Thursday, December 08, 2005
Don't Worry, This is UNUSUAL for Costa Rica!
I got bit up by something on Sunday and had an allergic reaction to the bites. Several of the seventeen bites formed huge blisters. Let me assure you, THEY ITCHED! They are finally starting to heal.
NosePods Will Never Catch On!
In the photo below you might barely be able to tell I have a small tube taped to my face which goes down my nose into my esophagus. It's attached to something that looks a bit like a Walkman. One of our fellow missionaries asked if it was a Nose Pod. It didn't play music, and the tube down the throat would never catch on in popularity, let me assure you!
Yesterday was a day that I will unfortunately probably never forget. My esophagus has rarely caused me so much grief. Woody had told me before traveling that probably I’d have no reflux problems while the tube was in, since I seem to always be better for tests or doctor appointments. Well, that prediction didn’t come true. It will be interesting to see the outcome of the testing. When they pulled the tube yesterday afternoon, I went directly to the pharmacy, bought a bottle of Mylanta, and before even stepping out of the pharmacy, told a fellow customer, "Cheers!" and proceded to gulp several swallows straight from the bottle! Though there was some immediate relief, I am sure it will be challenging to get the inflammation under control, since it was bad even before the test.
I was able to rest fairly well last night, and am so thankful for that!
Yesterday was a day that I will unfortunately probably never forget. My esophagus has rarely caused me so much grief. Woody had told me before traveling that probably I’d have no reflux problems while the tube was in, since I seem to always be better for tests or doctor appointments. Well, that prediction didn’t come true. It will be interesting to see the outcome of the testing. When they pulled the tube yesterday afternoon, I went directly to the pharmacy, bought a bottle of Mylanta, and before even stepping out of the pharmacy, told a fellow customer, "Cheers!" and proceded to gulp several swallows straight from the bottle! Though there was some immediate relief, I am sure it will be challenging to get the inflammation under control, since it was bad even before the test.
I was able to rest fairly well last night, and am so thankful for that!
Monday, December 05, 2005
Thoughts on Healing
Last week was a tough week for me in the area of health issues. I’ll be brief about the problems. (If you want to know more, just write and ask.) I’ve recently had an endoscopy as well as an esophogram. I also had to have needle biopsies on both breasts – five needle sticks with no anesthesia! Now I am facing two more tests on my esophagus because it has been so irritated that it has been hard to eat or sleep.
This morning I read the story of Jesus healing the leper in Luke 5. The leper approached Jesus with absolute belief.
“You can make me clean.”
He had no doubt Jesus could heal him. He just didn’t know if Jesus would heal him.
The leper also approached Jesus by saying, “Lord, if You are willing…”
He seemed to be saying, “If You, in Your wisdom and plan, see purpose in it, please do it.”
Beth Moore comments, “Although I don’t pretend to understand how or why, some illnesses may serve more eternal purpose than healing, while other healings serve more purpose than illness.”
I feel for Christians who are chronically ill. You would not believe all the solutions I’ve been offered – from the reasonable to the wacky! Others think they know exactly what I’m experiencing, but when they proceed to explain their own symptoms, I realize they don’t understand at all. But it does little good to point that out.
Others bring into question my faith, my walk with God, or my beliefs. Many have challenged me, saying I simply have not accepted the healing God already has for me.
There have been many times people have prayed and fasted and laid hands on me. We have all believed at times that I would be healed. But, it simply hasn’t happened yet.
I try to accept people’s suggestions, commiserations, and criticisms in a spirit of love. I’ve decided for now, not to seek healing. Instead, I will seek Him. If He reveals Himself through healing, I will praise Him. If He reveals Himself through suffering, I will choose to praise Him.
My faith is not perfect. My trust is not complete. My understanding is inadequate.
But I, along with the leper, truly believe that if He sees in His wise plan that there is a greater purpose to heal me, I will be the first in line for that touch! But, above all, I trust who He is, even when I have no idea of what He’s doing.
This morning I read the story of Jesus healing the leper in Luke 5. The leper approached Jesus with absolute belief.
“You can make me clean.”
He had no doubt Jesus could heal him. He just didn’t know if Jesus would heal him.
The leper also approached Jesus by saying, “Lord, if You are willing…”
He seemed to be saying, “If You, in Your wisdom and plan, see purpose in it, please do it.”
Beth Moore comments, “Although I don’t pretend to understand how or why, some illnesses may serve more eternal purpose than healing, while other healings serve more purpose than illness.”
I feel for Christians who are chronically ill. You would not believe all the solutions I’ve been offered – from the reasonable to the wacky! Others think they know exactly what I’m experiencing, but when they proceed to explain their own symptoms, I realize they don’t understand at all. But it does little good to point that out.
Others bring into question my faith, my walk with God, or my beliefs. Many have challenged me, saying I simply have not accepted the healing God already has for me.
There have been many times people have prayed and fasted and laid hands on me. We have all believed at times that I would be healed. But, it simply hasn’t happened yet.
I try to accept people’s suggestions, commiserations, and criticisms in a spirit of love. I’ve decided for now, not to seek healing. Instead, I will seek Him. If He reveals Himself through healing, I will praise Him. If He reveals Himself through suffering, I will choose to praise Him.
My faith is not perfect. My trust is not complete. My understanding is inadequate.
But I, along with the leper, truly believe that if He sees in His wise plan that there is a greater purpose to heal me, I will be the first in line for that touch! But, above all, I trust who He is, even when I have no idea of what He’s doing.
Friday, November 18, 2005
What it Takes to Get a Phone Line
What does it take to get a phone line in Costa Rica?
You don’t want to know the whole story. Blog entries shouldn’t be that long!
Let me relate to you just a couple of the chapters.
Remember that I was called by the phone company and told to stay home all day on Friday, November 4th? When they didn’t show up, I called them back and was told to stay home all day the next Monday so they could install our phone line. When they didn’t show again, I called and called and called on Tuesday, only to be reprimanded; saying they never intended to come any of those days.
