30.08.2011 Bus Ride Home

30.08.2011 Bus Ride Home

Since the surprise trip through the Serengeti ended up being a huge failure, we decided it would be better to grab a normal bus home.  We woke at 0400 again, and hopped on the bus.  The ride was uneventful.  I tried to sleep most of the way, while Kelvin read the paper and told me about New York being shut down due to the extreme weather dangers.  The only slightly eventful thing that happened occurred at a bus stop.  At every bus stop, men and women run up to the bus windows to sell food, snacks, drinks, baskets, and other miscellaneous items.  A group of young men saw me at the window, and ran up.  I only wanted peanuts, so I bought some, but then all of them stayed my window, trying to convince me to buy their items as well.  Kelvin was looking at them also, over my shoulders.   I grabbed his hand, and started holding it.  One of the guys noticed, and started pointing to Kelvin, smiling and yelling,  “Wewe! Ohhhhh, Wewe!”  It’s like he was congratulating Kelvin for holding the hand of a mzungu.  I thought it was funny at the time, but then I started worrying that it was a perk of dating me, and I didn’t want Kelvin to even think of my skin tone.  Then I started thinking about Kelvin, his personality, and how well he has treated me since we met.  He may be attracted to my pale skin, but it isn’t what is holding us together. 

29.08.2011 Stuck in the Serengeti

29.08.2011 Stuck in the Serengeti

Kelvin wanted to surprise me by hiring a jeep to drive us through the Serengeti to get back to Arusha, rather than taking a bus around it.  I was excited!  No, we wouldn’t stop to see the animals closely, but we would still see them.  It was a free safari!  We were supposed to meet the second driver, the one that was taking us to Arusha, at 6 am, but we were two hours late, because our first driver was late.  Kelvin was allowed through the gate for free because he works for the national parks, and I was allowed in for free because I was with him.  We were dropped off at a camp site by the first driver, to meet the second driver who would take us the rest of the way.  Little did we know, he left without us.  We were stranded in the Serengeti, with no ride to Arusha, and no ride back to Mwanza.  We hung out at the camp sight for a few hours, talking and hoping somebody would come that we could bum a ride from.  Hours later, we decided to walk to the gate, and find the main road back to the bus station, and hitch a ride from there.  Walking back in the Serengeti made me a little nervous, but I felt safer being with Kelvin.  At the gate, we quickly found a man who offered us a ride back to the bus station.  It was getting late, so we took a bus back to Mwanza to spend the night at Kelvin’s aunt’s house.

28.08.2011 African Funeral

28.08.2011 African Funeral

Even though Kelvin and I went to bed so late, we were still up and readyt o go by 0800.  I didn’t have much time in Mwanza, and wanted to see as much of it as possible.  We had breakfast (mandozi) at the hotel, and then left to walk around a bit.  I really wanted to see the fish market, so we walked there first.  There were two fish markets.  The first one was more of a whole-sale type.  The fresh fish had not arrived yet, but they had old fish that hadn’t sold fresh the day before were being chopped up.  They were salted first to preserve them, and then chopped.  Every bit was used: the heads, eyes, bones, everything.  I asked the man what happened to the dried fish next.  He said that they send it to the Congo, and it’s sold at a rather expensive price.  People make fish soup from it. 

Kelvin told me that they catch fish that are bigger than him from the lake.  I didn’t believe him, so he asked one of the men at the fish market if they could show me the biggest fish they had.  He took me down a few aisles of stinky, dried fish, and then pointed to a piece of dirty tarp on the ground.  Kelvin listed the tarp, and lying there was a fish that must have measured at least three feet wide and six feet tall.  It was dried with salt, and had flies and beetles crawling all over it.  I asked if people ate it, and he looked at me like it was a silly question to ask. “Of course.  We chop this up and send it to be sold in the Congo as well.” I can do goat blood, but I could barely bare the thought of eating that dried, beetle infested fish meat.    

We left to visit the second fish market.   This one had a huge assortment of fresh fish.  It was so stinky, but everything looked so delicious!  There were fish of all different sizes and colors.  Attached to the fish market there was the other types of food.  There were all types of fruits, vegetables, seeds, grains, and live chickens.  I bought passion fruit, boabo seeds, banana honey, and a few other types of foods I had never seen nor tasted before.  Everything was delicious.  I wish I could bring it home so everyone could have a taste of Africa. 

After the market, we had catfish for lunch. We had plans to meet up with Kelvin’s aunt and uncle after lunch.  They are rather well off.  Years ago, when they moved to Mwanza, they opened their own business selling clothes.  They travel to China two to three times a year to buy their products.  Eventually, the started buying furniture from China as well and opened a furniture store.  They expanded to Dar and Arusha, and now make a very comfortable living.  Of course, they still run out of running water and electricity (as everyone else in Tanzania does), but their home and stores are all very nice, and they have savings to fall back onto if necessary.  

