Brotherly love

My last week at the hospital was spent in the A&E department, which is great because of the variety of cases you get to see.  From people with gangrene, to miscarriages, to head injuries, to the man who had to have an expensive ring cut off his finger.  I never knew that they had a special little ring-cutter for cases like that! 

On one evening, when I had decided to stay a little later in A&E, a young man was brought in with stab wounds, and placed in cubicle 4.  Looking at the X-ray, the doctor told me that there was a right-sided pneumothorax, and that he would insert a chest drain.  Having never seen a chest drain, I was keen to watch as the doctor injected a little lignocaine, made his incision and inserted the drain, before tying some seemingly very complicated knots to keep it in place.  The procedure completed, I decided to take a break, wandering upstairs to keep Richard company for a few minutes.  Keen to conduct a delivery, he was keeping vigil by the bedside of the only woman in active labour. 

When I went back down to A&E, I found myself I cubicle 3, looking at an almost identical young man with a stab wound.  He was even wearing the same pyjamas as the one I had seen only 10 minutes earlier!  The doctor was preparing to insert a chest drain for a left-sided pnuemothrax.  I had severe deja-vu.  ”Did they come from the same fight?”  I asked. 
“They are brothers!”  The nurse told me.  The next day, Richard saw the two brothers on the surgical ward, recovering from their injuries.  Apparently, it was a third brother who had stabbed them both!

I also had my first personal experience with suspected swine flu.  It was early in the morning, and there weren’t many patients.  The doctor asked me to examine the patient in cubicle 6, so asked for the triage form, which would tell me roughly what the patient’s complaint was, as well as give me space to write the history.  “You don’t need it,” the doctor told me, so I went to the cubicle, introduced myself, and asked what was the matter.  “Oh, I have a terrible headache and a terrible cough,” the patient told me.  She looked very ill.  “And I feel dizzy and I have joint pains and a pain in my stomach.”  I asked a few more questions, then reported back to the doctor.  He asked me to so a physical examination, which was difficult, since the patient kept retching into a bag.  “What do you think?”  The doctor asked me when I returned.  “Probably flu,” I said, “What do you think?”
“Yep, I’m going to swab her for H1N1″ said the doctor, putting on his nice N95 mask and two pairs of gloves, “Don’t you have one of these masks?”   He went away to swab the patient, and I sat feeling slightly annoyed and concerned that I might have just caught swine flu!

Anyway, its been two weeks since my return from Africa, so its safe to say that if I had caught swine flu from the patient, I would have got sick already by now!  I am enjoying being at home with home-cooked meals and no 5.30am starts!  Next week I’ll be heading back to uni, and I’m hoping that some of the things I learnt in Botswana will prove useful in the year to come.  I don’t know when or where my next big trip will be, so for now I guess its time to let my blog rest for  a little while..

Botswana, Top Gear style

Last weekend we decided to reenact the Top Gear Botswana Special, so we borrowed a Toyota Corolla from the woman who owns Satellite Guest House, and off we drove in the direction of Nata.  Our destination was the Makgadigadi salt pans, which during the dry season are basically just large, flat expanses of nothingness, but apparently when they flood in the wet season, they are home to amazing quantities and varieties of birds.  Sadly its currently the dry season, and when we arrived at the Nata Bird Sanctuary we were told that we wouldn’t actually see any birds.  Nevermind.  We paid our park fee and spent a lovely afternoon drinking beers on the bird-watching towers, looking at animal tracks in the sand and enjoying driving our little borrowed car over the rough terrain.  The pans look very dry, but only a few inches beneath the crust there is a water store, as we discovered when Will decided to off-road, and we got stuck in thick, gloopy mud.  Luckily our car was pretty light, and pushing it out was no issue.  We continued up to Nata and spent the night in the Maya Guest House, watching Miss Congeniatlity 2 on TV.

The next morning, we looked at our map over a breakfast of eggs and toast.  It appeared that there was a main road running right through the middle of the pans; one of the few routes which we could possibly take with a non-4×4.  We drove on to the village of Gweta, only to discover that this ‘main road’ was infact a tiny, sandy track.  After asking for direction at the local police station, we were adivised to buy a shovel, incase the car got stuck.  We drove to the hardware store, where the owner took pity on us, and although he had no shovels in stock, sold us his own personal shovel for only P30.  We set off, only to find that the track was much worse than anticipated.  The poor car was skidding and sliding all over the place in the sand, and finally we decided that enough was enough, and headed back to Gweta.  We decided it would be polite to offer to return the shovel, and on returning to the hardware store, we found the owner waiting outside.  “What?  You thought you were going to drive on that road in THAT car?” he said.  “Are you crazy?”  he then proceeded to show us photos on his phone of lions which we had seen in the bush only a few Km from the village.  We felt relieved that we had decided to turn back when we did!  Next time, we will have to bring a 4×4.