I’ll skip a few interesting chapters and say that we finally learned that a technician would call sometime this week, telling me what day to stay home again, awaiting their visit. On Tuesday afternoon, since I’d not received a call, I went to run errands. Of course, they came unannounced while I was absent. They told a neighbor they’d be back first thing the next morning.
The next morning I waited on them again, but by mid-morning they hadn’t showed up. Most phone company workers had taken the day off to protest the free trade agreement (20,000 protestors!), so I decided to run to the office. I left my cell phone number with a workman across the road, in case he saw them.
Sure enough, they showed up! I ran down to the house from the office and watched them connect the lines. They took two bare wires just inside the house and connected them to a trial phone, and it worked! Then, they left those two lines hanging and said I needed to connect that somehow to the jacks in the house. I had no clue! (That’s another chapter I’ll skip.)
I thanked the workmen, but also asked them why they never called me to tell me what day to expect them. They replied, “We have no obligation to call the customer. If we are supposed to come a certain week, you just need to be home.”
“So, I must sit home all week and wait, hoping someone will come?”
“Yes.”
“And if I work, I either will not get a phone line or I must take an unspecified leave of absence from my job until the phone company shows?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
I couldn’t resist one jab.
“While your companions are out protesting the Free Trade Agreement, you are proving exactly why it is necessary. The government monopoly phone business makes your work convenient at the expense of providing a service for the client.”
Give them credit. They seemed to happily agree that their job is very convenient and they intend to keep it that way!
You don’t want to know the whole story. Blog entries shouldn’t be that long!
Let me relate to you just a couple of the chapters.
Remember that I was called by the phone company and told to stay home all day on Friday, November 4th? When they didn’t show up, I called them back and was told to stay home all day the next Monday so they could install our phone line. When they didn’t show again, I called and called and called on Tuesday, only to be reprimanded; saying they never intended to come any of those days.
I’ll skip a few interesting chapters and say that we finally learned that a technician would call sometime this week, telling me what day to stay home again, awaiting their visit. On Tuesday afternoon, since I’d not received a call, I went to run errands. Of course, they came unannounced while I was absent. They told a neighbor they’d be back first thing the next morning.
The next morning I waited on them again, but by mid-morning they hadn’t showed up. Most phone company workers had taken the day off to protest the free trade agreement (20,000 protestors!), so I decided to run to the office. I left my cell phone number with a workman across the road, in case he saw them.
Sure enough, they showed up! I ran down to the house from the office and watched them connect the lines. They took two bare wires just inside the house and connected them to a trial phone, and it worked! Then, they left those two lines hanging and said I needed to connect that somehow to the jacks in the house. I had no clue! (That’s another chapter I’ll skip.)
I thanked the workmen, but also asked them why they never called me to tell me what day to expect them. They replied, “We have no obligation to call the customer. If we are supposed to come a certain week, you just need to be home.”
“So, I must sit home all week and wait, hoping someone will come?”
“Yes.”
“And if I work, I either will not get a phone line or I must take an unspecified leave of absence from my job until the phone company shows?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
I couldn’t resist one jab.
“While your companions are out protesting the Free Trade Agreement, you are proving exactly why it is necessary. The government monopoly phone business makes your work convenient at the expense of providing a service for the client.”
Give them credit. They seemed to happily agree that their job is very convenient and they intend to keep it that way!
Si, Carlos! Si!
Two weeks ago I left my friends at the Albernia nursing home with a heavy heart. I had spent time talking with Edgar, one of the wheelchair bound residents. He wants so much to study the Bible, but expressed that if he listens to Christian radio or music that there are negative repercussions from the staff. He also expressed a deep sense of loneliness. He told me that the only other Christian in the small home is Carlos - who is quite blind and nearly deaf.
Since that visit, I've been prayerfully considering how I might be able to minister to lonely people like Edgar and Carlos. Yesterday I visited my friends in the Albernia home again. I often shake Carlos' hand, but rarely have we been able to communicate because of his disabilities. Yesterday he was holding a small Gideon New Testament, open to Matthew chapter 4. I took his hand and gave him a big smile, pointing to the Bible.
He looked up and asked me, "Do you read the Bible?"
"Si, Carlos! Si!" I shouted, nodding my head enthusiastically and smiling.
Then, God answered my prayer. Carlos pointed at the bold letters at the top of the page and read carefully, "Mateo cuatro." He was able to read the bold, large print! He proceded to tell me about the temptation of Christ in Matthew chapter four. I was so, so happy, I hugged him and kissed him!
As I prayed this morning, the answer came to me. I am currently studying the temptation of Christ in my study of the life of Christ. I decided that each morning as I study, I will type up my notes and observations in Spanish in BOLD, LARGE TYPE.
I can't wait to print two copies of my notes - one for Edgar and one for Carlos! Meanwhile, my own personal study has taken on all that much more meaning, since I can share it with my elderly friends.
Since that visit, I've been prayerfully considering how I might be able to minister to lonely people like Edgar and Carlos. Yesterday I visited my friends in the Albernia home again. I often shake Carlos' hand, but rarely have we been able to communicate because of his disabilities. Yesterday he was holding a small Gideon New Testament, open to Matthew chapter 4. I took his hand and gave him a big smile, pointing to the Bible.
He looked up and asked me, "Do you read the Bible?"
"Si, Carlos! Si!" I shouted, nodding my head enthusiastically and smiling.
Then, God answered my prayer. Carlos pointed at the bold letters at the top of the page and read carefully, "Mateo cuatro." He was able to read the bold, large print! He proceded to tell me about the temptation of Christ in Matthew chapter four. I was so, so happy, I hugged him and kissed him!
As I prayed this morning, the answer came to me. I am currently studying the temptation of Christ in my study of the life of Christ. I decided that each morning as I study, I will type up my notes and observations in Spanish in BOLD, LARGE TYPE.
I can't wait to print two copies of my notes - one for Edgar and one for Carlos! Meanwhile, my own personal study has taken on all that much more meaning, since I can share it with my elderly friends.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Here, Swallow This Garden Hose!
