Spunk or Sass

Yes, I have heard the words spunk and sass many times in my life. Sometimes these words were used in reference to me, I think at times it was used as a compliment and other times it was my teacher telling my mom I needed to behave better in the class room. As a teenager that was in detention on more than one Saturday, I often wondered what the difference between the words spunk and sass. According to good old Webster spunk is "to show spirit" ans sass is "to talk impudently or disrespectfully". So that is it, spunk is "life with a spark" and sass is "life with an attitude".
This week I have spent my evening shifts in D ward. Last week I had almost exclussively kids and this week it has been a mixed bag. I had 2 girls both days that were quite the handful. The both were very hot and cold. But todday I will introduce you to Blessing.
Blessing is a 9 year old (who had her birthday on Monday and wore a Tiara all day that had pink flashing lights) who suffers from Noma (Noma is a type of gangrene that destroys mucous membranes of the mouth and other tissues. It occurs in malnourished children in areas of poor cleanliness.) Her lips are now gone and is in the 2nd stage of a 7 stage process in reconstructing her face. Her mom will not let her look at her face in the mirror. I had a long talk with her, I said " I don't know what I would do if I were you. I know I would want to protect my child from a reflection that is drastically changed since the last time she saw her face. But I also think at the end of these 7 surgeries her face is not going to look the same as it did before and is she may not be satisfied with her new face if she has never seen how far she has come." Her mom just listened, shaking her head still not sure if this whole thing is just a bad dream.
Back to the spunk and sass. Blessing's bed is the closest to the nursing station and every time a walk by I get a swat on the butt and I hear the highest pitch squeel followed by giggles. I look over and see this tiny little girl in a bed with a spark in her eye that is full of mischieve. Yesterday I did not have much to do on my shift so she occupied most of my time. She was triyng to teach me a hand clap game that I assume was the Liberian version of Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack all dressed in black, black, black. But it is very hard to understand her so mostly I just did what she did.
Blessing hates the taste of her antibiotics, so when I try to give it she hides under her cover and gives an emmy winning performance. Her mom who sleeps on a mattress under her bed comes out from down under and gives a stern "Drink your medicine, it make you body strong" in her very best mom voice. So while I think sometimes Blessing can be a bit sassy the spark in her eye tells me she is full off spunk, I think we are kindred spirits.

Sea Monkey and Fufu

While reading another blog by a nurse whose post was about kids on the ward, she goes on to explain about a little boy, Alfred, shared his Fufu and Sea Monkey with her...(it *Sea Monkey* was not the focus of the blog, the kids were).  But I (being the food person I am) zeroed in on the Sea Monkey.

*Sea Monkey* according to my Monrovia friends is a large fish (closely related to tuna or dolphin/or may even be tuna or dolphin - this is speculative) That is very dark in color and bloody. 

And just to confirm it I asked our ward cook Ophelia who said, and I quote:  "A very dark meat, from a big fish...like dolphin...".

I thought it would be interesting to some of you out there because in all reality you have probably already ate Sea Monkey and never knew it!

Oh!  You say what about Fufu?  I often forget about all these things as I have had a couple of 'right hand man' in the kitchen usually from West Africa since I started with Mercy Ships in 2001 on the Caribbean Mercy...Ok, let me delve into a small lecture on that one.

Fufu, or fu fu, is a staple food of West and Central Africa. It is a thick paste or porridge usually made by boiling starchy root vegetables in water and pounding with a large mortar and pestle until the desired consistency is reached. [this is basically true and was derived from wikipedia online...now let me deviate to what I personally have found is true in my experience]

In Western Africa, Fufu is usually made from cassava not yams (or at least parts I know something about, like Liberia, Ghana, Benin, Sierra Leone...although the one mixed with plantain seems to be a one of choice among my friends too) sometimes combined with cocoyam, plantains, or maize. In a later post we will get into Banku and Kenkey which are usually fermented before cooking (these are made from the corn maize).  The Liberian Dumboy is made from cassava flour. 

