No Day 3

01:00 am:

Incomprehensible shouting coming from just outside my window.  Probably the local tongue, Lamba. Loud enough to wake me up, terrifies me.  Who is that?

01:01 am:

A crowd of voices joins in.  Celebratory?  Angry?  Ready to Fight? Right?

Awake at 1 am: just wrong.

The best that I can come up with is that there’s an angry mob of villagers in the middle of our soccer field and they’re out to seek revenge by attacking everyone that’s asleep.

Our guard dogs Dozer and Blazer make noises, as if to agree with me and let me know they’re ready to attack anyone who steps foot into our compound.

Best to just stay in bed.  If someone’s out to kill me, I’d rather be well rested for it.

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8:00 am: 

Frances and I wake up for our morning run.  We discuss what happened last night, ‘Good, I wasn’t dreaming!’  We wonder if it’s safe for a run.

Let’s ask Dr. Google.

We can’t find anything on Google about the results of the election.   So we try to reason it out in our heads.  “If the opposition party wins, the copperbelt will be happy, so we can go to the market again, but people in the village might not be happy because they didn’t vote like the copperbelt wanted them too…

Who won?  Is it safe to go out?

Should we just go back to bed?

So we ran, but we mixed it up a bit with push-ups (is it possible to be so weak that you can’t do a single push-up?  Because I think we both fell into that category)

The nice thing was we found a place to do push-ups where no one could watch us so they wouldn’t know how pathetic we were.

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9:30 am:

After showering and eating a hearty breakfast of fried egg and toast, we make lunch and get ready to leave for work.

We toast our bread that comes out of the refrigerator (To keep it fresh longer) because we don’t like cold bread.  We decide to skip coffee because the instant stuff just isn’t that good.

As we finish getting ready, our supervisor knocks at the door.  She has been in touch with the director at the hospital and learned that the doctor who comes in to do the ART clinic (Anti-retroviral therapy) cannot make it in due to too much celebration in the streets.

I only wish we could get away with that excuse in America.

We learn that last night, the election results were announced just after 12 am.

What kind of country announces their president at midnight?

Her husband heard all the commotion outside too and loaded up some of his guns and took them outside, thinking that the Village Drunks were up to no good.  I’m thankful to know we are not only being protected by our Lord but also by a man with a pistol.

But he finds out it isn’t the Village Drunks yelling, it’s the Village Christians.

Cheering for the announced victory of Sata, the opposition leader who is pro-working class citizens.

Today was supposed to be ART, or anti-retroviral therapy day. At the clinic, but since the doctor who runs that part of the clinic can’t make it in, and we were going to be working with him today, we got the day off.  

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 11:00am

We went on an adventure to see the river.  Henry came with us I think to protect us.  They think we’re made out of glass here.

[river pictures]

But Henry is good for telling us more about the culture.  Here, people burn parts of the forest to make the rats run out so they can eat them.  If they have to burn a corn field they pick it all first.  But sometimes they don't get it all.  And they don't eat it once it's burnt.

[burnt corn] 

We made our own path for a while, but then we eventually followed someone else’s path and then we got back on the road and walked to the same river we found on Monday.

We found a beautiful grove of trees by that river.  It was so pretty.  The picture doesn't capture the peacefulness of the spot, but it was beautiful!

[trees]

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We came home to eat and I took a nap because I didn’t want to work on my project anymore and I didn’t have any books to read because I finished them already.  Frances ended up taking a nap too.

I guess that’s what people do without the internet (during the day) and TV.

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Frances and I have all sorts of funny conversations.  Usually, they’re one of those things that are funnier in person, but sometimes I write them down and read them again, and think they’re funny the second time, so I decided to post some.

“It’s 4 pm, can we go walking?  If not I might eat again.”

So we started another walk. This time we walked towards town. Henry came with us again.

[walkers]

We found a store. 

And saw a pretty sunset on the way home.

[if you're a nerd like me you think this tree looks like a kidney with ureters]

[this is me with the sign for the mission where we stay, Kafulafuta]

But then it was going to get dark and we decided to come in so we didn’t get eaten alive by mosquitoes.  And we were legitimately getting hungry again.  So we came in to eat leftovers, which were made possible by our refrigerator and microwave.  We don’t take these things for granted anymore.

