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Published: June 25th 2009
It’s calming to be woken by birds and crowing roosters and the cows mooing instead of the recycling truck… unless of course it’s five in the morning and you don’t have to be awake for another two hours! The mornings are surprisingly cool and it doesn’t really start to warm up until midday and then the heat is deadly (or at least compared to London) and there’s no breeze, it’s just dry and dusty. I was picked up for “work” this morning and met with the project supervisor before being introduced to the rest of the “syphilis team.” Everyone just says they’re working on syphilis, or when you ask “what do you do?” the answer is nothing more than “syphilis.” You have to probe a bit more to find out whose the stastician or data manager or whatever otherwise its just the blanket answer of “syphilis.” The syph team is only about four or five guys which makes remembering names easy especially since it feels like I’ve been introduced to twenty different people at NIMR, MITU and Treehouse. First day was pretty relaxed, worked on sorting some of the questionaires and it looks like we’ll be going (we being me, John the driver and Christophe of the syph team) into “the field” aka rural Geita, to collect another batch of the surveys from antenatal clinics. Most likely be leaving on Sunday for at least a couple of days which should be an interesting change from the town.
I had my first experience with the local version of a canteen or cafeteria. Beside NIMR there’s a clearing surrounded by huge trees casting shadows across the opening and the six or seven bright red, plastic, Coca Cola tables and chairs set out for the staff. As soon as you sit down, people approach from the different carts where they’ve been cooking either potatoes fried with egg or bananas cooked in oil (but not the sweet ones, they’re really starchy) and served with fish or a meat, fish or bean stew with rice and cooked greens. After ordering, the chatter disappears and the chefs head off and await the arrival of more diners. There’s a tap to wash your hands and the food is served up in five minutes. It was a nice lunch and the first time I would have felt uncomfortable to eat with utensils, well at least the meat. We, I ate with the guys I’m sharing an office with, ordered meat with rice and greans. The meat is served on the side in a little bowl and after pouring the sauce over the rice, you pick up the meat (I’m still not sure what it was but there’s lots of cows roaming around and that’s what the carcasses in the butcher most resembled so I’m guessing beef…) and do your best to chew it. Surprisingly enough, for those of you back in London, there is such thing as meat that is more tough than the stuff Chris serves. I felt like I was wrestling with the cubes and it was pure luck that none of it ended up down the front of my shirt! The rest of the day was spent in the office and at 4:00 on the dot, everyone packed up and left so I followed suit and walked back to Treehouse for the first time without getting lost. OK so its only a fifteen minute walk but none of the streets have any names so it’s more like “turn right after the stand with the red umbrella, or left after the house that has cows” and hoping that the cows hadn’t moved since morning.
I made another journey into town in search of food heading for the centre of town. The roads are lined with tiny shops selling everything from groceries to clothing to electronics and batteries but they’re a little different from shops back home. Each one seems to have its own posse sitting on the front steps and after bypassing and greeting everyone, there’s a counter with bars reaching up to the roof behind which will be a man or woman and all the goods in the store. It’s through the bars that you would make a purchase or ask if a good was in stock and the owner would be the only one to handle his goods before the sale transaction. The system may keep people from stealing but it makes the life of a tourist who speaks five words of Swahili challenging. The fruit and vegetable stands are easy enough to sort out- point, hold up as many fingers as you would like, smile and usually the price is rattled off in English, except for rice or beans. I found out yesterday that you need to bring your own plastic bag because those aren’t supplied and all you end up with is a whole bunch of funny hand motions and everyone laughing, yourself included. All my efforts and I found out later tonight from Suzanne, she runs Treehouse along with Winnie, that the best place is the market Saturday morning so really I’ve been off on these adventures for pure experience, although today it was definitely an experience.
Walking back up the road with my dinner safely in hand, I heard someone calling out “Sister, sister” which is normal so I kept on walking. Usually no more attention is paid or at least the person calling out at you looses interest because so far, everyone is paying attention to the white girl walking around town in her hat. I’m the only person I’ve seen so far wearing a hat, it kinda stands out… along with me an obvious foreigner. The owner of the voice calling out “sister” was persistent and continued to try to attract my attention walking closer behind me until he reached my shoulder. “Hey Sister!” I turned, smiling and replied questioningly “Bonjour” which threw him off and I proceeded, in French, to explain that I didn’t speak English and couldn’t understand what he was saying. The boy, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen, looked dusty. His black shirt was faded grey, his trousers were discolored and skin and hair looked like they’d turn the water of a bath black within minutes. My foreign response didn’t deter him for long and he continued to walk alongside me, passing by men and women who for once didn’t seem to pay much attention to me, or for once I wasn’t noticing. I stuttered away trying to explain I couldn’t understand when he asked me my name, or where I was staying, or if was married. I barely managed to respond with a “je ne comprends pas anglais” when the dusty and, now, seemingly dirty minded, fifteen year-old proposed having “sexual relations” because he was in love with me all the while making obscene hand gestures. Getting a little frustrated with the whole ordeal, I turned and very crossly, in my best French accent said “non, je ne suis pas interest en vous” which I don’t even think makes sense but he seemed to understand just fine returning to the company of his followers. I never thought my rudimentary French would ever be so helpful.
The poverty that many of the people here experience everyday almost blends into the countryside. It’s everywhere but so easy to overlook and very quickly becomes part of the daily routine. When I learn my way around and get a bit more comfortable I’ll try to take a few photos on my walk into town and of the town which is totally hectic and crossing the street is like a game of survival of the fittest.
That’s it for tonight and probably the next couple of days unless something drastically exciting happens which is quite possible the way this trip has been going so far. I’m off for another night under the mosquito net. It’s a huge white thing draped around the bed and is absolutely terrifying to get caught in during the night, especially forgetting what it is that’s wrapped around your leg. The sad thing is that my biggest fear the first time in a foreign country, OK really it’s a totally foreign continent, isn’t being mugged or assaulted but mosquitoes. This is what a year of studying the horrors of diseases does to you! Off to the safety of my gigantic white net, I’ll be in touch again soon.
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Jamie
non-member comment
you need a sexual harassment panda there! wow quick thinking with the french, i'm impressed. so this post answered my other question, you're working on some sort of syphilis study?