The last stop on my West Africa trip in April was Liberia, and anyone who has ever been there will recognize the photo above as most certainly a regular sighting in that country.
I lived in Monrovia, Liberia in 2018 for about eight months; it was intended to be a long-term move, but as I got integrated into the work and life in Monrovia, it was clear that the job wasn’t right, and I wasn’t right, and things in general just weren’t set up in a way that would promote flourishing for any of us. I’m grateful for that experience and I learned a lot, but I was also anxious about returning to Liberia and facing some of those really hard things again; thankfully, while I did manage some stressful situations, overall the trip was a success!
I was relieved, after many days in Francophone countries, to be returning to a place where communication was easier, and I was also relieved when the three flights it took for me to get from Dakar to Monrovia all went on without disruption. The apartment I was staying at was next door to an old friend and my colleague from Ethiopia was already there, and thankfully all of this trip was in the same time zone so I was well acclimated upon arrival and able to jump right in to the action. So many things to be grateful for from day one!
This was my first NeuroKids trip to actually see and participate in a surgeon training. Similarly to our previous trip to Kijabe, Kenya, Meski, my colleague from Ethiopia, was there to train our new coordinator, and we had both arrived a few days before the surgeon training was supposed to start. I’m so glad we planned it that way, because upon arrival, we realized that we didn’t have the right cleaning materials for the equipment and we hadn’t gotten an patient files for training, among other random things that needed sorting, so I spent some time trying to figure out those things while also meeting with and making critical connections with people at the Ministry of Health, without whom we could not run our programs!
It was a busy few days with more surprises than I would generally like to experience, but we managed to get what we needed, some at the very last minute. The next few days were surgeon training, where more surprises awaited us – the cautery tool didn’t work as intended, the sterilizing processes was new to everyone, and the anesthesia team struggled to get intravenous lines into the patients. BUT, thankfully, we were able to accomplish much of what we intended to accomplish; patients got surgery, the surgeon and the coordinator learned a lot, and we as a programs team also came away with many different ideas of how we can improve the training and prevent some of these issues in the future.
The next stop on my West Africa trip was a quick trip to Senegal. NeuroKids is considering building a program in Senegal, which is a hub in Francophone Africa for the training of surgeons and medical staff, so I wanted to pop in and meet the potential partners and try to understand a bit better the situation there along with the training system.
I haven’t spent much time in Senegal but it’s always been high on my list of places to spend more time, and this short trip only whetted my appetite for more! It’s a big hospital with a huge potential impact, and definitely a place I’m recommending for further program expansion.
I ended up having a free day here on a weekend, which was a much welcomed pause in what had been a crazy week of travel and long days. I was able to stretch my legs and walk along the Corniche while enjoying some cooler breezes and a stop for Lebanese food. Enjoy!
I love airplane sunsets – flying over West Africa from Abidjan to Dakar.The Atlantic from in front of my hotelPlace du Souvenir AfricainPlace du Souvenir AfricainLebanese food in West Africa just slays. Some of my favorite food memories in this region are while eating shawarmas and moutabal. A cool mosaic on the side of a building at the University.A valiant effort at hiding a cell towerBaobab juice! If you ever have the chance to try it, do! It’s just kind of sweet and fruity but really good for you and I love when I find it on travels! Beauty.
I’m back in West Africa, a region my heart loves almost more than any other in the world. My global wanderer era began here as a Peace Corps Volunteer, posted for two years in a small village in the middle of Benin. The Peace Corps experience of immersion in culture, language, and living was one of the hardest and most rewarding experiences of my life. In the time since then, I have spent additional significant time in West Africa and somehow always keep coming back to this region, though it’s been quite awhile since my last visit.
First stop on this trip: Cote D’Ivoire. One of the few countries in this region I’ve never been to, and was honestly a little anxious about. I haven’t spoken French in awhile, would it come back to me sufficiently? I don’t know this particular country, cultural nuances, expectations, or particular safety issues, would that be a problem? Would I feel as comfortable here as have felt elsewhere?
Street art in Bouake
I need not have worried. The terre rouge, the bright fabrics, the warm kindness and humid air and French greetings welcomed me like an old friend.