I first started having trouble way back in 1980, after over a year in Bolivia. Pain in my upper chest, loss of appetite, nausea, and trouble swallowing were among my symptoms. Back in those days it wasn’t that easy to catch a plane and run back to the US to see a doctor.
So, when the doctor said I needed to have a tube put into my stomach to see what was going on, I accepted. Woody and I reported to the dark, dusty office of the gastroenterologist. He picked up a tube that looked to be the size of a garden hose, handed it to me and said nonchalantly, “Swallow!”
Looking back on it, I can’t believe I did it! But, somehow I managed to gag and choke and swallow repeatedly until that garden hose reached my stomach.
Don’t ever tell me I’m not a brave woman!
The ironic thing is that they found nothing. Maybe they needed a more powerful flashlight to shine down the hose, who knows? (Just kidding about the flashlight!)
Over the years since then I have had seven more experiences of swallowing the hose. Fortunately, that was the only time I had to do it while fully conscious. And the tubes have become narrower since then, so it’s hard to mistake them now for a garden hose!
It really wasn’t until my experience in Louisiana that they found my troubles. Up until then I’d been told a number of things, including that my nausea was all in my head. I never believed that one for one minute! When I finally got treatment for severe acid reflux and esophagitis, I experienced an appetite for the first time in years! (Though that doctor helped me immensely, we learned later that he was convicted of injecting his lover with AIDS tainted blood! We saw his photo in TIME magazine!)
Among my worst gastroscopies was the first of several in Minnesota. That time I was given a drug to make me just unconscious enough to not be able to cooperate, but to recall every second of the procedure. I decided I’d rather do it fully conscious!
In 1997 my doctor in Illinois discovered that I had precancerous changes in my esophagus. Because of that, plus heartburn and other symptoms that could not be controlled, I underwent surgery to literally tie a knot between my stomach and esophagus, using a piece of my stomach as the loop of the knot.
A gastroscopy shortly after that surgery was another one of my worst. Keep in mind that my new knot not only kept acid from refluxing, but it prevented air from coming up easily, i.e. burping. During the endoscopy they filled my stomach with air to better visualize the stomach lining. Upon waking up, I had a tight balloon in my gut that would not deflate. I was miserable! My body was doing all it could to relieve the distress. Finally, after continually vomiting up air for a half hour, they gave me something to control my vomiting. That medicine, combined with the anesthesia, made it impossible to stay awake for more than 3 minute intervals. During those brief intervals of consciousness I could only think, “Oh, man! I feel horrible!”
They finally thought I was awake enough to send me home. Woody went for the car and they sat me in a wheel chair. I promptly fell asleep and awoke to find them catching me while I slid unconscious out of the chair!
I won’t go into the others that were miserable. I’ll just tell you that it doesn’t have to be that bad! I’ve learned a number of tricks and have given doctors a number of suggestions to make life easier.
I also have to give credit to my most recent gastroenterologist at Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. He is the one who has figured out why all of this has been happening to me over the past 25 years. Most of my troubles are a result of the serious gastrointestinal illnesses I’ve suffered, especially during our first years in Bolivia. Unfortunately, he hasn’t been able to offer me much of a solution for the ailment he’s diagnosed, but at least he is a very caring, compassionate physician. That goes a long way!
I thank God also for my loving, persevering husband, and the good physicians and clinic here in Costa Rica that made my last endoscopic experience a good one!
The results of this gastroscopy were not so bad, but not so good, either. They found no evidence of cancer or ulceration, which is good news. However, the “wrap” that they did in the surgical procedure to my stomach eight years ago now has loosened slightly and is allowing reflux of acid once again. Despite strong acid blockers, I also have some “superficial gastritis.” It looks like the “Barrett’s esophagus” (precancerous area) is slightly larger as well. The doctor feels that the chronic cough I have had this year is related to the reflux, since he observed acid refluxing up to my mouth during the procedure. L They also removed a small polyp from my stomach, but feel that will prove to be benign and of no consequence. (Biopsies are still pending.) I also have developed another small hiatal hernia. (They fixed a hiatal hernia during my surgery 8 years ago.)
By the way, if you still think I’m not a brave woman, ask me sometime about putting in my own IV before the latest endoscopy!
Friday, October 28, 2005
Drivers Licenses 4 Sale!
Get your imaginations ready! Pretend you are about to take a test to receive your Costa Rican driver's license. Here's your first question:
1) You are approaching an intersection. You observe both a stop sign and a green light. What should you do?
A) Stop and look for cross traffic and proceed when safe to do so.
B) Go through the intersection without stopping.
C) Stop taking the test and go find someone to take the test for you for a slight fee.
This hypothetical test question represents something you actually MUST know to survive driving in Costa Rica. FYI, the correct answer is B. Only if the electricity is out are you supposed to stop before proceeding through the intersection. Even then, stop at your own risk. Because everyone else will be doing their best to shoot through the intersection without slowing down, taking advantage of no traffic lights!
Costa Rican TV news has been focusing lately on corruption. They have discovered that quite easily a person can pay about $50 and receive a driver's test with the correct answers already marked on it. For an additional $50 you can pass the practical test.
No wonder Costa Rica has the third highest per capita accident rate in the world!!
1) You are approaching an intersection. You observe both a stop sign and a green light. What should you do?
A) Stop and look for cross traffic and proceed when safe to do so.
B) Go through the intersection without stopping.
C) Stop taking the test and go find someone to take the test for you for a slight fee.
This hypothetical test question represents something you actually MUST know to survive driving in Costa Rica. FYI, the correct answer is B. Only if the electricity is out are you supposed to stop before proceeding through the intersection. Even then, stop at your own risk. Because everyone else will be doing their best to shoot through the intersection without slowing down, taking advantage of no traffic lights!
Costa Rican TV news has been focusing lately on corruption. They have discovered that quite easily a person can pay about $50 and receive a driver's test with the correct answers already marked on it. For an additional $50 you can pass the practical test.
No wonder Costa Rica has the third highest per capita accident rate in the world!!
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
To God Be The Glory!
