Goodbye Tanzania

Back in Moshi, and things have got a lot wetter here; the rainy season has begun. Walking to get the milk I am amazed at the size of the bean plants – they have grown from nothing overnight. The downside is that there really is mud now. Thick, sticky, dark, red mud. By the time I get to vaulting across the drain my sandals have a 3 inch mud-wedge – this makes me taller, but not well balanced for jumping. And I could swear that the gap has doubled since I last came. Still, no time to prevaricate, I see the milk van is already there (how come? everything here is late, and today the van is early. Not fair!) I leap and run, spreading mud randomly across the pathway as I go. On the way back I notice that the beans have grown some more. The place is literally growing before my eyes.

Did I tell you about my trip back from Zanzibar? The airline is a small one, using a 16-seater plane that stops in various places on the way if anyone wants. I don’t think you ring a bell to let the pilot know you want the next stop, but it is almost like catching a bus. Anyway, when we flew out to Zanzibar, we made one stop in a pineapple field. Honestly! it was just a grass strip surrounded by pineapples, with a little banana leaf shelter for the one man who wished to board. No toilet of course, so someone wishing to go had to scamper off into the undergrowth, providing on board entertainment for the rest of us.

Well, the journey back was even better - I had my own personal jet. Well perhaps not a jet, there was a propeller on the front, but it was certainly all just for me! Somehow – and I cannot really tell you how – on Sunday, the rather nice chap in the Airline office managed to arrange my flight back on the Monday. When I turned up at the airport, the check-in fellow told me that they had chartered a Private Plane for me – ha ha, I chortled, until I found myself walking (alone) across the tarmac.

So, it was just me and the pilot. We chatted a bit, he opened my water bottle, he checked his emails on his phone (many times – are they really allowed to do this?) and all the while the plane seemed to fly itself. At one point we were both taking snaps of Kilimanjaro above the clouds. It was a bit surreal. When we landed he turned round and flew back again.

There are things I won’t miss – like having to iron all clothes; even underwear! Now this is not because of some nit-piccy dress-code, but because of mango flies. It seems that mango flies lay their eggs in the seams of clothes and if you then wear them they can burrow into your skin and... well I need not go on. All this heartache and trauma is saved if you iron the seams of your clothes. So my clothes are crumpled, but with immaculately pressed edges.

Mangoes... Sigh!... I will really miss them.

And the place, and the people. For the past few evenings I have taken to walking around the dusty ways of Shanty town and beyond, whilst the sun disappears behind the trees; seeing how people live, how children play and now, how they farm every available, tiny space . People offer friendly greetings and I have discovered Salama (peace) which seems an appropriate thing to say as night approaches.

So Salama Tanzania and Asante!

Relentless Patience

Life continues to be interesting here. I have been trying to change my flight back to the mainland (call me unsophisticated, but once I have seen one grain of sand I feel I know the whole beach) however it has been challenging. It seems that the whole internet has been down for Tanzania/ East Africa; so much so that it made national news. [Perhaps I am being picky here, but I had always understood that the whole point of the internet was that if part of it went down - euphemism for being attacked by baddies - there would be many thousands of alternative routes that the information could take.]

Anyhow, the result was that I have had to really brush-up on my patience and acceptance skills. (OK, they're not really skills yet, perhaps they're more like intentions). Fortunately I was already prepared for this by my brother who advised me that I would need to practice Relentless Patience whilst I am here – he knows a thing or two.

So this morning, after sweating more than a few litres in the Cathedral at the Palm Sunday service (real palms, none of your dried stuff here!) I finally managed to change the flight.

One thing of interest (to me, that is – you may not be so taken with it) has been discovering a simile for the African Attitude. I cannot pretend that I fully understand the culture, but I have been faced with the differences so many times that I have thought about it a lot. Today I asked someone the way to the Airline Office and he pointed across the road and said to go straight down the alley. I gaily crossed the street and set off, passing the various crumbling houses, half built houses and really rather nice places until I came to a turning. Following a dog-leg I continued straight then came to a T-junction before deciding to go right then immediate left as this was the closest to ‘straight-on’ that I could find. And so it continued...

And the point of this? Well, in the UK I would put in all the details of lefts/ rights/ turns etc. but here, just giving the general direction is assumed to be enough. A far more simple approach, thus easier to understand, but one that leaves room for error and therefore problems. In Tanzania I have found many people to be pretty laid back, taking a simple approach to life, however things often go wrong. The difference being that they don’t get all wound-up about it – Hakuna matata (which is used here in Zanzibar to mean no problem, but also no rush).

So it seems to me that it’s 

Africa = laid back but things can, and will, go wrong 

or 

The West = precision (and stress) but less chance of problems. 

Hmmmm..... Is there a third choice?

Zanzibar

Well, here I am; hot and sweaty. Very sweaty. 