Hi Five

The baby on the table in front of me smells faintly of vomit.  As he draws raspy breaths through fluid filled lungs, I can see that his entire mouth is thick with thrush.  I hold him still while the doctor first inserts a naso-gastric feeding tube, then attempts to put a cannula into one of his tiny veins.  He barely moves or cries as the doctor inspects arms, feet, hands, wiping them with spirit, tapping them to try to find a vein.  I don’t remember how many attempts were made before the cannula was inserted.  I think I may have gone home by the time the doctor finally succeeded.  The next morning I hear that this baby has died.  The doctors are a little confused as to the exact cause of his death.  He has pneumonia, bu had been responding to antibiotics, and thrush, though unpleasant, is not a killer.  Basically, another baby dead from unknown causes related to HIV infection.

HIV has been a constant feature of our stay in Botswana.  On our very first day, Dr Sinvula came to show us around the hospital.  “In the beginning, there was a lot of stigma, and people didn’t really want to talk about it,” he told us, as we walked through the dedicated HIV unit next to the main hospital building.  “But now it’s not a big deal.”  Next he showed us the paediatric ward “a lot of HIV related problems,” and the male medical ward “this is mostly HIV related.”  The virus is a huge problem in Botswana; one in three adults in Botswana is living with HIV, possibly the highest rate in the world.  Fortunately, the country has the means to provide HAART to everyone with a CD4 count of less than 200, arguably the best antiretroviral program in Africa.

Despite the lack of stigma, it has taken me a while to realise that people are rarely referred to as HIV positive or negative.  “RVI positive” (retroviral infection), “PMTCT positive” (prevention of mother to child transmission – used to indicate that a mother is positive), “PCR positive” (polymerase chain reaction – a test), “on HAART” (highly active antiretroviral therapy) and even “hi five” (HI V – geddit?) are all ways that doctors and nurses communicate the HIV statuses of their patients to each other.  I have also got used to wearing gloves all the time; the majority of doctors won’t touch a patient without wearing gloves.  Where in the UK we would wear gloves, in Botswana they would wear two pairs, and one pair would be sterile, as sterile gloves are thicker. Needle stick and splash injuries, and the associated HIV tests and post-exposure prophylactic drugs are just part of the job for health care workers.

I wonder what this part of the world would be like without AIDS.  Botswana is a very new country, only gaining independence in 1966.  Since then, it has gone from being one of the poorest countries in the world to one of the richest in Africa.  Most people here do not consider Botswana a developing country at all; one of the doctors even tells me it has more resources that than the UK.  What would Botswana be like today if it had not lost a huge chunk of its work force to AIDS?  What would the country have done with the money that it now spends on antiretroviral drugs?  50% or so of the patients on the wards are there because of HIV; I try to imagine the paediatric ward with half the number of patients, no mattresses on the floor and no problems with understaffing.  An advert on SABC urges young South African’s to imagine a generation that is free of HIV.  Botswana has been a success story in treating HIV; I wonder if it also has the potential to be a leader in preventing new infections.

Good morning

I get woken up by the sound of a mosquito buzzing in my ear.  Looking at the phone, I see that its 4.56; only 19 minutes til the alarm rings again.  I lie back and sleep ’til the alarm wakes me.  I hit ’snooze’ a couple of times before getting up for my shower, mug of cheerios, and the half hour stroll to the hospital.  The real start of the morning though, is the morning meeting, which each department holds at 7.30.  This starts off with a prayer, then a list of statistics from each of the wards belonging to the department.  Admissions, discharges, deaths and numbers of HIV positive and negative patients are rolled off before individual cases are honed in on.  Junior doctors then take over, giving details about the deaths from the medical notes, summarising the patient’s stay in hospital from start to finish.  This over, the specialists jump in; “why was the patient given this antibiotic?” “the high temperature could have been caused by muscle spasms” “when is this anti-fungal indicated.”  Once this grilling is finished, they move on to discussing other matters, before heading off to do the ward rounds.