I will get straight to the point.
I RECEIVED MY RESIDENCY VISA TODAY!
Truly, it is a miracle. The man ahead of me in line today makes his living by helping people get their residencies. He asked me if I either had a Costa Rican husband or child. When I said I had neither, he simply shook his head in wonder that I was about to receive my residency.
Today’s wait in Immigration makes another good, long story. I managed to choke back tears at a couple of points in the process today, but overall it was a much easier experience than last week’s. Shorter too – only three and a half hours!
One has to wonder why it should take over three hours – especially considering I was third in the “firma” (signature) line today!!
All told, I had to wait through five lines today. I hit the first one by 6:40AM to be in good position by the time they officially open - 8:00AM. Today the lines were smaller and well-organized. (Some people set up tents and camped for two nights to be in good position for Monday’s appointments!!) I was grateful for Woody’s idea to bring along a portable camp stool. I set it up in line and pulled out newsletters on my lap, using a paperback as my desktop to add personal notes to the letters.
Last week so many people called and complained to TV stations and newspapers after horrendous immigration experiences like my own. All week long the Ministry of Immigration has had LOTS of bad press! They have had to clean up their act a little, hoping to convince the TV cameras to leave them alone!
My first line wasn’t too discouraging. I was 20th in a line of about 100. I hit the second line at the infamous “Puerta Dos” (door number two). I was third in position, and I felt a surge of hope. They didn’t wait on us in order, but still, comparatively, the wait was short. The third line at window four wasn’t bad at all, and my hopes were higher still when they had me actually sign my residency card. The official told me they would call me to hand me the final copy. I’d barely sat down again, when she came looking for me.
“You are missing one deposit.”
No! It can’t be! I’ve made four deposits already!
She insisted. This one was for $2.
“But,” she said, “there is a bank right here, so it should be quick, and you can come right back to me for the final residency card.”
I headed to find the bank window.
I couldn’t believe my eyes! There were 50 people in the bank line!
I pulled out my camp stool again and began writing more letters. The line moved very slowly.
The deposit made, I headed back to window four, only to find that I could not speak to the official again without waiting through yet another line! (This is the point to choke back tears!)
I only was able to write two more letters before it was my turn. She took my deposit slip and headed to the back to get my card. When she returned, she didn’t hand me a card. Instead she addressed me with a stern reprimand.
“You were supposed to be here on the fifth of October! Why didn’t you come?”
I swallowed hard before kindly replying that I had spent all day there on the 5th. It took some convincing, but she returned to her supervisor and finally got the authority to hand me the coveted card.
Apparently, my residency was granted on September 17th. It expires in six months. That tempers my rejoicing a bit, knowing that I will have to return in April to begin the renewal process. But, I rejoice that I have the card and that you all have faithfully prayed for me during this process.
I RECEIVED MY RESIDENCY VISA TODAY!
Truly, it is a miracle. The man ahead of me in line today makes his living by helping people get their residencies. He asked me if I either had a Costa Rican husband or child. When I said I had neither, he simply shook his head in wonder that I was about to receive my residency.
Today’s wait in Immigration makes another good, long story. I managed to choke back tears at a couple of points in the process today, but overall it was a much easier experience than last week’s. Shorter too – only three and a half hours!
One has to wonder why it should take over three hours – especially considering I was third in the “firma” (signature) line today!!
All told, I had to wait through five lines today. I hit the first one by 6:40AM to be in good position by the time they officially open - 8:00AM. Today the lines were smaller and well-organized. (Some people set up tents and camped for two nights to be in good position for Monday’s appointments!!) I was grateful for Woody’s idea to bring along a portable camp stool. I set it up in line and pulled out newsletters on my lap, using a paperback as my desktop to add personal notes to the letters.
Last week so many people called and complained to TV stations and newspapers after horrendous immigration experiences like my own. All week long the Ministry of Immigration has had LOTS of bad press! They have had to clean up their act a little, hoping to convince the TV cameras to leave them alone!
My first line wasn’t too discouraging. I was 20th in a line of about 100. I hit the second line at the infamous “Puerta Dos” (door number two). I was third in position, and I felt a surge of hope. They didn’t wait on us in order, but still, comparatively, the wait was short. The third line at window four wasn’t bad at all, and my hopes were higher still when they had me actually sign my residency card. The official told me they would call me to hand me the final copy. I’d barely sat down again, when she came looking for me.
“You are missing one deposit.”
No! It can’t be! I’ve made four deposits already!
She insisted. This one was for $2.
“But,” she said, “there is a bank right here, so it should be quick, and you can come right back to me for the final residency card.”
I headed to find the bank window.
I couldn’t believe my eyes! There were 50 people in the bank line!
I pulled out my camp stool again and began writing more letters. The line moved very slowly.
The deposit made, I headed back to window four, only to find that I could not speak to the official again without waiting through yet another line! (This is the point to choke back tears!)
I only was able to write two more letters before it was my turn. She took my deposit slip and headed to the back to get my card. When she returned, she didn’t hand me a card. Instead she addressed me with a stern reprimand.
“You were supposed to be here on the fifth of October! Why didn’t you come?”
I swallowed hard before kindly replying that I had spent all day there on the 5th. It took some convincing, but she returned to her supervisor and finally got the authority to hand me the coveted card.
Apparently, my residency was granted on September 17th. It expires in six months. That tempers my rejoicing a bit, knowing that I will have to return in April to begin the renewal process. But, I rejoice that I have the card and that you all have faithfully prayed for me during this process.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Immigration Blues
Chaos reigns.
That was the phrase that echoed in my mind as I spent five hours in immigration on Tuesday.
Woody says my story reminds him of the Wizard of Oz. Dorothy finally manages to get an appointment to see the Wizard and is told to come back later. She learns there really is no such thing as an appointment with the Wizard.
Once again, I wished I had a camera at the immigration offices. Almost everywhere you turn, you can see a sign that says,
"Haga fila ."
If you want to learn Spanish, learn that phrase. It means, “Form a line.”