Since the internet wasn’t working at 6 pm (when it usually starts to work) we took showers.  I seriously considered going to bed at 6:45, but then the internet started working again.  Thankfully.  

Day 2: Ante-Natal Clinic (ANC) ... and more election prayers!

[Zambian flag in the Sunset]

Still no official count as to who won the election.  We’ve been told that a police officer has been killed in Ndola, the airport about 30 minutes from here that we flew into.  I hope people don’t start rioting.

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*** Updated after I wrote the above: There have been at least 6 cars burned in Ndola and one burned in Luanshya (Lew-wants-ya) the town closest to us.  People in our region (the copperbelt) want Sata to win, but people in our village didn’t vote for him, so the opposition party is really mad at the people in our village.  They’re not letting anyone from our village go past Luanshya.  We’re staying away from it, but the grocery store, the mail, etc. are all in Luanshya.  I hope we don’t run out of food… 

But, really, pray for the people of our village.  They should have the right to vote without fear of consequences!***

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We’re sitting here in the dark because the power is out.  It’s the first time the power has been out since we got here, but I’m feeling princessy about it.  It’s hot.  Our food might spoil.  My laptop will eventually run out of batteries.  Really, I should just be thankful that this is the first time it’s been out.

Today we had ante-natal clinic in the morning.  We met a woman that was 14 weeks pregnant who came with her husband to establish pre-natal care.  We watched as they got counseled on different topics such as basic preparation, malaria, breastfeeding, and HIV.  Then we watched them get HIV tested.

Here, they do a lot of patient education, Sweet!! We watched the lab technician counsel them on the way to read an HIV test (rapid- point of care test, similar to our rapid-strep tests).  Then she assigned them a testing strip and let them watch as she ran it.  Then she let them read it so they knew that it was their test result.  We don’t usually let people in America read their test results, but I’ve not worked at an HIV clinic, so I don’t know if they do.

It’s shocking how wonderfully different healthcare is here than in America.   Women, usually with children strapped to their backs, tied on with cloth, walk over 6 miles to get to the clinic.  We never start on time, because this is Africa, but no one complains.  They all bring their health records, books or under-5 cards, every time.  They seem very aware of what is going on and are genuinely thankful for the care they receive. 

No one complains. 

No one ignores your teaching and advice, only to return one month later and ask for your advice again. 

No one makes excuses about not having transportation.  

It’s so refreshing!

People take the medication you give them and they are thankful for it.  The people here have so much less, but are so much more thankful for it.

We watched at the “dispensary” at the clinic the way they handed out medication.  They described how to take the medicine.  The nurse handing out the medicine touched it all, which wasn’t the best, but they had been washing hands and wearing gloves to touch everything. 

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On a slightly funnier note, Frances and I have started running again.  It’s like we have our own personal cheerleaders though.  Lots of precious little kiddos that wave and smile at us when we run.  I can’t imagine what they think of us….

And I kinda can’t wait to go running again!

1st Day of Work = Children's Clinic Day! (and election update)

Today had the potential of being a very good day or a very bad day.  Either way, after waking up this morning I had a feeling that this day was going to define the next month of my life.  Would work be fun?  Would we be safe at the clinic?  Who won the election?  Would there be political turmoil?

It started out badly. 

In so many ways.

I don’t know if you’ve ever tried mixed fruit yogurt.  That’s what we have here.  It’s decently tasty I suppose.  But Frances had the brilliant idea of topping the yogurt with corn flakes.  I thought I’d mix them in.  But all they did was get soggy and taste like they were mixed with bad milk. 

Lesson learned.

We took our 500ml water bottles that were half frozen and half water down to the clinic with us.  Our supervisor gave us another (bigger) frozen water bottle to take so we could re-fill our bottles.  But they stayed mostly frozen all day despite the heat. (it’s in the upper 90s during the day here)  Our big water bottle never melted.  And we never had to pee. 

Which means we didn’t have to use the squatty “toilets.”

Which is nice, but also probably means that we were dehydrated. 

Not ideal.

We arrived at Mushili Health Center and were greeted by the lab technician, who introduced us to the CHT: Community Health Technician, the man who runs the under 5 children’s clinic.  We were going to work with him today for and help him with the children’s clinic.

We entered a packed room with children strapped to the backs of their mothers, quiet and peaceful except that it was hot.

