Shortly before I left for Kilimanjaro, I was contacted by Alex Goodwin, Communications Director for the OCMC. He and OCMC Executive Director Fr. Martin Ritsi had planned an extended visit to Kenya and Tanzania in order to film a new video for the OCMC and further assess future mission prospects for that field, and they wanted to know if Maria and I would be interested in traveling with them to Kenya and being part of this! The experience would take me to a part of Kenya that I had wanted to visit anyway--Turkana, in the northwest part of the country. The OCMC began sending short-term mission teams to this region only a few years ago, and Orthodoxy has already gained a strong foothold there. I knew I wouldn’t have a lot of time to rest after climbing Kilimanjaro, but I also knew that I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.
Maria and I were greeted at the Lodwar airport (a dusty landing strip in the desert with a small covered waiting area serving as the main gate) by Fr. Martin, Alex, and Rob Orr, the cameraman who would be documenting our visit. We strapped our bags on top of the Land Rover (there wasn’t enough room for them inside) and started our 3+ hour journey into the desert. Fr. Martin mentioned that the last time he made this journey, the vehicle he was in got stuck in the sand three times. Fortunately, with the combination of our amazing driver and rugged Land Rover, we didn’t get stuck once.
Our first destination was the village of Loupwala. Loupwala has been visited before by OCMC teams, but it was my first time there or anywhere like it. It was the Africa that I had seen before in National Geographic magazines and on Public Television when I was growing up.
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The Turkana are nomadic pastoralists and rely mostly on their goats, camels, and donkeys not just as a source of milk and meat but also as currency for things such as bride-price negotiations and dowries. Not many crops are grown, but they do eat maize, beans, and ugali (maize porridge). During our brief stay, we had nothing but boiled cabbage and ugali--all of which we had brought with us from Lodwar. The Turkana also make use of a fruit that I had never heard of or seen anywhere else. It is called yangole in Turkana, and it is pretty much a fibrous pulp on the outside of a large inedible pit. The pulp can be ground off with stones and mixed in with flour or it can be chewed right off the pit [I tried the latter and can understand how the Turkana can easily wear down their teeth].
The Turkana dress very traditionally in the villages but not quite as much in the larger cities like Lodwar. Girls and women wear sarongs that range in color from purple to red to orange, and even bright green. Many of the women and girls wear their hair in a way that looks like a mohawk of small braids. The men also wear wraps, some covering the whole body, some just from the waist down, and less traditional shirts. Additionally, some of the older men or distinguished members of the tribe, such as shamans, wear hats decorated with ostrich feathers. One night, we all watched a movie about the life of Jesus that had been translated into the Turkana language. I was sitting toward the back, and one of the tribal elders was sitting right in the middle toward the front. Throughout the movie, I enjoyed watching the silhouette of a lone ostrich quill waving back and forth, brushing the faces of the actors on the screen. Both men and women wear beaded necklaces and bracelets. Many of the women wear a high-collared, brightly-colored beaded necklace that I can imagine takes a long time to make.
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The video shoot began almost immediately after we arrived. Fr. Martin, Alex, and Rob started interviewing individuals who had become or were in the process of becoming baptized. Maria and I interviewed some of the women and children about medical issues with the help of one of the Turkana priests, Fr. Moses, who speaks English, Turkana, and Swahili fluently. We spent the night sleeping in a boma (thorn enclosure) of another priest, Fr. Zachariah, who himself was originally from Loupwala. A few of the people in our group had tents, but I braved the elements, sleeping only on a mat and having a loose mosquito net resting on top of me. It was the first time I had ever gone hard core camping, and I enjoyed looking up at a clear night sky illuminated by stars, knowing that I was about as far away from the nearest city as I could be.
The next day, we visited a well that had been installed by the OCMC only a few years ago. The well was about a 10 minute walk from our campsite, but I learned that before the well was put in, people would have to walk up to 13 kilometers (each way) to get water that wasn’t necessarily very safe to drink. This well made getting cleaner water a lot easier for the people of Loupwala.
Later, we were honored with a celebration. The community members greeted us with traditional singing and dancing. As we arrived, a group of women, doing what I could only describe as a tightly-packed line dance, moved toward us while singing, blowing whistles, and waving around what I later found out were cow tails. Some younger people then sang and danced for us, and then we all joined in the fun. I especially enjoyed the high vertical jumping dance (if you’ve ever seen movies of Maasai dancing, it is exactly the same).
That afternoon, we walked for about an hour and a half to our next stop--a village called Nacabousan. To reach Nacabousan, we had to cross the Kerio River. The Kerio River, Fr. Martin explained, was usually bone dry in this area, but that every time he had visited, it was always flowing. This time was no different. Lightning flashes in the distance the previous night forewarned us that this would probably be the case. The river was only two or three feet deep at its deepest point, but the water was moving at a good clip. I had not anticipated this, and was concerned about 1) getting completely drenched and dirty, and 2) getting valuable possessions wet, namely my iPod. Before we crossed, I decided to give my valuables to Maria, who is much taller than me and who had a nicer backpack. That decision paid off. As I neared the opposite bank, I discovered (too late) that there was a sharp, slippery rise that wasn’t visible through the chocolate-colored water. As I went to my knees, I decided that I had nothing to lose and went all the way in. It was a decision that paid off because I felt much cooler against the mid-afternoon sun. Despite the fact that everything I was wearing was completely drenched and now a light brown color, I felt better and my iPod was safe.
On Sunday morning, we celebrated liturgy in the bush, just outside the village of Nacabousan. The altar table was built on the spot using sticks, palm leaves, and a small blackboard. The congregation sat in the shade of a large acacia--much needed because even at 9AM, the sun was already starting to beat down on us. I was surprised to see that there were matins and liturgy books translated into Turkana. The Turkana are a part of the same language group as the Maasai (different from the Bantu-based Swahili that I’m used to hearing), and I immediately noticed a similarity to the Maasai language when I first heard the Turkana speak. As with Swahili, it didn’t matter if I couldn’t understand every word that was being said during the liturgy. I still knew what was going on. Even with aggressive flies buzzing around, which are ever-present in the desert, I was lost in the experience. This was the first time an Orthodox liturgy had ever been held in Nacabousan. I began to wonder if St. Paul or the other early Apostles had similar experiences on their missionary journeys.
The liturgy was immediately followed by a mass baptism. 110 men, women, and children were baptized in the Kerio River. What was a curse for me on the way over had become a blessing. There was plenty of water for full-immersion baptisms! While several children splashed and swam nearby, a line of people from the river bank went into the water where Fr. Martin baptized them one at a time--again, like experiencing the early church but in the 21st century. The first one baptized was the head village elder from Nacabousan, named Salale. He and Fr. Martin had developed a strong relationship over the past few years, and I could tell that Salale’s conversion and baptism were monumental for himself, Fr. Martin, and the entire village of Nacabousan. There were at least 200-300 people watching from higher up on the river bank. Many of them went into hysterics at seeing their friends being immersed (some of them very reluctantly) in the river. We all went back to the “survival” altar that had been constructed for the liturgy and concluded the service. Watching dozens of people walk around the altar table together toward the end of the baptism was something I’ll probably never see again but won’t soon forget.