I don’t think it really matters where or for what purpose, but the key is simply to form a line.
Haga fila.
I’ll paste below my journal which I wrote in my Sony Clié as I spent those five hours in immigration.
7:30AM
HAGA FILA
I have seen two of those signs so far today. Lines should indicate someone knows something -that there is some purpose at the end of the line.
I first get in a line about 200 people long. There are no signs or officials to ask what the line is for. Everyone I asked was just guessing, but all those around me also had 8:15 appointments to have their residency card signed or renewed, so I must be in the right line. We see an official passing down the line, collecting appointment slips. The stack in his hand is about 3 inches deep so far. He suddenly disappears after getting within 50 feet of me.
8:10 AM - We have advanced a half block. The paper-collecting official suddenly reappears at door #2, shouting, "8:15 appointments!" 100 of us run to door #2, only to be turned away en masse. One or two manage to "dip their toes first in the stirred waters."
The rest of us hear and spread the rumor that there was a new "8:15AM appointment line.” My new position looks grimmer than the old one. Only 10 people are behind me in line! The line doesn't advance for 20 minutes.
8:30AM - We discover there is another 8:15 line... the line I originally was in! I've lost about 50 places in line by my switch.
9:10AM - An official starts calling the "9:15'ers" to line up; we start to panic. My "line mate,” Flavia, presses forward to get information. When she finally returns she tells me that all they told her was that she has a 10AM appointment, though her slip clearly says 8:15.
9:20 AM - Finally our papers are collected as we are shuffled through door #2 into a packed waiting room. They tell us, "Line up by the white wall.”
There are three white walls and masses of people. One white wall boasts a sign “HAGA FILA.” After lots of mumbling among ourselves, we finally determine there are no lines.
9:40 AM Every once in a while an official randomly appears in the room, calling out names. The masses migrate towards that spot, hoping to hear their names called. I can hear about 50% of the names called. No one seems sure whose name has been called. One interesting observation: when they call the occasional Chinese name the whole crowd laughs aloud. I’m glad I’m not Chinese here today. I fret over whether they will manage to pronounce my own English name. I’d hate to have 500 people laugh at my name!
There are rumors that one door is for residency card renewals, but no one seems to know. It’s fascinating to hear rumors fly in this crowd!
Two people told me my name was already called. I struggle to get information, but there is no way to verify it. I resort to asking the unfriendly, unhelpful guard. His terse reply is, "Wait to see. They'll call again."
10:00 AM - It seems like they call about 20 names per hour. The odds of mine being called today seem slim. My back is aching from standing so long. Thank God, one of the 40 chairs in the room frees up and I can sit down!
10:15 AM – I try hard to focus on a Bible study I brought along with me. It is one I’ve studied before on the fruit of the Spirit. It seems an appropriate subject to focus on. Scribbled in the margin on one page were these words in my handwriting: "Help me see this today! (Residency visa rejected. 3-18-04) Obviously, I had studied this very subject at a previous point in my immigration struggles.
You can trust only One to constantly be on the lookout for your best interests. Only One holds the future in His hands and knows Your part in that future.
10:30 AM - They just called one person to sign her residency card! I think that’s the first person in three hours to actually accomplish their goal. One down, hundreds to go. Averaging one every three hours. How long will that take?
11:30 AM – A woman from immigration filters through the crowds, checking papers. She looks at mine and states, "Firma." I know that means signature, but what am I supposed to do!?! I chase her and pester her for more specifics.
Her only reply?
"Wait."
A bystander overhears the interchange and tells me to go to the adjacent room to line #1.
A sign over Line 1 says, “Firma.” Wow! This sounds positive! I try to pass, only to be turned back by another official.
“Until we call your name, you cannot get in this line.” Several people join me in complaining that we can’t hear the names called and have no idea where they call out the names for signatures. He says, “I don’t know. You just have to be in that room and listen carefully.”
Another very angry official shows up and yells at me and the other information-seekers.
“If you aren't in other room when I call your name, you will be eliminated from the process.”
He waves a chart and says, “This person wasn’t in there and I’m filing the chart right now!” A man next to me shouts, “Whose chart is it?” But, it’s too late. That file and who knows how many others are out of play for today.
My anxiety level is rising. Chances are good that my name has been called and I never knew. I begin exchanging names with others and we pact to listen for one another’s names.
10:40 AM I elbow my way through the crowd back to the white walls. I decide to try asking the door guard again for information. He must know something!
He says, “Go to the back of the room.” Who knows which part of the room is the back of the room?!? I press him for clarification and finally he grunts, “By the chairs!”
11:15 AM I hear a voice call, "Number 4!"
Hundreds run, trying to locate the voice. I wonder, “What in the world does ‘number 4’ mean?!? I opt not to run, since I’ve managed to find a chair again. Good call! Nothing comes from the “Number 4” call.
11:45 AM- I meet a German woman, helping a fellow German through the immigration process. She had several enlightening comments. She says it's very likely I will wait 7 hours and never get in. She tells me they called an emergency meeting @ 9 bcause there were 300 falsified appointment slips presented for 8:15. She introduces me to a Cuban woman named Jency, saying we might as well be friends, since we are both in the same boat.
We hear someone call out, "8:15!"
At least 100 people shout, waving umbrellas. I press forward to consult Flavia, a previous line mate and name detective.
“Flavia, what’s happening?”
“Nothing. They just called out our time, but that’s all.”
I find a vacant seat near Yency. I feel for her – she’s here with her seven year old son, enduring all of this.
12:15 PM We hear another voice. Though I didn’t hear what was said, Yency says, “Let’s go!” Once again we all ran. I couldn't believe my own ears! The third name called was close to mine.
Susan Janet.
No one laughs. The crowd makes room for me to pass. I am handed a paper and given a one word command: REGRESE. "Come back."
Incredulous, I turn to those surrounding me.
"Did he just tell me to come back?"
Somberly, empathetically they all nod.
Scribbled at the top of my appointment slip it says, "Return on October 12th."