Each child had a health card, similar to vaccination cards mothers in the United States carry around from doctor’s visit to doctor’s visit when their children get vaccinated.  Their health records were stacked on the table in order of arrival. 

Frances and I sat at the front of the room and were scrutinized by the mothers and the children sitting there.  Precious children!!

The CHT was working on getting the vaccinations ready, so he told us we could go and work with the nurse practitioner (NP) on the other side of the clinic and he would come get us when he was ready.

We walked into her office as she was finishing with a patient.  She had another worker bring chairs for us to sit on, even though we insisted that we could stand.  In America we rarely have the option to sit as students.  But she stopped seeing patients until we got chairs. 

We saw the NP finish with a patient, talking mostly in one of the local languages that we did not understand.  She rubbed the child’s belly, opened its hand, and looked at the eyes.  She recommended water mixed with 2 tsp sugar and ½ tsp salt.  Then she sat down and wrote in the record book, handed the book to the mother, and they left.  When the next patient walked in, she looked at us and said, “See the patient.” 

Ok. 

Um. 

I looked at Frances.  The mother did not speak English at all.  We were given no instructions. 

Frances, the brave one, examined the child and asked the NP some questions as I stood there dumbfounded.  The NP appeared put-out when Frances asked her to ask the mother questions.  What are the child’s symptoms?  Any vomiting?  Bloody Diarrhea?  Fever?

Then Frances told the NP what she thought was wrong and what to do.  But the nurse handed her the medical record (everyone here carries around their own composition book and hands it to the doctor/ NP to write in) and said “Fill it out.”

Um.  How?

Maybe you should teach us first?? 

Frances and I are educated.  If we were in America we could write up a patient with no problems.  It would change a bit depending on the style of the clinic, but we would feel decently comfortable writing a note. 

However, this is Africa.  We don’t write in composition books.  We don’t know the required elements of the exam.  There’s not space to write it all!  We don’t know what we’re doing here! 

A little direction might help…this might just be a long day…

Frances wrote a basic note after glancing at the other notes in the composition book.  Thankfully, our Community Health Technician that we were working with came in to save the day!  He pulled us into the children’s clinic!

Did I mention how much I LOVE African children?!

I got to hold them (briefly) while we put them on the scale to weigh them.  Well, it is more like we tied them into slings made of cloth like we were shipping them in a stork’s beak and hung them from a UNICEF labeled scale. 

It made me wish a stork would bring me a little child in its beak!

I mean, not really. 

Not yet.

We weighed all the children.  Each month they come in for a visit and get weighed to monitor their growth.  If they don’t grow, the CHT talks with the mother about why and educates her.   Sweet! 

The children’s health cards had a place to record their vaccinations.  They get OPV, which is Oral Polio Vaccine, at birth.  They also get BCG, to protect against TB.  We don’t give either of these vaccines in America.  The children also get OPV again at 6 weeks, 10 weeks, and 14 weeks.  They get a combination of TDP (tetanus, diphtheria, and pertussis) and Hep B and Hib all in one vaccine following the above vaccine schedule.  We give all those in the United States, but they’re in separate shots.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe they’re testing it out here first.

The health cards also have a place to record growth similar to American children’s growth charts.  And a place to record number of de-wormings the children get, unlike anything we have in America.

The kids were SO well behaved and SO cute!  I loved doing children’s clinic today!!

Apparently we get to do Children’s Clinics on Mondays too, only we get to travel around to remote villages and help people who have no access to the clinic in town!

My. 

Dream. 

Come. 

True!!

During lunch I saw a tornado and yelled to Frances to look!  It was picking up sticks and dust.  Oh!  But Frances looked around and no one else was very affected by it, so she didn’t get excited either.  Lame.

We also met a man named Gift who is going to be a missionary in Malawi.  He was very passionate about Jesus.

Back at the compound we went on a walk with some of the missionary students and we watched some children play soccer.  I worked on my ZSL (which we learned is 94% similar to ASL because we met some missionaries who work at a deaf orphanage in Luanshya (Lew-wants-ya) and they told us how similar it was.  They also invited us to come hang out with their kids sometime, which we’re stoked about!!)

We had some leftovers for dinner.  We saved them in our fridge and heated them up in our microwave.  Neither of which I thought we’d have.  Crazy.

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Frances and I feel like celebrities.  Everywhere we go people stare at us and wave to us.  So cute!