After the video shoot, we all returned to Lodwar where we met up with a short-term OCMC teaching team that had arrived the day before. Fr. Martin, Alex, and Rob stayed with the group for a couple of days before moving on to the shoot in Tanzania, but Maria and I stayed behind in Lodwar with the team for the duration of their teaching mission. They had each prepared different lessons to present Turkana faithful who had come from Lodwar and surrounding villages (including from over 3 hours away in Loupwala!). Fr. Moses, Fr. Zachariah, and Fr. Vladimir (who is a Turkana priest based in Lodwar) translated for the team and at the same time taught their people about church topics such as the Creed, death & resurrection, the Sacraments, and icons. I was even allowed to do a health education session. Based on a session I once gave back in 2008 during a short-term mission in Tanzania, I asked the group of about 70 “youth” to divide up into groups and come up with their own songs, dances, or sketches that highlighted major health concerns in East Africa, such as AIDS and malaria. The Turkana, like many other cultures in Africa, have a strong oral tradition that is passed along through songs and storytelling. Why not tap into that and use it for health promotion? I gave them 20 minutes to prepare, but they only needed 10. All of the groups did an amazing job, and I told them that I would put all of the videos I took of their presentations on the internet so that people all over the world could see how the Turkana use storytelling not only to pass along history but to teach others the importance of promoting good health behaviors.
Our visit happened to be in the middle of a paralyzing famine that affected the horn of Africa and spilled over into northern Kenya. Crops were failing and there was a severe food shortage. The Turkana, being pastoralists, were especially hard-hit when their livestock began to die off. People were literally starving to death. I had done a blog entry early on about African stereotypes, and I mentioned that a common misperception is that most Africans are starving and impoverished. I followed that up by mentioning that this was more of an exception to the rule--overall, they may eat much less food, but that doesn’t mean they are starving. Also, “poverty” is a relative term. If most of the people who live around you don’t have a lot of material possessions, that doesn’t necessarily make them poor. In fact, I regard most of my friends here as being richer on many levels. That said, whenever a disaster such as a famine happens, it throws what was once a delicate balance into complete disarray. Tribes like the Turkana, who can live comfortably on a basic diet and without a lot of possessions really feel the effect when the food or water supply is thrown out of whack.
I had no idea how bad the situation really was until after I got back to Bukoba. While waiting at the Lodwar “airport” for the plane back to Nairobi, I met a BBC journalist and cameraman who had just been to the same region we had. They told me that a piece they had just filmed would be airing a couple of days later and that I would be able to see it online.
Here is a link to that report: http://www.vimeo.com/27583238
Finding out about the severity of the famine after the fact made me appreciate my time with the Turkana all the more. I would have never guessed from the celebrations and fellowship we shared that they were in the middle of a major crisis. Please remember the Turkana, especially the newly-baptized, in your prayers.
Thank you to my support team!
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
[Video from my Turkana experiences can be found on the OCMC website or my YouTube channel, username: mpagedas]
Showing posts with label Pagedas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pagedas. Show all posts
Monday, November 28, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Why Are You Here? : An Update from Missionary Michael Pagedas
The last few weeks have been busy and full of surprises. We were treated to a visit by Fr. Martin Ritsi and His Grace Bishop Savas, who had just spent time in the Turkana region of Kenya. Katie and I then traveled with Bishop Savas and Fr. Martin back to Nairobi where Katie had made an appointment to receive follow-up care for her appendectomy. This was my first trip to Nairobi, or even Kenya for that matter, so I was happy to go along. Katie was under the care of a doctor who is quite famous, although it’s for something that almost killed him. Dr. Shem Musoke is a General Practitioner who works in a nondescript office at Nairobi Hospital. If you have ever read the book The Hot Zone (a book which inspired the movie Outbreak, starring Dustin Hoffman and Rene Russo), you may remember reading that, back in 1980, Dr. Musoke treated a patient with the Marburg Virus, a virus that is very similar to Ebola. Dr. Musoke, himself, contracted the virus but somehow survived, making him a medical miracle. I had no idea who the guy was until Katie told me, but I feel honored to have had the chance to meet and get to know him.
Our lodging in Nairobi was the Mayfield Guesthouse, a resting place for missionaries, medical professionals, and even businessmen who happen to be passing through on the way to different parts of Kenya. The Mayfield was a place where the family of James Hargrave, who is now our Tanzania Field Coordinator, used to visit while they were missionaries living in Africa, and James had recommended the place to us. In addition to nice, comfortable rooms, we were given full board, and the meals were quite a substantial part of the stay. Katie and I ate food that we hadn’t eaten since leaving the states, and we nearly came to tears at how good it was to have that stuff again. Being a Christian establishment, it was customary for one guestto begin with a devotional before breakfast every morning. One night after dinner, one of the staff members approached me and asked if I would like to lead the next morning’s devotion. Whether you are a long-term missionary or even a short-term team member, there is always a chance that you will be called upon to witness. It’s something that you always have to be prepared for because you never know when it will happen. Even with that in mind, I wasn’t anticipating having to witness away from my “home territory” to a group of non-denominational Christians from all walks of life. I immediately went back to my room to think about what I could present the next morning.
That day had been a busy one. Katie already had a couple of tests done and was sent by Dr. Musoke to have a surgical consult. While we were sitting in the waiting room, Katie picked up a magazine and started reading about a nurse who was helping cholera patients in Haiti. Katie handed me the article when she was done and said, “This is the kind of work I had hoped to be doing.” There have been some “tie-ups” with getting the hospital here in Bukoba open, and because of that, Katie has not felt like she has really been doing what she was called to do yet. I responded that there was still a lot of time left in our two years, and that things could happen unexpectedly. What I didn’t realize at the time was that “unexpectedly” would come about 20 minutes later. On our way out of the building, we stopped at the pharmacy where I happened to recognize a family that was staying at the Mayfield with us. The parents were picking up medication and looked visibly shaken. They had all been in the bush for about three months, and one of their daughters had come down with a serious respiratory infection. They decided to bring their daughter to the hospital a day before they were to leave for home (a 40 hour trip to Alaska). When we met up with them, they were getting ready to take her to Radiology for a chest x-ray. The daughter looked very pale and was having extreme difficulty breathing. Katie immediately went into nurse mode and helped them make their way to the ER. Katie’s experiences in Tanzanian hospitals (and as an ER nurse back in the states) allowed her to help the family through the process of getting her daughter admitted and counseling them on what tests would be done, what those tests would entail, etc. As Katie and I left the hospital, we marveled at how we just happened to be in the right place at the right time. “We were definitely meant to be there,” Katie said.
I decided to incorporate that experience into my devotions session the next morning. I began with one of my favorite verses in scripture: “The human mind plans the way, but the Lord directs the steps.” (Proverbs 16:9) I then asked everyone a very blunt question: “Why are you here?” I followed that up by asking if they knew why they happened to be at the Mayfield Guesthouse in Nairobi, Kenya at that particular moment in time. I explained that we were all there because we answered a calling, but that there was also a plan for each of us at that very moment to be together at the Mayfield. The reason for that would be beyond most of our grasps, and perhaps we would find out much later on, or not at all. I then told the preceding story and concluded by saying that what happened was more than just a coincidence. We really were meant to be at the hospital at that exact time to help that family. The father and one of the daughters from the family we had helped were also at breakfast and attested to that.
