Falau: Jeremy's Tale

"Karen, this is Jeremy.  I need Bob here, now."

"Oh, my. Why?"

"Pastor Falau has had some sort of accident and is completely unresponsive."

"OK.  Bob's on his way"


William Falau lives on the first floor of our two story missions house.  He has been charged by our mentoring missionary, Bryan Webb, to keep an eye on our family while we get settled into our new lives.  In addition to being our guide to all things ni-Van, Falau is our language tutor for Bislama, the native language in Vanuatu.

Because Pastor Falau, a ni-Van, does not own a vehicle, he either walks or takes a taxi to destinations of his choosing.  Pastor Falau has a wife and 11 year-old daughter who stay in town during the week to go to work and school, respectively.  Since taxi fare is too cost prohibitive for him to go back and forth to where we are living, he stays below us and his family visits on weekends.   This is, apparently, not a huge issue in this culture.  I was talking to another missionary the other day who has lived here for 8 years.  He stated that many ni-Van men will leave their families for months at a time to work on other islands and seem to think nothing of it.  We have enjoyed having Falau and his family around since we can ask them all sorts of questions about the town and life in Vanuatu.  Ethan and Ella have a great time playing with his lovely daughter, Erica.

In an attempt to get to know them all a little better, we invited Falau, his wife, and daughter over for a meal one Saturday night.

“Are you sure?” Falau asked.

“Yes, I’m sure.  We’d love to have you over.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Falau. I am inviting you.  It will be no trouble at all.  Please come.  Is there anything you like?  Anything we can fix?  Are you allergic to anything?,” I inquired.

“No. No. No.  Anything will be fine.  Really.  Are you sure it will be no problem?” He asked again while looking toward the floor and characteristically shaking both hands back and forth with palms facing outward.

“Pastor Falau.  Look at me…we want you to have dinner with us.”   I thought I would take a different tack.  Ever since we arrived he has told me, “You the boss.”   I usually shake my head and mutter something about not being the boss as it makes me uncomfortable—but saw an opportunity to ensure his attendance at dinner.  “As your BOSS, I’m ordering you to come to dinner,” I joked.

“OK. OK. OK.  Em nao.  We’ll be there.”

“OK.  Ale.  Lukim yu.” I replied testing out a Bislama phrase meaning, “see you later”

Usually a real book/ writer/ editor would put an “*” by a phrase like “hem nao” and make a footnote but, well, this is my razzin’-frazzin’ blog so I’ll just put an explanation here even though it messes up the flow of an otherwise expertly crafted story.  “Em nao“, “Em ia nao“, or “Hemi nao” all mean the same thing in Bislama.  It’s kind of like saying, “alright”.   It is sometimes pronounced with an “h” sound before the “em” so the resulting phrase sounds like, “hem now”.

The rest of the week passed and Saturday came without much fanfare.  Ethan and Ella had spent much of the morning down below talking with Pastor Falau and playing his keyboard.  The kids—pikinini (peek-ee-nee-nee) in Bislama—loved that some of the pre-programmed tunes included “Jingle Bells” and “Greensleeves”.  We also heard them singing along while he played worship songs they all knew.

Merissa and I enjoyed ourselves in the kitchen as we prepared some cheeseburgers, sautéed bell peppers and onion, chopped up steak, and baked brownies.

Oh, another quick aside: there is no good chocolate in Santo.  They grow and export cacao but there is no refinery here that processes and makes chocolate.  This means that a candy bars are imported and cost around $5.50 or 500vt.  How awesome would it be to harvest some and make my own!  Hmmmm….

The kids and I went down to his living space to let him know dinner would be served in about 10 min.  We were surprised to find that his family had not yet arrived.  He invited us in and the kids wanted to show me the wonderful things the keyboard could do.  Pastor Falau and I chatted as the kids giggled and made up bizarre medleys out of completely unrelated songs.

I plunked down in a mustard colored plush chair by the door.  As Falau started to take a seat opposite me on a worn futon, his right foot turned in slightly and made a small sweeping motion backward.  It struck me as a bit odd but I did not say anything since nothing else seemed out of place.

Our family had gone to Santo’s second annual rodeo that morning and heard a lot of speeches given by different ni-Vans about how much they appreciated thus-and-so.  Since it was all in Bislama we didn’t get much out of the orations but did have a couple of questions about words we heard repeatedly.

“Pastor Falau,” I asked, “what does ‘yufala’ refer to?  We heard it a lot during the speeches today.”

“Huh.” He began to reply, “Uh, it, uh means…hmm.  Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m having trouble thinking of it, right now.  Huh…”

This, too, struck me as a bit bizarre.   This word was used dozens of times during the opening ceremonies of the rodeo and Falau is well versed in French, English, and Bislama.

“Pastor, are you feeling OK?”

He chuckled an embarrassed chuckle.  “Yeah.  Just a bit tired I think.”  

He stood to his feet to check on something the kids were doing on the keyboard then returned to his place on the futon.  Once again, his right foot swept back as he sat, but this time with a little more force.

I cocked one eyebrow and looked at him with concern.

“I strait.  I strait”  (pronounced: “ee straight”, meaning: “I’m good”) Pastor Falau said while shaking his head.