It seems that I have hit the start of the rainy season, and the air is a billion percent humid (am I perhaps exaggerating somewhat? well my washing is struggling to dry, and I have a distinctly moist look about me). Nevertheless, this is a break and I feel very good for the rest.

So it's good bye clinic toilets, where I have to squat over a hole, flapping my hands and hopping about avoiding mosquitoes whilst rummaging through my bag for toilet paper.

And it's hello holiday toilets where I can sit whilst flapping my hands, then struggle with the power shower they offer instead of loo roll. Now call me old fashioned, but I think I prefer the Asian big urn of water with a plastic bowl floating in it that you pour on your hands and wash with. OK, so there is a bit of splashing about but not the massive jet of cold water which, in my hands, is completely uncontrollable and merely results in water everywhere. [Perhaps I mentioned that nothing dries in this humidity? yes, I thought so]

But look, the sand here is white, the sea is blue, and I went for my first ever snorkel yesterday where I saw all kinds of fish and spiky sea-urchins. It was wonderful.

We are staying in a place on the beach, whilst just behind is the village. Interestingly enough it is almost exactly the same as the villages we have been working in. That is; very young children playing at the road sides, school children milling about, very small shops with just a few items for sale, abandoned houses, houses that are almost shacks and so on. The only difference is that here it is white sand, and there it was orange dust, that gets everywhere.

I love the ingenuity of the place. Before, I saw a tiny child sitting in a 5 litre plastic oil container that had been cut lengthways. A piece of old cloth had been tied around the handle so that they could be dragged along. It looked like they loved it! Here I have seen a child with a long stick pushing a flat piece of wood along the ground, or another running along with an old bicycle tyre. The kids all say hello (jambo, here) and seem very happy. 

The people are also very nice. It is now low season for tourists, so perhaps we get more attention, but the more Swahili I use the more they seem to want to teach me. The man in the post office (and please, this is a post office in name only, just a concrete room, with some washing items, some vegetables & fruit, perhaps biscuits and a fridge with home-made yoghurt in it - yum!) spent a good while this morning teaching me how to say how many yoghurts I wanted and if I wanted them cold. 

Also, a young Massai lad on the beach - selling beads -was teaching me how to say I come from England (everyone seems to want to know where you come from) before telling me about his plans for the future. Like all Massai, he is saving to buy a big herd of cows, and he told me that they only cost a few thousand TZ shillings. I think I must have got my translation wrong there, that's under a fiver...

Thoughts on Life here

I have to start by saying that I feel quite exposed now – somehow the working and the stress of all the car problems, not speaking the language, not really understanding the culture and so on, have all been getting to me slowly. This means that I can be affected by things that I have previously been impervious to, and it also means that it is time that I had a break.

Yesterday, the man who was helping move chairs at the clinic was wearing a shirt that had a check pattern – the weave of the cotton went across and up & down in squares. When I looked at his shirt I realised that he had worn through the up & down red stripes and you could now only see the sideways blue stripes. How interesting, I thought. Then it dawned on me that I have never seen that in the UK – we would have thrown the shirt away at the first fray on the collar – this was major wear and tear – and still he was still wearing it. It was all I could do to hold back the tears.

It is the same in so many areas; we see, people with so little, and often with many problems, yet they continue without making a fuss. I feel very humble.

I have also experienced more of the wonderful support that people offer you when you’re in trouble. In the car we must have hit a stone and when we dropped Lorraine off a man came up to the car telling us “madam, you have a problem”. It seemed that the fuel tank was leaking petrol. Immediately one of his friends got down in the dust and tried to stem the flow with his fingers – which he did fairly well. But of course this was not a long term solution! then another man came, mixing some glue, and tried to fix the hole!! This is an astoundingly resourceful country.

Unfortunately his attempt was only partially successful so we had to speed off to the garage before we ran out of fuel, each one of us fearing the massive expense of fixing the problem. [This is a 4x4 vehicle and fuel tanks come expensive!] The man in the garage now knows us well now, you could almost say that we are family. So, once again, we bowled up with a car in trouble and explained the problem, emphasising that we are only volunteers with limited finances. He must have seen the anxiety in our every feature and leaned back, smiling, before telling us not to worry as we questioned him about price. Can you believe that he fixed it in a couple of hours and only charged £16!!!!

I came home early and again tried to get a bus, but without luck. However once more an Angel bus stopped and picked me up – that is, one that turns up when I need it, offers me a lift and has Jesus Saves, or similar on the front. Again, the driver did not expect or want any money for this.

So, to sum up, there have been amazing experiences here, both good and challenging, but it has been worth it. Very, very worth it.

As I said in the last homeopathy posting, we have had to stop working, and have decided to go to Zanzibar. However Zanzibar is part of Tanzania, so I plan to continue to write odd snippets - hopefully in a less stressed manner - in case you're interested.