When we arrived to their store, I was asked if I brought my kanga.  I had, and so I put it on when they asked.  A friend of theirs was traveling through the Serengeti with four other people, on their way to Arusha.  The person driving her was drunk.  They were traveling at night, and somebody was coming from the opposite direction.  The dust was so high and there was so much that the drivers didn’t see each other, and they had a head on collision.  The driver of the other car did, as well as the friend of Kelvin’s aunt and her driver.  I was to accompany Kelvin and his family to this woman’s funeral, but it was culturally unacceptable to go to a funeral without a kanga. I wrapped it around my waist, and then linked arms with Kelvin’s aunt and walked with her to the funeral.  It was an outdoor function.  We stood on the curb of the street, which was closed for the funeral.  Hundreds of people were there.  I didn’t understand what the people on the loud speaker were saying, but women and men would start wailing in unison.  Some women would throw themselves on the ground, crying.  After the speeches, it was time to view the body.  The women were to go first.  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go, because I thought the body might look very bad.  Kelvin’s aunt wanted company though, so I went with her.  Everyone gets into a line, and walks a circle around the open casket.  There was no time to talk to her, say good bye, or cry over her body, as there is at funerals in America.  You just walked past.  I noticed most of the women didn’t even look at the body.  I quickly glanced.  The woman’s face was bruised, puffy, and discolored.  There was an open gash on her forehead and her left cheek. She was dressed in an all white dress.  I could tell that she was a rather young, and very beautiful woman.  After the female viewing, it was the men’s turn.  

We left after Kelvin and his uncle viewed the body.  The close friends and family were going to eat and then start the drive back to Arusha, where she was going to be buried. The funeral was very sad, and I felt out of place for most of it.  I didn’t know this woman, and felt like everybody knew that.  I felt like I didn’t belong.  When I saw everyone else crying, I found myself starting to cry as well. I stopped myself though, because I felt like I didn’t have the right to cry.  I was there to give support to Kelvin’s aunt.  I was mourning the death of this young mother, but I was happy when we left the funeral as well. 

27.08.2011 African Wedding

27.08.2011 African Wedding

Kelvin and I went on a short tour around Mwanza today.  This town is beautiful!  We woke up early to take a ferry to a close island.  We didn’t know our way around, so Kelvin asked a random guy on the street.  Instead of giving us directions, he took us.  That is one of the biggest and most splendid differences between here and home.  People go out of their way to help you, and it’s normal.  He was great for conversation, and so pleasant.  His name was Ollie.

I was the only mzungu that I saw this morning, and all the mbongos made sure to let me know that it wasn’t a common occurrence to see mzungus in Mwanza .  Not many mzungus come to mwanza, and they all told me that.  I wonder if it bothers Kelvin when people catcall me just because I have white skin.  It bothers me.  I wish I could change the color of my skin so I could blend in.  If I’m going to be noticed, I want it to be for something that I do, not because I have blond hair and pale skin.  

The ferry ride was nice.  Mwanza’s nickname is Rock City, and for good reason.  The rock formations are absolutely beautiful.  They look impossible, like gravity should cause them to fall apart.  Along the coast line, there were also homes and churches built into the rock walls. I was standing at the rail, and Kelvin’s arms were around me.  It was nice.  Ollie had decided to join us for the ferry ride.   We arrived to the island, let the cars drive off, and then left the ferry to explore a bit.  There were flowering trees and bushes everywhere, of all different colors.  Lizards were running around the rocks and sun bathing.  It was relaxing.  We grabbed lunch and caught a ferry back, and then went back to the hotel to prepare for the wedding.  Ollie walked with us most of the way, and then we said our good byes.  He is an amazing guy!  Less than a block from our hotel was a large compost pile full of rotten food.  I hadn’t noticed it this morning or last night, but walking back I couldn’t help but notice it because there were cows, dogs, children, and large storks feeding on the rotten fruit.  I bought chips for the kids, and had a hotel boy run it down there to them while I started to get ready for the wedding.  

Kaylee had given me a dress before she left for home.  Good thing, because it was the only appropriate thing I had to wear.  It was long, to my ankles, and black, pink, and tan.  I had no shoes to match, so I just wore my white sandals.  When I arrived to the wedding  , I was warmly welcomed by all.  In fact, I was ushered to the front (although I much rather would have hid in the back), and Kelvin and I were given seats next to the bride’s parents.  A woman came and asked what I would like to drink, and I ordered a Kilimanjaro.  She brought me five, all warm.  I don’t know why mbongos like warm beer.  It’s always asked, “Moto or baridi?”  Maybe most of them have gotten used to drinking it warm because of the lack of power and refrigeration, and so it is now their preference. I guess I’m getting used to it, but it still disappoints me every time.  

The wedding started with the bride and groom dancing down the aisle with the rest of the wedding party.  When they reached the front, they cut a ribbon to signify entry to their new life, a new beginning with each other.  There were no vows spoken.  Instead, a woman with a microphone did a lot of very loud talking and wild dancing.  I asked Kelvin who she was, and he said she was the MC of the wedding.  Basically, she is supposed to keep the party going and keep the wedding on track.  The bride and groom seemed to be part of the background compared to her.  I wish I understood everything that she was saying.  

The wedding cake was small.  Actually, there were three wedding cakes, all matching.  The first one was taken by the maid of honor.  She cut three small pieces off.  The first piece, the bride put halfway into her mouth.  The groom joined mouths with her and bit off the other half.  The second was taken by the groom, and fed to his best man.  The same was done with the third piece between the bride and her maid of honor.  Then, the groom and best man linked arms, and danced the second cake to the bride’s parents.  The bride and maid of honor danced the third cake to the groom’s parents.  Everywhere anyone went, they danced.  Mbongos sure can dance well too. 

