Tough Things...

No one ever told me that this trip, this experience, was going to be easy. No one told me that the path would be lined with roses, no one said that I would come home the same. I was warned. I was told about death, and suffering, and what it means to see those things up close. And it’s not that I didn’t believe them. Trust me, I did. I just had no idea what it meant. I couldn't have imagined what it would feel like to watch children suffer. I couldn’t have comprehended what it meant to see mothers grieve. I couldn’t have understood what it was like to watch people die. In many ways, I was unprepared. Unaware and naive, living in my own world of superficial bliss, unimaginable luxuries and innumerable conveniences. In all my seventeen years of contented life, I had never before been so close and exposed to raw, unfiltered pain, suffering, hurt, sickness, and death as I have been in the last six weeks.
One of the very first patients I saw was a little boy, only seven years old, who will be etched in my mind for eternity. He had tetanus, a disease obtained through sharp, often rusted objects or occasionally, animal bites. In this little boy raged a war. A war between every muscle in his small, young body. Tetanus causes all the muscles to contract at once, thus resulting in a painful game of tug-of-war, as each muscle strains against the other. I can’t even imagine the pain that this innocent boy was experiencing as his ligaments and bones were pulled in every direction. He cried for his Papa through clenched teeth, and tried to call out when we had to move him to prevent bed sores or when he was poked and prodded by nurses trying to get an IV in his constricted veins. He lay rigid on his bed, in a helpless state of unimaginable pain.
His story is just one of many…
This week, a mother brought in her newborn baby. He was beautiful, but needed immediate help. All of his abdominal organs were outside his body. He was born with a defect in his abdominal wall (this condition has a name I can’t remember). While nurses and surgeons did everything they could — wrapping the organs in warm, damp bags suspended above him and putting an IV through his umbilical cord — there simply aren’t the resources here for that kind of scenario. He died on his third day of life. He didn’t even have a name…
A little boy came in because he had a compound bone fracture (where the bone breaks through the skin). The accident that caused it had happened over a year ago, and his dad just brought him in. His arm had grown awkwardly and painfully around the protruding bone, and is now ravaged by infection. He has to have an amputation and will lose his entire arm.
I was sitting in the OPD with Dr. Zoolkoski and Maddie. We were in between patients and were talking lightheartedly among ourselves when they brought in a fifty year old man. He had apparently been sick for three months, and collapsed when he got there that morning. The two men who were with him laid him on the floor for us to examine. He was breathing shallowly, and Maddie attempted to get a blood pressure. Her second try, she got nothing. Dr. Zoolkoski listened for a heart beat. It was too late. He was gone. Right in front of us, right there in our office, he had died. He had been walking around on his own two feet that morning, and before lunch, his body was being wheeled out on a gurney.

These stories aren’t the only ones. In fact, they aren’t even out of the ordinary here at Galmi. There are many more that I could tell you, and thousands from other doctors and staff. An anemic young mother who didn’t get blood in time, a ten-year-old boy who didn’t make it through, a baby who died because the power shut off along with her oxygen. In Niger, suffering is an everyday occurrence, and death is a part of life.
It’s hard to look at this and not think about the could have’s and would have’s, the what if’s and maybe’s. It’s easy to go back to the age-old argument….It’s just not fair. It’s not fair that the little boy with tetanus hadn’t had access to a preventative vaccine. It’s not fair that the baby was born here, where we don’t have to facilities, equipment, or personnel to have saved his life. It’s not fair that the boy who could’ve had nothing more than a cast and a scar will now have to struggle through the rest of his life with only one arm. It’s not fair that the man died before we had a chance to do something, and that we didn’t even have to equipment to try to revive him. It just really doesn’t seem fair. Most of all, it’s not fair that had most of these people been in the States or somewhere else with better, more available healthcare, they would be fine right now, and that we are so spoiled, and take so much for granted in our happy state of first-world opulence and ignorance.
However, Galmi isn’t the only place that there’s suffering, and pain isn’t isolated to Niger. It’s a constant, global problem. Even in our lives of seeming ease, we all face hurts and hardships, in many ways—physically, emotionally, relationally, and spiritually. And how easy is it for all of us to ask the questions and make the accusations that I’m so tempted to right now. Why is this happening? Why them? It isn’t fair. It shouldn’t be like this. And how many of us have looked at such horrendous pain, and wondered, Where is God? Has He abandoned us?

