There and Back Again -- with a Hitchhiker! (part 2 of 2)

Jordan and Milo's Health Books from Cameroon

Part Two: And Back Again

So now you have the “There”… time for the “Back Again — with a Hitchhiker”.

“You want to take the cat back?” my husband inquired with undisguised hope that I’d answer to the negative.

Ignoring his unspoken plea, I answered, “Yes, I would like to Milo (our cat) back. We don’t know if there will be a replacement living in this house when we leave; someone might not come to replace me for months, it wouldn’t be very nice for Milo (our cat) to abandon her when it’s not that difficult to bring her with us. We brought the other volunteer’s cat back last summer and it wasn’t too bad, remember?”

Bill rubbed his temples and massaged his neck muscles at the memory. “Yes, I remember.” Grudgingly he admitted, “she was pretty easy to transport. However, I don’t mind if someone else wants to keep her here in Cameroon.” His voice lifted for a moment at the end, still hopeful the cat might find a friend to take her in Cameroon.

“Well, I think we should move forward with trying to bring her back in case no one else wants her,” I answered.

“I’ll call the vet and set up an appointment for her rabies vaccination then,” Bill caved to my wishes with a patient sigh. The rabies vaccine for international travel must be up to date within one year but also administered more than 30 days prior to the departure date. Both Jordan and Milo were appropriately vaccinated and boosted with rabies vaccine.

~o~

Rabies Vaccination Signed and Stamped in their Health Book

“How’d it go in Douala at the Brussel’s office?” I asked Bill after his trip to the international airport.

“Fine, fine. I have the tickets for the pets and us.” Bill slouched down into his chair and tried to forget the harrowing driving conditions that a trip to Douala entails these days. He showed me the pile of boarding pass sized airline tickets. The pet tickets specified one carry-on pet (that would be Milo, the cat) and one extra luggage of a pet as great or greater than 15 kilograms (that would be Jordan, the dog). The pet tickets were tied to our own passenger tickets, specifically, Bill actually. I found it a little ironic that in spite of my husband’s reluctance, he still ended up tying his airline ticket with the dog and the cat.

~o~

“I read the email from your husband,” the local veterinarian hopped off his motorbike and sat down next to me. Bill was still away in the U.S. while I remained to finish my last few months of mission service in Cameroon. “Bill seems to be quite anxious about the pets.”

I nodded. “Yes, he wants to make sure that the animals get their health certificates without any problems. He wanted me to ask about any blood tests that the dog might need too. He mentioned something about a test for screw worms…” my voice trailed off. I really didn’t know what to make of this last requirement Bill and I had read about on the custom’s website.

The veterinarian nodded. “The health certificates have to be obtained one or two days before the departure date. It’s still too early. We can have everything together though and be ready to take the documents for signature and stamps on Thursday.”

“And what about any blood tests?” I prompted again.

“To be honest, your dog hasn’t had any non-healing wounds, right?”

“Never,” I affirmed.

“Well, then, we don’t need to worry about screw worms. She doesn’t have any signs or symptoms suggestive for the worms.”

“So we don’t need any blood tests?” I wanted to be clear on this last point. I didn’t want to find myself in the situation of getting down to the day of departure and suddenly being informed that my dog couldn’t travel because she hadn’t had the required blood test for worms or whatever.

The veterinarian shook his head. “We’ll get the certificates for the dog and cat on Thursday. The signature and stamp will be from the government veterinarian so the paperwork will be what the airline officials in Douala are used to.”

“Oh?”

“Sometimes people have their private veterinarians sign the certificates but then you might get questioned at the airport. It’s better if I get the government signatories that they’re more used to in Douala,” the vet tried to reassure me.

“OK then,” I smiled, “but since our departure date is Thursday, how about we try to get the certificates on Wednesday?” I suggested. “I mean, what if the official is not on-seat on Thursday? Maybe it’s better to try the day before since the date can be two days before departure?”

The vet smiled. “Oh, ok. I get you. That’s ok then. I understand you. No problem.” He hesitated like he wanted to say some more but held back at the last minute.

“You have the health booklets with the pet’s rabies vaccination certificate inside, right?” I checked to make sure he hadn’t forgotten.

“Yes,” he answered, producing the booklets to show me.

“I have the photos for their books now too.” I produced a four by six inch photograph proudly. With the help of one of our volunteers, I had taken a photo of the dog and the cat and had them printed in such a manner as to come out the appropriate size for pasting in the health booklets — 2 inches by 3 inches. They were even in color!

Milo's Passport Photo
(2 inches x 3 inches to fit her health book)

Jordan's Passport Photo

Our veterinarian was duly impressed and proceeded to paste them into their respective booklets with great care. I’ve never seen anyone take so long to glue two photos down. At last he departed with the promise to get back with me next Wednesday. “I have to travel next week,” he informed me, “but, I’ll have someone get the documents next Wednesday.” He drove off in a puff of exhaust.