As I fend my way through the crowds to Door #2, I cry. I don’t even care that others see me crying. They understand
Through my tears, I ask the door guard where to get in line when I return on the 12th. He gives me yet another vague reply, sweeping his arm. "Who can know?" he shrugs.
That was the phrase that echoed in my mind as I spent five hours in immigration on Tuesday.
Woody says my story reminds him of the Wizard of Oz. Dorothy finally manages to get an appointment to see the Wizard and is told to come back later. She learns there really is no such thing as an appointment with the Wizard.
Once again, I wished I had a camera at the immigration offices. Almost everywhere you turn, you can see a sign that says,
"Haga fila ."
If you want to learn Spanish, learn that phrase. It means, “Form a line.”
I don’t think it really matters where or for what purpose, but the key is simply to form a line.
Haga fila.
I’ll paste below my journal which I wrote in my Sony Clié as I spent those five hours in immigration.
7:30AM
HAGA FILA
I have seen two of those signs so far today. Lines should indicate someone knows something -that there is some purpose at the end of the line.
I first get in a line about 200 people long. There are no signs or officials to ask what the line is for. Everyone I asked was just guessing, but all those around me also had 8:15 appointments to have their residency card signed or renewed, so I must be in the right line. We see an official passing down the line, collecting appointment slips. The stack in his hand is about 3 inches deep so far. He suddenly disappears after getting within 50 feet of me.
8:10 AM - We have advanced a half block. The paper-collecting official suddenly reappears at door #2, shouting, "8:15 appointments!" 100 of us run to door #2, only to be turned away en masse. One or two manage to "dip their toes first in the stirred waters."
The rest of us hear and spread the rumor that there was a new "8:15AM appointment line.” My new position looks grimmer than the old one. Only 10 people are behind me in line! The line doesn't advance for 20 minutes.
8:30AM - We discover there is another 8:15 line... the line I originally was in! I've lost about 50 places in line by my switch.
9:10AM - An official starts calling the "9:15'ers" to line up; we start to panic. My "line mate,” Flavia, presses forward to get information. When she finally returns she tells me that all they told her was that she has a 10AM appointment, though her slip clearly says 8:15.
9:20 AM - Finally our papers are collected as we are shuffled through door #2 into a packed waiting room. They tell us, "Line up by the white wall.”
There are three white walls and masses of people. One white wall boasts a sign “HAGA FILA.” After lots of mumbling among ourselves, we finally determine there are no lines.
9:40 AM Every once in a while an official randomly appears in the room, calling out names. The masses migrate towards that spot, hoping to hear their names called. I can hear about 50% of the names called. No one seems sure whose name has been called. One interesting observation: when they call the occasional Chinese name the whole crowd laughs aloud. I’m glad I’m not Chinese here today. I fret over whether they will manage to pronounce my own English name. I’d hate to have 500 people laugh at my name!
There are rumors that one door is for residency card renewals, but no one seems to know. It’s fascinating to hear rumors fly in this crowd!
Two people told me my name was already called. I struggle to get information, but there is no way to verify it. I resort to asking the unfriendly, unhelpful guard. His terse reply is, "Wait to see. They'll call again."
10:00 AM - It seems like they call about 20 names per hour. The odds of mine being called today seem slim. My back is aching from standing so long. Thank God, one of the 40 chairs in the room frees up and I can sit down!
10:15 AM – I try hard to focus on a Bible study I brought along with me. It is one I’ve studied before on the fruit of the Spirit. It seems an appropriate subject to focus on. Scribbled in the margin on one page were these words in my handwriting: "Help me see this today! (Residency visa rejected. 3-18-04) Obviously, I had studied this very subject at a previous point in my immigration struggles.
You can trust only One to constantly be on the lookout for your best interests. Only One holds the future in His hands and knows Your part in that future.
10:30 AM - They just called one person to sign her residency card! I think that’s the first person in three hours to actually accomplish their goal. One down, hundreds to go. Averaging one every three hours. How long will that take?
11:30 AM – A woman from immigration filters through the crowds, checking papers. She looks at mine and states, "Firma." I know that means signature, but what am I supposed to do!?! I chase her and pester her for more specifics.
Her only reply?
"Wait."
A bystander overhears the interchange and tells me to go to the adjacent room to line #1.
A sign over Line 1 says, “Firma.” Wow! This sounds positive! I try to pass, only to be turned back by another official.
“Until we call your name, you cannot get in this line.” Several people join me in complaining that we can’t hear the names called and have no idea where they call out the names for signatures. He says, “I don’t know. You just have to be in that room and listen carefully.”
Another very angry official shows up and yells at me and the other information-seekers.
“If you aren't in other room when I call your name, you will be eliminated from the process.”
He waves a chart and says, “This person wasn’t in there and I’m filing the chart right now!” A man next to me shouts, “Whose chart is it?” But, it’s too late. That file and who knows how many others are out of play for today.
My anxiety level is rising. Chances are good that my name has been called and I never knew. I begin exchanging names with others and we pact to listen for one another’s names.
10:40 AM I elbow my way through the crowd back to the white walls. I decide to try asking the door guard again for information. He must know something!
He says, “Go to the back of the room.” Who knows which part of the room is the back of the room?!? I press him for clarification and finally he grunts, “By the chairs!”
11:15 AM I hear a voice call, "Number 4!"
Hundreds run, trying to locate the voice. I wonder, “What in the world does ‘number 4’ mean?!? I opt not to run, since I’ve managed to find a chair again. Good call! Nothing comes from the “Number 4” call.
11:45 AM- I meet a German woman, helping a fellow German through the immigration process. She had several enlightening comments. She says it's very likely I will wait 7 hours and never get in. She tells me they called an emergency meeting @ 9 bcause there were 300 falsified appointment slips presented for 8:15. She introduces me to a Cuban woman named Jency, saying we might as well be friends, since we are both in the same boat.
We hear someone call out, "8:15!"
At least 100 people shout, waving umbrellas. I press forward to consult Flavia, a previous line mate and name detective.
“Flavia, what’s happening?”
“Nothing. They just called out our time, but that’s all.”