After the cakes, the father of the groom and the father of the bride both spoke.  Then it was time for each tribe to be recognized.  There were several tribes represented at the wedding, and each was called up to do a dance.  Three tribes danced, and then it was the Maasai tribe’s turn.  Since Kelvin is Maasai, he went to dance, but asked me to accompany him.  I said no several times, and so he gave up and went to dance on his own.  Victor, who calls me his shimegi, grabbed my hands and so we went.  Victor is Kelvin’s cousin, and took me under his wing and guidance as soon as we met.  Shimegi translates to mean, “my brother’s wife/partner/girlfriend/etc.”  He says that as his shimegi, it is his responsibility to make sure I am always well and if I ever get into any type of trouble, he will be by my side to protect me.  He had been so kind to me, I would have felt rude to not accept his hand when he offered it to dance.  I linked hands with the rest of the dancers and danced with them.  It was fun, although I didn’t know what I was doing and it looked so.  

At this point, I really had to use the washroom.  So badly that it was making me grumpy.  I leaned over and asked Kelvin if there were bathrooms.  He said yes, and then asked a woman sitting near us to accompany me.  She grabbed my hand, and led me to a row of cars.  She pointed to the ground, and then stood next to me and crossed her arms.  Shit, is she going to stand there and watch me? Well, this is Africa… I pulled up my dress and squatted. She is watching! I’m sure this is normal for her, but come on!  I’m a mzungu, turn away. I tried to urinate, I really did.  But I couldn’t!  Not with her watching. She finally turned her head to talk to somebody, but then I felt like she could hear me.  I pretended like I finished my business, and then pulled down my dress and returned back to the wedding with her. I sat back down, more grumpy than before because I still had to pee, and now I felt like I needed at least 30 minutes in between now and when it would be acceptable for me to go again.  I was the only mzungu, and everyone was watching me.  I couldn’t walk anywhere without everyone’s eyes following me.  

Next was gift giving.  People were called to the front by the MC in groups.  The first group consisted of teachers, because the bride was a teacher. They gathered into a group at the end of the aisle, and then danced to the front carrying a toaster oven over their heads.  The same was done for several other groups, all with different gifts.  Eventually, the “brothers” of the bride were called up.  Included in this group was Kelvin.  Again, he asked me to accompany him but I said, “No way!  I’m not a brother and none of the other men have their girlfriends accompanying them!”  All the other brothers went, and gave money, one at a time, to the MC.  If they tried to give less than 50,000tsh, the MC would yell at them and demand more money.  They all gave in, and seemed like they expected it.  Last was Kelvin.  When he stepped up I heard the MC say, “blah blah blah blah…mzungu…blah blah blah…mzungu!”  I buried my face in my hands.  Now I really didn’t want to go up there.  Kelvin came, grabbed my hand, and dragged me up there.  I saw the bride laughing, and I had forgotten to dance.  Kelvin reminded me, so I started dancing.  Then the bride REALLY started laughing at me.  The MC said, “blah blah blah…mzungu…blah….MZUNGU blah…” and then everyone started laughing.  I know they had to be laughing at me making a fool of myself with my horrible dancing.  In my defense, the music playing wasn’t even good!  And I was put on the spot. The music stopped, and the MC held out her hand.  Kelvin gave 20,000tsh and I gave 20,000tsh.  Then she demanded 10,000tsh more.  Kelvin gave it, and then I returned to the safety of my seat.   

At this point, I was exhausted.  There was still a lot more gift giving, dancing, and kanga swapping left to go.  The father of the bride fell asleep, and I found myself drifting as well.  I don’t know how, because the music and MC were so loud.  Also, the power had gone out, so they were using a very bright outdoor light.  Whenever they faced it in my direction, the light would blind me.  I don’t know how the wedding party got used to it being on them all night.  Finally, it was time for food.  I got into line with Kelvin, but then had to use the washroom. Badly.  It hurt. I had to go.  I asked Kelvin to get me a plate, and then I left for the front where the woman had guided me before.  As I walked up, I saw a woman squatting.  She stopped, midstream, and scooted over.  “Apa.”  At this point, I didn’t care. I had to go, audience or not.  I squatted and peed right there.  I had no toilet paper so I did a shimmy and drip.  When I was finished, I turned around and saw a young boy standing by the wall.  He was looking at me.  I guess I should have been mad, but I was only wondering if my squatting techniques differed from the pros.  I said, “What, never seen a mzungu pee?” and then I walked away.  Who knows if he even understood me. 

I went back inside so join Kelvin for dinner.  Luckily, I had my hand sanitizer.  We had kuku, chips, wali, chipati, and salad.  All of us ate it with our hands.  I hurried and ate mine, because I knew we could leave as soon as we were done.  It tasted good, and I was starving (it was about 0300 by this point and I hadn’t eaten since lunch), so it didn’t take much effort to eat it quickly.  Afterwards, we said thank you and goodbye to everyone.  Kelvin and I piled into his aunt and uncle’s car, and I fell asleep during the car ride back to our hotel, my head on Kelvin’s lap. 

I’m really happy that I got the opportunity to see and be a part of this wedding.  I’m especially happy that I brought my camera, because it was only one of two cameras that were there, and the other one didn’t take that great of quality photos.  The bride was very grateful to see and receive the pictures Kelvin and I took. I’m especially grateful for meeting Kelvin, because my African experience would have been entirely different without him. 