The next Wednesday our motorcycling, traveling veterinarian was still far away in Kumba. Thankfully, he kept his promise and sent his brother who collected the signed and stamped official health documents and delivered them to our doorstep. The check list was complete:

1. One dog; one cat - check

2. small health booklet with photo pasted inside and stamped, official rabies vaccination record — check and check

3. printed tickets from agent at Brussel’s airlines for cat and dog, including receipt of payment - check

4. dog crate - check (same as the one we used bringing her) - check

5. cat carrier - check (brought by Bill and borrowed from our friend who used it to transport her own cat the year before) - check

6. health certificates - check and check

7. Small bag of dry cat food and dog food - check (not that the animals actually ate on their trip)

8. attachable bowl for water/food for dog; small bowls for water and/or food for cat (again superfluous but psychologically comforting for owners)

9. extra towels and pad for cat carrier and dog crate (should have brought more disposable towels for cat carrier…)

The All-Important Vet Certificate of Good Health
(Must be dated within 2 days of departure date)

Thursday dawned. So many goodbyes were said. We fed the animals early. We gave them last chances to relieve themselves. The cat was a bit miffed that I locked her in the kitchen for the afternoon. The dog was happy to go for an extra walk. She could sense that we were traveling and she wanted to be as close as possible. She sat determinedly under Bill’s legs with an ‘I’m-not-letting-you-out-of-my-sight attitude. She at least was able to maintain her nearness to “her Bill” during the taxi ride to the airport since the vehicle was jammed pack with 4 suitcases, 2 backpacks, 1 large and disassembled dog carrier, 1 husband, 1 driver, 1 friend, 1 cat in her cat carrier, and me  — does the list remind you of a song?! …’two missionaries — and a kitty in a cat cage.’

We arrived at the airport and our driver parked the vehicle in the parking lot area, allowing us to assemble the dog crate, bolting top and bottom together. Bill walked around with Jordan, giving her last chances to relieve her bladder. We joked nervously and munched on chin-chin snacks, feeding Jordan who happily snapped up the treats tossed her direction. The goal was to check in without feeling rushed but still not check-in so early that Jordan would be left on the tarmac for too long before boarding and plane departure.

“Let’s go in at 9 pm?” I suggested. “That way we’ll still have three hours before scheduled departure but if we’re hassled, we’ll still have some leeway to figure things out.” Bill agreed with me. Jordan wagged her tail. I rubbed my jeans and sniffed a damp corner of my shirt. “Uh! I think the cat peed already. The carrier is not pee-proof.”

“Sorry, dear,” Bill replied absently as he comforted his dog.

Our friend helped me change the absorbent pad in the cat carrier and replace it with a clean towel. I should have brought more old rags that would have served as disposable pads. I tossed the soiled pad in a sealed plastic and splashed on some instant hand sanitizer. “Perfume would have been nice,” I mused to myself. At least no one else seemed too bothered by my urine tinged travel clothes. *sigh*

We bid our good byes to our driver and friend and several luggage attendants came eagerly forward with their carts and hauled bags and dog carrier into the airport. With a few francs tip, it’s amazing how many willing hands and able backs are available to assist!

(Bill picks up the story here)  Health officials stopped us just before the Brussel’s check-in counter and inspected our pets’ documents (health certificates and vaccination records).  We paid 5,000 XAF (about $10 USD) per pet and received another two official-looking documents stating the animals had been inspected and were healthy. Tucking them safely into my bundle of travel documents, we continued to the check-in counter.

Health Certificates from Airport Inspector - One of the "chat" and one for the "chien"

The check-in agent weighed our luggage, inspected our documents, placed luggage tags on the four bags and dog crate DLA / IAD, indicating that we should not expect to see the dog or any of the luggage until Washington DC.  I took Jordan out of her crate and the check-in agent sent our bags and the crate down the belt.  Trixy was free to pass through the process of departure. I went with Jordan and a DLA (Douala Airport) security agent down to the baggage handling area where they inspected the crate and had me place Jordan back inside (note: I handed off my passport to another security agent in this process and retrieved it on my way back to the normal departure process line).  I said my good-byes to Jordan and wished her well, praying silently for her safety and special blessings for all who would handle her in process. Once back in the normal departure area, I handed in my white immigration card and processed through immigration to the departure gate.

Milo remained with us (Trixy’s possession mainly) as we traveled.  She was pretty quiet, like her daughter, Friday. I had traveled with Friday, Milo’s daughter cat, only the year prior, bringing her back to America for a friend and former volunteer in Cameroon.  Sad meows echoed pitifully from the interior of her carrier only during walking off the airplane in Brussels and again coming off the flight in Washington D.C. It appeared that the gravitational changes and alterations in environment gave the cat a false hope of escape from her cat prison at these times.

Brussels has two routes they fly to/from Douala, depending on the day of travel.  It might be BRU>>DLA>>NSI>>BRU or it might be BRU>>NSI>>DLA>>BRU.  We specifically booked the second for the shortest flying time to BRU.  We followed the advice of the airlines to book the full flight with them (they send checked dogs as excess baggage, United Airlines considers them as cargo. Apparently there can be problems when switching between the two. We didn’t care to find out).

In Brussels we mentioned we had a dog in the hold and enquired as to what should we do as we were transferring to a Washington DC bound flight.  The agent at the counter said the dog would transfer and we need do nothing special.  To verify we found the transfer desk and enquired about the process.  Same answer.  We settled into some very comfortable sofas in the airport waiting area for the next eight hours praying that our dog was also somehow comfortable wherever her crate was situated.  Since Trixy had the cat, we did not exit the airport and tour Brussels. Europe tends to have stricter import rules regarding animals than the U.S. We decided not to bother with attempting customs for just a few hours in the city.