I find a vacant seat near Yency. I feel for her – she’s here with her seven year old son, enduring all of this.
12:15 PM We hear another voice. Though I didn’t hear what was said, Yency says, “Let’s go!” Once again we all ran. I couldn't believe my own ears! The third name called was close to mine.
Susan Janet.
No one laughs. The crowd makes room for me to pass. I am handed a paper and given a one word command: REGRESE. "Come back."
Incredulous, I turn to those surrounding me.
"Did he just tell me to come back?"
Somberly, empathetically they all nod.
Scribbled at the top of my appointment slip it says, "Return on October 12th."
As I fend my way through the crowds to Door #2, I cry. I don’t even care that others see me crying. They understand
Through my tears, I ask the door guard where to get in line when I return on the 12th. He gives me yet another vague reply, sweeping his arm. "Who can know?" he shrugs.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Fernando, Fernando!
Ay, Fernando! How could you be so - necio?!? (Sorry, that's the nicest word I could come up with. It communicates a lack of common sense.)
Fernando Marin is our electrical engineer who was contracted three months ago to install our electricity. It's hard to imagine the comedy of errors in this whole process. Last week Fernando decided to cover all the conduits with cement before threading the cable through them. We had suggested to him to thread the cables first since rivers of mud and rock had been flowing almost daily down those conduits into our front yard for over two months. After all, it IS rainy season and we only live two miles from a tropical rain forest that gets up to 18 FEET of rain a year! But, Fernando was convinced the conduits were fine and didn't need tested.
Well, guess what? The conduits were blocked with stones and mud! There was no way to thread the cables through.
So, once again Fernando's suspicious-acting, chain-smoking workmen dug the channel. (This was the fourth time so far.) They put a new pipe over the old cemented pipe.To add to the craziness, they pured dirt over half of that pipe without cementing it again. So, tomorrow they have to dig again in order to pour cement again.
That's not the end of it. So far they have only strung the telephone wire in one conduit and the cable TV in the second. That still leaves us without the electric wire. I asked Fernando if they have tested the third conduit.
He said, "No, I'm sure it will work just fine."
OK, Fernando. Go ahead an pour more concrete and bury the tubes. Maybe you will be right and the electric cable will pass through the remaining tube - no problem. But, if you aren't right, these guys will have to dig again and lay more pipe and pour more concrete.
I think Fernando lost his calling in life. Maybe he should take the vacant Director of Immigration position!
Fernando Marin is our electrical engineer who was contracted three months ago to install our electricity. It's hard to imagine the comedy of errors in this whole process. Last week Fernando decided to cover all the conduits with cement before threading the cable through them. We had suggested to him to thread the cables first since rivers of mud and rock had been flowing almost daily down those conduits into our front yard for over two months. After all, it IS rainy season and we only live two miles from a tropical rain forest that gets up to 18 FEET of rain a year! But, Fernando was convinced the conduits were fine and didn't need tested.
Well, guess what? The conduits were blocked with stones and mud! There was no way to thread the cables through.
So, once again Fernando's suspicious-acting, chain-smoking workmen dug the channel. (This was the fourth time so far.) They put a new pipe over the old cemented pipe.To add to the craziness, they pured dirt over half of that pipe without cementing it again. So, tomorrow they have to dig again in order to pour cement again.
That's not the end of it. So far they have only strung the telephone wire in one conduit and the cable TV in the second. That still leaves us without the electric wire. I asked Fernando if they have tested the third conduit.
He said, "No, I'm sure it will work just fine."
OK, Fernando. Go ahead an pour more concrete and bury the tubes. Maybe you will be right and the electric cable will pass through the remaining tube - no problem. But, if you aren't right, these guys will have to dig again and lay more pipe and pour more concrete.
I think Fernando lost his calling in life. Maybe he should take the vacant Director of Immigration position!
Monday, July 11, 2005
Extreme Baby Shower
Extreme Baby Shower
Extreme sports and a baby shower. Hmmm… Sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it?
I suppose being 16 years old and expecting twin boys comes close to an oxymoron as well.
Yesterday I four-wheeled an hour off the main road on the other side of the valley to attend a baby shower for Nena’s 16-year-old daughter. Mountain folk often marry young, as is the case of Tatiana. She was married at age 15 and now is expecting twin boys!
Those of you who know me well know that I love jeeping in the mountains and that I have plenty of experience with that remote stretch of road that winds and jolts its way to Nena’s house.
Yesterday gave me reason to pause three times, get out of Zuki (Su’s Zuki), and actually lay hands on the Sikekick and pray!
My first stop came after I opted to take a newly carved road which I thought would circumvent a dicey stretch on the old path. After lurching down the wet, red clay, slippery slope for about a quarter of a mile, I slowly came to the realization not only that the two roads were not joining up again, but that there were no recent tire tracks on my path. I parked the car and in my dress and sandals hiked down a bit further to verify those facts. There was no option but to back up. Vision in reverse on a steep slope, trying to peer over the spare tire is difficult at best. The jeep skittered on the clay incline. After about 3 blocks of reverse I decided the road was just wide enough to turn around. It took me about 10 forward-backward maneuvers and bumping up against a barbed wire fence before I breathed a sigh of relief and used 1st gear low four-wheel to return to the original “road.”
I thought the rest of the drive would be “all downhill” from there. It was all downhill, but not in the sense of being easy. The water-laden mountainsides made it necessary to creep along in first gear most of the way. I was only about a half mile from Nena’s when my heart jumped. The road ahead did not look familiar. As I drew closer, I realized why.
Part of the mountainside had come down onto the narrow road! Fortunately, the tree that came down was not over the roadway, but 2 feet of soft mud and grass were. Oh, my! There was no way to back up this time. I once again parked the car, got out, and prayed. My only options were to rely on Zuki and God’s hand or wade through the mud and walk the final half mile, leaving Zuki right there. I carefully evaluated the situation – my pulse racing.
