Sept

May 11, 2018

Sept

I Visit a lot of Patients.

So, as our time is winding down here in Cameroon and the ship has closed down a majority of its surgical operations, my biggest task as of late has been traveling to visit patients in their homes in order to gather 'after' video content. This is probably the most important content as far as fundraising and awareness goes. Below are my accounts of some of these visits.

Tresor

Mary Magdalene places a bowl of neon yellow liquid on the table directly in front of me. The table was brought out of one of the mud and straw huts and placed in the middle of the dirt 'courtyard.' The whole family, extended family, and some neighbors sit under the shade a few meters back as if this meal were some sort of spectator sport. She shows a proud grin as she explains that Achu is one of the best dishes in Cameroon and a staple of the Bamileke tribe. Someone in our group asks what it's made of. Rookie mistake. Avoid details, just eat; my foolproof mantra when it comes to sampling the local fare. Unfortunately in this case, Christiane, our Cameroonian interpreter, loves satiating western curiosity and answers the call.

"Chicken or beef broth, spices and herbs, palm oil, and limestone."

I'm caught off guard by the last ingredient and nearly choke on the bite I have just taken.

"Well that explains why this soup rocks" I say with a yellow-soup smile (hiding the fact that I still haven't managed to swallow).

"Please Caleb, I'm not sure I understand" Christiane whispers.

I have learned that my jokes are not very cross-cultural.

Tresor's village is about a thirty-minute drive from Bafoussam, a city up in the highlands of Cameroon. His family's hut is a stone's throw away from the newly erected airport. We were there two days and I never saw a plane arrive or depart. They might be forced to leave their home soon because of it's proximity to the new travel hub - a source of anxiety for the family and neighbors.

Tresor is a ten year old boy with pretty severe burns covering most of his body. He is one of a large number of plastics patients receiving surgical intervention for contractures. At age three, Tresor fell into a cooking fire and ended up with some terrible burns. Because his family had no money (and even if they did, most hospitals in this part of the world are not equipped to successfully treat these kinds of injuries), Tresor's arm and hand healed (slowly and painfully) in such a way that his skin grew together at the elbow and wrist joints, rendering his left arm pretty much useless. So, Dr. Tertius Venter, one of Mercy Ships' veteran surgeons, operated and released the contracture, returning function to Tresor's arm and hand.

Which is what brings us to Mary Magdalene's hut next to the Bafoussam Airport. Mary Magdalene is Tresor's mom and we're there to interview her and get that wonderful 'after' footage to be used in fundraising videos.

After dinner, I get some shots of Tresor carrying a jug of water through the small corn field and up to the hut. We do the interview. Mary Magdalene shares how great it is that Tresor's arm is healed and how she feels better about her own future, knowing that her son will one day be able to care for her. It's beginning to get dark once we finish the interview. We drive back into town to our hotel. I fall asleep to the sounds of Cameroonian dance music that fills every street. It's not the kind of music that's particularly conducive to sleep but I'm wiped out.

Chasing that 'golden hour' sunrise light, we leave the hotel pretty early. I ordered a coffee from the hotel restaurant but ended up with what I presumed to be Ovaltine. I tried to drink it but it really sucked and I didn't have time to correct the order. So, off we went. Coffee-less. I try to direct a scene where the village kids play football (soccer) with Tresor but he's the oldest by some margin and there's this one little guy who kept chasing after the ball, absolutely bawling the whole time for reasons I didn't comprehend. Rose and I get the giggles because this kid is being so ridiculously winey and Tresor shoots me a look as if to say, 'Don't look at me. I don't know what's wrong with him.' I give up on the scene and ask for alternatives. Soon it comes out that there's a waterfall nearby. We go and shoot a scene there. It's really pretty. This country is breathtaking sometimes. After the shoot, it's time to leave. We've got another patient to visit and he lives a couple hours away in Foumban. Just as we're about to depart, Mary Magdalene asks us if she can come with. She knows the patient and his dad from their time together on the ship. I say no. We just don't have the space in the car with all our gear (which isn't a great excuse to give an African who's used to piling twelve people into a Toyota Corolla.) Plus, I don't want to have to make an hour detour to get her home but Christiane seems really disappointed by my answer, so does Mary Magdalene. I kinda feel like a jerk but I brush it off because I have a job to do, at least that's my justification. I'm getting used to delivering disappointing news at this point so I'm able to rebound pretty quickly once we drop her and Tresor off at home, say our goodbyes, receive two tonnes of plantains, and depart the airport village.