We boarded our last airplane for the trip from Brussels to Washington DC. It was the last and longest leg of the journey. Milo settled down to a quiet sullen silence, curling up on another fresh towel, having refused food and water in spite of Trixy’s offers. We could only pray that we’d see Jordan when we reached America.

“So, we have to declare some things on the custom’s declaration form, right?” Trixy looked over for confirmation, pen poised.

“Yes, we have to go through the line at the custom’s counter for people with items to declare. Put down both the dog and the cat.”

In the end, it made little difference that we had pets to “declare”. The first official, the Immigration officer, welcomed us back without comment on the pets.  But a few questions on the “food” we were bringing.  Satisfied there was no risk or issues for America he passed us on to Baggage claim with a “Welcome home”.

“Over here,” I called to my surprised wife. “The luggage was tagged ‘priority’ so it’s already here.” I pointed to an exclusive pile of luggage at the head of the luggage turnstile.

“Where should we look for our dog?” Bill tried to flag down one of the attendants hovering over the luggage claim area. Suddenly, I spotted Trixy waving from across the room.

“Over here,” she waved and pointed. A smiling airport employee rolled a familiar dog crate out into the luggage claim area. “She made it. Jordan made it.” My wife smiled.

“Jordan!” the furry canine inside wagged her tail furiously and whined in impatience — ready to break out of her 30-hour confinement.

On the way home from airport with furry friends

General notes:

While no one past Douala checked our documents, you are advised to keep with you at all times: health certificates, vaccine documents, tickets (i.e. everything related to your pet’s health and travel).

There are some good resources if you are traveling with pets and coming to the United States.  I am sure Europe has their own as well.  The CDC has these links:

A very good overview:  http://www.cdc.gov/features/travelwithpets/

Lots of details:  http://www.cdc.gov/animalimportation/travelingpets.html

We have two preferred airlines from Douala to Washington DC:  Brussels Airlines and Turkish.  Air France is also very good (we flew them to Cameroon).  But they tend to be more expensive.  We should also note that five years ago we were required to collect Jordan at the baggage claim in Paris and check her and my luggage back in before the next flight.  I don’t know if that is still how they work today.

We have heard stories that Turkish Airlines doesn’t always have a pressurized cargo area for pets.  I don’t know if this is true or not.  Our main reason for not choosing them was their longer flight pattern.  I flew Brussels Airlines with Milo’s youngest one year before we returned.  The Brussels personnel were helpful and never showed any sign of unpleasantness at me for having a cat on board.  In this first case I flew Brussels from DLA to BRU and then switched to United Airlines from BRU to IAD.  I would advise against this as you may have to pay twice, once for each airline. While not difficult, switching airlines, even partner airlines, adds a level of complexity. Both airlines counseled that it is best to fly one airline when possible.

We complicated our travel somewhat by booking our tickets and then changing our dates.  This caused some confusion within the airline.  I rebooked in the USA and should have just kept the rebooking with the agent in Douala.  That would have been the best thing.  In any case the agent in Douala made sure everything was set correctly and our rebooking secure including the pets.  The pet tickets are valid for one year from the date of purchase.  We paid for them in May and when we rebooked the confusion was what to do with the tickets, one person said we would have to pay a second time and we would be refunded the first amount, one person said there would be no refund, but the agent in Douala and the tickets themselves indicated no specific travel date and so were flexible to their human’s tickets, provided the pressurized cabin was not already fully booked.

Limits of our information:

Seriously, this is a review of our experience.  We normally travel DLA / IAD, we know the airports and the airlines we have used. Your experience may be very different.  We don’t know what it is like to have onward travel beyond the port of entry.

Here are the summary bullet points:

Choose your airline carefully (if you have options)

Fly the same one from your foreign home to the USA, if possible

Your foreign-based vet should be knowledgeable in securing Health Certificates a couple of days before your intended travel

Pets should be up to date on Rabies vaccine and proof in your pet’s health book/passport

Appropriate pet carriers should be secured well in advance

Food/Water for travel

Summary of Costs:  These will vary to your own circumstances, but be prepared.

Vaccines

Health Certificates

Airline tickets

Exit fees

I would also suggest you keep a photo record of your pet’s documents.  Be able to produce them on your smart phone, tablet, or laptop if anything should happen to the physical documents.

Airline tickets

Health Certificate(s)

Health book

There And Back Again -- with a Hitchhiker! (part one)

Jordan, our dog, prior to departure for Cameroon. 2009.
Photo compliments of our talented pet photographer friend, Linda Phillips.

Author’s note:
This blog posting is perhaps not as story-ish as other postings. Mainly it is to share what we’ve learned and to encourage our friends who’ve asked that it is possible to bring your pets to and from Africa and here’s how we did it. We encourage all our compatriots with furry friends to keep them.

~o~

Most readers are aware of J.R.R. Tolkien’s popular children’s book, The Hobbit, also titled “There and Back Again”. The title reminds me of our recent travel experience with our pets - our dog, Jordan, and our cat, Milo. Although, on second examination, it might be more appropriate to label our experience as “There and Back Again — with a Hitchhiker”.

Part One: There

The story begins back in 2009 when Bill and I were relocating to Buea, Cameroon, to begin our five-year mission term at the health institution. We sat around the table discussing things we would miss, good byes that would be difficult and fraught with potential tears and heartache.

“But why not bring Jordan (our dog)?” our experienced missionary friends inquired. “We took our dog over with the family when we lived in X country. It was one of the best decisions we made.”