The votes haven’t been counted in the election yet.  People get their thumb painted black so they can’t vote twice. 

High tech. 

We’ve gotten about 8 different emails from the US State Department and International SOS about staying out of sight.  The opposition party (Sata, the man who isn’t in office) has already threatened to put up road blocks and stop and plunder cars on the road in their main region, the copperbelt (where we are).  We’re not too worried about it, but I’m praying we stay safe and out of the way, especially since we stick out and we usually travel in a car.  But we’re off the main paved roads, so we should be ok. 

Please continue praying for the country.

And our safety.

Thank you!

20 September: Voting Day in Zambia

Tuesday 20^th of September, Zambia, Africa.

Voting day in Zambia. Not the most politically torn country, but we still received a slew of travel emails warning us to stay away from public areas, mostly big cities and places to vote. 

One of which happened to be right outside our door.

This election is more controversial than normal.  Banda, the man in office now, of the MDD party was placed in office three years ago in a quick election after a death.  Sata, of the PF party, who only lost by 2% three years ago is running against him again and there have been protests and small acts of violence. 

No reason we should be unsafe, but enough reason for our supervisor, also an American, to suggest we all “keep a low profile” today.  Meaning mostly locked in the compound.  Not going to the clinic.  Or market.  But walking around the football (soccer) field would be safe enough.

We slept in till 8:30 because we had no plans for the day.  We made coffee and a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, tomatoes, cheese, and onions.

[eggs straight from the chicken]

We both sat on separate couches with our books, which we finished.  I might just have to work on my project now. One Day.  Would I recommend it?  It was a good read, hated the ending.  If you read it, I’ll promise to tell you why I hated it. It kept me entertained though.

We walked around the compound a bit.  And then around the schools with Mafutu, who only spoke sign language and white reed rubbed on his black arm to make words.  It was quite entertaining but we learned the word for wash, and how.  And wonderful.

We saw a lot of men in suits and red and white tape that marked the place to vote.  And some police-looking men. 

Which meant it was time to go back home.

We promptly learned the word for home in sign language and returned there.

We wrote blogs for a bit and then got bored and played balderdash.  Together.  Not too exciting.  But we did learn some funny new words.

Around 2 we met up with Paul and Mufatu under the hut they call the “waiting station” because people wait there for a ride when the missionaries go to town in their cars.  We learned lots of new things.  We reviewed the alphabet and numbers, both of which we both mostly knew.   We learned higher numbers like thousand and million and billion.  We learned days of the week, which we both promptly (accidentally) forgot.  We learned how are you, what is your name, I am fine, my name is, and our names in sign language.  Which is pretty legit. 

We learned fast.

And, like good students, we reviewed later after learning it.

We were on our own for dinner tonight.  We were given chicken and ground beef and we had our tomatoes and onions from earlier.  We had some cheese.  Some Bread.  Some butter. 

Top it off with chips and an apple.  Sounds good.

Frances made the hamburger patties while I grabbed my plug converters.  Everything I brought from American can work on 120V and 220V, so I’ve never had to use the converter box thing.

And I don’t really understand amps and watts anyway.

[Frances making hamburger patties]

I washed the George Forman and plugged it in.  Frances seasoned the beef with our Texas Seasoning, provided for us.  They must have known we were coming!

[Texas Seasoning picture]

The George Forman started smoking a bit, but It must have been because I just washed it, right? 

So we threw the meat on the grill.  We didn’t have Pam to spray it down with, which is ok because it appeared to be non-stick.

The meat started to sizzle and the smoking of the grill got worse.  No problem, We’ll just open some of the windows and the doors and hope the fire alarms don’t disturb our neighbors.

No fire alarms.  Oh.  No problem with noise then.

So we got towels and started waving the smoke. 

[waving away the smoke picture]

Because we were hungry.  

And the meat was almost cooked.

We pulled the meat off the grill and decided to unplug it and let it rest before we started cooking the chicken.  Just to be safe. 

We also decided to plug the grill into the 120V outlet by the kitchen table because that might be safer. 

Or something.

[Frances on the floor with the grill]

Our chicken cooked without a problem.  No smoke.  Hmmmm….maybe the grill isn’t made for 220V…

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But don’t worry that we’re getting too spoiled over here.   Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean a George Forman grill when you didn’t have any Pam to spray on it before you used it??