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Homoeopathy at an End

It seems that this is to be the last homoeopathy posting. Thursday night we learned that the rules have been changed for visas and what was OK before is no longer OK, so we cannot work. For me, this means stopping over a week before I have planned, which is a shock, but it doesn’t take away what I have learned. [For people after us, this should not be a problem though.]

This meant that Friday was our final clinic and it was good to see a massai man (arriving on a bicycle) who had a bowed knee from childhood. He had various head pains, high blood pressure and knee pain.

He found that the remedy helped him enormously – his smile was lovely when he said this – particularly with the HBP. Hopefully, longer term it will also help his legs as at his first appointment he described how he felt that the second knee was beginning to deform.

There have been some wonderful improvements to note, not least the seriously ill home visit I made to an AIDS patient, who looked to be at the end, on a drip with oxygen and not responding ton anything. On Wednesday I saw him and he had eaten two cups of porridge and been talking a little in the morning; he was barely conscious that afternoon, but he moved his head and raised his eyebrows when I went – perhaps he recognised me?

 

With all the difficulties I had at the start, I have finally got into the swing of things; seeing many people in one day, taking cases, and searching for remedies, whilst still being able to pick up visual and other clues. I have got it and then it’s time to leave. Humph! but there it is.

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A Balance of Power

One of the hot topics of news here is the recent elections in next door Kenya. As predicted, there was trouble and many people died, but after a couple of days the results were announced and the “good guy” got in. I have to own to being incredibly ignorant here, but our Kenyan translators have been educating me and even the taxi driver yesterday was telling us what a good thing this is. As usual, the foundation of the conflict there was power and tribalism or – it’s not what-you-know but who-you-know.

Power also seems to be the theme in our small Homoeopathy for Health in Africa community. First the translators’ electricity went down, then the Sherrs’ electricity, including the generator (I know that you are now well aware of out random power provision here, but this was just individual houses). Then the translators’ electricity returned but the cleaner blew up the gas cooker (I didn’t like to ask). Finally – and most tragically – after hours of cutting, marinating & preparing our meal last night, the gas cylinder ran out before we had a chance to produce a gastronomic delight. As I say tragedy. But this was as nothing when, in the morning, it dawned on each one of us individually – no boiling water! For us Brits that means no tea (and words cannot convey the enormity of this loss) and for Cynthia this resulted in no coffee (which quite frankly is the Argentinian equivalent catastrophe). We are all pretty easy-going here and no cooked food, cold showers or torch-light reading can all be borne with equal grace. But no tea in the morning?

It was at that point that I seriously began to consider putting the iron in a mug to heat some water (OK not seriously). However salvation was on its way in the form of Joseph, our caretaker; he came back and we were able to go and get a new gas cylinder. (Of course, as you would expect, this then called for the Gas Happy Dance).

I am beginning to realise that, despite our comparatively simple existence (that’s compared to the UK not to Tanzania) there are still so many things we rely on. Let’s face it, during our desperation phase we considered – but did not act on – the idea of going out to Joseph’s place and using the wood fire they use to cook on. So we weren't desperate enough to do what they do every day....

More about Life in Moshi

On Monday I woke up to a strange smell – damp ground, for lo! it had been raining in the night. I cannot tell you what good news this was as it meant no dust – or at least less dust. The same happened on Tuesday night, but this time, driving to clinic, I found that no dust turns into more mud. Hey ho, swings and roundabouts. 

Coming back from town I decided that it was time I got a bus (dalla-dalla). Not as simple as you might think; to the untrained eye – that means mine – there is no clear system of numbering or identification. The result is that the surest way to get the right bus is to walk until there are very few options to get the wrong bus i.e. walk to the edge of town and wait at the end of the main road to Shanty town (home).

There is a lovely shady spot there and some people were already waiting so I joined them. A few minibussy things drove past, with the accompanying raised heads from us... followed by dropped heads as they sped past - they were not dalla-dallas. Then one did stop and we all raced to it. Some discussion ensued but then a dalla-dalla, loaded to the limits, pulled up and everyone left and ran towards that instead. However, in the first bus I had heard the word ‘International’, and knowing that our road is near the International school I asked if they were going that way. Apparently not, but there were going to Lima road – the main road here – so I took my chance. I realised that it was a private bus, but private vehicles do seem to pick people up, here, in fact the motor bikes are forever tooting to see if you want a lift – I assumed that they get a petrol contribution and everyone is happy. With this in mind, when we reached my road we stopped and I offered the dalla-dalla fare, but was generously told no problem. As it drove off I saw that it was a gospel bus, and so thanked the angel that had sent it.

In the evening I slathered on the Avon skin soft, to test the theory that it is a fantastic mosquito repellent and have decided that it is just a myth – the mosquitoes love the stuff and I watched one gobble my skin soft-drenched hand. Humph!