“You took your dog with you to Africa?” Bill and I chorused in unison. “Really?! Wasn’t it difficult? The logistics complicated and tedious?” Both of us had assumed that giving up our pets was just one of the sacrifices we’d have to make in order to be missionaries in Cameroon.

“No, no, it wasn’t complicated at all,” our friends assured us. They then proceeded to outline the process. It sounded rather simple actually. The seed was planted. The idea took root and grew to fruition. 

~o~

Veterinarian Certificate for International Travel

Certificate of Good Health and Microchip Confirmation Paperwork

“Now which country in Africa are you traveling to again?” The vet technician smiled sympathetically as she checked Jordan’s heart, teeth, and drew a blood sample to confirm the absence of heartworms. She scanned Jordan’s fur and wrote down the Avid microchip number on her paperwork certifying our dog’s general healthy status and identification.

Vaccination Record including the all important Rabies Vaccine

“Good luck,” the veterinarian and her assistant waved to us as we left their office, dog pulling ahead with her leash, and owners clutching the paperwork and a prescription of some kind of doggy Valium termed ACE. “Give it to her just before you put her in her crate and on the plane,” the vet had instructed.

Our check list was complete:

Air France ticket for dog - booked at the same time as our own tickets

Paperwork certifying the dog was in good health

Vaccination Record

Airline approved dog crate

Bill and I filled Jordan’s plastic dishes that attached to the crate’s wire bars with food and water. We walked her around the dog park at the airport complete with its faux green grass and plastic fire hydrants one last time — finally we administered her doggy sedative and headed for Air France’s check in counter. “I think that medicine is affecting her already,” I observed as Bill walked ahead with Jordan on her lead and myself trailing behind with the crate on a push kart.

Jordan gave a lopsided wag of her tail and staggered with a pronouncedly wide gait, swaying slightly with her happy panting. “She’s walking like she’s drunk.”

“At least she’s a happy drunk dog,” my husband remarked. She entered her crate and was wheeled away by the Air France attendant without any resistance. “You have a well behaved dog,” the check-in personnel commented. “Now remember, you will need to collect your luggage and the dog in Paris. You can walk her around in the pet area at Charles de Gaul before re-checking everything again for the flight from Paris to Douala.”

~o~

“Where’s the dog?” I asked Bill with a frown and worried whine. “We have our two suit cases that were checked but where is the dog’s crate?” Both of us scanned up and down the luggage collection area. Distracted passengers bustled around all around laden with their own luggage or pushing karts overflowing with suitcases. Push and shove. The typical airport chaos. Lugging around our carry-on bags and now two large suitcases, one of which had a very bad habit of tipping over at the slightest provocation, did not make for an ideal situation to search for where our pet might have been deposited.

“You stay with the luggage, I’ll look around,” I rushed off with just my shoulder bag leaving Bill to manage the suitcases. He wasn’t thrilled.

At last, in a corner of the large arena designated for luggage claims, I found a cluster of plastic pet crates — Two crates containing German shepherd puppies, another crate with a large canine of nondescript lineage and finally a familiar cage with a very familiar furry face inside. The last carrier went thump - thump and shook a little as I approached. The inhabitant, a relieved Jordan, recognized me. I snapped on her dog lead and waved to Bill to join.

It’s not exactly convenient to collect one’s luggage mid-way through a long journey from one continent to another. One has to haul their 20-kilogram suitcases and large dog carrier all the way across the airport to the airline check-in counter again. Since we only had four hours until our next leg of the journey, we immediately began the trek. As we struggled forward through the hustle and bustle of the busy international airport in France, searching for the appropriate signage that might indicate we were headed in the proper direction, I also scanned for a “pet rest area”, some designated spot for owners to let their pets relieve themselves and get a drink. While Bill waited at the check in counter, I strolled with Jordan on her leash outside. Concrete. Asphalt. More concrete. Not the faintest hint of a green blade of grass. Nothing organic to be seen in all directions. Poor Jordan. “Sorry, dog,” I shrugged to a very disappointed dog at my side. “I don’t see any grass anywhere for you to pee. If you really have to go, you’ll have to water the pavement.” Jordan was too much of a lady to condescend to such antics. She bravely lapped some water that I fetched her from the sink at a nearby loo but turned up her nose when I tried to feed her some treats and dog food.

Jordan was much more un-willing to enter her crate the second time around. We prayed we’d see her when we arrived in Douala as the airline attendant whisked crated canine away.

~o~

“Bill? Trixy?” our church Union officials approached us and inquired hesitantly.

“Yes, yes,” Bill and I shook hands with the officers who’d come to welcome us to Cameroon and assist with our luggage, translating the French of the airport personnel when necessary.

“We have a dog with us too,” Bill informed the church welcome committee.

“A dog?” they exchanged glances and bravely nodded their understanding. Dogs are generally feared in Cameroon. Appropriately so since almost all dogs are raised as guard dogs. Many a Cameroonian can testify to an accident with an escaped guard dog.

One by one our luggage appeared on the suitcase turnstile. “Yes, that’s all the bags,” we answered. “Now we just need to look for our dog.” Both Bill and I scanned the small luggage-collection room anxiously. Did Jordan make it to Africa? Was she ok? Did she survive the trip?

Suddenly, one of the church officers pointed to the far left corner of the room. “Look, over there, is that your dog?”