The purpose of my trip was to, very simply, understand what is going on with our site here. NeuroKids has supported programming here for about two years, but have struggled a bit with communication, language, collaboration, and understanding of context. I came in with some preconceived ideas of what I would find, and based on what I knew about the program, I honestly wasn’t even really sure we should be continuing it. So, my primary objective was to learn and better understand the people, context, and situation on the ground, and determine how we can best support (or not) the continuation of a successful program here.
Along the road.
The hospital NeuroKids has partnered with is in Bouake, in the middle of the country, about a five-hour drive north from Abidjan, which is the largest city and international airport on the coast. The ride was uneventful, the road was mostly smooth, surrounded by lush greenery and palm oil plantations occasionally pierced by a towering baobab tree. My hosts greeted me enthusiastically upon my arrival at the University Hospital of Bouake, and as we chatted about their work, the hospital, the processes and supplies and patients and the expansive story behind the numbers, my entire perspective shifted from the communication issues to feelings of awe at the dedication and commitment of the team even through challenging circumstances.
Some of the hospital leadership and neurosurgical team
One surgical resident is currently in rotation in an entirely different unit, but after putting in her working hours there, she’ll come over to the neurosurgical unit to support NeuroKids work and data collection, just because she’s so passionate about neurosurgery and the kids receiving care. Another surgeon spends literally all his days off raising support from generous organizations, donors, and societies, to ensure every child that needs hydrocephalus treatment can get it even if they can’t afford it. You see, in the public hospital system, surgery is free, but the patient still must pay for supplies and medication, and this can be prohibitively expensive for a huge part of the population. Thanks to this surgeon working hard to promote awareness, many children who wouldn’t be able to access the surgery otherwise are granted the hope of a long, healthy life. Surgeries like this are held during ‘camps’ where the neurosurgical team, along with nurses and other necessary providers, volunteer to care for patients while still managing their ‘regular’ workloads. It really is an incredible show of unified support for the patients and their families.
Another special person I met was Angelique*, a two-year-old girl with an unusually large head for her tiny body, the result of untreated hydrocephalus. Too much fluid in the brain forced the head to grow to accommodate; if treated while the baby is still small and the skull bones haven’t fused yet, oftentimes the body will catch up to the head and the child will appear normal, but Angelique’s mother didn’t have the means to travel with her across the country and see a specialist until recently. I had the privilege of watching the surgical team in action performing an endoscopic third ventriculostomy, or ETV, which will help the excess fluid to drain away and relieve the pressure in Angelique’s brain without needing to depend on a shunt. A shunt is a tube inserted in the brain that drains the fluid, and it is widely used around the world but can lead to a lot of potential complications requiring additional surgery. Angelique’s mother was scared but hopeful, and thrilled when the team was able to tell her the surgery went very well. The next day Angelique was alert and eating, which was a huge milestone, as the pressure in her brain had made it difficult for her to keep food down. It was such an honor to meet Angelique and her mother, and to know her child has the opportunity now for a much longer, fuller life because of the incredible skill and dedication of the surgical team in Bouake and the provision of necessary tools thanks to NeuroKids.
Performing the ETV
One of the things I love about this job I get to do is I often have to manage unexpected challenges, to a varying level of success. This time? I was handed a computer that NeuroKids had provided to the team a few years ago but it had become so slow it was basically unusable. We must collect data to really know if our work is successful, so a computer is necessary to be able to submit surgical information to NeuroKids. It took a lot of time and a few pleas for support from my tech-savvy husband back home, but I got it working again and I am still proud I was able to do it!! I’m certainly never bored on trips like this, that’s for sure!
So proud I got a completely unusable french computer to a usable state!
As I’m writing this, I’m watching Cote D’Ivoire fade into the distance out my window as I jet to the next destination on my itinerary. I’m just so grateful I get to do this. I’m grateful I have gotten to spend so much of my life in West Africa that it feels like home. I’m grateful I speak French and the cobwebs in the language center of my brain were quickly brushed out, ensuring mutual understanding and trust. I’m grateful the team has become not only people I work with across the globe but friends, who I now feel I have a much better ability to support so they can continue this important, needed work that can change and save lives. We talked about all the ways we can work well together moving forward, and I take with me a long list of action items we can pursue to continue to expand and offer more and more kids with hydrocephalus and spina bifida hope and growth and longer, healthier lives in Cote D’Ivoire. May it be so.