Asaph says in Psalm 77, “…My soul refuses to be comforted…I am so troubled I cannot speak…Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable? Has His steadfast love forever ceased? Are His promises at an end for all time? Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has He in anger shut up His compassion?” (Psalm 77, English Standard Version)
During a time of grief and hardship and pain, when all he can see are the hard things, Asaph is at such a point of discouragement that he is wondering if God’s love has departed, if His promises no longer stand, if He has forgotten His grace and withdrawn His compassion. 
Have we not all been there? 
Those moments of deep despair when the mountains rise up around us, when the enemies are closing in, when the storm seems to never end. Those days of tears when we are weary, afraid, hopeless, angry, alone. When we are gripped by sickness, when loved ones are taken away, when we have to look in the eyes of an innocent child or grieving mother or helpless father, suffering in ways we will likely never be able to understand. 
But Asaph doesn’t end the Psalm there. He gives us an example, and a Hope!
“…I will appeal to this, to the years of the right hand of the Most high. I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember Your wonders of old. I will ponder all Your work, and meditate on Your mighty deeds. Your way, O God, is holy. What god is great like our God? You are the God who works wonders…” (verses 10-14)
In times of despair or questioning, l think that we should all look to Asaph’s example. Rather than focusing on his own negative thoughts and sinful doubts, he looks to the Lord, to what He’s done and to who He is. Our God is a God who works wonders. He is a God of love and compassion and mercy. Yes, there are horrible things in the world, evils and terrors and heartaches, all brought here by our own sin and the sin which taints the entire world. But it doesn’t change who God is. When He created man, and when Adam and Eve first sinned, when He led His people out of Egypt, and when they complained in the wilderness, when Jesus spoke to the Samaritan woman, and when the Jews hung Him on a cross to die—He was, and is, and evermore will be (Hebrews 13:8). Our God doesn’t change, He doesn’t grow weary, and He doesn’t leave us (Malachi 3:6, Deuteronomy 31:5). He is, was, and will forever be the God of compassion who healed the sick, the Father of patience who taught the children, and the Savior of love made a way for us to come to Him. His mercies endure forever (Psalm 136).
As I get ready to face another week, surely filled with as much heartache and sadness as the ones before, I look to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord. The Lord who made the heavens and earth, the Lord who made these people and loves them more than I could ever know and the Lord who sent His Son for them, and hasn’t forgotten or abandoned them. He is their Lord, and my Lord, and the Lord of all lords.
“Our soul waits for the Lord; He is our help and our shield. For our heart is glad in Him, because we trust in His holy name. Let your steadfast love, O Lord, be upon us, even as we hope in You.” (Psalm 33:20-22, English Standard Version)

Galmi and My Many Adventures

These are all pictures of Galmi and the things I've been doing here:

This is a view of the street going East into town. On the left is the hospital parking lot and the red and white hospital fence.

Various pictures of the town...

This is the city well, which serves the entire town. Surprisingly, the water in Galmi is very good and mostly clean, even compared to water in the US.

This is millet, the main crop for most of Niger. Right now, everyone, even people with other trades such as tailoring, gardening, or carpentry, are working in their millet fields. On the left, you can see millet that is coming up nicely (about a foot tall). Further east, we've seen millet that is almost as tall as me!

Onions are a big crop here as well. While not as huge as the millet industry, Galmi onions are one thing that missionaries say they miss in the States!

These three boys were so excited that we wanted to take their picture!! :)

The sun rising over Galmi... Such a beautiful sight!!

This view of Galmi is from the road to Nigeria. I hiked up there one Sunday before church with some friends, and we stood looking out over Galmi, and prayed for the town and the churches and the hospital. It was a powerful moment!!

We got the amazing opportunity to go out into three of the nearby villages to share the gospel and distribute "Operation Christmas Child" boxes!

Such beautiful landscape!

These awesome-looking huts are huge storage bins. By the end of this season's harvest, Lord-willing, they will all be full of millet and other things to support families and villagers through the rest of the year.

This fabulous selfie is from the back of a camel! Yes, it was a super touristy thing to do, and all the locals laughed at us, but it was fun! And I know you are all jealous!! ;)

This was my camel, who we officially dubbed, "Polly." She was kind of moody, but I'm pretty sure it was just because she was hungry--she stopped to nibble at every plant and tree within neck's reach the whole ride!! :P

Just a few of the beautiful Hausa people...

This is my porch, as you can see, thoroughly flooded by the powerful, sudden rain storms we've been experiencing lately!

The view right before sunset at "Picnic Heights", a peaceful picnic area on a hill just east of Galmi.

