I bring toilet paper.

Many places are BYOTP (bring your own TP).

I bring it for our doctors & nurses.

One of the kids at the hospital asks what it’s for.

They speak 80 different languages in Ethiopia.

So conversations involve gestures.

I try to show what it’s for.

He shows me his left hand.

Apparently the right hand is for eating, the left hand is for…everything else.

This was 10 years ago.

When Ethiopia was a more peaceful place.

There was, and is, a desperate need for doctors.

There are more Ethiopian doctors in the US than in Ethiopia.

I was volunteering on a medical mission.

I have no medical training or useful skills.

But I did schlep 50 pounds of supplies like the TP and candy.

It was a cardiac mission for Mending Kids.

Our team travels in a van.
When you’re next to 7 camels on a flatbed truck at the gas station you know you’re in Africa.

We travel with surgeons, cardiologists, an anesthesiologist, a perfusionist  (yeah, I didn’t know what that was either) an intensivist (post op doc) nurses and volunteers.

We mend kids and mentor local doctors.

We fly coach (23 hours).

We stay at a so so hotel (internet costs more than the room).

The water comes from an underground spring.

So shower temperature is always an adventure.

The wine is awful.

But the coffee almost makes up for it.

On one side of the hotel you hear the predawn call to prayer.

On the other side you hear the lions.

Their growl is like a small earthquake.

They used to run free at the palace.

Now they‘re in a zoo.

I’m on the lion side.

We leave the hotel around 6 am (no one is sleeping anyway) and head to the hospital.

It’s a small  hospital set up for mission teams.

We’re across the street from the Black Lion Hospital, one of the largest and poorest in world.

Black smoke pours out of the Black Lion chimneys.

It’s got a Sweeney Todd vibe.

The ER is like the 405, with a gridlock of gurneys.

One morning I skip the 6am van.

And stay behind to blog.

You know, I fancy myself a writer.

The WiFi only works well in the lobby.

There‘s one chair with the good WiFi.

I circle the chair until some guy leaves.

I sit and write about the TP and the camels.

Then head to the hospital.

The van is gone so I grab a cab.

I say…”Black Lion Hospital.”

The driver takes off.

Then stops.

Pulls over.

And locks the doors.

Was this a bad idea?

It’s 10am, but still

I’ve been to Ethiopia twice, but have never ventured out alone.

Perhaps there’s a reason for that.

The driver is on his phone.

Making endless calls.

I consider breaking the window with my shoe (sadly it’s a sneaker).

Then he hands me his phone.

A voice says…”Where do you want to go.?”

I say “Black Lion Hospital”.

And off we go.

My driver had to call all his friends to find one who spoke English.

After hours of surgery our team gathers for dinner.

My meal of choice is Doritos and wine.

But I do love Ethiopian food.

And the squishy bread called injera.

But it’s spicy and you never know what you’re eating.

So, after a few nights we opt for Chinese food.

And it‘s pretty good.

Later that night my roommate realizes she lost her envelope of cash.

I blame the jet lag and the lions.

Two nights later we go back for more dumplings.

They say….”Hey, we have your envelope.”

All the cash entact.

As we leave the restaurant a few kids surround us and take another friend’s wallet.

Ethiopia giveth and taketh away.

At the hospital we had 40 patients.

One little girl has eyes the size plates.

She looks like a fawn.

All Ethiopian woman are gorgeous, this is not an exaggeration.

The gorgeous girl’s name was Calkeydon.

She had a huge hole in her heart.

You could see blue in her finger tips and tongue.

She could only walk a few steps before resting.

Her heart doesn’t pump enough blood.

One of our doctors said…these kids are half dead by the time we see them.

They tell Calkeydon’s mom her child has a 25% chance of survival.

But without the surgery she will die.

I sit with her mom on the concrete stairs outside the OR.

We hold hands.

We pray.

We wait.

And wait.

She asks me if I can take Calkeydon to the US…

If she lives.

If only I could.

We cry.

And wait.

Finally a nurse tells us the surgery went well.

But I know the real living and dying happens in post op.

They let me see her.

I let her mom know she‘s still sleeping

I stand by her bed.

And wait.

Suddenly she starts moving.

And gasping.

I gasp.

She asks for water.

I ask if she can have some.

The post op docs are so happy she woke up they say she can have water, M & Ms….whatever she wants.

The next day Calkeydon drew me a picture of a heart.

And I used a small bit of the TP that I schlepped 9 thousand miles to dry my tears.