Insights and Inabilities

[picture of the river where they baptize people]

I’m not sure where to start to describe life here.  Should I give you details? An amusing story?  What if I throw an array of pictures at you?

[toms in the dirt with a child’s footprint]

I was going to put some cheesy comment like “I wear my TOMS while practicing medicine in Africa so less footprints will look like this” but I figured you, my blog followers, wouldn’t really think that was cute.

........................................................................................................................... 

There’s this juxtaposition in my life.  Between the medicine that I know, and what I can practically use here.  Between the skills I have, and the limited resources there are to carry out those skills. 

Improvisation only goes so far.

[George Forman grill]

The juxtaposition of the family sized George Forman grill in the kitchen, and the hut next door that is smaller than the living room of our guest house.  Of the yucky pear I picked up this morning for breakfast, and made myself eat all of because, after all, “there are starving children in Africa,” and for now, they could be right outside my door.  (I feel, at times, like a princess here in our guest house.  I can’t stand it, but at the same time it’s comforting to have a microwave and a refrigerator.  My head has no idea how to make the two sides meet: comfort and compassion.)

 What are you supposed to think when you walk by people who are washing their clothes in a bucket, then laying them out to dry when you’re living in a “palace” next door with a washing machine??  I wonder what they think of this place. 

[hut]

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Monday, 19^th of September, 7 am, Zambia, Africa.

It’s bright outside.  The light that streams through my large, curtained window tells me it’s time to get up and get ready for the day.

That and the constant beep from my alarm clock.

After brushing my teeth, being careful not to use the tap water that’s from a deep well on the property because it just might not be clean enough, and not nearly as clean as our boiled and then filtered water, I got dressed and grabbed my Bible.  I made instant coffee.

Isn’t there supposed to be amazing coffee in Africa?  All I’ve ever had here is instant.  One day I’ll work on changing that.

We read and then read some more.  We had no idea what our agenda for the day was supposed to be.  We were waiting for our supervisor to come get us.

She came around 9am, we decided to go into town, take our supplies to the clinic, and then return for a hike.  We were joined by Henry, our supervisor’s “son”/assistant/ Bible student.

And guy from the mission doing temporary night watchman/ fixit/ work who had just cut his hand open on a machine.  It was continuing to bleed profusely after applying constant pressure, and we just happened to bring suture material with us.  We didn’t have any gloves or needle drivers, so we decided to go down to the clinic to sew him up.

So, we drove the 10 kilometers from the mission to Mushili Health Center in a rustic (the most descriptive and polite word I could have used to describe) red truck.  Some of the guys were in the bed of the truck with my luggage that held all of our supplies.

We arrived at the clinic and were introduced.

We talked about our schedule in English, but it wasn’t really American English, so we had trouble keeping up.  “You’re ok with 09 hours?” Was the question.  “Well, sure, that’s not a bad shift,” we replied.  “Ok, and Thursday we are 10 hours.”  Again, not bad we thought.  “And we usually finish around 16 hours every day, depending on patients.  Some days we are done at 13 hours and other days maybe later.”

It took us forever to realize we weren’t talking about 9 or 14 hour shifts, but starting at 9:00 and finishing at 4:00. 

Ohhhh…

Then we gave them all the supplies we brought.  They were incredibly grateful for most of it.  Some of it couldn’t be used, so we’ll take it to the big hospital to be used there.  We wish we could have contacted someone and figure out what would be most useful.  But TIA.  (This Is Africa, a phrase I’ve heard a million times in by Peace Corps workers and Missionaries, mostly meaning things work really differently here…)

The nurse was called over to attend to a birth, because she was the only nurse on for the day.  We rushed behind her to get our first look at medicine in Zambia.

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Medicine should, logically, not be defined by borders of a country.  It should be a universal thing.  If Coca-Cola is sold all over the globe, naturally people should practice ethical, world-class healthcare all over the globe too.   The medicine we’re taught should work everywhere, not just America.  (Right?)

The juxtaposition between a birth in Dallas, America and a birth in Luanshya (pronounced “Lew wants ya), Zambia:

Large hospital in an urban city, built over 20 years ago, storage rooms full of clean sheets and blankets, sterile gloves and gowns and hats and booties and tools, skilled nurses checking in, doctors/residents/midwives attending the delivery, someone to tend to the baby when it comes out, fancy little clips for the umbilical cord, hats and booties for the baby, and suture kits on hand to care for the mother, beeping fetal heart rate monitors, blood pressure cufs, mothers screaming in pain or silenced by an epidural. 

