the quiet before the storm [Dakar Part 2 to come soon, I promise!]

Dear friend,

I've never been much of a numbers kind of person. But after a whirlwind, exhausting week at Orientation at my new hospital here are some stats:

13.
The number of days I've been home from elective (though it feels like an eternity!).

31.
The number of new names I've learnt this past week which, I have to say, is quite satisfying! (I tried super hard, lol) Thirty new fellow first-year doctors from the med school here, one from Wellington, and then three of us from my hospital down south.

2.
The number of days until I start my first real-life PROPER job... as a real-life PROPER doctor.

14.
The number of hours I'm working on my first shift.

1.
The number of freak-outs I've had this week. As I was lying in bed on Tuesday night, I truly, truly began to think with every fibre of my being that I wasn't ready to do this crazy scary thing otherwise known as being a doctor -- to keep sick people from getting sicker; to keep sick people from dying.

3.
The number of prayers answered this week.

120
The percentage of me that feels excited, with Orientation week now behind me and Day 1 of work ahead. I really did get to quite a low, dark place on Tuesday night just feeling overwhelmed and scared and discouraged. It wasn't until I was chatting with my mum in the evening that it all started to bubble over and it dawned on me that I -- surprise, surprise -- wasn't doing too well. I mean, I knew in my head that we're all scared, all of us first-time doctors. It's so unbelievably arbitrary. One day we're students and then the next day, all of a sudden, everyone around us is telling us that we're now doctors. With tangible 'power.' With the stroke of our pen, drugs can be given, people can get time off work; and if someone suddenly collapses, people will call US... call ME... and look to me to make decisions... to do... stuff... without freaking out... to help, to lead, to ease suffering... to save? To save. Or at least, to try to save.

Yikes.

Really?

Me?

When yesterday no one expected anything of me? Our safety blanket has been, 'But I'm just a student,' and then all of a sudden that blanket has been ripped from our hands by the med school, the medical council, and by society!

It's a really scary truth.

... but then, after crazy awesome encouragement from my crazy awesome mum, and then bringing it all to God, I remembered. 'I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.' I took a step back and remembered, in the grand scheme of Life, and Eternity, Monday will be FINE. I, Dr Anna, will be JUST FINE. '... the Peace of God which transcends all understanding.' I know I am not infallible, so I will look things up. I know my limitations, so I will ask. I know I am new at this, so I will take my time to double-check, even if it means being at the hospital sixteen hours rather than fourteen.

Yes, I know my weaknesses, but with that I also know my strengths. I discharged a lovely patient today -- someone who I hadn't met before at all -- and it was... amazing. A real ownership of the caring for the patient. Knowing that with the heart of a servant you can make SUCH a difference for your patients at a time in their lives they feel the most vulnerable and scared.

So I am excited. I figure I'm allowed one freak-out per every 'new experience' and I've used mine up now! :) It's all upwards and onwards from here. And, you know what else? I survived GOING TO AFRICA BY MYSELF AS A 23YEAR OLD FEMALE. When I think about some of the truly scary, lonely moments I had during my trip -- some of the emotional, psychological anguish -- the next couple weeks will pale in comparison.

And I really love the hospital I am working at. Their ethos, spoken and unspoken, fit right in with my heart. To think I had never ever even considered this hospital until I prayed for God to give me some direction back in January, suddenly waking up in the middle of the night when this hospital came into my head out of the blue! It is only by the Grace of Christ I am here.

I'm also excited to start exploring my new city. I've decided I will spend my first year exploring this area bit by bit, doing the things I would do were I a tourist because so often we don't take the time to enjoy the place where we live! This past year my personal goal was to run the half marathon, which I did. This year I've decided it will be to learn how to surf. I'm within driving distance of some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, and surfing will be a nice respite from the hustle and bustle of Life. I'll definitely get back into running though more and more. Funnily enough, one of the three prayers that got answered this week was something I kind of asked for off the cuff -- to be able to find a nice off-road running track, like where I was living down south. And today I found one by the bay, a ten minute run from my house! Now I really have no excuse.

This weekend will be completely taken up by my final NZ Medical Students Association (NZMSA) meeting. Despite being full-on, I so look forward to seeing everyone again! And maybe the busy-ness is a good thing -- a nice distraction so I don't spend the weekend dwelling on Monday.

And now -- a big metaphorical breath in, before the diving into the deep end! :)

I'll see you on the other side.

Always,
-A

Dakar, Part 1

Dear friend,

It's been four days since I've arrived home and I am still in disbelief that I survived, that I made it back in one piece. I'm so sorry I have been M.I.A., a result of the inevitable chaos of packing up my life in The Gambia and the ensuing 'radio-silence' of traversing half the globe. I did keep up writing during my trip home, albeit pen to Moleskin journal, so I'll be posting about the rest of my trip in the days ahead (and what adventures I had!).

It all feels a bit surreal, for sure, being back. I come 'home' to a new city, new house, new job -- basically, a new LIFE. In a lot of ways I feel like a foreigner in my own home. Being in a much (MUCH) bigger city is quite nice though, after eight years in a small, quaint university-centred town. And, despite being away from this big city for so long, in a lot of ways it feels more like home than Dunedin ever did -- this big city is where my family first lived when we immigrated to New Zealand almost twenty years ago. The few close family friends we have live here. And I am so happy to see my parents so happy. They are thriving -- socially, physically, emotionally -- in a way they hadn't been in so long. It's been a hard ten, fifteen years for them, my parents who have sacrificed their lives to give my sister and I the opportunities we've had. I am so very aware of this truth daily, but even more so lately as graduation approaches and life as a DOCTOR begins. Wow. All I get to enjoy, the opportunities, the freedoms, the experiences, all I have and all I am would not have been possible without my mum and dad. Now, and every day to come. And it is my joy to give them full credit and ownership of all I have accomplished and all I will accomplish in the future.

Despite feeling in many ways like a stranger in my own home, there is a familiarity that touches my heart in a way only New Zealand can, a reminder that home is where the heart is, and my heart is here -- the Best Place on Earth. :)

I went for a run this morning -- my first run in over three months! And it was... perfection. 'Slow and steady,' I told myself, almost afraid that I had forgotten how. But, as soon as one foot stepped out in front of the other, perfectly in time with the music pulsing through my ipod, it really felt like I was back to 'Real Life.' And you know what? Real Life is pretty damn awesome too. I missed the New Zealand air. So crisp, so fresh, with a baseline scentless-ness that is occasionally pierced by a soft sweetness -- the smell of freshly mowed grass, or the honey of flowers blossoming along the footpath, or the damp smell of trees (the smell of Green if colours had a smell). I love the New Zealand air. That, is Home.

More thoughts to come as I fly down to Dunedin on Thursday to wrap things up with med school then head into a week of Orientation at my hospital on Monday (in preparation to start Work proper the Monday after). For now I leave you with thoughts from my trip in Dakar, written by the Anna from seven days ago.

Enjoy. :)

----------

November 8 2010

Dear friend,

Once again, let me set the scene.

I sit on a wharf of a restaurant on the water at midday. I hear the calm crashing of the waves breaking around me and the melting smoothness of French being spoken behind me. I smell the mix of cigarettes and designer perfume sharply perforating the fresh sea air. I taste the sweet bitterness of espresso coffee and the butter of the biscuit melting on my tongue. I see the elegant yachts parked in the lagoon, rocking to and fro amongst the infinite sparkle of diamonds dancing on the emerald, crystal clear blue water. I feel the touch of the most gentle breeze as I sit under an umbrella on this wharf. And I find myself wondering, can a breeze be both cool and warm at the same time?

