...it means no worries

With the final weeks gone, I begin to feel a mix of emotions.

I have finished my interviews and research at the clinic. Jasmine and I have done our final rounds of mothers and doctors to get the last ounces of information. Last month I decided that I needed to give something back to the clinic for a way of thanking them for putting up with my endless interviews, questions and ability to waste their time. After spending much time at the clinic I was able to observe what lacks and what needs to be improved in order to provide the best possible services for expectant mothers.

Jasmine and I spent the day in town searching for a place where I could buy the clinic new mosquito bed nets. The existing ones at the clinic are filthy with holes in them and sometimes do not even exist. A continuing problem doctors and nurses are seeing in these expectant mothers is malaria, so this is where I needed to tackle the problem head on. Supposedly funding of money and supplies are supposed to be coming from the government but either resources are limited or are simply ignored. An average bed net costs between $10-$15 so I decided it was the least I could do for such a great staff who work hard and passionately. I managed to gather up bed nets and also medical gloves in a local medical store. Although it took me 14 minutes inspecting each and every bed net to examine the quality and condition of it, I guess anything is better than nothing.

Long story short, the clinic was beyond ecstatic for this contribution of mine. Nurses were so excited to replace the nets that they even began dragging chairs and stools across the maternity ward immediately just to show me their appreciation. I received endless hugs and thank yous, cheek pinching and handholding. They were even excited about the gloves that they were running back in forth to the delivery room to replace the empty boxes. Who would have thought latex could make someone so happy? A couple days after the delivery of the bed nets, I remember talking to a mother and she even commented on the replacing of the bed nets and the joy she expressed made it feel like a success. My greatest moment was when the head doctor, Dr. Ngowi came up to be and thanked me over and over for my donation, hugged me for atleast 10 minutes and told me to come back whenever I wanted. I know there were times throughout my research I wanted to stay as far away as I could from that clinic and those long days interviewing, but at the end of the day it somehow is all worth it.

With research done and only a couple of weeks left in Moshi, I needed to find ways to occupy my time. One of my favorite days was when Jasmine invited Anna and I over to her house one afternoon for tea and bananas. Jasmine being such an amazing person and beyond brilliant girl, I wanted to see where she came from and the other side of town.

After walking across town and pass railroad tracks, we finally entered Jasmine’s neighborhood. It was a typical African community: women selling fruit everywhere, children playing in the streets, goats roaming at your feet, and endless houses packed next to each other. We finally got to Jasmine’s house; this consisted of 2 “rooms” housing 4 people; her mother, father, sister and herself. I think this is the moment when everything became real. Living in Tanzania for the past 2 months you understand the poverty of the country but I guess after being in a place for so long, it begins to feel normal. You expect dirt roads, people without cars, homes and clothes, but you never really put it into perspective until you relate it back to someone you know.

Jasmine introduced us to her chicken (which we got to hold), the one that provides the eggs to the family. Out in the back was the storage shed and a latrine; no shower, no electricity, no running water. Inside, Anna and I managed to sit snug on a block of wood, which we will call the kitchen. We asked Jasmine if she cooked outside, due to the fact it seemed to be actually impossible to cook anywhere in this vicinity. No, no do not jump to conclusions in Africa. Jasmine proceeds to pull out a burner from underneath a bed. This is where all meals are cooked, for 4 people. It was mind blowing.

Jasmine cooked an African favorite: fried bananas and tea. Her friend, Emma, came over to join us so it was good to experience what a normal hang out with her friends would be. The topics of conversations were fascinating. Jasmine being brought up in a Muslim family, she began to describe the expectations, the rules, the relationships with her friends, family and even boyfriend. Being curious as we are, we began asking questions about her mother and father, her siblings and where they are now. Jasmine has a boyfriend of 6 years, yet neither her mother nor father know about him because it is not allowed in the religion. Her oldest sister is married with 3 children, but didn’t finish secondary school because her father was “stubborn” and refused to give her the privilege of education. Jasmine was telling us stories about growing up with her family and the pressure of being the role model for her younger sister, since her older sister was everything but that. You expect lives and cultures to vary across the world, but it’s not until you have the opportunity to sit down to listen and experience the reality of it all.

With only a week left in Tanzania, it’s starting to become real. Friends that I have been living with for the past 2 months are beginning to pack up and head back to their real lives all across the world. New faces are beginning to move into the hostel and it feels like just yesterday we were the new-comers looking forward to our two months in Africa. It feels like I have been living here for years but at the same time it feels like yesterday I almost missed my flight from Dublin to Africa due to the fact that I thought the flight was 6PM and not 6AM. Oh how time flies.

With only 10 days left, Anna and I are shipping off to Zanzibar for the week, a little R&R if you will. If you do not know what Zanzibar is or never heard of it, please google it and photo shop my face on the white sand beaches.




…until then, Hakuna Matata.

can't bring me down, Africa.

Quite the week/weekend it has been, not because I was trekking through Tanzania via elephant back or exploring an uncharted African jungle, but because I was hospitalized in an African hospital.

