(Okay the internet has been very interesting here so I apologize for the dealy)
So Friday morning I didn’t make it to prayer. I was just way to tired–probably because I was up to late reading but whose counting? I did make it in time for Dr. Peduche’s friday initiative which is Keep Zambia Clean and Green. There is a bit of littering problem. As in people just throw things on the ground when they are done with them. Honestly, I haven’t been anywhere there isn’t trash. I mean I can understand if you are struggling to get enough food you might not be concerned about leaving trash places. But regardless, every friday the hospital staff is supposed to spend an hour cleaning trash. The great news is, is everyone does their best to conveniently forget it. So it was just Dr. Peduche and I. She insisted I wear a hospital gown, gloves, and mask while raking the trash. I’m not sure if I can describe the emotions that were going through my head as I was raking leaves and trash by the morgue in full hospital dress. The situation was even better by Dr. Peduche complaining about how they trash everything the entire time.
She even stopped to go berate some of the facility workers about their inability to throw away their trash turning the cleaning into a PSA. I myself would be terrified to be yelled at by a little filipino lady waving a rake and in a gown. I don’t know if Dr. Peduche knows that all the trash eventually ends up in a pit a little ways away from the hospital but it’s the thought that counts. Fun fact the morgue doubles as a bike storage area because it isn’t a place people are likely to steal your bike from.
Our rounds when we got to them were in Obs because apparently I just live my life there. There is something satisfying about seeing the patients you helped cut open get to go home a few days later I will admit. Dr. Peduche doesn’t do as much teaching as Shimunza or Singawe and she gives the impression that she’s always slightly annoyed because someone isn’t doing the right thing. I do get trusted to examine abdomens and remove the tape so that’s something. I also got to listen to Dr. Peduche’s rant about people not documenting and so her not having any idea about why on earth they had a C-Section. “Failure to progress? What does that mean? Why is that the only documentation? Honestly Claire. You weren’t on this one were you?”
“No.” I thankfully was not at the hospital at 3 o’clock in the morning.
We went and visited the twins again and got to here more of this ladies back story. I felt kind of horrible for her. She is 40 and has had six kids (one still born) before the twins. Her first husband left her for Malawi and she is wife #2 for this second guy who she got HIV from. I’m beginning to understand why she tries to get a moment of peace while at the hospital. I would too. The unfortunate part is that she couldn’t pay her bill so we were left at an impasse. But you do what you can. (I really don’t know what happened because Dr. Peduche and I got to leave for my favorite activity ever! C-Sections.
Dr. Peduche is a pretty fantastic surgeon. What’s really nice for the assists is she has a stool she stands on in order that the table can be higher. I’ve done so much assisting with Dr. Shimunza that it actually felt really weird to do it with Dr. Peduche. After this she told me to knock off (which is the term for go home no need to work anymore.) I did get to have lunch with the OR crew which is one of my favorite ways to spend time. I honestly can’t remember what we talked about but if I had a guess I would say it was about dating or Bridgerton because Becky is very obsessed with it. Juma as well is a huge fan. Which it’s really entertaining that a very macho guy is so obsessed although he doesn’t quite get all the drama. (“Why would that even be a problem?” ) Some things men will just never understand. Also I love the fact that that show is his guilty pleasure. Perhaps that’s why Juma is still single? I think? Maybe he has a girlfriend, very unclear. He asked me out to drinks and then forgot to get my number so he might also be a space cadet–not that I was broken up about it.
After lunch I took a nap and then set out for my crazy friday night of partying which for the record was supposed to be walking to Malawi and turned into walking up a mountain. There are trails everywhere behind the house. Some of them just die off and I really don’t entirely understand the rhyme or reason but we do our best. Anyways heading towards Malawi I got distracted by a mountain and climbed up it. The view was pretty unparalleled seeing over both plains. It was also a very interesting juxtaposition. On one side is the hospital which is a comparatively modern establishment with electricity and on the other side is the village which for the most part is made from mud and hand woven roofs. The people on that side looked like they were having a lot more fun. From my vantage point I could see two football fields one for little boys and one for the men.
It is always an odd sensation sitting on a mountain and being able to hear the laughter of a town below and yet be so disconnected from it all. I’m almost still terrified of snakes showing up so every time a salamander came through the leaves I jumped about 9 feet. I have mixed feelings about those things now. I decided that the top of the mountain would be a perfect place to watch the sun set which resulted in me skidding down the mountain at top speed. I suppose thats a nice part about their being no trails because you can just face plant down a mountain and feel less judged.
It was a good way to spend an evening and I went to bed not long after I got back. I’ve turned into an old person with my sleep schedule but hey what works.
Saturday morning I didn’t go back to the SDA service because I suddenly realized how close I am to Med School applications being due and decided that maybe that should take priority over a service of a religion I’m not a part of. They did offer me lunch if I came and I won’t lie I was very very tempted—that’s the leftover college student in me that can’t resist free food.