The answer is Yes. And it is a most enjoyable perfection on my skin, like the cautious exploration of a lover's hands roaming the small of your back, the dents of your wrists, the plane of your arm.

What am I doing here? I find myself asking yet again. How did I end up here, in this French Riviera or Mediterranean Coast in the metropolitan hub of West Africa?

Hello, dear friend, from Dakar, Senegal, my penultimate destination on this week-long journey home.

My last week in The Gambia passed by so quickly as I wrapped up my lab project and slowly prepared to say goodbye to my life here. I spent a lot of time on the terrace of Ngala Lodge, sometimes entire days, soaking in as much of the moments as I could, while I still could. Yet, more than the views or the warmth of the African sun, the ache in my heart came as I found myself saying goodbye to the people here on my last day. And I could not have predicted how hard it would be. My beautiful Ethiopian human rights lawyer; my loving Nigerian paediatricians; my kind Ghanaian scientist-supervisor; my team of fun British ex-pat friends; my fellow kiwi and kindred spirit... at the end of the day these wonderful, amazing people have been my Gambian family these ten weeks past.

And I am heart-broken.

On Friday, my last night, I had planned for a chilled out dinner with some friends followed by packing and an early evening in as I was leaving for Dakar at six the next morning. We met to watch the sunset from Ngala Lodge followed by beautiful food -- two of my favourite things. Dinner was lovely but as the evening progressed I found myself increasingly... sad. While we were eating my friend, a Gambian nurse from MRC who works with the group of Nigerian doctors on the vaccination trial, found me at Ngala. Apparently the group of them had been trying to track me down all evening -- at the lab, at my flat on the compound -- in order to give me a gift! I was speechless. So touched. A lovely, devout Muslim man, I asked him if it was culturally appropriate and okay for us to hug and he replied, 'It is culturally appropriate and okay to me.' When he left I was overwhelmed, struggling to not get teary-eyed. There is such Love in the world -- how am I so surrounded by these incredible people? Wherever I go I seem to meet the most amazing, beautiful people. How am I so blessed, continually meeting and able to share my life with people who touch my heart with such kindness??



I had planned on an early night in but as dinner was wrapping up and I sat talking to my beautiful kiwi friend I realised I wasn't ready to say goodbye quite yet. So we decided to have one last night out in Senegambia -- to go out with a bang. Most of the others were heading out anyways, so my kiwi friend came back with me to keep me company while I packed and then we met up with everyone at our usual haunts in town. Pool, dancing, 'Waving Flag,' more dancing, chicken chawarma in Senegambia junction, then closing out the night with six of us heading back for one last swim at our Ngala beach under the early-morning/night sky. It was the most surreal but perfect farewell as I climbed the steps up the cliff and waved goodbye one last time to the others still swimming in the ocean under the stars.

I had half an hour to shower and finish up packing before I had to meet my tuk-tuk driver, Assan, at MRC main gate at 6.10am. He would be taking my lovely friend Albert and I to the Ferry terminal in Banjul -- the first leg of our epic journey to Dakar by road. Early Saturday morning, Albert and I took in the sunrise from the comfort, quiet and luxury of a tuk-tuk, wind in our hair et al. Then, when we arrived at the Ferry Terminal, it was Chaos.

And thus, the adventure began.

We had been told by another friend of ours from MRC who had done the trip to Dakar by road before, that we should try to be on the first ferry of the day at 7am. The ferry ride to Barre (the town on the other side of the river), he told us, would be about 40minutes. Then we would have to catch a taxi to the border, cross into Senegal, take some sort of motorcycle to the 'parking garage' where the buses/minivans/7seaters all were, then get into one of the 7seaters which would take us all the way to Dakar, virtually non-stop -- a five to seven hour drive depending on traffic.

The ferry terminal at Banjul was buzzing with people, cars, bumpsters and as soon as we arrived we were inundated with bumpsters trying to grab our bags with offers to help with anything and everything. Thankfully, Assan -- whom I have gotten to know very well these past few weeks and whom I trusted implicitly -- remained very protective of us and helped us fend off bumpters. It was quite the vision, waiting to get on the ferry: people, cars, workers everywhere with what appeared to be -- to our 'Western eyes' -- no trace of organisation or order. This was the beginning of a day of feeling overwhelmed and slightly scared on my part, BUT Albert seemed to have the most calming effect on me, with his looming height, experience in travel, jolly Dutch-English speak, and quietly happy whistling. He truly could not have been a better travel companion and compliment to a woman who's Happy Place is the order, quiet and control of the Operating Theatre.

The ferry ride was much longer than we had anticipated, with people and cars packed on like a can of sardines. Having to stand for the following hour was pretty tough when you've literally had no sleep but I managed to strategically lean on my suitcase and doze on and off for a bit. (After my crazy trip coming over to The Gambia with 30+hrs of not being able to lie flat, I have become an expert at strategically leaning on my suitcases!)

Getting off the ferry, again, no order at all, every man for himself, a lot of pushing and shoving. And, Albert and I obviously sticking out of the crowd as 'European,' were instantly surrounded by bumpsters yet again, grabbing our bags and arms, fighting over us, trying to lead us to their respective taxis. Again, an experience I would not have wanted to handle had I been on my own, but Albert, in his calm confidence, led the way and I gladly followed. By the time we got into a taxi we had less than fifteen minutes to get to the border. Why? Because it was Set Settal, the one Saturday morning each month in The Gambia which is dedicated to what is described as 'cleaning your environment.' No cars are allowed on the road from 9am - 1pm, the police/army come out to clean the public roads, and everyone is expected to stay in and clean. We got into Omar(our adolescent looking driver who most likely had TB, the way he was coughing)'s taxi on the condition that he would make it to the border before Set Settal... and despite his speedometer not working it was obvious he was driving incredibly fast, probably at least 140km/hr. We made it though, just in the nick of time, a few minutes past nine.

The border was not what I had imagined. I had pictured it to be like the U.S./Canadian border, the only border I have traversed by car and not by air. How wrong I had it! There was no physical border or fence or gate. As we were trying to figure out what we were supposed to do (all the while fending off more bumpsters/children trying to sell us SIM cards/cashews/towels/etc) a policeman standing in front of an old building flying a Gambian flag shouted at us, indicating for us to come in. We got led into the backroom of this old building where we were asked to show our passports and a man in uniform behind a big old wooden desk wrote down our details into a big old leather-bound ledger. He asked us of our intentions, stamped our passports, and that was that. Outside, after walking another ten, twenty metres, same thing except this time the building was flying a Senegalese flag and the men spoke French. Apparently at some point during this process we had passed from The Gambia into Senegal despite there being no physical demarcation.

Successfully through the 'border', Albert and I decided to take a donkey cart over to the 'parking garage' where more definitive transport to Dakar was waiting. Our donkey cart (?)driver, missing most his teeth (as is not uncommon with locals), was lovely and I whipped out some of my Wolof during the ride. Albert and I really enjoyed the ambling donkey cart ride, the fresh air and slow pace a nice respite from the chaos of the morning. Plus, we had made it. We made it through the border with none of the 'drama' I had catastrophized in my mind, from scary police checks, bribes, and potential getting-locked-up for whatever reason.