Often, the dish is still made by traditional methods: pounding and beating the base substance in a mortar with a wooden spoon. Places where poverty is not an issue, or where modern appliances are readily available, a food processor may also be used.  Although be ready for scorn because as you may find out, purist do not believe in real Fufu love made in the processor.  But if you make it without the processor It will quickly where your arm out making it for more than 4 people!

In Western and Central Africa, the more common method is to serve a mound of Fufu along with a sauce made from okra, fish, tomato, etc...(which we, Reuben & I renamed it Sanka Sauce years ago ~ more about that in another post) because the sauce has variations and can go by so many names. You pinch off a small ball of Fufu and make an indentation with the thumb. This "bowl" indentation is then filled with sauce, and the ball is eaten. In Ghana and Nigeria, the ball is often not chewed but swallowed whole. In fact, among the older generation, chewing Fufu is frowned upon/not accepted.

So for now ~ "to be continued..." as we cover the upcoming topics of Banku, Kenkey, & Sanka Sauce.

* I am not an authority by any means on West African food or cooking, these are my personal views and experiences as they have happened to me and many of my friends who are from these regions of the world*

Good example ~ My Cooking Team

The following excerpt posted as a picture was used by permission from Michal http://whereintheworldismichal.blogspot.com/ who has her own blog AND works on one of our cooking teams...she has taken pictures and gave commentary on our 'inner workings' in the galley and thought you may be interested to read another view besides mine. Plus she has done all the work which is excellent! (laughing)

[If you go to Michal's blog you may be able to click her pictures for a better view if these pictures are too small for you.]
http://whereintheworldismichal.blogspot.com/2008/04/my-cooking-team.html

Are you up to the challenge?

A tug on my strings

Last night was my first of 4 night shifts. The night went well for the most part. We have started ortho surgery so we have a row of beds that all of little children in cast, each with their mama. It is so funny because each cast is different. One is pink, one is camo, and one is blue. Each one telling a little about the personality of the child wearing it.

On night shift the busiest part of the shift is at 6am. we hang the IV fluids, clean up a little, pass meds, and make sure all our charting is done. I was doing vital sings when I felt a little tug on my scrubs (well the strings that tie in the back to make them a little cuter). I turned around and saw the biggest, cutest (Sunday-boy, 2 years old) eyes starring back at me still holding onto my strings. So for the next 20 minutes held onto my strings as I went on with my nursing duties. I had to walk a bit slower, due to his 2 year old lenght of legs, but it was worth it.

Problem of the attitude

We have been on the ship for 3 months, I have worked on the ward for 29 shifts, I have had many wonderful meals, and basically experienced life changing things.... but right now I am tired and annoyed.

It would be nice to be able to to go a meal and not hear someone complain about the abundant food that is on the line (hello look out the window, we are in AFRICA. We eat more in one week than most families eat in a month). It would be nice to work one shift on the ward with our thinking how nice it would be to transfer to the Starbucks Cafe.

In reality nothing on the ship has changed, nothing has gotten any worse, it is just me. I am tired and obviously having an attitude problem. So today I went to the ward to pick up something that I left there last night and they were having worship. Man, it gets me everytime. I was quite content wallowing in my own self pitty, but when you see the Liberians worship the self pitty somes to a skreeching hault. Some are patients that had life changing surgery and others are translaters, but they all are Liberians that worship the Lord with such Joy. So for now, I will stop with the pity party and move on and try to have some perspective.

Easter Brunch & Eggs

We planned and experimented with slow cooking a 'dry air' or coddled/poached egg 'if you will' for you this morning for brunch.  We pre-tested it and the process worked.  The process is not really new, just new here...its another one of my lovely food science things that I make everybody in the galley participate in.

I started the warmers in the dining room early at about 65 degrees Celsius, Tim went down to start the eggs in 2 inch pans and turn the temperature down to 60 degrees Celsius.  That was at 8:45am, warmers were on, and hot.

