Missions of Health was an organization a few friends and I brought up supporting the clinic we were working with in Agule, Uganda. A lot of the stories an ideas collected here were born out this community and process to bring health and well-being to the most underserved people and areas of our world, Africa especially.
Here is a few of our organizational materials I created for the project back in 2010.
There is a mysterious feeling I get in the depths of my stomach.
Often strange and rarely explainable but, I feel it enough to know it’s there. Last week this strange feeling brought me cheek to cheek with a dirt road and my own vomit just outside the center of town. I looked down as my stomach churned like a washing machine. The seismic activity swiftly collapsed me to my knees in the most inglorious of fashions, just as the volcano erupted. Blah, colors, colors! Colors everywhere.
But, other times this feeling is different. Two days ago it was the shrill sound of amused voices lightly mixed with children’s laughter that resounded throughout the street as I passed by. It all meant nothing to me until scanning to my right, ever so slightly, I passed a child whose face I vowed not to forget after meeting him two years earlier.
Like an arrow straight to the most joyous parts of my soul, our eyes reunited and there was no stopping this moment. His feet, staunch black, covered in mud from nearby puddles, moved like a lion as he pounced straight into my arms and gave me the biggest of hugs. Dust falling from his feet evaporated into a cloud of irrelevance as it floated away, just like the many years that separated us. Little more than a single syllable could have been spoken between either side, but there was so much more words couldn’t say.
…Who was it that said a single word can amount to more than its novel?…
In that moment, my stomach and heart shared harmony while the colors around me melted together, finding just the right tones of sunlight. It was a gentle action, but not at all gently done; a very remarkable moment had taken place and I liked it.
There is to be no discussion about the third and last of these sentiments, for the very truth, candid as it breathes, reveals itself to be completely and utterly unsolvable.
Around five o’clock pm, just as the sun finished its afternoon and began its dusk, he was rushed into the clinic gates via motorcycle. I could sense from the onset this was different. As Matt yelled my name to assist with the emergency, I rushed into the exam room to find a mother cradling her four-year-old boy, with a plan urgently being mapped out to get the child to Mbale or Pallisa hospital. His eyes, white as snow topped pastures glinting at morning sunlight, or the foam that forms at tops of waves that break upon the neighboring lake here in Agule. The white, a sign of deep anemia, caused by malaria, showed no hints for surrendering the life it was about to take. I never thought a color so pure could do such harm. I imagined myself seeing straight through the boy’s eyes into my own, wondering if I would be laying on this same bed, in this same building, only breaths away, if I had been…just as the mother let out a shriek I am positive only a mother can make.
I am quite sure a shiver ran through her frame, and from it one through mine. In a low, distinctly reverberating, awe-stricken voice, as if I were caught in-between dreams, the child was declared permanently asleep. His short sleeves exposed his dark arms, bare to the elbows. His shoes showed better spent hours on play fields, like a tattered traveler. His cheeks, puffed with volume, told every story of every smile and every wind that blew over shook the hairs on my skin.
I wandered, numb and confused, as if I lost the ability to associate place with sound.
Alas the birds, filled with song and feather, spoke no remorse. And no procession echoed throughout the plywood halls of Agule, just some minutes of silent work passed with frustration. The mesh of perfect sunlight I had loved so much was nowhere to be found, and again, the knot in my stomach turned, getting tighter and tighter.
As I learn, true feelings never leave a man unchanged, and since I first stepped into Africa, three years ago, I’ve been given a great multitude of these moments. Beginning blank, each story’s canvas slowly colors a world where truth and beauty are found between the vivid lines of chaos and commotion. Some, joy, others pain. Some, black, others white.
But all these things, and a thousand like them will come to pass, leaving only moments waiting to be discovered and those to see, no matter what the color.
It was mid-afternoon and hot, while the line of new patients slowly disappeared. My mind wandered back to a previous days reading of a quote Charles Dickens once said. A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.
Our friend, Julius works as an assistant research laboratory technician at Agule. Beating his feet, he works hard, not for money but because of an earnest God given passion to help and enable his community. I find Julius typically most joyful in the mornings. I’ve rarely seen him smile more than when he shakes my hand upon our arrival to the clinic. His medical knowledge, humility and persistence continually amaze me.
With Julius, for what was most definitively about an hour, Amy and I listened, in the sweltering heat of the laboratory, to the science, stories and faces of the deadly disease we have come to know so well. Malaria.
Immediately in our discussion, it became apparent there was more at stake than our previous expectations carried.
The economic times are very bad and people may get very sick, Julius stated.
