Olugendo's Blog

“The man with the key has gone.”

olugendo — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 17:22:30 +0000

Just basically the whole time
There’s a phrase here in Uganda, ‘the man with the key has gone.’ It means that when you want to get something done, you find that the person who needs to help you is gone. Like at the shop to buy airtime, or the guard to let you through the gate, or the doctor who has the only internet modem within a 40km radius, that I know of.

Baby Time.

olugendo — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 17:19:12 +0000

The kids here make my days. I’ll be walking in the hospital next to a woman, balancing bananas on her head and then here a little squeek/giggle. Under the cloth going over her back, kind of like a cape is a baby tied to her back. My favorite is when you see the mother walking along (or older brother or sister) and their little feet are bobbing up and round the front of the Mom.

During my time here I have several good friends from the kids who have been at the hospital over extended periods.

Jenifer, was my first friend. I spent my first two weeks of the hospital on the paedeatric ward where her brother was a patient. The entire first week, whenever I would look up she would be there peaking around a corner always with a smile on her face. She was at the hospital for over a month with her family, she helped he mom with the washing and cooking and otherwise had nothing to do. Sometimes we would walk around the hospital together, I brought her a hard-boiled egg a couple times to share with her brother. By the way, she always had her youngest brother tied to her back. Sometimes she would sneak into morning chapel for the staff and wait for me to come (I’m usually late). She would always find me afterwards to walk me down to the ward. The day she left marked my first day at Kagando in which I felt detached from the community. Patients are always coming and going, the same with elective students.

Kule, was an eight year old patient on the surgical ward with a gut perforation. He was in intensive care, with oxygen and IV lines, and he could barely move. I met him my first morning on the surgical ward, I smiled and waved; he was able to wiggle two fingers and the side of his mouth twitched. I visited him every day for the next two weeks as he got better, we communicated through sign language and the occasional friendly attendant who could speak English and Lukonzo. His favorite thing was when I brought my camera and he could look at pictures of himself.

Mumbere, a 10 year old who has been in traction for over a month on the surgical ward, so basically stuck in a bed with nothing to do. I got to know him during my time on the surgical ward and I go to visit him every morning to tickle his foot, partly to make him laugh (he’s absolutely adorable) and also to make sure he can still feel it.

On a really really good note, congratulations to Cay and Juan for their son John Michael Almodovar (Jack) born 08.20.09, 7lb 2oz 19”. Praise the Lord.
________________________________________________________________________

The headlong stream is termed violent
But the riverbed hemming it in is
Termed violent by no one.

The storm that bends the birch trees
Is held to be violent
But how about the storm
That bends the backs of the roadworkers?
-Bertolt Brecht, “On Violence”

Scattered Thoughts.

olugendo — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 17:12:33 +0000

Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will suddenly rain down on them –will rain down in buckets. But good luck doesn’t rain down yesterday, today, tomorrow, or ever. Good luck doesn’t even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is tickling, or if they begin the new day with their right foot, or start the new year with a change of brooms.
The nobodies: nobody’s children, owners of nothing. The nobodies: the no ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way.
Who are not, but could be.
Who don’t speak languages, but dialects.
Who don’t have religions but superstitions.
Who don’t create art but handicrafts.
Who don’t have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Who do not have faces but arms.
Who do not have names, but numbers.
Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the police blotter of the local paper.
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them.

-Eduardo Galeano, “The Nobodies”

IN PRAISE OF SELF-DEPRACATION
The buzzard has nothing to himself with.
Scruples are alien to the black panther.
Piranhas do not doubt the rightness of their actions.
The rattlesnake approves of himself without reservations.

The self-critical jackal does not exist.
The locust, alligator, trichina, horsefly
Live as they live and are glad of it.

The killer-whale’s heart weighs one hundred kilos
But in other respects it is light.

