Step Into the Sun & What's Cookin', Doc?

Step Into the Sun

The previous 5 years that James has been here have largely been characterized by limited electricity. There is no "grid" here. There are 4 generators, 2 of which are broken beyond their numerous previous repairs. Of the other 2, one is running as I type so the fresh water tank can be filled and running water is restored to the hospital grounds (an every other day endeavor around here). I went with Abel (the nearly deaf surgical scrub tech) to start it, along with Jacob, a premed college student who is volunteering here. The generator looked to be circa 1920. Abel tried to explain to us, in French, how it had to be started, while Jacob and I tried to pretend like we understood what our role was about to be. There was an exceptionally large shaft sticking out of this thing to which Abel attached a hand crank, very much like what a Model T Ford automobile had. On top of the generator was a large slide/switch that he talked about and moved from side to side as he made a circular cranking motion with his other hand and arm while making put-put-put sounds with his lips. He hefted the crank around for a few seconds before getting tired and yelling something in French. Jacob tried throwing the switch and Abel stopped turning but nothing happened. He tried to explain again what we were supposed to do and we did it all over again. This time he yelled something I understood, "Cest bon!" "It's good," I said to Jacob, who slide the lever again as Abel stepped back out of the way and the motor slowly chugged to life.

James told me that that generator had been repaired by a pilot (who's gone gone) nearly every other day for the previous 2 months. It's a miracle the thing actually functions at all, and it's quite expensive to run the thing. The analysis I am doing will help them determine whether or not it would be in their best interest to purchase another 25 Kilowatt generator or double their solar panel array.

So, the solar panels are a very recent addition, done as a specific donation/project just a few months ago. This has allowed the night shift to have lights in the hospital, the OR to run electrocautery, overhead lights, an air conditioner (well, sort of... it's better than nothing!), suction, and patient monitors. The system also supplies a limited amount of electricity in the houses within the hospital compound. That's why I can charge/use my computer to type to you without pulling out my own 60 watt foldable panel (powerfilmsolar.com) that I brought in case I actually needed it to charge the battery pack. The computer links via Bluetooth to the Chinese iPhone clone, and from there, to the internet (~ kb/sec). The phone is charged via the USB port when the computer has power, or via the handheld panels (solio.com) I brought for the iPod and iPhone. Neither of my solar systems have been necessary yet (which is kinda nice, but makes you feel as if you carried extra weight for nothing).

I measured a maximum power output of 1.25 kilowatts at high noon, dropping to about 750 watts about 3 hours either side of that time of day. Cumulative power storage for a day is about 8.5 Kw. We hope to figure out the power draw of all the major appliances so they can figure out if they should get more panels, more batteries, or both. Or, even neither. It may be they are conserving energy for no reason. See, they have a battery bank of 24 2 volt batteries holding 900 Amperes. The charge controller prevents more than 50 % discharge, to maximize the battery life, which is supposed to be about 12-15 years (though the summer heat here probably will cut that in half, at least. They ought to just burry them). The panels, however, were quite dirty when I got here. I cleaned them off and got about 10% more power the next day. Also, they face a bit too far west, and are laying to far on their back. My next step will be to redirect them so that they will more closely approximate a 90 degree angle with the sun around the time of local solar noon (11:30 AM). That should give them a bit more power too. 10% may not sound like much, but consider that over a year's time... that's more than an extra month's supply of solar energy, for free.

In between measurements, we played Rook and went shopping at the market, where we found fresh Chai tea, sugar, limes, bananas, bread, and phone credits to send txt messages and link with the internet. Suzanne tolerated one drunk suiter to take his picture with her, but we agreed that next time I will be responsible for breaking up that scenario pronto. We passed the theater, which is a tiny area darkened by grass mats used as walls and French subtitled American films are shown on DVD players. I think they said the cost is like 25 cents US. Curiously, it's about the same cost of recharging a cell phone here... which is done by the phone company itself, actually. See, the phone company has to run a large generator to power it's tower, so it sells off the excess to people wanting to charge they cell phone (after all, they have no electricity at home).