*Name changed
The Basilica in YamoussoukroMerry Christmas and Happy New Year! (taken on April 4)Sunset over a quiet hospital
It was five years ago this week that I was consoling sobbing Peace Corps Volunteers after telling them they were evacuating to their home of record which would look and feel like an entirely different world than the one they once knew. Some of the best humans I’ve ever had the privilege of working with, who had committed their lives and time and resources to service and community building and cultural understanding and teaching, had the world tilt on it’s access and were forced to abandon relationships and projects and passions and pets and figure out what on earth returning to the States meant for them. It was unfair and unjust and was also the right thing to do, while stories of death and panic filled our newsfeeds, flights were being suspended around the globe and countries’ borders were closing with no warning. There was fear and concern and doubt and bewilderment all swirling over an undercurrent of distrust, unrest, and potential violence. We all truly thought South Africa would be shut down for a few weeks or a few months and the Volunteers would be back soon, no one could have guessed that didn’t happen for more than two years.
I was working through that time purely on adrenaline, keeping my emotions in check and logistics organized while trying to figure out what exactly ‘lockdown’ and getting stuck indefinitely in South Africa would mean for me, and for my work in a Volunteer organization that suddenly found ourselves without Volunteers. The best word I can find is it was bewildering; like every other minute something new and unexpected was being thrown at us, with no history or experience with anything like it at all to fall back on. There was a deep grief and just the very first glimpses into the fact that the life and work as I knew it would never be the same again. The world looked scary and different, the streets were quiet and the shops were empty, the people you did see were all wearing masks and avoiding interactions with others, and it felt like something out of a low-budget post-apocalyptic movie you stumbled across on late night cable.
It was not entirely unlike what I am feeling this week, five years later, as I watch, bewildered, as the landscape of global health, international development, humanitarian aid and support, peacebuilding, public education, and far more are being dismantled and destroyed. Friends, colleagues from around the world, good people who want to do good work that is needed and valuable to humankind are watching decades and careers of work go up in flames. People who rely on those people for their livelihoods, their families, their health, just abandoned without warning or transition. It’s cruel and inhumane and will have deep, lasting, devastating impacts on millions of people for decades to come. The world, once again, looks scary and different for millions affected by these decisions and the lasting effects will be felt by every one of us.
It grieves me deeply. This is not who we are. Except apparently it is, though, so I’m also looking around me in bewilderment and confusion. I thought we were people committed to serving the least of these, to loving our neighbors as ourselves, to kindness and compassion. I thought we were, in general, a generous people who believe all human life and flourishing is valuable and worthy of care and investment and support without reservation. That’s who I am and that’s who I thought we all were, and I can’t help but feel a little bit lonely, all of the sudden.
I know that this that I am feeling is not a new phenomenon. In fact, it happens in a lot of countries around the world on a pretty regular basis. A new regime takes over, whether legitimately or not, and the people directly feel the benefits and/or consequences of that. Systems are built and destroyed and rebuilt, regimes and kingdoms rise and fall, lives are built and destroyed. What a humbling privilege I have, to never have considered that it might happen in my own backyard. If I can chisel out the tiniest of silver linings in this whole situation, it’s that I have slightly more understanding and compassion for those who do go through this more often than me.
There is so much I cannot control outside of myself, so in these bewildering times, I have to commit to keep doing what I know to be right. I am certain that all of the good people doing good things whose world is upside down right now will continue to do good things, and so will I. I will continue to press on towards what I have been called to; generosity, kindness, compassion, love, peace, hope for the future, a life to the full.
To those directly affected, my heart is with you. If I can be of support, I absolutely will, please reach out.
To everyone else, I’m not going to debate things like the value of education, public health, or human lives regardless of nationality or ethnicity or race or religion. And I truly hope I’m proven wrong sometime soon; I hope I’m blindsided by surprise actions that make me realize oh! we ARE a country and people that is generous, kind, and compassionate. Oh, may it be so.