Small clinic in a rural village, built several months ago, sheets and blankets from the mother’s home if they are wealthy enough to afford them, sterile gloves but no gowns or hats or booties and tools that are cleaned with Jik(hydrogen chloride), a single skilled nurse that is working at the clinic AND attending deliveries, tending to the mother AND the newborn, ripped pieces of cloth to tie off the umbilical cord, self-supplied baby hats and maxi pads if the mother had a bleeding tear, no wires, monitors, or blood pressure cuffs, no screaming, silenced by the toughness that the people here seem to be born with.

The baby came out the same way, a healthy baby girl.  They used oxytosin: IV before birth to help increase contractions and IM after birth to help the uterus clamp down.   I dropped 2 drops of OPV (Oral Polio Vaccine) into the newborn’s mouth. 

Different, but similar.  The process works the same way, except with some improvisation and juggling.

After the delivery we tried to sew up our friend from the mission compound, but we were told he was going to be “referred out” to another hospital.  Ok, then.  But this morning, he came to our door and we found out he didn’t get stitches.  Just a gauze wrap.  We would have stitched him in America.  Frustrating.  He could have definitely used the stitches.  And we could have given them to him.

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After a homemade lunch of toasted pb&j, we sat down for a nap before our adventure.  We were worn out mentally and physically.  

Exhausted.

We’re not sure if the exhaustion was due to a long morning dealing with so many differences in healthcare or if it is due to the jet lag or the fact that we’re so much higher above sea level (around the same elevation as Denver).  Maybe it’s a combination.

Our next adventure began at 3 pm, towards the direction of Kafutu River (small hippo river).  Frances, newly educated after one of her safari trips, learned that hippos are the most deadly animals.  We had also learned over dinner last night that they flatulate out their mouths. 

None of us wanted to see a hippo. 

We walked past a mill for cornmeal.  We have yet to eat Nshima, the local dish that we keep hearing about.  We saw many goats.  I inquired about stacks of rocks that seemed to mark some people’s driveways.   Our tour guide Henry (our supervisor’s “son”/ assistant/ student) told me a story about the root that they crushed up here and made into a drink.  Fresh, it was delicious.  But some people let it ferment and it turns into a beer-like substance.  Literal root beer.   And the rocks marked that the people living there had some to share. 

How friendly?

On our walk we met a few people that Henry knew.  Each time we were invited in to sit on their couch.  Sitting on the couch was a big deal.  It was THE way to properly greet a guest.  Sit on their couch and leave a dusty impression of your skirt behind?

 While sitting on a couch we met a 2 year old who stared at us.  We were the first white people they had seen. 

We also came across a river (the opening picture of the blog post) that is used to baptize people.  During the baptisms, local villagers ride up and down the river in the boat to scare off the alligators.  Thankfully we don’t have to do that in America.

We came across a bridge and 3 little children scampered across it coming in our direction.  When reaching our side they put out their hands and stared at us in awe.  We shook their hands and said hi.  I dug in my bag and handed them a candy to share.  Their eyes got huge and precious.  They had the biggest smiles!

Then Frances and I timidly crossed the “bridge.”

 [bridge picture]

We didn’t have too hard a time crossing, except I nearly fell in after Frances got to the other side and started cheering.  I cheered along with her, lost my balance, and was only caught by a random twig on the side of the river.  Thank you Lord!

We also saw the oldest church in Zambia.

[100 year old church picture]

Each night so far we’ve had dinner with the other missionaries.  I am enjoying finding out more about the people here.  There is a couple from the United States that has lived here over 10 years.  They spend a lot of time with the people, teaching in the mission’s Bible school, teaching deaf education classes, and organizing the clinic.  There’s also a 73 year old Westpoint graduate who is helping with a lot of tasks around the mission compound.  I let him borrow my headlamp so he could clean out a big huge container that looks like it would fit on the back of a 14 wheeler.

Dinner is delicious, but it’s so cushy and American.  We ate blueberry/peach cobbler for desert last night after eating spaghetti and meatballs.  I loved it, but I felt so bad eating it after watching small children run around with pot-bellies from what is likely to be a protein deficient diet.  My heart breaks.  Another juxtaposition I’m faced with.