It’s experiences like that which help me to feel more relaxed about being here in Africa to do my missionary work. I needed to be here, and now that I’m here, I really shouldn’t have to worry about anything else.
Thank you to my support team!
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
Our lodging in Nairobi was the Mayfield Guesthouse, a resting place for missionaries, medical professionals, and even businessmen who happen to be passing through on the way to different parts of Kenya. The Mayfield was a place where the family of James Hargrave, who is now our Tanzania Field Coordinator, used to visit while they were missionaries living in Africa, and James had recommended the place to us. In addition to nice, comfortable rooms, we were given full board, and the meals were quite a substantial part of the stay. Katie and I ate food that we hadn’t eaten since leaving the states, and we nearly came to tears at how good it was to have that stuff again. Being a Christian establishment, it was customary for one guestto begin with a devotional before breakfast every morning. One night after dinner, one of the staff members approached me and asked if I would like to lead the next morning’s devotion. Whether you are a long-term missionary or even a short-term team member, there is always a chance that you will be called upon to witness. It’s something that you always have to be prepared for because you never know when it will happen. Even with that in mind, I wasn’t anticipating having to witness away from my “home territory” to a group of non-denominational Christians from all walks of life. I immediately went back to my room to think about what I could present the next morning.
That day had been a busy one. Katie already had a couple of tests done and was sent by Dr. Musoke to have a surgical consult. While we were sitting in the waiting room, Katie picked up a magazine and started reading about a nurse who was helping cholera patients in Haiti. Katie handed me the article when she was done and said, “This is the kind of work I had hoped to be doing.” There have been some “tie-ups” with getting the hospital here in Bukoba open, and because of that, Katie has not felt like she has really been doing what she was called to do yet. I responded that there was still a lot of time left in our two years, and that things could happen unexpectedly. What I didn’t realize at the time was that “unexpectedly” would come about 20 minutes later. On our way out of the building, we stopped at the pharmacy where I happened to recognize a family that was staying at the Mayfield with us. The parents were picking up medication and looked visibly shaken. They had all been in the bush for about three months, and one of their daughters had come down with a serious respiratory infection. They decided to bring their daughter to the hospital a day before they were to leave for home (a 40 hour trip to Alaska). When we met up with them, they were getting ready to take her to Radiology for a chest x-ray. The daughter looked very pale and was having extreme difficulty breathing. Katie immediately went into nurse mode and helped them make their way to the ER. Katie’s experiences in Tanzanian hospitals (and as an ER nurse back in the states) allowed her to help the family through the process of getting her daughter admitted and counseling them on what tests would be done, what those tests would entail, etc. As Katie and I left the hospital, we marveled at how we just happened to be in the right place at the right time. “We were definitely meant to be there,” Katie said.
I decided to incorporate that experience into my devotions session the next morning. I began with one of my favorite verses in scripture: “The human mind plans the way, but the Lord directs the steps.” (Proverbs 16:9) I then asked everyone a very blunt question: “Why are you here?” I followed that up by asking if they knew why they happened to be at the Mayfield Guesthouse in Nairobi, Kenya at that particular moment in time. I explained that we were all there because we answered a calling, but that there was also a plan for each of us at that very moment to be together at the Mayfield. The reason for that would be beyond most of our grasps, and perhaps we would find out much later on, or not at all. I then told the preceding story and concluded by saying that what happened was more than just a coincidence. We really were meant to be at the hospital at that exact time to help that family. The father and one of the daughters from the family we had helped were also at breakfast and attested to that.
It’s experiences like that which help me to feel more relaxed about being here in Africa to do my missionary work. I needed to be here, and now that I’m here, I really shouldn’t have to worry about anything else.
Thank you to my support team!
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
Friday, April 1, 2011
When I was 35...An Update from OCMC Missionary Michael Pagedas
On February 22, 2011, I celebrated my 36th birthday. Of course, I had to think of a unique way to celebrate (spending a day by myself at Disney World was the previous record-holder), so I traveled to Mwanza and then spent my birthday in the Serengeti. This was my third trip to the Serengeti, and while I didn’t see as many animals as on the previous trip, I saw just about everything I wanted to see. This time I saw even more lions than last time, plus I saw a dik-dik (a tiny antelope) which I had never seen before. While I was in Mwanza, some friends of mine back in Bukoba called me to wish me a happy birthday. I met this family a few months ago on one of my daily walks. They live in a house right on the beach along Lake Victoria. In the beginning, I was a little unsure about the expectations of this relationship (more on that in my next blog), but I have learned that they are genuinely interested in being my friends and are delighted to have me stop over on a regular basis. I even began taking over some of my movies, and we watch them together. Since I wasn’t in Bukoba on my birthday, this family had me over for a mini celebration after I returned. They brought out a cake (a small round cake without frosting) and sang happy birthday to me in Swahili. Then they brought out some chicken soup. They raise chickens at their home, so I asked if we were eating one of their chickens. They said yes. The two daughters (4 & 11 years old) then presented me with handwritten birthday cards. Both were addressed to “Uncle Michael” and they thanked me for coming to visit them and play with them. This is one of the extra perks of mission work.
There was another event a week before my birthday that was an even bigger perk. Back in November, at the first priest seminar in Bukoba, I met a priest named Fr. Polycarp. We made a connection and further developed it when he returned for the second priest seminar here in January. It was then that he asked me to be the godfather for his baby son. Arrangements were made, and on February 14 (Valentine’s Day) I went to St. Eleftherios Church in Bugabo for the baptism. This was my first trip to Bugabo, which is a town very close the Uganda border. The church property is within view (almost a 180ยบ view) of Lake Victoria and the weather is nice and cool. Fr. Spyridon told me that he had grown up close by and was a fisherman there before he was called to the priesthood. Seraphim’s baptism ended up being a mass baptism. 27 babies, children, and young adults were welcomed into the Orthodox Church. I imagine this is what it must have been like back in the early church when the masses were baptized by the hundreds or even thousands. I now have godchildren in three different countries, and for those back home who are trying to keep count, it’s up to 15 now.
What’s interesting about both of these experiences, and the many others I have had like them, is that I didn’t actively seek them out. They sought me out. It’s like I am already being rewarded (unworthy as I am) for my service here in Africa. If this is just the beginning, I can’t wait to see what happens from here on out.
Thank you to my support team!
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
There was another event a week before my birthday that was an even bigger perk. Back in November, at the first priest seminar in Bukoba, I met a priest named Fr. Polycarp. We made a connection and further developed it when he returned for the second priest seminar here in January. It was then that he asked me to be the godfather for his baby son. Arrangements were made, and on February 14 (Valentine’s Day) I went to St. Eleftherios Church in Bugabo for the baptism. This was my first trip to Bugabo, which is a town very close the Uganda border. The church property is within view (almost a 180ยบ view) of Lake Victoria and the weather is nice and cool. Fr. Spyridon told me that he had grown up close by and was a fisherman there before he was called to the priesthood. Seraphim’s baptism ended up being a mass baptism. 27 babies, children, and young adults were welcomed into the Orthodox Church. I imagine this is what it must have been like back in the early church when the masses were baptized by the hundreds or even thousands. I now have godchildren in three different countries, and for those back home who are trying to keep count, it’s up to 15 now.