Blue skies and sunshine greeted me upon landing in Zambia, a welcome change from the rain in Kenya. Lusaka, the capital of Zambia, is the home to University Teaching Hospital (UTH), the largest hospital in the country and home to one of NeuroKids’ newer programs. The program here has been regularly referred to as one of our high performing programs, with a large patient volume and a coordinator who was collecting a ton of good data. This visit was for me to learn and determine both how we can replicate these successes in other sites as well as explore opportunities for expanding our patient and family care programs in the future. I was expecting to learn a lot about the processes, systems, and practices used in the whole patient surgery and care continuum; what I didn’t expect was to be so touched by the heart and actions of the staff and the patients.
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The Zambia program began just over six months ago and the neurosurgical unit at UTH serves patients from all over Zambia and into surrounding nations. I was overwhelmed by the physical size of the hospital as I was led through the maze of buildings filled not only with patients but nursing students, medical students, residents, and all the other staff critical to support such a large healthcare and teaching institution. My host assured me everyone gets lost in the first few visits.
I had three days with our coordinator there, doing a lot of expected things like collecting patient data and making follow-up calls to patients who had surgery weeks or months ago. She did all of these things with excellence, of course, but I also got to witness her extraordinary commitment to patients and families as she went above and beyond these expectations.
For example, a four-day-old infant who had been born with a myelomeningocele, a type of spina bifida where the spinal cord didn’t grow correctly and ended up in a bubble on her lower back. She was tiny but healthy, and was waiting to be evaluated by the surgical team to close the defect on her back as well as be evaluated for hydrocephalus (too much fluid in the brain), which often occurs with this type of spina bifida. The baby was fussy and not sleeping well, so our coordinator gently asked the mother a few questions. She was just 18 years old, this was her first baby, and she was alone in the hospital, where bedside nursing is not what it is in the United States, and family members are expected to provide care like food and bathing. This young mother was afraid to bathe her child; she didn’t know how, her baby had this big spinal malformation that was scary, and mom didn’t have a basin to hold the water. Our coordinator went down the hallway in the ward and explained the situation to an older mother who had cared for many babies and grandbabies. She was very happy to help this young mother, gathered the necessary materials, and showed her how to bathe the baby safely. The baby fell right to sleep afterwards. Our coordinator, who is a qualified nurse, also took some time to check the mothers’ cesarean wound and give her guidance on how to manage pain and to keep it clean. What a gift to offer this young mother, support and care in what I am sure was a scary, exhausting time.
A bit later down the hall, we chatted with two young moms whose babies were referred for hydrocephalus. They were scared and had lots of questions, as they had only just been admitted and hadn’t yet seen the doctor. What was wrong with their children? How would this affect their lives? Were they really cursed like so many people believe? Our coordinator quickly walked down the hallway a bit further and asked an 8 year old boy she knew named Daniel* to come down and speak to these scared moms. Daniel had a shunt, the most common treatment for hydrocephalus, that had been inserted when he was an infant and drained the extra fluid in his brain down into his abdominal cavity. He explained that he can’t carry water on his head or play aggressive sports in the field behind his school, but he helps around the house in other ways, is a good student, and hopes to become a doctor one day. The mothers were visibly relieved and grateful.
It was in these conversations and throughout my time in the wards that I saw the true gift of hope that our incredible coordinator tossed like confetti all around her.
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Tuesday is clinic day, when dozens of patients come to the outpatient department as part of their regular follow-up from surgery or if they’ve been referred for a neurosurgical consult that doesn’t merit an urgent admission to the ward. Patients had begun lining up well before sunrise; some were from Lusaka while others had travelled for days to get there.
I was especially touched by Natalie, a five-year-old girl who had spina bifida and hydrocephalus and danced her way around the office like any rambunctious five-year-old would. She and I had full conversations in two entirely different languages but somehow, when the language is joy and play and dancing, the words don’t really matter.
Samuel was a 12 year old boy with hydrocephalus who was studying hard and wants to be a civil engineer when he grows up. Ellee was a six year old girl who was a bit slow to speak and had one foot and ankle that didn’t quite work as well as the other kids’, but she did her best to get around and keep up with her siblings and friends. These kids and their parents triumphed over some incredibly challenging situations to get where they were. There were also a few babies who had not yet been named; children of fathers who had abandoned them when their heads had started to grow out of proportion to their bodies; whose mothers’ didn’t want to name them until they were assured a future. Those babies simultaneously broke my heart and reaffirmed my commitment to the work I’m passionate about, where we hope to expand our advocacy efforts and give hope to these mommas who don’t feel they have any.