Agule community is unique. More and more, our Malaria has become drug resistant so, our friends and children are left… they can not pay for new treatment…it is too much, the drugs are too expensive…the women and the babies…how can we help them… they will be left with nothing…nothing but death.
I looked into the glare of a small tear beginning to form on the crest of his eyelid. The sadness floated among the room like the mists of dirt, churned up from nearby construction. At this same moment, for whatever reason, for the first time, a window had opened and with a light gust of comfort, the dirt settled, and I recalled the smile, warm as could be, that greeted me that same sunny July morning. I knew this story was to be far from over.
Africa, difficult and treacherous, is a battlefield. Everyday, my friends and I see its struggle first hand. But, despite the obstacles, that small flickering halo, hidden deep within a jungle of injustice, poverty and disease, still resides bright inside each of us. This struggle has only firmly cemented my belief that this small whispering light of Jesus carried greatly among many, united in chorus, is what shall most truly bring salvation from one heart to another.
Perhaps this, is what Dickens meant.
Friends and Family,
I hope you are doing well! As you know shortly before Christmas 2009 I returned from spending 6 months in Africa. Throughout my journey abroad I spent time in Uganda, Kenya and Ethiopia while forming a medley relationships and stories. I am so thankful to have had the opportunities that so many of you supported with your faith, generosity and prayers.
Starting out in Uganda last June, working in a medical clinic, on a team I co-leaded, was the beginning of an amazing adventure that I am sure not to forget. Venturing half way around the world with my closest friends was breathtaking. After spending months collecting supplies and funds the team and I were finally able to partner with the Agule Community Health Centre in ways we had only dreamed of. Innovation, creativity, and determination were vital to us producing good results. During our month in Uganda, we were able to complete construction of a maternity ward, provide valuable lifesaving supplies, and continue to forge relationships that span oceans. One of my personal favorite parts of the experience was being able to document and share the stories of the many lives we were able to impact. If you would like to recall them or stay up to date with the trip returning May 2010, visit akia-ashianut.blogspot.com
Following my time in Uganda I was fortunate to have a few days of rest and relaxation in Nairobi, Kenya before meeting up with a team from Port City Community Church. While waiting, I met a group from Michigan who invited me to join them doing medical work in the slums of Nairobi. The images I saw during those days I hope never leave my mind. Once I met up with the team from Port City we headed to Nakuru, where we held bible studies and taught lessons of character development. Instilling love, honor, humility and honesty in each of the 80 kids, was truly a memorable and rewarding experience. My favorite was a boy named Jeremy, whom I am now supporting and sponsoring to go to school! The thought of watching him grow as we exchange letters and pictures can only be described as joy.
Finishing up Kenya was difficult, fully knowing that the hardest lessons of my journey were yet to be learned. While eager for the challenge, as I entered Ethiopia the first few weeks caught up to me extremely fast. Ethiopia is a nation rich in culture, community and heart but faces numerous challenges relating to infrastructure, education, health and creativity. The everyday struggles of battling these and other issues on many different fronts tested and trialed my faith.
Two days a week I worked in a medical clinic. The first day I walked in I felt like I had just entered the worst plot of land on the face of the earth. I knew my feet were somehow different because of the steps they were now taking. More than a thousand patients lined the walls as far as my eyes could see. All those diseases I heard about on the news, they were here. All of them. My friend Steadman and I walked around speechless for nearly an hour. I finally turned to him and said, There is no way I can work here. We left exhausted and confused, not knowing how to make sense of the troubles we just witnessed. On the way home we talked for a few more hours and I reluctantly decided to go back. I had no clue how I was going to help but, somebody needed to do something. When I returned, I met one of the nurses and he gave me a white coat. Smiling, he looked at me and said, Let’s get to work. Before I could finish telling him how crazy I thought he was we were already drawing blood on two patients.
I spent nearly 5 months in that clinic and learned a ton. Each day seemed to have new challenges, and I often came home wondering how some of the patients were going to make it through the night. Nevertheless, every story has redemption and day after day I could feel the layers of tension covering begin to lift, as these moments shaped me from the inside out. A lot of the memories I have from Ethiopia weren’t glamorous or beautiful but great things aren’t always this way. The world doesn’t always hand us nice things in pleasant packages. Sometimes we just have to jump in. Sometimes we have to jump really far, into cold deep waters. The months I spent in Africa were some of the most rewarding experiences in my life. It wasn’t always beautiful but it was good, and for that I am extremely grateful.