What’s interesting about both of these experiences, and the many others I have had like them, is that I didn’t actively seek them out. They sought me out. It’s like I am already being rewarded (unworthy as I am) for my service here in Africa. If this is just the beginning, I can’t wait to see what happens from here on out.
Thank you to my support team!
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
I Can't Do This Alone: An Update from Missionary Michael Pagedas
Heri ya Mwaka Mpya! (Happy New Year!)
I have been trying to keep these articles focused on spiritual and cultural discoveries that I have made here, but sometimes I just feel like I need to write about things that interest me and may be meaningful to you, even if they may not outwardly appear to be related to my mission. The truth is, each of these things helps to form and shape me, and who I am as a Missionary.
In keeping with my tradition of trying to do something exciting to distract myself from being away from home during the holidays, I did something that will undoubtedly set the bar high for all future (and God willing, many) New Year’s Eve celebrations. I went to Mgahinga National Park in southwestern Uganda to track the endangered mountain gorilla. This park lies in the Virunga volcano region that spans the countries of Uganda, Rwanda, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. The movie Gorillas in the Mist was filmed in this region back in the late 80s, and that movie was one of my inspirations for visiting. Mountain gorillas were dangerously close to becoming extinct, and with the help of people like Dian Fossey, their numbers are holding steady and even making a resurgence [that I should go on my trek five days after the 25th anniversary of Dian Fossey’s murder can either be chalked up as a freak coincidence or destiny]. Mountain gorillas are one of two subspecies of gorilla, the other being the Western Lowland gorilla, which are the gorillas you find in zoos (mountain gorillas do not live in captivity). Of the 720 remaining mountain gorillas in the world, 380 live on the Virunga volcanoes and the rest of them live nearby in Uganda’s Bwindi Impenetrable National Park.
Another inspiration for my wanting to visit the gorillas was Carl Akeley. Carl Akeley isn’t exactly a household name, but you’re probably familiar with his work. If you have ever been to a Natural History Museum and seen a diorama with animals in it, you can thank Carl Akeley. He revolutionized the art of taxidermy and was the first taxidermist to ever assemble a complete habitat group diorama--a muskrat diorama which can still be seen today at the Milwaukee Public Museum.1 Akeley was also a key player behind the Hall of African Mammals at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. After collecting specimens in Africa in the early 1920s, Akeley discovered that the natural African landscapes he had come to know and love were already being rapidly developed into farmland and encroached upon by civilization. He wanted to do something that would preserve unspoiled Africa for future generations, and that is how he came upon the idea for the Hall of African Mammals. Each diorama depicts a different animal group in a particular region of Africa as that region had appeared before urban or even rural development. In some cases, these places no longer exist as they appear in the dioramas, with exceptions like the Serengeti Plain. One of the dioramas depicts a group of gorillas in the Virunga volcanoes in a specific area that Akeley had visited and loved (and where he is now buried). On my many visits to the AMNH, I was always drawn to that exhibit not only because of its vivid detail but because it seemed like a place that I, too, would one day like to see firsthand. One of Akeley’s biggest legacies was persuading Belgium’s King Leopold II to establish the first national park in Africa in 1925--Parc Nationale Albert--around the Kivu volcanoes in what was then the Belgian Congo.2 The protected area now includes Mgahinga National Park, so the mountain gorillas are guaranteed a safe haven, thanks in part to Carl Akeley.
Fast forward to December 31, 2010. As our tour bus made its way up the bumpy dirt road to our drop-off location, I noticed that the land all around the volcanoes (and even partway up the volcanoes) had been developed into farmland. What would Carl think? Even the first part of our journey on foot up the mountain took us through several acres of farmland. However, I quickly discovered that gorilla conservation would be the least of my concerns. I hadn’t prepared myself for the degree of difficulty of the climb. I didn’t bring enough water with me, and I was out before I knew it. I also didn’t plan on altitude exhaustion, which quickly overtook me. The rangers told us that the mountain was 3474 meters high. That didn’t seem like much until I did the conversion later and discovered that it’s almost 11,400 feet!! I consider myself pretty physically fit, and within the first few minutes, I was already at the back of our group, which consisted mostly of young to middle-aged athletic European tourists who probably have scaled taller mountains and are more used to being at a higher altitude than me. I was soon stopping every couple of minutes and came very close to quitting at least a couple of times.
Here is what got me up that mountain:
-The patience and support of my fellow travelers: the six other tourists in my group and the local guides who accompanied us. No one rolled their eyes at me or expressed disgust for my taking longer. They all understood what I was going through, and they told me that we would reach the gorillas together and that I wouldn’t be left behind.
-My desire to see those darn gorillas because I had come all that way and spent a lot of money on a permit (money which came out of a special savings account I have and not from my mission account). A maximum of 8 people are allowed up the mountain each day to see the gorillas, and I was told that several people who had come to the park that day, but who hadn’t booked ahead of time, were turned away. With that in mind, I didn’t want to waste this golden opportunity.
-Prayer. I was physically maxed out and had nothing left in the tank, but I still had a determination to finish what I had started. I began praying to everyone I could think of. Within a few minutes, one of the porters who had joined our group to help carry extra luggage dropped to the back of the group where I was. His name was Simon, and I would later find out he was only 16 years old. Despite the fact that he was wearing a large backpack, he held out his hand to me. I gratefully took it, and we continued walking up the mountain together. As odd as it may sound, the climb was much easier holding his hand, even though he was merely guiding and not actually pulling me up. To make things even better, he spoke and understood Swahili! (Swahili is not commonly spoken in Uganda, especially in the smaller villages like the one where we started our climb) I was able to communicate how I felt to him in a way that he could understand. I told both him and the lead guide that I had been hit with malaria the previous week and was still on the mend (I really don’t think malaria was the difference, but it helped me save face). Talking to Simon also took my mind off the pain and exhaustion I was feeling. Even though Simon wasn’t carrying my bag, he got a nice tip from me at the end.
One of the variables of gorilla tracking is that you never know how long it will take to find the gorillas or where exactly they will be. Some people have spent several hours just getting to the gorillas. Trackers are sent up the mountain early each morning to facilitate finding the gorillas, but that doesn’t making getting to them any easier. Much of the journey was spent going up steep embankments with not much room for a foothold and only vines and thorny brambles to grab onto for support. When we got closer to the gorillas, we began zigzagging up, down, and sideways, all in an effort to stay on their trail. We finally reached the gorillas around 2 hours after we started the hike. I was physically and emotionally spent, but nothing on earth can match the feeling of being less than 15 feet away from a wild animal that knows you are there but allows you to get up close anyway. I had a snapshot and video camera with me, and both were immediately put into action. It was hard for me to keep my hands steady in the beginning to get good shots, not because I was scared but because I had been pulling and grasping at things for the past two hours, and my muscles were already in recharge mode. Eventually, I relaxed and was able to enjoy my time with creatures that seemed like old friends by the end of our allotted hour with them.