26.08.2011 Another Bus Ride

26.08.2011 Another Bus Ride. 

Kelvin and I left for Mwanza on the 26^th at 0530.  His cousin was getting married, and asked me to accompany him.  He called a tax driver to pick me up, and the tax driver was drunk.  It was terrifying.  He was yelling in my face, and hiccupping. Kelvin didn’t live that far away, but I just wanted to get out of the car.  I thought that might be even more dangerous, so I yelled, “Pole, pole!” to him several times (slowly, slowly).  He drove slowly, but was still swerving quite a bit.  After we got to Kelvin’s place, I made him call a new tax, and refused to get back into that one.  It almost made us late for the bus, but at least we weren’t dead. The bus ride was quite uneventful.  I slept with my head on his shoulder for the first few hours, but then we reached a point of which the roads were no longer paved and very bumpy.  We talked the rest of the way.  Kelvin speaks English very well, but sometimes I think his understanding is less.  Actually, I think he’s a man and doesn’t listen well all the time, only it’s more noticeable because English isn’t his first language.  I will ask him a question, and his answer will have to do with the topic, but not be the answer.  I think he hears four or five main words, and fills in the blanks on his own.  I have to stop him, tell him he isn’t listening to me, and then rephrase or restate the question.  On the other hand, he always makes sure I am comfortable and happy.  He puts so much effort into my well-being.  Usually, I don’t let people do that, but with him, it feels comfortable.  He also has the courage to be himself and be free.  That is something I’ve always admired in people.   Besides the lack of listening (or understanding), he is 95% perfect. 

We ate lunch on the bus.  We had sambosas, boiled eggs, mandozi, and peanuts. We still had six hours to go, and I wished we would have been able to get out and stretch for a bit.  Ah well.  We arrived in Mwanza at about 1900, and his aunt and uncle welcomed us warmly.  Too warmly.  His aunt told me our kids would be adorable.  They took us to our hotel to drop off our stuff, and then out to eat.  I had barbecued catfish.  It was so delicious! Mwanza is right on Lake Victoria, so fish is a staple in their community.  After eating little more than coocoo (chicken), chips (fries), potatoes, rice, beans, and chapati, fish tasted so good.  They served the whole fish, head, bones, and all.  I had to ask Kelvin how to eat it.  You just pick the fish meat off the bones with your hands.  I now completely understand why people choke on fish bones.  They are small and sharp!  

After dinner, we returned to the hotel and went to sleep.  The wedding was the next day, and I was exhausted from the travels.  Not only was the room only 15,000tsh, the bed was super comfortable and I got a hot shower!  I’m living the life here in Mwanza!

23.08.2011 Tumor

 23.08.2011 Tumor

I was helping a local nurse today with wound care and dressing changes.  Wounds here are much more extreme than the wounds I have seen at home.  They are taken care of improperly because of lack of money, education, and resources.  When infections occur (which they do, regularly), they are not checked for MRSA or cultured.  Rather, they are all treated the same.  One woman in particular had a tumor growth on her face.  It looked like the underside of a mushroom, but as large as a baseball, and made her unable to talk, chew, or swallow properly.  She keeps her face covered with a scarf and Kanga and only takes it off for dressing changes.  Since it is an open wound, we crushed Flagyl and sprinkled it on the growth.  She was offered a transfer, but refused.  There is no more we can do at our hospital, unfortunately, so she lays in the bed, with her family near her.  She hardly talks to anyone when I see her.  Sometimes, I get the impression that she is just waiting to die.

I am going to be spending a few more days assessing the hospital and trying to figure out how I can use my education and time to the best effect.  I want to leave something with the hospital that will continue on long after I am gone: education.  As long as I can make them realize the importance of proper technique, hopefully they will continue to do it.  There are no enforced regulations to keep them up to par, and that scares me.  Meds do not have to be given on time (or locked up), pain is not assessed, and patients are not regularly cared for.  It’s why healthcare here is as awful as it is.  I talked to Dr. Julius and he is very open to me hosting educational classes for the staff members.  Hopefully he will also enforce what is taught. 

22.08.2011 Hospital

22.08.2011 Hospital

Today I did rounds again with the doctors and local nurses.  I miss the amenities at the hospitals at home.  I miss the care patients receive at home.  I miss being able to talk with my patients.  At home, we take vitals every four hours.  Here, heart rate and blood pressure are taken once in the morning.  Respirations are not counted, auscultation is not routinely done (and I doubt the ability for a lot of the medical professionals here to recognize the different sounds and what causes them), and the patients are not routinely bathed, walked, turned, or given ROM exercises.  Their families are responsible for feeding them, washing them, and assessing their well being.  The food they eat is brought from home.  If there is no family, the patients are not washed.  There was one Maasai man in particular who was in the hospital for a broken hip.  He was not in a cast, but just resting on his side.  We went in to change sheets and the local nurse wanted to skip his bed, because it was going to be difficult to move him.  I saw him and couldn’t leave him.  His sheets were covered in dirt, dust, and urine.  I pulled is blankets off of him and assessed his hip to determine the best way to move him.  I rolled him, and changed his sheets myself.  It was hard to do it alone because I didn’t want to hurt him or cause his hip more damage, but the man was so grateful after I had finished. Being here makes me truly realize how very important basic nursing care is.  It’s the foundation of every patient’s health and well being.   

19.08.2011 Sick Still, but Feeling Better

19.08.2011 Sick Still, but Feeling Better

Michael came and gently woke me up this morning to ask if I wanted to go to the hospital.  I wanted to get tested for malaria, but didn’t want to get out of bed quite yet.  I told him to go run his errands, and come back for me in a couple hours.  I don’t have malaria, it’s just the flu.  It’s evening now, and I feel much better, although the smell of food makes me nauseous.  Hopefully by tomorrow I’m 100%. 

