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

the lessons we learned as kids will never fail us

Dear friend,

The week ended on a kind of a high, with two solid hours of actual work in the lab! The protocol for my experiment has been finalised, and now it's just a matter of setting up what is needed then trialing it with a patient's blood. It was a welcomed relief, spending a couple hours pippetting tiny micro-amounts of peptides, my thoughts lost in a world of science. It's taken a week of little progress but alas my project is finally up and running.

Fridays are half-days here in The Gambia, as it is the Holy Day of prayer, so work and town in general are a bit quieter on Friday afternoons which is nice. I finished up around one, grabbed some lunch from the little eatery on the compound, followed by a couple hours of reading in my air conditioned room. Then around four, after discussion with one of the other students re- dinner plans (deciding to eat in), I headed to 'town' to buy some dinner supplies. It was another scorching hot day today, but the fifteen minute stroll was actually very enjoyable.

Every time I've been at the grocery store I've fantasized about buying an ice-cream and today I finally did it. Walking out of the grocery store, I unwrapped my ice-cream -- and the first bite was absolute perfection. BUT (because nothing comes easy here!) within twenty seconds the entire ice-cream was began melting away under the African heat, crumbling away on its stick, so I had to shove the remaining half down my gullet in one ginormous bite. Same number of calories for less the tasty pleasure. :( That first bite was worth it though.

Instead of walking straight back to the compound via a kind of short-cut through the back entrance of MRC, I decided to take the long way around. I've seen these paintings lined up against the main road en route to MRC -- beautiful, colourful canvases, two of which have haunted me ever since I saw them a few weeks ago. And if I'm going to buy anything while I'm here, it's going to be artwork. I've looked around some other markets, but haven't seen anything quite like these. So I've been meaning to walk over and inquire about them, which I finally did today. There were a group of people just sitting around this hut near the paintings (as is not an uncommon sight in Africa, people just sitting/lying around all day outside), so I went over to them to ask. They called over another guy who introduced himself as Ibrahim; as we walked over to the paintings by the side of the road, he told me that one of the main artists was his brother. I had noticed that the paintings had distinct styles and the two that captured my fancy had been done by the same person -- Ibrahim's brother. As we talked about the paintings, dancing around a price (waiting for the official 'negotiation' to start) two other men walked over to us, one of whom was Ibrahim's brother, the artist in question. I explained how I really loved his paintings and wanted to buy some. (On retrospect, I probably should have appeared less enthusiastic in order to get a better deal... admittedly, my haggling skills are pretty pathetic.)

In the end, he did give me a 'discount' but I'm sure it's not nearly as much as I could have gotten if I was more staunch. But to be honest, I probably would have paid more than that back home for a painting half as nice. So I've 'commissioned' him to do three and am excited to pick them up next week. He wanted an advance, claiming how he needs to buy paint materials and how it's low season so money's tight and how he needs to pay a carpenter to create the wooden canvas, etcetera etcetera. When he brought up the whole advance thing (and it was a lot! he wanted half of the total!) the idea that I may be getting utterly ripped off suddenly crossed my mind: How did I know that these guys were the actual owners/sellers of these paintings? How did I know this guy who claimed to be the artist really was the artist? I said that to him flat-out, and to his defense said I could ask anyone around to vouch for him (i.e. the people working at the petrol station across the street). I guess that was enough for me.

As I was walking back to the compound along the main road, excited about my newly commissioned paintings, this mini-van started to pull over, the driver waving at me. I kept walking, but this other random guy who was also walking along the street went over to the driver to talk to him. The driver was blatantly ignoring him but rolled down his window and asked me if I wanted a ride. I wondered if, in fact, I had met him before and just couldn't recall or if this really was just a complete stranger offering me a ride. Either way, I could hear every parent's voice in my head saying, 'Never get in to a stranger's car,' so I waved him away with a polite, no thank you, perfectly content on my slow walk home.

The mini-van drove off and I was left with this random guy who had approached the driver not two seconds ago. He was an elderly gentleman in the typical Muslim dress, with a big smile revealing half his teeth that were either missing and/or rotting. He said to me, 'Good job, good good. You didn't get into his car.' I said a quick and sharp 'Hellohowareyou' as is customary, and nodded in acknowledgement of his comment. 'He only offered you ride because you are white woman. I asked for ride and he said no. He only offered because you are white...' He continued to elaborate as I kept on my steady pace home, and went on to introduce himself and talk at me for another hundred metres or so. I listened with polite reluctance, realising we were on the same trajectory on our respective walks. In a situation like this, however, I can never tell if they are just being friendly or if at the end of it they are gonna want something from me. So I remain cautiously suspicious, as is (unfortunately) required here.

In the end he didn't want anything from me, just conversation. But I was still happy when our paths finally diverged and we said our good-bye.

Learning point of the day? The lessons we learned as kids will never fail us. LoL

Always,

-A

The Gambia!: a small selection

As promised (for a while now!), some photos from my trip thus far. The Wireless at the bookstore cafe I'm at is very very slow so I'm afraid I'll only be able to post a few for now:

At the end of a day spent pool-side, Atlantic Ocean in view...

My humble abode. Bed, mosquito net -- under which is the only place I have perfect respite. There is also a small desk, mini-fridge, and an adjoining bathroom. Not to mention, resident spiders and ants. :(

Yes, I am touching a crocodile. Gross. Chris made me. I only poked. Total cop-out, I know, but enough 'touching' in my books.

Out to dinner in Senegambia with the others. Charlotte, medical student from London, me, some Jul-brew (local Gambian beer), and Henry's hand.

opportunity cost

Dear friend,

Since my last post Friday week ago, I have been feeling much much better. I spent that Friday and Saturday in bed watching the final season of 24 (loved it!) and kept pretty much nil by mouth. The antibiotics without a doubt made all the difference.

By Sunday I was feeling about 70% back to my usual self so agreed to head out with some of the others to brunch (my first meal in a few days) followed by the monkey park in Senegambia (a town about fifteen minutes drive away). We had brunch at this boutique hotel nearby and it was delicious -- for $NZD18 there was unlimited coffee (my first coffee in three weeks!), juice, fresh fruit, followed by 'pancakes' (= crepes), eggs, bacon, bread, etc. It was a beautiful first meal to come back to. Then we decided to walk to Senegambia along the beach instead of taking a taxi. It turned out to be a beautiful day so the walk was pretty glorious. Not surprisingly we got approached by a few bumpsters (= locals who try to chat you up and become 'friends' so they can offer you any sort of 'help' in return for money), but were able to shake them off with relative ease. The walk took us about an hour and then we arrived at Bijilo Forest Park, aka the monkey park. Again, not so much a 'park' as we know it, but a big forest with monkeys all over the show, no fences, no nothing. We paid our $NZD2 admission fee and headed in. You can opt to pay for a guide but we decided just to roam around without one. Their 'don't-feed-the-monkeys' rule is not enforced at all, so a couple of the other students bought a bag of peanuts with them -- and they weren't the only ones (most tourists seem to, despite the known rule). And there were monkeys EVERYWHERE.

I'm not much of a fan of animals in general, and potential rabies-carrying African monkeys? No thank you. (Especially after hearing that the one shot of post-rabies exposure immunoglobulin treatment in The Gambia was recently used for a boy who actually got rabies!) Hence, absolutely no desire to go near a monkey at all. The others, however, loved it. As soon as the monkeys saw/heard/smelt(?) the peanuts they were everywhere, jumping on people's shoulders, reaching up to their hands, and even, sneakily enough, reaching into people's pockets! Quite smart really. Every once in a while two monkeys would suddenly break out into a fight! Pretty vicious, really. I stayed a few metres away from the action most of the time, lol, but I did enjoy the cute little baby monkeys strategically held onto by the mama monkeys. I even saw some breastfeeding monkeys! That was pretty funny, and pretty darn cute.

The HUGE downside of the day? (Because nothing comes easy here, I am beginning to realise!) SIXTEEN mosquito bites by the time I got home. SIXTEEN. And this was AFTER two coats of 80% DEET insect repellent. New low, man, new low. Nine on my feet alone: by the evening I had lost the definition of my right ankle, completely swollen up and red from the bites. It. Was. Horrible. Three on my neck, three on my elbows, and one on the knuckle of my right index finger (the most dreadful place one can get an itchy bite, believe you me). My blood must be super sweet goodness because the mosquitoes just can't seem to get enough.

Venturing out from under my mosquito net, venturing outside the compound is, I know, a must because I can't (and won't) spend my time here cooped up inside. BUT it's not without it's downsides. Opportunity cost. The opportunity cost of venturing out is a myriad of things; in this instance, sleep that Sunday evening. I didn't get a wink of sleep that night from the itch. Opportunity cost. Oi.


It's Thursday now, I've been here officially three weeks, and this week has been... disappointing. I've been trying to get this lab project started and well, I won't go into the details but it's felt like a game of hot-potatoes, everyone too busy to have me around, passing me back and forth. It's just frustrating because I'm here for ten weeks, which in research terms is loads of time. I'm efficient, enthusiastic, a fast learner, and more than qualified to take on whatever is required. And yet it's felt like I'm just a burden to the people here. Which pretty much sucks. I had three months to go anywhere in the world to do anything I wanted for this elective (believe you me, I considered a lot of different options: interning for an NGO in Washington D.C., mobile surgical unit --and visiting family -- in South America, missionary hospital elsewhere in Africa; the world truly was our oyster!), but I wanted to be able to learn from and also to give something back to the MRC because I believe in what they do here, I believe in their ethos. Needless to say, I had my second almost-cry on Tuesday. So it's been a disappointing week.

The other students I'm living with have given me varying advice -- 'You have to be really persistent, be annoying, keep at it. It's not just you'; 'Just enjoy your time here, do other things, explore The Gambia. Don't feel bad about the slow-ness. Think of it as a holiday.' And apparently the other medical student from my school who was here for the three months before me had a similar experience which makes me feel a little better (it's not just me!). But still, I can't seem to shake off this feeling of disappointment. What makes it worse is that, because of trying to chase up certain people and get this [fighting the urge to insert a negative adjective] project started, I have missed going out to the field with the vaccination team both times this week!! :( I SO look forward to those days. And for what? Sitting around feeling sorry for myself. Hahahaha... yeah, so not a particularly great week. But the upside is that the weekend is almost here... and I'm learning just to... go with the flow I guess. Despite telling myself I would come into this trip with no expectations, I guess there was a part of me that wanted to do really well on this project. Maybe that's part of adapting to the situation in hand, a situation which, at this point, I have little control over.