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ChildHelp runs a House of Hope just a few blocks from UTH and we stopped by for a visit. The house is a place for mommas and children who live far away to have a place to stay while waiting for their surgery or care or follow-up appointment. They also offer these mommas training on how to care for some of the special needs that kids with spina bifida may have, and marketable skills like sewing and baking and gardening, for so many of the children’s fathers leave them due to the stigma of a child with special needs. It’s an incredible program with an inspiring staff and we’re exploring ways we can support this type of work in Zambia and beyond.
I learned so much in Zambia, about spina bifida and hydrocephalus care of course, but even more so, about the inspiring mothers, children, and healthcare workers who do the tireless work of spreading guidance, support, and hope for every mother and child. What an honor to be able to witness this small glimpse into their lives and commit to doing everything we can as an organization to support children (and their families) to live long, healthy lives with spina bifida and hydrocephalus.
It is Thursday night, and I had hoped to capture a beautiful photo of the sunset, concluding an incredible visit to Kenya. Unfortunately, the rain derailed this plan, as it has all week. Despite the rain and mud, my time in Kenya has been remarkable. Although I am new to my job now with a very cool organization called NeuroKids, I am obviously not new to the continent of Africa nor global surgery, and stepping into Kijabe Hospital felt a bit like returning home again.
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I joined NeuroKids three months ago as the Program Director. If you’re reading this, you’re probably not new to my wandering, as my career has taken me to dozens of countries through decades of service, ever committed to seeing a day when quality healthcare is accessible and affordable regardless of one’s birthplace. I’m so grateful and honored join with NeuroKids as we work together with incredible partners to improve the lives of children with hydrocephalus and spina bifida.
This trip to Kenya was a learning opportunity for me, to meet some of our dedicated staff and partners and experience the work, challenges, and opportunities firsthand. We’re just ramping up our program in Kijabe, a small community about an hour outside of Nairobi just on the edge of the great Rift Valley. Which, as a side note, I never did see thanks to the constant clouds and rain throughout my time there, though I’m told it’s beautiful. I guess I’ll just have to come back to confirm for myself.
In most countries where NeuroKids works we hire a coordinator; usually a nurse or other healthcare worker familiar with the clinical setting who also has an aptitude for data collection and coordination. This individual collects patient information, coordinates patient care, communicates with families, surgeons, and other specialists, and ensures ongoing care if needed. Training these coordinators is usually done remotely, but we seized this opportunity to bring our Senior Program Coordinator who lives in Ethiopia, our Data Manager who lives in Uganda, and myself together to onboard our new coordinator for Kijabe, in-person while testing a new training platform we’ve recently developed. It was also a great opportunity for me to meet Brian and Meski, and get to know the Kijabe Hospital staff and our phenomenal partner organizations BethanyKids and ChildHelp, who have worked tirelessly in this community and elsewhere to support pediatric patients for decades.
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Over the years, I have spent considerable time in hospitals like Kijabe, and I am always impressed by the staff’s commitment and dedication to providing the best care possible, even in environments where resources such as electricity, critical supplies and equipment, and even salaries are not always reliable. I felt this dedication to patients the moment I stepped into Kijabe Hospital, and even more than that, I felt hope. Hope is something many of these patients don’t have, in the midst of scary diagnoses and surgeries and uncertainty. But it’s what we all have to offer; though surgery and care, these children and their families can have hope for a brighter future.
The days were busy; the team was diligent as they effectively condensed weeks of learning into hours, along with organizing medical equipment in preparation for upcoming surgeon training. I learned a great deal about how the programs function, and we brainstormed ways to make them even more efficient and effective. We also shared much laughter, enjoyed the warm hospitality of our Kenyan colleagues, and introduced some of our staff to tacos for the first time.
Relationships are paramount, particularly in this context. Throughout my career in international development, I have attended numerous meetings emphasizing the importance of building relationships before work can commence, which is not often the American way. During my time as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Benin, my first intercultural working experience, I was advised by another volunteer that the only way to be taken seriously by community supporters is to share a beverage under a mango tree first. This has proven true repeatedly in my fifteen-plus years of international development work. While the context varies, the essence remains the same: relationship precedes work. I am grateful to have had this time in Kijabe to connect with the exceptional people at BethanyKids, ChildHelp, Kijabe Hospital, and our own NeuroKids staff.
