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

Dear friend,

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

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

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

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

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

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

3.
The number of prayers answered this week.

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

Yikes.

Really?

Me?

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

It's a really scary truth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'll see you on the other side.

Always,
-A

Dakar, Part 1

Dear friend,

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy. :)

----------

November 8 2010

Dear friend,

Once again, let me set the scene.

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

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

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

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

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

And I am heart-broken.

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



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

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

And thus, the adventure began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


...to be continued!

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

ten things I WLL miss!

Dear friend,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always,

-A

[untitled]

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

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

And I laughed.

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

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

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