth the price they listed! How are people greeting each other? Men and women aren't exchanging pleasantries? Be careful not to imply you're loose and especially do not extend invitations.
    I know this is so not the American way, but stop and look around. Go second. Be a follower. Be a student in a new culture. 
  • Go with the flow
    Act like you belong. Timid, quivering, and hesitant people stand out. Smile pretty, join a wave of people and walk with them, do as the person in front of you does. Is he stopping to look at things? Is he ignoring everything? 
While the examples are Papua New Guinean, the principles apply everywhere. So, go forth and experience the world without being that person that nationals laugh about behind your back.  

Share your experiences! Have you seen bizarre tourist habits? Have you been a bizarre tourist? It's ok. This is a safe place. 
The hat was quickly lost...

Sunday, July 7, 2013

I love Biblical Fiction

There's this thing called Biblical fiction.
And I love it!!
I was first introduced in bible college when reading a Biblical novel and writing a paper on it was an option for a semester project.
"I like reading," I thought. "And I like critiquing things. This is going to be awesome!"
And it was.
The awesome thing about Biblical fiction is it really fleshes out those stories we all know so well that we skim over when we're reading. Often it can provide valuable insights or at least food for thought.
For example:
I'm reading The Fall. It's from the perspective of this angel, Rapha. And Rapha is the mentor for Adam and Eve while they're chilling in the Garden of Eden. And so he tries to give them a heads up about Lucifer. "Lucifer is volatile. He will try to devour you and torment you." And Adam and Eve are all like, "torment? devour? What is this you speak of?" They're in the Garden of Eden! It's awesome! Nobody devours anybody! Lions are all, "dang these are some ridiculously delicious dandelions! Hey, Zebra, want some dandelions?" The only things devoured are berries. And, while obviously they should have just done what God told them to, it's pretty easy to see how naive little Adam and Eve could be ignorant of the severity of death. And Satan is all, "Hey, isn't God awesome. He's so smart and stuff. Don't you want to be just like Him? And He also knows the difference between good and evil. If you eat this fruit, you will too! How cool is that?!" Yeah, I can see how that could go bad
quickly.
But then there are also some thoughts like: Strong trees produce good fruit. How will Adam and Eve (or all of mankind) ever get strong if they're protected from the wind and rain and never have to dig their roots deep in search for water? Analogous to if God kept them in a bubble then they would never become strong and awesome.

And biblical fiction is also fiction. Which makes it fun to read. Not to say that reading the Bible isn't fun. But you know, kinda. It's holy. It's set apart. And sometimes it's nice to read things that are just fun.

Now sometimes you may disagree with the author. Like the author here writes about the gap theory (the idea that a lot of time passed between Genesis 1:1 and 1:2). But that's ok. There are a lot of brilliant minds, published authors scholars, who disagree with your interpretation of Scripture. And that's ok. As long as we're seeking God and believe in Jesus, who is God, born of a virgin, perfect, crucified, rose again, forgave the sins of all mankind, we can all worship together and it'll be great. We're all entitled to try and interpret Scripture and we're all entitled to be wrong on some points. There is absolute truth but the world won't end if we don't know it.

Ok! So go out and read some Biblical Fiction! And share the awesome ones!

Dear and Glorious Physician - about Luke.
I read one about Daniel.... can't remember the title.....

Friday, July 5, 2013

The Very Wet Night

Too busy to read this whole thing? Listen to it instead!!!


One of the things I really like about telling stories is you how much you can learn from stories. From the setting where you get to see what Papua New Guinea is like, from the characters through whom you get to see what the ... well... characters in Papua New Guinea are like. The climax where you get to see the problems that could, that have happened. And the solutions. The solutions are really the gem of stories, where you get to hear about what has been done in a situation, if that was a good answer, and consider "what could I do differently?"

This is a great little story that will do that and give you a nice little picture of Papua New Guinea.

When we were in PNG we went to stay in the village of Anguna. They had been building this house for one of the young men who was eminently leaving his parents house. The house was right next door so it wasn't like the kid was moving too far from home. But because no one had lived there before we got the privileged of staying in this house while we were there. Which was particularly nice because it gave us a place, outside of the missionaries home (which I'm sure was equally nice for her), where Jacob and I could go and retreat to. So we would go and take naps during the day in this bush house of ours, which was ridiculously hot. But then at night...
PNG is like really hot. Like 100 degrees.
At night, however, it gets to be like, 80 degrees.
Now you may be thinking, "80 degrees? That's still pretty hot..."
But when you consider it's a 20 degree difference....
80 degrees becomes quite chilly.