Later on that night, the rain theme continued, resulting in a spectacular thunderstorm. Not a lot of rain, but truly stunning lightning. Lorraine and I grabbed chairs and set them up facing the mountain and sat there gazing upwards. It was like a firework display with the occasional ooh! and aah! from us as the sky lit up dramatically and a sporadic forked hand spread across the heavens. Who needs TV?

Homoeopathy and Limits

I have found it hard this week, mainly because the clinics were full and that meant a lot of work. I don’t mind the work, in fact I am very grateful for the experience, but it does leave me knackered.

As I said last time, this week was when I intended to practice pacing my case-taking better and I have to say that it worked. Each clinic, instead of rushing headlong into it, I sat and took ten deep breaths and remembered what I was there for. On Monday I rearranged the seating (Patience, our translator, seemed to think I was mad but went along with it – thank you!) This meant that now the laptop & table were to one side and I was more directly facing the patient, making better contact and being able to observe more. For this clinic I also worked with Lorraine which reduced the writing load and thus eased the pressure. And finally, when I felt that I needed to, I stopped, drew breath and reminded myself of what I was doing. All this helped and by the end of Monday I felt like I was dealing with cases far better than last week.

 

On Tuesday we drove off towards the Pare mountains, and this time I noticed what wonderful scenery there was. Before we started I took a few minutes to draw inspiration from the beautiful hills around. This time I was working on my own, with input from Cynthia, but was now feeling more comfortable with my method. Things flowed better, even when Roger, the translator, and I moved into the second chicken coop there – the first one now being occupied by a rag-tag bunch of chickens. This again was a very busy day.

Wednesday proved to be busier still, with about 12 patients at a clinic, followed by a sad home visit. Then driving off back to another clinic where Michelle had been working flat out and still had eight patients waiting when I arrived (I could take some lessons in stamina from Michelle!!) So, knackered but knowing that we are a team, I settled down to take as many cases as I could. Here I have to say I was blessed with good fortune, as the three new cases I saw all had at least one very clear or unusual symptom, making prescribing much easier. For example, this was the first time I had met someone who was eating Pica (unusual substances) – in her case earth. She had some problems with heavy menses and when I got home and read about it, it seems that people who want to eat Pica usually have low iron levels. Interesting!

However the biggest lesson for the day was my final patient. She entered the room with a very miserable face and just looked like she was saying ‘poor me’. Normally I feel sympathy for most people I see, but at this point all I could think was how much she was complaining. Looking back I can see that I was at, or beyond, my limit. I am not sure how good a prescription I gave, with the hindsight of fresher eyes I suspect Pulsatilla would have been good. So – what is good is, that I have learned that I have my limits and there is a time to say ‘enough’ for if I stay longer, I am not giving as much help as I might.

We have been told to take a break when we need to, so that is what I did. Good advice.

The Kilimanjaro Marathon Weekend

The electricity, or rather lack of electricity, continued to be an issue through Friday and into Saturday, with only 3 hours of power in 36 hours. This extended period meant that I moved beyond the Electricity Happy Dance on to the Electricity Happy Scream. Most people would tell you that I am not one to scream, but the sight of the kitchen light on sent me racing out to the living room shrieking that the electricity was back on.

I then realised what I was doing and calmed down.

But I was very happy.

Sunday was the Marathon and I woke at 5.45 to the sound of some guy on a P.A. system giving a commentary (I assume) on the start up to the race. It is so hot here, that the main runners have to leave at 6 a.m. I am an early riser, but it was Sunday so nothing, not even the Kili marathon, was going to drag me out of bed at that time. So at 8, Cynthia and I set off into town, where we followed the start of the route where the final few were setting off, including people in wheelchairs.

This meant that we had technically missed the race, however we knew that there was to be a party afterwards, so we went to a cafe and relaxed.

Following a lift from a friend to the local university, we found ourselves in a stadium looking down on the finish line, with crowds all around us in a party mood. So we cheered-on any stragglers that ran in (they all manage to run that final 50m) and soaked up the atmosphere. Of course it wasn’t long before I remembered my stomach and Cynthia and I set off in search of food – a cloud of smoke behind the main stage suggested that there was barbequeued meat to be had. Sure enough there was a string of grills (fashioned from oil drums and the like) with various foods cooking; including the ever-present goat. But goat kebabs are good when you’re hungry, and grilled bananas (the accompaniment on offer) seemed to work well with them.

The sun was starting to penetrate us so we scuttled off in search of shade, and fortunately happened upon some coca-cola chairs under coca-cola umbrellas. (Coca cola has a strong advertising foot hold here, with just about every bar having their plastic chairs and most road signs being sponsored by them. Needless to say coke is prevalent in every drinks fridge).

