A Life Of Glamour

I’m a pretty happy camper these days—happier than I’ve been in a while.  What has affected this marvelous transformation, you may ask?  (Although perhaps not in those exact words.) 

VACATION.

I am spending a week with an American friend, J.  J teaches English here, and her husband R is one of the doctors at Edna’s.  While he is out of the country I am staying with J in Half-London, a residential neighborhood where many expats make their home, enjoying some time away from the hospital.  I’m still working, and in fact I’m writing this at the hospital right now, but I come here in the morning and go away in the evening, and that has made all the difference.  I enjoy J’s company, and her home’s lack of proximity to a mosque. 

(I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but the sound of the prayer calls here is like the caterwauling of cats in heat mixed with the blare of the emergency broadcast test alarms that the nuclear power plant near my home in Plymouth gives off every so often.  Anyone who so much as suggests to me that the cry of the Muzzenin can be beautiful, an exotic melody from another culture and lifestyle, will suffer the consequences of their stupid, thoughtless remark.  And by consequences, I mean I will throw a bean-bag at your head upon my return.  A bean-bag filled with rage.  And beans.)

Navigation

I rarely see Hargeisa at night, and then only from inside a moving car as I travel from one walled compound to another.  I know little of the night-life here.  I don’t mean clubs and other such things—they don’t exist here—but I mean that even after almost 5 months, I know very little about Hargeisa after dark.  I know it is busy, but where are these people going?  What are they doing?  I see them, as I rumble past in a Land Cruiser with tinted windows and worn shocks, groups of women shrouded like ghosts, men with bundles of stems wrapped in plastic that one might mistake for flowers (perhaps a gift for a sweetheart) but which are in fact bundles of khat.  The men are on their way to chew these bright green leaves and forget themselves in the vivid, coked-out flight of ideas typical of khat use.  They build castles in their minds, think deep thoughts, solve all the world’s problems, and then wake up to find nothing but a pile of stripped branches and the same poverty, the same wife and hungry children, the same old life they had before, and all the great dreams spun in the night have vanished. 

The Mostly Unvarnished Truth

Again, it has been some time since I updated this blog.  I have been hesitant to share my experiences here; they are not always, or even often, fun, enlightening, “Out Of Africa”-style adventures.  It’s more like “The Constant Gardener.”  Facing poverty, disease, dirt, bugs the size of toddlers, laziness, intransience, ignorance, corruption and greed every day is exhausting and depressing.

I find I don’t want to be comforted, or reassured.  I don’t want to be told it will get better, or that I’m doing amazing work and it’ll all  be worth it in the end.  I just want to complain about my day with the people here who’ve gone through it too, and then go to bed and try to sleep through the constant cacophony of prayer call so I can get up and do it all again the next day.  I guess one might say that I’m not entirely happy here.

There, I’ve said it.  That’s what I haven’t wanted to tell all the wonderful people back home who have been so supportive.  I haven’t wanted to say that I am tired and angry and depressed and frustrated.  I haven’t wanted to complain about how expensive life is here, and how I’m going broke way ahead of schedule because the cost of things like fresh milk and toilet paper is so high.  I’ve hesitated to voice my frustrations with the way things are run here: the hospital, the store room, the OR…the list goes on.  I don’t want to disappoint all the people who’ve helped to send me here.

Life on the Ward

            It has been a while since I’ve updated this blog.  Life here is draining, and often the only thing I want to do with my free time is sleep, or read about other people’s lives on Facebook.  Getting together the drive to post a new entry is simply beyond me.  But there are so many people who have kindly expressed interest in my life, and I wouldn’t be here without your support, so now let me share some of my life here with all of you.

A young girl works by the side of the road.  Note the minaret of a mosque in the background.  That is one of the most common sights in Hargeisa.  Another common sight: plastic bags and other waste carpeting the brush on the roadside.

            I have mostly settled into a routine on the Medical Ward.  I care for anywhere from 2-5 patients, depending on the wildly fluctuating hospital census.  We care for a range of conditions here, from babies with pneumonia to adults with uncontrolled diabetes, to strokes and heart attacks.   

Airport Expats, and The Joys of Farming

It has been a busy few days here, what with the storms, field trips, GI distress, and, as always, fussy internet connections.  Now, though, I’d like to take some time to tell you a few stories about my first week here.

Actually, it starts before I even landed in Hargeisa.  In my last post I told you about my unexpected night in Djibouti.  Well, I planned to be at the airport the next morning a good 2 ½ hours before my flight, just in case.  That meant a 5:10 cab ride.  All was well, and I arrived at the Djibouti International Airport by 5:30, only to discover that not only was the airport not even open, but, according to the staff, my 8 AM flight was now scheduled for 8:30, and Juba Airlines never opens the ticket counter until 2 hours before the flight.  (This was my first real experience of “Africa Time.”  It’s a real thing—the staff here at the hospital use it as an excuse when things are running behind and we antsy Westerners want to know why.)  I spent the next hour waiting outside the door of the airport, but thankfully I wasn’t the only one there.  In fact, my sidewalk buddy was Peter, a professor from Western Washington University who travels around the world whenever he can.  I mean around the world.  He didn’t even list all the places he’s been, since he is nearing 100 countries!  We talked about what was bringing us to Somaliland, with just two tourist destinations, as well as what we thought of Djibouti (hot).  Peter is a really interesting guy, and I hope someday to travel to almost as many places as he has.  As many of you know, my stated life goal is to be the most interesting old lady in the nursing home, so that when I’m telling the CNA’s the same stories over and over again every day, well, at least they will be interesting stories.  I think hitting the 100-country mark would be a pretty cool story

