I am surrounded by butterflies – all around
me, every day. They flutter their wings, buoy my spirit, and reverberate hope
through the hours and minutes. Who knows what the far-reaching effects might
be, whatever they be, I know their whispers are already altering the tides of
life in Buea.
My narrative today is dedicated to the
volunteers from around the world who come to serve at Buea Seventh-day
Adventist Health Centre, over fifty in the past four years. They come with a
variety of talents and expertise from medical to accounting to mechanical. They
stay from one week to several months. Whether they know it or not, they bring a
blessing, equal and perhaps more valuable than their tangible helping hands. A
hope, an enthusiasm, a newness to life that infuses a vibrancy into the atmosphere
at our health centre, mixing cultures and languages in a patchwork of
interwoven lives from around the world.
“Welcome,” I say hastily to Elaine and
Christine as I dash between house and hospital this evening. It’s going on nine
o’clock in the evening but things are still hopping in the hospital. Sick
patients, labouring pregnant lady, consultations, injections, and dressing
changes – it is unusually busy for a weeknight. I’ve just finished making my
assessment of the situation and triaging which problems are more urgent and
warrant more imminent attention. I
let Bill attend to our new nurse volunteers who appear amazingly awake in spite
of their long travel.
I return back to the house after a few
minutes to grab my “Mr. Mom” otoscope to check a patient’s painful ear. Elaine and Christine are chatting with
Bill, getting a crash course in African survival. “Good coffee?” I inquire as I
notice the empty mugs on the side table. The nurses nod enthusiastically. I’m
encouraged. “Want to see the hospital or are you too tired?”
Christine and Elaine exchange glances. “Um,
we’re not too tired. We want to see the hospital.”
“OK. Come.” I start to head out the door.
“Oh, um… maybe you should change into some scrubs.”
“Oh.” Elaine says quietly.
“They’re luggage didn’t make it,” my
husband interjects.
No
problem. “Let’s find some scrubs for you then.” I
lead Christine and Elaine back and we search for size small scrubs. Humorously,
even my small scrubs are still rather large for these petite RNs. “Oh well, you
can roll up the bottom of the legs,” I offer somewhat unhelpfully, noting the
swimming-in-your-clothes affect the scrubs produce.
Trouser legs rolled up in order to allow
them to walk without tripping on their attire; I lead them off to the hospital.
“Doctor, doctor…” several patients and relatives all vie for my attention when
I enter. “Private ward, general wards,” I open and close a couple doors and
briefly point out our hospital rooms. “Nursing station, lab, staff break room…”
my whirlwind tour comes to an end when we return to the side room where
dressings and injections are conducted.
“It’s nice,” the new volunteers comment, a bit
overwhelmed by the newness, noise, and hustle and bustle.
“Want to help out tonight?” Typically I’d
let the pair rest, settle-in, get some food and go to bed but tonight is a bit
out of the ordinary. I shrug. “I understand if you’re tired. It’s ok either
way.”
“No, doctor, we’d love to get involved!”
Christine reassures me. “Let’s do it.” I am delighted with their willingness to
help. Only a tiny twinge of guilt jabs my conscious at plunging them into the
metaphorical circus ring within hours of a long and tiring cross-Atlantic
flight. Well, nothing like learning on the job… jumping right in – isn’t there
something about sink or swim - after all? Welcome to Africa!
“Come this way,” I invite an impatient
gentleman who was just involved in a small motorcycle accident and has sustained
a few abrasions back to the dressing alcove. “Here’s the plaster, the gauze,” I
glance around, “Um, and somewhere there are scissors. You can clean the wound
with this iodine.” I wave a hand over the small, untidy metal cart containing
an assortment of instruments and antiseptics. I’m sure Elaine and Christine are
used to a bit more materials for bandaging wounds but this is all we have. “Do
what you can,” I beg, “ and, thanks again for helping out. I really appreciate
it.”
I leave the two nurses to take care of the
man. They finish an injection of pain killer just before a miniature entourage
of police, some with rather intimidating guns, march into the hospital to take
the patient’s statement concerning the motorcycle accident. At least he doesn’t
have to spend the night.
Several consultations later, I have a
chance to reassess the chaos. Things have quieted. The inpatient admissions are
settled with their IV drips. The labouring woman is labouring but not urgently.