I learned a couple of things from this experience. One is that a 500-pound gorilla really does sleep anywhere he wants. The other is that even when I think I’m perfectly capable of doing things myself, I am proven otherwise. Take, for instance, my recent bout with malaria. There is no way I could have gotten through that without help from above and from the people around me. Likewise, I probably would never have made it up that mountain without help from above and the patience and physical assistance of those who were with me. I could easily say that the mountain is an allegory for my life struggles, but I won’t do that. Simply put, it was a physical challenge that I was able to overcome only with the help of those around me. In a like manner, I have learned to become reliant on God and the people He has put in my life to help me through my experience in Africa.
Closing thoughts:
As glad as I am that I went up Mt. Mgahinga to see those gorillas, I would never do it again. For me, it was one of those things you do once and then move on. Plus, things like this usually lose something the second time around, and it definitely would not be worth killing myself again for another go-around.
Although the mountain gorillas are protected for now, they are still threatened by poaching and have been maimed or even killed by traps and snares set for other animals. They are also susceptible to human diseases (remember how close we are), and visitors cannot make the trek if they are ill. Then there is the uncertainty of further land development and even war and civil unrest, especially in the DRC.
I still can’t get over how small the remaining gorilla territory is. These mountains are refuges, but they’re islands of refuge with no way to get off unless it’s through someone’s backyard. Although the gorillas are still free to roam across international borders into Rwanda and the DRC, the gorillas are pretty much stuck on those mountains with very little chance of being able to move somewhere else. The parks in Central Africa have become a safe haven for the mountain gorilla in much the same way that Manhattan was a safe haven for prisoners in the movie Escape from New York.
It appears as though the fate of the gorillas will end in one of three ways: 1) they will make a huge comeback and outgrow their territory, creating an even bigger problem; 2) they will establish a stable population that will allow them to live in equilibrium with their surroundings; 3) they will become extinct from disease, poaching, or further encroachment by humans into their territory. As happy as I was to have had the chance to see live gorillas on their home turf, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelming pessimism afterward. Conservation work is being done at all levels, but there’s still a very real chance that in the future your only chance of seeing a mountain gorilla will be at a place like the American Museum of Natural History. For now, the gorillas have their “living museum” and will hopefully keep it for a long time.
Thank you to my support team!
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
1 Stephen Christopher Quinn, Windows on Nature (New York: Abrams in association with the American Museum of Natural History, 2006), p.15
2 Quinn, p. 27
I have been trying to keep these articles focused on spiritual and cultural discoveries that I have made here, but sometimes I just feel like I need to write about things that interest me and may be meaningful to you, even if they may not outwardly appear to be related to my mission. The truth is, each of these things helps to form and shape me, and who I am as a Missionary.
In keeping with my tradition of trying to do something exciting to distract myself from being away from home during the holidays, I did something that will undoubtedly set the bar high for all future (and God willing, many) New Year’s Eve celebrations. I went to Mgahinga National Park in southwestern Uganda to track the endangered mountain gorilla. This park lies in the Virunga volcano region that spans the countries of Uganda, Rwanda, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. The movie Gorillas in the Mist was filmed in this region back in the late 80s, and that movie was one of my inspirations for visiting. Mountain gorillas were dangerously close to becoming extinct, and with the help of people like Dian Fossey, their numbers are holding steady and even making a resurgence [that I should go on my trek five days after the 25th anniversary of Dian Fossey’s murder can either be chalked up as a freak coincidence or destiny]. Mountain gorillas are one of two subspecies of gorilla, the other being the Western Lowland gorilla, which are the gorillas you find in zoos (mountain gorillas do not live in captivity). Of the 720 remaining mountain gorillas in the world, 380 live on the Virunga volcanoes and the rest of them live nearby in Uganda’s Bwindi Impenetrable National Park.
Another inspiration for my wanting to visit the gorillas was Carl Akeley. Carl Akeley isn’t exactly a household name, but you’re probably familiar with his work. If you have ever been to a Natural History Museum and seen a diorama with animals in it, you can thank Carl Akeley. He revolutionized the art of taxidermy and was the first taxidermist to ever assemble a complete habitat group diorama--a muskrat diorama which can still be seen today at the Milwaukee Public Museum.1 Akeley was also a key player behind the Hall of African Mammals at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. After collecting specimens in Africa in the early 1920s, Akeley discovered that the natural African landscapes he had come to know and love were already being rapidly developed into farmland and encroached upon by civilization. He wanted to do something that would preserve unspoiled Africa for future generations, and that is how he came upon the idea for the Hall of African Mammals. Each diorama depicts a different animal group in a particular region of Africa as that region had appeared before urban or even rural development. In some cases, these places no longer exist as they appear in the dioramas, with exceptions like the Serengeti Plain. One of the dioramas depicts a group of gorillas in the Virunga volcanoes in a specific area that Akeley had visited and loved (and where he is now buried). On my many visits to the AMNH, I was always drawn to that exhibit not only because of its vivid detail but because it seemed like a place that I, too, would one day like to see firsthand. One of Akeley’s biggest legacies was persuading Belgium’s King Leopold II to establish the first national park in Africa in 1925--Parc Nationale Albert--around the Kivu volcanoes in what was then the Belgian Congo.2 The protected area now includes Mgahinga National Park, so the mountain gorillas are guaranteed a safe haven, thanks in part to Carl Akeley.
Fast forward to December 31, 2010. As our tour bus made its way up the bumpy dirt road to our drop-off location, I noticed that the land all around the volcanoes (and even partway up the volcanoes) had been developed into farmland. What would Carl think? Even the first part of our journey on foot up the mountain took us through several acres of farmland. However, I quickly discovered that gorilla conservation would be the least of my concerns. I hadn’t prepared myself for the degree of difficulty of the climb. I didn’t bring enough water with me, and I was out before I knew it. I also didn’t plan on altitude exhaustion, which quickly overtook me. The rangers told us that the mountain was 3474 meters high. That didn’t seem like much until I did the conversion later and discovered that it’s almost 11,400 feet!! I consider myself pretty physically fit, and within the first few minutes, I was already at the back of our group, which consisted mostly of young to middle-aged athletic European tourists who probably have scaled taller mountains and are more used to being at a higher altitude than me. I was soon stopping every couple of minutes and came very close to quitting at least a couple of times.
Here is what got me up that mountain:
-The patience and support of my fellow travelers: the six other tourists in my group and the local guides who accompanied us. No one rolled their eyes at me or expressed disgust for my taking longer. They all understood what I was going through, and they told me that we would reach the gorillas together and that I wouldn’t be left behind.
-My desire to see those darn gorillas because I had come all that way and spent a lot of money on a permit (money which came out of a special savings account I have and not from my mission account). A maximum of 8 people are allowed up the mountain each day to see the gorillas, and I was told that several people who had come to the park that day, but who hadn’t booked ahead of time, were turned away. With that in mind, I didn’t want to waste this golden opportunity.
-Prayer. I was physically maxed out and had nothing left in the tank, but I still had a determination to finish what I had started. I began praying to everyone I could think of. Within a few minutes, one of the porters who had joined our group to help carry extra luggage dropped to the back of the group where I was. His name was Simon, and I would later find out he was only 16 years old. Despite the fact that he was wearing a large backpack, he held out his hand to me. I gratefully took it, and we continued walking up the mountain together. As odd as it may sound, the climb was much easier holding his hand, even though he was merely guiding and not actually pulling me up. To make things even better, he spoke and understood Swahili! (Swahili is not commonly spoken in Uganda, especially in the smaller villages like the one where we started our climb) I was able to communicate how I felt to him in a way that he could understand. I told both him and the lead guide that I had been hit with malaria the previous week and was still on the mend (I really don’t think malaria was the difference, but it helped me save face). Talking to Simon also took my mind off the pain and exhaustion I was feeling. Even though Simon wasn’t carrying my bag, he got a nice tip from me at the end.
