I'm Sick!

Hello! I’m back from Africa. I’m healthy, I’m well, and I can run a lot farther now that all my RBC’s have increased because of the higher elevations. It is good to be home! I just read back over my blog and realized #1 that I’m really far behind and #2 that the blog is for the most part all about the good stuff. And while being in Africa was a good experience overall I would hate for all of you to think that it is a paradise, pack your bags and move there forever.


Here’s an entry from my journal exactly two weeks ago, raw and unedited…

“This trip has been so up and down, filled with discouragement and discomfort yet as time passes the difficulties fade and the positives come forward. This work is not glamorous.
I’m sick of being uncomfortable,
Sick of being so squished that every bone and muscle in my young body aches.
I’m sick of eating carbohydrates, oil and sugar
I’m sick of taking pills and injections to make sure I don’t get sick but getting sick anyway.
I’m sick of the smog, of the howling slum dogs

Sick of sleeping under this malodorous mosquito net
Sick of always being covered in mud
Sick of squatty potty’s
I’m sick of being called Mzungu, sick of having everyone know me, why I’m here and what I’m doing – I just want to blend in.
I’m sick of being ripped off, sick of doing laundry in the sink, sick of the smell of omo, Sick of the slum church that sings off key till 2:00 am.
I’m sick of being lonely
Sick of having no home
Sick of missing my friends
Sick of wrestling with God - fighting for answers I don’t understand.
I’m homesick!

It's Just Another Day in Kampala

The rooster crows as the sun rises over the city. I can either put in ear plugs and ignore it or roll out of bed and think about heading to the hospital. This morning, I’m choosing to sleep in, the travel sickness has hit. It’s now a familiar feeling since I’ve gotten it in every 3rd world country I’ve been to. Anne Marie and Heather are doing a fantastic job in the hospital. I back them up for delivery’s since they need the experience and numbers so a couple extra zzz’s won’t hurt, plus, I’m on holidays.

Eventually I roll out from under my mosquito net, throw on a skirt, T-shirt and sandals and roam the streets to argue over the price of a pineapple for breakfast. A quick jump in the freezing cold shower and I’m ready to go. I head through the slum that my room overlooks to the hospital. As I descend into it the smell of rotting garbage asails my senses. A few skinny dogs rummage through the garbage heaps looking for food. All of a sudden a child catches a glimpse of me. “Mzungu, mzungu he half sings half chants as he runs toward me followed by about a dozen other children. As he approaches he reaches out his hand to grasp mine. I shake his hand and then teach him and all his buddies how to give high fives as they giggle and talk about the white Mzungu. After a few minutes of playing with them I bid them farewell and trudge up the hill toward the hospital “Bye, Bye Mzungu” they call as I wave back to them.

As I enter the hospital Anne Marie is sprawled out on the little stage and Heather has a doll in her hands. All the nurses sit bleacher style around the desk enamored. Perfect timing, we are teaching them…Certain skills such as breech, shoulder dystocia and delayed cord clamping but also things like “It is not good to hit the patients or yell at them, maybe they would be more co-operative if you actually explain what you are doing” Many of these nurses and midwives are mean. For me it has been a real eye opener to work in a government hospital rather than a missions hospital. (As a side note, I have found a new niche… teaching. I love teaching the nurses and midwives because that is what will last. We come and go but if they can learn what we have learnt, their ward will be better because of it.)

“I need a second”, Heather calls from behind a dirty pink curtain. I race in and get ready for a birth. Here, the hospital does not provide anything, except a lot of bleach. The women buy there own supplies. They deliver on 1 sheet of plastic where all the fluids are collected and then dumped in the garbage after the birth. They tie off the cord with the ends of their gloves and cut the cord with a razor blade and that’s about it. As soon as that birth ends Anne Marie calls for me to help her with a delivery. I run back and forth between the two helping Heather with stitching and Anne Marie with the delivery, weighing the babies inbetween. Just as we are finishing the charting on those two births nurse “mean Sarah” ask me to do a birth. I pass it off to Heather and the three of us Mzungu’s elbow our way in to protect the birthing mother from the wrath of the nurse. The head delivers beautifully but the shoulders get stuck (shoulder dystocia) I quickly whip to the other side of the bed, crawl up onto it “1,2,3” and I firmly push on the babies shoulders from the outside as Heather does the same from inside. Slowly the baby slides out, blueish white, not breathing, not responding to stimulation. I grab the ambu bag and start to bag the baby, after about 10 times the baby starts to come to and then lets out a wail. Suddenly all is calm. The Ugandan nurses and midwives stand around saying “ohh, shoulder dystocia, you do like this, as they imitate me, Ohh, it works, like this hmmmm they smile and walk away and we smile to ourselves. Hopefully they have learned something today.

The day ends as it started, back through the slum. Back through all the happy beautiful children shouting Mzungu, Mzungu. I touch their heads and hands and enter the Hostel. In the evenings we find dinner and then fall asleep under only a sheet to about 20 howling slum dogs, a church that sings till 2:00am using the same 4 cords over and over and a million crickets singing in the hot African air. I have come to appreciate my earplugs.

So that’s a “typical” Kampala day.

This weekend Anne Marie and I are going camping in Busi, a small island in Lake Victoria. Monday may be a day much like today, Tuesday I’ll meet up with my original travel companions, do some shopping and then head to the airport in Entebbe and that will be the close of this African chapter.

“I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.”

Another "Boring" Updater

On Sunday July 1 Mark, Kylie, Chris and I left Kapsowar for Jinja Uganda. The drive was fairly uneventful, Mark diagnosed a teen with a stomach ulcer on the drive which was squished as per normal and the matatu (truck) started to sound really bad part way there. They kept looking at the tire to make sure it wasn’t flat, even to the point of using “manpower” to lift up the truck. They finally decided that one of the back shocks was starting to break so they tied it together with (you’ll never guess…) Baler Twine. Needless to say we took another matatu and I think there was a lot more wrong with that truck then a broken shock, but then again, I’m no mechanic.

We arrived in Jinja 13 hours later and paid $10 for a room for the four of us and yes the condition of the room reflected the price. There were two single beds and just enough room to fit a thermarest between them along with the ants, fleas, and stench from the bad suer system. The shower didn’t work and there was no hot water. This is the room I age my ants in. Chris ate some crickets in the market which he said were pretty good. I was not so adventuresome.

We spent one day and two nights in Jinja. During the day we visited the source of the Nile.

As we were heading back home in the dark this cute little girl reached down, rubbed her hand in the dirt and licked it. We wondered what she was eating. As we walked by her it became apparent that she had peed in the dirt and was not licking it so we had a good chuckle on our way back to our dingy hotel with no electricity.

On July 3rd we all headed to Kampala. At times the trip was frustrating because everyone would try to rip off the white mzungu’s or they would tell you the wrong thing. However, we finally made it to Kampala. I got a 45 minute full body massage for about $5 and then parted company with my travel group. Mark, Kylie and Chris headed down south in Uganda to hang out on the lake Victoria Islands. I have joined Anne Marie and Heather, 3rd year midwifery students at Mulago hospital. We are staying in a hostel nearby and it is so nice to have a bit of a home base for a few days, though I have to admit, since Chris left I’ve had a lot more marriage proposals and random guys telling me they love me!

On Wednesday night the 3 of us girls headed across the city for Ethiopian food to meet up with a bunch of Canadians that Anne Marie and Heather had met earlier in the trip. We took Boda Boda’s (motorbikes). There name originated between the Tansunia, Ugandan and Kenyan border because there are a few km in between each and they used to bicycle people across, bikes turned to mortorbikes and eventually they permeated the country. Border to border eventually turned into boda boda. It was rush hour when we headed out or “the jam” so our driver took the liberty of driving on the opposite side of the street into oncoming traffic, on the sidewalks and in the center embutments as well as zigzagging in and out of stop go traffic. If a little space opened up he would gun into it and then slam on the breaks. We hit a parked car, a man and ran out of gas all in the time it took to get across the city. I don’t want to know how many accidents he’s survived in the last year but I’m glad we survived!

Fiery Red

This post is not so much about the baby but more to prove to all you unbelievers that my hair actually is red. It’s not a wig like from Pakistan and pictures don’t lie. Now you can all recognize me when I return.
This mother delivered her baby with us at Mulago hospital in Uganda on Thursday.

Eating Ants

Yesterday we spent the day in Jinja Uganda. When we came back to our hotel the power was out and it was pitch black. I decided to eat my cookies for dessert and as I was eating my arm felt itchy, then my face, then my leg and it just kept itching. I looked down with the head lamp and noticed the entire bed was covered in ants that had come from the opened COOKIES! Gross! I have not idea how many ants I ate but I don't think I'll be eating cookies again soon!

Here’s my little namesake. Ian Kip chumba, meaning, born when the white woman was here. The dr.s were so put out that this “cute little Canadian midwife” just walks in and gets babies named after her when they have no one named after them. I told them it may just be because already has 9 kids and is running out of names!

Happy Birthday Canada!

On Saturday we hiked to the top of Kip Kineur, 10, 400 ft above sea level. It was so cool to hike in such different terrain. We hiked through rainforests with the monkeys chattering above our heads, through hundreds of ants, swung on the vines, tromped through bamboo forests slipped up and down the muddy slopes and finally summited. Since it was only a day before Canada day we sang O Canada and waved the flag from the top.

This is the the view of the mountain from Marc and Kylie's. We hiked all the way to the top and then all the way back to Marc's house!