When I was sitting around in our living room talking with a few of the others yesterday, I said how being here, having this experience has made me so much more appreciative of life back home. How, maybe part of the reason why I'm having the experience I am is so that when I get home to start my job as a junior doctor (the first thee months of which are known to be one of the hardest times in medicine) I'll be acutely aware of the blessings of each day. The response of my Ethiopian friend was, 'Isn't that the reason why people from first-world countries come to third-world countries? So they can feel better about their lives back home?' He said this in jest, meaning to tease me, with his beautiful Ethiopian smile, but I couldn't help feeling... like I'd just been punched in the stomach... with the truth. Because he was right. The dichotomy in Africa isn't between skin colour, or religion, or culture... it is between those who belong to the 'First-world' and those... who don't. Even just the names alone, 'First-world' verses 'Third-world'... And there is nothing I can do to change the fact that I belong to the former. For years I've wondered why some of us are born into either 'Worlds' but that, no matter the reason, as a member of the 'First-world' we have a social responsibility to help. But even as I write the words I feel like I'm being condescending, a sense of devaluing the amazing African people I have met thus far, that they would 'need' us. Yet what is the alternative? To not help? No.

...Oh man. I dunno. Ponder this, John Campbell, ponder this!

Okay, enough of that for now.

I can't believe this week is already almost over -- I'm excited for the weekend! Last week I met a fellow kiwi -- YAY! She is from Whangarei and working as a live-in nanny for one of the doctors here for half a year. On Sunday her and I are going to head to Banjul (the capital city about 45minutes drive away) to the huge market and to do some of the other touristy stuff in the area. That should be fun. I'm keen to track down some more artwork too. Hopefully the weather will be nice, not so much rain!

Photos to come soon. :)

Till next time,
Always,
-A

Thought of the day: I'm becoming addicted to Nutella. Not good.

Update

Dear friend,

I will spare you the details of charactising bowel motions, which for us medics doesn't seem to phase us, but yesterday I started having a more consistent (typical) presentation of bacterial intestinal infection. A real blessing in fact because I no longer had any hesitation in starting a course of antibiotics. Thank you! With that, and continuing to not eat much (i.e. soda, water... small banana), I was feeling a bit better by the afternoon. Even felt up for a (much needed) shower!

Showered up and dressed, I decided to go out to dinner with a group of the other students. I thought I would sit there, order some food, eat what I could then take the rest home with me. (Sounds sensible enough, right? From a commonsense point of view?) I still felt tired in general from the lack of sleep, rest and sustenance, but I ordered a small chicken sandwich with fries and could manage to eat some of the latter.

As everyone else cleared their plates, I started to feel... ill. Definitely not right. In general, not just my tummy. I tried to wait it out but after a few minutes headed for the bathroom. Despite being only fifteen metres away, it felt like the longest walk ever. Halfway there I was dizzy and, in an instant, covered all over by a cold sweat. This was not an unfamiliar feeling for me -- it has happened to be three times before in past three years: twice when I have forgotten to eat a meal before scrubbing into Surgery and again after not drinking enough water on the day of my half marathon.

I just crouched on the ground for a couple minutes then wobbled the rest of the way to the bathroom.

After we got home, I got straight into bed. And, praise be to God, slept eight hours.

I'm feeling better today, even managed a bit of that chicken sandwich and I haven't gotten that 'there's-a-ginormous-parasite-crawling-around-in-my-intestines' feeling... yet. LoL Hopefully the combination of Antibiotics and Time will put an end to this once and for all. The long-term effect though is, I fear, I may have lost my appetite completely. Not only do I not WANT to eat (a real first for me) but I am starting to fear it. I might be eating Frosted Flakes Cereal, canned peaches, and nutella for the rest of my time here -- all three of which I've never had much of a desire for up until now.

Thankfully it is a holiday today (Friday) marking the end of Ramadan, the Islamic fasting period, so it's quiet here at work. The end of Ramadan is a big deal in an Islamic nation and the people here having been preparing for it for a couple weeks now, getting new clothes made and storing up on food they will need for cooking up a huge meal (akin to to our Christmas dinner). Despite the holiday having little impact on me, I am excited for my Ethiopian Muslim friend (one of the other students here) -- so excited for him, that he can eat anytime he wants now! :)

Nothing much planned for this weekend other than trying to get over this tummy bug: keep hydrated, keep enough food down so that I don't come close to collapsing again. I also have a few papers I want to read (background for my project), and the final season of the TV Show 24 to keep me occupied. I really hope I do get better over the weekend though because I'm so excited to be starting my lab project on Monday. It will be nice to get into some actual work, into a routine and actually have something to do. This doing-nothing business was nice for a bit, but not surprisingly, there is a limit to the amount of doing nothing I can tolerate.

Always,

-A

Thought of the day: Two of the most basic forms of pleasure in life for me are restful sleep and enjoying food. If this trip has any long-term effect on either it would break my heart.

I WANT MY MUMMY... SO MUCH.

Dear friend,

Yes, I am a grown woman (Kirsty, it's not a debate, I am). But I'll be the first to admit that all I wanted on Tuesday night was my mummy, and I am not embarrassed to say so.