One of the variables of gorilla tracking is that you never know how long it will take to find the gorillas or where exactly they will be. Some people have spent several hours just getting to the gorillas. Trackers are sent up the mountain early each morning to facilitate finding the gorillas, but that doesn’t making getting to them any easier. Much of the journey was spent going up steep embankments with not much room for a foothold and only vines and thorny brambles to grab onto for support. When we got closer to the gorillas, we began zigzagging up, down, and sideways, all in an effort to stay on their trail. We finally reached the gorillas around 2 hours after we started the hike. I was physically and emotionally spent, but nothing on earth can match the feeling of being less than 15 feet away from a wild animal that knows you are there but allows you to get up close anyway. I had a snapshot and video camera with me, and both were immediately put into action. It was hard for me to keep my hands steady in the beginning to get good shots, not because I was scared but because I had been pulling and grasping at things for the past two hours, and my muscles were already in recharge mode. Eventually, I relaxed and was able to enjoy my time with creatures that seemed like old friends by the end of our allotted hour with them.
I learned a couple of things from this experience. One is that a 500-pound gorilla really does sleep anywhere he wants. The other is that even when I think I’m perfectly capable of doing things myself, I am proven otherwise. Take, for instance, my recent bout with malaria. There is no way I could have gotten through that without help from above and from the people around me. Likewise, I probably would never have made it up that mountain without help from above and the patience and physical assistance of those who were with me. I could easily say that the mountain is an allegory for my life struggles, but I won’t do that. Simply put, it was a physical challenge that I was able to overcome only with the help of those around me. In a like manner, I have learned to become reliant on God and the people He has put in my life to help me through my experience in Africa.
Closing thoughts:
As glad as I am that I went up Mt. Mgahinga to see those gorillas, I would never do it again. For me, it was one of those things you do once and then move on. Plus, things like this usually lose something the second time around, and it definitely would not be worth killing myself again for another go-around.
Although the mountain gorillas are protected for now, they are still threatened by poaching and have been maimed or even killed by traps and snares set for other animals. They are also susceptible to human diseases (remember how close we are), and visitors cannot make the trek if they are ill. Then there is the uncertainty of further land development and even war and civil unrest, especially in the DRC.
I still can’t get over how small the remaining gorilla territory is. These mountains are refuges, but they’re islands of refuge with no way to get off unless it’s through someone’s backyard. Although the gorillas are still free to roam across international borders into Rwanda and the DRC, the gorillas are pretty much stuck on those mountains with very little chance of being able to move somewhere else. The parks in Central Africa have become a safe haven for the mountain gorilla in much the same way that Manhattan was a safe haven for prisoners in the movie Escape from New York.
It appears as though the fate of the gorillas will end in one of three ways: 1) they will make a huge comeback and outgrow their territory, creating an even bigger problem; 2) they will establish a stable population that will allow them to live in equilibrium with their surroundings; 3) they will become extinct from disease, poaching, or further encroachment by humans into their territory. As happy as I was to have had the chance to see live gorillas on their home turf, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelming pessimism afterward. Conservation work is being done at all levels, but there’s still a very real chance that in the future your only chance of seeing a mountain gorilla will be at a place like the American Museum of Natural History. For now, the gorillas have their “living museum” and will hopefully keep it for a long time.
Thank you to my support team!
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
1 Stephen Christopher Quinn, Windows on Nature (New York: Abrams in association with the American Museum of Natural History, 2006), p.15
2 Quinn, p. 27
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Christmas Unplugged: An update from Missionary Michael Pagedas
As I thought about what I would write for my Christmas blog, I kept thinking of things I wanted to address, like being away from home (and overseas no less), being away from the Christmas commercialism that I’ve come to expect, and even focusing on how people in Tanzania celebrate Christmas. At no point did I ever consider parasitic disease as a discussion topic, but that is exactly how I’ll be starting this entry.
On December 21, at around 10PM or so, I noticed that my muscles and joints really started to ache. I had noticed a similar sensation several days before during dinner, but the pain was minimal and went away soon after. This time, I felt like I was coming down with the flu--a bad flu. I went to bed and when I woke up at around 2AM, I felt horrible. The aches were still there, plus I had a fever and chills. I couldn’t stop convulsing until I put extra clothes on, but that did little to stop the other ailments. I immediately thought malaria, but I wasn’t 100% positive and didn’t want to jump to that conclusion without knowing for sure. I had felt similar symptoms in the states, and those could usually be dismissed simply as the flu. I also learned at the travel clinic back home that it is still very possible to get the flu here in the tropics, even though we only think of the flu existing in cold weather climates. When I woke up again in the morning, I felt well enough to get out of bed but still a little iffy about what was bothering me. Later that morning, I was bed-ridden again. I attempted to get up and move around in the early afternoon, but I was very wobbly and becoming somewhat delirious. That was all Felice and Katie needed to send me to the lab to be tested for malaria. I somehow managed to get into a cab with Felice and our interpreter and down the short, bumpy road to the lab without incident. The clinic was a a small building close to the main hospital in Bukoba. We walked into a small room with a desk and some chairs lined up against the wall. On the desk were a jar of cotton balls, a container of wrapped lancets, and another container for their disposal. I remember being relieved at seeing the lancets individually sealed in paper wrappers, indicating that they were most likely sterile, but in my condition, they could have had a jar of rusty nails, and I probably wouldn’t have objected. The technician stuck my finger, did a blood smear on a glass side, and then went into a side room to do the analysis. About 10 minutes later, which seemed like 20, she came out and delivered the news: I really did have malaria. On one hand, I was relieved that it was something easily identifiable and could be treated, but I also felt like I had been betrayed by a close friend. I had done all I could to prevent getting malaria (a daily doxycycline pill, burning a mosquito coil next to my bed every night, and using a mosquito net) but it didn’t matter. I still had malaria, and Africa didn’t care. Over the days since I have both contracted the disease and been treated for malaria, I have been putting a lot of thought into this and have come up with the following philosophical perspectives:
I am OK, and the world will go on.
Malaria is a serious disease and can be fatal, but most everyone here regards it like we would the common cold. That’s not to say that there is a nonchalance about it, but the fact that it is so commonplace, in addition to advancements in modern medicine, make malaria one of those “it’s just part of life in Africa” things, for better or worse. Millions of people have had the disease before me and millions more will get it from this point on, unless someone stumbles across a cure before then. By the way, there is no known panacea for malaria prevention. There are simply ways of managing it once you get it. The ways of managing it are so advanced now that many people no longer find it necessary to take prophylactic medications for malaria. It’s actually easier to be treated for malaria once you get it than it is to prevent getting it! This opens up an obvious point of debate within the medical community. I have been told by both a medical anthropologist and a local pharmacist with reputable training that drugs like the doxycycline I am taking daily to prevent malaria don’t work, especially over the long-term, and that it’s better not to take anything at all and then be treated for malaria once it hits. I now believe the first part of that to be true, but I’m not sure about the mentality of giving up completely on trying to prevent getting malaria. To be continued.
