Moments from my first week in Francia

Sunday, August 24,10 am
I´m in Managua´s domestic airport waiting to board my flight to Puerto Cabezas. We wait and wait and they don´t call us, and finally we realize we´ve been bumped to the next flight. We ask when it will come. The best answer we can get is ¨when our plane lands.¨ It´s a long wait. I employ the time well by getting Jeremy to teach me how to handle a hacky-sack.
Sunday, 2:15 pm
Finally in Puerto Cabezas, we get off our tiny plane and enter a deluge of rain. We run through to the tiny airport building, and one of the attendants hands us a note from the Zimmermans saying they´ll be back for us at 2pm. So . . . where are they? Then we ask where to go to pick up our luggage. The response: ¨Oh, it didn´t come on the same plane as you. It´ll be here at 8:00 tomorrow.¨ Oh. No. Most of us didn´t pack enough clothes and toiletries for this twist.
Sunday, 7pm
The Zimmermans came for us, we went shopping for bicycles, notebooks, and shampoo in the market, and now we´re at a little restaurant eating the local food—grilled chicken, cabbage-tomato-and-onion salad, plantain chips, and, of course, beans and rice. Next we plan to head out on the flatbed truck for Francia Sirpi. It should be a fun ride!
Sunday, 10pm
Two hours, five bruises, and two lungs full of exhaust fumes into, it´s not fun anymore. We´re driving on what must be the most rutted dirt road of its size in the world, and I´ve been bouncing around the bed of this truck, hitting the walls, our carry-on luggage, and bags of beans and rice. Plus, the wind carries away all my body heat by convection. I lean back into some bags and brace my knees against the truck side. The jolts kill my knees and back every two minutes, but I´m a little warmer. Two more hours of this, though? I´ll never make it. But then I look up—and the stars are glorious.
Monday, 10am
Rusty Zimmerman is talking to us about the mission and our jobs here. He´s drawing a map of the villages our mission serves. I´m wearing the same too-big, sweaty, muddy scrubs I wore yesterday, and I haven´t showered. It´s ridiculously humid, and these little black gnats are turning me into a pin-cushion. I´m also trying to adjust to the fact that I have an affectionate spider-monkey sleeping wrapped around my neck. This is a lot to take in . . .
Tuesday, 11am
Becky told me she left the clinic a little messy, but she couldn´t have prepared me for what I found. In the three months since she left, we´ve had two or three break-ins. People have thrown our equipment around looking for stuff they can sell (they usually take scrubs, for some reason). Furthermore, in the absence of human habitation, the cochroaches have moved in. A layer of cochroach poo covers rotting cardboard boxes, musty rubber rubs, and rusting metal basins stuffed full of bandages, medicine, instruments, and who knows what else. The disorganized junk covers shelves, counter space, and the floor. The worst part is, we´ve been cleaning for three hours and it still looks terrible. If I didn´t have all seven of the other SMs working with me, I would be sitting in a corner crying right now.
Tuesday, 1pm
I found Rilla Westermeyer´s old Peanut Gallery (UC student directory) in the clinic, and I´m looking through it during lunch for pictures of people I know. When I mention Rilla´s name in front of Ms. Brown, our cook, she lights up with happiness. Apparently Rilla, who came as a student missionary from Union several years ago, was a big hit in this village. She became fluent in Miskito rapidly and started a Pathfinders club for the kids. ¨All children Rilla good,¨ declares Ms. Brown. Later I´m sitting in the hammock trying to learn Jesus Loves Me in Miskito. Ms. Brown sings along, then says approvingly, ¨Maybe you be like Rilla.¨
Tuesday, 5pm
Our luggage is finally here! Dawn Zimmerman stayed in Puerto Cabezas to wait for it and brought it with her on the bus. I will never underestimate the value of a clean shirt again.
Wednesday, 5pm
We four medical SMs have been cleaning the clinic ourselves today, since the other girls have gone to the school to teach. The clinic looks so much better—we actually have clean, usable counter space now. I just finished putting all my IV´s and needles in order by gauge, and I feel so triumphant.
Wednesday, 6pm
I´m running around playing ¨Cut the Cake¨ with a swarm of Miskito children as part of evening Bible School. We just finished singing songs in English and Spanish, and 13-year-old Payton Zimmerman has been translating into Miskito for us to tell them what to do. After we finish the game, we walk home with the kids who live in our direction. I stretch the limits of my Miskito with the kids nearest me: ¨Naksa,¨ hello. ¨Nakisma,¨ how are you? ¨Ninim dia,¨ what is your name? How will I ever remember their names? They´re the most incredible conglomerations of sound I´ve ever heard. Brudilia, Ceedilia, Nesli, Kati. That last one is close enough to mine for me to remember. :) Payton tells me it means ¨moon.¨ Maybe that should be my name while I´m here.
Thursday, 4pm
Inventory of the pharmacy. All day. Typing up how many we have of what meds. Trying to figure out what the meds are for—we´re just CNA´s, after all. Some of the labels are in Spanish, and that makes it harder to look up in our drug book. Some of the meds aren´t labeled, they´re just sitting in plastic bags, and that makes it really hard. Some meds are rotting, and we have to throw them out. We´ve finished all but the bottom shelf, but we just ran out of battery on the laptop. The rest will wait till Sunday—we´re going to Waspam tomorrow. We´re going to talk to the people at the hospital about how to use our microscope to test for malaria, and we´re going to get internet.

Sorry about no pictures yet--I´m working on it, having trouble with my computer.