There is nothing more animal-like
Than a clear conscience

On the third planet of the Sun.
-Wislawa Szymborska

A Community

olugendo — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 17:08:11 +0000

15.07.09
There’s a song that goes ‘It takes a village to raise a child.’ I live across the street from the hospital in a compound with hospital staff and their families. As you can imagine, there are loads of kids, probably over 25 that I know by name now. They all call me ‘Aunt Sarah,’ because as a sign of respect it is culturally appropriate for kids to refer to older people who aren’t their parents as ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle.’ This was a little confusing at first because I just thought everyone was related, Kentucky anyone? But I have come to really appreciate it, it’s a reflection of the strength of the community and the obligation that members feel towards each other and their kids.

On the way home for lunch one of the kids I know shouted out and asked me for 100 shillings, about 10 cents. This is considered very rude as he hadn’t greeted me yet and was yelling from far away and it’s just inappropriate to ask for money like that. So I went over and (I used phrases which would be understood here) told him that he had ‘bad manners’ and I was going to go talk to his father. It carries more weight when I used their names, but I don’t want to use specifics here.

Later when I was reflecting on the episode I realized this was one of those, ‘it takes a village to raise a child’ thing and I really felt a part of the community.

There’s also a 1 ½ year old who lives next door with whom I’ve become good friends. This sounds weird when I write it but the kids here are all very mature for their age. Anyway, I walk past his house on the path to the hospital and he always waddles/walks over to shake my hand and give me a hug. The really cool thing is that, although I don’t know how appropriate it is, he has started to call me ‘mommy.’ I always laugh with the other girls who take care of the kids when he does this, but it makes me feel as though he has just accepted me, regardless of my skin color.

Words, Words, Words…

olugendo — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 17:05:09 +0000

30.06.09

Expressing myself in language is definitely not a strong point for me. But I really like to reflect on quotes that I gather. I’m going to share some of my favorites with you.

“The Kingdom is to be in the midst of your enemies. And he who will not suffer this does not want to be of the Kingdom of Christ; he wants to be among friends, to sit among roses and lilies, not with the bad people but the devout people. O you blasphemers and betrayers of Christ! If Christ had done what you are doing who would ever have been spared.”

- Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together

“Do not despise your place, your gifts, or your voice for you cannot have another’s, and it would not fulfill you if you could”

Rats and roaches live by competition under the law of supply and demand; it is the privilege of human beings to live under the laws of justice and mercy.
-Wendell Berry

For Ordering a Life Wisely
Prayer of St. Thomas

O merciful God grant that I may desire ardently, search prudently, recognize truly, and bring to perfect completion whatever is pleasing to You for the praise and glory of Your name.

Put my life in good order, O my God.

Grant that I may know what You require me to do.

Bestow upon me the power to accomplish Your will, as is necessary and fitting for the salvation of my soul.

Making Sense of Suffering

olugendo — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 17:00:37 +0000

12.6.09

Since so much happens here and it’s hard to decide what to share, I’m just going to tell you a couple stories.

The hospital recently added a Palliative Care Outreach program through the sponsorship of an NGO. Palliative care encompasses end of life care for patients with terminal illnesses. Here, a lot more illnesses are terminal because treatment isn’t available or patients can’t afford it. Tumors, lymphomas and other cancers, which would succumb to radiation and chemotherapy, are terminal here. The only treatment the team can offer are painkillers (oral morphine etc.), laxatives and vitamins etc.

I’ve gone on a couple of these outreaches, we see about three patients a day. It takes so long because the team travels to the patient’s house. They live out in the village where the truck can’t pass sometimes so we have to hike. Think steep mountains.

THOUGHTS ON BEARING WITNESS
Dr. Plarr was a good listener. He had been trained to listen. Most of his middle-class patients were accustomed to spending at least ten minutes explaining a simple attack of flu. It was only in the barrio of the poor that he ever encountered suffering in silence, suffering which had no vocabulary to explain a degree of pain, its position or its nature. In those huts of mud or tin where the patient often lay without covering on the dirt floor he had to make his own interpretation from the shiver of the skin or a nervous shift of the eyes.
-Graham Greene, The Honorary Consul

*I pray that in the midst of my helplessness and when I am in the depths, overwhelmed by the magnitude of suffering, that I will be a witness for those who can’t speak.