“OK. Should we try to call your wife and see if they need a ride or how far away they are?”

“Sure.  But my phone does not have any more credits.”

This has been something for us to get used to, as well.  Cell phones here run on SIM cards and require the user to fill up credits in order to place calls or send texts.  There are numerous roadside stands where additional credits can be purchased and almost all the stores carry similar cards for both carriers—TVL and Digicel. Credits are purchased in the form of a small card similar to a buisiness card in size and shape.  There is a code on the back under a silver stripe that is scratched off to reveal a code which is called in to redeem points.  Using these cards, I don’t miss the Arizona Lotto as much.

“I’ll go grab my phone and we can call her.”

Coming back down stairs I dialed her number as Falau recited it and I heard the automated response, “I’m sorry.  You do not have enough credits to place this call.”

“Grrr.  I’ll go grab Merissa’s phone and be right back down.”

I ran back upstairs and had the kids come with me so they could get washed up for dinner.

I poked around the kitchen checking for Mer’s phone.  Ella was sitting in one of the recliners in our living room and Ethan was hanging out with Ma and Sweet Baby D in our bedroom when we heard a thud and a  high-pitched childlike cry.  It was the type of thud that makes your heart stop because it is so characteristic of a head hitting a solid surface.

“Merissa?!  Everyone OK?!,” I called out urgently.

“Yes…How ‘bout out there?  Can you see Ella?”

“Yup, she’s right here.  Daniel and Ethan are good?”

“Yes.  What do you think that was?”

“Yeah…weird...I don't know.” The sense of immediacy subsided since the family was accounted for.  “I’m gonna go let Falau call his wife on your phone. Be right back up.”

As I walked out our front door I was met by a stange dog I had not yet seen around.  As I exited, he scampered off and I completely dismissed the noise we heard until I looked to my right.

The front door to Falau’s living area was open slightly and I could see his two feet through the opening.  They were turned in toward each other and twitching slightly.  By their position I could tell he was facedown on the tile.

Going instantly to his side I looked down to see a bit of blood by his mouth and heard agonal respirations.  Because of the position of his head and neck I decided to roll him on his side in order to reposition his airway.  My mind was racing!  All sorts of things were happening at once. I was trying to reconcile what was happening while providing some sort of care but with no idea what emergency response looks like here in Vanuatu.

“Merissa!  What is the emergency number?!” I yelled upstairs while trying to find the correct pre-programmed contact in Mer’s cell phone.

“Dad?!  What’s happening!  I’m coming down!” Panic saturated Ethan’s voice.

“Ethan and Ella, I need you to stay upstairs.”

“Daddy?!  Why?”

“Ethan, just trust me right now.  Merissa, I need you downstairs and bring a flashlight.”

A flashlight. That’s all I could get.  No backboard. No C-collar. No duct-tape to stabilize anything.  No cold pack or ice for the growing goose egg above Falau’s right eye. I started to feel very alone and slightly panicked.  It is one thing to respond, as part of a fire crew, to a gnarly emergency.  There's a certain emotional distance that can be maintained and, I think, needs to be maintained to keep the scene under control.  The fact that I personally knew this man, that help was not on its way, and that I was beginning to feel horribly inept began to weigh heavily upon me.  So, I prayed.  I prayed because it was all I felt I could do.  Nothing fancy or flashy but very heartfelt.  God's peace came over me immediately and I was able to take things one step at a time.

 I quickly checked for any obvious deformities along his back and neck before rolling him onto his side.  His breathing seemed to be getting worse.  Checking his right wrist for a distal pulse upped the pucker factor since I could not immediately discern one.  I rolled him all the way onto his back fearing that I would have to start CPR.  His breathing became more regular once he was on his back with his head properly aligned.    I checked his carotid pulse while simultaneously putting one hand on his chest.  I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving when I felt his heart just a pump pump a-pumping away.  I gave Falau a good hard sternal rub and called his name out loudly.  There was no response.

Stepping outside, I dialed the contact listed as “ambulance”.  To my surprise and dismay it was answered by an automated system that, from what I could tell, was telling me to call during normal hours.  I immediately hung up and rang Karen an Bob, our new friends from Australia.

"Karen, this is Jeremy.  I need Bob here, now."

"Oh, my. Why?"

"Pastor Falau has had some sort of accident and is completely unresponsive."

"OK.  Bob's on his way"

Woah...deja vu.  It feels like I've written this before...

My initial thought in having Merissa come down was to have her hold his neck and head until I realized we were going to have to transport him in the back of the truck.  The roads to the hospital are full of potholes and other obstacles which were going to make stabilization almost impossible. She was now at my side with a small flashlight.  I checked his pupils which reacted equally indicating he most likely did not have a stroke. I asked Mer if she thought she could carry his legs while I grabbed his upper body.  She didn't even hesitate.

"I'll do whatever you need me to do."

I instructed her on how to position herself so we could transport him to the truck.

"On the count of three we'll lift. One, two, three."  She lifted up and we headed out the door and down our concrete path toward the truck. Nearing the gate, Bob pulled up and hopped out to help. We lifted Falau into the bed of the truck and started for the hospital leaving Mer behind with Ethan, Ella, and Daniel.

