Gimbie Reports

Staff moral is at an all time high. Everyone is working well together.

Our MDs are packing up shop and our cash balance is very very low.

I call him “Isolation Man.” I don’t know his real name. In fact, no one at the hospital knows much of anything about him. Someone dropped him at the door of the Emergency room and left without explaining. He was mentally disabled, was bleeding from several minor wounds, and one of his legs was severely fractured. After setting the bone in a full-leg cast, we weren’t sure what to do with him. The nursing staff did not want him in the general ward – his mental disability would create discomfort for the other patients. We could not put him in a private room – who was responsible for his financial arrangements? It wouldn’t be humane to put him out on the street – the cast on his leg restricted movement. With no other options, we placed him in Isolation Room #2.

He has been living at the hospital for nearly two months now. His room is in a separate out-building, and I walk past the doorway every time I go between my house and my office. He waves at me from his bed as I bustle past. “Nagarra!” I shout out an Oromiffa greeting. “Nagaa!” He responds. Isolation Man cannot follow typical conversation, but he can handle daily pleasantries. Recently, he has begun to venture outside of his room in order to sit in the sunshine. He refused to learn how to operate his crutches, so he drags himself along the sidewalk, making white chalk marks with his cast. Janitorial staff step carefully over him, trying not to spill their waste buckets. Often, he cheerfully disrobes himself - probably to soak up the full benefit of the sun rays.

As Isolation Man becomes more and more adventurous, we are beginning to worry about him. Will he wander down the hill and fall into a ditch? Will he crawl up the stairs and scandalize the out-patients? Our trouble is that no one knows where he came from, who his family is, or who will pay for his treatment and food-bill. We enjoy providing charity for needy people. But we can’t afford to keep him here for the rest of his life. Please keep Isolation Man in your prayers as we seek to resolve his puzzling predicament. Any donations for his wellfare would be welcome.

Dongoro clinic is operational. The local church and community were tremendously supportive. They supplied free labor and a building. We equipped the clinic with salvaged materials and restocked the pharmacy with meds from the hospital. The community has healthcare once more.

From the day she arrived at Gimbie, Ebisea made a practice of stealing hospital supplies. Giduma beat up employees who complained about the thefts. Several weeks ago, Giduma and Ebisea went on strike. These midwives knew that they could be fired for striking without warning, but they also knew that the rest of the midwives were due for training and that the national midwife school would not graduate a class for some months.
Giduma and Ebisea banked on fact that we couldn’t get along without them. We knew that the OB ward would be crippled, but we felt their actions were so egregious that we should step out in faith and let them go.
Few of our nurses have midwifery training and the situation in our OB ward soon grew desperate. But God had a plan.
Last May I visited Loma Linda for 42 hours. 15 minutes of this time was spent with Amber, a young nurse/midwife who was interested in Gimbie.
Amber heard about our shortage of midwives. She put us in contact with her friend Linda. They have dropped everything and flown to Gimbie at their own expense.
When Petra’s grandparents served in Ethiopia, mission life meant spending eight years without communicating with the outside world, but the church paid for their expenses and provided them with a livelihood.
Today, mission budgets have shrunk and traditional missionaries are rare. However, a new breed of missionaries are stepping forward to fill the gap. Forgoing the benefits usually associated with mission life, they jet around the globe at their own expense. They work for short periods of time, then work to save for the next trip. Amber and Linda are shining examples of this group.

Last night Dongoro clinic burned. I got the news while I was eating supper. John and I jumped in a people packed Land Cruiser and headed for the clinic at high speed with the horn blaring, headlights flashing, and hazards on. The road was jammed with goats, sheep, dogs, and people. A few 4X4s and large trucks plowed through the masses. I drive fast and am accustomed to risky driving, but this trip was in a league of its own. We arrive in record time, skidded to a halt, and ran toward the burning clinic.

Flames pushed their way through the roof, licking the night sky. A seething mass of people surrounded the clinic. The government water was not working, so people were fighting the fire with dirt and beating flames with sticks. Everyone was helping. Children were filling plates with dirt and throwing the dirt on the fire. A number of men were inside the burning building, pulling out the equipment. They had no protective gear and many of them suffered minor burns. There were many heroes…

John and I ran inside the clinic and started to help. The heat was intense. I could feel my shoes melting. The fire had moved fast and most of the flammable equipment was immediately consumed. We pulled out the metal items to prevent them from being buried under sections of collapsing wall. The walls were made of mud and sticks, so they burned slowly. Soon all the flammable parts of the building were gone and the blaze slowed as the flames worked to chew through the dried mud sections of the walls. I left the clinic and headed towards the place where the salvaged equipment was being inventoried by our business manager. Much had been saved, but almost everything was damaged and many items were beyond repair.