18.08.2011 Nobody Can Take the Place of Your Mama

18.08.2011 Nobody Can Take the Place of Your Mama.

Last night was awful.  I was feeling ill, and so I went to bed early.  I woke up projectiling vomit onto myself.  It was in my hair, on my bed, woven into the fibers of my mosquito net.  My stomach was forcing its contents out so forcefully that I was gasping for air, and coming up short.  Trying to make it to a garbage or the toilet at this point was useless, so I waited until I thought I was done, and slowly pealed my blankets off of me, to avoid getting vomit anywhere else. I carried my sheets outside, and then came back to my room.  I don’t know about you, but when I get sick, all I want to do is sit in a bath tub with hot water running over my head and back.  Here, I’d have to settle for cold water, to at least wash the smell and chunks away.  Or so I thought.  I turned the faucet, and started crying. My tears were the only water falling.  The tank was dry.  As if I wasn’t disgusting enough, with my own emesis sprayed over my body, the realization that we had no water made my stomach churn again, and so I ran to the toilet.  I stuck my head over it, and immediately smelled the powerful odor of human waste.  No water means no flushing.  I grabbed for the garbage can, and puked again.  

I sleep in a dorm-style room with five other women, and the walls and door of the bathroom are paper thin.  I know they could hear me puking (dying) in the bathroom, and I couldn’t very well crawl back into the bed I had just soaked with my stomach’s contents, so I went into the living room and laid on the love seat, trying to get comfortable.  I started crying again, quietly.  I wanted my mom to cook me soup, and I wanted my mom to give me 7-Up, and I wanted her to clean my sheets so I could have a bed to crawl into.  I just wanted my mom.  I texted her, and asked her to call me.  It was about 0200 here, but mid-day there.  Five minutes later, dad called me.  I answered crying.  Stupid me, of course they knew it was the middle of the night here.  They were worried something serious had happened, and me answering the phone crying didn’t calm my dad’s nerves.  I quickly told him that everything was fine, I was just ill and home sick.  I told him what happened, and he said, “Oh no, Da.  I’m sorry.  Can Ashlee or somebody take the dolly dolly to get water tomorrow?”  This made me imagine Dolly Parton on a dala dala, and that made me start laughing out loud.  

My parents each comfort me in a different way, and depending on the situation, I usually prefer one over the other.  My dad, for example, is the person I went to when Mike died back in high school, and the first person I wanted to talk to when Jacob and I broke up.  He doesn’t usually know what to say, but he oozes comfort from his pores.  Usually when he does say something in the attempt to make you feel better, the awkwardness of his words makes you laugh (dolly dolly).  My mom, on the other hand, comforts with actions.  When I’m sick, my mom knows exactly what to do.  When I arrive home after a while away, she goes out of her way to make me happy to be home (even though the entire time I am home, she jokes that she can’t wait until I leave again). 

My mom had been at Kohls, shopping with the girls.  She came home while I was still talking to my dad, and got on the phone too.  I was so happy to talk to her, but it made me even more home sick.  This was the first time I had felt home sick since arriving, but I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bed with my blankets tucked around me, with my annoying cat drooling while lying on top of me.  After we got off the phone, I rolled over on the love seat and started to drift off.  Less than an hour later, I began vomiting again.  Kaka and Zachi, the security guards, heard me and came inside.  They comforted me, found me another blanket and a more comfortable pillow, and made me honey tea.  Kaka sat with me until I fell asleep again.  Not my mama, but he did well. 

17.08.2011 Angela's Going Away Party

17.08.2011 Angela’s Going Away Party at Kitulizo

Today was Angela’s official last day at Kitulizo.  First Em left, and now she is too.  We have no new volunteers, and I’m at the hospital three day a week, so they have no teacher.  Mama Anna said she would step in until we got somebody new.  I hope there is somebody from the next orientation, because these kids rely on it.  

For the party, we brought speakers and music.  The kids LOVED it!  They were dancing like little rock stars.  Venence belongs in Via Via as a member of one of the break dance groups.  He was like a twenty year old professional stuck in a short six year old’s body.  I was dancing with all of them, but dancing with Dora was my favorite.  She usually sleeps all the time, because she gets such awful sleep at home.  Her bed is the gravel ground, and she shares it with her family.  When the music came on though, her eyes lit up and she jumped on the top of the desk, grabbed my hands, and started shaking it.  Finding enjoyment in the tiniest moments seems like a defense mechanism for coping with all the things that lack in one’s life.  For those who have everything and want more, well…I’m not sure if they experience the same level of enjoyment as those who have so little.  Can you go your entire life without feeling true enjoyment?  Can you go so long without feeling it that you eventually forget the spark it causes in your soul?  

16.08.2011 Surgery in Africa

16.08.2011 Surgery in Africa

Today I assisted Dr. Julius with two surgeries.  It was him, one local nurse, and me in the operating room.  I was doing the job of what a surgical tech would do in the USA.  I held his tools, handed him what he needed, and at one point, had my hand inside of the patient’s abdominal cavity to stop a small bleed.  The first surgery was an appendectomy, old school.  I have only seen laparoscopic appendectomies.  He taught me how to determine where to cut, and how deep.  He pulled a portion of the intestines out of the incision, and found where the small intestines met the large. He removed the appendix, and then sowed the patient up.  During the entire procedure, the local nurse was sitting at the head of the patient, not doing much.  The patient’s BP, HR, respirations, and LOC was not being assessed at all during the surgery.  I would look at him, and try to count respirations.  I would ask the nurse to check his heart rate, and she would grudgingly do it.  I asked if there was any way we could get a pulse ox on a finger.  I couldn’t believe the differences between surgeries here versus at home.  At one point, I looked up and realized I could see people walking and cows grazing through the open window.  The wind was blowing inside of the operating room, where our open patient was.  I asked them to close the window, but they kept the curtains open for light.  After the surgery was complete, the nurse rolled the patient out.  Dr. Julius and I stayed in the OR cleaning up a bit, removing our sterile clothes, and talking about the surgery.  When we walked out of the OR, we saw the patient on the bed, alone.  Nobody was accompanying her, and her side rails were down.  I went to her side, raised the rails, and stayed by her side until she was taken into the ward.  She began to wake up the same time she was being rolled away to the general ward.  PACUs don’t exist at this hospital, and the “ICU” is just a private room, so the general ward was probably her best bet for proper health care.  I left her with a nurse, and then joined Dr. Julius for our second surgery. 

The second surgery I assisted Dr. Julius with was a hydrocele.  The man’s testicles were about four times the normal size, and the skin pulled tight.  I have never helped with one of these in the States, but I think they are accomplished by putting a needle in the testicular sack and removing the liquid that way.  Here, local anesthetic is given, and then a large incision is made to the testicles. As soon as the blade reached the hydrocele, yellow liquid squirted everywhere. We drained it completely, and then he was sown back up.  During the procedure, he was squinting and moaning from the pain.  The local anesthetic may have helped numb the area a bit, but this man was still feeling pain.  I was informed that whenever possible, local anesthetic is used rather than general because general anesthetic is more expensive, and the patients will require a bed, which the hospital has a short supply of.   

I am so grateful for the experience of volunteering in Africa, and seeing these surgeries.  I am learning a lot.  Nonetheless, assisting with surgery here makes me extremely grateful for everything I have at home.  Often, we find that certain things are due to us, like proper health care.  It is true; everyone should have access to great health care.  However, it’s easy to forget about the people who don’t when they are half a world away. 

15.08.2011 Nkoaranga Hospital

15.08.2011 Nkoaranga Hospital

            Today Ashlee and I went to the hospital for the first time.  To be perfectly honest, I was nervous as hell.  Not only have I not done any nursing in about two months, and I’m a fresh graduate, but I knew nursing here would be nothing remotely similar to nursing at home.  Dose sterile technique exist?  Do they have pumps?  Do they clean wounds properly and regularly?  Do they use local anesthetics for most of their surgeries?

            We left around 0900.  The hospital we were supposed to go to no longer accepts volunteers and TVE was having difficulty finding another hospital to accept us, so Ashlee had found this one during a coffee tour she took last week.  So, we decided our own hours and which day we will be going.  We had to take a yellow dala dala to manzini, and then a green dala dala to kilala.  After kilala, we were at the base of Mt. Meru.  We decided to walk, because we didn’t think it would be too far away.  We were wrong.  We were climbing up such a high altitude that our ears were popping.  It took us an hour and a half to get to the hospital itself.  Ever seen Off the Map?  That’s our hospital!  There are several buildings that hold the separate wards, and you must go outside to get from one place to another.  There are chickens and cows running around the hospital grounds.  Each hospital room fit many beds, and privacy isn’t a likely option.  Luckily, we met a woman from Belgium named Tanya.  She was a God send.  She gave us a tour, taught us the system, and gave us some hints.  She even offered to give us a ride up to the hospital in the morning and back down in the afternoon.  She has been here since February, and will be here for a year.  She is in charge of building and operating the pediatric ward, which is not yet complete. 

            After our tour, we did rounds with the doctors.  There are two, and both were very

eager to teach us.  We saw cases that we would never see in the States.  Severe malaria, typhoid, TB in the bones (one particular man looked like a holocaust victim; he was so frail and malnourished), and people with growths of unknown reasons.  We saw bota bota accident victims also.  Besides this, it was mostly just an orientation.  I can’t wait until I feel comfortable with their system, charting, and overall way of caring for people. 

            We left at around 1500 to go back home.  On the way home, a man got on the same dala as Ashlee and I and starting talking and yelling about us.  The woman in front of us looked back and gave us one of those, I’m sorry you have to deal with this looks. Whatever he was saying, it must have been pretty offensive because the dala driver pulled over on the side of the road, walked over to where the man was, literally dragged the other man out of the dala, and they started throwing punches.  Neither were seriously hurt, but the dala driver won the fight.  He got back in and drove off, leaving the other man behind.  Right after this, he got a flat tire so we had to get off the dala and catch another going the same direction.  As a dala was pulling over to collect us, I was praying the man who was just kicked off the previous dala wouldn’t be on there.  He wasn’t. 

            On a high note, I’m almost caught up on my blogs!  I’ve been so busy living life that I haven’t had time to write about it.  A lot of people have been calling me or facebooking to tell me they miss the regular updates.  Samahani rafikis! I will try to do better. 

13.08.2011 Day Two at Moshi And a Stupid Risk I Shouldn't Have Taken

13.08.2011 Day Two at Moshi And a Stupid Risk I Shouldn't Have Taken

            I got an early morning tour of the university today.  Kelvin took me to see the classrooms and safari jeep garages.  There were informational posters about wildlife and hunting, and mounted taxidermy all around.  Most of the rooms were locked because it was Saturday, but I was able to see inside of one.  The desks were wooden, but overall it truly reminded me of my smaller classrooms back home.

            After my tour, Kelvin, two of his friends: Mustafa and Eddie, and I had breakfast.  We had Chia tea, avocado with salt, mango, and a banana and beef soup (which was SO delicious!), and then went to the bus station to meet Kaylee and Kate.  They had come down to visit me and Kelvin for the day, and to also go shopping in Moshi, where everything is much cheaper than it is in Arusha.  We had a few cokes while chatting, and then decided to drive to the Moshi waterfalls near Kilimanjaro.  Kelvin had borrowed his professor’s car, but it did not make it up the side of the mountain.  We drove, and stalled, walked, drove, and stalled.  The car began to over heat.  Kelvin, being a safari guide (therefore, a mechanic also because when a car breaks down in the Serengeti, you have to know how to fix it), said there was something wrong with the plugs.    We ended up having to turn around, but that was okay.  He said he would take me another day, and Kaylee and Kate had seen the waterfalls at the base of Mt. Meru. 

            After this, we went shopping.  I didn’t find much, but I was really enjoying my time spent with everyone. We were teasing one another, and just goofing off.  After that, Kelvin told me his aunt and cousins had invited us over for a lunch.  He drove us there, where we were so warmly welcomed.  Not only was the welcome amazing, but the food was delicious! We had real beef and garden fresh tomatoes and chips.  Simple, but delightful.  It was weird to see the juxtaposition of this family in front of me, Kelvin, and the rest of his Masai family that I had met and blogged about earlier.  The house I was in was the nicest I had been in since arriving in Tanzania.  I reminded me of homes back in America.  The floors werent cement, the walls were plaster, and they had running water. 

            After this, we did a bit more of shopping, and then we had to go home.  I wanted to make it home before dark.  We took a dala to the bus station, and waited.  Kelvin told me that I would have to get in the front of the line, and push to get on.  He created a wall with his body between me and the other people behind me who were shoving me.  We waited for the passengers to get off, and then I was pushed on by the crowd.  You cannot buy tickets prior to the bus’s arrival, and it is first come, first serve.  People were shoving so that they would get a spot and not have to wait for the next one.  I was very grateful to have Kelvin there with me.  Before we pulled off, I reached my hand out the window to grab his outstretched hand.  We made plans for him to come to Arusha the following weekend.  

            As we were driving, it was getting dark.  By the time we got home, it was dark.  Walking outside in the dark is dangerous, especially for mzungus.  People are drunk and high off of glue and this green plant they chew called miraa.  It causes them to become aggressive.  Well, I’ll just get a tax to take me home.  When I got off the bus at Manzini all the tax drivers were grabbing at me and saying, “Una pendeza, ride with me…come with my tax.”  Nope…not taking a tax.  I’ll just take the dala.  I know M anzini, I know the dalas, I’ll be fine.  I got on a yellow dala dala and was shoved to the back corner. A guy sat next to me, chewing miraa.  He started feeling on my leg, asking me to pay for him.  I said, “No, pay for your own damn self.”  He asked me where I was going.  I told him it was none of his business. “Oh…I’m going there too,” he said. If he gets off when I do, I’m hopping back on the dala and riding the circuit. He got off soon after, and as he did, pointed to me and said I was paying.  I yelled to the conductor that I wasn’t, so he was forced to pay.  I was happy to see him leave.  More people got on, and another started hitting on me.  An older man yelled at him to leave me alone.  We came upon some traffic, and I saw out the window people pouring gasoline on a car, and lighting it on fire.  It turned into a fire ball almost instantly.  Shoot, this isn’t a good omen. (I found out later that the owner of this car accidentally killed a bota driver while making a turn.  She ran off, the other bots driver's couldn't find her, so they destroyed her car.  It truly is an eye for an eye here, and crowd justice.) A bit farther down was Oil Com, my stop.  If anybody gets off with me, I’m getting back on. I am not making this long, unlit walk with a man I don’t know. Nobody got off with me.  Alright, that’s good. Just walk home. You’ll be fine. This was stupid, but you’ll be fine.  Three men come out from behind the Oil Com wall. “Oh…come talk to us mrembo.”  One touches my arm. “Toca!” I yell.  They leave me alone.  This was so damn stupid.  Never again.  I should have called Michael.   I put my phone on Kaylee’s number.  If I call her, she’ll know something was wrong and she knows where I am. I finally get to Danny’s shop.  This is close to the house, and everyone past it knows us well.  I walk past the gate to our house, and let out a breath of relief.  I was never so happy to be home.  

12.08.2011 Off to Moshi!

12.08.2011  Off to Moshi!

            I left today after placement to go to Moshi to visit Kelvin at university.  I grabbed a bus at 1600, and was there about an hour later.  He picked me up and we went straight to meet his friends at a local club.  It was so great meeting all of them!  We danced and talked and had a great time.   Half way through our night, I noticed another mzungu across the bar, sitting on his own.  I invited him to join us.  He came to Moshi from England, doing something for the coffee exportation.  He is moving to Dar in a month, and has yet to visit Arusha.  I invited him to come visit. He seemed excited about it, so hopefully I’ll see him in a week! 

            After the club, Kelvin took me back to his university.  His dorms were so similar to what mine were at EIU, except there were clothes lines and washing buckets right outside the door.  The room to his key was huge, and reminded me of a key that might belong to a dungeon door.  But, they had….HOT WATER! WIRELESS! ELECTRICITY! I took advantage of only the hot water.  WHAT was I thinking?  I should have brought everything that needs charging, and my computer complete with all the pictures I have yet to upload onto facebook.  It was late and we had an early rise, so we took showers and then went straight to sleep.  Even his sheets reminded me of home. 

