Getting Our Hands Dirty and Eyes Opened - Week One at Rugazi Health Centre

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A week ago we left Mbarara for Rugazi, the district where we will be working until June 26. I arrived at the university to catch the bus at 8:00am, not 7:00am as requested; we departed at 11:15. It took a while to load everything onto the bus, a retro Mercedes Benz about 30 years old. The strong boys heaved the girls’ huge bags onto the top, along with mattresses, cooking supplies, and other necessities, all tied down with pieces of rope. Our journey began, comfortable enough when we were on the highway as we had a breeze, rather stifling when we had to stop. We stopped once, to pick a student up along the way, another time because a man forgot some of his things, and his wife caught up to us on a boda boda (motorbike taxi) to deliver them to him, and several times to re-load the mattresses that went flying off the top. We would be alerted to the missing mattresses by vehicles that would come tearing up alongside us honking to let us know about our missing cargo, and we would stop and put them back on top.

We had to sit three to a seat to accommodate everyone, and I found myself sitting between strangers, soon to be friends Joe and Marius. Marius is the team leader for Rugazi Team B (the other team working at this site); he is a charming little fellow, twenty-one years old from near the Rwandan border, with bright eyes and a sweet demeanour. I recall how he laid his head on my shoulder as I showed him the pictures on my camera, and pointed out the various plants to me testing my knowledge – “Do you know that one?” Me: “Banana?” Him: “Yes! You have banana trees in Canada?!”

To my right, and next to the window was Joe; his skin is blackest black, his temperament and eyes so very gentle. Joe is from the north of Uganda, near the South Sudan border. Like me, he is studying nursing, which delighted me. We discussed at length the wildlife in Canada; he was surprised to hear there are no elephants, no cats with manes, no cobras or vipers, no zebras. He thought it funny when I explained that many of our animals go to sleep in winter, and he laughed when I told him that they eat as much as they can before they hibernate, to get them through the winter months. Our conversation slowed, and I pulled out my book, an excellent novel by Tilda Shalof called “The Making of a Nurse”. Tilda is a visionary, and I was hugely inspired when I saw her speak at a conference, where I purchased her book that she signed for me. The book has helped me through this last semester and provided me endless inspiration and insight into the complex profession of nursing. As I read, Joe asked to look at my book; he thumbed through it, and he laughed at passages he read, likely the same ones that made me laugh out loud as well. He returned it and told me it was such a nice book. I proceeded to read the remaining three chapters as fast as I could – it feels sinful to me to leave a book unfinished. We were nearing our destination, and stopped at the side of the road; ladies selling bananas came to the window, and Joe purchased two bunches to share. I ate three in the time Marius and Joe finished six; it must have been a sight to be driving behind us, the entire bus tossing banana peels from the window.

We arrived at Rugazi IV Health Centre about ten minutes later, where I was to disembark. Before I left I handed Joe my book, with a brief inscription and my contact information, and told him I hoped it help him as much as it helped me. And oh, the look on his face, the thanks he professed! His smile was like a four year old on Christmas morning, I swear, and it almost made me sad to think how a second hand book could mean that much to someone. On the other hand, it made my heart glow to know that I made someone happy. I hope the best for him and his career. He will return to northern Uganda to work, and my intuition tells me he will be one of the really great ones.

After Stevo and Ambrose unloaded all of our luggage off the bus we made the brief walk to our dormitory. We are sharing two to a room, and have running water and electricity. Usually. It’s much more luxurious than I imagined, and our dormitory is right on site of the clinic so it is nothing to get to and from work. The Ugandan students worked to organize a cook for our stay - for about $30 US each we will have three meals a day prepared for us, for the whole month. Right?

Sunday was glorious, the first day since coming here that we’ve had absolutely nothing on the agenda. I slept, I lounged, I read, I napped. I set up my room, put the screws for my mosquito net into the wall by hand with great effort, sewed my bed sheet into a sleeping bag set up, unpacked my clothes and books, and hung the pictures of Tyler I brought. I have been moving around a lot in the last three weeks and am looking forward to having a temporary home for the next four weeks. We explored the town a little, and I was delighted to find all the amenities and things one could ask for – namely beer! We have a nice little set up here.

Eyes follow us everywhere we go; it can be uncomfortable. I like to pretend I am a celebrity, Carrie Kardashian, and so it becomes fun rather than awkward. I love the expressions on peoples faces when they call to us a joke “wasi wota?!”, not expecting a reply and I say “Nasi-wahgee” back. It delights them, they throw their heads back and laugh. On the bus ride up, Marius told me I would have to ask one of my schoolmates to teach me the Runyankore he taught her; always the cocky one, I assured him I would be the one teaching the language by the next day, and so I did. I’ll never be able to hold a conversation, but it is nothing to learn the basic phrases, it charms the pants of the locals and it is funny to see their reaction as I butcher their language. Almost as funny as their delight when I wear local fabrics, my local colleagues have taken my picture when I wear my shirts or wraps I purchased at the markets since being here, and say I look both “smart” and “humble” – something I could do with a bit of no doubt! But then again, I’m not ashamed for liking myself, what fun would life be otherwise…

The children are not as bold here as they are in the city. They still yell “mzungu” from afar, but are less hesitant to come close or touch us. Some are like wild kittens you are trying to tame, you put your hand out too soon and they run away! I guess I will have to bring some milk with me.

We began work on Monday morning; I started off on the General Ward, which has male, female, and pediatric rooms. There is another group of Ugandan medical clinicians doing an internship here; they are knowledgeable and eager to help us. I suppose we are a bit of a novelty - as one expressed to me “I always hoped for a friend from Canada!” Haha, okay. We have not had many patients; the clinic is in “stockout” – that is, the clinic has largely run out of drugs. The community knows this, as well as which day the next shipment will come, and so we expect to be busy next Tuesday when the drugs (hopefully) arrive.

The hardships and frustration of the clinic were balanced for me when I accompanied Stevo and Ambrose to the community on Thursday to visit homes and conduct some baseline research. The welcoming families and the little children who follow me around, eager to get a peak at the white person, are charming and make me smile. I asked Ambrose if he followed the mzungus when he was little – “Of course I did!” and I asked him when he stopped, to which he replied “At some point you realize it is childish to follow the mzungus, and you would not wish for you peers to see you doing so.” I found that funny. I am eager to go back out and meet more people next week.

Although we’ve only been here a week, all ready I am overwhelmed with the seemingly insurmountable tasks that this country and so many others face. Where do we even begin, how does one little person make any difference? What we really need is global reform, political responsibility, leaders who wish to serve their people rather than their own interests, and fair wages for the underpaid and underequipped medical staff. I remind myself that the only expectations I have in coming here are of myself. In the short time I am here I can offer love and care, which isn’t enough, but it’s what I have. Still, I wish I could fix their worlds, look after the little boy in his three piece suit three sizes too big, who came in alone for his HIV medicine, or offer pain medication to the babies and to the woman who underwent a gruesome procedure to drain the infection from her arm. I held her hand of the cut open arm, praying and channeling as much energy as I could through me to her, wishing for the narcotics of home. I hate to hear adults call for their mothers, it chills me…

I recall a quote I read, “I cannot help them, because I do not have anything, but I go to give them joy.” It is from a book of letters of Mother Teresa’s, lent to me from my Grandmother Pratt. I went to visit her the week before I left, and when I thumbed through the book on her table she told me to take it with me, and it is serving me well, as I’m sure it did her. I feel Grandma’s strength and good heartedness course through my veins; I try to be her legacy by doing good for the world and others in this lifetime.

There are torrential downpours here nearly every night; the sound is harmonious, peaceful, awe inspiring. God, as I understand it, is here; I see it in the lightning that lights up the clouds at dusk, and the thunder that is so loud it makes us jump. Science can explain these phenomenon, electrical currents and such, but it is no less miraculous to me. My faith is not shaken; I trust one day I’ll make sense of all the chaos. And in the meantime, I keep on smiling, keep on cussing, and best of all keep on loving.

Carrie Ann

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Photos

Loading up the Bus
Getting ready to leave Mbarara University to drop the students off at their respective villages

Bus Selfie
Joe, Carrie, Marius

Me and My Friend Michael
One of the Kampala Institute students, they will be with us for two weeks

Baby Ignacious Improving
This little one stole my heart, I was delighted to see him so well on this morning compared to his state the night before