Once the airport finally opened and we checked in, waited for the snack bar to open so we could buy water, waited some more, and finally moved to our gate, we encountered another foreign visitor, one whom Peter had met the day before.  Gilles is a computer whiz with his own tech company based in Paris, and he was in Somaliland on business.  No one else in his company wanted to come and honor the contract, and most didn’t want Gilles travelling to Somaliland either, thinking it too dangerous, but he came anyway.  I say bravo!  Somaliland needs more foreign engagement and investment, not to mention a stronger technology infrastructure. 

I really enjoyed meeting Peter and Gilles, and learning about their reasons for coming here; I find that one can meet some really cool people while traveling, and I bet once I reach that 100-country mark, I’ll have a contact list to rival Rupert Murdoch (except I’ll use my world-wide web of connections and influence for good, not evil).

By the way, our “is it at 8 or 8:30?” flight split the difference and departed, half-empty, at 8:15.

Greetings From Hargeisa

Well, I’ve made it!  I am safely settled into the Edna Adan Maternity Hospital is Hargeisa, Somaliland.  It was a long, long journey, including four flights and layovers in four countries.  Halfway through my journey I was unexpectedly required to spend the night in Djibouti, where I shared my air-conditioned hotel room with a gecko named Alfonse and his lady-friend Victoire.  We had an uneasy truce: I wouldn’t throw my sneakers at them and try to turn them into gecko paste, and they would stay on the wall’s northern hemisphere and generally try not to be too creepy. 

The next day I resumed my journey for the final flight, into Hargeisa.  The Djibouti-Hargeisa flight on Juba Airlines is…interesting.  The plane isn’t too small, in fact, some of the “puddle-jumper” flights in the US use similar-sized planes, but this plane is old, so old it is, in fact, a propeller plane.  The seats are tiny and lean so far back that I can’t imagine the agony if someone is in the seat in front of you—luckily my flight was more than half empty.  On top of that the plane rattles, and has a rather strong odor.  The flip side, though, is that it was the single smoothest takeoff I’ve ever experienced; I barely noticed when we left the ground.  Only about 40 minutes later we landed in Hargeisa!

Progress

So things are really starting to come together.  I have an RN license, a departure date (August 10th!!!), a plane ticket, a duffle bag starting to fill up with a year's worth of Head and Shoulders...and an appointment at the Mass General travel clinic for an armful of shots.  I'm not looking forward to that-I hate getting shots (and yes, I get the irony here).

In other news, the first raffle prize--a pair of tickets to see Taylor Swift at Gillette Stadium--was raffled off on June 22nd.  Kelly from Bridgewater was the winner; congrats Kelly!  She and her daughter Isabella had a wonderful time at the concert, which happened to fall on Isabella's 11th birthday.  What a wonderful surprise!   The remaining raffles winners will be drawn in a few days.  Best of luck to all the entrants, and thanks you for your support!

I am halfway to my total fundraising goal, but I still need to raise another 4,000 dollars to fully fund this trip--right now my plane ticket is one way!  I'm so grateful to everyone who has contributed to my trip so far; it is wonderful to know that I have so much support from my friends and family.  All fund raised go towards my travel costs and room and board while in Africa.  This is a volunteer trip and I won't draw a salary while I'm there, so I am relying on the generosity of others to make this journey possible.  If anyone wants to make a contribution to my trip, a tax-deductible contribution can be made to East Sandwich Preparative Meeting (Quakers).  My church has set up the Brown Fund, and contributions made to the fund are tax deductible. 100% of the money is passed along to me for my trip.  Checks made out to East Sandwich Preparative Meeting, and marked for the Brown Fund (you can use the memo line) can be mailed to:
East Sandwich Friends Meeting, PO Box 198, East Sandwich MA 02537.
Please enclose a request for a receipt if you would like one.  Again, I am so lucky to have such supportive friends and family, and I am thankful for every dollar people donate during these tough times.

If you'd like another way to contribute to my volunteer trip, please consider checking out my Amazon.com Wish List.  I've put together a list of the things I still need for my trip, like scrubs, hair coverings, socks, a stethoscope (yes, old Goldie is being put out to pasture!), my favorite lip balm that I probably can't find over there, etc.  Go to http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/registry.html?ie=UTF8&type=wishlist&id=OUSKEP444SGZ to see what's what.

It's been tough trying to pare down 8-12 months of living into one LL Bean extra-large duffle bag and a carry-on; I've had to think long and hard about what makes the cut and what doesn't, how many sets of scrubs I need, how many pairs of socks, what I'll buy in Somaliland, and what American brands I can't live without.  At least I won't have to make tough choices about my books.  Thank goodness for my Kindle, I don't think I could do this without it!

I'll post more updates and info soon-including a glimpse into the 2 day-long journey that will bring me from Plymouth MA to Hargeisa, Somaliland.  Thanks for reading!
-Bre