At the 'parking garage' we switched mode of transport to a seven-seater car and by 9.50am were on our way to Dakar. The landscape was flat and largely unvaried, occasionally driving through a township of huts and 'shops' along the road. There was a stretch of road for about an hour that was littered with potholes so some very creative driving was required by our driver -- like bull-riding at a rodeo! Good thing neither Albert or I are prone to car-sickness, otherwise it would have been a very, very difficult hour!

It was a long ride -- at about five different times during the drive we thought we had reached Dakar but were met with disappointment (our French-speaking driver and fellow-passengers sitting in silence for almost the entire journey!). The conversation with Albert was a good distraction though, not to mention sporadic ten minute spells of what felt like the deepest REM sleep on my part!

Metropolitan Africa is... a true sight. Almost impossible to capture with words or photos. As we entered Dakar proper from afar, it felt like we were entering a mirage; like we had been transported back a hundred years, yet at the same time, with a distinct feeling of the 'modern' oh so very out of place. It is the strangest thing, very difficult to grasp unless you experience it for yourself...


...to be continued!

Next time on Sleep And The Middle Ground: mugging, music and a magical island

ten things I WLL miss!

Dear friend,

Three days left. I feel like I have already 'checked out' from my life here. Especially with the arrival of a new medical student at our place, I have noticed myself finding it difficult to open up my life and heart to her because I know I am on my way out. The weather doesn't help this mentality, the cool season reminding me so much of Home. With most people who I would have wanted to say goodbye to already gone, I am just trying to wrap up my work as quickly as possible so that I can spend my last couple of days packing and getting organised. The tough thing is, even once I leave here it's only the beginning of my week-long journey home!

Instead of flying out from here late Sunday night to Dakar (Senegal), a friend and I have decided to go by road early Saturday morning and spend the weekend there. Originally I was due to spend Sunday and Monday night in Dakar -- hotel already booked back home -- then fly out to Istanbul on Tuesday, where I also need to spend a couple nights due to a lack of regular flights Home from this part of the world. My plan had been to spend the entire time I was in Dakar inside the confines (and comforts and safety!) of my hotel, sleeping, eating and in the pool, not keen to have any sort of repeat of my horrible experience in Dakar airport on my way here. BUT now that I won't be travelling alone -- and my friend is great value! -- it will be an awesome adventure. Going by road will give me a chance to see a bit of the country as well. I fully expect our journey to be riddled with police check-points, bribes at the border, and not to mention, risking my two large bags (which I half-heartedly am preparing myself to sacrifice if needed, lol) but it should be fine. More than fine -- good fun. Apparently live music on Saturday night is a must (Senegalese music is really big in West Africa), and plenty of sightseeing on Sunday including to the Dutch Islands off the coast (as described by my very Dutch friend).

With gearing up for such a big Transition -- physically and psychologically -- I have been having trouble sleeping. Hence, writing at six in the morning while it's still dark out. At the end of the day, I think I'm just really really ready to be Home. I've even finished the report I have to write about my trip for my med school, and yesterday I received an email from Middlemore with my work roster, and also one from the Medical Council with my registration number (exciting!). In saying all that, there are things I will miss about my life here.

Ten things I WILL miss about life in The Gambia (starting with Most and moving down):

1. The thing I will surely miss the most is, tapalapa, the local bread. Not just the bread itself (which is DELICIOUS, and which I have previously described), but the fact I can get freshly baked bread basically anytime I want -- and for only 50NZcents. You cannot fathom just how much I love freshly baked bread. This, and #2 below, have played a significant part in my gaining weight here!

2. Fried egg sandwiches from the little stand just outside the back gate of the compound. I cannot believe how addicted I've become to these sandwiches. The guys there fry the eggs with a bit of onion, stuff a six-inch piece of tapalapa with it, smother it in mayo and tomato sauce... all for only NZ$1.50. And they're basically open anytime! I've had it for breakfast... for lunch... for dinner... And with that, I am now craving one. How I will miss thee!

3. The beautiful smile of one of my friends here. It's the most perfect smile, if ever there was one.

4. Ngala Lodge. Mid-day coffees; Sunday brunch; dinner... the friendly waiters... and the million-dollar view. My second home. And definitely the place I will stay when next in The Gambia.

5. MRC beach -- our own private stretch of Atlantic, just off of Ngala Lodge/the MRC apartment building. We bonded, the Atlantic and I, and this is where it all happened. Dancing in the moonlight with an African trio; building a bonfire (and a sand fort because it never occurred to us to check the tide), toasting tapalapa and marshmallows; swimming for two hours under a full moon; fishing; chilling; hopscotch; my friend getting into the ocean fully-clothed one afternoon because she didn't have her swim clothes and watching us in the water was just too too irresistible... countless sunsets.

6. Tuk-tuk rides/Assan-jie, my tuk-tuk driver who I can call anytime when I can't be bothered with the hassle of five dalasis shared taxi/bush taxi rides. Assan is the most lovely man, so accommodating, and incredibly punctual! I've been told it's because I pay him 'NZ taxi prices.' Irregardless, I love tuk-tuk rides, and I will miss Assan.

7. Avocados. They are AMAZING here. Many a evening I have had tapalapa and a huge fresh avocado for dinner, so ripe you can spread it on like butter. It is melt-in-your-mouth delicious. And, with that, I will miss my Senegalese fruit and vege lady and her brother who I trust with all my heart -- I am so horrible at choosing fruits and veges, and all I have to do is tell them, 'to eat today' or 'to use tomorrow' and they always seem to know exactly which ones are perfect. Mhmmm... this is making me very very hungry. I seriously might have to get an egg sandwich for breakfast!

8. Fridays. My reasons being two-fold. Firstly, they are half days. We seriously need to implement half-day Fridays back home. They are AMAZING. It's like a three day weekend, every week! And I don't think it deters away from our productivity. My second reason being, because it's the Muslim Holy Day it is best dress day! Men all wear the lovely Muslim traditional outfit (because they go straight from work to the mosque to pray), and women wear their full-on African dresses, complete with headscarf. Everyone looks beautiful. A great way to end the work-week.

9. Getting dresses tailor-made for NZ$15 to which I have become a little bit addicted. Even now I am trying to convince myself I don't need any more made... but there is a high likelihood I may change my mind at the eleventh-hour. Hence, keeping myself away from the market this week where I will surely buy more gorgeous fabric. I have bought ENOUGH these past ten weeks. More than enough.

10. The dawn call of the birds. Living on the compound is like living in a wildlife park. And in the hour before sunrise, it is... magical.

Always,

-A

[untitled]

I found out this morning that I have been successfully elected to the New Zealand Medical Association's new First-year doctor position on their Doctors-in-training council. As a treat to myself (because I am a firm believer in celebrating the small things in life) I went to Ngala lodge (the cliff-side restaurant that as quickly become my second home these past few weeks) for a 'proper' coffee and chocolate croissant. The five minute walk was beautiful -- vultures, sunrise, and the most glorious breeze.

As I sat having my coffee, being romanced by the breeze and the living, breathing painting of the Atlantic before me, I came to the realisation that I have begun to fall in love with your Mama Africa. I texted you as much, asking whether that was a very 'European' thing to say (because, according to your logic, being a Westerner makes me 'European' by proxy). And you replied, 'It's very European cos if you're African you'd have said I love my Mama Africa.'

And I laughed.

No matter how much I get rooted, She will never be my Mama Africa. But I am fine with that. I am a nomad. I belong to no Nation, no Culture, no Peoples. My heart is scattered all over the world, with the people who have claimed pieces of my heart these past twenty three years. And now, that includes this most beautiful land -- your Mama Africa.