Glancing in the direction of his outstretched hand, we noticed a small cluster of dark-skinned, orange vested airport luggage personnel huddled in an animated discussion around a familiar large kennel. “It’s our dog!”

Bill and I strolled over to the huddle of confused and anxious personnel. “Our dog,” we smiled happily. The African airport baggage handlers seemed relieved. The church officials spoke in rapid French. Eventually, both luggage and dog crate were hauled out to the airport parking area and deposited next to the church’s SUV. I opened the barred front door of the crate, which by now was shaking dangerously with a very happy dog inside who recognized her owners. I placed her on her leash and led her out to a patch of grass while others figured out how to fit cage, luggage, and humans into one SUV. Jordan relieved her bladder for a very, very, very long time. I had no idea a dog could contain herself that much. Poor dog.

No one asked to see any paperwork on Jordan. No vet inspected her in the cage or looked at her certificates and vaccination records. The last officials to glance at her papers had been the Air France employees in Washington D.C. Bill, Trixy, and Jordan… we were a happy and thankful trio to exit the airport and complete our journey to Buea in the vehicle. Jordan quickly adapted to chasing lizards with long blue or orange tails instead of squirrels. She adapted to beans with rice and a complement of egg, meat, and vegetables/fruits instead of commercial variety dog food. Her yard was bigger than ever before. She was with her beloved humans. She guarded her new home faithfully. She trotted around Buea and introduced the concept of “pet dog” to many. She growled and snapped at the little children who dared throw rocks at her during her strolls with her humans. She pretended to be mean and vicious with her gentle-leader halter snug around her snout while everyone else thought it was a muzzle because she was such a wild dog. She didn’t even care when others joked, “Dash me your dog. I want to eat your dog. Your dog would make good pepper soup.”

Jordan hunting Lizard

In general, perhaps Jordan adapted to life in Africa even better than her humans. Certainly both she and them were glad she came along to share in the adventure. The only glitch came a few months into her life in Buea. One February her female human, Trixy, came home from the bakery with a box that went ‘meow’. “I didn’t find any peanut butter but I found this…” she called out cheerfully.

“Oh no, a cat,” Bill replied as he peered inside the box with a tiny fluffy grey kitten inside.

“Isn’t she cute!” I answered with joy. “Come, Jordan, come and meet your new friend.” 

Jordan checking out Milo as a kitten

Jordan tiptoed over to the box cautiously. “Hiss!” the fur ball inside suddenly fluffed and arched its back in a menacing stance. Ok, it wasn’t the best of first impressions but eventually the dog/cat duo came to a truce of sorts. Cat teases dog but dog remains champion over the food bowl.

~o~

“Petting, scratching, and cuddling a dog could be as soothing to the mind and heart as deep meditation and almost as good for the soul as prayer.”

― Dean Koontz, False Memory

Reflections

Two months ago I left Cameroon. I was exhausted and could rarely see the good and positive - though I knew it was there.  

Today - here and now - I am on the eve of my flight to return to Cameroon for the last time as a resident.  I am seeing snapshots in my mind - scenes of Cameroon’s lush countryside, of steep and rugged mountains, of sweeping vistas, of the black sand beaches of Limbe and the white sand beaches of Kribi.  I see the winding roads through the jungle.

I smell the scent of the wet jungle, I feel the sand and water between my toes, I hear laughter floating across the breeze.

Memories - times shared - conversations engaged - laughter, insights, dreams, trials, struggles, failures, successes.  Each image a story rich in culture, context, and sub-text.

Life is what happens when you aren't looking - or so they say.  But living and working in Cameroon for nearly five years I have been constantly aware of life in the making - here - and now.

I think of the people with whom we have shared this time: Cameroonians and non-Cameroonians.  People of similar faith and those with very different belief systems.

Images of my favorite places to hangout float through my mind: Arne’s; Capitol Hotel; A1-Complex; Gideon, the Shawarma guy; Bonga Juice; Clerks Quarters; and the Mediterranean.

I see Thanksgivings and Christmases and parties at our home and with friends at theirs.  I see quiet evenings and game nights.  I see failed game nights that turned into beautiful quiet evenings and spontaneous quiet evenings that became game nights.

I see church: fellowship meals, sermons, and energetic discussions.  I see the friends and colleagues who traveled far and near to visit.

I taste the many cooking experiments of our own making and that of our volunteers.  I can taste the oil and pepper in the black beans; the succulent chicken and tomato sauce; 

I remember the very day the first time I smelled the grass, February 14, 2010 after the first rain of the season.  I smell delicious food and the burnt aromas of forgotten popcorn or rice.

I feel the cold dampness of the rains; I feel the warmth of the sun and rejoice in the gentle breeze.  I feel the cool of each evening; 

My thoughts drift to the Health Centre, what was, what it has become, and thinking what it can yet be.  Much of this I am still processing.

Some speak of legacy - this time in Africa.  But it is only a drop in the bucket during a rainstorm in Buea.  The entirety of our life is our legacy: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Each of us is a gift to humanity - a gift of our talents, our time, and our skills.  We gift our interests and efforts.  Sometimes it is appreciated - sometimes not.  The quality of the reception of our gift need not change the gift.  The quality of the gift of ourself is our choice, not the choice of someone external to ourself.  

Let us encourage one another.  Because there are many days of struggle.  

