corinthians comes to the rescue

sofie was dissecting the clinic, the way a good high school biologist would pick apart a dead frog.

on her second day at work, she pinpointed exactly who performed which duties and asked them each separately to explain to her what those were. then she skillfully interviewed them of any complaints they may have within their role and possible ways to solve them.

secetry talked about local villages needing boreholes dug and schools put in. she took notes and brainstormed ways to take steps to make that happen.

ma was upset she wasn't able to watch television. she also wanted to be given a moped. the vision of that made me laugh, but sofie maintained complete composure.

i watched her with each person and took special note of how she communicated. i liked the way she listened, it looked effortless and truly involved. somehow she conveyed extreme concern without wrinkling any part of her face. i decided she was beautiful.

her drive made me self-conscious. i stopped napping at work, and instead sat around and listened to her verbalize her visions.

she taught us all an early morning lesson on family planning, and had excellent teaching skills as well. Ma even noticed and asked me if sofie was a teacher back home. "no." i said, but Ma wouldn't believe it. "but she is very good at teaching, she must be a teacher." she said again.

her style was relaxed and down to earth, but she was pumped full of education, you could just tell. but deeper than that, there was something i couldn't quite figure out. it was the reason why i liked her so much. it was real, it was also elusive.

after lunch i sat in the office, typing stories and feeling a little useless at the clinic. benches were full of sick patients or people afflicted by mistakes or their own carelessness. sofie recommended i watch the suturing of the gash in a farmers knee, i would be doing a similar thing as a midwife one day. that was happening in the dressing room. i went in shortly and observed but the needle was so blunt and efreeyeh's hands were struggling to pierce through the flesh and i was beginning to feel a bit uneasy, so i left.

ma was perched, keeping close watch on the empty maternity ward and occasionally snoozing.

vera was busy in the dispensary, drug dealing and handling cash.

kingsley had his eye glued to the microscope, excited by the spotting of malaria parasites and handing in his results to Madame vic and Sophie, who set up treatment plans and helped people venture back towards health.

secetry was running around, filling out papers, doing errands, being a secetary.

i felt like a fish out of water, so retreated to the office and spent time with my close friend, the laptop. from time to time i would look out the window and realize i had no expertise to help any of the people i was spying on. why was i at this clinic?

i reminded myself of my mission. i wasn't coming to study medicine, or tropical disease, or even nursing. i was here to submerge myself in the life of midwifery. but still, i felt like a leech at best, a fraud at worst. i wasn't "helping", and i had ghosts from home whispering in my ears.

"kacie, you are amazing. going to a place like africa to help the poor."

"you're in our thoughts, you are such a humanitarian. you are one special girl."

i didn't come over here with those intentions, but somehow got pigeon holed into a certain category i had no place being included in. if only these people knew the truth. if only they knew i sat idly while villagers lined up to receive help from the real heroes.

i was having a hard time being easy on myself, when there wasn't a pregnant woman in sight to remind me of my goals, and the day was growing long.

sofie came in for a lunch break once the clinic cleared up a bit.

she sat back on the couch and asked me in between bites "do you know how to touch type?"

the question seemed funny, like asking if i knew how to skip.

"ya." i said, lowering my screen a bit so i could properly look at her.

some time passed with no conversation, so i continued typing. then i stopped again and asked her "did you always know you wanted to be a doctor?" expecting a firm 'yes' as a reply.

"no" she said "i decided 2 weeks before going into uni."

"really?" i laughed.

"i wanted to study history but i'm actually really horrible at reading and writing, so i picked medicine instead. there isn't much reading in medicine."

i was taken aback.

"and i'm horrible at spelling." she said.

come to mention it, i had noticed her spelling errors on the chalkboard during her morning health lessons. subconsciously i didn't believe a GP was allowed to be a bad speller, so i passed them off as awkward abbreviations.

i was feeling less bad about not being a doctor.

"i'm severely dyslexic." she said.

i was completely interested in whatever she had to say, so i just stayed silent.

"i moved to the uk from switzerland when i was 12 and i didn't speak any english. my teachers just kept saying my being dyslexic was because i was learning a new language, so i went through testing and the results were actually quite horrendous." her face had changed. it seemed more stiff and protected. all that she was sharing had brought out her vulnerable side. she stuttered a bit, not sure if she should keep going. "the specialist, he- yah. well, he-" ... "his diagnosis was really quite awful. he said somebody with the severity of my disability would be unlikely to pursue higher education. when i read that i thought 'stuff it' and worked like mad to get really high marks. then i applied to oxford!"

we both laughed.

"did you get in?" i asked.

"no, but i went to cambridge, which is still quite a good school. but really, i think most doctors are insecure and feel the need to prove themselves, if i hadn't i wouldn't have been able to make it through school. so i look at my learning disability as a blessing in a way, because if i didn't have it i'm sure i wouldn't be a doctor. i would have been satisfied with my intelligence and became lazy."

more silence, then...

"but growing up i was completely insecure about reading in class out loud or just reading in general, really. i hated it. it took me ages to finish a book and i still have a really difficult time with it."

that explained why Andrew, her boyfriend, read novels aloud to her when he came to visit on the weekends. i thought it was cute, but now it was sweet for entirely different reasons.

"in uni i met a friend who was just like me. we both had a really hard time remembering things, so we'd study together and draw pictures and memorize information in creative ways, which helped a lot..."

"...but i was told its good for dyslexic people to learn how to touch type, for some reason or another, i forget. maybe that can be one of my focuses while i'm here, can you teach me?"

"sure?!"

"have you ever taught touch typing before?"

"no, i haven't, but we can think something up."

she ran over to the desk and turned the computer and put her hands on the keys.

"oh now?" i asked.

"or whenever." she said self-consciously.

"now is fine" i said, trying to encourage her with a change in my voice.

we spent the next 20 minutes trying to think up ways to improve her typing. she was eager and excited to learn.

"first let's see what keys you already know." i said. "so when i ask you to press a letter, DON'T LOOK AT THE KEYBOARD!"

she nodded, ready like an attentive passenger during take off.

"a." i said.

she pressed down the "a" button a whole bunch of times.

"d."

ddddddd.

"f"

ggggggg.

"no, f."

kkkkkkk

"no, f."

nnnnnnn

i marked "f" as something she needed to practice.

we went through the alphabet just like that and came up with little lessons to strengthen her skill. the words of my high school typing teacher, a short round woman who was always in a pleasant mood, echoed in my ears. "i have alumni returning to my class every year to drop in and tell me that this class, typing, was the most important class they ever took." then she'd chuckle from the plain truth.

while i was working with sofie i stopped taking my speedy fingers for granted. i am a skilled typist, i thought, straightening up in my seat. i may not know how to sew up a cut but i can type a mean quick sentence, flawlessly. i delighted in creation, at how different we all are, and how god strings us all together into interrealtional harmony at just the perfect time, just before a tiny bout of afternoon office despair and insecurity reels me further into oblivion.

and then i smiled, knowing i believe in a god who knows me well, too well!

"now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of service, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of working, but it is the same God who inspires them all in every one. To each is given the manifestation of spirit to the common good. " 1st Corinthians 12 1-7...

"For the body does not consist of one member but of many. if the foot should say, "because i am not a hand, i do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body. and if the ear should say, "because i am not an eye, i do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body. if the whole body were an eye, where would be the hearing? if the whole body were an ear, where would be the sense of smell? but as it is, God arranged the organs in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single organ, where would the body be? 1 Corinthians 12: 14-19.

sofie clapped her hands together a bunch of times and brought them close to her mouth as if she was going to chew off all her nails. she was obviously looking forward to conquering the keyboard with nervous anticipation, and i was glad to be of any help.

"do you think i'll be able to do it?" she asked.

"yes." i said "i'll help you."