helen weld public health

A ‘Typical Day’. . .

It’s hard to describe a typical day as it seems as though many different events occur, yet each day does have certain regularities.

I am awake before dawn, about 5, as it is my usual habit. Instead of my usual routine of walking and swimming, I lie in bed for a few moments and just soak in a bit of the silence which is punctuated by neighbouring dog howls and barks, as well as buckets clanging at the well. It’s good to have some semi-meditative moments. Soon the calls to prayer from distant mosques begin and I soak these into my psyche. Though a bit eerie, I find them quite soothing.

Then dealing with the computer and internet begins. The connectivity seems to be much faster at this time of day and I am fresher to deal with the frustrations of the regular “dropouts”. It’s also the best time to “chat” with Robert due to time zone synchronization. If emails seem garbled and misspelled, it is often because I am rushing to write between drop outs and I am in dark too. To see “Your message has been sent”, always feels like a triumph, especially if it has gone through on the first try.

Safula, our cook, arrives as the dawn breaks about45. She gets the breakfast going and then I hear the various alarms of my housemates begin. We gather for breakfast and then head off in the van with the nurses by 7:45.

On the 15 minute commute to the hospital from our guest house, it’s good to see the world of Bo pass by. There are many images and scenes: children dressed in their crisp uniforms (with hats) walking to school; children carrying bundles of goods on their heads heading to market; the Barack Obama Construction Company truck heading out of the parking lot; vendors along the road selling eggs, bread, oil, fruit; wood shops with the carpenters sharing from the same pot of food before the workday begins, a plethora of motorbikes with passengers hanging on tight to their goods. Often there are two adults and two children on one bike and the woman in the back will have a baby on her back too. The obligatory passenger helmet (a recently enacted law being enforced) can sometimes be a lightweight plastic bucket…whatever. Women working in the fields; women doing laundry in puddles; women plaiting each others hair on the front door step; children and men peeing on the side of the streets; billboards with public health messages or ads for the various cell phone carriers are ubiquitous.

When we arrive at the office, the first assessment of the day is to see if there is power. If so, computers get charged. If the ‘fast” hospital internet is working too, then it feels like we have won the lottery.

The day continues with a series of unpredictable and predictable events. Snapshots of images and phrases swirl through my brain at the end of the long days:

*A 20 year old patient sobbing and hugging Darius as she greets him at the ward wearing pants for the first time in goodness knows how long. She is finally dry!

*Giving children ice cream for the first time. A friend of Darius’s in Texas gave Darius $ to buy ice cream for children. The other evening we gathered about 60 neighbourhood children and told them there was a surprise coming. They were very patient as the soft ice cream had to be made and then delivered. It was quite an exciting event which they will remember forever.

Attending Musa’s funeral and witnessing collective grief as we marched in the funeral procession. Musa, the 43 year old bookkeeper for the program, died suddenly of a massive stroke March 5th. He was being treated for hypertension, but his sudden death really shook up everyone. When the news hit the staff and the patients, the collective wailing was very intense, as many fell to the floor and pounded their fists. We have observed this when other patients at the hospital die and their family and friends congregate. The people here seem so stoic and resilient, but the expression of their grief is immense. It’s like a boil has been lanced and the emotions pour out. The whole country