Zidane

After driving for another two and a half hours to Foumban, we spot young Adam Zidane and his papa zip past us on a motorcycle. They're flailing their arms and grinning wide at the sight of our Land Cruiser. After hugs and bonjours they get in our SUV and we drive toward their village. The further out of Foumban we get, the more beautiful the landscape becomes. Finally, I can't take it anymore, I just have to get some aerial footage with the drone. I get a great shot of the Land Cruiser descending into the valley and then I hop on a relative's moto. I'll just meet up with the gang in the village. As we make our way down this steep dirt road on a rickety Chinese two-cyclinder, I'm thinking this is just how I imagined working in Africa might be. I thank God for blessing me so much. It's not just the adventure, although He knows I crave it. It's being a part of something with momentum, something good, something so far outside anything I could ever hope to do on my own.

We arrive to a full on party. Village women wrapped in brightly colored fabrics are dancing and singing. Village elders stand in a line greeting each of us with two kisses to each cheek. The ceremony of it made me feel like some sort of diplomat. After the singing subsides we're ushered into a large living room in a house that didn't feel that different from one in a Minneapolis suburb, apart from the bare concrete floor and decomposing furniture of course. The ceremonies continued with a letter from the chief read aloud by another village elder.

Audio: A Letter from the Chief

The elders offer a few more speeches of gratitude for the work Mercy Ships is doing in Cameroon. Then, they ask us to return the favor with a few impromptu speeches of our own. Thank God my high school oral comms class covered international impromptu speeches or I'd have been a wreck. Adam Zidane and his dad are as smiley as ever, I guess our speeches went over well. Once I spot a lull in the festivities, I jump in and request some time to do my interview with papa Zidane. Thinking that I was being clever I suggest the rest of the village carry on with the ceremonies while I take the necessary personnel away for a few minutes to a quieter place. The elders agree and grant my request, showing me a nice, quiet (except every time a motorcycle drove past) spot next to the road (where motorcycles tend to drive). The entire village follows us and observes the interview. So much for my craftiness. At least everyone's pretty quiet and we get on with the interview. I learn that Adam Zidane was ill and taken to a hospital a few years ago where he was given an IV drip. The drip was misplaced causing an infection in his muscle tissue which led to another contracture, this time of the ankle. So, even though he was named for an All Star footballer, Zidane could no longer run - cruel irony if ever there were such a thing. But a friend pointed them in the direction of Mercy Ships, the contracture was surgically released, a few months of rehab was undertaken, and voilá - I was shooting B roll of Adam Zidane running, jumping, and kicking a football.

As soon as there's a lull in the filming, we're ushered back to the house - I have no idea who owns this house by the way, one of the elders probably. Here, we're told that the village is known for its artisan clay pots and other crafts and they have a gift for us. At this point I'm really starting to settle into the role of Mercy Ships' delegate and the white western worlds' ambassador to the village. Again, the elders line up with all of the pomp and protocol of royalty and one by one they begin to deliver their hand made gifts. One elder hands me a set of two masks, one black and one white explaining, "Ceux-ci représentent la paix entre le noir et blanc" (These represent the peace between black and white). This symbol strikes at my heart like a lightning bolt. I feel in that moment what I imagine Moses felt as he stood near the burning bush. Time freezes and I'm tempted to take my shoes off or something. Do something to acknowledge that something important was happening, that the kingdom of heaven was tangible for that split second. The villagers continue piling up the gifts and I continue reveling in the holiness of the activity, glancing every now and again to Christiane as if to ask, 'is this actually happening?' Her responsive nods indicate it is in fact happening.

Just as I think we're finished, all of my gear is packed up and put back into our Land Cruiser, one of the village elders approaches me and asks if we would accept the chief's invitation to his home. My first reaction is to decline, it's getting dark, we're a long way from the hotel, and we're tired, hungry, and all that. But I see on the face of the elder and Christiane (my guiding light for all cultural nuance) that we really don't have a choice here. So, as the sun begins to set behind the hills, we parade our way to the chief's house, or maison. More pleasantries, speeches, and a signature in a guest book, along with so. many. group. photos. But the end is in sight when we begin to walk back to our car. I give Adam Zidane a piggy back ride even though he's pretty big for an eight year old and my legs are done. He's giggling at the stupid jokes i'm trying to tell in french when Christiane comes alongside us to explain the importance of our visit to the chief.

"Please Caleb, may I say something?"

"Sure, Christiane, what's up?"

"Now that we have been to the house of the chief of the village, Adam Zidane and his family will be ok. Because once a family is recognized by the chief, they are taken care of, all of their needs." She grins and walks on as I let Adam Zidane off my back. I'm not quite sure what to make of that statement.

I didn't have time to take photos on these trips, so here are a few stills yanked from video: