Yu sabi?



Ortho kids from Sierra Leone with Melinda and Michelle

Christiana stood at my elbow, stethoscope around her neck, watching intently as I entered the assignments for the night nurses into the computer and started printing them off.  I had already warned a few kids away from the computer with my newest Krio phrase, Lef am, dis no fo pikin (Leave it alone, that's not for children).  After a few deleted censuses and an amazing thankfulness for automatic retrieval, I've learned never to walk away from the computer without locking the keyboard.

Two of our peds patients play "mama" with balloons tied on their backs



B ward is lively and full of fun and kids, 20 patients aged 15 and under, most of them in bed with blue and white and purple casts sticking straight up off the pillows with small brown toes wiggling at the ends.  Most of them I know already from ortho in Sierra Leone, some I've met here.

Laura, we de go na waka-waka? Ar wan go waka-waka wit yu! Can we go on a walk now?  I want to walk with you!  Christiana radiated excitement, and I decided some of the kids could use a little excursion.  Yesterday Christiana and I had gone on a "waka-waka small" through the hospital, visiting her friends on other wards and discovering the delights of an automatic ice machine. She and her miniature walker are unstoppable, roaming through the corridors with an escort or stubbornly taking the stairs one step at a time, four flights up to sunshine.

Usai yu wan go? I asked.  Where do you want to go?  Na office.  Her favorite place, the staff office has plenty of people working there during business hours, and all sorts of fun things to interest curious kids.    So I set off with a small flock of casted ducklings to retrieve my nursing assignments from the printer in the office - around the corner and 50 feet away.  I paused to help Sheku manage his crutches and heard a small voice behind me, Adam, Adam, usai yu de go? Adam, where did you go?  5-year-old Bindu was trying determinedly to catch up, using a small stool as a modified walker for support.  My followers all chorused na office, na office...yu sabi office?
Sabi means to know, to understand...and in this case, perhaps know how to get there.  4-year-old Adam persisted that he sabi office, and after trying the stairs, the laundry, and the kitchen, finally found his way there.  He stood in the doorway in awe looking at the computers and repeatedly washing his hands with the hand sanitizer from the automatic dispenser by the door.  Every one of those 5 kids slowly worked their way to the door of the office, tested the ice machine and squealed when it dumped a bit of water on them, then thoroughly washed their hands with sanitizer.  Adam proudly carried my assignments back from the printer to scatter them across the desk and nearby floor before announcing again with conviction, a sabi office.

It's easy to claim knowledge of something without ever having experienced it.  In Adam's case, he was convinced he "sabi office" even though he had not been there, had not experienced it, and had no idea where it was.

Later that evening one of our day workers asked me if I sabi Krio. 

I sabi Krio small, but I want to learn more.  How many other things in my life is that true of?