“Today is the greatest day I’ve ever known”

Well, maybe not the greatest, but one of them. It started off that I was supposed to head off on a community based trip instead of working in the rehab clinic. With the change in assignment came a later starting time, allowing me to sleep in an extra hour. What a perfect way to start the day – more sleep! When I got to the hospital, though, the group that I was supposed to go with was grounded at the hospital due to supervisor meetings. “Maybe next week,” they told me. So it was back to the wonderful land of screaming children for me. The change didn’t upset me though because I actually like the patients that I see on Wednesdays, except for one little girl on my schedule that I forgot about. This little girl, I’ll change her name to Bianca to protect her identity and abide by HIPPA regulations and policies, has got the worst case of stranger anxiety that I have ever witnessed. As soon as she sees me reach for her she unleashes a ruthless death-grip on her father, mother, or whoever it is that brings her to her therapy sessions. She fights and she fusses and does everything in her power to get back to companion. And when she’s restrained and can’t escape she resorts to a special defense that is bound to let her captor remove their grip upon her. She wets herself. And, no, she doesn’t just wet herself, she wets me as well. “Ah, this girl!” was all that was going through my head as this exact same thing happened to me last week. Today’s incident marks the third occurrence of being peed on. I made sure to document in her chart that she’s a pee-er if restrained in hopes to thwart adding one more tick to that tally.

After I got washed up and changed I finished treating my patients. The department finished early as we had a small number of patients to be seen and everyone worked very hard to get them seen as quickly as possible. But since we don’t leave until 4 P.M. either way, I had plenty of time to hang out with the children in the ward. Today I introduced them to piggyback rides, twisting and tumbling them around in my arms, swinging them around as fast as I could, each child calling out “MIMI!!” (me) or “TENA!!!” (again) in eager anticipation of being the next child picked to be picked up and hurled around. After I became fatigued from all the picking up and spinning around I taught them some simpler yet entertaining games such as thumb wrestling, rock paper scissors, and bloody knuckles. During all the games that we play the kids sing “Ice, Ice, Baby” and “All the Single Ladies” – songs they learned from youtube videos that I’ve played for them, to introduce them to some of the finer music that has come out of America. We laughed and laughed and laughed while goofing around and playing games through the entire afternoon and before I knew it 4 o’clock had come and I promptly carted off for home in order to make it to IST for the weekly rugby practice with the Dar Es Salaam Leopards.

It was a lovely practice. Since we got destroyed this past weekend’s tournament in Arusha our captain decided that we needed a bit more “practice” than just a pick-up game. The team divided up into forwards and backs; I joined the forwards as I’m being trained into being a hooker. We ran some drills in our respected groups and then reassembled after a bit to play a full contact scrimmage. I’m still rather clueless as to the ins and outs of the game, except that with my position they tell me to “just chase after the ball and tackle whoever has it”. One small problem: I’m terrible at tackling. They tell me that it just takes practice. But I am getting better, actually stopping the opponent except for having them just run right past me. And when the sun decided that it had enough, our time on the field came to a close as well. Most of the team quickly departed after hearing the announcements for our up and coming games this weekend, others hung around to socialize, while still others carted off to a local pub to cap the evening off with a local brew; I said my goodbyes and made my way back home as I had something special waiting for me there. Something that truly made my day one of the greatest days while in Africa.

Today I finally received my package in the mail from my sister. It was supposed to have been snuck into my bag before I left the country, but a last minute change of luggage caused it to stay state-bound. When my sister found out that I left without it she insisted that my mom mail it out. Two weeks later and I finally received it. The package contained a series of sealed envelopes with dates written on them marking when they were to be opened. Since dates had come and gone that were written on a number of those envelopes I felt compelled to quickly get caught up. Each one was filled with a card in which loving words of inspiration were written, some accompanied by candy or treats. Each one made me smile and miss my family back home. Each one made me feel loved. Each one aided in making today one of the greatest days of my life.

More to come. Stay tuned.

Messes.

Today it happened. It actually, finally happened. I knew that the event was looming, ominous, inevitable and that it was merely just a matter of time. Today, for me, my number was drawn, the clock struck twelve. Today, as I was holding a fry in my lap, I was peed on. I should have seen it coming as she was a little reluctant to let go of mama and render herself under my care. She started to fuss and before I could utter the words "basi, basi, basi" (enough, enough, enough), she leaked. All over my white scrubs, right in my lap. Now as if wearing pants wasn't uncomfortable enough for me to begin with here in Africa, now add on being drenched in urine. The wet, clinging factor is especially annoying. Then, of course, it starts to itch and smell as the heat gets a hold of it. And in case you were wondering, yes, I did go and wash up, but without having a spare change of clothes with me I was sort of stuck in an awful predicament. And, of course, this happened at about 10:00 in the A.M., leaving me a whole additional 6 hours of stinking, scratching, and squirming. "Hurry up clock and strike 4," is all I could keep thinking. Luckily the staff was pretty good about not giving me too much grief. They chuckled as too be expected because face it, it is hilarious. They passed it on from mother to mother as they came in, bringing about more pointing and laughing. And after a while it died out. But I wasn't too fazed by it as I knew that they've all been there before. Been spit up on, slobbered on, peed on, pooped on, for working with children is messy. And today, as it seemed like the children just kept coming into the clinic, it also seemed like messes just kept coming along with them. Let me continue with one more example.

