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