Tuesday in Tanzania, July, 2026

Tuesday

We return to our same clinic in the middle of somewhere today. The goats are out in numbers this morning and are like bright points of white as they gather the day’s light and radiate it outwards. I can only hope to be as brilliant with the radiant light of Jesus.

As we set up, I get the notion that I need to go to the bus and pray, so I do. “Whatever You have in store, Lord, strengthen us in our inner beings through the power of Your Holy Spirit and blast out the walls with Your kindness and power through us. Amen”. I eat a quick snack and go back.

Upon returning to clinic, I look around for a purpose for myself. There is no table space or interpreter for me to be an examiner though that rarely stops me. No shots to give…yet…mmmm

Then Dr. Maria calls my name. She has examined a young man with severe abdominal pain. He is weak and nauseous and breathing very fast as he grunts in pain. I start an IV and give an antibiotic as they discuss our options. He needs an ultrasound and possible surgical intervention which means he needs a ride to a hospital. Khalifa offers his car and Kelly offers me (JK she asked me first). The young man’s dad is with him and touches my arm. I look up from my work and with tear filled eyes, dad pats his heart and my hand. An interpreter tells me he is about to cry because he is so grateful but, in truth, that message needed no translation. I pat my own heart and with my own tears, I add my own grateful affirmation to his.

Mt. Meru Hospital is in Arusha. This means a trek back to Ketumbiene with a brief stop at the hospital for some IV Tylenol and a two hour drive beyond. The road from here to Longido will be a treacherously disruptive ride for someone grunting in pain when sitting still. “That is the way of the bushland,”I think, until I am reminded of my above prayer. I realize that the ‘us’ of my prayer included my young patient and his dad.

I try to anticipate our every need and gather what my mental list hurries to form. I have several others handing me items from their own lists. I hang the IV by a glove from the panic handle above the door. Though a slow drip is ordered, the physics of a wild ride does not lend itself to one. This necessitates the holding of  my arm above my head to steady it. No worries, it is only a three hour raucous ride and I have prayed for strength already.

By Ketumbiene, my boy has slowed his breathing, ceased his grunting and reports the pain is less.
By Longido, he is talking to me in English and translating for his dad. By Arusha, he has napped. All this despite the bouncing car!

Never underestimate the power of prayer!

We are taken into the pediatric ER room. A narrow room that barely fits two stretchers. The stretcher is elevated and a scrub wearing somebody points to my patient to climb on board but is given no assistance. It is too high to jump on and I can find no footstool so he barely reaches the top with his backside and uses his feet against the wall to push himself on. And that is just the beginning of my head-shaking hinkiness.

They decide he belongs in the Men’s ER. Men and women are separated into two rooms. This crowded new place has 4 stretchers, no curtains and a computer area. The person in the corner is intubated and taking care of himself. There is one with male problems lying uncovered. The other is getting an Abdominal Ultrasound! At last, a glimmer of hope!

I am somewhat of a novelty. Black scrubs TanziAnne nametag, stethoscope… the security guards peek in to get a look. There are several white coated people who walk in and out. There are several others taking notes and assisting with procedures. They all look my way but only a few talk to me and interestingly, these talkers are only curious and don’t end up being involved in our care.

There is one very finely dressed African man with a smooth, delicious voice who appears briefly and unexpectedly from behind the curtain of a door. He speaks my name from my name tag, TanziAnne, and I can feel myself blush. I never intended for that name to be taken seriously but to hear it from his mouth, I may change my mind. Oolala.

It makes me think of the name Jesus has for me in heaven.  It will be all that and more… I wonder if perhaps, he was Jesus stopping by …  I never saw him again.

When Dr. Kisarika comes over, the real work begins. He is kind and thorough, listening to my history with attention and wanting to know where and why we’ve come. After his physical assessment, he outlines his specific plan: Labs, meds, fluids, ultrasound, surgical evaluation. He talks with our Dr. N and lines me out on how to pay even walking me to the correct windows. He continues to ask about Zoe Hope saying he is impressed and would love to give back. I think he will care well for our boy.

As I walk to the car with Dad, I ask him if he knows Jesus. He tells me, through Khalifa, that he does know Jesus from the Catholic tradition. He thanks me again, still so moved by this experience. I wonder if the walls of his knowing are perhaps being blasted open.

There is a parade of brightly clad women all with identical woven baskets on their heads. They are walking single file out of the city on the way home. Heavy laden donkeys, herds of white goats, dark green uniformed school children follow and against the dry fields of corn, they are, every one, magnificent!

I, too, am on my way home to Ketumbiene. I am hot and dusty, not smelling magnificent but satisfied nonetheless.

TanziAnne