Those who came for coughs, fevers, and rashes have consulted, received their
medication, and gone home. I look around for the volunteers. I finally find
them in the back, somewhat shell shocked perhaps, but otherwise smiling and
happy. “Thank you so much for your help,” I apologise gratefully for getting
them involved rather abruptly and directly right after they’d arrived. “You
came at a busy time. It’s not always this crazy.” I give a tired smile.
“Oh, it’s ok. It was good,” Christine and Elaine report enthusiastically. Must have been some super-potent coffee,
I muse with a wry grin. They are awake and cheerful.
“Let me show you your room,” I offer. “You
must be exhausted.” We walk back to the house where Bill and I show them their
guest bedroom and provide whatever necessary linens and towels they might need.
“Hopefully, your luggage will come tomorrow. I hope you sleep well,” I bid
goodnight as I head to bed myself. It’s past eleven. Late, even for me, let
alone for our new volunteers who’ve spent the last twenty-four hours travelling
to a foreign continent.
Our other volunteers who arrive a few days
later, assimilate into the everyday life of our health centre just as
seamlessly. They meld with our permanent staff and “senior” volunteer who’s
been here several months already. I have six new white “sisters” according to
my local Cameroonian neighbours. “Where’s your sisters?” is the question I am
asked every time I buy sweet peanuts from the woman on the corner.
Certainly, their skills and helpfulness in
the clinic, the hospital, and the business office are appreciated. Without
their help, we wouldn’t be able to keep up with the expanding patient numbers.
October has seen the highest number of babies born in our labour and delivery
unit since we opened it in June 2012. We see more and more outpatients. More
inpatients. Their willingness to help where needed is truly a godsend. God knew
when we’d need their help; He brought them here just in time.
Yet there are so many other little ways in
which our volunteers enrich the quality at our health centre. Their cheerful
manner makes certain Mondays much more manageable. At night, they socialise
with our local Cameroonian nurses, providing friendship, exchanging
intercultural knowledge, and assisting in the care of the sick inpatients and
the mothers that put to birth in our delivery suite.
I could never recount all the ways our
volunteers beat their butterfly wings and inspire those around them. Some reach
out with their culinary skills (a particular Zucchini bread still makes my
mouth water), others with their obsessions for cleanliness, some flutters lead
to increased training in small procedures such as circumcisions and sterilising
theatre instruments and folding drapes. Occasionally one flies to a remote village
and shines as the first white person to visit. They sing in the church choir or
share their musical talents in church. They help out in Sabbath school with the
children. Their ripples of influence undulate to other foreign volunteers
working in Buea. It is an endless circle of influence. Who can
know where the circles will eventually reach? The soft beating of the multitude
of their wings continues to stretch through Buea and beyond. Inspiring and
encouraging, bringing hope and beauty to those around. I am thankful for these
butterflies. Their influence extends further than any of us will ever
imagine. Like the theory says, ‘a
butterfly flapped her wings in San Francisco and a hurricane formed in Tokyo’…
influence is immeasurable.
Volunteers sitting outside at the hospital
“Then those who are righteous will reply to
him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you a
drink? When did we see you as a stranger and welcome you, or naked and give you
clothes to wear? When did we see
you sick or in prison and visit you?’
“Then the king will reply to them, ‘I
assure you that when you have done it for one of the least of these brothers
and sisters of mine, you have done it for me.’”
Matthew 25: 37-40
Three of Buea's Seventh-day Adventist Health Centre nurses in the staff room
“But can one be a blessing merely by being cheerful? Yes; moral
beauty of any kind exerts a silent influence for good. It is like a sweet
flower by the wayside, which has a benediction for everyone who passes by. A
legend tells how one day in Galilee the useful corn spurned the lilies because
they fed no one’s hunger. “One cannot earn a living just by being sweet,” said
the proud cereal. The lilies said nothing in reply, only seemed the sweeter, then
the Master came that way; and while his disciples rested at his feet, and the
rustling corn invited them to eat, he said, “Children, the life is more than
meat. Consider the lilies, how beautiful they grow.” It certainly seemed worth
while then just to be sweet, for it pleased the Master.”
― J.R. Miller
Elaine and Christine with the twins born at our hospital
Estaremos sempre em oração por vocês.
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