I have been given a firsthand insight into what life is really like here.
We all know that malaria is a huge problem in Africa, but I’m sure that only a few of you reading this know exactly what it’s like to have malaria. Given my reasons for coming here, this may have been a boon for the rest of my term. I got to experience firsthand one of the health issues I will be dealing with in my ministry. It’s easy for someone to come in and say, “Malaria is bad. Here is how to protect yourself,” having no idea what it’s like for those who have had the disease. However, I now consider myself more of a respectable authority on malaria because I’ve been through it. To take another angle--and I apologize if this is an affront to anyone who has ever been deathly ill from or lost a loved one from malaria--I kind of feel like malaria is a rite of passage for living in Africa. I’m now a member of the club. Welcome to Africa. I have often read stories of 19th century explorers traveling through the heart of Africa and contracting diseases like malaria. I can now understand what they felt and can only begin to wonder what it must have been like to be in a time when medicine wasn’t the same and it was more difficult to be evacuated in an emergency. Furthermore, I am amazed at their willingness to keep going under the circumstances! To look at this more spiritually, maybe I needed to suffer with those I am serving to really become a part of who they are. Just as God was able to participate in human life through Christ, I feel like I have been able to participate in African life through this illness. A recent daily scripture reading, which relates to God taking the form of man in order to deal directly with temptation, sin, and death, was perfectly (even frighteningly) well-timed: ”Therefore in all things He had to be made like His brethren...” --Hebrews 2:17
I hope I never get malaria again, but even if I do, I’ll know that it can be treated very effectively.
I have been prescribed two relatively new drugs on the market: Artefan and Artequin. Both are extremely effective at fighting malaria and can even reach the parasites where other medications may not be able to, like the liver. The pharmacies I have used for all of my prescriptions carry medications made from reputable sources in countries like India and Switzerland, so there is little reason to worry about the efficacy of the medications I am taking. It may be difficult to prevent malaria over the long haul, but it’s nice to know that modern medicine is keeping pace with the disease.
------------------------------------------------------
I was worried about the weeks leading up to Christmas because I didn’t know how I would be emotionally. I have always been with family on Christmas, even when not at home, so this would be new territory for me. There were two things working in my favor. One was that we arrived in Africa in early July. Had we arrived only a month or two ago, the pending holidays may have been more difficult to get through. The other advantage was the “lack” of holiday spirit in Bukoba. I have become used to Christmas seasons that now begin as early as Halloween. To not have that around put me through somewhat of a withdrawal, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. I felt kind of relieved to not be subject to the onslaught of Christmas ads on TV and Holiday Music 24/7 on the radio. A local restaurant we frequent played Christmas songs (unfortunately, most of them were sung by Jim Reeves), but there wasn’t much else in the way of lights and decorations until Christmas was on our doorstep. That led me to make the following realization: Bukoba is what Whoville would have been like even if the Grinch had not returned the presents at the end. People really got into the spirit when it counted and didn’t need to exchange a lot of material items to officially make it Christmas. What an amazing concept!! Is this how most of the world celebrates Christmas? Could this have been how the early Christians celebrated? At our home parish, it was business as usual. The only difference was that on Christmas morning, the church yard was decorated with balloons. Yet, the mood during the liturgy was definitely a lot more festive. There really was a sense that it was Christmas, even though it wasn’t the Christmas I was used to. Maybe Dr. Seuss was right when he said that “Christmas doesn’t come from a store.” I went from feeling like I was cheated out of a homestyle Christmas to being grateful for the opportunity to experience Christmas in a different part of the world and stripped down of the excesses. Christ really was put back in Christmas.
And to think that I get to do this again next year!
------------------------------------------------
I enjoyed getting so many responses from my previous blog. Thanks for the positive feedback. I am always open to questions and comments, and I will do my best to answer every message I get.
Thank you to my support team! Wishing you all a Safe and Peaceful 2011!
Furaha na amani,
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
On December 21, at around 10PM or so, I noticed that my muscles and joints really started to ache. I had noticed a similar sensation several days before during dinner, but the pain was minimal and went away soon after. This time, I felt like I was coming down with the flu--a bad flu. I went to bed and when I woke up at around 2AM, I felt horrible. The aches were still there, plus I had a fever and chills. I couldn’t stop convulsing until I put extra clothes on, but that did little to stop the other ailments. I immediately thought malaria, but I wasn’t 100% positive and didn’t want to jump to that conclusion without knowing for sure. I had felt similar symptoms in the states, and those could usually be dismissed simply as the flu. I also learned at the travel clinic back home that it is still very possible to get the flu here in the tropics, even though we only think of the flu existing in cold weather climates. When I woke up again in the morning, I felt well enough to get out of bed but still a little iffy about what was bothering me. Later that morning, I was bed-ridden again. I attempted to get up and move around in the early afternoon, but I was very wobbly and becoming somewhat delirious. That was all Felice and Katie needed to send me to the lab to be tested for malaria. I somehow managed to get into a cab with Felice and our interpreter and down the short, bumpy road to the lab without incident. The clinic was a a small building close to the main hospital in Bukoba. We walked into a small room with a desk and some chairs lined up against the wall. On the desk were a jar of cotton balls, a container of wrapped lancets, and another container for their disposal. I remember being relieved at seeing the lancets individually sealed in paper wrappers, indicating that they were most likely sterile, but in my condition, they could have had a jar of rusty nails, and I probably wouldn’t have objected. The technician stuck my finger, did a blood smear on a glass side, and then went into a side room to do the analysis. About 10 minutes later, which seemed like 20, she came out and delivered the news: I really did have malaria. On one hand, I was relieved that it was something easily identifiable and could be treated, but I also felt like I had been betrayed by a close friend. I had done all I could to prevent getting malaria (a daily doxycycline pill, burning a mosquito coil next to my bed every night, and using a mosquito net) but it didn’t matter. I still had malaria, and Africa didn’t care. Over the days since I have both contracted the disease and been treated for malaria, I have been putting a lot of thought into this and have come up with the following philosophical perspectives:
I am OK, and the world will go on.
Malaria is a serious disease and can be fatal, but most everyone here regards it like we would the common cold. That’s not to say that there is a nonchalance about it, but the fact that it is so commonplace, in addition to advancements in modern medicine, make malaria one of those “it’s just part of life in Africa” things, for better or worse. Millions of people have had the disease before me and millions more will get it from this point on, unless someone stumbles across a cure before then. By the way, there is no known panacea for malaria prevention. There are simply ways of managing it once you get it. The ways of managing it are so advanced now that many people no longer find it necessary to take prophylactic medications for malaria. It’s actually easier to be treated for malaria once you get it than it is to prevent getting it! This opens up an obvious point of debate within the medical community. I have been told by both a medical anthropologist and a local pharmacist with reputable training that drugs like the doxycycline I am taking daily to prevent malaria don’t work, especially over the long-term, and that it’s better not to take anything at all and then be treated for malaria once it hits. I now believe the first part of that to be true, but I’m not sure about the mentality of giving up completely on trying to prevent getting malaria. To be continued.
I have been given a firsthand insight into what life is really like here.