Now about 10am Peter came up stairs to tell us the eggs were completely raw!  What? HOW?

I guess that will remain a mystery...somebody turned both warmers off probably almost immediately after we left the eggs in there, yes, both sides.

So who was it?  Was it sabotage? (certainly not, right?) Was it dining room staff? (they'll never admit it now) Or could it have been the duty officer when he comes thru and tends to turn things off? (certainly they would not come thru and do that on Easter Morning Brunch!)

Ahhh, such is life.  Maybe we will try it again one day for a regular breakfast...oh they looked so good peaking up at us like a daisy the day we tested them, cooked so slow the whites where solid but not rubbery, the yolk shiny like the sun a vibrant yellow orange...

We might have been able to recoup a loss but unfortunately our clock stopped at 9:25 and we were putting along thinking all was making good time and we could pull off some more eggs in time...but no, it was really about 9:55am!  I wear a watch but I hadn't really looked at it since I sent Tim down to put eggs in the warmers.

And just when I thought I could live with myself, one of my Hollandaise Sauce 'broke' (separated) and I was afraid it would be took for cheese sauce (and I think it was).

So I thank you all for your standing ovation and hope you thoroughly enjoyed yourselves on the Lord's day, celebrating Jesus Resurrection.

Local Workers

This is Ophelia, one of our ward cooks...she always has a great smile. I don't think she understands my English most of the time so she just nods and laughs.

 

Daniel works in Salads and he too has a great smile, I caught him not paying attention while eating his lunch in the galley.

By my side, By my side

Tyrone and I have both blogged about the VVF ladies but this week I have worked with them on A ward. When you first walk into the ward the smell of urine is very obvious. The women that are on the ward right now all are on their second or 3rd surgery due to unsuccessful surgeries in the past. Some of the women are hopeful that their surgery will work this time, some are joyful that their surgery was successful, and some are terribly depressed because their surgery did not work. The problem is that some of the ladies are so damaged that there is just no tissue to fix the fistula (a whole that is caused by prolonged child labor).

When the surgery is over and they wake up from their pain meds, we ask them "Are you dry?". As a nurse, this is such a hard question to ask, because so often the answer is not what we ant to hear. When they shake their head and say " I am wet", my mind starts to think about how they will have to go home once again to their village and potentially be shunned because of their problem. But, when the answer is "Yes I am dry", we all rejoice. Actually, the Liberians tend to jump up and praise the Lord with a song, when they have been blessed by Him. Yesterday when the answer to that fateful question was "dry, dry, dry", she jumped out of her bed and sang " I have a big, big God-O and He's always by my side. By my side, by my side."

On Tuesday I went to the Dress Ceremony, which is a time of celebration and commitment for the ladies that have had successful surgery. They each get a new dress that represents their new life. They each talk about their journey and each lead (by lead I mean sing at the top of their lungs and dance around) us in a song that is relevant to them. One of the things that stuck out the most is one of the ladies was talking about how she stopped going to church because she would leak all over the bench and would start to smell. She then looked at Dr. Steve and said "Thank you Dr. Steve for giving me the gift of being Dry. Now I can go back to Church. Your God will be my God." 

Baby

Her name is Baby, yes that is her real name. She is a shy, small, 15-year-old young lady. She came into our hospital early this week for surgery on her jaw. Most of the left side of her face has disappeared over the last 2 years due to a disease called Noma. 

'Noma is a type of gangrene that destroys mucous membranes of the mouth and other tissues. It occurs in malnourished children in areas of poor cleanliness. The exact cause is unknown but may be due to bacteria called fusospirochetal organisms. This disorder most often occurs in young, severely malnourished children between the ages of 2 and 5. Often they have had an illness such as measles, scarlet fever, tuberculosis, cancer, or immunodeficiency. Risk factors include Kwashiorkorand other forms of severe protein malnutrition, poor sanitation and poor cleanliness, disorders such as measles or leukemia, and living in an underdeveloped country. Noma causes sudden, rapidly worsening tissue destruction. The gums and lining of the cheeks become inflamed and develop ulcers. The ulcers develop foul-smelling drainage, causing breath odor and an odor to the skin.'