Enjoying the view and the sunset, as well as the peace, calm, and quiet...

A family surrounding the bed of a little girl in "B Ward", the Galmi equivalent to an ICU.

Me and my little neonate buddy! He got to go home this week, which was a huge praise!!

This is my friend Annie, with a traditional meal of tuo and sauce (which I can't remember the Hausa name for). Tuo is made from millet, and tastes kind of like white rice oatmeal.

 Cose (deep-fried bean paste) with sugar and tanka (a traditional spice), and Oriba (a Nigerien soft drink). It doesn't get much better than this!

Add some friends and it's a party!! With me in this picture is Anne (middle) and Maddie (right). I have been so blessed by the relationships that God has given me here! I have made many new friendships that I have no doubt will last a very long time!

I am no photographer, but I hope that even in these few, poor-quality photos that you can see at least a part of the reason why I am falling so in love with this country and these people! It is truly amazing to be here, and to be able to experience all the things that I have. Thank you for you prayers and continued support!

Long Overdue!

Hello again!

Yes, I’m alive! I’m here in Galmi, getting all settled in and loving
my new life, friends, and home! I know that many of you have been
anxiously awaiting an update, and I’m really sorry that I haven’t been
able to do one, but there have been some internet issues that the team
has been working through here on the compound, so I haven’t had enough
internet to upload a post.
Now, here’s the big question: how do I boil down the crazy last few
weeks into a single blog post? Well, I’m not exactly sure, but I’m
going to give it my best!

I’ll start with the compound, and what I have been and will be doing
here. The compound grounds are really beautiful! Right now, it is the
rainy season here, so everything is very green and full of life! The
hospital compound has a lot more vegetation than the rest of the
village, courtesy of the gardeners and sprinklers. My cute little
apartment is somewhat in the middle of the housing area, and the small
pool is right out my back door! Aside from private housing and the
hospital, the compound also has an administration office, maintenance
building, guesthouse/community center, several guard stations, a
trader’s shack where vendors can bring fresh fruit and vegetables or
touristy trinkets, and a co-op (a small grocery store for compound
residents). Having food, maintenance, and IT help nearby and available
is definitely a huge blessing! In addition, I have always felt very
safe here, with many friendly guards wandering around on patrol and
standing guard at the gates. I’ve even been told that they love to
deal with snakes whenever…*ahem*…IF ever the need arises! ;)

As far as my everyday life here, I’m settling into a very fun, diverse
everyday routine! The workday here is broken up by two breaks: a
half-hour tea break at ten, and a two-hour lunch break (also called
“siesta hour”), which starts at one.
Since school started at the Galmi Day School here on the compound a
couple weeks ago, I have been doing pre-school lessons in the morning
before the tea break with Jonathan and Myriam, three- and
four-year-old missionary kids. Both have older siblings who are all at
the day school, so it has been fun to both help them with the
disappointment of not being old enough to go, and also give their moms
some time in the morning to do all the things they are responsible for
around the compound. We learn a new letter almost every day, and are
currently on “H”. We also love reading books (I have almost completely
memorized “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish”), playing on the
swings, memorizing Psalm 23, and making paper planes, houses, and
crowns. :)
After the tea break, I help Mrs. Zoolkoski by making lunch for the
four of us (the Zoolkoski’s, Maddie and I) so that she can be in the
pharmacy. After the lunch break, I have been doing a variety of
things, including helping in the office (mostly entering data into
Excel documents and such), teaching swimming lessons with Mrs.
Zoolkoski on Fridays, giving music lessons, and helping in the
hospital.
I love spending time in the hospital. Again, my lack of ability to
communicate is frustrating, but it’s amazing how far a gentle touch or
reassuring smile can reach during a time of hardship and need. Every
day, patients come in with diseases that are very rare in the States,
yet almost routine here. In the small amount of time I’ve spent there,
I’ve seen tetanus, HIV, tuberculosis, Pott’s (TB of the spine),
typhoid and malaria, among other things. I’ve gotten to observe
consultations and take vitals in the OPD (out-patient department),
which functions as a first stop for a majority of patients. From
there, the doctors and nurses can order labs, tests or X-rays, admit
patients, diagnose diseases and order medication. I’ve also gotten to
help some in the CREN (Center for Rehabilitation and Education in
Nutrition, roughly translated from French). It generally takes around
two months to rehabilitate a malnourished child, so during this time
period, a mother (or in some cases, grandmother) stays at the CREN
with their child, while he or she is given nutritional supplements and
carefully monitored for weight and growth patterns. In addition, the
mothers are given education about nutrition, and how to use
readily-available, local foods, such as peanuts, eggs and meringa (an
extremely nutritious, local plant) to ensure that they and their
children get enough protein and vitamins in their diet. The CREN is
also an awesome opportunity for evangelism! Often times, malnourished
children don’t really know how to play, and are deprived cognitively
as well as physically. So during my time in the CREN, I often play
with the children (at least, the ones who aren’t terrified of me!) or
even just sit with the mothers as they try to teach me Hausa and laugh
at my attempts!
No matter which department I’m in, I am learning a lot, both medically
as well as culturally! I am often struck both with compassion for this
people I am living among, as well as incredible love and respect for
them. My biggest frustration with my own lack of communication ability
is that I cannot dive as deeply as I want to into a full understanding
of this culture. However, even with this handicap, I am falling in
love with these people, whose hearts and customs, although just as
marred and twisted by sin and as desperately in need of a Savior, the
Savior, as our own, is fascinating and beautiful. It will be genuinely
difficult to say good-bye, and I think a piece of my heart will always
be in Niger.

