The Mysterious Visitor

It started in December;  I would awaken in the night and hear a rhythmic breathy sound very near.  When I first heard it, I though Michael was breathing rather loudly.  Then, abruptly, it would stop--and restart a few minutes later.  No, it wasn't Michael.  Nor was it Sam, sleeping on the edge of our bed after a bad dream.  No one stopped and started breathing like that.  Snakes maybe?  Fighting a courtship or territorial dance right outside our window?  Maybe--but they wouldn't do it every night, all through the night.  No, not snakes.  Michael noticed bird activity in our roof, but I couldn't imagine birds making that almost human, breathing sound.

We puzzled over it for weeks, hearing it nightly.  Uncannily, the sound seemed to be right in the room with us, sometimes haunting, always taunting:  where did it come from?  Finally someone sighted an owl.  I didn't know owls lived here, but sure enough, Natasha's African bird book told about barn owls in West Africa that were known to hiss and snap. A week later Michael pointed out our specimen:  a 15-inch light brown owl,white faced and fronted, with huge eyes, alight on the internet tower beside our bedroom window.  Of course, it saw us, and began snapping and hissing territorially.  The unmistakeable hiss.  Creature confirmed.

An example of our nightly guest

The tower beside our bedroom window

Apparently our owl had been causing a commotion among the other birds in our developing  under-roof aviary.  Perhaps he was the cause for the mysterious lack of noisy toads around our place, even following a heavy rain.  (At Natasha's place, the toads were loud enough to awaken the entire family!)  Maybe he was feasting on the many and unwelcome mice and rats in the area--we had seen none recently.  Soon the hissing became a rather friendly "just checking in" sound we heard nightly.  And smiled.

But now he is gone.  No more hissing, snapping or roofline rustle.  Off he has moved to happier hunting grounds or quieter accommodations; who knows?  As mysteriously as he came, he has departed.  Bonjour, mon ami. We will miss you.

Africa devoured me

I look back at my blog posts and I am horrified to see that I haven't posted anything since January--and now it's April, one week before our departure.  Why didn't I post more?  Did nothing happen?  No, simply the reverse:  Africa chewed us up and has swallowed and will spit us out.

Things started apace in January.  School again, new interns, visitors, illness.  And routine:  we got up and went to bed early,  I continued to pray mightily for my students (help me learn to manage the active, sometimes very rough, little ones) and practice piano and violin. We marched in place.  One of the interns could play trombone, so she gave me some impromptu lessons, and some evenings were filled with unsettling honks and growls.  I couldn't think of anything to write.

Emily, one of our sweet interns

Nichole--the goat queen and trombone teacher

Then Michael became ill and I didn't have time to write.  One Sunday in February he noticed a knot of infection developing in his left calf, red and painful to the touch.  By Thursday it was so painful he couldn't sleep.  We feared a blood clot.  Michael was concerned about the medical situation here, and had vowed that he would leave early if he had to have medical care.  But he knew it would be dangerous to fly with a blood clot, and he was in too much pain to travel.  So it would have to be solved here.  Natasha recommended a well-respected hospital and off we went, taking the long drive into Accra.  We felt good about the doctor there, and had a blood test and picked up meds, but couldn't get the recommended ultrasound scan that would tell us if it was a blood clot.  After driving around for more than an hour trying to find places to do the scan we gave up and came back the next day.  Redness went down, pain went away, scan showed no clot.  But it never really healed.  Ten days later we were back asking for more meds.  Got compression socks.  He started taking short walks.  I wondered about Michael's blessing, given by Emmanuel, that told Michael that he would be healed, and he would see the hand of God in the healing.

Somewhere in all this, we got a chance to go to the temple, and we all put Michael's name on the prayer roll.  It was at this point, his healing really began.  When the second batch of meds ran out, with the leg still slightly warm and the lump still visible, the pain didn't come back.  Michael felt good about walking regularly and conscientiously wore his compression stocking.  Slowly the knot began to loosen.  Each week it grew smaller and the warmth faded.  by late March the knot had disappeared.    We knew it was the temple that had made the difference.

Mariah, too, began to have problems with her legs.  She didn't sleep under her net at night, and got bitten on her legs.  Then she couldn't leave them alone and scratched and picked at them.  The creams we gave her didn't seem to help, and people at school began to comment on how bitten she looked. Embarrasment--she is already very visible as the only obroni girl in school, now she was coddled and counciled.  The principal scolded her for wearing leggings under her uniform--then bought her some special soap when she saw the legs herself.  Mariah cried in private and tried the soap and more creams.  Finally we gave up and took her to the doctor, to.  The oral and topical fianlly started her healing.  Today her legs are unblemished and unscarred.

Mariah's infected legs

side view

Through all this, Sam and I remained healthy and happy.  No illness to speak of, success at school, routine at home.  It has been a good second term.  Until late March.

My turn.  Monday was a regular day, but by midnight, I was heaving up everything and feverish.  Tuesday found me confused, with a high temperature and an inability to eat or drink.  Haven't been this sick in a long time.  Natasha and Michael threatened the hospital if I continued to refuse food and water, but I couldn't do it.  Malaria?  The usually-correct home test showed negative, but Emmanuel recommended we start on the meds anyway.  Slowly I started to feel better, eating more each day.  But I am on my third week now, and am still weak:  I must rest often.  I can't eat much, and African food that I have enjoyed all this time is a struggle.  I've lost a lot of weight and feel fragile.  Of course, now I have a cold and have shared it with Sam and Mariah.  I have been so protected, so blessed, but now I think it is time for us to go home.  We are being spit out.