I’ll share a case I saw the other day. A 28 year old woman with three kids has terminal abdominal cancer. We found her in her father-in-laws house, on a bed of straw, smelling of urine, and too weak to sit up by herself. This was the second time I saw this patient and she remembered me from before! Most of the care that the team gives is emotional support and counseling. Although they do have funding to provide each patient with .5 kilo of sugar and some soap. This seems pretty pathetic considering the conditions they live in.

An old woman with another type of abdominal cancer started to dictate her will while the team was there. Her goat to her sister, her house to her daughter. I get all of this through a translator.

EXPLAINING VERSUS MAKING SENSE OF SUFFERING
When we come to you
Our rags are torn off us
And you listen all over our naked body.
As to the cause of our illness
One glance at our rags would
Tell you more. It is the same cause that wears out
Our bodies and our clothes.

The pain in our shoulder comes
You say, from the damp; and this is also the reason
For the stain on the wall of our flat.
So tell us:
Where does the damp come from?
-Bertolt Brecht, “A Worker’s Speech to a Doctor”
*Kagando Hospital (where I am) has the motto, ‘We Care and God heals.’ I can’t help thinking that with so much working against these people, that is the only way for change.

Market Day

olugendo — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 17:00:07 +0000

19.6.09
There’s a market by the border with the Congo that’s open on Tuesdays and Fridays. ON the palliative care outreaches on Tuesdays we always stop there. It’s just one of the many errands we run for everyone and their mother whenever there is a hospital truck out.

The cool thing about the market is that it’s in no-man’s-land between Uganda and the Congo so it’s shared by the two countries. You have to go through a little check point on either side, essentially a guard just opens the gate to let the truck through.

Other than the wide variety of foods the market is known for its fabrics. There are about 30 stalls with fabrics from all over Africa. I’ve splurged a little on fabrics because they’re all one of a kind!

Hospital in the Mountains

olugendo — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 22:16:38 +0000

Greetings, I write to you from Kagando in the southwestern hills of Uganda bordering the breathtaking Rwenzori Mountains.

I have been living with a wonderful Christian family in the staff ‘compound’ just across the road from Kagando Hospital where I will be working for the next six months. Lilian and Richard, the parents, are in their mid thirties and their son Rodin is three and a half. Lilian, a nurse at the hospital, is Anglican and Richard, is Catholic like much of the staff here, is a physiotherapist. They have been with the hospital for ten years so they have been able to show me the ropes. Lilian grew up just on the other side of the hill. They speak Lukhonzo as well as English so I have been trying to learn a few new words everyday, but I am finding it difficult to differentiate the sounds.

On Friday, Lilian and I went to the market together in the next village, which proved to be a bonding experience. We took bodas there but walked back through the woods carrying the goods. Our time at the market was frustrating because some of the vendors would increase their prices since I was with Lilian, even though she has grown up here. I definitely stuck out as the only muzungu at the market and had several trailing children on the way home. I think that the behavior surprised Lilian more than myself.

On a good note I am getting used to all the shouts of ‘muzungu’ and have successfully declined several marriage proposals so far.
The nursing school here on the compounds provides many nurses in training for the hospital who are about my age. They serve as interpreters on the wards and have been very helpful in showing me the ropes and explaining different conditions etc. When I was helping in the canulation room (just with alcohol swabs and test tubes etc.) they kept insisting that I be the one to insert the canula!

Yesterday I went for a walk with an American to the top of the hill/mountain we live on and saw the most beautiful view of the valley. It was really good to talk with her about our time here and just to be able to speak at my normal pace and use slang.