I was working with a 2 year old girl who had down syndrome today, just screaming her head off while my CI had her in the standing frame. After 15 minutes of screaming we took her out. Took her out because 15 minutes is the standard time frame for the standing frame, not because anyone grew tired of her wailing or felt sorry for her. My CI told me to work with her so I picked her up and took her over to the mat and laid her down. More shreaking, this time louder. Now everyone was looking at me, looking at the little girl, nonverbally telling me to do something to make her stop, especially the mother. I looked back at them, at my CI, and nonverbally responded with, "what do I do?" My CI spoke up, telling me that this girl screams and cries like that every time that she comes in so just to procede with treatment and let her cry. I couldn't. I didn't care if my actions of disobedience aided in expanding the gap between my CI and regarding her trust and tolerance of my treatment techniques. I stopped treating her and began consoling her. I picked that girl up off the mat, pressed her as tight as I could against my chest, rocked her back and forth ever so gently, and just held her. Held her to show her that someone cared for her in that moment, cared that she was crying out of pain, frustration, being afraid. And as soon as she felt my arms pull her in tight she stopped her fussing. She went limp. She knew that she was being attended to, cared for, secure. And as if it was her way of saying "Thank you," that little girl turned her head towards mine and stuck her big, sloppy tongue right into my ear. The wettest "wet willy" I'm sure I will ever experience. But I just held her there as if to tell her that even that was okay. That her comfort and her needs were more important in that instance than my own or anyone else's. And with one simple gesture the entire clinic fell into complete silence. Mothers and fellow staff who previously looked at me fervently to do something and do it with haste to make her stop now looked at me in disbelief and bewilderment that I actually did. Everyone in the clinic, that is, except for one person. My CI. She scoweled and huffed from across the room with hatred in her eyes that could have killed a man because I didn't listen to her, because I wasn't treating that girl. But I only noticed for a brief second as the girl in my arms was the most important thing to me in the world right then and there and nothing was going to make me stop holding onto her for as long as she needed. So I just held and rocked and comforted that little girl. That beautiful little girl. That beautiful little mess.

More to come. Stay posted.

[Just to add in a little bit more regarding my treatment session here at the end of this blog entry: After taking about 5 or 6 minutes of holding and consoling her she completely settled down and not once cried, fussed, or remotely in any sort or form of an expression complained while I performed the appropriate treatment in respect to her plan of care that afternoon while having her complete cooperation as we did so.]

To make things hotter.

As if Africa couldn't get any warmer, I found something to turn the heat up a notch: running. After about a week of doing nothing other than some pull-ups or push-ups and various other "ups" I felt that I needed more. With plans to climb Kili and enter the Chicago marathon I decided that it be best if I kept my aerobic capacity up and attempt a run to do so. I quickly found out though that it's easier said than done to run in Africa as after just a mile I was already sucker punched by the intensity of the sun and the dry, humid air. But it felt great to be out running again. And boy did the locals stare. :) It's one thing to see a mzungu walking along the road, but it's an entirely different occasion when that mzungu is running. Also, let me clarify that despite what you would think about Africans and physical activity, especially based on those darn Kenyans winning every single running competition under the sun, exercise is not a major priority in their lives. That being said, someone running for exercise in itself is a rarity in Dar. Add on the fact that a white person in Dar is exercising, well, you get the point.

And as if running in Africa wasn't bad enough, imagine getting lost of your run while in Africa. And me being the stubborn German that I am will not break stride to ask for directions back to where I should be headed, no, I'll just keep on running until I spatially could put things together. Eventually I will get back, but will dehydration or heat stroke get the best of me before I make it there? Of course not. For I am a Clydesdale. A workhorse. A true German. There is no stopping me, not even the African heat. An hour later I arrive, not back home, but at the International School just down the road from me. And what is this that I see going on on the soccer field? No, not soccer as you might reason, but rugby. Yes, rugby. And not Africans playing ruby, but my fellow expats!

Having enough of pushing myself to the extreme, a huge appreciation for the sport, and a desire to actually play one day, I decided to stop on in and have a look. I watched for about 15 minutes on the sideline bleachers recovering from having just finished my run while talking to an Israeli student about the activity on the field in front of me. Apparently it was the Dar es Salaam Rugby League's weakly gathering. This gathering being open to the public. I, being "the public", decided that it was an opportunity too great to pass up. I got enough information from the Israeli boy about the modified rules of the 2-hand touch below the waist (sounds rather kinky, doesn't it?) version of Rugby that they were playing and trotted up to the field. A lanky, scruffy Aussie saw me approaching and yelled out "Beginner", and the activity on the field abruptly halted. Everyone turns to look at me, sees me in my sweat-drenched, grey wife beater and blue running shorts, and proceeds to turn back to look at one another with unsaid thoughts of "You take him on your side. We don't want the noob on our team." With neither side making the initiative, I made the first move. I ran off to one side and the game once again resumed. I was shaky at first, causing a number of turnovers and dropped balls, but quickly caught on. After the Western African sun punched out for the day and without the availability of flood lights to illuminate the playing field our time came to an end. Shane, another short and scrawny, blonde haired Aussie introduced himself to me and told me that I was always welcome to join them in their weekly gatherings. I even got my name on their email list, emails being sent out to the rugby community in Dar with invites to rugby happenings around the city. And as I briefly chatted with a few of the other ruggers on our way off campus I found myself elated after finally tapping into a community here in Dar. I couldn't help but smile as I made my way home in the dark, warm, African night to shower up, lick my wounds, and fall asleep in eager anticipation of the next Wednesday afternoon where once again on that ITS soccer field I will heat things up under a setting, African sun.

More to come. Stay posted.