When Baby entered into D ward she held her head down, her shoulders were slumped, and did not make eye contact. My first interaction did not make us fast friends. I had to start an IV and she later told me we were not friends because friends don't stab each other. SO I spent the rest of the evening trying to win her friendship. I brought her crayons and we colored together, but she lost interest. So I brought her a slinky and she played with it for about 5 minutes then she again lost interest. So as my last-ditch effort I brought her an etch a sketch. As I showed her how it works she smiled and said "Thanks my friend".

Baby went to surgery and they made her a new left side of her face. It is quite remarkable actually. She came in with no confidence and left with her shoulders straight, her head held high, and a beautiful symmetrical face, and I... gained a friend. 

Lasagna

Well, I thought I might give you a little insight into the Lasagna just in case you might have a few questions rumbling around in the back of your head.

We don't currently have any ricotta or cottage cheese to use in our lasagna so I use a bechamel sauce with parmesan cheese added. Also, we use the standard Mozzarella cheese.

Sometimes the 'white' layer tends to disappear altogether when cooking the lasagna except for maybe seeing some stretchy white stuff here and there. You would probably be interested to know the classic lasagna has ricotta and bechamel sauce for the 'white' part and later people used what they liked best like cottage cheese. I prefer ricotta, but alas there is none of either.

Hope you enjoy it anyway...and zucchini was in the veggie one that was offered.

NO FOOD? NOT TRUE!!!

[to all the faithfull people that eat what we serve, the ones that compliment & encourage the food service crew even when they hated the menu, the ones that carry on with life even if the food wasn't what they wanted that day or the next...keep it up!  and disregard this post]

I have tried to be political correct, humble, organization conscience, and a little removed when maintaining this blog...it really is my own personal blog that is linked to the AFM intranet for those of you who enjoy being able to actually look at a dinner(supper) menu for the week.

But today multiple complaints were aired about food running out at 12:30 for lunch today...to which I say is UNTRUE!  Really I don't want to beat this dead topic into the ground but it is way past the limit of times it should have ever happened.

Hot food is never guaranteed for lunch, and I covered this quite well in an earlier post.  And because there is food you may not personally want to eat, does not by any means translate to being out of food.  If we have a lot of leftovers, then you have a lot of hot food for lunch.

AT 1pm, after the food was down in the dining room for 1 1/2 hours I received rice, snow peas, and soup back from the dining room.  Cold cuts and cheese were out for lunch along with options from salads, and the minimum of peanut butter and bread is always out!  And that my friend is what I have been conveying to crew since Mercy Ships has set this standard (it has been the same practice on the CBM, ANA, & here on the AFM).  The only place that it may be different is at the IOC.

I have also noticed that the dining room staff are the recipients of most of the complaints & criticism.  This is unfair to them and it is not right.

Please adjust the condition of your heart to the reason you came to serve and move forward from there...so somebody else can get to the peanut butter!

Ciatta went home....

Let's be honest, not many patients that come back from the OR on a ventilator, on the ship, have happy endings to their story. Ciatta came into the ship very sick, but yesterday she went home with her family and she looks wonderful. I had the privilege to get to know her and her 4 children and husband over the past week, and they really are lovely people. Today she came back to the ship to have her dressing changed and her wound looked at (which is fine-o) and she brought me an African dress, skirt, shirt, and head wrap. When she told me she wanted to buy me a suit I cried and she wiped my tears and told me she loved me. When she introduces me to people she says I am her white daughter. When she took my "measurements" she told me to stand up and turn around and told her husband to buy a dress and my size is "plenty, plenty". Which apparently is very large. Pretty much it just made me laugh.