Bodily functions, bodily excrements

Blood

At 9.30 pm, I'm sitting behind the front desk waiting for the fourteen new arrivals. Fourteen is a big number to embark. I understand the feeling of arriving, feeling dirty, sick, excited, depressed and tired after a long flight. Some people have lost their luggage, some people haven't slept, some people may only have limited English and then some people wonder if they have lost their mind coming to Africa.

The embarkation process involves some paper work, explaining some security measures, overloading them with probably too much information about where they have to be and when and then wrapping that neatly into a precise yet friendly demeanor.

The airport driver is about 30 minutes overdue. I'm in a holding pattern, web surfing, when the blood lab technician rushes up to the reception desk.

"Do you have time now to give some of your blood?" A week into my stay here, I had volunteered to be a blood donor. I have O positive blood, the most common blood type. Just yesterday, they had taken a sample. I didn't expect them to call me so soon.

"When?" I ask.

"Could you come now?" She asks. There is a patient who is losing blood faster than they anticipated.

I'm about to jump over the reception desk counter and start drawing my own blood for her. After all, it is what I came to do, but my supervisor says, "Can this wait? We have fourteen embarkations." What?! I'm surprised at his answer.

The lab tech says. "For thirty minutes to an hour, yes. But no more."

Ok. So at least it isn't life or death so to speak, which was a relief.

The arrivals come. I get flustered because I am embarking fourteen people and trying to train a new coworker and also thinking about the man who is running out of blood downstairs. When it is over, I run down to the lab.

We also find Lisa Marie, another O positive blood donor. We're told we need two units total.



And away I go.



(Oh, I'm wearing my work uniform by the way. I don't go around wearing starched white shirts with naval epaulets on my shoulders all the time.)

And then. It stops. My vein collapses and the flow cuts off. My left arm is always a bit smaller, but they cannot draw from my right, since I only gave the sample yesterday. Lisa Marie is quickly filling up a whole unit. Fortunately, we just got word that they need only one unit and not two.

They draw the needle from my arm. The half filled bag of blood, about two cups, is tossed in the hazardous waste bin. They cannot use it because it has too many coagulants in there, I'm told. I'm sincerely disappointed and hope that they will ask me to do it again.



Sweat

Israel agrees to meet us at the reception desk and take us to try Ghanaian food at 1 p.m. It seems us girls have developed a pattern of adopting a few trustworthy male friends who we – let's face it – bribe in order to escort us to local restaurants. In return, there is a lunch or dinner date for them with six or seven (or more!) fabulous females, and we pay for the meal and gas.

After dodging about four potential accidents, we make a right onto a dirt driveway underneath a Cellcom mobile phone tower. This could be someone's backyard, a church parking log, a restaurant parking lot, or just a plot of dirt. In fact, it is all four things.

The carefully stenciled letters on the low ceilinged, square structure reads "God is King Restaurant." It is dim, there is nothing besides natural lighting for our path, although it is exceptionally dark. Flies swarm about in clusters. There are a group of women standing behind a metal counter with large bowls of stewed meats and sauces in front of them. Israel suggests we sit in the back, though we have to divide up into two tables.

Sweat beads along the small of my back, on my forehead and in my palms. Fans whir in a sluggish hum in the corners, and hot air is being pushed from one part of the room to another, with me in between. There is a gauze-like cotton piece of fabric that hangs in the window. Right after I sit down, the sweat from the undersides of my thighs dampen my shirt. My elbows stick to the plastic place mats, where splatters of chili oil stain my forearms.

Lisa Marie and I are feeling faint from last night's blood letting episode. We focus on tiny things in front of us. Grace, a nurse, looks at me and suggests we move right away and get near a fan.

We order fufu, which is a gelatinous mix of ground cassava root and plaintains. It is drenched in spicy sauce and I cannot take even one bite. We move over quickly to a table that has evacuated. Even with the fan pointed right on top of our heads, I feel like I am breathing in wet, hot air.



As we leave, we see two men roping the four legs of a young goat together in the parking lot. They dig a ditch. Israel tells us its for the blood to drain. They sharpen a long machete on the concrete. And then they strike. Once, twice, three times. The goat's tail wags in circles over and over again. I turn to Ester and say, 'At least you know your lunch was fresh.' She laughs.

Tears

The children at the orphanage put on a show for us Saturday morning. We're allowed to take photos for once, to my delight. The young girls do an elegant dance and sing a song for us. Their voices make me smile, and if their voices don't make you tear up just a bit or your heart more tender, then I don't know what will.



They really have alot of creative initiative. The boys perform a humorous skit.



My favorite little boy grabbed my hand right away after I got there. I found out that he had misspelled his name the first time I met him. It isn't Sovra but Surviva. Here, he imitates carrying water on his head. He's eight, quite mischevious, but also very clever. Before I leave, we draw a picture of a car.



And other things ...

I licked a postage stamp last night. A local postage stamp from Liberia. As soon as I licked it, I felt compunction. Where had it been? What hands had touched it? Even more, what was the glue made of? I didn't think too much of it until I woke up several times during the night, my stomache in knots. I was told by the nurse that I just needed to let it pass. Nothing has passed except for the entire day of stomache cramps during which I've been eating toasted white bread and drinking water and putting on my mother's Chinese vapor rub ointment (which of course I insisted I didn't need at the time). I wish I could vomit or have diarrhea or something. As for now, I pray that I don't keep night vigil, sitting upright with white bread and water as my friend.