0830hrs local time
Wandering around Johannesburg airport I am
taken aback by the stark contrast of this trip compared to my trip two years
ago.
Two years ago I spent a fortnight holidaying
around the US before flying from Washington DC to Dakar, Senegal. One of only
ten people who stepped off a South African Airlines flight continuing on to
Johannesburg, I walked into French-speaking Dakar at five in the morning alone.
Little did I know the day that was to follow would turn out to be one of the
toughest experiences of my life, psychologically, physically, and emotionally.
The airport, I had been warned by my travel agent back home, was one of the
most run down despite being the major port of call for West Africa. That
combined with the plethora of machine-gun welding French-speaking Senegalese
soldiers and the hords of grown men waiting to "help you" with anything and everything (for a price, of course) made the visual something straight out of the movies. Over the next ten
hours I sat on a hard metal bench unable to close my eyes or rest my head, rationing the two snack bars my friend in Boston had
insisted I take, unsure of whether my flight
would ever board.
Johannesburg couldn’t be more different.
Designer clothing, restaurants, tourist shops -- it could be any major airport
in any Western city. The only things giving it away are the wealthy African
businessmen speeding past and, the diamonds! Wow, what a place to find a ring
if ever you felt so inclined. (Good thing I’m not much of a jewelry person or
this would be a very "dangerous" port of call.)
The aim of my trip back then was just to survive. Having never been much of an outdoorsy person, no one -- myself included -- was sure I could make it. I held no grandiose fantasies of delivering babies or running my own
clinics as a final year medical student. The name of that game was to come
home in one piece. Anything more than that would be a bonus.
My time in The Gambia was… incredible. For
those who followed my blog while I was over there you would have some sense of the impact
it had on me personally. It was a different adventure than the one I had been expecting. An urban
setting permeating with Muslim culture, I spend more time with young British
ex-pats on the beach and watching football than doing anything remotely
doctor-y. Yet above all else it made me fall in love with Mama Afrika and I left knowing I would be back again soon.
This time I am heading to East Africa Southern Africa, to a
missionary hospital in rural Zambia, to do as much doctor-ing as I can fit into
eight weeks. More specifically, my hope for this trip is to get as much
surgical experience as possible as I work alongside some New Zealand trained general surgeons.
In saying that I learnt last
time that as a visitor it is not my place to force any sort of agenda. I
have to take things as they come (sometimes
unbearably slowly) and make the most of what I can, when I can. Respect must be
given to the rhythm and beat of the culture here -- a respect that leads to
adaptation, and adaptation to growth.
So far so good – only one more flight to go
until I touchdown in Lusaka, the capital of Zambia. Having been trapped inside
Johannesburg airport waiting in transit, I have been limited to admiring the
vast clear blue sky through the windows. It's official, I'm excited now. Yay!
‘Till next time,
Always,
-A
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