Gravity would pull me straight ahead, which was an advantage. There was no significant precipice off to the left – another advantage. The precipice that lay on the other side of the mudslide was preceded by at least 12 feet of solid road. So, with my heart in my throat, I slithered through the mud and had to only maneuver the car twice on the other side to head down what now looked like an awfully sweet piece of road.
Thank You, Lord!
It took at least 15 minutes for my heart to calm once I got to the shower. Since I arrived early, I helped Tatiana fry chicharrones and finish preparations for the shower. It was such a privilege to be there as part of the family in that remote mountain community! Nena asked me to give the welcome and begin the shower with a prayer – an anomaly in this very Catholic area!
Several neighbors were amazed that I’d driven down that mountain stretch alone! After consulting with many of them, I decided that it was a safer bet to return by the road that leads down to Vuelta de Jorco instead of chancing that dreaded curve on the road above.
Everyone said, “The road to Jorco was closed yesterday because the river was over it, but it’s not too bad today.”
OK, Lord! Protect me once again!
The road to Jorco was barely recognizable. It was obvious that the river had recently claimed it as its own bed. It presented no unexpected challenges, however, until I was almost down to Jorco.
As I rounded a curve, my heart skipped a few beats again. This shower was proving to be a true cardiac stress test! The left 20% of the road was now 20 feet below me on the left in the river. There was a channel running across the road that was 1 ½ feet wide and a half foot deep. The center portion of that channel had gone missing.
This meant that, if I were to attempt to continue, I would have to trust that the narrow strip of dirt my left tires would drop into would not decide to join the rest of the road lying somewhere far below. If I attempted to cross too slowly, my tires would potentially drop into the channel, never to budge again. At whatever speed, the whole section could give way.
With a gulp and a prayer, I charged the channel, keeping my left tire on the one piece of intact land. Zuki managed to drop both sets of wheels neatly in and out of the channel while God’s hand held up the muddy rut.
Usually baby showers are associated with women chatting, drinking tea, playing games and oohing and ahhing over baby clothes. This one would have made an exciting episode on any Extreme Sports program!
Extreme sports and a baby shower. Hmmm… Sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it?
I suppose being 16 years old and expecting twin boys comes close to an oxymoron as well.
Yesterday I four-wheeled an hour off the main road on the other side of the valley to attend a baby shower for Nena’s 16-year-old daughter. Mountain folk often marry young, as is the case of Tatiana. She was married at age 15 and now is expecting twin boys!
Those of you who know me well know that I love jeeping in the mountains and that I have plenty of experience with that remote stretch of road that winds and jolts its way to Nena’s house.
Yesterday gave me reason to pause three times, get out of Zuki (Su’s Zuki), and actually lay hands on the Sikekick and pray!
My first stop came after I opted to take a newly carved road which I thought would circumvent a dicey stretch on the old path. After lurching down the wet, red clay, slippery slope for about a quarter of a mile, I slowly came to the realization not only that the two roads were not joining up again, but that there were no recent tire tracks on my path. I parked the car and in my dress and sandals hiked down a bit further to verify those facts. There was no option but to back up. Vision in reverse on a steep slope, trying to peer over the spare tire is difficult at best. The jeep skittered on the clay incline. After about 3 blocks of reverse I decided the road was just wide enough to turn around. It took me about 10 forward-backward maneuvers and bumping up against a barbed wire fence before I breathed a sigh of relief and used 1st gear low four-wheel to return to the original “road.”
I thought the rest of the drive would be “all downhill” from there. It was all downhill, but not in the sense of being easy. The water-laden mountainsides made it necessary to creep along in first gear most of the way. I was only about a half mile from Nena’s when my heart jumped. The road ahead did not look familiar. As I drew closer, I realized why.
Part of the mountainside had come down onto the narrow road! Fortunately, the tree that came down was not over the roadway, but 2 feet of soft mud and grass were. Oh, my! There was no way to back up this time. I once again parked the car, got out, and prayed. My only options were to rely on Zuki and God’s hand or wade through the mud and walk the final half mile, leaving Zuki right there. I carefully evaluated the situation – my pulse racing.
Gravity would pull me straight ahead, which was an advantage. There was no significant precipice off to the left – another advantage. The precipice that lay on the other side of the mudslide was preceded by at least 12 feet of solid road. So, with my heart in my throat, I slithered through the mud and had to only maneuver the car twice on the other side to head down what now looked like an awfully sweet piece of road.
Thank You, Lord!
It took at least 15 minutes for my heart to calm once I got to the shower. Since I arrived early, I helped Tatiana fry chicharrones and finish preparations for the shower. It was such a privilege to be there as part of the family in that remote mountain community! Nena asked me to give the welcome and begin the shower with a prayer – an anomaly in this very Catholic area!
Several neighbors were amazed that I’d driven down that mountain stretch alone! After consulting with many of them, I decided that it was a safer bet to return by the road that leads down to Vuelta de Jorco instead of chancing that dreaded curve on the road above.
Everyone said, “The road to Jorco was closed yesterday because the river was over it, but it’s not too bad today.”
OK, Lord! Protect me once again!
The road to Jorco was barely recognizable. It was obvious that the river had recently claimed it as its own bed. It presented no unexpected challenges, however, until I was almost down to Jorco.
As I rounded a curve, my heart skipped a few beats again. This shower was proving to be a true cardiac stress test! The left 20% of the road was now 20 feet below me on the left in the river. There was a channel running across the road that was 1 ½ feet wide and a half foot deep. The center portion of that channel had gone missing.
This meant that, if I were to attempt to continue, I would have to trust that the narrow strip of dirt my left tires would drop into would not decide to join the rest of the road lying somewhere far below. If I attempted to cross too slowly, my tires would potentially drop into the channel, never to budge again. At whatever speed, the whole section could give way.
With a gulp and a prayer, I charged the channel, keeping my left tire on the one piece of intact land. Zuki managed to drop both sets of wheels neatly in and out of the channel while God’s hand held up the muddy rut.
Usually baby showers are associated with women chatting, drinking tea, playing games and oohing and ahhing over baby clothes. This one would have made an exciting episode on any Extreme Sports program!
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