We also got a chance to see a local metal worker working with what looked like iron or steel. I couldn't tell. He had two hand bellows that he would use to heat a small clump of red hot charcoal, then strike while it was hot in order to shape it into various tools (spear heads, knife blades). Rumor is, the Arabs make a much better, and more threatening sword... with a lot more style too.

Turned out the fish section of the market was in full swing today... and it stank to high heaven. It really wreaked. I mean, I've smelled some filthy, foul, filth in my life... but this had to be the mostest... worstest... badest.... THING, I have smelled in my entire life. (Did I mention it smelled bad?) I'm confident Allah himself was nauseated with the stench. Maybe it wasn't JUST fish. I readily admit the cumulative aromatic experience included healthy/unhealthy doses of animal excrement, feet, unwashed hair, arm pits, and other body parts that rub together when you walk. So you can imagine our dismay when we encountered two of the student missionaries from the hospital walking towards us munching on this oil-soaked, orange eel/fish-like thing we had fervently avoided. They claimed they had watched the things get deep fried in front of them, so that had to have killed anything that would've been dangerous, right? I just couldn't see the wisdom in such a course of action. Must have been a double-dog dare or something. Suzanne vowed on the spot to be vegetarian for the rest of her life. The cow (maybe goat?) carcass/pile of bones that was entirely covered with flies that we passed, laying on a table, the last trip to market certainly helped her make this decision.

After securing out valuables, we bid adieu to all the gawkers who'd never seen a white/tan person before... "Smell ya later!"

All the kids like to line up and point at you saying "Nassara!" It translates loosely to "whitey." There's an arabic variant which is more precise, meaning "Christian dog." I have yet to be called that one. And, when the occasional child repeatedly (5 times, minimum) asks, in a thick Tchadian accent, "Whass jyour naime?" I usually tell them, "Nassara... Monsieur Nassara to you."

When we arrived back at the hospital, Sarah had returned from N'Djamena with more toilet paper, assorted edibles, and fabric (sans turban) for my Tchadian outfit that James' Arab taylor is to sew for me before I leave for the states. It's a nice light blue color.

The water ran out just as I entered the bathroom this evening, so I went to bed without a shower, or washing the day's accumulation of oil and dirt off my face (no small amount), and without brushing my teeth or being able to flush the toilet. Just like all of God's other creatures out here on this nearly dessert plain, I suppose. Gross, I know. But honestly, life could be worse. In fact, it is in the next building over, about 100 yards away. It's a TB isolation ward. Then, there's the next building from there... pediatrics. One child has died there every day this past week, except for today. Only 4 remain. The next building over is the main ward... isolation there is for AIDS etc. I use the term isolation loosely, because in this latter case, the area is right next to the labor and delivery. It was there, just today, that I helped James as he used lidocaine to anesthetize the ligaments that join a woman's left and right pelvic bones in the front... then cut it in half to increase the diameter of the birth canal to deliver her baby before her contractions had enough time to rupture the recent C-section scar on her uterus. This way, she wouldn't bleed to death (as many other young mothers do). So, no... I didn't have running water, and I didn't have AC. Yes, I smelled bad and my teeth felt a bit fuzzy... but things could be worse.

In fact, I slept pretty good. Woke up the next morning to the sound of the generator and was taking a nice cool shower 10 minutes later... felt good to be alive :)

Things you don't want to hear in the mission field: "Oh, don't worry, the 5 second rule applies here too."


What's Cookin', Doc?

Normally, we have a cook. Now, it's not as nice as it sounds really. That's because the cook works M-F, and only makes one meal... after all, the entire nation is accustomed to eating once a day. I don't take that so well, as I personally will eat up to 6 times a day. So, this is harsh. Especially on the weekends. So today we were essentially out of food (except for eggs), and had to go to market to buy what we wanted, then return to cook it ourselves. I know, I know. Sounds easy. It's not. The process took approximately 2.5 hours... a huge chunk of time out of the middle of what otherwise could've been a much more productive day.