Maybe it was just being on top of the mountain with the thin air, but God seemed to be speaking so clearly. While being here I have a lot of my time freed up. Some of the ‘crutches’ or distractions have been removed. Being in a completely new cultural setting has definitely shaken my reference points, but hopefully it will help me to critically evaluate my life/worldview/understanding of myself etc. Hopefully it will force me to listen for God’s voice more attentively.

botabota

olugendo — Fri, 29 May 2009 07:03:13 +0000

So yesterday I went into town for the first time in daylight. We got a ride in a car into the center of the city with a nurse from Jean’s school and the mother of the cutest little baby boy, Michael. They are in the process of adopting him from an orphanage here and I got to play with for the whole ride!

Then we walked to the mall so I got a first hand look at the crazy traffic with motorcycles and buses and cars and people, and police directing traffic with whistles but completing disregarding traffic lights.

We walked to the only mall in Uganda and went to ‘Nakumat,’ a grocery store from Kenya which is comparable to a supermarket in the states. The entire mall was completely unexpected, with its escalators and modern stores. This was an atypical experience though.

Then we went to a store called ‘Banana Boat’ which is a souvenir/craft store and I got to see a range of traditional goods which were all amazing and I wanted to get something for everyone I know. It was good to have my cousin Jean there with me because she would tell me if things were over priced or if I could get it somewhere else.

Jean is the best cultural broker, I could ask her anything and because we grew up together she explain everything and contextualize it for me. Like wherever we go, people point and yell ‘Muzungu’ which means white person. Naturally I would just smile and wave, but I wanted to make sure with Jean. So I learned that it’s fine to that with women and kids, but I should just ignore the guys because a marriage proposal would be sure to follow.

They best part of the day was the ride home, we hired a botabota, or a motorcycle for the ride home. Jean haggled it down to the appropriate price since it’s always jacked up for Muzungus, and we both climbed on. And it was amazing! zooming through traffic and around turns. It’s definitely the best way to see the city, except when you get stuck behind a diesel truck. Since Jean was in front of me it was easy to hold on and there was about 2″ in back to hold onto. It only got a little uncomfortable closer to home on the unpaved roads which are really bumpy.

Today is the last day of school and we’re having a party with all of the food the kids brought in. Later we are going to Friday market, which has everything you can imagine at really good prices. So hopefully I can get some longer skirts.

It’s only a couple days until I leave to go out west to Kagando hospital where I will be for the next six months.

Peace

In Kampala with a frozen jelly bean

olugendo — Wed, 27 May 2009 13:15:46 +0000

So I arrived in Entebbe last night after two days in the air and three continents. I was cleared for swine flu and went through ‘customs’ which was actually nothing other than a sign to walk under. My cousin Jean (her nickname is Jeany Beany Frozen Jelly Beany) was there to meet me; it was so nice to see a familiar face!

In the hour car ride to Kampala we saw the state house where the president was staying and about five minutes later had to pull to the side of the road to let the 10+ SUVs of the presidential caravan zoom past. It was dark out during the drive because it was about 20 00 but I got to see a few shops and people walking by. So much for arriving in Africa and being able to see it!

Jean and I exchanged gifts when we got back and I learned that for a woman to show her knees in Uganda it is equivalent to a women going topless in the states. Don’t worry I was covered! After a quick tour and seminar on how the shower works I had first night of sleep in Uganda!

Today, I visited Jean’s first grade classroom at Heritage International School so I got to see all of her cute kids and to admire her classroom decorate in bright colors. She told me about all of the kids and their families and I learned that teachers here get invited to kids’ birthday parties! How cool is that. Right now Jean is taking pictures at an ice cream social since she had become the resident photographer and I am taking advantage of the … wireless! internet.

The weather is gorgeous, a little warm in the sun but there is a nice breeze from the lake. I’m really looking forward to going to the market on Friday and getting to see a little bit more of the city.

Peace, I hope to write again soon.