Although long, and although I don’t always understand everything that is going on, I look forward to these meetings; this is where people voice their opinions and concerns about the healthcare system, and where I feel that I can really glimpse into the lives of the health care workers.  Last week, two staff from an Infection Control board came round to give the obs and gynae department a briefing about swine flu.  “There is no need to panic,” the infection control officer started off, before confirming that there had been several cases already at the hospital.  “You only need to wear a face mask if you are seeing to a patient with flu symptoms.  N95 masks cost 200 pula each (about 20 gbp) and we can’t afford to supply them to everyone.”  This was met with protests from some of the nurses, who pointed out that they are often asked to cover medical wards, wherer there are plenty of patients with flu symptoms.  Should they collect a mask and keep it handy for when they needed it?  “No,” said the infection control officer, starting to look uncomfortable.  “Surely the lives of healthcare workers are worth more than 200 pula,” said one of the doctors, “Some of us are HIV positive, on ARVs.  We are concerned about infection.”  Then the topic of Tamiflu.  “We do have some Tamiflu,” the infection controller informed us “But I think it was a donation, and the entire stock expires next month.  No idea when we will be able to get any more.”  He went on to tell us that Tamiflu was to be reserved for confirmed cases.  Samples from suspected cases would be sent to South Africa to be analysed; the process would take 10 days.  “But surely after 10 days the patient would have either died or recovered.”  The infection control officer looked even more uncomfortable.  The talk was rounded off with the comment, “Don’t hold out for preventative vaccines.  We know that the rich, developed countries are waiting to get their hands on these vaccines, and they have more money that us.  We won’t get any.”  The staff grumbled a little as they went back to work, but go back to work as usual they did.  I wondered how British healthcare workers would have reacted had they received the same briefing.

“Botswana is not a poor country.  We have no scarcity of money or resources,” was a comment from the hospital managment, relayed to us by one of the specialists, in response to complaints of understaffing.  Every department has been calling out for more medical officers, but there simply don’t seem to be enough to go around.  Those that there are, are expected to work very long, inconvienient hours.  “Join your union” one of the senior doctors says in response to the medical officers’ complaints.  In paediatrics, the lack of formula is discussed.  Formula is given to babies of HIV positive mothers instead of breast milk, as part of the programme to prevent the tranmission of the virus from mother to child.  However, there have been problems with the supply.  The senior nurse tells us that this is because the company that is contracted by the Botswana goverment is also contracted by other african countries “They are greedy and take lots of contracts, and then they cannot meet the demand” she tells us.  At least half of the children in the paediatric ward have HIV related conditions.  Then there has been the “surfactant problem”.  Surfactant is produced in the lungs of the foetus from about 32 weeks, and reduces surface tension, allowing the baby to breathe properly once it is born.  Those babies born before 28 weeks do not produce sufficient surfactant, and therefore can’t breathe properly.  Artificial surfactant can be given to them, but the supply had run out, and there were difficulties in getting more for various vague reasons.  I asked the doctor how many of these babies, who should have been given surfactant, would survive. “More that 50% will die,” he said.  I asked how many would survive if the surfactant was available.  He reckoned that 80% would survive.

Sometimes there is good news though.  Botswana has decided to provide ARVS free of charge to refugees living in camps.  “We have to fight for every little thing, so when we get it we feel like dancing,” one of the specialists told me yesterday; the surfactant problem had been solved.

It’s a girl!

On the 6^th August at 17.13, I delivered a little baby girl!  I had just come back from a lunch break, after a morning spent in the ante-natal clinic palpating baby bumps big and small.  Arriving back on the Labour and Delivery ward, we found two women there in labour, and the midwives assigned me and Eli one each.  It was our third day in the hospital, and I’d seen a few deliveries, but I still wasn’t quite sure if I was ready to deliver one myself.  I felt a moment of fear each time a babies head appeared – would the cord be round its neck?  Would it start to breathe?  Why were they always so blue?  The midwives seemed confident that we could do it, however, and that’s why I found myself standing at the bedside of the young prima gravida, wearing a big heavy white gown and sterile gloves.  On the other side of the bed stood the midwife, telling me what to do.  Later, I realised that there were other people there; another midwife, Eli – even the obstetrician passed by – but during the birth I was so concentrated that I didn’t even notice!

Seeing the baby’s head at first, it looks like it’s being squashed.  Putting my fingers in, I was worried about crushing the fragile little brain, but the midwife told me that I needed to check that the cervix was fully dilated; that the baby had a clear passage out.  I was surprised that the head didn’t actually feel squashed at all with my hands around it.  This woman had large hips, the midwife said, and there was plenty of room for the baby to come out.
“I think that you need to do an episiotomy,” said the midwife, “Take those scissors, put two fingers over the baby’s head, and wait for a contraction, then cut.”  An episiotomy is a cut in the perineum, performed to allow more room for the baby to pass out of the vagina, and to prevent it tearing something more important, such as the anal sphincter.  Before, when i had been waiting for the woman to deliver, I had privatley considered that if asked to do an episiotomy, I would stand aside and let the midwife take over.  However, in the moment I didn’t have time to think.  I grabbed the scissors, and when the baby pushed hard against my hand, I clamped the scissors shut.  The mother moaned with pain.  “Cut more, cut more” said the midwife, “Protect the baby’s head.”  I tried again and again, but the scissors were blunt, and my episiotomy remained a dismal centimeter or so long.

“Hold the head,” as the next contraction came, the baby’s head slipped out easily into my hands, and I wiped it quickly with a cloth.  Sliding my fingers round the neck, I was greatly relieved not to feel a cord there!  All at once, it seemed, the grayish baby was out, and I clamped and cut the cord, wiped the baby and dangled it above the mother, for her to see that it was a little girl.  There were injections to administer to mother and baby, and my hands shook like a leaf as I stuck the needles in.  Gently, the placenta was teased out, and it was all over!  I declined to suture the episiotomy tear, deciding that I had put this woman through enough pain already.  Instead I watched as the midwife injected lignocaine, and began painstakingly to look for tears (there was one fairly large one, due to my poor episiotomy, but there wasn’t much blood loss, which was a relief.)

This woman was brave.  Though she winced a little as the midwife began to suture, she busied herself with fielding large numbers of calls on her mobile.  She seemed so happy!  “This is a strong lady” siad the midwife.  Indeed, all the ladies who I saw on the labour and delivery ward seemed to me to be very brave.  The vast majority gave birth with no pain relief, with pethidine being given only to those in severe pain.  Epidurals, which are now so common in the UK, just cannot be offered to all those delivering vaginally, spinal anaesthetics being reserved for those requiring caesarean sections.  It did make me a Eli ponder how different the attitudes to childbirth seem to be here and in the UK.

Later, as I looked into the little cot, where the baby was bundled up in blankets, only her tiny face visible, I felt a little lump in my throat.  I was very relieved that the delivery had gone smoothly, and that baby and mother were safe.  I carried the little bundle back into the ward, where the mother was sitting up in bed eating porridge.  The nurse brought in another cot, and I left mother and baby together.  The next time I came in, the mother had moved the baby into her bed, and was breatfeeding it; the first mother who I had seen do so on the ward.  I thanked her for letting me deliver her child.

Safari! And now down to business…

First day at the hospital today!  Feels great to be getting our hands dirty- literally, in me and Eli’s case, as we are on the labour and delivery ward.  We haven’t delivered any babies ourselves yet, but the staff are all very friendly and very keen to get us involved, so we are excited about tomorrow!

The main difference between the hospital here and in England that I have observed so far is their attitude to blood.  Understandably, they are extremely careful.  With one in three adults HIV positive, staff barely touch anything, patient or equipment without gloves, and where blood could possibly be involved, they wear two pairs, standard gloves with a sterile pair on top.  Hopefully my embarrassment at being unable to put on my sterile gloves at the first attempt will be a one-off; with the amount of practice I am getting, I’ll be able to do it in my sleep by the time I come home!

Last weekend we decided to go to Maun at the last minute.  We thought that it would be our only chance to get out and travel in Botswana, and since none of the other three have ever been on safari before, it seemed a shame to come all the way to Botswana without seeing some of the wildlife.  We stayed in a lovely little place called Audi Camp, a few Km outside of Maun.  We were lucky to get a last minute booking (the tourit information lady said that Audi was the best camp) and we did have to move to a different tent every night.  The first night, we stayed in “en-suite tents” which were amazing.  Built on a platform, right at the edge of a lake and with an open-air bathroom so that you could see the stars while showering.

We took two day trips.  On saturday, we headed into the Moremi reserve for a day of canoeing and bush walking.  They warned us to wear long sleeves, and realised why once we were sitting in the open-backed land cruiser belting along the tarmac road towards the park- it was freezing!  Once on the sand road, the sun was up, we slowed down and warmed up and began to enjoy the scenery.  Rounding a corner, we saw a car stuck in the mud, another car trying to pull it out, and several men in boxer shorts knee deep in mud trying to get an unruly jack to work.  We jumped off our truck and they tried to pull with both vehicles, but to no avail.  The truck wouldn’t budge.  Our driver decided that we should drive on.  Ten meters further down the track, and we were stuck in the mud as well.  Luckily our truck proved easier to tow out that the other one, and we were on our way again!

After some problems with sand and engines (we had to push our truck backwards to get it to start) we arrived at the delta, and were picked up by two very shallow canoes, their rowers somehow managing to remain standing despite our occasional sudden movements rocking the boats, as we tried to get comfortable, take cameras out, pull sweaters off etc.  We saw a group of 10 or so hippos wallowing in the water nearby, and watched nervously as they woke up and began moving around and snorting.  The water was shallow but beautiful, dotted all over with lily pads and water lilies and high grass.  Our shallow canoes were ideal for observing the surface of the water, seeing the occasional water skater whizz past.

After about half an hour we stopped for our bush walk.  Sadly, there were no animals to see, but thanks to our knowledgeable guide, I can now not only tell the difference between the poo of elephants, giraffes, jackals and antelopes, but also whether the poo is from a male or a female giraffe (the female poo has a sharp point “Women like to decorate everything” said our guide.)  He also showed us the difference between the worker and soldier harvest termites, and demonstrated to us their ferocious bite.  Further down the path, we encountered the sorry little leg of a baby girrafe, a little fur still visible, dragged their by hyenas.

Back in the little canoes (by this time we had learned that they are called “mokoro”) we were rowed to a little clearing where we ate hunks or chicken and ham and cheese sandwiches while our guide shimmied up a tree, then told us that he had spotted a heard of zebra.  Eagerly we followed him to a spot where a huge heard (maybe 50!) zebra were quietly grazing.  We watched them for some time, and allow some of them stared steadily at us for a full 10 minutes, the others soon went back to ambling around grazing.  It was beautiful to see.  Soon it was time to head back to the mokoros and face a high speed drive in atruck with a very dodgy radiator back to the camp.

The next day were were prepared for the cold; I was wearing 5 layers, and we were happy to see blankets in the back of the truck!  It took us a couple of ours to reach the park, though this time in amuch more reliable truck.  On the way we saw cattle and donkeys, and even and elephant and some giraffes.  Our time in the park was amazing.  Even the guide said that we were lucky.  Sometimes, he said, he would take groups on a 5 day safari and they wouldn’t see half as much as we did.  At first though, all way relatively quiet.  We stopped for a spot of breakfast just inside the reserve, and watched a yellow-billed hornbill (banana face!) collecting some seeds. Hornbills have the same mate for life, and the male provides the female and her babies with food while they are nesting.  Our guide told us that for this reason, local women believe that a straying husband should be fed the heart of a hornbill, so that he will absorb some of the bird’s love and commitment.

We drove on, seeing plenty of impala, some giraffes, a lone male elephant.  Our guide was a mine of information, telling us how to tell the males from the females, how old they would live to be, what their mating behaviours and social structures were, and other interesting facts. Our guide stopped all the card coming in the opposite direction to ask them what they’d seen, and it soon emerged that a male lion had been seen sleeping.  We soon found him, about 5m from the road, basking under some bushes.  When we drove near he stood up and surveyed us for a moment, then, uninterested, he went back to sleep.  Further down the road, a massive heard of buffalow were quietly grazing.  We felt smug to have seen three of the big five in just one short day.  We stopped to take some photos of the truck.  No sooner were we on the road again than we stopped abruptly.  There, not two meters from the truck, was a female leopard.  She stayed for a matter of seconds, staring straight at us, the she curled up her tail and was gone into the bushes, and although we stayed around (“You can’t let a cat get away so easily” said our guide) we didn’t see her again.  It was amazing and magic that it was so fleeting.  No one had time to get their camera out!

On the way back, we saw dozens and dozens of elephants, a couple of breeding heards, wallowing and drinking in the water, suckling their young, pulling down trees and flapping their ears at us.  A couple of young bulls (they don’t mature until the age of 25, about 10 years after the cows!) trumpeted at us (“Behaviour learnt from the old bulls” our guide said) and one even attempted a little charge once he could see that we were already leaving!  We left the park as the sun was setting, giving beautiful views out across the water, sillouetting the animals as the drank.

Blowing off the cobwebs

Without being sure how much internet access I will have here in Botswana, I’ve decided to dust off my old Fiji blog to record my experiences for the time being.  Its been so long since I last logged into WordPress that I have just had to reset my password!

After three days of solid travelling, I am finally here in Francistown, Botswana, with Eli, Will and Richard.  Our journey started on Monday with a drive to Heathrow, flight to Madrid, and a (delayed) flight to Jo’burg.  Pushed for time, we made our way to South African passport control, only for me to be told “Your skin temperature is too high” and be whisked away to have my temperature properly tested by a nurse.  When I protested “I’m not sick” it was met with “But aren’t you worried that you might be?”
“No!” (but I was worried about missing the bus to Gaborne).  Luckily I was declared healthy, and we all jumped into a taxi for a dash acorss Jo’burg, just in time to get on the bus.

The journey to Gaborone took about 7 hours, the highlights of which were a toilet stopon the South African side, where we bought beef jerky and Simba crisps for dinner.  My first ever beef jerky and it tasted amazing!  Dissapointingly, they don’t really seem to sell it in Botswana.  Then we came to the border, where we all had to get off the bus and be stamped out of SA, walk across the border on foot, then get stamped into Botswana and have our bags checked before getting back on the bus.

We were expecting a friend of a friend to pick us up in Gaborone, but at the last minute found out that he couldn’t make it.  Once off the bus at the Shell garage, a man came up to us asking “Richard? Richard?” and gave us a piece of paper with the number of another friend of a friend to call.  Turns out Richard’s Motswana colleague had phone ahead of us and asked the man to pass on the phone numbers.  Richard called the number, and soon a smartly dressed lady came to pick us up, and drove us to the outskirts of the city, where there was a beautiful big white house for us to stay in free of charge.  The only catch was the lack of power, but given how tired and cold we were at this stage, it didn’t seem to matter.  We went straight to bed!  In the morning, a man from the water board would turn up to switch off the water due to an unpaid bill.

I had wrongly assumed that Botswana would be quite warm.  It really isn’t.  During the day its shorts and T-shirts weather for us, but the locals are wearing wooly jumpers and hats.  At night, the temperature can drop below freezing during the coldest months of the year, though thankfully winter is on the way out, and it’s not quite as cold as that.

The final leg of our journey was the bus from Gaborone to Francistown.  The locals insisted on having the curtains closed to keep the sunlight out, but I divided my journey between reading and peering out through a gap in the curtain at the Botswana countryside.  Once we were clear of the shiny billboards and huge modern buildings of Gaborone, the view was of dusty organge ground and small dusty bushes.  A few dried river beds and cattle, the occasional donkey, and further out we began to see the little villages and mud huts that make me think of Africa.

We arrived in Francsitown after dark, and dumped our stuff at the Grand Lodge before heading out to forage for food; our first proper, sit-down meal since leaving England.  We had curry (not very african I know) and tandoori kebabs and some African beers at a place not far from the lodge, and resolved to find something a bit more local once we had seen Francistown by light!  Then it was off home to check out Botswana TV, and have my first (lovely warm) shower in nearly three days.

See you later

It didn’t really hit me that I would actually be leaving so soon until I phoned Kate on Sunday morning.  She was due to fly out on Sunday afternoon, and I wanted to see her before I left, so I was just calling to find out when she would be heading to the airport.  One of the first things she said was “I can’t believe this day has finally come”, and I realised then that my time is also running out fast.  After I put the phone down, I started crying like a little baby.  I mean full-on, tears-streaming down my face, snotty-nose, drooling crying.  For nearly an hour I couldn’t stop; “Waaah Kate’s leaving and then I have to leave.  Waah”.  But finally I managed to pull myself together.  Bill and I went with Kate to the airport, and there we met up with Emma and her friend, and also Saula.  Kate had a little visa-difficulty (she didn’t have one), but this was soon sorted out, and away she went to Melbourne.  All of us were really sad to see her go.  These past seven months, Kate and I have been through a lot together – both good and bad – and I will really miss her.  Luckily I didn’t embarrass myself by crying again at the airport – I think I had run out of tears by then!