Africa and I are not finished. While, I am not sure which roads will lead me to return, I am confident there are few dead ends. Like my friend in the clinic, so many of you have encouraged me to jump in and travel down a road less taken. With your time, dollars, thoughts and your prayers you have changed my life and countless others. I hope you see the value in these stories because they are as much yours as they are mine. I hope you share them and continue in whatever way you can to jump in.
If you would like to see videos, pictures and read more about my time abroad you may visit scottsafricablog.wordpress.com or email me at scottseibold@gmail.com! Thank you for your time!
Sincerely,
Scott Thomas Seibold
If you remember back in August my story about the rehabilitation center through HOPE 127 in Kenya, you will appreciate the following video highlighting much of the experience and story revolving around the center. Created by my good friend Matt Davis, it is quite an accurate and spectacular look at our journey! Hope you enjoy!
Muchlove,
Scott
(I recommend full screen!)
So, are you ready?
Am I ready for what?
You know, to like go home and stuff?
…………………………………sorry…what…?
Favorite Sport Team: Manchester United
Favorite Subjects to teach: English and Math
Hobbies: Playing pool and watching movies
Mulugeta Walelign has been teaching at IEICA (International Ethiopian Initiative Children’s Association) for a year and a half now, and in time, he has forged an indelible place for himself at the school and overwhelmingly won the affections of its students.
Mulugeta grew up in Addis Ababa, in Kechene and his affinity for his neighborhood has shown brightly through his dedicatin to the school and his students. A graduate of Alpha College, Mulugeta studied accounting as an undergraduate and is continuning his education currently taking graduate level accounting classes at Alpha in his spare time.
At IEICA, Mulugeta serves as the Grade 1 Amharic and Art teacher and the KG2 English teacher, as well as the KG1 Science teacher. It is in this role where Mulugeta shines brightest. His love for students and the skill with which he teaches and manages IEICA’s largest class has made him a favorite of the schools youngest and most impressionable students. Mulugeta is no less popular among the older students though he has been known to frustrate his Grade 1 opponents on the soccer field.
What makes Mulugeta such a valuable asset to IEICA is his love of children and his commitment to the community that raised him and that IEICA works so hard to serve.
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With everything that exists in this world there are two things. Beauty and pain. Such is the contrast among daily life in Ethiopia and this constant of struggle permeates throughout. A tension that never surrenders.
The beauty of joy.
Echos of laughter, roaming free without a care in the world.
The pain of suffering.
Reminders of the aching struggle for health, survival and dignity.
Age: 7 Grade 1
Favorite Subject: Amharic
Favorite Sport Team: Manchester United
Favorite Food: Injera
Dawit Walemo is one of those kids that every parent dreams of having. With a charming smile, fantastic grades and a killer right foot that tears through the competition on the football field, he is a shinning standout at IEICA organization. Dawit is one of the few IEICA students fortunate to come from a great family; where both of his parents are weavers in the local Kechene markets. With high aspirations to be a pilot for Ethiopian Airlines, Dawit strives to be first in his class and is one of the hardest working students in the entire school.
A few months ago Adam and I came up with nicknames for some of our kids. Examples include…New York, Diva, Buzz, Spaulding…..I nicknamed Dawit ‘Awesome’, simply because no other name encompassed him better. Most of the time he spends recess helping his team win IEICA football championships and getting perfect scores on his English Tests. He’s not one of those kids that whines for attention, or cries about being pushed on the playground. He’s always on time for class and sets the example. A leader of leaders. In his spare time, I seriously think he could be running some multinational corporation for hobby. If Dawit was an alien, he would be one of those aliens that mobilizes all the other aliens to destroy mankind. But he’s not an alien, he’s a human…and truly, a remarkable one that I couldn’t be prouder to teach.
I want to tell you about a friend of mine. She is nearly 7 years old, is in KG 2 and her name is Kidist.
One day during recess back in late September I was sitting on the cement ledge that outlines the playground at my school. As the sun shined down on my skin, in the distant I saw a small Ethiopian child bouncing and sprinting as fast as she could my way. It was Kidist. Smiley and cheerful Kidist mumbled something to me in Amharic and continued to bob up and down. Not wanting to suppress her joy, but having no idea what she said, as I often do when I am found clueless, I nodded and smiled.
At this Kidist jumped, clapped her hands and immediately ran behind me and began playing with my hair. After about five minutes, I realized that she was attempting to give me braids. Sweet, I thought. She’ll never get them in. In September my hair was really really short so while she scraped, pressed, and shook to braid my hair, it really meant that I was getting a free massage.
OH, this is good! This is real good!
