General

Okay, so this is likely to be my last Africa/Ethiopia post in a while.  I'm going to do just what the title says.  In no particular order:

• It's not Africa-hot in Ethiopia.  At least, not yet.  Very temperate climate at that altitude.
• I sang a school fight song with Bekele's daughter the night we were leaving.  She accompanied us to the airport with her dad (she missed him).  She's a very cute five year old with good English skills already.  Very cute.  I wish I had a picture.  "Everywhere we go....people want to know...who we ever....so we ever..."
• I got stared at alot.  Not because I was white (i think), although that's rare enough, but also because I am fairly tall, especially compared to local population.  Most of the men are around 5-8 and the women around 5-4.  There are tall Ethiopians, but not many.  I think I saw one guy taller than me the whole time I was there.  That's pretty rare.
• Two girls in a cab yanked open their curtain and yelled at me, laughing and smiling.  They yelled, "YOOOUUUUU!!!"  Not sure what that was about, but it was pretty funny.
• Driving to Awassa from Addis I was alert and observant the whole way.  The drive back, less so.  Familiarity breeds contempt.
• I really, really, really want the Nikon 18-200 lens for my camera.  I spent so much time changing lenses when I could have been just shooting.  Anybody got 700 bucks they'll give me?
• The coffee is so good.  Stronger than any i've had in the US, well balanced, dark, and rich.  I can't wait to roast the beans I brought back with me.
• I wish I had taken my extra laptop bags and computer accessories that I no longer use.  They are hungry for technology and its trappings.
• Dear RIAA/MPAA.  Your problem isn't with college kids in the US, it's with the third world.  US copyright doesn't even warrant attention outside of our borders.  Stop being such massive jerks.
• I am more apprehensive in my food choices today than I was ten years ago.  I found myself longing for the familiar, and this was slightly disappointing to me.
• There are lots of Ethiopians outside of their borders.  I found this out by wearing the national soccer jersey home, and random people would comment.  It is my new "official" travel shirt.
• I am still on an emotional high from my trip.  It was astounding.
• I checked my shoes for bugs every morning.  I don't even do that when i'm camping in Tahoe, although i probably should.
• teenagers are the same the world over.  Small children would be excited to meet us, teens would show a complete disinterest.  Especially the boys.  the girls were more open and welcoming.
• Mirinda is awesome.
• Delta:  your seats are more comfortable than KLM (in coach), but your service was not good.  We got what we needed/wanted, but we could have done without the surly attitude.  Sorry for purchasing a ticket that enables your flight attendants' jobs.  KLM:  your service was impeccable, but your seating in coach was awful. especially the presence of a metal box that consumed all of my foot space under the seat in front of me.  Blech.
• Khartoum's airstrip feels like a rutted out dirt road.  SKETCHY.
• i can't wait to go to an Ethiopian restaurant in the US and compare.
• Morning was my favorite time there.  I felt truly unhurried.

No, no rivers were cried.  No worlds drowned.

This is the story of a day, sixteen years ago, from my perspective.

The USS Arkansas had left Hawaii about one week ago, and we were just arriving in Japan.  I was very excited to be in Japan, as it was the first time I had been to this place, and I had a place in my heart for anime and manga (this was before it was cool and hip to be into such things...poseurs).  A friend of mine on the ship and I had plans to go see a few certain things and then hit Disneyland Tokyo, simply because we couldn't think of anything more surreal than that.  I had some anxiety for Teresa, who was ~7 months pregnant at the time, but it was towards the back of my mind.  After all, I had just talked to her a few days before while I was in Hawaii and everything was progressing at its normal pace.  Healthy baby (we didn't know gender at that point), healthy wife, everything looked good.  It was a Friday.

The ship began the process very early in the morning of pulling into port.  For those of you that don't know, this is a long and involved process.  The bridge is a literal throng of officers and enlisted.  I was on security patrol, which meant that I walked around the ship making sure certain checkpoints hadn't been violated, like weapons lockers, ammo storage lockers, and sensitive data storage areas.  Every thirty minutes I would check in at the bridge and report status. "Security patrol reports all secure, time 0435."  This report was made to the officer on the watch, and I then logged an entry in the log book at the quartermaster's station.  On most normal days, the bridge was manned by 6-8 people, but on port days, there were always 12-15 people on the bridge.  My watch went from 0400 to 0800, and immediately after that I reported to my station on the fantail for making dock.  I didn't mind this at all, as it got me out of manning the rails...a long, boring thing to do.  In essence, we would have to dress in the dress uniform of the season (in this case, blues) and stand at the rails of the ship at parade rest for 2-3 hours so that the shipped look pretty.  What.  Ever.

My station for making dock was line 7.  We used 8 lines to moor the ship to the dock, and each non-engineering division was responsible for one line.  This is a fun process...the line captain attaches a small line to the larger line.  At the end of that small line is a monkey's fist.  He would toss that to the men on the pier, when we got close enough, and they would use it to haul the larger line across the water and attach it to the pier stanchion.  I may or may not be using all the correct terminology...it's been a while.  Once the larger line was looped over the pier stanchion, each line team would then haul on their line to pull the ship as tightly to the pier as they were capable...we never actually touched the pier, there was always bumpers between us and the pier to protect both the ship and the pier from damage.  Hauling those lines was hard work...short and intense, and then the line was made secure on our side by looping it back and forth through the cleat.  These cleats were significantly larger than one you might see on a pleasure craft...after all, the Arkatraz displaced 11,300 tons and was 585 feet long and 63 feet wide.  The line itself was six inches in diameter, and was pretty stinking heavy.  Once all the lines were secure, a gangway was placed from ship to shore and services were brought on board (power, water, etc.).  I wasn't involved with that work, so I would usually spend my time in the computer room or display room, waiting for when we could get off that hunk of metal and make a phone call.