Be courageous! Love with genuine affection.  Love the lovely and the unlovely.  Bless all with the gift of a life lived in and through Love.  

Fit for Skyline Drive

The drive to Yaounde from Buea is about 322 km (200 miles). The fastest I made it was in 4 hours the longest included an overnight in Douala because the traffic really was that bad (coming back from Yaounde).  Normally, without feeling rushed it was between five and six hours.  The thing is a Nissan Terrano is an SUV and it drove like an SUV abused in Africa - with good reason - because it is.

When I picked up the Fit I was trying to think about a fun place to drive for an extended “get to know you” experience. The ONLY place that entered my mind was Skyline Drive in the Shenandoah National Park.  I mapped it out in Google to 207 miles with an estimated drive time of 4 hr and 35 minutes. 

It was a beautiful drive. I opened up the sunroof and put the windows down. I was able to work the car a bit more.  The drive to Front Royal was pretty standard but turning up Skyline Drive I immediately noticed the CVT trying to find the right place to be. What I was driving were some rapid up and down hills on corners. It was trying to anticipate what I might want or need but was not meeting with any success. So, I turned off ECON and put the car in sport mode, requiring me to use the paddle shifters. This turned out much more satisfying (admittedly however I am a manual shift guy and still wanted to shift that way).  In any case the CVT obeyed my command. I found the Fit ready to respond with some engine breaking on the down slopes and entering corners before adding power through the curve and up the hills.  It was quick to shift up or down.

The steering is light and precise, coming off the Terrano I simply wasn’t prepared for its accuracy, but that is one reason for me to do this drive. With the wind in my receding hairline, music emanating from the iPod through the sound system, with a “Fit” and capable car I was getting road therapy - salve for the soul.

It was all real good until I realized I went west on 33 rather than east. Oh well - I wasn’t lost just getting extra miles on the highway.  I went back via I-81 to I-66 an extra 60 miles or so.

My entire drive took me about 6.5 hrs with stops out vistas and animals.  I was reminded just how fun it is to drive a car that is so willing to be driven.  To be fair to the Terrano, the few times I found myself on muddy and challenging roads I was ever so pleased it was what it was!!

Everything has its purpose.  I enjoyed the Terrano and am now enjoy the Fit.  To fully enjoy each I have to remember each has a slightly different purpose.  

Everyone has a purpose. Sometimes it seems that our “things” are easier to see and understand purpose. In people purpose may be more difficult. However I would like to make it easier. I believe it is our purpose to love without condition or requirement.  Everything else we are or have is something else - perhaps gifts from God to be given in the service of love.  You are fit for service because you have a purpose and a very high calling: love others as you love yourself.  May the love of yourself and others grow more each day.

Let It Rain

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you where ever you go.” Joshua 1:9

~O~

Sometimes courage is in short supply.
Sometimes strength is found in weakness.
Sometimes the tears threaten to fall.

The glass facade trembles and nears dissolution into a broken heap of shattered remnants.

There are many things to appreciate about my life in Buea. I am surrounded by blessings in the form of friends, pets, smiles, and inspirational stories every day. I live in a people-oriented culture where people take time for people.

~O~

Sister Comfort dropped by the patient's room looking for a pair of baby's shoes. In spite of her busy schedule, she exchanged pleasantries with the new mother for a quarter of an hour before continuing on with her duties. She forgot the shoes.

~O~

A member in church is recovering from an operation at home. Each day a steady stream of brothers and sisters in Christ, visit her, delivering fruits, drinks, and companionship – distracting her from the pain and cheering her through discussions on the local events in town or reminiscing over enjoyable memories.

~O~

Even online, when I open my in-box, it spills over with messages and encouragement in daily snippet exchanges shorter than a tweet but filled with plenty of love.

Everywhere I look, I am blessed.

~O~

Still, there are the periods of loneliness, tiredness, discouragement – seasons of sadness. Or perhaps not an entire season but rather moments of melancholy? Periods in life that remind me I am human, not immune to the tribulations in life.

Sometimes the showers of blessing are showers of sadness too.

The rain outside my window tonight falls lightly, it drips in a steady flow – slow droplets from the sky sighing in their misty descent. Their melancholic liquid symphonies splashing to their death in a mournful rhythm of drip, drip, drip.

I want to join their chorus. I want to let my own tears blend and mix into the watery cascades, allow the sadness  to float away in the same rivulets as the falling water. The rainy splashes can drown out my sobs. My tears will vanish in the fleeting flowing eddies of swirling water.

I want to let the tears come and wash away  this sorrow.

~O~

Emotions are like the waves of the ocean's tide, ebbing to and fro. Sometimes content and happy. Sometimes disappointed and sad. My patience is in short supply these days. It's a thin line. I easily snap at slight provocations.

A new nurse did not know how to set up the quinine infusion for a small child properly yesterday. He almost caused a serious mishap through his ignorance by failing to ask for help in getting the dosage correct. He could have caused a major problem that might have hurt the child.

“How can you not know how to give quinine for malaria?” My voice was angry as I rebuked him for his mistake. “Haven't you worked as a nurse before in other hospitals? How is that you don't know how to set up the most commonly given infusion for malaria? You told us you could do all things. You told us in your initial interview that you were capable of all the basic duties required of a nurse.... ”

The new nurse maintained his composure. He couldn't understand my hastily spoken complaints but he understood that I was upset.

“I'm sorry, doctor,” was all he could add.