Today was a blur of witness interviews, police interviews, and renewed salvage efforts. Most of the walls still stand and we will get some insurance reimbursement, but rebuilding takes time. The people of Dongoro must have healthcare. We will try to create a temporary clinic in nearby bungalow, but hospital funds, equipment and staff are already stretched to the limit. We can only trust that God will provide.

Her eyes were desperate as she weakly tapped on our office balcony window. Startled, I rose from my chair and went to the balcony door. “May I help you?” I asked. She stumbled into the office, staring at me with pleading eyes. She was about 18, thin, pale, and looked on the verge of collapse from exhaustion. “Do you speak English?” I grasped her hand, attempting to steady her shaky balance. Still no response. Mulissa, our administrative assistant, overheard my queries from his adjacent room, “What is the matter?” he asked, sticking his head through the doorway. “This girl found her way to the back entrance of our office and seems very weak” I said. “Can you ask her what is wrong and how we may help her?” We ushered her into a chair by Mulissa’s desk and began the translation. Her responses were few and laboured, but gradually, the story came out.

Her name was Xinate. She was a diabetic. She had been purchasing her insulin from our hospital for several years. However, due to raised food prices, she no longer had any money to buy medicine. Many days she did not eat anything. Could we give her some insulin on charity? I looked at Mulissa. His brow was furrowed in suspicion. People come to our office every day requesting charity, and many of them are frauds. I knew we had a children’s fund set up for people in this girl’s situation, but was she genuine? I studied her face. She was clearly still exhausted from her climb up our stairs. Surely she must qualify for the fund’s age requirement. Still, I hesitated to simply say “yes, we can help.” After years of free hand-outs, many Ethiopians have come to expect boundless favors from westerners. I didn’t want to encourage further dependence. “Is she willing to do a little work if we help her?” I asked Mulissa. He conveyed the question to her, and she nodded yes. “Marvelous! Take her downstairs and buy her some lunch and insulin. We will talk to her in a couple days and explain how she can help us.”

Two days later, Xinate returned to our office. Her face glowed with renewed color, although she kept her eyes shyly down on the ground. With Mulissa’s help, I explained to her our plan: she would make cards to be sold to hospital staff and visitors. I took a stack of scrap paper and several pens, and carefully showed her how to make designs. Her eyes lit up with interest as she watched me work. In the end, she left with a small bag of materials, promising to return with completed samples very soon – before her next insulin installment. Her head was held high with pride. She was not just a beggar receiving charity. She was earning her keep.

A girl died last night. We gave her the best care that the hospital could provide, but this was no match for AIDS. Her family had clung to hope and paid for her four week stay in the best room in the hospital. I was in my office when their screams told me that she had died. More than twenty family and friends were just outside the hospital. They ran in circles, wringing their hands, beating their chests, and wailing with everything their lungs could provide. Several hospital staff members tried to offer comfort but to no avail. Everyone in the hospital knew what the wailing meant. The patients became noticeably uneasy. I went to the girl’s bedside. Two workers picked up her emaciated body and carried it several hundred yards to the morgue. The mourning party followed, but their grief remained clearly audible throughout the hospital.
I picked up the hospital keyboard (kindly donated by Dr. Kim) and went through the wards, starting with where the girl died. I played hymns of comfort and hope, gradually increasing the volume until the wailing could no longer be heard. At first, no one seemed to notice - the pall of gloom seemed unbreakable. Then one of the nurses recognized the tune and started to hum along. Others joined in and a small circle formed. One of the dead girl’s relations came in and listened. He stayed for over an hour.
My last stop was the OB ward. It was filled with tension of another kind. Most Ethiopian women give birth at home and the ones that come to the hospital are usually in a bad way. A young girl was in labor, the prognosis was grim, and a large group of family and friends waited outside the labor room. They expected the worst. The ward hushed as I played “What a friend we have in Jesus”. People seemed to forget the drama going on in the next room. There was a stir in the labor room, but no one noticed. I kept playing, and praying. Then the door opened and a med student burst out carrying a tiny baby girl. She was alive. The ward erupted in congratulations. I added mine then slipped away. Music was no longer needed.