That tummy dis-ease I've been feeling since Friday fully came to a head on Tuesday night after, what I thought was some improvement in my symptoms, I went out to dinner with some others and trialed a regular sized meal. Oh my goodness, major mistake. I didn't get any sleep Tuesday night, and, I didn't know it was possible but I had every single abdominal symptom possible -- indigestion, constipation, diarrhoea, nausea, as well as moderately severe epigastric and suprapubic tenderness! No position was comfortable: lying down, siting up, leaning forward, leaning back, nothing. I was up to the bathroom, back to bed, up to the bathroom, back to bed. No respite at all.

And what makes it worse when you're a(n almost) doctor is an (unhealthy) reluctance to ask for help, feeling like the onus is on you to diagnose and treat yourself. Which, given the mixed bag of symptoms and signs, I despondently felt was an impossible feat.

As I sat alone, in Africa, in the dark, quietly suffering in silence, I found myself thinking about what my mum would do when I had an upset tummy as a kid -- how she would press and rub my tummy in this special way, singing this old-wives song that was supposed to bring relief, and make some Korean rice soup -- and how, almost like magic, I would feel insanely better or, in the very least, like there was hope amidst the pain, that the world was not the horrible place it was in that moment.

Home has never felt as far as it did on Tuesday night.

How vulnerable and utterly lonely one feels when in pain.

... which is something I hope to remember each and every single day as I go about my job as a doctor.

In that moment all I wanted was someone from the future to suddenly appear before me and offer me the chance to tele-port home.

But that's not life. Or what builds perseverance. At least, that is the pathetic consolation prize I tried convincing myself to accept. 'But Anna, this is what builds perseverance. You are growing as a woman, as a human being' And for a nano-second that bitter part of my mind would snap back, 'Oh, shut up you crazy woman. What are you even doing here?!' Then I remember, actually, there is joy in suffering. Of my own volition, I will actively choose not to buy into that bitterness or negativity; I will actively choose not to accept that un-Truth. I am here for a reason, and I rejoice. And, in the very least, I remember that I can lie down flat and close my eyes any time I want. Wow. With that blessing in and of itself, who am I to complain? LoL

Please do keep me in your thoughts and prayers this week especially though. It's not easy. I fully expected this in theory, but it doesn't make it any easy when it's actually happening to you.

I am SO incredibly happy I chose to run a half marathon this year because, unbeknown to me, it was part of God's plan in helping me psychologically prepare for my time here. The theme of this year really has been Perseverance.

With love,

-A

Thought of the day: I saw a really cool quote up in my supervisor's office the other day -- 'You can complain because roses have thorns, or rejoice because thorns have roses. It depends on how you see things.' Amen to that. :)

I AM GAMBIAN!

Dear friend,

As you know, I do have internet access at the place I'm working with (slow, but it works) but they block facebook and other personal sites, like access to my blog -- but not on their wireless system! Unfortunately for me, I decided against lugging my laptop all the way here, thinking it'd probably be good for me anyways to be 'electronically' separated from the world for three months. Didn't think access to my blog was in jeopardy though. One of the medical students here is travelling to Ghana for three weeks and has offered to lend me her laptop while she was away. Much to my excitement, after some glorious quality time on Facebook, I spent a couple hours yesterday on the Wireless, typing away, putting my thoughts for the weekend 'on paper'... only to have it lost to the ether when I tried to post it up.

Gutted.

I've tried salvaging it but unfortunately some things once lost are lost forever.

*Sigh*

So here I go again. :)

It's been almost two weeks since I've arrived and it feels like I have been here a lifetime. I have been loving taking my time 'settling' in and the joys of being on elective -- in other words, no assignments, no assessments, no real expectations except to enjoy myself. I continue to go out 'to the field' (i.e. health clinic out in a town nearby) once or twice a week with the vaccination trial team, which I really look forward to. They are long days -- busy, hectic -- but I get a real insight into the challenges of conducting a clinical trial in a developing country, which was my main aim in coming here. Plus, the team I'm working with are amazing people, so lovely, fun and funny; a real family atmosphere. I've been trying to learn a bit of the local dialect too, Wolof, and they laugh and tease me as I try and fail abysmally. (Languages have never been my forte.)

Yesterday I sat down with my Professor-supervisor to discuss the lab project I'll be doing while I'm here. It's quite exciting, actually, with the hope of developing a blood test that can correctly diagnose M. Tb from M. African (a causative bacterium for TB unique to West Africa) by recognizing various peptides from each. The study is totally do-able within my time here, and a help to their larger project, which was the other personal objective for my elective -- to do something helpful. So it looks like I'll start work on this later this week, while continuing to spend a day or two with the vaccination team. No ward rounds for me, thank you! LoL

The weekend was fun, did a bit more venturing out, but the rain was pretty intense. Despite knowing I'd be coming to The Gambia in the rainy season, packing an umbrella or rain-jacket had never crossed my mind. The majority of the time the heat and humidity builds up over a few hours and then, as if God releases open the dam, it pours down for maybe half an hour, then it's blue skies and heat again. However, this Sunday just passed was the longest it rained for continuously, which was a bit frustrating as it meant I was couped up inside for the duration.

On Saturday a group of us ventured out to one of the fanciest beachside hotels/resorts and it was pure gluttony, being waited on like that. The pool lounge area itself was like a scene from The Great Gatsby, and I half expected Robert Redford to walk out calling for Daisy. Not normally my scene, but it's scary how quickly one can start to get used to it, being waited on like that. You really don't need to be rich (by Western standards) to be live rich here -- no wonder certain places in Africa are popular tourist spots for Europeans! I've found it all a bit... unsettling. Paying what is, for me, so little, but for them (the local workers) so much. This extends not just to waiters etc, but in general -- for the taxis, for goods... most things.