But the shade was good and we found the lad next to us spoke excellent English, having lived with his aunty in Kent (!) so we were able to have a fine time chatting. Then the entertainment started up on the stage and we moved off to seek out a good viewpoint. Luck stayed with us, as the shade was just moving round to cover the lowest step and we were easily able to secure two places with excellent views (though I have to be honest, for the first half hour the hot concrete really burned our bottoms until it cooled down a bit.)

The music was excellent, and we soaked it up for an hour or two before catching a dalla dalla bus home. It was at this point that it seemed that our luck changed as the bus broke down, however a nice chap told us which road to walk down to get home and we set off, passing through a real outskirts-of-town village; true Africa. So we enjoyed a drink there (I shall spare you the toilet description) before continuing on home - quite an adventurous day!

Homoeopathy in the Heat & Dust

Last week was hard work, mostly due to me. I think that I am trying too hard (what, you naomi?) so have sought wise advice and now propose a new course of action for next week – taking each case at a less frenetic pace and feeling my way through a bit more. We shall see!

Despite being rather taxing, last week was also very interesting because we started working on a plantation. There are a number of plantations around and this has the added bonus of being a little bit higher up, so therefore a little bit cooler (every degree less heat counts!) The crops are sprayed and a number of workers we saw were sprayers. Now these people are given proper protective gear, but I guess in this heat it is tempting to remove it, so they can suffer from a reaction to the spray. This is obviously unfortunate and is best avoided, but from our viewpoint it means that it is likely that we will be able to find a few remedies that consistently help with the problems with the spraying (genus epidemicus). So again, let’s see how we go.

Another bonus of plantations is that they irrigate the crops and on the way to a different clinic we found this valuable. The front windscreen was dusty (when is it ever not?) so I pulled up alongside a field and waited for the spray to rotate my way – then put the wipers on to give a good clean. The children alongside the road looked on in amazement.

My Day Off

As I said last time, driving here is far more tiring than I had appreciated. Following our fabulous weekend trip, I shared driving down to Arusha and back for a clinic on Monday. There were the usual black-smoking, crawling lorries, but also sections of the road where I could swear the tarmac causes the car to aquaplane – most unnerving. Also there is the ever-present threat of being stopped by police looking for a contribution to their pockets. I always stick to the speed limit and maintain a forward stare (conveniently masked by dark glasses). I hope to exude an air of imperiousness or invisibility – either would do.

Anyhow, with more cross-country driving on Tuesday I decided that my personal batteries were now low and it was time to rest, so I took Wednesday off.

With a slightly more leisurely start to the day, I decided to wear one of my many dresses (courtesy of retail therapy) as this was a holiday. It felt good, until I got into town and realised that I stuck out like a sore thumb. Not only was I a Mazungu, I was also a smartly dressed one – not a back-packer - so suddenly I was fair game for people to hoik their prices and hassle me to buy stuff. Not my idea of a relaxing day off. So I skipped off to the cafe before going home.

The courtyard was cooler and groups of people sat around. I ordered my coffee and cake (chocolate cake – yummy!) and got out my book... and then realised that perhaps that wasn’t relaxing either. Sitting doing nothing, now that was more like it. Which meant that for the next half hour I just gazed happily at the people around me, consuming my goodies or simply being blank. Lovely

I knew I needed a haircut, and called in at the barber’s (yes, I’m not sure if he cuts girls’ hair, I’ve only seen him use the clippers on Jeremy’s locks: 120 seconds of whizzing and it’s done...) Anyway he was on holiday so that was that. Still contemplating hair I called in at the little shop close to us, that advertises “stylish cuts”. I asked the girl lounging in the chair how much it would cost and she said 2kTZS (that is about one euro). I left thinking that maybe she had undersold herself and the pricing didn’t really instill me with confidence. We shall see.

This Sunday is The Kilimanjaro Marathon – an event that has suddenly inspired vast quantities of people to take to the road jogging. Surely they are not all going to enter? I will be going along to watch as by all accounts it is a great day out, but I hope there will be no need for offering first aid.

And it seems that the Tanzanian Electricity Workers (God bless their cotton socks) are also in holiday mood as the electricity has been off since some time last night and it is now late in the afternoon on a Friday (and you know that it never comes on again before 9 p.m.) Perhaps, when they decide to reconnect us, we will be doing the Electricity Happy Jog this weekend?

Dust, Driving and Lake Chala

At the weekend we went to lake Chala. This is a crater filled with water, that straddles the Tanzania/ Kenyan border. It is slightly up in the hills, so is cooler (hooray!) and because of all the water it is very lush around the edges.

The journey was half by road – that is the kind of road that you and I think of when we say road – then the rest by dirt track. There is so much dust, which means that every time a vehicle comes the other way you have to rapidly wind up the windows to avoid getting covered in another layer. Except the windows are electric and already clogged with dust so will only rise at an excruciatingly slow speed. So whenever you see a vehicle heading towards you, or you come across one of the many lorries pouring out black smoke, the cry throughout the car is Windows and everybody takes a deep breath and starts frantically holding down the buttons.