10.08.2011 Masai Burns

10.08.2011 Masai Burns

I got my Masai burns tonight! The Masai tribe members get two circular brandings, one on each cheek, when they are very little (like age four, age five).  I’ve known since my first week here that I was going to get them but I’ve avoided telling anybody at home.  I can hear my mom now. “Okaayyy. Um, I wouldn’t do that Amanda.  It could get infected.  You don’t want an infection in Africa do you?”  Mom, I drowned your voice out with my scream as the hot metal sizzled against my skin. 

Why did I decide to get it?  Because the story behind it is going to be a fun one to tell; because I needed a scar for the, What’s your favorite scar and why game; because I’m dating a Masai and wanted to remember him whenever I see the scar; because it’s unified me with the other amazing volunteers who I’ve met; because I had too many Konyagi sashays. It’s on top of my heart, two overlapping circles forming an infinity. 

09.08.2011 Another Day, Another Goodbye

09.08.2011 Another Day, Another Goodbye

            Michael, our driver (and one of the people I’m going to miss most when I leave) came back from Kenya today.  I was so happy to see him!  He travels home once every couple months to see his son, sister, and father.  Zacki is the same.  He only sees his children and family once every three months or so.  I can’t imagine this.  Being away from home right now is hard (although I don’t let it take away from my experience) but it would be even harder if I had young children.  I’d feel like I was missing out on their lives and watching them grow. 

            Today I started to clean out our cabinets at the orphanage.  They need supplies, so I was trying to go through everything and throw out everything that was ripped, not working, or used past expiration.  I was left with nearly empty cabinets.  Next week I will go to a stationary store and buy some of the essentials.  Paper, notebooks, lots of pens, pencils, and sharpeners, and puzzles and toys.  Mama Anna always talks about how she wants to expand Kitulizo to a new building, with an orphanage, primary school, and secondary school, but I don’t see it happening, at least not without a very large sponsor.  It serves its purpose to society now, but I don’t see it getting much larger than what it is.

            While I was cleaning out the cabinets, Mama Anna’s nine year old son came in to keep me company.  He is on holiday from school for a month, so I’ve been seeing him more and more often.  Today though, he started talking about school.  He wants to be a pilot when he grows up.  I told him that he is going to have to study very, very hard.  He said that he does, and then ran out of the room.  He came back with his report cards, notebooks, and some exams.  He gets straight As, knows fluent Swahili, English, and French, and studies with 14 year olds.  I couldn’t believe how smart he was!  He was glowing in my praises.  I am seriously considering sponsoring him.  I would even sponsor him to come to the States to study (after I get a nursing job, of course).  I want to sponsor him, and one student of ours named Irene also.  She is also very intelligent, and lives in a house made of metal sheet walls and a metal sheet roof.  Their family has no money, and I don’t want her bright light to dim.

            For dinner today Alana, Steph, Nicky, Becky, and I went to TGT.  They are all leaving in the next couple days so this was like our last hurrah.  Everyone is leaving me.  The turn around is so sad.  I hate that all these amazing people are coming here, I’m becoming close with them, and then they leave and I have to start over with the new orients.  By far, it is the worst part of being here for so long.  I should only befriend mbongos.  They won’t leave me!  At least I know I have places to stay all over the world, and they’ll always be welcome in my home.

            

08.08.2011 Nane Nane Again

08.08.2011 Nane Nane Again

            Against Kelvin’s advice, I returned to nane nane today with Ashlee, Angela, Noah, and Emilie.  It was absolutely crazy and much too crowded.  We found the beer tent, and went in for a few drinks.  Noah started free styling with a local at the table.  They sounded really good!  It was funny to see the two interacting the way they were, Noah rapping in English, and this local rapping in Kiswahili. We left the safety of the beer tent to enter the crazy crowd, money in bra, hands over pockets. There was another boxing tournament, but so many people surrounding it that we saw nothing so we decided to keep moving.  We had entered a smaller area of the fair and had to exit.  There was a maybe seven foot entrance, and a car parked blocking it.  There was enough room for one person at a time to pass.  Then, while we were in the middle of it, the car moved.  People started running in and running out, nearly trampling others.  There was a child in front of me.  I locked my arms straight ahead of me and put them on the back of the person in front of me, trying to form a pocket of safety for this child.  People were pushing on me, and stepping on my shoes, almost causing me to trip on top of the very kid I was trying to protect.  A local saw me, grabbed my arm to steady me, and asked me if I was alright.  I pointed to the kid, and then he helped me to get the kid out safely. 

            After this, Emilie and Noah wanted to find a tent that would give them dreads.  The other three of us didn’t want to stay to watch that (although if I didn’t think it would greatly decrease my chances of getting a job quickly, I would have loved to get dreads myself), so we decided to leave for Njiro Complex. Njiro Complex is probably the most Americanized place in Arusha, and we all needed a little taste of home.  We ordered pizzas and Mexican while we waited for Emilie and Noah.

            While we were waiting, we met this woman who was in the process of adopting two children form Tanzania.  By law, you must live here for three consecutive years to be allowed to adopt a child.  What is she and her husband doing during those years?  She is opening an orphanage that is uncorrupt, loving, and clean.  I got her business card and played with her children.  After she left, the other volunteers were teasing me and saying that would be me a decade or two from now.  Haha.  What’s wrong with that!?