That's where I was when I was called to the division office.  A radio message had arrived as soon as we hooked up to power.

I can still remember the lead weight I was carrying in my gut as I slid down the ladder and made my way to the division office.  I can picture everything...the ships crest that Bach had painted on our forward passageway, the blue and white tiles in the mess hall and the stainless steel tray racks. The blue tables (with a lip) and attached vinyl benches that we ate at every day.  The two knee-knockers and then the door on the left.  It was 8:30 a.m., local time.

Everything wasn't going according to plan.  There were complications.  Teresa had something called preeclampsia, whatever that means (i know now, obviously).  Her life and the baby's life hung in the balance.

I was completely lost, and alone, and scared, and helpless.  A ship of 700 guys, and not one that I could really talk to about this.  Too much testosterone over too many days to show instability.  I was SO young; too young to know what to do with myself.  I had to go home.  I had to.

And that's when the chaplain asked me if that was really necessary.  I was suddenly face-to-face with Navy BS, which I dealt with every day, but nothing to this level of impact.  After all, I needed the CO's approval, and he had left the ship.  I was too scared to be angry.  I was shocked into mute acceptance and prayerful wonderings of what the next few hours held for me and my wife, and my child.

This is where it get's a little fuzzy, but I do remember talking to the doctor and getting her assurance that I would be flown home.  I also remember that I found out it was a girl...we already had a name for this girl.  Anne Elizabeth.  I also found out that Teresa was stable, but that they had to deliver the baby because she wouldn't stay stable if they didn't.  I found out that Teresa's kidneys had decided that enough was enough, so she gained like 65 lbs. in water in one week.  I talked to her, but the drugs made her a little...incoherent.  I got approval to fly home, and I got booked on a flight leaving Japan the next day at around 4 p.m.

Those were some very long hours.  Sometime that night; I remember 9 p.m. for some reason(local time); Anne was delivered via C-section.  She was in good condition, but very small.  Three pounds and some change.  Teresa got to tell me.  I was relieved, and proud, and happy, and worried.  I was going home tomorrow to take care of my wife and to meet my daughter.

The next day I rode a bus to the airport from the ship.  So, here is my Japan experience, in a few bullet points.

• They use lots of concrete on their freeways.  LOTS.
• Parking structures are weird.
• Every car is new and shiny.  While not unlike what we see today in the US, it was quite amazing to me then.
• I was taller than almost everyone in the airport, and everyone wanted to meet me and help me.
• I had to buy some special pass for 2000 yen.  I remember thinking that was expensive.
• I ate a hamburger at the airport.  My waitress was very kind, and smiled
  and laughed when I said, "Domo."

I got on a plane that left at 4 in the afternoon on Saturday, and I arrived at 10 a.m. that same day.  Weird.  Charlie Bryant picked me up at the airport and took me straight to John Muir hospital.

When I first saw Teresa, I hadn't seen her in a couple of months.  If I didn't know that my wife was the one who was in the hospital bed, I would not have recognized her.  She had retained so much water that the normal skin wrinkles on her knuckles had disappeared.  She was still very dazed from the drugs (mag, I believe), and she has no recollection of that moment.  I remember wondering what I should do, and she said, "You can hug me if you want to."  So I did.  I spent some time with her first, then they took me to the intensive care nursery.

I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life.  She was so small and perfect.  Her tiny fingers squeezed involuntarily and she would scrunch up her tiny face.  She had very little body fat, having lost a pound since her birthday, and looked like a miniature version of my brother.  I don't know why...genes are weird.  She looks nothing like him now.  Her lips were BRIGHT red, and she had tiny hairs all over her face, like peach down.  She rarely opened her eyes in the very early days.  Her fingernails were the size of small piece of paper, like the leftover bits from tearing a piece out of a wire ring binder. 

She was too small and weak to breast feed, so they used tiny bottles.  Her first meals were measured in single ounces.  Her preemie diaper had to be folded down twice so as not to cause an infection at the umbilical site.  Her butt fit securely in the palm of my hand, with her little head resting on my fingertips.My wedding band fit around all of her fingertips.

I held her and stared at her, for a very long time.  She was my world.

Those next five weeks I spent at home, mostly in the hospital.  Anne had to stay in an isolette for three weeks because she could not maintain her own body heat.  Teresa lost all of that water in a matter of 48 hours.  Good thing she had a catheter, otherwise she would have LIVED in the bathroom.  I spent my days at Treasure Island Naval Base, doing odd jobs for the base and our nights were spent at the hospital, holding, cuddling, and singing to our beautiful princess.  She gained enough weight (5 pounds at the end!!) and we were able to take her home.  I left almost the very next day, for a round-the world flight to the Persian Gulf, where my ship had gone while I was away.

Anne, this entry is for you as much as it is for me.  I can't believe that this happened sixteen years ago, it doesn't seem fair that it should pass so quickly.  You have grown beautifully and exceeded all of our expectations and dreams for you (Emma, so have you, but today is Anne's day).  You are beautiful, smart, and funny and are universally loved by your friends and family.  You have a natural wisdom that many adults never achieve in their entire life.  You consistently make me proud and humble, and I love you so very much.  Happy Birthday, sweetie.

Happy, Happy, Happy Birthday.