 We got to the campsite and although they knew nothing of our booking (despite my having a confirming email from them) they soon put up tents for us and we set off to the lake. On the way we visited the new restaurant – it is not finished, but the location is phenomenal and when it is complete it will really be something. The walk down was tricky in places, but all was forgotten as we swam in the cool water and took in the amazing surroundings.

The place is being refurbished and There are log cabins with breathtaking views, under construction. Lorraine managed to negotiate that we sleep in one (goodbye wind-flapping tents, hello luxurious veranda). Fabulous.

Next day, after a wonderful guided walk, along dry river beds, past dessicated elephant poo (apparently good for headaches when burned & inhaled) and glimpsing into the microcosm created in a nearby crater, we set off for home. 

Finally we are on tarmac and there is some hefty great thing pouring out foul black smoke, travelling at walking speed  (so slooooow! – how can they be allowed on the road?) and the sporadic traffic coming the other way means that I can’t overtake.  But it got worse – we had a puncture.

Baling out we looked in the back and could find no jack nor any wheel brace. What to do? Well actually this is easy – we have the very gorgeous Michelle with us. She is black American, and highly attractive to Tanzanian male taste so within seconds she has flagged down a passing minibus. They leap out, eager to help, but have no jack so have to pass on. Then Lorraine managed to flag down another car and this time we were lucky; it was full of young men who knew their stuff. One opened up the side pocket in the rear of the car to reveal the necessary equipment (hooray - it was there all the time!) and with his friend they set to work.

There are some odd features about 4 wheel drives that require you to know where to jack the car up – and none of us did. Ever-resourceful, the young men hoiked rocks from the side of the road, jacked & stacked, and somehow managed to change the wheel. Thank you!

The trip was well worth it, but I now know that driving here is far more tiring than at home. This meant that I took a break on Wednesday (my first day off!) but I'm now back at the keyboard & ready to write J

The Electricity Happy Dance

On Friday, after a good but busy clinic, Lorraine and I arrived home to a puddle under the fridge - this can only mean one thing: the electricity has gone off. It is now becoming apparent that every Friday (every Friday) the electricity goes off and I am beginning to suspect that each week the power workers are going home early for the weekend.

This messes up our First Rule of Working in Africa, which is always charge your laptop battery when you can. The normal pattern is that we haul our dusty carcasses back home and plug in the computers before we do anything else. However this is not the prevailing pattern on a Friday. Instead we sigh inwardly as we acknowledge that the shower may be pretty cold, but after that, we throw everything down and skip off to the swimming pool – what else can we do?

You may wonder what the Second Rule of Working in Africa is and I have to admit that we only adhere to it on a random basis. It is always eat when you can. For us this translates into having a massive breakfast; Lorraine topped the record yesterday with a fruit/ yoghurt/ muesli mix that was so large that she had to take a mixing bowl to fit it all in. The reason for this rule is that clinics inevitably straddle lunch time and the idea of stopping to eat doesn’t seem as attractive as the promise of finishing clinic earlier, so we press on to the end. After that we go home and somehow the lure of the pool is greater than the siren call of the kitchen.

However, once we have sated our water/ rest requirements at the pool we return to a home to what continues to be electricity-free. At this time it can still be classified as not such a problem, but the option to use the laptop is now limited to squeezing out any remaining battery life (close to zero) and we know that night is fast approaching. Fortunately the house has a couple of stand-by lamps that we charge for just such a purpose so these are put on and we move amongst the eerie light. But hooray - our food is heated by gas, so actually all is well in our world.

I guess the part that really makes me suspicious is the fact that the electricity always comes on again at about 9 p.m. (the start of the evening shift?) So at around that time last night, we were all sitting around the table drinking tea (not being able to make a cup of tea? now that would be an utter tragedy) when Michelle noticed that lights were on outside, so with one leap I turned on the living room light and all was ablaze. It was at this point that Lorraine and I did the Electricity Happy Dance. Small things really do make such a difference.

Children, Homoeopathy and Heartbreak

It was Orphanage day and we were back with the predominantly HIV children in a very poor area of town. The first one was the lad we had seen two weeks ago who was malnourished and very swollen. Most of the swelling remains reduced but he arrived out of breath despite having got a ride to the end of the drive so only walking 100m or so. It took him a long time to stop breathing hard, and even then his breath remained laboured. It is difficult to look at this little fella and try to reconcile the fact that he can barely walk; no football, no chasing around with friends, no laughter, just HIV. The homeopathy has helped in a major way, stopping the vomiting & diarrhoea, let’s hope it can help further.