As I prepare to leave, I am filled with gratitude for these individuals and experiences and the shared dream of supporting children with hydrocephalus and spina bifida in leading long, full, joyous, hope-filled lives. It is an honor to be part of this endeavor. I look forward to returning, and hopefully viewing the elusive Rift Valley and sunset in Kenya.
I think I’ve found it. The holy grail of pizza. The piece de resistance, the ultimate destination. And for reasons beyond my current understanding, I feel the need to share this epiphany with anyone who might stumble across this little corner of the internet.
Hold on to your britches, folks, because this could be a journey for some of you. I only ask that you stick with me to the end.
Relatively thin but soft pizza crust
Garlicky tomato sauce
Hot Italian sausage
Pineapple
Mushrooms
Blue Cheese crumbles
Mozzarella
I’m telling you, this ingredient list has it all. Sweet, salty, spicy, funky, crunchy, fresh, filling, and all-around completely satisfying as the full culinary experience. And I’ve probably already got some of you questioning my sanity or salvation, to which I say two things: don’t knock it ‘till you try it, and I absolutely celebrate your fundamental right to disagree with me while simultaneously feel pity for those who will never fully experience this exqiusite quasi-italian flavor explosion for yourselves.
Crust: I make my own from scratch. Why? Because I feel a deep connection to the food I’m making? Because I don’t trust Big Pizza and it’s ingredients? Because I love the lets-wait-and-see-if-I-killed-the-yeast-today anticipation? No. Because ready-made pizza crust is not easy to find here but water, flour, yeast, and salt are. I use this recipe and it turns out fantastic every time; sometimes, when I know the week would be crazy, I make a batch on Sunday and stick them both in the freezer. On the day you’re going to use it, let it thaw in the fridge during the day and let it rise a few minutes on the counter while you’re prepping the other ingredients. Toss a little cornmeal on the pan first for an extra crunch, and I always bake it for 3-4 minutes with no toppings before slathering on the sauce and goodies because undercooked pizza dough is a travesty.
Tomato sauce: I love a saucy pizza, and I make my sauce from scratch as well. Why? See above. I make it up every time and it’s always a little different, but usually it’s a big squirt of tomato paste from the tube, some ketchup or pasta sauce if I have it, if I don’t then a sprinkle of sugar, a few shakes of Italian seasoning, a big squirt of garlic paste or spoonful or a few cloves of minced garlic, or a few shakes of granulated garlic if I am really lazy or out of the fresh stuff, and a glug of olive oil. This time I had gotten some basil paste from home and so added a squirt of that, too. It’s always quick and tasty.
Hot Italian sausage: for my midwestern friends and family who recoil at anything remotely ‘hot’, trust me, this is not hot. It’s got a very gentle kick to it that melds together with the other flavors so eloquently and perfectly that anything less than ‘hot’ would be tasteless. If I had some kind of meatless alternative to this available to me I’d definitely give it a shot but this is all I can find here. What we’re going for in this ingredient is just a little spicy element that doesn’t overtake anything else on the plate but rather adds to it.
Pineapple: Dear reader, the words ‘ew, pineapple on pizza is so gross’ have come out of my mouth I’m sure on multiple occasions, and I confess, I had never actually tried it at that point. The whole idea was just wrong to me, and it’s such a polarizing topping, I felt the need to align myself with the ‘ew’ side for much of my early years. This is one area I’ve been called to repentance. I can’t remember the setting for the first time I tried pizza with pineapple but I remember thinking wow, this is really delicious. It’s sweet, and moist and feels fresh on my tongue. Be sure to cut it up small enough that each morsel fits easily into one bite and doesn’t fill up the whole bite. Anyone who knows me knows one of my first-choice flavor profiles is sweet/savoy and this delivers with excellence.
Mushrooms: I’m not fussy, I can really only find one kind of fresh mushroom here. It adds an umami, savory depth and an enjoyable texture to the overall experience.