After feeling like I had the bubonic plague last week, we were all hoping it was just some quick and easy food poisoning. After things started to look up Thursday morning, they rapidly went downhill. After barely surviving the night on Wednesday I gulped Gatorade hoping to replace all 167% of electrolytes I had lost. I managed to stand up on Thursday for more than 3 minutes, so I began to have hope. I was moving slow but at this point slow was better than being horizontal.

I planned on going back to my clinic on Friday to do some more research and to make up for the lost day on Wednesday but when 3am on Friday arrived, I yet again, hung out with my very dear friend; the bathroom. At this point I was crawling from my bedroom to the bathroom and was in tears so I begged Anna to bring me to the hospital just to get a malaria test. White as a ghost I managed to crawl in the back of Simbo’s car so he could bring me to the clinic where they bring their baby boy. He dropped Anna and I off in the parking lot and went on his way but at this point I panicked thinking I was going to have to play charades in order to explain my symptoms. Thankfully, they spoke English.

Long story short: the doctor took one look at me and told me he was admitting me into the emergency room and keeping me for observation. At this point, there were about 3 nurses entering the room and escorting me into the back rooms. I told Anna I was going to be at the hospital for a couple of hours and to go home but she insisted stayed with the helpless mzungu. Whatta  girl.

I eventually entered into my lavishing room that was going to be home for the next 6 hours. Let me describe this room for you: imagine a jail cell (yes, even the windows had bars on them), 2 beds without sheets and pillows, cement walls, a sink without soap, and the only source of light was the natural light beaming through the caged windows. After I got over this situation, I was told to take off my shoes and lay in bed. Seriously? I was atleast hoping for a cool hospital gown. I met my new best friend (yes, someTHING other than the toilet) Mary. One of the greatest nurses around, I’m most definitely writing a letter to this hospital and nominating her for employee of the month. She told me to get comfortable because it was going to be a long day. So I sat on the bed and smiled; however this was not suitable for Mary. She MADE me lay down and told me, “SLEEP.” Keep in mind it was 9:15am and I had been sick for the last 6 hours so sleeping was not in the agenda.

The next 6 hours consisted of 6 IVs of antibiotics and salt solutions, 2 injections to stop me from being sick, endless games and stories. At one point Mary decided I looked bored and began telling me a story. Because I didn’t understand a lot of her Swahili she proceeded to tell me I was lazy for not learning her language. Really, I don’t think this is the time for a language lesson. Anna, having a background in microbiology, kept tabs on the sterile needles, EVERY solution that was entering my body, asking questions like my mother would and even requested each and every information leaflet on the antibiotics. I’m sure they were ready for us to leave already.

By 1pm, the clinic had literally shut down. Yes, Anna and I were the only patients in the clinic while all of the doctors and nurses went for lunch, expect for my girl Mary. She sacrificed her own appetite to take care of the poor mzungu with the low blood pressure and failing body. At one point I even saw my doctor outside mingling with the locals on his lunch break as I was on my deathbed.

By 4pm the insanity was beginning to hit. Anna was threatening me that she was going to leave me hooked up to the IVs and let me walk home. I was yelling at Mary to make the drip go faster, and the minute she walked out of the room I would speed up the process myself. At one point I began to have an allergic reaction to an antibiotic so Anna ran around the clinic trying to locate Mary and tell her something wasn’t right. Thinking she was crazy and overreacting, the nurses came in and inspected my arm and the smiles on their faces immediately disappeared. One IV removed, 5 more to finish. The boredom got so bad we started to putting on the rubber gloves, using the stethoscope and taking each other’s blood pressure. I also decided I wanted to stretch my legs and do laps around the clinic so yes, there I was cruising the hallway with my IV attached on its moveable stand. One of the greatest experiences as a patient.

Eventually, the IVs ran out and it was time for my critique. At this point even if I felt as if my organs were about to fail, I was going to get out of this 2x4 room. The doctor gave me the clear and told me to return the following day to get the IV out of my arm and to evaluate my progress. I was instructed to basically eat nothing but bread and drink only water for the next week. Please, don’t spoil me.

I returned back to the hostel, drugged up, dragging my feet and with an IV needle sticking out of my hand. For all of those people who thought Lena exaggerates when she doesn’t feel well, check out that IV in the hand. Everyone was getting ready for a BBQ we had that night, music was playing and everyone had started celebrating. Nope, there I was in the corner being the sober photographer. IV: 1, Lena: 0.

The next morning Anna and I ventured back to see the doctor and of course, Mary. In the waiting room Mary immediately came over to me to see how I was doing. You know you have been in Africa too long when you are recognized not only in town, but at a hospital. I met with the doctor, he said I looked like a human again (thank you?) and wanted to make sure I was taking my medicine correctly…pills? What? This is when panic #2 started. Calls were made, words were spoken and again, 4 nurses came into the room. Apparently there was a “miscommunication” between the pharmacists, doctor and nurses and I left without something that maybe could keep me alive. In the end, I got my needle out, got my four prescriptions and a bill for only $30.00. Beat that Blue Cross Blue Shield.