I see my life back Home as a means to gain a tangible skill. You think I will forget. You think I will go home and, with the distractions of Life, let it slip through my fingers, like many who have come and gone before me. Please, continue to think that, I ask of you, because it makes me passionate and excited about proving you wrong.

I am ready to go Home and work hard. I am ready to start this next phase of my life, enthused and encouraged by what I can give to your Mama Africa in two, five, ten, twenty years from now. Heart to soul. Hand to God. The God you fight, yet can't seem to escape. I am happy to prove you wrong. En sha la.

ten things I won't miss

Dear friend,

It's seven in the morning and I have just said good-bye to my amazing friend who is off to one of the MRC rural field stations upcountry. I have known her just three weeks, yet those three weeks have been the best three weeks of my entire elective. I really cannot believe the incredible fun we've had together. She will be there for a while before coming back to the coast where the main compound/I am based... and I am almost heartbroken to see her go. Kindred spirits. But we have a plan for me to visit London next year, to relive our glory days.

There is a cool breeze outside right now, so foreign but most welcomed, with surprisingly no humidity. As I was seeing my friend off and I realised I WASN'T caked in sweat despite standing outside with long trousers and a long-sleeve shirt, I ached to be home and our perfectly mild NZ climate. Even Auckland's 'humidity' will be nothing compared to what I've experienced here.

Though I have acclimatize, feeling completely settled and unfazed, there are definitely some things which I will be glad to free of for a good long while. And, with that...


Ten things I WON'T miss about living in The Gambia:

1. The effort it takes to run a simple errand like going to the grocery store: dripping with sweat, dirt in my mouth, fending off bumpsters, the mosquito bite potential... and then needing the most massive shower and lie-down afterwards because that small venture has taken so much out of you.

2. Being caked with sweat regardless of how many showers I have had and how unactive I'm being.

3. The constantly being 'on guard' for bugs/spiders/ants anywhere and everywhere -- the ants in my room, resident spiders always coming and going, geckos/lizards in the toilet bowel (which has happened to a few of my friends here), rinsing off bowels and spoons and anything else from the kitchen before use in order to wash off the bugs... what sweet relief it will be to be able to head to the kitchen or head into bed WITHOUT having to make a conscious nanosecond effort to check for creepy crawlies.

4. The mosquito bites. Although, actually, it really doesn't bother me much anymore. And my immune system has done so well that now instead of 10cm swellings that last for a week, they're only 3cm swellings gone within a day. Good job, immune system, good job.

5. Uninhibited eating and lack of exercise -- bad combination. I NEED to get home, lol.

6. The male-female dynamics. I've been meaning to write about this for a while now. There is a real dichotomy in the way men interact with 'foreign' women -- either with a religious reticence or an almost aggressive forwardness. So utterly different from what we are used to. The latter is especially hard to deal with, always been bombarded with empty compliments that can range from the seemingly sweet to the obtrusively violating. Being trapped sitting shotgun in a taxi for ten minutes while the driver tells you how he wants to be with you, to be your 'special friend,' how he likes the colour of your skin, and asking how can he see you again... it's not a nice feeling at all. The power of a situation like that in making you feel truly violated is something I can do without experiencing again. Don't get me wrong, not everyone here is like that at all. I have met some amazingly kind and generous Gambian locals, men and women. And I know that there is complexity in the situation. Sadly, the male (and female) sex industry is quite a substantial one here, one of the big draws for European tourists. To quote what a friend of mine wrote: 'People fly in just to get a bit of attention, some maybe to feel pretty (since they are not really fulfilling the western beauty standards), some just because it is possible, and the locals will give this attention, just to survive or maybe also just to hang around pubs and bars to get some sort of western life style (a beer is a third/half of what an average Gambian person makes on a day).' But I will welcome being back home where lines are drawn and the social interactions are governed by a familiar sense of appropriate-ness.

7. The work I've been doing here... which, I don't regret signing up for because despite it not being 'my thing,' I have come to realise my time here was definitely not about the work. But I won't miss the lab... and, once back home, I will be thankful every morning to be heading to a job that I love, a job that, despite it being tough at times, brings me so much joy. A lack of passion for my work... I definitely won't miss that.

8. The lack of freedom in getting around places -- I cannot wait to be reunited with my little 90s three door Toyota Corolla hatchback. Windy, I'm coming home!!!

9. Living out of two suitcases.

10. Being so far from Home.


Ten days -- the official countdown.

Always,
-A

the beginning of the end

Dear friend,

It really is the beginning of the end.

Every time I log into the computers here a warning message pops up to remind me that I have an 'X' number of days before my IT account expires -- a blatant countdown daily bursting the bubble of denial I have been trying desperately to hold on to.

And yet... despite feeling so rooted, so settled here... I think... I think, I am ready to go Home.

And thus it begins, the Beginning of the End; the period of Goodbyes; and the gearing up to transition back into the Real World.

On Friday, one of the two girls I have been living with flew back to the UK. While having brunch cliffside we started playing a game of 'The First Thing' -- the first we'll eat and do once we're Home. For her: brie and tomato sandwich, pesto and bacon pasta, 'proper' cheese, 'proper' tea, 'proper' milk, (lol, so English!), watching the news, going to the movies, reading the paper. And for me? My mum's cooking (everything and anything!), Starbucks Caramel Macchiato, going out for Korean food, Wendy's spicy burger combo, sleeping in my own bed with my own pillow... and going for the most epic run exploring the City of Sails, my new home.

I am ready. Let's go home.

Always,

-A

'goodnight dear void'

Dear friend,

This past weekend was ridiculously chilled. After our epic evening dancing in the moonlight Friday, Saturday consisted of a lie-in (= British colloquialism for 'sleep-in'), pies from the nearby bakery, a film and an early night. It rained for the first time in a couple weeks, a reminder that the rainy season isn't over quite yet. And Sunday was even more relaxed. Another sleep-in followed by brunch out on the terrace of the cliffside restaurant we went to on Friday night -- coffee, pancakes, scrambled eggs, mhmm... followed by an afternoon at a 4-star beachside resort out in the tourist-y part of town (they let you use the pools for free if you order some drinks/food). A bit unsettling to experience that kind of luxury in a country where education/healthcare isn't a given, a similar feeling to what I've described previously re- bargaining on purchases that are already, compared to back home, indescribably cheap (and for which I would normally pay way more than the highest price asked for here). Haven't quite reconciled myself to all this yet... but I guess that didn't stop me from spending the afternoon beachside in movie-like luxury. Ironically enough literally two minutes after we arrived it started to pour down with rain -- torrential, for two hours, complete with booming thunder and flashes of lightening. It was beautiful to watch from the open-air pool lounge and, in the end, only added to the chilled out tone of the day. My friend and I even dared to go for a swim in the rain which was great fun; there was some crazy conversation in the pool though -- on retrospect, I think the two of us were going a bit insane. The insanity continued back home where, during a dinner of Pringle Chips and Dairy Milk Chocolate, the conversation was so ridiculous and funny I laughed like I haven't laughed in YEARS. The two girls who are here with me now have become such dear friends, they will be painfully missed.

It's so strange to think about what a different person I've become here -- a person who I didn't know I had in me to be. Someone who is relaxed, and chilled, and cooks for people, and convinces others to spend a couple hours at the beach in hammocks with a cool drink in hand at the end of the day. Increasingly I have found myself thinking, 'WHAT am i doing here? Who is this person?' I now know what it feels like not to be constantly inundated with work and busy-ness; what it feels like not to be so highly strung -- and that, actually, that's okay. I thought I'd be coming here to 'accomplish' something... but rather, it's been one of the most amazing Life experiences ever.

Chatting to one of the girls on Sunday about this person I've become here, we wondered what it will be like once I'm back home. Is this person purely a product of environment and circumstance? Will I get home and, like a light-switch, flick back to the person I was ten weeks ago? Already I am making plans and commitments (via email) for my return which, undoubtedly, will make my first year out as a doctor more busy than for most. Plans and commitments which I am excited about -- opportunities that are too good to pass -- but which, undoubtedly, will require me to be the busy, efficient, work-focussed woman I am all too familiar with. Will this experience, here in The Gambia, create some sort of... middle ground? Are these two different versions of myself mutually exclusive, or is some degree of compromise possible?

I don't really want any answers... just sending these questions out to the void. I guess I'll find out soon enough. But I am excited that in a year's time I will be reflecting on the crazy, unexpected adventures of life post-West Africa.

Always,

-A

Dancing in the moonlight (literally)

Dear friend,

Last night I found myself dancing in the moonlight with three British girls and a tall Dutchman on a private stretch of Atlantic Ocean beach, with an African trio playing just for us.

Another one of those mind-boggling, unbelievable moments in life that will stay with me forever.

The Friday night plan was to have a 'girl's night' at a restaurant situated on a beachside cliff, two minutes walk from where we all live, for drinks, sunset and and some good ol' girl talk; then walking to the nearby bakery on the way home for some cheap chicken pie for dinner. That was the plan at least, lol. At the last minute, our friend, a fun-loving lovely Dutchman came with us, so it was no longer a girl's night but we welcomed his joining us for the evening nonetheless. When we arrived at the restaurant we sat in the outdoor terrace lounge, ordered some cocktails, and watched the glorious red sunset over the Atlantic Ocean from atop our very own beachside cliff. The cool breeze, amazing drinks, palm trees and sunset was too perfect to give up when asked by our waiter whether we'd be staying to eat... The restaurant is one of the nicest in the area and with that relatively pricey, but even then, no more expensive than most places back home. And so we gave in; dinner it was! Plus, one of the girls who has just completed her Masters found out yesterday that she scored the highest mark in her entire class (from what is a pretty prominent University in the UK) so some real celebrating was in order.

It's difficult to describe how amazing the restaurant is -- open-air, covered roof, on this cliff right by the water. And the food was amazing. One of my favourite things to do is eat out -- a real weakness of mine -- and this meal, the ambiance, the location -- everything -- was, incredible.

At some point during the evening the live music started featuring a local trio -- a guy playing the guitar, another playing the African drums, and a woman singing. They were so lovely, so chilled out, with some awesome rhythms -- they even had us dancing in the restaurant on our way out! Done with dinner we decided to walk down to the beach, literally just down a set of stairs. It was a half moon, the tide was going out, and as we stood there taking it all in, we realised what we really needed was some music. So myself and one of the other girls decided to walk back up to the restaurant where we found the trio packing up and asked them -- as sweetly as we could -- to come down and play for us. 'We're down by the beach, it's beautiful and we really, *really* want to dance. Do you think you guys could come down and play for us, just for a little while? (We don't expect you to do it for free.)'

And the amazing thing is, they said Yes.

I firmly believe all you need to do in life is Ask, and the world truly is your oyster.

So they came down with their instruments -- to the utter surprise of our three friends star-gazing on the beach -- and the dreamlike scene began. Sitting here thinking back on it, it feels like a shared hallucination. Did it really happen?? Or was it all a dream??

The music was beautiful. They played three songs for us, the beautiful African melodies ringing out across our very own private stretch of beach, lit up by nothing more than the moonlight... and we danced and danced like there was no tomorrow.

Always,

-A

oh how the tables have turned

Dear friend,

It's been much too long since I last wrote, and for that I'm very sorry! A lot has been happening the past couple of weeks. The unbelievable thing is that suddenly -- or not so suddenly -- this elective has passed the point of feeling like an elective to feeling like... Life. My life. Here. It no longer feels like I've 'vacated' my actual life for a holiday, but that this is... It. I have a fruit and vege lady, catching up with her and her brother at their stand every couple days when I do my shopping; I have a money exchanger 'friend' who gives me the best rate in town regardless of what the Sterling is doing; I have a grocery store that is owned by Lebanese immigrants, and their lovely young security guard who always smiles this huge smile when I ask him about his day...

We have had a turnover of people at the place I'm living at as well, with three students leaving a couple weeks ago (in conjunction with the start of a new academic year back in the UK), and two amazing, kind, lovely girls arriving in their stead. I have truly loved getting to know this group of people, a real home away from Home. We cook together, hang out together, venture out together. How quickly it happens -- making a Life for yourself when thrown in to a new environment, an environment in which getting rooted felt, at times, a seemingly impossible thing to do. Thinking about my life back in New Zealand now feels so foreign and faraway, while The Gambia has become... Normality. The standard of measure. The expected. Comfortable. The everyday.

Oh, how the tables have turned! How far I've come since my first two weeks here when I sat in my room feeling sick as a dog, bargaining with God, pleading for Him to give me a way out.

It's beautiful here. It really is. Even the heat is beautiful. The rainy season is over and we are now heading into one of the hottest months of the year. And rather than fighting it, I am truly enjoying it for what it is, as much as I can, while I still can!

My work is going very well too. I have picked up another project after speaking to one of the doctors here who is currently doing her PhD. It is a clinical audit of prescribing practice in one of the field clinics she works at. It's exciting, and a great experience, putting together and conducting an audit from start to end. A nice little project for me to really sink my teeth into and claim ownership of. The other awesome thing about it is that the doctor I'm working with is from the UK, and it's been surprisingly nice working with her. Up until this point I have been working with either African-trained doctors (who have a very different approach), or scientists. There is something about her, in that, she seems to involve me more, to give me a bit more context and interacts with me in a way that is much more familiar. This audit in addition to my work in the lab has been keeping me steady busy, without being overwhelming, which is perfect.

I've been really working on my Wolof as well. I mentioned before I've been trying to learn one of the local languages, and Wolof is one of the mains ones in The Gambia. The past couple of weeks I've been making a serious effort to pick up more, and people here love it! They respond SO much to my willingness to learn, it's incredible what a difference it is making. The people I work with in the lab have taken me under their wing, as well as the people out in the field. And you can see how it brightens up their day, teaching me, and seeing me improve. Even when I get in a taxi or am at a shop or at the market, it changes the dynamics in an instant. I think when they see a foreigner they assume, 'Oh, here's just another foreigner.' Some will greet you to different degrees, yet that's about it. BUT, get in a taxi, go to a shop, see someone and say, 'As-salam alaykum' (= Arabic greeting, 'peace be upon you') and they are a bit taken aback -- in a really good way -- because they don't expect a foreigner to know to say that, and they'll reply 'Alaykum salam.' It totally breaks down the first (and biggest) barrier! Then they'll reply, as is normal for them, 'Nang'a'def?' (= how are you?). And if you know how to reply, or, even, if you ask them first, this huge smile comes on their faces! And if you can say even more than that (i.e. how's your morning been? what is your name? It is SO hot today!), they love it. Of course there is a limit to my Wolof, and at some point I have to say, with a sheepish smile, 'Sorry, that's all I know,' but even then they'll continue to talk to you in English. My goal has been to be able to carry on a full conversation in a taxi, and I'm getting very close! Last week I even got asked by one of the other passengers in the taxi how many YEARS I've lived here! LoL When I told them I've only been here five weeks, they were quite impressed I have to say. :) The ironic thing is that languages are definitely not normally my thing! I love English, and failed miserably at learning anything else, relying on my very limited conversational Korean to make me 'bi-lingual.' Ultimately though, speaking Wolof is very disarming -- the secret to getting into the hearts of the locals. So I continue to try and try. LoL