Last time Lorraine had seen a young lad who was exceptionally despondent. He is HIV positive and was afraid for his health which coloured his whole life – so much so that he wanted to kill himself. He is 15. Now, when he sat down he smiled, and continued to smile on and off in response to various questions; it was very moving for Lorraine who had seen him before so was acutely aware of the improvement. He no longer despairs, he no longer wishes to kill himself. It is wonderful to witness.

Our last case was very tough, and is not resolved. A little girl had been for a few visits to try and get help coping with her life, and some remedies have made her feel better about herself. Her mother is dead and her father lives away with no contact number, so she and her brother live with their aunt and uncle. Her brother is HIV negative so does not get treated too badly but things are different for her. It is very common for people to persecute/ shun/ victimise people with HIV [not just in Africa] and that is what happens to this child. The girl came today for help with nosebleeds, but as we talked it came out that she wanted to runaway – today. The final straw came when she had eaten some food that was left over and her aunt said that she would poison her if she did it again.

It is very hard to know what to do; she has told the same story of persecution each time she was seen by a homeopath, and some remedies have helped but there are always two sides to a story. We talked to one of the supervisors at the place who explained that actually they only take children over 15 (the younger ones come from the school they run, so are not part of the orphanage) so taking her in was not an option. Also, with much discussion we found, unsurprisingly, that it would not be so simple – clearly the family needed to be talked to before anything was done and there were other considerations. So we gave what help we could in the form of remedies and left.

This was the sensible approach; we are here to help with health not sort out all the social problems, but all of us felt flat afterwards.

The Milk Run

So Monday takes us into a new week and first thing, as I sat freshly shining from my shower, Lorraine reminded me that we needed to collect milk from the van. [We make our own yoghurt and have tried a few sources, including the antibiotic-stuffed milk from the Dr.’s down the road, but that killed off the yoghurt culture so they are now shunned and never spoken of.] The milk van arrives around 8, so you have to be early and may have to wait a while - this is Africa. I set off down the road (all clean remember) and saw a 4x4 coming towards me with the obligatory cloud of road dirt following in its wake. My heart sank; I had been dust-free for 10 minutes and here was the first layer of filth approaching...

Suitably covered I continued, following the path created by many feet through the undergrowth and found myself standing alongside the large open drain that runs parallel to the road. My legs are little and the gap is wide so I stood and swore, before looking up to see a young girl chuckling at me. Ever one for a challenge, I took a deep breath and with a brief prayer I leapt (successfully – I am writing this aren’t I?) and continued up the road.

The usual crowd of people were waiting and I took a place on the wall, having muttered “Habari" (Hiya) a few times, but with little response. (This is not unusual, my accent is not great). After an age the van pulled up and we shambled across the road with our various plastic containers. (No hygienic metal pails for us!) The Big Guy stands at the side collecting the money and then everyone pushes to the back of the lorry which has been let down to display a chap with a dubious plastic jug that goes into a dubious plastic barrel to ladle out the fresh, warm milk. There are also a few old-fashioned milk churns and for a moment I ponder whether these are for artistic appeal or practical use. Yes, it’s obvious really.

Still in a bafflingly romantic mood, I stood back a bit, considering what a nice, colourful scene this was and - ready to take my turn - I practiced saying moje (one, as in one litre). My reverie was broken when I realised that I was starting to choke on the diesel fumes and perhaps the milk dripping on my shoe from out of the corner of the van wasn’t so great. Last in the queue - as I have not honed the necessary pushing-in skills - I got my milk and returned.

Coming home I reached the drain by the path and flew across, forgetting that now I was carrying milk. The result was not the gazelle-like leap I had hoped for, but again I survived and am happy for small mercies.

A Weekend in Moshi

It’s been another weekend of reckless abandon, starting with a shopping spree at the second hand clothes, shoes and handbags mecca - Memorial Market. [I have to preface this by saying that the idea of browsing for a new dress on Saturday was one of the key things that kept me going through the Thursday Massai Marathon; this was my reward.]

Then, catching the dalla-dalla into town I had to choose between sitting next to the mad-looking fella in the corner and the woman with the admirable African physique (also known as a large behind). These buses are a microcosm of local life from the smartly dressed young girl to the woman carrying a sack of second hand shoes. All are equal. Except if you’re a mazungu like me. But one thing I am learning is to watch carefully when others pay for things, and this time I noticed that people were paying only 300TZS for the ride, so I made sure I did too (not the 500 I was charged last time). A small difference but in a small way it made me feel more local.

Fool that I am, I had planned to get cash out on Saturday – the day that everyone gets cash out. No surprise then when Barclays had run out and after striding swiftly across town in the heat to the other ATM I found that that one had also run out and was now locked. Drastic times call for drastic measures so I was compelled to go to an unknown bank, this one being protected by an armed guard. I am not sure if the high-visibility security measures makes me feel safer or more concerned about my safety. In consequence, ladened with my newly acquired cash, I found myself racing back through the crowds to meet Lorraine at the cafe, arriving in a hot, dusty heap of sweat. [I feel that perhaps I need to work on my Relaxed African Attitude].