Now I'm the kind of person who doesn't like to touch other people when I'm asleep. From the slumber parties when you were kids where you put 30 girls on the floor of a very small room where everyone was touching each other to now, with Jacob.
Stay on your side of the bed.
I'm sleeping.
This is my personal skin.
Your side of the bed.
Don't touch me.
But when we were in Papua New Guinea, it was so cold that we cuddled together at night to stay warm and actually slept like that. I mean. Cold. It was cold.

So we have chilly nights in PNG but here's another thing:
It's the rain forest.
So it like rains.
And we got to experience some of that.
Sometimes it would rain at night. And we'd be over at Martha's cooking dinner, and we'd eat together, and then we'd walk home.
Now Martha's house was a nice little stroll away from our bush house.
So we got to walk all the way back in the mud.
Which, you know, is fine. I'm a missionary. I can deal with some mud.
And we get back to our bush house while it was raining and climbed up our ladder. (They had put a real ladder against our house because I'm a stupid waitmeri and I'm not coordinated and they didn't want me to die. Which I appreciate. So that was nice.)
So we get up to our house and we do to lay down and we discover that our mattress is soaking wet.
When the built the house, rushing to get it finished in time for us to arrive, they didn't quite get around to putting the roof cap-y thing-y on the top of the roof.
I'm sure there's a more technical term, but this is what I've got: roof cap-y thing-y.
So to handle this situation, they threw a trap over the roof and hoped for the best.
Well, that's not what happened this night as the rain penetrated our small little house. And soaked our mattress. So we had this little foam mattress. Well, very swiftly it became a sponge mattress. And, let me tell you, that was great.
So we picked a different part of the mattress to lay on. One that was damp, not sopping.
And we pulled out these tarps and shower curtains because Martha, with her wisdom and forethought, gave us tarps and shower curtains.
Shower curtains are like tarps.... but more... curtain-y.
OK
So, we put some tarps to cover the the mosquito net.
And we get back in bed.
And we notice the water starts dripping again.
So, we get out of get and rearrange the tarps.
And we get back in bed.
And we notice the water starts dripping again.
So, we get out of get and rearrange the tarps.
And we get back in bed.
And we notice the water starts dripping again.
So eventually we grab the last shower curtain and pull it over the bed like a sheet and pull it over our heads to keep the water off.
And i must say, while it was damp, it was the warmest night we had ever had in Papua New Guinea.
Now, shower curtains aren't known for their breathable material.
So it got real stuffy under there, real humid, real warm as I like to call it.


So. If you're ever in the rainforest, you might find yourself in a bush house. It may be a very leaky bush house.
My recommendation for this is dont just leave your mattress out in the open for the rain to soak it all the way through.
That is not a smart decision.
So throw a tarp over it, especially if there's going to be nothing on the roof, because a tarp on the roof? That's not going to cut it.
And always have a shower curtain that you can use as a sheet, because they're awesome and they'll make you happy like they made me happy.
And let me tell you, we were significantly more prepared the next night than the first night!
Our bush house right before the tarps were hoisted. 


Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Tip: Do Not Vomit in Tropical Ulcers

Have you ever seen a tropical ulcer? Even when I had a "tropical ulcer", it was a wound moving that direction. Not a full scale ulcer.
Now you may think of ulcers as stomach issues. Tropical ulcers are a different animal.
It starts with a small scratch. The sore persists. Becomes infected with mircoorganisms (coral was my microorganism of choice) and it begins to erode muscles, tendons, and even bones. At that point, the cure is amputation.
What does it look like?
Picture a moon crater. Now pop one of those on your leg and fill it with blood, ooze, and pus the yellow-green color of infection. Oh, and it smells.