So you have to take a back pack to market, otherwise there's no way to carry all the little individual bags of purchased items from the various vendors you buy/barter from. Some will give you plastic bags, but they will likely tear open half way home, spilling your food on the foot path (likely on top of several little goat turds). So, don't count on them having bags to carry your treasures home in. You go to market on foot, since even if the hospital vehicles were working (and they're not), gasoline would be prohibitively expensive to justify the trip. It's about 15 minutes each way (if no one stops you to try to buy/marry your cousin). Once returning, one must decide if/how to clean your food before attempting to eat it. Bananas are easy... unwrap with one hand, eat with the other. Packaged food (like pasta) is also easy. Tomatoes and lemons are tricky. Trust me, if you saw the hands that sell me this food, you'd question wether or not it's safe to eat, ever. We decided to scramble the eggs today along with some fried potatoes, tomatoes and onions. Of course, this requires heat... which leads me to a description of the stove.

The "stove" is a concrete/block cookout looking area that's screened in on the front side of the guest house. There are 3 holes on the cooking surface, slightly larger than the average cooking pot, each with 2 short pieces of iron rebar intended to lay across the opening and support the pot without it preventing air from circulating from underneath, where the charcoal burns. Charcoal is loaded from the top, resting on 3-4 pieces of rebar built into the cement block in grill-like formation. This allows the ashes to be removed periodically, as well as provide a channel to fan the coals with extra air to make them burn hotter. That's the temperature control... you, your arm and a woven grass fan. As alluded to previously, the charcoal is easier to light if you use a little gas (emphasis on the LITTLE). If you use too much, flames shoot out the top and front of the stove, scorching your eyebrows and/or burning your knees. Now, after it lights and the explosive phase is passed, you have to kick in the fan action before it burns out and you have to decide if you're going to add more gasoline onto already hot coals (I recommend against this approach). Personally, I just fan like a madman with one hand and barehand in more charcoal as I think the growing fire will take it. At some point, the girls will say they're ready to put pots/pans on the stove, and the often futile attempts at temperature control begins.

Today, however, this period was interrupted by a pop and scream from the sink area, where the new Danish girl had been cracking eggs to add to our potato omlette mix. I looked around the corner to see what was the matter. Things looked fine. I walked over to her to see if she was as OK as she looked at first... and then it hit me. The smell. You know how I said that the fish market was the mostest... wrostest... badest... THING, I have ever smelled, in my entire life? Well, I spoke too soon.

The pop was the small gaseous explosion that occurred when she cracked the egg. The blue goo containing black speckles coating the countertop was physically overpowering. I'm talking level 5 DEFCON biohazard here! There is no question in my mind this small capsule of evil could have easily be used as a weapon of mass destruction. Before we were finished preparing lunch, we'd "found" 3 of these little jewels. The third one contained a fully developed chick. None of us will be able to eat eggs again without thinking of today.

After we had eaten, Henry and I poured boiling water down the bathroom sink's drain, and the shower drain, in hopes that it would dissolve the accumulated goo, hair, oil, dead skin, soap, dirt and muck of the past years that clearly was slowing the flow of waste water. It actually did help a bit. What I wouldn't give for one cup of Liquid Drano!

Once the dinner table was cleared, I turned it into a workbench and swapped out the sealed lead acid battery from the non-functioning ProPaq monitor, using the battery from the one good device the OR was using. It worked! Now all I need to do is figure out if the charge controller is out, or if the battery itself, if replaced, will solve the problem. James also suggested I try to get a second oxygen concentrator working, as a back up. I asked him how high a priority it was, and he shrugged. To be honest, in over 5 years he's never had anyone die because they didn't get extra oxygen. "It'd be nice to have though," he said.

Suzanne's had a bad headache and stomach ache. I hope it's not malaria. She hopes it's not malaria. James bet her all the Milkyway chocolate bars she brought him that it is. We'll see who's right, and who keeps the bet!

This evening we watched the sunset over the African plain while sitting on top of the water tower. Impressive. As an afterthought, we lifted the lid to see just how much water was left in the tank... about 1 inch! There've been so many volunteers here lately that the water tower has had to be filled every day, instead of every other day. We rushed home to fill one large cooking pot and an emesis basin with fresh water so that we could take bucket baths when the water ran out. Fortunately, I had enough water to get a shower. I hadn't had one in 2 days.

Things you don't want to hear in the mission field: "Dude, life is too short to need insurance. Besides, if you're sick enough to actually need medical evacuation, you're probably not going to make it out in time anyway!"