Sunday afternoon one of the guys and I went to the crocodile park. Now, when I say crocodile park, it's not what one would imagine (i.e. theme/animal park on Gold Coast). After a fifteen minute taxi ride we got dropped off in this random 'residential' (i.e. shacks/slums) area and got loose directions on how to get to the park. My friend had been before when he visited The Gambia with his family as a kid, and described it as a pond with crocodiles lying around everywhere, no fences. And he wasn't joking. After a ten minute walk through the maze of shacks with local people sitting around, kids playing, we stumbled upon a dilapidated sign with a picture of a crocodile. We paid our D50 (equivalent to NZD$3) entrance fee and there was literally one medium sized pond with a bunch of crocodiles lounging around in the sun. You could even touch and shake the hand of a couple of them! Apparently they feed them fish every morning so that, to quote the 'pool guide' (the random local guy sitting around), 'No worry, no worry. They don't eat people, like you!'

On our walk back we got approached by heaps of beautiful sweet-looking kids, who would grab hold of our hands and ask for money so that they could buy a football. Which brings me back to that unsettled feeling I had the day before at the hotel. I don't know if it's just me thinking too much, but I find it... difficult. I mean, to give them the money for a football is so easy enough to do (as many 'Too-babs' = white tourists have done before and will continue to do) -- it's not even that much! And by giving them the money I might feel good about myself for a few seconds, I guess. But I'm not sure that it would. I mean, it doesn't really do anything to help the kids in the broader sense; my giving them one NZ dollar as requested isn't doing anything for the much needed Change, in 'solving' the bigger issues at hand. So then I could not give the children the money for the football and instead donate money and/or time to causes or organisations that go about working at these Big Changes, right? And again, I might feel good about myself by doing it... But then, I look around as I walk back from the crocodile park and wonder, is it really that simple? Would that even have much effect?

I don't want to demean or relegate the amazing work that people around the world have done and continue to do as they dedicate their lives to helping the people of Africa in whatever way it may be, whether it's development, health, or education. But, as one person, one woman, one almost-doctor trying to figure out how I can... help... I am overwhelmed. There is no easy solution, no magic answer. It is a quagmire of religion, culture, climate, and landscape. It's tempting to have an imperialistic approach, go in guns-blazing (whatever that may mean) and 're-structure' from the ground up. But history has shown us over and over that is a failed methodology. There is no easy solution, no magic answer.

While I was wondering around Brigham and Women's Hospital there was a dedication for one of their Plastic Surgeons and Nobel laureate, Joseph Murray. At the top of the dedication there was a quote that read: 'Service is the rent we pay to society for living on this earth.'

I remain a pluripotent stem-cell, with a career that lies ahead of me yet to be forged, trying to figure out where my passions lie and my skills best placed, all while trying to listen for God's voice in the process. Maybe I'm not the same idealistic teenager I once was, out to 'Be the change I want to see in the world,' but I hope there is a place where my combination of curiosity and pragmatism can be of service.

Anyways, major digression. :) Random musings for the weekend.

It hasn't been all fun and games though. I've settled in, I think, but still struggling with some things. Sleep -- or lack of uninterrupted sleep -- has started to take its toll on me physically and mentally. Back home I sleep 8hours straight; when I'm out, I'm out. I'm not sure what it is, whether it's the heat or the noise of my ceiling fan or just being in a foreign place, but the sleep hasn't been too good. And it's having it's effect. But I still rejoice because in the very least, I can lie down flat whenever I want -- what an incredible joy and blessing! :) I also daily wage a war with the itchy bites, at least one or two minimum driving me crazy at any given time. Despite the constant glaze of 80% DEET insect repellent all over my skin, I lose the war against these bugs more often than not. And I'm not sure if it's my asian blood or NZ-lack-of-exposure-to-antigens, but I have horrible reactions to them, up to 10, 15cm areas of swelling, redness, indurations. *Sigh* But the hydrocortisone cream helps... a little. LoL.

My tummy's not been all that flash lately either, nothing full-blown but a real dis-ease. I think we all ate something bad one night. I'm trying to be better at taking care of myself (really, mum!), but I fear I haven't been eating all that well. I'm not much of a cook in the best of situations and here, with the heat and humidity and bug-ridden kitchen, there is little if any incentive to cook at all. Which would be fine normally because there are a few restaurants within walking distance, but with the rain it can get a bit tricky. I will try to be better, though, I promise.

So what's on the agenda for this week? Out to the field again today, then getting my head around this lab project. I'm excited though. I might head out to Banjul (the capital city, about 40mins drive away) this weekend -- one of the nurses here who is a local has offered to come with me as my de facto guide and good-price-negotiator.

That's it for now. Probably enough! :) But I'll leave you with a fun fact: did you know that I am Gambian? Apparently my last name is a not uncommon Gambian last name! Isn't that the oddest thing especially since it's such a quintessential asian name? Life, is funny.

Till next time,

With much love,

-A

Thought for the day: What I would give for a mocha frappaccino.