So there I was, chilling in Martha's house, when I hear a call. I lookout and it looks like some sick people are outside. The closest clinic is 8-12 hours hike away. So they come to Martha for medicine. And, as I was there, they came to me so Martha needn't distract herself from her work.
I grab a thermometer and a watch.
The technique is:
Fever = Malaria = Chloroquine
Respiratory  distress = Pneumonia = Amoxyciline
I know, you're aghast. It's the best we've got. Haters should get medical training and go to the jungle. Until then, the people of Papua New Guinea will live off of Chloroqine and Amoxyciline. (...I suppose if haters want, they can pay for me to get better medical training. That's another option.)
So, I go down and there's this kid with his foot wrapped with leaves and dirty linens.
Wash, bandage, see if he needs Amoxyciline.
I go back on top and grab gloves, Dettol, hot water, and cotton balls, some bandages.
And I get back to see that he had removed his makeshift bandage and beneath it is a gaping wound. The flies had already started swarming.
"I will not vomit. I will not vomit."
I get on my knees and dunk the cotton ball in the Dettol/hot water and begin to clean. I'm not sure this accomplished anything but further disturb my stomach as the center of the cater squished under my touch and the pus stuck to the cotton ball in a stringy stomach turning mess.
It was here I realized I didn't have enough in the way of bandages to cover this kid. But every time I relented in dabbed, the flies went to undo everything I had worked for while impressively maintaining my composure.
"Jacob!" I hollered up to the house. "I need bandages." (He had returned upstairs after snapping the above picture.)
"Where are they?"
Where are they?! They're in the broken refrigerator were all the medical supply was kept.
"In the fridge. Please hurry!" I insisted.
"Where in the fridge?"
I was going to vomit.
"I don't know!" I shouted. "Look around!"
"I don't see it...."
"I AM GOING TO VOMIT IN THIS KID'S ULCER! I NEED YOU TO HURRY!"
So Jacob brought down a large gauze pad.
"Ok." I took deep breaths.
"I need something to keep this gauze pad ON his foot."
So Jacob went back on top.
I swallowed down indications that my stomach was about to rebel.
I covered his wound with the gauze pad. At least I wouldn't have to look at it any more.
It squished.
Just keep swallowing, I coached myself.
"Hurry!"
Jacob was messing with his shoe on the steps up to the house.
"A SENSE OF URGENCY PLEASE!"
My husband has no sense of urgency. Sometimes I need to slow down. I acknowledge that. Sometimes, however, like this time, Jacob needs to HURRY UP!
Hydrocloric acid was burning my throat.
Finally, Jacob got down with some bandage tape and I got the gauze taped down as my body started retching.
Backing away swiftly and thinking of monkey brains (not so much the appearance of them because that wouldn't help. But the comical randomness of deciding to think of monkey brains is a technique I call upon frequently to maintain my composure. i.e. my wedding day.), I resumed control over my gymnastically inclined innards and gave a sigh of relief.
Jacob earned a short scolding on the occasional necessity for haste and when to identify circumstances that required it. (My tone is generally a great indicator. Strained, hoarse, desperate? Hop to!)
Slipping off the contaminated gloves, I properly disposed of the gloves, cotton balls, and used Dettol (I threw them into a wooded area known for its sharp metal remnants of a formed housing foundation where children were afraid to venture.)
Handing over some Amoxycilin and instructions on how to take it, I left the kid to rest from this trauma upstairs, glad that I had saved this eventfulness for last.

Ahh, the life of a missionary. Beautiful tropical vistas. And gaping tropical ulcers. Oh if it were only all fun and games!


... it seems a fair number of my PNG stories involve some tension between Jacob and I. So let me say: Jacob and I had a great time together in PNG. But the times we were watching movies or swimming in the river together (way more fun that bucket showers...) or cooking or shopping or whatever aren't really blog worthy posts. The good stories have a bit of drama. Two months in the jungle and only a handful of accounts speak of Jacob having an emotional break or me letting the little things take me out or snaps at each other like this story? And all of these moments being shortly thereafter forgiven and only remembered as hilarious anecdotes? I think we're doing alright.

Monday, July 1, 2013

Bird of Paradise...?

The Bird of Paradise. It strikes an image of an colorful exotic and perhaps majestic avian soaring through the canopies of Papua New Guinea.
This guy to the left, we saw in the "zoo" at the Madang Resort.
However, as brightly colored and exotic they may be, this video  portrays them as creepy, erratic, disturbing, and  socially challenged birds instead.
For your viewing pleasure: