Who would have thought that I wound find myself in a tropical paradise last weekend, watching a safely distanced sea tornado with good company. Wasn't I supposed to be trying to save lives rather than sunning myself?!
It already seems another world ago that I arrived in Kambia. After setting off piled high with gloves and treats in a Redcar train on Halloween, I ended up in a crammed and temperamental car bouncing my way through a dramatic storm. Torrents of rain created lakes in the bumpy pot hole filled road, with lightning illuminating the dramatically flat landscape fringed with palm trees. This appealed to my romantic side, as though some one actually cared that yet another "Oporto" had arrived in Sierra Leone!
I have quickly understood the importance of educating women and girls especially about the importance of family planning. It is very hard when faced with huge challenges in the hospital to try and find a way to sloooooowly change some of the problems, while being aware that this may not be possible, and understanding that more time means more deaths. Therefore it seems much simpler to stop a lot of the problems from ever appearing! This is something we are trying to get more involved in.
Overall life here is good. We have just come back from a very long and entertaining matriculation ceremony for Charles Abbas and Santigie (we of course, sweat dripping from us, late, were ushered up onto the stage leaving no chance of an early escape), complete with two squawking chickens given to the college as a gift. We have access to plenty of cheap plastic sachets of gin and coffee rum and we even managed to do a kind of bonfire night, although no one stood around the bonfire for long in 90% humidity.
Bureu Beach
Soaked and smelly after 29 hours of nervous travel I finally got to meet my wonderful new Kambian family. Hannah, Sam and Martin who I would be working with in the hospital, then Charles, Abbas, Santigie, Almamy and Abraham who are in charge of the base, security and extremely important things like food. Despite images of dire shacks my hut and the base seemed very hospitable, helped by a kind donated candle and welcome poster. No serial killers living here with me then (or very friendly ones).
Luckily it was the weekend, so my first couple of days were spent wandering around the red dust roads, meeting many very friendly neighbours and being dramatically introduced at one of the colourful local churches (the attraction being the networking,singing and dancing - making me feel decidedly white and unsoulful).
Outside our base
I also purchased a very colourful bucket at the even more colourful market, which I was told would be invaluable. So far I have seen many being carried on heads and find it slightly surreal washing in the same looking bucket that the bloody delivery instruments are sterilised in!
All this to put off my first day at the hospital. Still it finally came so when I realised I had no way of escape save a 4 hour motorbike ride, meaning probable death or mutilation, I made my way in.
Perhaps the easiest way to describe it is by telling you what surprised me the most:
Number 1: The rats (and chickens, dogs, goats...) freely running throughout the ward, no doubt enjoying the blood and urine stains covering most surfaces.
Number 2: The warm welcome of an over worked, non paid and under valued work force.
Number 3: However hot it is, you should dress smartly. My scrubs didn't really cut it next to the sister's flamboyant tailor made outfit and matching hairpiece.
Number 4: The lack of job doing. Why would you bother to give drugs or care for someone when you could be lying on a bed giving yourself metronidazole for period pain? Or watching a film?! (especially when you come in for free).
Number 5: The normality of death. In my first week I saw more dead babies than live ones, a breech delivery, 3 eclamptic (fitting) women and 2 ruptured uteruses. Considering some midwifes won't see this in their career, it's safe to say I was a little overwhelmed.
Perhaps the easiest way to describe it is by telling you what surprised me the most:
Number 1: The rats (and chickens, dogs, goats...) freely running throughout the ward, no doubt enjoying the blood and urine stains covering most surfaces.
Number 2: The warm welcome of an over worked, non paid and under valued work force.
Number 3: However hot it is, you should dress smartly. My scrubs didn't really cut it next to the sister's flamboyant tailor made outfit and matching hairpiece.
Number 4: The lack of job doing. Why would you bother to give drugs or care for someone when you could be lying on a bed giving yourself metronidazole for period pain? Or watching a film?! (especially when you come in for free).
Number 5: The normality of death. In my first week I saw more dead babies than live ones, a breech delivery, 3 eclamptic (fitting) women and 2 ruptured uteruses. Considering some midwifes won't see this in their career, it's safe to say I was a little overwhelmed.
Tragically one mother also passed away, although I feel her story is not something to share on here. It made all those books I had been reading in preparation so much closer to home. Matching faces to the glum mortality figures of this beautiful country is something I never wanted to do. I couldn't help but make the comparison between the fact one mother dies in childbirth around the world every minute, yet In the UK with our glorious NHS one beautiful baby is born every minute.
What I wouldn't give for an emergency buzzer...
I have quickly understood the importance of educating women and girls especially about the importance of family planning. It is very hard when faced with huge challenges in the hospital to try and find a way to sloooooowly change some of the problems, while being aware that this may not be possible, and understanding that more time means more deaths. Therefore it seems much simpler to stop a lot of the problems from ever appearing! This is something we are trying to get more involved in.
I never guessed that one day I would be helping to teach sex education to an all girls school, cringing my way through questions about wet dreams and "mummy and daddy business", then the next pushing the broken down "ambulance" containing two women in desperate need of a cesarean, to try and find a hospital with a Doctor. They now however both seem of equal urgency.
With Lamin trying to explain "wet dreams"
Luckily we managed to get to a hospital which was just an excruciatingly bumpy hour and a half away (we did not have to push it all the way or I would have been in the ambulance too), banishing my panicked thoughts of a 4 hour journey to Freetown turning up with two dead babies and two dead mums.
I have to admit I did wonder for a few seconds whether a road side attempt at a section with my paper scissors and travel sewing kit was an option.
Overall life here is good. We have just come back from a very long and entertaining matriculation ceremony for Charles Abbas and Santigie (we of course, sweat dripping from us, late, were ushered up onto the stage leaving no chance of an early escape), complete with two squawking chickens given to the college as a gift. We have access to plenty of cheap plastic sachets of gin and coffee rum and we even managed to do a kind of bonfire night, although no one stood around the bonfire for long in 90% humidity.
For now, I am taking a leaf out of Salones's book and "telling God tenki",
keeping all my fingers and toes crossed for a few more births than deaths this next week.
My African lappa dress for the matriculation