“Raaoouu raaoouu raaoouu!” The warning call of a colobus monkey awakens me from my light slumber. I roll over and check the time on Paul’s glowing watch. 5:15 am: the perfect time for a pre-breakfast jog. I scramble out from underneath the mosquito netting, taking caution not to wake my sleeping administrator husband. As I ascend the steps from our porch to the front gate, I hear a hyena whooping eerily from the opposite slope of the valley. The monkeys fidget restlessly in the trees overhead, causing several green mangos to plop dangerously close to my body. Hyenas pose a dangerous threat to the little troop. Suddenly I comprehend the reason for my early morning wake-up call.

The bee hive next to our gate has not yet begun to hum. I fiddle with the lock, and am hailed by one of Gimbie’s resident mosques initiating its morning call to prayer. It is still too early for its rival, the Coptic Orthodox Church, to bother turning on its loud speakers. I shut the gate behind me and switch on my headlamp. With delight I note that the compound road lamps are lit this morning. The electricity must be on! This means that I will only have to use my headlamp for half of my jogging loop – a good thing, considering the difficulty of purchasing batteries. With determination I set out. If I want to get a good work out, I’m going to have to run quite a few loops. 12 laps takes me about half an hour. I would jog on some of the longer, outer roads if I could, but lone white girls are an obvious target for troublemakers.

Prudently, I pick my way along the edge of the mud path. One errant step from the packed earth will plunge my leg up to the knee in brown muck. I’ve always liked mud, but the hook worm parasites living in this filth are not a welcome prospect. A slender, green object on the path ahead rouses my attention and I leap to avoid it. Ah - nothing but a tangled frond from a banana leaf. It is with slight disappointment that I press on; I have wanted to see a live snake ever since we’ve arrived, but have not yet been rewarded.

In order to maintain my sanity while repeatedly passing the same scenery, I pray about the issues facing our hospital. The pharmacy has been without penicillin, and many other key drugs, for several days now. The ER is struggling to continue operations without the aid of a licensed anesthetist. The laundry staff are valiantly gritting their teeth as they scrub sheets in strong detergents, without gloves. The patients wait tolerantly without blankets while their bed clothes line-dry in the damp, rainy season air. Oh Lord, you know the needs of this hospital! Send help to your struggling institution! All at once, I realize my pace has slowed to a snail’s crawl. I must stop focusing on the dark and dismal. After all, the Bible says to present our requests to God with thanksgiving if we want His peace to fill our hearts (Phil. 4:6, 7). I must think about positive things for my remaining laps. My mind turns to all of the wonderful blessings God has provided us recently. I thank Him for my Danish friend, Maria, who has put us in contact with a nursing school who wants to send missionaries to Africa. I thank Him for my uncle David, who has agreed to help raise funds to start a micro-business charity at the hospital. I thank Him for Amber and Linda, two midwives who have agreed to come and volunteer for several weeks while we struggle to maintain our maternity department. God is so good…

My pace has picked up considerably. All at once I realize that it has become light. The sun acts strangely this close to the equator; almost as if it is being switched on and off at either end of the day. The bats have retired and the birds have taken their place with dawn choralizations. I swerve to pass a couple of traditionally white-cloaked night watchmen - they too have awakened from their peaceful dawn slumber. “Farenji,” I hear them chuckle as I run ahead, “foreigner!” Ethiopians do not promote voluntary exercise. They need to preserve every calorie they consume, due to the national food shortage.

I slow to halt in front of our gate. Should I press for several more laps? I check my watch. Nah. Paul should be awakening soon, and I want some time to read my Bible before heating shiro (spicy chick pea paste) for breakfast on our gas stove. My foot kicks an object as I shut and lock the gate. I look down. A gift from the monkeys! I raise my eyes heavenward and thank God for yet another blessing. Praise the Lord for mangos.