The emergency room doors were locked.  Locked.  Thankfully Falau was starting to come around and was actually talking.  He didn't know the day, time, my name, or his wife's name but at least he was talking.  Now, in the States we would ask certain questions to determine a person's awareness.  I had to chuckle as most of the questions coming to mind would do me no good here.

"How many quarters in a dollar?" Nope...can't do that one.
"Who is the President?" I wouldn't know if the answer was correct or incorrect.

Arrggh.

I asked Bob if he knew whether or not Falau had any seizure history.  He said he thought he remembered something like that but was not sure.

Someone finally came to the double doors we were waiting at and let us in.

I instantly realized we (our family) do not want to get sick here.  With just a quick glance I saw dried blood and what I assume was feces on the floor. There was a dingy bar of soap next to a stainless steel sink which looked like it had not been cleaned in months. In the sink was a small tray containing a couple sets of forcepts and some other instruments in a pool of coagulated blood and water.  Absolutely nothing looked clean and surfaces were cluttered with equipment and paperwork.  In one corner I saw their defibrillator peeking out from a stack of files.

"Hey, Joe!  You, uh, seen da dafibrillator?  This here guy is goin' inta cardiac arrest." (I'm not sure why this guy is from Brooklyn...just go with it.)

"Yea.  It should be over there somewhere filed under "D" in the defibrillator section.  Ha ha!"

I was shocked.  Truly and completely shocked.  I prayed more.

"Father, heal Falau. I don't know if this is a place that will benefit his health.  Come, now, Holy Spirit."

Some ni-Van in flip flops, a worn out pair of shorts and a Hawaiian style shirt asked Falau a couple of questions in Bislama and ordered an X-ray.  As Pastor Falau was wheeled away I walked Bob to his car, which a friend had driven over for him, and thanked him for coming so quickly.

By the time I headed back in, Falau had returned and was noticeably better.  Thank the Lord.

The flip-flop nurse guy said the results would be out shortly and then the doctor would talk to Falau and determine whether or not he would stay the night.  He then pulled me aside.

"He has a history of this.  When he does not eat it makes it worse.  He needs to be checked on to make sure he is eating 3 times a day," he said in pretty good English.

Turning to Falau, I said, "Falau. When did you eat last?"

"Two days ago."

"Two days?!  Why?"

He lowered his head and stared at the floor.  I felt like a jerk for ever thinking I knew what being hungry was.

"Pastor Falau, do you have a seizure history?"

A nod.

"I saw you do this funny little thing with your foot, earlier.  Is that an indicator you are about to have a seizure?"

Another nod. "I usually just go lay down when I know one is coming on."

"So, why didn't you lay down this time?"  I asked even though I already knew the answer.

"Because you were there."

He didn't want to let me down.  He smashed his head and was walking toward death's door because he didn't want to let me down.  Not a great feeling.

The tattered privacy curtains were drawn back to reveal two Chinese men.

"哎。谁是病人？"  one said.

Blank stares from Falau, Flip-flop and me.

"哎。谁是病人？"  The taller one spoke more forcefully and was very animated.  Both Chinese guys were super fidgety, too. Watching them, I felt like I needed to ask if they needed to use the restroom then come back.

"Patient." the taller one pointed to me.

I pointed to the man with a giant lump over his eye seated on the HOSPITAL BED!

Flip-flop tried to explain in Bislama what Falau had experienced.

"Oh. Yes." Tall said.  "He shivah. He cold from flu. Dat why he shivah."  Turning to Falau.  "You need blanket."

I couldn't believe what was unfolding in front of me!  Chinese "doctors" in Vanuatu who could speak neither Bislama nor English!! And they were trying to diagnose a patient!!!

More confusion between Flip-flop and Tall.  I sighed.  I hated to do it but I had to.  I pantomimed a seizure.  This man's diagnosis and treatment had come down to a game of charades.   

"Ohhhhh!  Yes! Yes!  Seee sure!"

"哎。谁是" Tall spoke to his partner who left momentarily then came back with a pouch of Valium.

"You take Valium to relax muscles.  You shake cause muscles tight."

Falau and Flip-flop looked at me to interpret.  I had to laugh!  The whole scene was completely absurd!

Once the "doctors" left I turned to Falau.  "Do NOT take those.  Promise me you will not take those.  I don't know much about drugs but I do not want you to take those pills."

"OK.  I don't like medications anyway."

A ni-Van man in slacks and a polo walked in and talked calmly to Falau.  He took the Valium away and told Falau he would get him the proper meds.  Whew.

"This man has been a doctor here a long time.  The Chinese have only come in the last month and things are not very good at the hospital right now," Falau explained.

He was released after getting different meds and we headed home.

We had a really frank talk the next day about letting us know when he needs things and that I will never be offended if he turns me down for any reason.

Praise the Father that we were home that night, that Ethan and Ella were no longer in the apartment when he went down, that his daughter was not home to witness the seizure, and I had reason to be going down to his apartment.

I am grateful to report that Pastor Falau is doing very well and that the Lord is one who heals.