Since finishing at Red Cross, I’ve been spending quality time with my Fijian family, preparing to leave, saying my goodbyes and buying souvenirs.  Last week I had to go to Suva to get a visa so I can visit China on the way home.  I was there for two nights.  On the first night, we visited the 2008 Hibiscus festival, which was taking place in Albert Park.  The Hibiscus festival is like a big fun-fair; there were rides, food-stalls, candyfloss, music and live performances.  The festival is a big deal here, with many companies sponsoring individuals to run as candidates for various Hibiscus titles, such as Hibiscus King, Hibiscus Queen etc.  The judging of the these candidates is even televised!  It was great to experience the atmosphere of the Hibsicus festival first hand, even if it was only for a short time.

I divided the rest of the week between attending the church conference and moping over my boils.  The church conference was pretty spectacular.  Members of AGOFI churches (Apostles Gospel Outreach Fellowship International) from all over Fiji and even further afield to attend the conference here in Lautoka.  Each evening, from Tuesday to Sunday last week, they came to the church to watch various performance items, which were then followed by a sermon and then alter-call.  A different colour was allocated for each day (for e.g. red on Wednesday, Purple of Thursday), and it was lovely to see so many people wearing different outfits of the same colour.  It was great fun to watch the performance items (mostly dances) each evening.  There was a group from the Cook Islands who were particularly good!  On Thursday evening, the Natakawaga Youth once again performed our meke/action song.  This time we had matching t-shirts (which were screen-printed by some of the boys and looked very professional) and purple sulus.  I don’t think I made any mistakes this time!

Preparing to leave is very hard.  Fiji feels like home now, and it is scary to think that in a few days I will drive to the airport, board a plane, and be gone.  Its hard to think of life going on as usual here without me.  A lot of stuff happens in seven months- if someone had told me back in January about how everything would pan out, I probably wouldn’t have believed them!  I have always kept this blog very optimistic, but that doesn’t mean that there haven’t been bad times.  There have been times when I felt frustrated, lonely and even scared.  There have been days when I just couldn’t stop crying.  But never, not even at my lowest point, did I ever feel like packing it in and going home.  The challenges that I have faced have made the experience more memorable, and the support that I have received has been amazing.

Moreover, there have been many great things that I never found time to write about on this blog.  There was Alesi’s 16th Birthday, when we had barbecue chops and sausage for dinner, and a huge cake.  There was my trip to the village Namara, where I went riding on Tamana’s horse, taking it right into the river for a swim.  On the way there, I had two hot chocolates at a cafe in Rakiraki, and they were the best hot chocolates I have ever had.  There was my trip to Suva with ‘Young Men’s’, a Christian dance group.  They performed a concert and then we had the most carb-laden dinner ever – dalo, cassava, noodles and potatoes (and meat).  Then there were Kate and my secret outings to have cake and coffee… and the time we got busted!  I could go on for hours.  The point is, my trip to Fiji has been an unforgetable and amazing experience, and my love goes out to all who have made it possible.  Its not ‘goodbye’, its ’see you later.’

Red Cross Farewell

People here often ask me if I like Fiji, and I always tell them ‘yes, a lot.’  Then they usually ask why, and I tell them ‘because it’s beautiful, and the people are friendly.’  Its a boring answer, because that is the stereotype of Fiji, but its true!  Sometimes the person laughs and asks what’s so beautiful about Lautoka.  My mum also keeps asking me to write about what the city is like, so here we go.  You see, Lautoka is not all that different from any other city – it has shops, buses, a cinema, cafes and supermarkets.  The main industry is the big FSC sugar mill, which spits out huge plumes of smoke into the sky, day and night.  When I leave my house in the morning, I see it there in the distance infront of me, a thick column of black stretching into the sky; and if I walk home after dark, the smoke looks white against the night sky.  Through the middle of town (next to the main shopping drag, Vitogo Parade) runs a mini-railway, and occasionally you can hear a loud sound like a fog horn as the train brings raw sugar cane to the mill.  There’s a wharf (which I have only been to when I went onboard the Doulos ship).  There’s a nice little promenade by the sea wall, and if you look out to sea, you can see Bekana island, and, further in the distance, Vomo.  Then there’s the market, inside a huge hall, which is open everyday and filled with people selling all kinds of fruits, vegetable and spices. Off to one side, through a couple of doors so as to contain the smell, there’s the fish market, and fruther away is the handicraft section, selling mostly floor mats and handbags.  Outside, bewteen the market and the bus-stand, there are more vendors, often sitting unde huge tarpaulins to protect them and their good from the sun.  Once I came by the market in the middle of a Friday night. I was suprised to see so many of the vendors there- the women lying asleep in a long line, covered with blankets, and the men sitting in a circle, drinking grog and keeping watch over the goods.  These were people who had come from villages to sell their produce on a Saturday, which is the busiest day in the market.  The best rugby ground in Fiji is Churchill Park, which is in town.  I’ve been there a couple of times but never to watch the rugby – St Thomas High School performed their variety concert there, and I also saw Jasper Williams High School do their military parade there just a few weeks ago.  What really makes Lautoka beautiful is when you look up from hot, dusty Vitogo Parade, and see big craggy green hills in the distance, shrouded in clouds… or the taxi you’re in turns to go down a hill and suddenly you see the big blue sea and the Yasawa islands spread out below you.  Even in an indtsrial city like this, the natural beauty of the Fiji Islands creeps in; there are palm trees wherever you look. 

Friday was my final day at Red Cross.  It was very hot, and none of us knew what to do with ourselves all day.  We lay around aimlessly in a tent outside, most of us having stripped down to vests and shorts, and waited for afternoon to come.  Even if we had wanted to, we couldn’t have done any work – the office had been broken into (again!) the night before, so we couldn’t go inside.  Luckily, this time there was no money there to steal.  Only the radio and (strangely) two dozen eggs were missing.  In the afternoon, food-preparation started in earnest.  Vegetables were peeled and sliced, the barbecue was fired up, eggs were fried, and more people began to arrive.  Some time after 5pm, we were all called into the hall, and Kate and I were seated at the front.  We were each given a lovely garland of flowers, and Ganpati gave a speech, thanking us for our work.  Mererai gave each of us a gift.  Then it was our turn to talk.  I was smiling and happy and I started to thank everyone for all the wonderful expererience, for their support and friendship, and then all of a sudden I realised I was going to cry.. I couldn’t even finish my sentence.  Kate picked up where I’d left off and I hid my face in my hands, half laughing anf half crying.  Luckily I managed to pull myself together quite quickly- we took plenty of photos, before going outside for a delcious barbecue supper, followed by ice-cream and cake.  The boys sat around in the tent with a basin of grog and a guitar, and sang beautifully until it was time for me to go.  I have heard the Fijian farewell song, ‘Isa isa’ before, but it never sounded as beautiful as it did when the Red Cross boys sang it for Kate and I.

The last puppet show

Tomorrow (Thursday) will be my last proper day at Red Cross, since we’ll be having a little farewell party on Friday and in any case, Kate and I will probably be crying to much to actually do anywork.  I really can’t believe that it has gone so fast!  Before I left Luxembourg, 7 months seemed like a lifetime… now its almost finished and neither of us wants to go home yet!  Of course I’m looking forward to seeing my family and friends, eating my favourite meals, hanging out on the sofa with Pippi (my dog) and of course going to university, but Fiji has also become like home to me and its going to be very hard to leave.

Today (Wednesday) was my last Red Cross outing.  We went to Teidamu Primary School to perform three puppet shows – one on water safety, one on food and nutrition, and one about ’stranger danger’ (based on little Red Riding Hood).  Teidamu Primary School is a small rural school in a beautiful loaction – just up the road from Mate’s house (which I wrote about in my last post.)  There is an amazing view of the coutryside, stretching away towards Lautoka, and of the sea and the Yasawa Islands.  The students seemed to enjoy the show – even when the front of our puppet theatre collapsed mid-performance – and they answered some questions about the content well, so overall I think we could call the day a success!  After the puppet show, we played some volleyball with the teachers while we waited for our transport.  It was a lovely sunny day – in fact for the first time in months I think I have a touch of sunburn!

Last weekend I basically just took it easy.  On Saturday afternoon I went down to the church where many members of the congregation have been doing building work all week.  My fijian brother (Bill) and my fijian father were finishing off a signboard which they had been working on.  It is really beautiful – well over 2 metres tall, with a little roof and light for each of the two signs, set in a little garden surrounded by a nice chain fence.  The signs themselves are big and blue, and written on them is the name ‘Penueli Church’, and the time of services, cell groups etc.  I didn’t really manage to help out much with the actual work (though I did eat a big bowl of ice-cream and oreos), so I take my hat off to those who were painting and welding until after dark.  After the morning service on Sunday, the new signboard was officially unveiled by the pastors, and everyone thought it was very nice.  A job well done!