This story begins in late 2003. Not because it is the beginning, I have many stories from earlier times, but because this is where my mind, for whatever reason, continues to rest while remembering my African experiences.
I was 23 years old and had been accepted into nursing school for the following fall. Having already spent time in West Africa on two separate occasions (both missions-oriented), I knew I wanted to go back during my last "free" summer before school started up, but this time I wanted to do something medical.
The interest in medical missions was multi-faceted, but two reasons that particularly prompted me in this situation were a desire to learn more about how medical missions worked in a practical sense and a desire to know if I could handle the "gross stuff"--the less-than-pleasant side of medical work, because if I couldn't handle it, I didn't need to waste my time spending 2 years in nursing school.
I e-mailed my contacts in Burkina Faso, West Africa, and they put me in touch with a mission hospital located just a few hours south and across the border into Ghana. The hospital immediately accepted me when all was said and done, there was a total of five of us going for the summer: myself, two friends who I grew up with (one a first year medical student) and two other summer missionaries (one a nursing student, one about to start medical school).
By the summer of 2004 we were off! The goal, at least for me, was to spend just a few weeks over 3 months in this sleepy little town called Nalerigu, Ghana, as I lived and worked on the hospital compound, learning as I went, resting when I could, and praising God for everything.
The Baptist Medical Centre was, and still is, a bush hospital in it's truest sense. It sees both tropical and typical diseases and its staff relies heavily on common sense and resourcefulness for patient recovery rate. The hospital, and its reputation, is the only reason the town has electricity. However, the hospital also had separate generators because power outages are common, especially during the rainy summer months.
Having stayed in remote villages in the bush of Burkina Faso during my last two trips to Africa, I was pleasantly surprised by the lodging provided at the Baptist Medical Centre: a spacious guest house with high ceilings, plenty of screened windows, ceiling fans, hot running water and flush toilets. The hospital also provided us with a housekeeper, a cook and a night watchman. It was all we needed, especially since we spent much more time in the hospital than in the house.
About fifteen years ago, the area was hit with a huge meningitis outbreak. Because of the hospitals tireless efforts, countless lives were saved and the hospitals reputation grew. Pretty much everyone in the northern part of Ghana, and beyond, had heard of the hospitals contribution to the area and had great respect for the work being done there. This, along with the locals natural friendliness helped me to make friends with many of the locals. Some of them even gave me an African name, mostly, I think, because they couldn't pronounce my real name.
So, the stage has been set for my story to begin. I was an American living on the grounds of a highly respected hospital. I loved the locals as though they were old friends and I was learning more and more every day about medicine in general and bush medicine in particular.
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