Every hospital has its share of mercenary workers, those who are willing to jump ship any time a higher paying job comes along. Gimbie is no exception. However, many of the workers have served the hospital for decades, ignoring other job offers. These staff are the hospital’s backbone.
Bunti has worked in Gimbie’s lab for 27 years. He often smiles, remembering times when the hospital was running smoothly, a true city on the hill—a powerful light to the community. Bunti’s eyes fill with tears when he remembers the times when the hospital was so short of funds that staff were not paid for months on end. He had young children then. His family often suffered from lack of food. Prayers take on a certain earnestness when they are the only thing standing between the individual and starvation; hardship solidified Bunti’s faith. Today, he is a spiritual rock. Under his supervision, the lab is one of the most cheerful and efficient departments in the hospital. Much of the lab equipment was in place when Bunti started work, 27 years ago. He and I have often discussed the need for new equipment, but Bunti is a master a getting by with the tools at hand. The lab continues, driven by solidarity, not supplies.
Today, Bunti is fortunate. His children are grown and gone, his wife has a job, and their combined salaries suffice to meet their needs. Other workers are not so lucky. The international slowdown and the national famine are taking a toll on Gimbie. Food prices have risen 30% in the past three months with no end in sight. Fuel prices have gone through the roof. Firewood, the material that powers most of Ethiopia, is becoming more expensive as deforestation continually shrinks the supply. Some of the lower paid workers have difficulty buying sufficient food. It is the rainy season, so they are living on mangos and avocados, but by November they may be living on prayer.

2:30 a.m. Wake up and find water is on for the first time in three days. Take a shower and fill every bucket in the house. Go back to sleep.
5:00 a.m. Local Orthodox Church starts morning prayer over loud speaker. Barely notice it.
6:15 a.m. Morning prayer and Bible study with wife. Water is still on so take another shower. This time the water is hot. Feels wonderful.
7:00 a.m. Breakfast on sourdough Teff pancakes and leftover lentils.
8:00 a.m. Worship with hospital staff. Give prayer and try to sing along in Amharic.
8:30 a.m. Check Email and try to reply to a few.
8:56 a.m. Emergency administrative committee meeting. Three midwives are on strike. This is bad because hospital is already short two midwives. Discover that the ringleader is wanted by the police on unrelated charges. Long discussion. Pressure ringleader into resigning. The Personnel Director wisely assigns guards to ensure that the ringleader doesn’t swipe things on his way out. Persuade other two midwives to stay. Long negotiations. Note to OB head to watch them closely.
1:00 p.m. Email Midwives in the US about volunteering on short notice to fill the gaps.
1:15 p.m. Lunch on sourdough sorghum/corn pancakes, green beans, and very spicy el dente red lentils. Very crunchy.
2:00 p.m. Meet with the presidents of three local nursing colleges. Some of their students are too poor to travel for their practical experience (internship). They want these students to intern in the hospital. They have no other options. The hospital is overloaded with students from its own nursing school. Political wheeling and dealing. I agree to allow a few students from each school to come, provided that they are supervised by instructors from the schools. The instructors can help out in the wards.
3:14 p.m. The ringleader midwife wants to withdraw his resignation. He already resigned in writing and the administrative committee does not want him to beat up the midwives who agreed to stay (he has beaten up others in the past) so we reject his petition. Wife and I remember that our doors don’t lock well. We have already had one intruder. This may be a set up for another. Something to pray about…
3:30 p.m. Meet with local government. Nothing is really discussed, but I want to make sure the hospital is on good terms with these folks.
4:15 p.m. Finally catch up on the emails. Lots of volunteers are arriving soon. Finding housing for them will be difficult. Wife reminds me that they can sleep in the empty lab school or else in tents.
5:10 p.m. Meet with Business Manager to discuss upcoming audit. He is new on the job, but not as new as me and wants to talk about problems that happened before I arrived. Finally manage to bring the conversation to the future and to a close.
6:00 p.m. Work on the Geobibles project.
6:30 p.m. Attack the pile of paperwork on my desk.
7:15 p.m. Walk home with wife. It’s a beautiful night. There is enough moonlight to see Colobus monkeys eating mangos in the trees over my house. Makes me hungry.
7:30 p.m. Eat supper of rice, ginger flavored lentils, four mangos, and three avocados.
8:00 p.m. Wife reads aloud from Sir Francis Chichester’s “Gypsy Moth Circles the World” (account of fast single handed sailing trip) while I pump the water purifier.
9:15 p.m. Try not to think about bugs. Wife and I have lots of bites and will doubtless get more tonight.
9:30 p.m. No water, no shower, no power. Discuss the day by candle light.
10:00 p.m. Go to bed…
11:00 Power comes on and house is fully lighted. Turn of lights and make a mental note to turn off switches next time the power goes off.