Greetings from Congo! As I write to you know, it has been 7 days since leaving the states to set off for Pioneer Christian Hospital in Impfondo, Republique du Congo. The last week has been filled with more events than a simple blog post can entail, but I will do my best to give you a picture of what our week has been like.
Tuesday, Andrew and I left our happy homes in the states to cross the broad Atlantic. Our flights were thankfully on time and rather comfortable. We landed in Brazzaville, the capitol, after 24 hours of travel. After negotiating customs with the little French I possess, we picked up our bags and headed out the door to meet our driver. The entrance to the airport was a scene of organized chaos; Africans jostling past each other, yelling greetings, trying get to their taxis and SUVs. We were shortly picked up by a driver named Honore who works with Global Outreach and taken to Hotel Bravo which was to be our stay for the next two days. Bravo was thankfully quite close to the airport and we arrived in no time. We were greeted by Michelle, the cook for the guest house, and she showed us where to put our things. Unfortunately, no one there spoke any English, and our French ranged from non-existent to spotty at best. We soon began what has continued to be a long game of charades, looking up what words I can find in my pocket French dictionary and miming the rest. It's amazing how much language we can communicate without words! Michelle cooked us a bite to eat and then showed us to our beds where we promptly crashed. I slept in to 9:30 the next day, which seemed a respectable time to me for someone just coming off a jet plane, but I would only realize later that this is grossly sleeping in by African standards; most get up by 5 or 5:30am.
That day, Andrew and I exchanged our money for Congolese Francs. This turned out to be quite the circus act, with our lack of French and Papa Mbossa (the business manager for GOM) speaking no English. Thankfully, Papa Siko, the lab director for the hospital was there to help. We had some difficulty with a few of our bills. We had been told to bring fresh, new $100 or $50 bills, but apparently they have difficulties with any bills older than 2006. A few of ours were and this induced significant arguing in French between Papa Mbossa and the exchange man. Whatever magic words he said, they worked and he accepted all our money. With money in hand, Andrew and I set off into the city to explore. We had lunch at a cafe and strolled around the shops. We met a couple of students at the local university, who spoke better English than we did French and they took us to see Brazzaville's Cathedral, which wasn't super ornate, but perhaps by African standards it is. As we strolled around the city, we couldn't help but notice that although Brazzaville is very well off by Congolese standards, there is a curious juxtaposition of poverty with wealth. There were beautiful houses with large walls, but dirt streets outside and people burning trash. Men in fancy suits and alligator shoes walked through dirty streets and sleeping in hovels. The Congolese definitely take great pride in their appearance, but behind their elegant clothes is often a lot of poverty and brokenness.
That night, we enjoyed hanging out with Michelle and her husband Ruel and trying to teach each other our native languages, which resulted in us laughing more than speaking either language. That night Michelle made it very clear that we needed to leave for the airport at 7am; "Sept heur", she kept repeating. Well I woke up at 6:15 to very vigorous pounding on my door. I opened the door to find a very frazzled Michelle pointing to her watch and shouting "you go!" As I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I realized there had been a gross miscommunication concerning the time. Andrew and I frantically threw all our stuff into suit cases and headed off to the airport. We needn't have rushed, however, for the airplane was an hour late (right on time, for Congo).
It was raining in Impfondo when we arrived, but thankfully we were able to land safely. It is the rainy season here, which means it is significantly cooler, but, as the name suggests, quite wet. We were met at the airport by Sarah, one of the long term missionaries here. We stopped by quickly at Mission and then headed into the hospital where we met Dr. Harvey, the man we had traveled so many miles to work with and who had founded this hospital in Impfondo. Dr. Harvey put us to work right away, seeing patients with him. Dr. Harvey speaks fluent French and also Lingala, which is the language that Impfondo speaks primarily. It is very different doing a physical exam when you know neither. I've been learning to mime actions I want the patient to do (like breathing very heavily).
In general, medicine here is like nothing in the states. There is no HIPAA, no health insurance (except for refugees), and very different patients. In the states, the most common problems we see come from having too much: obesity, hypertension, diabetes, heart disease. Here, most problems come from too little: malnutrition, lack of sanitary living conditions, poor food preparation, lack of access to health care. The first patient I saw in the clinic traveled a week by canoe to get to the hospital, and she is by no means alone. Many of the diseases we see wouldn't happen in the states, or if they would, would certainly not progress as far as they do here. But progress they do, and it's our job to treat them with whatever meager resources we have.
These past few days, Andrew and I have been in the operating room. In the US, you would be hard pressed to find someone with one year of med school under their belts to be scrubbing in on surgery, but Andrew and I have been alternating surgeries the last two days as first assistant. You would also be hard pressed to find a family doc doing surgeries in the US, but here in Impfondo, surgeries are being done by two family docs, Dr. Harvey and Dr. Laura. There is simply no one else to do surgery out here. The OR, which, I might add, is powered by a tractor, is a very medieval place. Patients are simply given spinal anesthesia (so they are awake and conscious during the surgery, but paralized). When I was sewing my first sutures yesterday, the anesthesia began to wear off and the patient began to wince and moan. But however primitive healthcare may seem over here, it is worlds better than the care they would otherwise receive, were the hospital not here.
Despite the obvious physical suffering here, I am continually encouraged by the spiritual growth I see. Hospitals, in America, are rarely Christian institutions. It has been encouraging to be a part of a health care system that sees spiritual health as just as important, if not more so, than physical. To begin with, all the hospital staff gathers every morning at 7am for a short devotional and worship time. The doctors pray with patients after seeing them and help point them to the healing power of Christ. The chapel has regular service for the patients as well as a service on Sunday mornings. The worship leader for the chapel is a perfect example of the work God is doing here; Dr. Harvey found him on the floor of the ER several years ago with 5 bullet wounds in him. He had ran away from home to fight in the rebel faction during Congo's civil war. Through God's mercy, his life was saved, both physically and spiritually. He is missing the head of his humerus (arm bone), yet he is able to raise his hands in leading the congregational worship.
I'm afraid that's all I have for now. It is quite late and I am in need of rest. Thank you all for your prayers; you don't know how much they mean to me. I hope to write again soon when I can.
Yours,
Ben Cox
This is tremendous, Ben. Very moving. I hope to hear again from you here.
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