We all know that malaria is a huge problem in Africa, but I’m sure that only a few of you reading this know exactly what it’s like to have malaria. Given my reasons for coming here, this may have been a boon for the rest of my term. I got to experience firsthand one of the health issues I will be dealing with in my ministry. It’s easy for someone to come in and say, “Malaria is bad. Here is how to protect yourself,” having no idea what it’s like for those who have had the disease. However, I now consider myself more of a respectable authority on malaria because I’ve been through it. To take another angle--and I apologize if this is an affront to anyone who has ever been deathly ill from or lost a loved one from malaria--I kind of feel like malaria is a rite of passage for living in Africa. I’m now a member of the club. Welcome to Africa. I have often read stories of 19th century explorers traveling through the heart of Africa and contracting diseases like malaria. I can now understand what they felt and can only begin to wonder what it must have been like to be in a time when medicine wasn’t the same and it was more difficult to be evacuated in an emergency. Furthermore, I am amazed at their willingness to keep going under the circumstances! To look at this more spiritually, maybe I needed to suffer with those I am serving to really become a part of who they are. Just as God was able to participate in human life through Christ, I feel like I have been able to participate in African life through this illness. A recent daily scripture reading, which relates to God taking the form of man in order to deal directly with temptation, sin, and death, was perfectly (even frighteningly) well-timed: ”Therefore in all things He had to be made like His brethren...” --Hebrews 2:17
I hope I never get malaria again, but even if I do, I’ll know that it can be treated very effectively.
I have been prescribed two relatively new drugs on the market: Artefan and Artequin. Both are extremely effective at fighting malaria and can even reach the parasites where other medications may not be able to, like the liver. The pharmacies I have used for all of my prescriptions carry medications made from reputable sources in countries like India and Switzerland, so there is little reason to worry about the efficacy of the medications I am taking. It may be difficult to prevent malaria over the long haul, but it’s nice to know that modern medicine is keeping pace with the disease.
------------------------------------------------------
I was worried about the weeks leading up to Christmas because I didn’t know how I would be emotionally. I have always been with family on Christmas, even when not at home, so this would be new territory for me. There were two things working in my favor. One was that we arrived in Africa in early July. Had we arrived only a month or two ago, the pending holidays may have been more difficult to get through. The other advantage was the “lack” of holiday spirit in Bukoba. I have become used to Christmas seasons that now begin as early as Halloween. To not have that around put me through somewhat of a withdrawal, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. I felt kind of relieved to not be subject to the onslaught of Christmas ads on TV and Holiday Music 24/7 on the radio. A local restaurant we frequent played Christmas songs (unfortunately, most of them were sung by Jim Reeves), but there wasn’t much else in the way of lights and decorations until Christmas was on our doorstep. That led me to make the following realization: Bukoba is what Whoville would have been like even if the Grinch had not returned the presents at the end. People really got into the spirit when it counted and didn’t need to exchange a lot of material items to officially make it Christmas. What an amazing concept!! Is this how most of the world celebrates Christmas? Could this have been how the early Christians celebrated? At our home parish, it was business as usual. The only difference was that on Christmas morning, the church yard was decorated with balloons. Yet, the mood during the liturgy was definitely a lot more festive. There really was a sense that it was Christmas, even though it wasn’t the Christmas I was used to. Maybe Dr. Seuss was right when he said that “Christmas doesn’t come from a store.” I went from feeling like I was cheated out of a homestyle Christmas to being grateful for the opportunity to experience Christmas in a different part of the world and stripped down of the excesses. Christ really was put back in Christmas.
And to think that I get to do this again next year!
------------------------------------------------
I enjoyed getting so many responses from my previous blog. Thanks for the positive feedback. I am always open to questions and comments, and I will do my best to answer every message I get.
Thank you to my support team! Wishing you all a Safe and Peaceful 2011!
Furaha na amani,
Michael
m.pagedas@ocmc.org
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Pulling the Trigger: An Update from Missionary Candidate Michael Pagedas
The long-awaited departure for Tanzania has become a reality. While no official departure date has been set, there is a feeling that deployment could very well occur by early to mid July. I am mostly excited but also apprehensive about the endless list of things I have to do before then.
In the beginning of May, I went to Pre-Field Training (PFT) at the new OCMC administration and training facility in St. Augustine, Florida. I attended the training with Katie Wilcoxson and Felice Stewart, two of the other members of Team Tanzania. We had a very busy but enjoyable and spiritually fulfilling week. We discussed last-minute preparations for our departure, and the week culminated with an introduction to our language training. OCMC is in the process of instituting a new method of language training that deviates from the more traditional language school setting. It is called the Growing Participator Approach, and it focuses on immersion with native speakers. GPA takes somewhat of a similar approach to Rosetta Stone (where you learn a new language as a baby or a young child would), but GPA places more of an emphasis on shared experiences, interpersonal relationships, and shared culture. This will not only help us to get a better grasp of Swahili, but it will also help us assimilate into everyday Tanzanian life. I’ll report on my progress and give you a better explanation of GPA as I experience it firsthand.
For anyone who will be in the Milwaukee area this weekend, I will have my Commissioning Service on Sunday, June 6. It will be conducted at the conclusion of Divine Liturgy at Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church in Milwaukee. Orthros begins at 8AM and Liturgy at 9AM. This service will be especially meaningful because Fr. David Rucker will be coming up from St. Augustine to participate. I’ll post video and pictures when they become available.
Peace,
Michael
In the beginning of May, I went to Pre-Field Training (PFT) at the new OCMC administration and training facility in St. Augustine, Florida. I attended the training with Katie Wilcoxson and Felice Stewart, two of the other members of Team Tanzania. We had a very busy but enjoyable and spiritually fulfilling week. We discussed last-minute preparations for our departure, and the week culminated with an introduction to our language training. OCMC is in the process of instituting a new method of language training that deviates from the more traditional language school setting. It is called the Growing Participator Approach, and it focuses on immersion with native speakers. GPA takes somewhat of a similar approach to Rosetta Stone (where you learn a new language as a baby or a young child would), but GPA places more of an emphasis on shared experiences, interpersonal relationships, and shared culture. This will not only help us to get a better grasp of Swahili, but it will also help us assimilate into everyday Tanzanian life. I’ll report on my progress and give you a better explanation of GPA as I experience it firsthand.
For anyone who will be in the Milwaukee area this weekend, I will have my Commissioning Service on Sunday, June 6. It will be conducted at the conclusion of Divine Liturgy at Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church in Milwaukee. Orthros begins at 8AM and Liturgy at 9AM. This service will be especially meaningful because Fr. David Rucker will be coming up from St. Augustine to participate. I’ll post video and pictures when they become available.
Peace,
Michael
Friday, October 2, 2009
Hear an interview with OCMC Missionary Candidate Michael Pagedas on OCN!
This week on the Orthodox Christian Network (OCN) program "Come Receive the Light," Missionary Candidate Michael Pagedas is interviewed about his Mission Team trip to Tanzania. Listen and learn more about the experiences that have inspired Mr. Pagedas to become a Missionary Candidate. You can find this episode of "Come Receive the Light" at http://www.myocn.net/index.php/200910021960/Come-Receive-the-Light/Visit-to-Tanzania.html. The interview with Mr. Pagedas begins around the 10th minute of the show.
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