AFRICA

Preface: be forewarned, LONG post ahead; recommend -- cup of tea and biscuit in hand. :)

Dear friend,

Once again, let me set the scene:

I am sitting at a desk in the Visitors Accommodation living room, every inch of my skin already covered with a thin layer of sweat despite the fact I have just had a cold shower not five minutes ago. It is HOT. And thick -- humidity at its finest. And, as of two minutes ago, it is raining. I'm tempted to describe it as pouring because it's coming down heavy, but... pouring implies some increase in intensity, some veering away from normal. Yet this rain is nothing but normal. It's raining down in a way the land has seen so many times before, a much welcomed relief from the unmitigated searing heat.

Hello from The Gambia. I wanted to let you know not only have I arrived here safely, but I've been here almost a week now -- I can't believe it. I'm alive, well, and have only almost-cried once! A much better track record than I had predicted. I gave myself two weeks to adjust and, halfway through, I can see it happening before my very eyes. And it's exciting.

But what a long journey it was, getting here.

To back-track a bit, I enjoyed my time in Boston very much. My friend there was an amazing host and I had SO MUCH amazing food (Restaurant Week = AMAZING; future trips to Boston will be timed with Restaurant week).

When it was time to leave Boston, I was pretty pooped. That, combined with my increasing anxiety, made me feel ready to fly back home, in the opposite direction to where I was headed. But what choice did I have? LoL Deep metaphorical breath in, and then I was off. For the 30hour journey that lay ahead of me.

I got dropped off at the airport at 10am on Wednesday and my flight to Washington D.C. was at 12.30pm. (Two hours wait at Logan Airport.) I arrived in D.C. as planned at 2.30pm -- The airport there is VERY nice (three hours wait at Washington Dulles Airport). And organized. I liked it very much! They even had a public chapel! My flight on South African Airlines left D.C. at 5.30pm. It was a big plane as it was going to Dakar (Senegal) first, then on to Johannesburg. My flight to Dakar was 8.5hrs long during which I only had maybe three hours broken sleep (at most), but South African Airlines was really nice (better than AirNZ! but not as nice as Qantas, LoL). When I arrived in Dakar, it was 1am in Boston, but 5.30am local time! And I was struggling. And the next few hours was, hands down, the scariest time of my journey and, actually, of my entire trip, so far -- the stuff of nightmares. I still get a sympathetic 'Flight/Fright/Fight' response just thinking back on it.

Dakar airport is really... old, and not well built, and much like what you would imagine an African airport to be like. I was completely alone, it was 5.30am and still dark outside, and, to top it off, the main language in Senegal is French. Thank goodness I had a VISA, so I got through immigration okay. Then when I went to pick up my baggage, there were all these African men asking me if I wanted help with my bags. Not airport workers, just random people who make their living hanging around the airport -- I'd been warned about these people, that they offer any sort of help, act like you're friends, and then demand/expect money. I'd been warned to be firm and insist, 'No thank you.' So I did. Over and over and over again. It was hot and humid and dark outside, and my heart was racing. I grabbed my bags, went outside, and again, was hounded by more men offering anything! To help me find a place, to give me directions, to walk with me, to get me a taxi, to take my bags... It was soooo scary, I just kept saying, 'No thank you. NO thank you. I insist, NO thank you.'

Then I started walking out of the Arrivals terminal (trying to figure out how to get to Departures for my transfer flight to The Gambia, but not wanting to ask one of those random guys for help), and I saw this lovely looking white couple standing at the side of the barrier, so I went over to them and asked, 'Hi could you please help me, I'm on a flight to Banjul and trying to find how to get to Departures.' My heart sank when I heard their reply: 'Oh, you really don't want to keep going the way you're going cos you're leaving the airport completely.' HOLY CRAP. They said to go back into the airport, and then they gave me loose 'directions' on how to get on the right path. 'Anna, resist the urge to get on the ground, curl up in the fetal position and cry,' I said to myself. That meant going back to where all those men were standing around, back to the vultures -- and I was their prey. No jokes. I was like, 'Lord, oh my goodness, please help me. I completely give this situation to you.'

Another BIG metaphorical deep breath in. I went back into the airport, asked one of the guys wearing a soldiers' uniform (although, they were just as scary cos they looked like the 100% typical African army soldiers from the movies... which freaked me out... and they weren't friendly at all or wanting to help), and they told me I had to climb over this partition that was outside. So here I was, climbing over, then pulling each of my bags over, still refusing to accept help from those men who were watching me. INSIDE there was ANOTHER group of men standing around, offering to help me AGAIN (Lord, is there no end to this?!!?). I was sooo tired, and I just didn't think I could cope. How much more of this can I take??! I remember asking.

I refused and refused, and starting climbing these random steps to get away from the guys in the direction I thought the Departure terminal was. And then one of the solider guys was like, 'Mademoiselle, [French something something],' indicating I couldn't go up this way. He directed me to this 'Information' desk (literally just a box of a room with this man inside). FINALLY I knew where to go. Outside, across the yard, to the right -- and I was inside the Departure terminal, which again was a very old building like a scene from 24 when Jack is in Africa.

It was 6.30am, first light outside, and, because you couldn't get into Departures if you weren't on a flight, I was (relatively) safe -- for now.

Good news, bad news: I had a whole day to kill before my flight even started checking in. So I just sat there... for six and a half hours. I just literally SAT THERE. I was sooooo tired cos all this time I haven't been able to lie down flat, not since my last sleep in Boston. And it's not like I could sleep here. And I was sitting on this hard metal bench, my bum was so sore, and I didn't have any local currency and was too scared to buy any of their food... so I just sat. Thankfully, my friend in Boston had given me a box of muesli bars before I left which I had, at the time, reluctantly accepted but which turned out to be a true God-send. I also had a bottle which I had filled with water in D.C., so I was fully rationing my food and water. Not to mention, the toilets. They truly aren't for the faint of heart -- they didn't have any toilet paper AT ALL, and no hand soap. Thankfully, I had some tissues in my bag which I used, and my soap in my suitcase which I pulled out to wash my hands. After all this, I was drenched with sweat through and through.

So... I sat there by myself watching time go by, asking God to help me. Patience... and perseverance. It was a true mental, psychological and emotional marathon. Keeping on when you think you have nothing left inside of you.

FINALLY 1pm came, and I went to check in. There was a long line already, and lots of people pushed in front of me. The African people I saw there were very pushy. And I just let them. I wasn't in a rush, I was the visitor... and in the end, I get to go home to NZ, so I'll let them push ahead. Then I found out that my flight to Banjul (the capital city of The Gambia) on Brussels Airline would be going to Conakry first, then on to Banjul (originally, it was supposed to be a 45minute direct flight to Banjul).

I didn't even know where Conakry even was. I'd be going to a place I had never heard of before.

Lord, is this EVER going to end?

So by this point, fatigue and worry were settling in and, with that, any sort of psychological reserve I had left was quickly disspiating. I went through security, got asked loads of questions by loads of different people, and my passport looked at many times. I think I even got hit on by one of the soldiers ('You are *very* nice,' he said with a creepy smile after asking me what my name was, where I was from, where I was going, etc etc... yikes). By the time I sat down at the Gate it was 2pm. Still two hours wait until boarding. Here we go again; I sat there, watching the minutes flick by, slower and slower... and slower... and slower. And I was praying just SO much: God help me this last leg of my journey. It also dawned on me that the driver from MRC (the people I'm working with) who was to pick me up from the airport was told my flight would arrive at 5.30pm; would he be there when I arrived? I didn't even know my arrival time, so how could he?? Would he wait?? From what I had seen of the African people so far, he probably wouldn't. 'Please God, please God, please God, let him be there. Please God, help me this last part.. I'm sooo tired. I don't think I could handle a repeat of anything even remotely close to this morning.'

Then as I sat there, around 3pm, this Africa man sat down next to me. He was well dressed, had a wedding ring on, and a Time magazine in his hand, so I knew he must have been a somewhat well-educated, English speaking man. And it turned out he was a computer person from The Gambia who worked for YMCA International and has worked with MRC a lot in the past. He was returning from a Conference in the States, with another gentleman who worked for the Gambian Ministry of Information Technology, and also another colleague. They were all really lovely, and knew NZ, and were well travelled, and they explained a bit more about what was happening and what I could expect once I arrived. They were sooo nice. These guys, as well as the white couple in Dakar airport, were angels, without a doubt. God-sends.

It was 5pm by the time we boarded our plane and left. Conakry, it turns out, is the main city in Guinea -- which is very much SOUTH of Banjul. So I had no idea why we were going there first, instead of dropping off us Banjul passengers first, but that's what happened and it's not like I had a say in the matter. It was an hour flight to Conakry. Then we waited there for an hour; again, watching time oh-so painfully slowly flick by. We didn't leave Conakry until 7pm (to put it in context, originally, I was supposed to have arrived in Banjul by 5.30pm).

I was just SO SO TIRED. It's been almost 30hours now since I've had a chance to lie down flat. And I was still nervous about my driver not being at Banjul when I arrived. I just kept praying about it. It was while we were in Conakry, just sitting in the plane for an hour, that I started to feel like I was really struggling. And, with that, where I had my first (and thus-far, only) wee cry. Hello, Too Much.

But then, FINALLY, much akin to a metaphor for LIFE, we touched down in Banjul. I was one of the first people out and through Immigration, but my bags were the last to come through. As I was waiting for my bag each of the kind men from earlier respectively came to say goodbye and one of them, as if he had read my mind and searched out my biggest worry, said to me, 'Anna I'm leaving, but I'll check if your driver is waiting before I go.' A few minutes later, while I was still waiting for my bags, he came back in and said, 'He's there, I've told him you're waiting for your bags. All the best.' And it was like I could breath for the first time in fifteen hours; a huge sigh of relief. Thank you Jesus, thank you Lord. Thank you Jesus, thank you Lord!

The moment I saw my driver standing there, holding a piece of paper with my name written on it, wearing an MRC hat and uniform, was, I have to say, one of the happiest moments of my life. No exaggeration. Pure elation is the only way to describe how I felt; my heart bursting with pure elation. He was there. He waited. And he was so jolly looking! A really jolly, hearty smile. God is good. It was about a 50minute drive to the MRC complex -- my home for the next ten weeks -- and by the time we arrived it was about 9.30pm. He dropped me off at my room and said good-bye.

I was here. I made it. Wow.

And there's a bed.

I can lie down flat.

Oh my gosh.

It's those small things in life, the things we do on a daily basis that we take for granted, but when they're gone you realise what an impact it has on you. No wonder keeping people standing is used as a form of torture. After a day, you just can't handle it. And I never want to have to handle it again.

After my driver left, I took a shower, set up my mosquito net!, and then, went to SLEEP. And it was amazing. I think maybe why God made my journey so tiring was to help me go to sleep -- I was still kind of scared (I was in Africa... by myself... halfway across the world from Home), and it took me longer than usual to get to sleep, but it was good. I woke up a couple times, and then again around 6am when I think there was like chanting over speakers (?? for the Muslim people to get up and pray? Or else, if it wasn't then it was a very strange dream).

It is hot here. Very hot. And thickly humid. I have come at one of the hottest times of year, and one of the most humid times of the year, at the start of the rainy season. The weekend was incredibly beautiful though, no rain, just blue skies and HEAT. The complex is pretty 'modern,' and it is right across the street from the British Embassy, which is a bit reassuring, LoL. The complex has a research laboratory; a ward and clinics; a few other offices and research rooms; some visitors accommodation; and various other maintenance/IT support/security people. My room is actually pretty nice. I am in a building called Visitors Accommodation, and there is a main living area, with couch, computer, dining table, kitchen; and then two hallways (one on each side) with four rooms each. My room has a double bed, a small fridge, and small bathroom (with a shower, toilet and hand basin). I will try to put up a picture when I get a chance.

After my GLORIOUS 8hours of lying down flat, lol, I met with my boss and other supervisor, as well as the rest of the team at the lab I'll be working at.

Over the weekend I met the other people staying at the Accommodation place (mostly students from schools from the UK; a mix of medical and non-medical students), ventured out to 'town'/grocery stores nearby with various others (not on my own yet, but that's on the Don't-Be-Such-A-Wuss-And-Just-Do-It list for the upcoming weekend!), and to the beach. Well, not quite the beach, but pools/hotels that are on a cliff adjacent to the Atlantic Ocean. And it was incredible. Resort-like, which tourism in The Gambia is know for. Swimming in the Infinity pool, looking out to the Atlantic, with lush green trees and a stack of apartment complexes behind you, you would never of known you were in Africa.

Going out to the field clinic to vaccinate children, however, was a different story. I spent Monday and Tuesday this week with three Nigerian paediatricians (yes, Anna is working with Paediatricians; what has happened to the world order??! lol) and their team of (mainly male) nurses, who are all truly lovely, out in their field clinic helping with their clinical trial for a new TB vaccine that is currently in development. Driving out there was quite the experience. The MRC have some Land Rovers and, unlike most of the U.S. population, they really do need it here! Some of the main roads are paved but as soon as you veer off that, there is no road, at all. Just chaotically uneven red earth.

And I find it hard to describe what the 'neighbourhoods' are like. They are... shacks, or, even, less than shacks, built of a random mixture of human materials, metals, red earth, I'm not sure. But the oddest thing, I've found, is that they don't... look, like shacks. I mean, I know they are, and if you stop and stare, that's what your brain processes it as. But, as you drive past, the words 'slum' or 'shack' doesn't cross my mind. And I wondered why. I have been to parts of South America where the slum areas were so obvious, and the very first thing that came to mind was, 'Slums, sad.' But here, it doesn't happen. And, upon reflection, I think it's because... there is nothing to compare it to. It is just... Life. There is nothing more. It is all there is.

With the hard red earth, the harsh thick heat, I am beginning to understand Africa a bit more. It is not easy. And it's not until I have experienced what Africa has to offer that I begin to understand the hardship inherent in this land. How can you be efficient when it's so hot each movement takes three times the effort than it would otherwise? When it's so humid that the only thing you want to do at lunchtime is take your second shower of the day and lie in your underwear beneath the ceiling fan in your room? When it takes so much out of you that you find yourself taking naps twice a day when, before, you (or, at least I) could never comprehend the concept of naps?

I am walking slower. Talking slower. THINKING slower.

Cos it's so damn hot to do anything other than Slowly.

On that fact alone, no wonder progress, no wonder life here, is slow. Who are we to judge? You cannot fathom, you cannot judge, until you have been here yourself. That is what I have learned only five days into my ten weeks here.

And in a strange way, I think it's been a true God-send. Being here. The Slowness of life here. I thought coming here would be the ultimate adventure, pushing me to the edge of capacity, requiring much active effort. And it has, don't get me wrong, but, in many ways, I've had such a crazy busy couple of years. To be here, to be physiologically forced to take naps, to lie still under a fan for a couple hours; to have to walk slower; to be PUT OFF coffee (who could drink anything hot in heat like this?!?); to having limited computer access, no cell phone; to have nothing much but a bookshelf of novels in my lounge, my Moleskin journal, and my Bible to occupy my time. And there is a certain kind of freedom in wearing a ponytail everyday (my thick long black hair impossible otherwise!) and sweating freely along with everyone else. After two years of never-ending to-do lists, people to catch up with, emails and texts to return, places I had to be at certain times; and thinking about how I look, what to wear... this is exactly what I needed. Who would've known? Who could've known... but God.

I left on this crazy adventure with No Expectations. Armed with my Passport, VISA, and, most importantly, my Faith and Hope in Christ. And, five days in, I feel like I have been here a lifetime. Five days in, I have already gotten so much out of this experience, I could go home now a different person than I was when I set off from home. Five days in, and I am more certain of the God's Goodness than ever before.

With love,

Till next time,

Always,

-A

Thought of the day: 'Oh, the adventures you'll have!'