Later, I was reminded. “He's just a baby, doctor. He's new.”

It was true. In spite of his deceptions regarding his initial skills, now was not the time to deliver a lecture on his incompetence but rather move forward. Chiding his lack of abilities would not solve the issue. Berating him over his mistakes was not the solution.

I took him aside. “I am sorry for getting upset at you,” I apologized.

~O~

This morning I argued with the auntie and mother of a young child sick in our hospital. “Please, let her continue her treatment. Let her complete her medicine. She is too ill to go home.”

They were determined to go though. “Doctor, you are not getting us,” the auntie complained.

“I am getting you,” I answered. “I am just not agreeing with you.”

In the end, no matter what I said or offered, they left. Their minds were made up.

~O~

“It was the worm medication that the doctor prescribed. It was too much medicine. My doctor in Yaounde says I should not have taken it all.”

The recently bereaved woman who'd just suffered a miscarriage needed someone to blame. It didn't matter that the worm medication she believed to be the culprit for the miscarriage was part of the standard of care given to all pregnant women. She needed a reason. A reason so that she could avoid a miscarriage in the future.

“She has to blame the medication, doctor,” my astute nurse observed. “She cannot just say it happened like that. I could see that she already had it in her mind that the worm medicine was the problem. She has to tell her husband that so he doesn't blame her.”

She was correct, of course. I have to be brave and professional and accept the accusations. Arguing the scientific facts have not convinced her otherwise. She needs a scape-goat. I am that person today. Even though I know I'm innocent and haven't caused her harm, I am hurt. It is a terrible accusation to be blamed for the loss of one's baby.

I want to cry but now is not appropriate. Tears will not help. I continue on with my day. Even when I don't feel confident and brave, I can at least play the part – maintain my role as medical leader. My nurses need me.

~O~

Tonight, alone, the rain falls softly. The burdens on my heart feel extra heavy. I wish I could join the crying sky. I want to weep for all the pain and suffering I witness in my labors. I want to mourn for the tragedies that enter my sphere of awareness here in Buea.

The tears cannot come though.

Instead I let the sky do the crying for me.
Let it rain.
Let the tears from heaven come.
Cleanse away the sadness and the sorrow; make way for the sunshine tomorrow.

~O~

“My eyes fail, looking for your promise; I say, 'When will you comfort me?'” Psalm 119:82

“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” Isaiah 40:31

“This is my Father's world,
Why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King;
Let the heavens ring!
God reigns;
Let the earth be glad.”
- This Is My Father's World.  Hymn written by Babcock

Taxi Church

\

“I'm not sure we're going to make it to the church service after all,” I shrugged helplessly and gave Arnoldo a knowing nod as we surveyed the barely half-full minibus. Standing in the muddy car park on a Sunday morning, the two of us ignored the persistent pleas of the bus driver to climb into his minivan. The van would not leave until the seats were taken, aka. 'the bus don flop'. At the rate it was filling up, this could be a while. We were anxious to make it to Limbe to a Catholic mass by the seaside at one of the oldest missions in Cameroon, Bota Holy Trinity. 

Public transport is not always as speedy as one would hope.

“Douala?” a young man urgently shoved his inquiry toward us, anxious to take on another passenger. He pressed forward and tried to herd us like a pair of sheep toward his empty vehicle. 

“No, Limbe,” I refused his offer and scanned the car park again for any other vehicle that might be headed to the beach town sooner. 

The young scout slipped away, lost in the flesh of other anxious young drivers going to Limbe who'd suddenly heard their prompt. 

“Limbe, Limbe!” the man yelled excitedly. He ushered us toward his waiting 'clando' – a private taxi car that he will fill with four passengers in the back seat and two in the passenger seat up front before departing. These clando taxis can fill faster and are sometimes an expedited means of reaching one's desired destination. 

I looked dubiously at his vehicle. There was one elderly gentleman settled in the front seat. With Arnoldo and I, that would mean three more passengers before he'd go. 

I waited, not yet convinced at the drivers insistence, “We're going now, now, like this!” He was still searching for more customers as he proclaimed his imminent departure, waving his arms dramatically. 'Now' is a relative term.

The minutes ticked by and I looked at my watch. “Well, it might be that we are there just to see the church. The service might be over by the time we make it to Limbe,” I tried to look on the bright side. “It will still be an adventure.”

Suddenly the driver's tone ramped up a notch in urgency.  “Enter, enter,” he almost physically pushed us toward his clando. “See, ee de flop. We de go  now. Enter!”

Out of the periphery of my vision, I noted two well dressed women enter the car. The smaller woman was dressed in an cream-colored suit with matching hat – a very stylish hat trimmed with lace and angled jauntily on her head. It reminded me of photographs of certain  British royalty. The woman situated her purse in her lap and folded her hands over her small Bible. 

The other woman did some fast negotiations with the taxi driver and the elderly gentleman in the front seat. She was a much larger woman, actually. Amply cushioned as some might say. She was dressed in high-fashion too. She had on a tailored dress fashioned to accentuate her curves. The material was of the latest design and high-lighted with shiny gold accents. Her head wrapper added an additional six inches to her height. With the air of a queen, she situated herself unashamedly into the front seat while the small elderly gentleman happily stepped aside and moved himself to the back seat. She had that air of regal confidence. 