On the news front, I have also decided to sponsor the schooling of the daughter of our housekeeper. For the past six weeks I have gotten to know our housekeeper very well, probably since I have had relatively so much free time during the day! LoL She has been the housekeeper at the place I'm living in for 18years, and is a single mum supporting six children (age range from 23years to 5months). And she is very hard-working. However, the local wage here is 50 - 100 Dalais/day which, to put it in context, is £1.5 (=4.5NZD). When I first arrived and she hinted at her daughter needing a sponsor for schooling I have to admit I did see it with some degree of suspicion, especially because I have been warned of people asking for money etc. But she never outrightly asked me. And that's also why I waited to get to know her better. More recently, I was very touched when she shared with me some of her personal story. But what really helped me make my decision was how much she reminded me of my parents, in that her life has been about Sacrifice. Sacrificing their own life in a quest to give their children more; more than what they had, more than what they knew, more than the Here and Now. And it was a joy to tell her I would sponsor her daughter's education. It's not even a lot of money for us -- what I would easily spend without thinking twice on a dinner out each week. And yet that kind of money, for her, is completely unobtainable.

On Friday I went to the school with her and her daughter to have a look around, meet with the teacher and the Vice Principal, and sort out logistics on payment etc (they have a really reliable system, all done through the bank). The school has a beautiful campus (it's a German-run school), and is a lovely environment for studying, a real haven amidst the chaos of urban Africa. And I am happy. Her daughter, who is 14 years old, is lovely, and as the four of us (mum, daughter, me, teacher) were standing outside the school on our way home, she whispered something into the teacher's ear. The teacher -- a lovely Ghanaian man -- told me that she wanted to say to me -- but couldn't find the words to convey -- just how happy and grateful she was for this opportunity... for my help. It broke my heart, to think what is such a 'small' thing for me could mean so much to someone else... and how I almost tried to convince myself it wasn't worth doing. I've gotten to spend some time alone with her since, and have gotten to know her a bit better. I hope to be able to mentor her a bit before I leave too. She wants to become a nurse, which I really encouraged her to do. Her favourite subject is English (which I can totally relate to), and I've told her to work hard so that she can come visit me in New Zealand one day. :)

This week will be a week of good-byes, the biggest of which will be for one of the guys who has lived here for a year. Originally from Ethiopia, he will be going to the UK to do a PhD. He was the second person I met when I arrived here and he has quickly become the truest of friends. It will be so hard to see him leave. On Saturday night the small Ethiopian 'community' (= group of like five or six guys/men working here) arranged a farewell beach party to which we were invited. It was by far one of the coolest, most surreal experiences of my life. They drove us all to this secluded beach about an hour's drive away. When we arrived, I was completely blown away by the African night sky. I truly believe we are closer to the heavens here. The sun is bigger, the moon is bigger, and the galaxies feel within a moment's reach of your fingertips. The sheer vastness... was... majestic.

The guys bought everything needed for a bonfire barbecue, the group of us non-Ethiopians merely spectators, guests, in this private, intimate show. They lit a fire with sticks they bought with them tied up in string; used three concrete slabs around the fire to place the big round metal 'pan' on which was filled with goat meat and vegetables marinated Ethiopian style; they had a cooler filled with drinks and Jul-Brew; and they were the most lovely hosts, laughing away, swapping stories, having a blast, and making sure we were just as merry. At one point in the evening the group of guys -- mostly middle-aged men! -- started this traditional Ethiopian dance around the fire, chanting and singing and forgetting they were away from home. Then later on in the night a group of random locals joined us with their drums, with more dancing and singing, Gambian style.

It was an incredible night. One for the history books. A scene from the film that is my Life. And I will never forget it.

I will be so very sad to see my friend leave in two days time. And it only serves as a reminder that my time here is also quickly coming to an end. The grieving process has commenced, I think, with my very much being in Denial.


Yesterday our housekeeper showed me how to cook Chicken Yassa, the traditional Gambian dish. My friend who is leaving loves this dish and orders it all the time when we eat out, and so I really wanted to cook it for him. So I spent the day putting on my 'Housewife' hat, shopping, prepping and cooking the day away. And it was such a success. Despite fighting the slowness of work etc when I first arrived, I have come to see it as a blessing. I have come to see that this experience is not about medicine or work, but about truly taking a break and having one of those rare Life Experiences. One which has had such an impact on the person I am, the woman I am becoming, and the doctor I will be in six weeks time.

I sit here, typing away in a Lebanese cafe, drinking a cappuccino with Arabic music in the background; the searing heat giving way to a golden sunset; and I am taken aback that I am here... in West Africa... having the time of my life.

I will be sad to see my friend go.

I will be sad to see myself go, sad to leave my life here.

And what a Life it has turned out to be.

Always,
-A

Beauty

Dear friend,

I've been having alternate restless nights this past week, and last night was another not-so-good sleep. I've learnt to let it go and take comfort in the fact that at least I'll be so tired the night thereafter I'll sleep as I normally do. As such, I was tossing and turning most of last night and wide awake by six this morning. After a bit of food with my ritual doxycycline (=antimalarial prophylaxis) I thought I'd go do some emailing, but the computer was being uncooperative. By this time it was just after 7am and, with that, first light out. It was a bit overcast with a strong breeze so I thought I'd go stand outside for a bit of fresh air.

I walked back and forth outside our door, drinking in the dawn air and the golden light. And in that moment I so regretted not bringing my running shoes, the perfect temperature for a perfect run. Instead of wallowing in my regret I settled for second best and decided to go on a morning walk to the beach, to enjoy the cool before it was oh-so quickly replaced by the unmitigated heat. (Have I mentioned MRC is less than a five minute walk from our own slice of the Atlantic Ocean? It's pret-ty cool.) Being so relatively early in the morning I figured there couldn't be that many bumpsters 'working' yet, but I took with me nothing but an umbrella, my MRC ID badge (just incase) and my ipod shuffle.

The walk to the beach was good, and the beach itself was... incredible. The breeze had died down a bit by then, with the sun steadily growing in strength. There were a lot of local Gambians running on the beach, a few (whom I presumed to be bumpsters) already in swimming shorts walking/taking a dip in the water, and it suddenly dawned on me as I began my stroll along the water that I was the only woman along what was probably a seven, eight km stretch of ocean. But I continued on my merry way, listening to Brooke Fraser and soaking in the beauty enveloping me.

And what Beauty.

Strangely enough, despite the vastly different landscape, colours and textures, I have struggled to see the beauty here... which may be related to the fact that I have, at times, been struggling to see... God here. Maybe I have been too distracted in the foreign-ness of it all, or with my own difficulties coping. But, this morning, as I walked along the water, I saw It. My mind -- cleared of the distractions of the days past, the day ahead, and the days to come -- was reminded once again of the Beauty of Creation. And that Beauty is God.

My trip thus far hasn't been what I expected, riddled with unmet preconceived expectations, the harshness of the environment, and the reality of being as far as I could be from Home. And for a while I began to think this Land did not want me... nor I Her. 'It was a great experience,' I would say in years to come. 'Yes, I ventured out to Africa. Me, Anna, who is all about controlled environments, coffee and comfort.' I would chalk up my time here to being one I did not regret having, but at the same time one I would not 'inflict' upon myself again of my own volition. In my heart I thought I was mistaken to think God could ever want me here and, with that, began trying to convince myself it wasn't for me.

And yet, in the past couple of weeks something has started to change.

I have met, and continue to meet, incredibly amazing, generous, and beautiful people. And as I get to know them better, I have an increasing appreciation for the truths universal across all human beings. Yes, a lofty statement I grant you, and I by no means declare to be a philosopher or doctorate sociologist. But what I know is this: as I continue to meet people from richly contrasting cultures and backgrounds, I remained amazed by the connection we all have at the most fundamental level -- we are all human. We Love, we Hope, we Laugh, we Muse, we Change, we Grow, we Live. We dream -- though the dreams we have may be different. We dream for a better life, for something More, for ourselves, for our children. We search for fulfillment, in whatever that may be, but we each search nonetheless. And with all this, my conviction in my Faith only grows. How can you appreciate this universal connection across Mankind and not wonder, 'What is it that binds us together?' This universal connection which on paper seems impossible, yet remains evermore a true observation across the world now as it was five hundred years ago. How can you appreciate this Infinite 'Co-incidence' and not yearn to seek out Truth?

As I walked back from the beach, there was a break in the clouds and thick rays -- bands -- of light beamed down on an area some distance away. I have seen something similar a few times before in my life, each time pausing to bask in the heavenly perfection of the moment. And I think to myself, in that place, some distance away, where this pocket of glorious light has settled, I think to myself how someone, there, in that place, needs Light -- and God, in His Provision, has answered the unspoken prayer of their hearts.

For a while I was disappointed this trip was not the fulfillment of adolescent idealism I thought it would be, but rather, a reality check. Rather than the beginning of a Lifelong Crusade to help the People Without A Voice, I began to think this trip was more the cliche once-in-a-lifetime experience of a 23year old almost doctor who wanted to 'see' Africa. I thought what I was hearing was, the World -- Africa -- does not need me. And that I too could do fine with a stock standard life back in good ol' New Zealand, where my skills would be appreciated, life would be 'easy' and contained, and I could make myself feel like I was making a tangible difference in peoples' life, all the while enjoying my dinners out and Starbucks coffee. Isn't that what God would want? To paint with the colours I know, the colours I am comfortable with, the colours I am made of, in this lifelong quest to Love Him and Love my neighbour...

But as the days here pass I begin to see the Beauty in the People and the Place. And, even more surprisingly, I have started to feel this sad tugging in my heart at the thought of leaving in five weeks.

Sure, I may not be painting with the same Colours as the people here. But I am beginning to see that through God -- the Creator of every single colour imaginable, and the colours beyond our imagination, and the colours beyond our ability to conceive -- we slowly learn to recognise... then appreciate... then take on more and more of these foreign Colours around us. Through Him we are able to reconcile the deficits we have on our individual canvas and begin to paint with Colours we have never painted with before, with colours we could not have imagined. And what we are left with is... Brilliance. A wonderous, glorious Brilliance only possible through the Creator of all Creation.

I have no idea if, at some point in my life, God will call me back to Africa, a continent that is, for me, the final frontiere and the antithesis of the Person I am comfortable being. But we are called to serve. And, having this experience, I find joy in the Freedom of knowing wherever it may be, 'Through Christ all things are possible.' And I pray, Lord, that when I am called to Go, like Abraham was, I will go with a praising heart.

I have had a fun, busy week, with an overnight trip last weekend to an Eco-lodge; and spending the entire day yesterday cooking a Mexican feast for the group I'm living with; but more about that another time. For now I will leave you with this: 'It is God's knowledge of me, His careful husbanding of the ground of my being, His constant presence in the garden of my little life that guarantees my JOY.' - W. Phillip Keller

Always,

-A

I am Gambian: Call me Kumba

Dear friend,

Yesterday, after a week-long unfortunate hiatus, I finally got a chance to go out to the field with the vaccination team once again. I love going out to the field because not only is there a bit of patient contact but the team I get to work with are such awesome people! The team is headed by four Nigerian paediatricians (total co-incidence that they're all Nigerian, lol), two of whom have been especially kind to me. My time in the lab has been riddled with at best a disinterest and at worst a feeling of my presence being merely 'tolerated.' (I admit it's probably just my one-sided perception and they don't mean to be!) The field team, however, made up of a handful of Gambian nurses, fieldworkers and a community 'witness' (= respected member of the community who oversees the clinical trial to make sure there is no 'dodgy' business) have shown me a generosity of spirit that has really touched me.

They treat me like their daughter -- as part of a real family. They have even endowed me with a Gambian name! From the Wolof tribe. The title of my next book? lol 'I am Gambian: Call me Kumba' Yes, my Gambian name is Kumba. And I LOVE it. (Say it with my last name and it sounds like it's meant to be!) The community 'witness' has been teaching me some Wolof as well, so now when mums and bubs sit down in front of me I can say the basics of 'Hi, how are you?' and even introduce myself (as Kumba, of course!). When I arrived there yesterday after being away for relatively so long, everyone greeted me with big smiles and even bigger handshakes, saying how much they had missed me. :) So going out to the field in Fajikunda was a most welcomed day out.

Let me stop for a moment and give you a bit of background of what actually happens on one of these days out in the field. The TB vaccine team are currently conducting a clinical trial on a new TB vaccine that has been shown to be effective in adults, however, not yet trialed in infants. So the team here are aiming to recruit about 300 infants, some of whom will get this new TB vaccine while others get a different meningitis vaccine (because it would be unethical to not give them anything). As mums and bubs come to the clinic to see nurses for whatever reason (either sickness, or medicines, or for their routine childhood vaccinations) they are told about the study and sent home with information for them to discuss with their husbands. Then they are followed up and, if they agree to participate, are screened to see if they meet the inclusion criteria. Hence, on one of these days out in the field, we could be screening, following-up, vaccinating, treating (if anyone is sick), or all of the above. And, on an important side-note, each of these babies need blood samples taken -- but more on that later.

The first couple of times I went out to the field I mostly sat back and watched. One of the Nigerian paediatricians I mentioned above is a young, newly qualified paediatrician who arrived here in The Gambia a day before I did so initially the two of us together did our fair share of 'learning.' It's a pretty crazy, full-on day, with only two small 'offices' (5m x 3m partitioned areas) to do all the business required! And as per the culture/work environment here, having an organized, methodical approach is a very very foreign concept for the locals. The Nigerian doctors, on the other hand, are all about efficiency (I had heard of, and now seen first-hand, just how hard-working Nigerians are!). And I have learnt a lot from watching the inevitable frustrations that arise and the compromises that have to be made by both parties to get the job done.

Besides getting to spend time with my awesome de facto African family, lol, the other grand upside of going out to the field is that I have been practicing taking blood samples from babies. The unbelievable thing is that here it is done mostly by the nurses. Yes the doctors can do it if they need to, but in the interest of convenience and saving time, the nurses do most of the blood-taking. Back home, any kind of procedure (invasive or not!) on children/babies is highly guarded, performed only by consultant specialists or their senior trainees. Junior doctors, let alone medical students, are kept far far away, and know to stay away lest they want to incur the wrath of their bosses and the stressed out parents.