First thing Sunday was to be a flight over the Kili, taking in the panoramic view without any of the struggle of climbing. Expensive, but sooooo much easier than climbing. For over a week, Cynthia had been negotiating with a pilot to take four of us in the plane, although to be honest we were slightly concerned as every time she rang him he seemed to be mid-flight somewhere (are pilots allowed to take calls while they are flying?) It was during the final checking-up call that he said there were only seats for 3 people and could we possibly dump someone? Needless to say we cancelled – I feel disappointed.

Nevertheless, by now you know that food will pacify me in most situations and we were booked in for a curry Sunday night – hooray. Restaurant service has the same haphazard approach as flying; we have been out for two curries now and both times the ordering is OK but a bit random, with various courses being either late, forgotten or changed. On the whole this is OK [see? I am working on the Relaxed African Attitude] unless, like Michelle, you end up with a solitary bowl of rice...

Back with the Massai

We assembled early on Thursday, knowing the journey would be long and we had a full day’s work ahead. En route we were stopped by the police and ushered into a lay-by along with all the other traffic. We waited for an interminable time, finally discovering that the ex-president (think Gordon Brown [who?] not David Cameron) was to pass. At one point I wondered if they were going to hand out flags to wave – this is a long, busy road between Moshi and Arusha and everything was being stopped, surely this was a major event? Finally, a jeep with blaring headlights and a persistent horn came sweeping past, closely followed by 4 speeding, gleaming white vehicles and a couple more jeeps. Then they were gone. I wondered if this is how the ex-P and his wife go shopping at the weekend?

We continued on into Massai country. It endures as a completely beautiful area, the greens showing strongly as they had been washed of dust by recent rain. This Thursday there was a big demand for homoeopathy, so I was left on my own with Roger-the-translator. Solo working was a first for me, but when I volunteered to go that morning, I had suspected that might be the case, and it felt like it was time to face the fear of managing on my own.

Perhaps I should explain; to take a case here you need to take notes so the following person can gain a quick over view as well as see what you have been thinking. At the same time you have to repertorise , whilst concurrently observing the patient and asking questions. All this at speed.

In this picturesque spot there was a small church amongst dry grass, with a table and two stools waiting for us in the shade of the trees. I sat down and soon realised that I couldn’t see the computer screen – a quick change of shirt gave less reflection from me, but the light remained overly bright so we moved to a ramshackle wooden church nearby, the main church being locked. There were very basic benches and a good 4cm of dust on the floor, but the roof kept the sun off so this was good.

This just left me to prepare Roger by letting him know that I would be slow, but I was only going to apologise about this once, feeling that I would really have no time for any more. He nobly responded that we were a team (thankyou Roger), then it was heads down and off we went until about 3 hours later when I lifted my eyes to see that good old Massai staple had arrived: chapattis and chai. We took a break and the tea was heavenly; milky (which I normally hate), sweet (ditto) and with an incredible smokey flavour. Here simple things become incredibly important, and I was almost dancing with joy at the refreshments. A quick visit to the loo (yes, a jolly little wooden hut with a door that you had to hold shut whilst batting away at the insects) and we were off again. Nineteen patients in one day including eight new ones – bit of a record for me. [In the UK I might see five people in a day, with a maximum of two new patients.]

I was back for more the next day but we had to leave early to make the return journey. This was good, despite the threat of traffic – a famous bishop had died and it was his funeral that day. In transpired that the ex-P had been to pay his respects the day before. Halfway home we found all the vehicles pulling over to the side of the road; now familiar with this behaviour we imitated them. Within a few minutes two or three jeeps with flashing lights, blaring horns etc. whizzed past, followed by countless white vehicles full of the inevitable dignitaries, then more jeeps and.... an ambulance! It was The President this time and clearly he was taking no chances with his health. I have to say I was more impressed with this macho performance; I think I fancy becoming a dignitary.

Some Massai patients - the boy has a toy donated by Sally!

Homoeopathy update on Emmanuel

Today we visited the young boy we dashed off to see with Jeremy last week. He was incredibly sick, and listless, shuffling along like an old man, with constant diarrhoea and vomiting with food. We gave him food and told him how to mix a rehydrating drink (it did not look like he would be able to eat much at the time, but this would help to get him started.)

He is now eating without vomiting and the diarrhoea has stopped, which is fantastic. Also the swelling was reduced in his cheeks and legs although his stomach still looks very distended. The most visual difference was that he was moving around far better, and his face had some life in it – a massive improvement.

It is a privilege to be able to witness the return of hope for him.