Currently, multiple times a week Kidist will run up to me with her little bouncy smile, say something, then try to braid my hair. I have no clue why she tries so hard but as usual I nod and smile, sit back, close my eyes and enjoy my head massage. For a few minutes, one day I had an internal debate about whether or not is was right for me to steal free head massages from a 6 year old, but that thought soon passed along with the 15 minute mark of my massage.
Kidist is predominately a quite girl. She is always smiling and bouncing around the play ground like some kind of rabbit on crack. She rarely gets in trouble and always has her work done. Most of the time she just sits in the back of class and makes weird faces at me. I make them back.
Now that my hair has grown significantly and Kidist has had several months of playing with white people hair experience, my formally soothing head massages have lately turned into torment. Her cute little fingers have become some kind of persecution device. The pulling. The wrenching. The knotting. I feel like a prisoner trying to squirm and maneuver my way from her clutches. OWW! Why WHY! Stop pulling! Can’t I just have my head massages back? OWW! She gently but convincingly placed her hands on the side of my head, returned it to center and resumed. Laughing and fighting back harder I dodged in-between her little hands as fast as I could. She tried to grab again but came up empty, jumped down from the cement ledge and stared me down face to face. Her eyes became intensely focused as she forcefully placed her hands on her hips and said…
iskat, came on!
Translation: Quit your whining! Scott, if you don’t cut your crap I’m never going to be a good hair dresser. If I don’t get good at this, I’m going to be stuck here forever. Don’t you understand!? I need your help, and right now you’re not helping!!
I sat silent. Confused and conflicted.
As I looked Kidist in the eyes, I realized something significant. Kidist loves hair. For some reason she loves my hair. She might be kind of crazy about it, but one day she is going to flip this world upside down. She will and because of it all of East Africa will tremble and shiver with a passionate fire that refuses to be quenched and you will not find me standing in the way.
The moment I smiled and titled my head down so her soft little hands could reach, was the same moment she started bouncing again. And there we sat on the concrete ledge for the rest of recess, taking small steps on a larger path of redemption with fingers in our hair.
Today was pretty amazing.
My friend Dr. Eric is a surgeon at a local hospital here in Addis called Cure.
Cure Hospitals all over the world provide surgical specialty care throughout the developing world and since its inception in 1986, CURE has treated more than 650,000 patients and performed 45,000 surgeries.
I was invited to Cure by Dr. Eric to sit in his schedule of surgeries for the day. I walked into the surgical ward not fully knowing what to expect or even what specific surgeries I would be witnessing. My palms started to sweat a little as the excitement built inside my chest. Here…you can put these on the nurse said as she handed me a pair of scrubs. I turned on Eye of the Tiger, wiggled my way into the scrubs and gave myself a wink in the mirror. Lets do this.
For a moment, navigating my way through the halls felt like a game of Pacman. Peaking around every corner, I searched and searched until I found Theater 4. Through the double doors I could see resemblance of something I had seen on the Discovery Channel, so I slowly made my way into the unknown. As I blew bubbles under my mask I watched the nurses prep for surgery and Dr. Eric greeted me, one hand with a scalpel the other with a scalpel. Two scalpels. Two Legs.
Before surgery the room became quiet. When the music was turned off, movement and discussion came to a halt until there was complete silence. I grew considerably agitated trying to make sense of the situation, until relief came when a nurse stood at the feet of the patient and read aloud the patients story and information, for the surgery just moments away. Dr. Eric placed his hands on the legs of the patient, slowly lifted his head and said, Let’s pray.
As if I was hit by a freight train, suddenly I was reminded surgery, and medicine as a whole isn’t really about wearing the right clothes or even playing with sharp knives. It’s a shame when things get lost in the fray but as much as I enjoy pretending to be cool, I’m not really that good at it…My hands are skilled and strong, but still futile to offer the world what it needs.
The melodies of Blessed Be Your Name permeated throughout the room while before my eyes a life changed. A child with formerly crooked legs will stand straight; free to roam this amazing world and offer it joy so desperately needed. No longer will they sit and wonder at the possibilities at what could have been, if they were simply born with favor.
The life of this child, and the many patients who receive free surgery through Cure, are indeed the obvious story for redemption. But for a moment that day, my own crooked soul stood straighter taking comfort in a much larger story to be told.
JP: Nothing is better than eating breakfast for dinner and listening to Taylor Swift!
Scott: What if Taylor Swift made you breakfast for dinner?
Adam: Yeah dude that would be righteous…pleasing to the Lord…You know she won a talent show at fifteen! Fifteen! For that song “Tim McGraw!”
Scott: I could be wrong, but I think it was “Our Song.”
Graham: Oh, is that the teardrops song?
Adam: Dude, you don’t know anything about Taylor Swift.