Here?? A completely different story! They've been encouraging me to get amongst it, give it a go, and get all the practice I need. The mums don't mind either, in part because in their eyes I am a Western doctor and in part because healthcare here is still quite traditional (i.e paternalistic) so for the most part people sit quietly in perfect cooperation with whatever needs to be done. Plus, when basic healthcare is a luxury, not a fact of life, patients don't seem to question much.

In my first week here I had a chance to have a couple attempts, both of which didn't go too well. Granted, I had no idea what I was doing. Taking blood from babies is seemingly impossible in the best of circumstances, but with little black babies? With very very dark skin? And no veins that you can see? To quote one of the Nigerian doctors: 'Sometimes you see a vague hint of a vein, sometimes you don't. Most of the time it feels like you're imagining it, so you convince yourself it's there and then just go for it. No fear.'

And yesterday? A success rate of seven out of eleven, baby! All first attempts too! Seven out of eleven!!

There was one baby who's vein I couldn't even imagine I saw so I let the nurses go instead. After four failed attempts by two different nurses, they called over the young Nigerian paediatrician who, in a matter of seconds, oh-so slickly got the needle in, first pop. And I gotta say, it was pretty hot. (A bit of an ambiguous statement, but I'll leave you to take from it what you will, lol.)

So yesterday was another good day. And I treated myself to an ice-cream sundae after dinner as a self-pat on the back.

Always,

-A

no I'm not joking, apparently monkeys can get drunk!

Dear friend,

It's truly amazing, the warm glow one gets in one's heart upon meeting someone from home while halfway around the world. A complete stranger, but with whom you are instantly connected by your shared understanding and love for a place foreign to everyone else around you.

I had such a fun weekend and have come to realise the value of weekends. It may not come as a surprise, but back home I can become (to put it lightly) wrapped up in 'work' a little too much. Being busy is not a burden but a joy when you love the work you are doing. So weekends for me were more a chance to take a deep breath in, go for a nice long run, sleep-in, grab a meal and movie with a friend, but, most importantly, play catch-up in my work. As nerdy as it sounds, my 'fun' has, in large part, always been my work.

Oh how the tables have turned.

I've made my peace about this lab project. I'll do what is expected of me on a day by day basis without worrying about the 'bigger picture.' I've made peace with the ambiguous directions and equivocal expectations (which tend to drive me more than a little nuts! hence having a total appreciation for the direct-ness of consultant surgeons). I've even made my peace with the idea that I might not finish what I start here (*shudder*). The latter is particularly unpalatable because I grew up with my dad's work ethos: 'You're not done pooing until you've wiped your bum.' hahaha... Such wise words, words which have dictated my own approach to work... until now. In other words, I've given up ownership of this project. Horrible, I know, I hate myself for thinking like this, but I have come to realise that if I don't I will spend my entire elective stressing and not enjoying myself, and that would truly be a waste of my ten weeks here.

SO, the weekend was great fun! I stayed in bed Saturday morning starting my fourth novel (Under The Blood Red Sky), an epic historical fiction of the Russian Revolution era. Then I headed out to Serrakunda market, a huge local market in a town fifteen minutes drive away, in my quest to buy an umbrella. I'd been to Serrakunda market once before. It was in my first week here, during a weekday with another girl from MRC and I had found it all super overwhelming at the time (I hadn't yet mustered the courage to even venture outside the compound on my own back then!). Only a couple weeks later and what a difference. I caught a bush taxi to get there -- these are dilapidated mini-vans filled to the brim with passengers that go along certain routes, for only NZD30cents! The first time I went in a bush taxi was quite the experience: I have never before been that physically intimate with two African men; by the end of our journey I wasn't sure which drips of sweat were mine and which were theirs. Not to mention most of these 'mini-vans' look like they belong in a dump, much less actual road, a complete disconnect between the movements of the steering wheel with what is happening to the van itself. Nowadays? Two weeks later? None of that seems to faze me one iota. LoL Plus, as a lover of value-for-money, one has to appreciate the sheer awesomeness of a 30cent 'taxi' ride.

Serrakunda market is HUGE. It is a maze of little stalls, shacks, huts and on Saturday it is jam-packed with locals doing their weekly shopping. This market is not really touristy at all, which makes it all the more interesting, not to mention, easier to enjoy as there is less hassle from Bumpsters. I got approached/was followed only a few times on Saturday. And even that doesn't even seem to bother me much now as I have mastered the art of 'stern disinterest.' I think it also helps being Asian (apparently there are a few local Chinese here, so there is less 'hassle-the-white-tourist' potential).

On Saturday night a group of us headed out to the British pub nearby to watch a Premiere League football (soccer) match. The majority of the students here are from the U.K., so I am becoming better versed in my football lingo! :) Two students from Manchester University who will be here a year had been living with us on the compound until recently when they moved into 'Manchester House' -- a house ten minutes walk from MRC set up by their university for their long-term students. It's nicer for them, I guess, since they are here for a relatively long time, giving them a chance to nest. Anyways, so after the football a few of us headed to their place for an unofficial house-warming dinner. One of the students who is Nigerian-British loves to cook -- and I *love* people who love to cook, lol. Needless to say, dinner that night was fantastic. I even experienced a first: plantain, a less sweet, starchy, potato-y type of banana you can cook (i.e. fry). And it was DELICIOUS.

That night it was raining heavy, with the most lightening and thunder during my trip so far. The lightening is amazing here -- it lights everything up as bright as day for two seconds, from pitch-black to fluorescent white! And the thunder, booming away, as if the sky was breaking and falling right above you. Magnificently scary and magnificently beautiful at the same time.

On Sunday, Jessica (fellow kiwi) and I had planned a day out exploring Banjul, the capital city. However, we were told at the last minute that Banjul is kind of dead on Sundays (including the market, which was one of the big draws of heading out there), so we had a last-minute change of plans. One of the other guys living with me also joined us for our big day out. The three of us started the day with buffet brunch at a restaurant nearby which we had been recommended. The food was good and conversation better. :) A couple hours later we set off to our destination for the day: Lamin Lodge, some big wooden 'huts' on stilts over the river, from which you can take boat rides out and explore the Mangroves and wildlife. Originally we were going to take a series of bush taxis (to keep things super cheap) but a taxi pulled over when we were leaving the restaurant and negotiated a relatively good price to take us all the way there. Once there, the weather cleared up completely and it turned out to be a perfect day for a quiet canoe ride out on the river.

And awesome movie moment of the day? Back at the hut we were sitting around having a cold drink when one of the resident monkeys came running up to our table and grabbed Jessica's glass bottle of Sprite! And, with his two very human-like hands, downed the ENTIRE bottle in a minute flat before chucking the empty bottle on the ground and running away. It was by far one of the funniest, most outlandish things I have ever seen -- I only wished I had a video camera to record the entire ordeal and send it to Americans Funniest Home Videos, lol. But I did take a photo. The waiter, unfazed by what had happened, told us it was not uncommon. We asked him if they ever stole beer too to which he replied, 'No, no. They know what is beer and what is soft drink. They don't like beer. They have stolen before and they get drunk and sleep all day. They don't like.'

Drunken monkeys.

No jokes.

Hehehehe...


After we got back we ended the day with a couple hours at the beach, the others joining in the weekly MRC game of touch rugby while I read happily in a hammock nearby, the cool ocean breeze a perfect companion to the late afternoon sun.

Weekends. You gotta love 'em.

Always,
-A