Blue Cheese Crumbles: One of the greatest joys in life is a really stinky cheese. Bring it on. I love it. Crumble a bit over the top and you’ve got just a hint of that funkiness and it melds together so well with the sweet, spicy, gorgeous texture of this whole experience.
Mozzarella: Well, it’s not pizza without mozzarella right?
Okay, now that you’ve made it this far… congratulations. We absolutely don’t have to agree about this but I’m telling you, it’s amazing, and everything, and I don’t know how I could ever make this pizza any better than it currently is. Let me know if you try it!
Suddenly there was a flurry of activity all around the hotel. I was sitting on the bed doing whatever I was doing, when Gideon poked his head in from the balcony and said get out here, now! I could hear other people exclaiming from their balconies and the sound of quick footsteps around us.
The mountains were making an appearance. And it was breathtaking.
This picture does NOT do this justice, at all.
We are spending a couple days in the foothills of the Himalayas in Nepal. A place that was never on my bucket list, but when work decides to hold a conference in Kathmandu, one doesn’t argue! We arrived a few days early in hopes of catching a glimpse of a few snow-capped peaks, along with some fresh air and quiet away from the city. It’s not really the right time of year; we’re just at the end of the rainy season and its steady, pervasive cloud cover, but worth a try, especially if we don’t think it’s likely we’ll ever get back to this part of the world.
Well, it’s been pretty cloudy, to the extent that it was hard to see out past the end of our small balcony from time to time as we are literally sitting in the clouds, but for a brief space on Thursday night, the clouds parted just enough to get all the guests excited and all the cameras snapping like crazy.
Taken off our balcony when we are actually in the clouds.
And then we got doubly lucky to get a beautiful sunrise the next morning, the cover photo for this post. It has made these extra two days and the long, windy road through the mountains worth it!
This has been our view most of the time we’ve been here.
I’m sitting on the balcony of my waterfall villa; a grandiose name for what would more accurately be called a cabin, and spread before me are acres and acres of tea plantations and forests, culminating in mountain peaks hidden by low clouds holding hope of a much-needed rain shower. From the next hill over the jubilant melodies from a Hindu temple loudspeaker echo throughout the valley. An occasional spat between what I presume are street dogs sends yelps and growls up into the air occasionally; there is some kind of cicada-like buzz that comes and goes with the very pleasant high-country cool breeze, and birds are chirping everywhere. The low, vibrating hum of the waterfalls for which this cabin/villa was named rumbles from deep in the valley and occasionally a bird call so different from others draws my attention as my eyes scan feverishly through the tree branches looking for the little soloist before they zip away. A train whistle sounds and it’s as if all of nature holds it’s breath for a few seconds while the train barrels through, letting a slow exhale as the train curves around in to the next valley over and the peaks block any further disruption, at least until the next train.
It’s a welcome break from the city. Colombo is, objectively, a great place to live, but clean air and being surrounded by greenery has a way of reviving my weary heart better than anything else can.
A path through the tea bushes.
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We moved from South Africa to Sri Lanka almost a year ago now, which seems simultaneously insanely short and also like we’ve lived here for ages. And I’ve struggled to write for so many reasons… my story is not just my story anymore. People can be cruel. The internet can be a horrible place, and my mental health and physical safety are of increasing importance as I decide who and how I’m putting myself out into the world. But I’ve missed it, this is my art; working with the words, massaging them until they express just exactly what I want them to express, it releases something in me that I feel I’ve been missing. And also? When I was home this summer visiting family in the States, I was reminded through their questioning that my life is one of curiosity and adventure and I do want to share that with those who want to join me here. So, let us begin… again.
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The office of the local equivalent of the mayor of this area
I’m here in tea country for a week of site visits; visiting schools and communities where we intend to place Volunteers. Gideon and Jay are keeping each other company back home; Jay always gets clingy when he sees my suitcase come out. As we drove up into the high country, I kept exclaiming, probably irritatingly so, to my colleagues about how it just kept getting more and more beautiful the higher up and further in we drove. I feel more alive out here, somehow, but really, travel of any kind does that for me. The anticipation and excitement that comes with exploring a new place is, actually, my favorite thing in the world, alongside Lake Hubert in summer. Thanks for joining me on the way.