Recognizing that the taxi was indeed, now full, I gave a nod of agreement and climbed into the back seat of the car. Four in the back seat. We were cozy and ready for the drive to Limbe at last. As the elderly man squeezed his body and shifted toward the middle a bit more in an attempt to close his door, the elegant woman in front turned round to survey her company behind. 

“Ashia, Pa,” she gave the elderly farmer a gracious smile. 

“Thank you, mom,” he smiled up as he succeeded at least in getting the door to latch.

“I can't fit behind. Now I paid for two seats in front.” She smiled broadly. “I'm very comfortably situated now.”

Knees and elbows jabbing into each other in our cramped quarters in the rear of the car, all four of us nodded in agreement. Yes, she did seem comfortable in her front seat. 

Content that he now had a full vehicle, the driver kept quiet as he concentrated on the road. The incredibly green fields of the Tole tea bushes rushed past our window as he drove. A short quiet ensued as everyone sat ensconced in their own thoughts. Suddenly, the woman in the front seat turned slightly. “Today is Sunday. I want us to pray.”

“Amen,” her friend concurred. The elderly man nodded in agreement as well.

“Turn with me to the book of Numbers in the Holy Bible,” she began.

Of course, none of us could actually get out our Bibles and turn the pages given our incommodious quarters but this did not deter our front-seat preacher. 

 Confidently she dug into her purse and pulled out her small white, leather-bound Bible. She turned the pages and left them open on her lap. As she began to expound upon the story of the rebellious and ungrateful Israelites grumbling about wanting meat to eat, I wondered how she was going to turn this into a prayer.

“Now the people complained about their hardships in the hearing of the Lord,” she proclaimed, “Amen?!”

Her friend next to me murmured an agreeing “Amen.”

“...and when he heard them his anger was aroused...' “Praise the Lord?!” 

“Praise the Lord,” the elderly man reflected back. 

“'...Then fire from the Lord burned among them and consumed some of the outskirts of the camp...'” our taxi preacher was gaining steam, “Amen?!”

“Amen,” several passengers nodded.

Her exhortation continued at this enthusiastic fiery pace with loud exclamations soliciting the captive audience's participation. 

“'....Moses heard the people of every family wailing at the entrance to their tents.'”... Praise the Lord!” 

“Praise His Name,” we echoed.

“'... The Lord became exceedingly angry, and Moses was troubled.” Amen?!” 

“Amen,” even the taxi driver chimed in.

I still wondered where the spiritual lesson was going to be in her semonette. 

She continued on to verse 23 of Numbers chapter eleven, “The Lord answered Moses, “Is the Lord’s arm too short? Now you will see whether or not what I say will come true for you.”

“Amen?!” She breathed dramatically. 

“Amen,” the chorus echoed from her back-seat audience. 

Our eloquent taxi preacher tilted her head toward the driver. He kept his eyes on the road and gave her an affirming grunt of affirmation to continue. 

“Isn't God great?” she shouted in enthusiasm. 

“All the time,” we answered with a murmur of nodding heads.

“God is great. Amen?! From this passage we can see that whatever be the problem, God is able to deliver us. Praise the Lord! Amen! Here we see that God is telling Moses that He is not weak. He is mighty,” and her she paused for emphasis, “God is more than capable of delivering us from any problem that we might have – no matter the problem, whether it be financial problem, whether it be family problem, whether it be health problem, no matter  – whatever problem we might have, God is able to deliver us! Amen?!”

She paused to catch her breath, wiping a few beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead. 

“Amen?” She turned to partially face us seated behind her. “ No matter the problem; God is mighty and able to save us. Amen?”

“Amen,” we sighed in reply to her exuberance. 

“Isn't God good?”

“All the time,” everyone in the car answered.

“Amen,” she leaned back in her front seat and studied the words opened before her in her Bible. “We have nothing to fear. Just like God was able to deliver the Isrealites in the Bible, He is more than able to deliver us from whatever problem that we have.”

She folded her hands, satisfied. The verdant green vegetation of the tea plantation fields gradually transformed into the tumbledown wooden houses and dirt yards indicating that we were nearing Limbe.

“The Word of the Lord has spoken. Praise the Lord.”

“Amen,” we murmured in union. 

“Let us fold our hands and pray to our mighty Father in Heaven who is able to solve all our problems.” She raised her own right hand as she bowed her elegantly wrapped head. 

“Father in Heaven, we pray – we pray for your protection as we go to our various destinations. We pray, Father, we pray, that you watch over the driver and keep us safe as we travel. Keep us under your protection, we pray. We praise you that you remind us in the meditation today that you are our Deliverer. And, no matter the problem, you will deliver us.” 

She paused, head bowed, letting the words of her prayer sink in. “In your mighty Name we pray, Amen.”

“Amen,” the rest of the taxi raised their heads from joining her in prayer.

Arnoldo and I reached Limbe safely. We parted ways with our energetic taxi-pastor and her companion at the drop-off. The Catholic service was just beginning as we entered. I believe the sermon was about the Apostle Peter and the cornerstone of the church. It was a lovely picturesque setting for the church service. The waves rolled gently to and fro along the sandy shores. The salty sea breeze wafted through the rafters of the high vaulted ceiling. The choir's voices sang melodiously 

in the apse of the building. 

Two sermons in one Sunday morning. It was a blessed day.

“The Lord answered Moses, “Is the Lord’s arm too short? Now you will see whether or not what I say will come true for you.”  Numbers 11: 23