I decided after a noon nap in the sun (yes it was lovely complete with excellent bird noises,) to make Chapati for everyone. Now unfortunately, I thought I had purchased a 1 kg bag of flour to make the Chapati so I’d already dumped in all my dry ingredients when my brain went. “Hmmm this is a lot of flour.” 2.5 kg is similar to 1 kg right? On some level? In some way? Maybe not and that is wishful thinking and it was because each Chapati is rolled out not once but twice and individually fried. I couldn’t move my wrist by the time I was done. Furthermore, I started at 14:30 thinking oh I’ll have time for an evening walk. No. No I did not. The last Chapati was fried at like 20:00. Don’t do the math I hate everything about it. I did make fourty chapati though and built some dough rolling muscles and made my South American house mates very happy. But let me back up and talk about the notable occurrences in my bread baking ventures of I don’t know when to stop or you know four years of measuring things out in a lab gave me no concept of how much 1 kg might be.
Thankfully, several hours into the breadbaking Theodora came by for dinner. I paused she gawked at the state of the kitchen which might have had bread layed out on every available surface and we had Chapati and beans which I was happy with. Rick and Patrice had eaten earlier and they’d definitely enjoyed it. Theodora and I talked about saints, death, physiotherapy, and movies–all very normal topics for your Catholic young adult. Once she left I less than happily went back to the kitchen to continue my herculaen effort of making each of these fry bread. That’s when Emmanuel, Ishmael, and Asbel came in. Emmanuel immediately started with “Oh I make these all the time.”
Great–I didn’t want an expert around my first time but I was doing okay with it. He did immediately go get a pan from heaven only knows where because I spent ages tearing apart the kitchen to find the one I had. (I’d even gotten flashbacks of the Charlie’s kitchen because I found dirty dishes in the cubboards.) Maybe he just spawns Chapati pans. He does have his own special set of spices which I suppose as an Indian you might get disinherited if you didn’t and yes Emmanuel is an amazing cook.
Right behind Emmanuel were Asbel and Ishmael. Asbel walked in, “Tortillas!” He then proceeded to do a happy dance. Ishmael soon joined him, “Tortillas, tortillas!” that made all the cooking worth it because getting to see how happy they were was awesome. The beans I had cooked wrong so they didn’t want those but I haven’t seen those two move so quickly in the kitchen before. They made guacamole in about 10 seconds flat. Ishmael even mimicking Asbel’s crying over the onions.
Emmanuel watched me slowly making the Chapati and then took over the second role. Once the last one was finished, “uno mas,” we basically had a tortilla/chapati party with guacamole and cofee–which I’d originally turned down but I couldn’t say no to because they put chocolate and milk in it which isn’t something I get every day.
(I think the guys now want more tortillas and I’m leaving soon so woops on my part.) This was a ten out of ten experience and the guacamole was pretty unbeatable. The guys were very happy too over it. I only found out later that the guys had just come out of their rooms for a quick coffee break and hadn’t been expecting the tortilla party. I just love surprises.
Sunday morning was Pentacost and as such mass was a different time. The problem here is that our normal driver couldn’t take Theodora and I. Our two solutions were walk or try to hail a driver from the front of the hospital when we got through to someone. I’m not sure whose car we were in originally but they were a little late. Mass started at 9:30 and that’s when I got picked up from the guest house. At that point thought I was just happy that I’d been picked up and had gotten to go. I was a little dubious when a few minutes later a motorcycle had been waiting outside–for Emmanuel thankfully because I was not prepared for three people on a bike down the road–my luck I would have fallen off.
We picked up Theodora who basically ran out into the street and hopped in while the car was still going and then started off. Not long into the drive the car just stopped and the driver got out. “Get in that truck” he said.
So we got in the truck behind us. It was a large delivery like truck and so when the driver said, “Hi Claire!” I was a little shocked.
“Hi!”
“Do you remember me?”
You know I’ve found brutal honesty to be effective, “No” although he did look familiar.
“I’m the Eye doctor you watched me take out that eye the other day.”
“Ah yes, sorry I didn’t recognize you outside of your scrubs.” (My fail safe excuse–probably not super convincing.
He then took off the road at about Mach 5. Sitting in a delivery truck down a gravel pothole road with out seatbelts in church clothes is an experience. What made it even better is the entire time we were driving he asked us why weren’t SDA because we worked at an SDA hospital and how his kids would be raised Catholic and SDA which I think as a child would be confusing but hey what works.
When we finally made it to mass at about 9:50 it was the opening song. It had to have been the grace of God or something because we definitely shouldn’t have been even close to that on time. Mass was really beautiful as usual. I love the music. I love watching the piety and faithfullness as well. There is something very touching about an elderly woman who can barely walk kneeling on the concrete in prayer.
I met with the priest after mass and he told me he might be coming to the U.S. to study so I could visit him in Baltimore. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was the wrong side of the country from me.
After mass I went for a walk. I figured I would go to Malawi today because I hadn’t yet and if you are as close as I am you should really give it a go. This is where I say I detest drunk men as a race. As I was walking down the road enjoying the scenery, afternoon breeze, and kids I was stopped by a guy who was friendly enough and asked me what I was doing. “Walking,” I said.
Well, a few minutes later he ran up next to me and said he’d walk with me. He kind of reaked of alcohol which is always a good sign. “Can I have your line?”
“No,”
“Why not, you liar!”
“Just No, it doesn’t work except for work.”
“You’re lying.”
Okay so he wasn’t that drunk.
“I will walk with you.”
So I was stuck with him. I don’t honestly know what he talked about except for asking for my number and about his job as a truck driver and how much he disliked this town. “People here are dull. You know we are stupid.”
“No”
“Liar, we are we are. White people are better.” (I was very confused.)
What was even better is we got to a checkpoint along the road where there are guards and they asked me to stop and talk with them. Fair enough.
“Where are you going?”
“Just out walking.”
“Don’t go into Malawi it’s not safe.”
“Okay I wasn’t planning on it.”
“You are the girl from the other day, why didn’t you stop when we called you?”
“I think my friend wanted to get home.”
“Ah okay, do you know this man.”
My BFF Nelson his name is was standing there. “No, he just started following me.”
They had a very rapid conversation in Nchanga and then they waved me on. “Don’t go to far and come talk to us more when we get back.”
Honestly, the walk was a little underwhelming after that. One because Malawi looks the same as Zambia, surprise, and two the entire time I was terrified my drunk friend was going to do something. He only asked for my number like six times on that part of the walk though.
When we got back to the gate the guard asked me for my number too. “No,” I said, “It never ends up appropriate and I don’t want to be bothered.”
Thankfully that man caught on quickly, “Oh are you married?”
“Yes,”
“Oh, I am so sorry Madam he is a lucky fellow, what is his name?”
“Chris.” (We get our annullement soon)
“Ah take care madam.”
I really should have bought a ring before coming here.
I think Nelson was determined to follow me all the way back to the guest house so I said, “I have to run and meet a friend so I’ve got to go now,” and pointed to one of the shortcuts I’ve discovered.
That’s when Nelson attempted his last ditch mastermind scheme to get my number. “Okay, I will give you my number and you will have no pressure to text me. When you are free I can show you my place.”
“Okay,” he gave me his number.
“Alright now text me.”
“No.”
His face visibly fell, I think he thought I was going to fall for that one.
I’ve been teaching Theodora how to prepare different vegetables and tonight was green beans although I forgot to string them properly so I don’t know how good of a teacher I was. She doesn’t have any room mates but there is a chicken that likes to wander inside and perch on her shoe rack. The chicken just comes in and looks at the blank walls and doors like they are the most masterful things every made by the hands of man.
I’m not even sure the chicken likes it she just like can’t stop herself. At one point I found her walking into a corner. I may have started feeding her last time I was there and that might be why she wants to come inside now because Theodora feeds her to but I don’t take the blame for that one.
We watched a K-Drama with dinner and kept watching it until it was well dark. It’s called Queen of Tears on Netflix and like all K-Dramas it is very convoluted. It is really nice to get to curl up on a bed and hang out with another girl. We talked about our families and all sorts of things.
The unfortunate thing is when it came time to leave I got up to go and she stopped me, “You can’t go alone!”
“Why not?”
“Because people get murdered or mugged on this road sometimes.”
“Umm what?”
“So I will find someone to escort us.”
“Okay.” It would have been nice to know the history of that road a little sooner but I guess the crime only happens at night and I don’t try to be out at night so I’m doing okay.
Guess who the only person who could help us was? The scary doctor Singanwe, whom outside of doctor teaching mode is a lot of fun. He was like a completely different person. He was making fun of Theodora for making me watch a K-Drama and being afraid of snakes. He talked about being a prayer warrior and how he wasn’t cut out for it. It was very easy to joke around with him.
“Claire, do you have whiskey at your place?”
“No, why?”
“All Americans have whiskey in their house in the winter.”
“Umm, it doesn’t feel like winter to me.” You know I couldn’t even lie to him because unless you don’t drink alcohol I feel like that might be true–at least where I live in the states.
“Ah.”
It turned out to be good for him that he walked me back cause he’d had to go in to certify death on a patient. The stars were beautiful and it was a wonderful night and I just wish it was safe for me to go out alone. This is why I need a real life husband for my travels.
Song of the Post: Anything by BlackPink because of the K-Drama
Quote of the Post: “All Americans have whiskey in their house in the winter.”
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