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Sri Lankan food, as a whole, is delicious; the liberal use of warming spices like turmeric, cardamom, and cumin, alongside coconut milk and chilis leads to a really lovely spicy, sweet, salty combination and a variety of textures, which is quite enjoyable overall, if my mouth isn’t actually on fire. My spice tolerance has definitely increased since being here, and most of the time my digestive system can handle it.
Lunch after one of our community meetings
The place we are staying in offers an American breakfast, and while I do love a good Sri Lankan breakfast, I’m taking them up on their offer of eggs and toast as lunch will most certainly be a very spicy curry and rice. So far, my body has thanked me for this decision.
My American breakfast, with the Sri Lankan breakfast of my colleagues.
One thing I’ve learned in over fifteen years of world travel, is to always bring my own coffee, regardless of where I am going. On this trip, I even brought my trusty collapsible teakettle and a coffee cup, too. Any hotel or restaurant will give you hot water if you ask for it, but I really love my coffee before I have to interact with other humans, and I am pretty sure they would appreciate that too, if they knew what the alternative was. Only one cup, though, because I want to need a bathroom as little as possible when travelling!
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The roads out here can be an adventure! We’re cruising around in very large Toyotas that can handle pretty much anything thrown at them, but there still are moments my heart is in my throat.
A typical road through a tea plantationAnother road into the green.
I hope you’ve enjoyed a few tidbits from tea country. I’m not sure how often I’ll write here, but feel free to ‘follow’ on the right hand side, and you’ll be notified whenever I post something new.
‘Tis the season…. For trying to get stuff done before everyone goes on leave, for cramming in that one last meeting, discussion, or difficult conversation. For wondering how on earth we’re looking at a new year already. For simultaneously missing and longing for the magic this season once brought while enormously grateful for the reality of what is now. For looking back with grief and pride and looking ahead with questions and anticipation, for navigating the dichotomy and what feels like ridiculous extremes that somehow also coexist perfectly together. The human experience, I suppose.
Most people I know are eagerly anticipating or have already engaged in time with family, flights across an ocean or a trip down the street, complete with twinkle lights and traditions, new and old, religious celebrations and festivals, or just relief at some time away from the daily grind. I’m not doing any of those things this year, except maybe a little break from the daily grind, and I confess I feel a little bit of something, maybe guilt or shame, about the fact that I’m not sad about it.
I’ve started and stopped writing this at least a dozen times in the last few weeks. This season once held so much majesty, wonder, awe, love, excitement, hope, darkness, light, anticipation, joy, and peace, and I felt all those things deeply. This year, if I’m honest, I’m feeling a mix of exhaustion and relief and contentedness… and peace, I guess, in the lack of depth of any other of the deep things I feel like I ‘should’ be experiencing. But as I sit with it, and sit with words, and try to identify what this all is…. Maybe I’m recognizing the gift that is just… peace, while surrounded by such extremes.
Covid is spiking everywhere. Nearly two years of loss and it just keeps piling on. Political division keeps getting impossibly louder and even more insistent and disgusting. Family members aren’t speaking to each other. I love my job, it’s a dream, but it’s also sucking me completely dry right now, with one unexpected curveball after another. My longing to do this well is fogged up with an objectively ridiculous yet insistent dread in the pit of my stomach that I’m making the world worse instead of better. Horrific news stories seem to be a daily punch in the gut and I often find myself wondering how much more we, the collective, can take.
But then in the flip of a switch I feel overwhelmed with gratitude when I consider all the good I’ve been surrounded with this year. I look down the hallway towards my husband and I can’t even believe, still, that he said yes and we get to wander through life together, forever. To be loved and cherished and to love and to cherish is just… so much. Words fail. I’m so grateful. I’ve got my dream job, I live in an incredible place, my family is coming to visit in a few months. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been, physically and professionally, I’ve learned so much, and the future holds so much possibility.
So instead of profound words or magical holiday experiences, instead of being caught up in the extremes of the human experience this year, I’m finding myself just grateful for a few days of relaxing close to home, and being okay with the fact that the only holiday décor I have is the Santa shirt I put on Jay. Maybe someday this season will feel magical again, but actually whatever this is? Peace, contentedness, rest, love? it’s pretty awesome.
May Peace find you wherever you find yourself this holiday season.
Let us begin 