I’ve had the amazing privilege of going to both of the Christian
churches here in town, as well as one in Maradi, a town about
forty-five minutes east. My favorite part is always the music! It is
very rhythmic, mostly lead by heavy drums and sometimes a synthesizer,
guitar, or bass in the background. The coolest thing is just hearing
everyone sing! Even though the churches I’ve been to have been
generously a third or a fourth the size of my own church back home, we
don’t even compete with them when it comes to volume. When the whole
Nigerien congregation sings, the rafters shake!! It’s an amazing
experience, being in a church with brothers and sisters living in a
completely different world from mine, who are all singing at the top
of their lungs, praising our Father with exuberance and genuine joy!
I’ve also enjoyed other trips into town, such as getting kose (made by
frying mashed bean paste) and Oriba (a Nigerien soft drink), visiting
the local tailor, or going to Wednesday market. The town is
good-sized, but not quite as big, overwhelming, and busy as Niamey.
Wherever we go, people often greet us, and chuckle when we respond to
their greetings, whether we say the right things or not. Children love
to run up and shake our hands and ask, “Kado? Kado?” (“Kado" means
“gift”) The town and people here are very friendly and warm, and
although they like to laugh and joke at our Western ways, are
generally very welcoming and accepting.

On a final note, it is quite amazing how much one learns about oneself
when one lives in a third world country. For example, how much I do
NOT do cockroaches. I hadn’t realized this before I left the states,
mostly because I had never come in much contact with cockroaches.
However, I am very aware of this fact now. The lizards that scurry
around (and in some cases, across) my feet, the flies constantly
humming about my kitchen, the big red ants that scuffle across my
bedroom floor, the moths the size of my palm that always seem to find
their way into my living room, the spiders crawling in my shower, and
(for goodness sake!) even the earwigs that get into my toilet
paper…I’ve gotten used to all of them! Most of the time, I even let
them live! As long as they are not overly aggressive in their tactics,
I usually just brush them aside, or leave them be altogether (as a
side note, trying to kill all the bugs that one encounters in Africa
would be quite a wearisome task, and although noble, altogether quite
impossible). But cockroaches? They’re big and ugly and have all those
legs and antennas and the way they walk is just creepy and even
killing them is gross, the way they crunch and snap and that one that
crawled across my foot…? Nope. No cockroaches. Uh-uh, no, nope, notta,
not happening. There’s a line people. Yes, God’s been gradually moving
it, even so that the earwigs are no longer on the other side, but the
cockroaches still have a long way to go. They are past the line, and
when I say, “past”, I mean past. My next update will probably be about
how I had to endure a major cockroach infestation in my house, and how
naught but the grace of God brought me through.
Please be continuing to pray that God will keep teaching me, but this
time add that He won’t use cockroaches as a means to a greater end! ;)

Thanks again to everyone who’s been praying for me so faithfully
during this past month! I can’t believe my time here is already half
over. I definitely have mixed feelings…part of me can’t wait to see my
family and all my friends again, but the other part of me is loving it
here and doesn’t want to say goodbye!
Anyway, if you have any questions about what’s been going on or what
I’m doing, I’d love to answer them. Just send me a message, and I will
get it and respond at some point! ;) Miss you all and can’t wait to
see you again!!
God bless!
Krista