Strange Bedfellowes

I woke up this morning and pulled on my chacos and some leggings. Over the leggings I put my African Kanga.   I put on my Masai earrings and my special necklace made for me and given to me by a disabled woman in a small village in the valley.  Today was Global Health Day.  Every day of my life is Global health day. I think about my friends and times abroad at least 20 times a day. But today other people thought about it.

Because I am sort of a global health nut and because Dr. B who happens to run the medical school likes me I got asked to go to the OTHER GLOBAL HEALTH DAY and speak.  OTHER being code for where we raise money for the new global health program. It was in the medical school board room.  It should be noted that I had to ask directions to the medical school board room. It should also be noted that my two compatriots were in suits.

The table was set  formally. It had ALL THE DIFFERENT TYPES OF FORKS.  There were three.   3 forks!!! 3 forks to raise money for people with no forks.  It dripped of old south. We had sweet tea with lemon to drink, three courses, key-lime pie and a waiter for the main table who was quite sadly one of three African Americans in the whole room. There were name cards.  I set next to Dr. B at the head of the table.

Most of the attendees were older than my grandparents. . They were retired physicians, people with foundations to their names. And there was me staring down at my forks in my kanga wondering how bizarre life is.  And thinking that I felt more at home in a Masai hut made from cow dung and mud drinking chai with flies than I did in this room in the heart of  my school, in my country.

I spoke, sat down and pondered about trying to describe this scene  to the Kenyan mothers who had braided my hair and trusted me with their babies. What would I say?   Well a bunch of rich white people got together and ate too much so other rich white people could go and take care of babies.

They would stare and laugh. And say doctari nywara your country is a strange place with strange ways.

and I would say.

ndio ndio.

African Arrival

Jan 6 will remain as one of the craziest most out control days of my life. I awoke at 6AM in Balitmore, at noon I was interviewing at Johns Hopkins and by midnight I was crossing the Irish Sea by air.  I wouldn’t recommend it honestly. By the time I got to London, I was totally fried. It has snowed there the day before and everything was terribly backed up in DC becuase all London flights had been canceled. I nearly missed my flight because I couldnt’ get through the lines. I got the 3rd degree in security between the new shiny hip and  many strange tools one carries in a carry-on to go be a doctor in Africa.  I did though have the amazing blessing of being ugraded to business class. And while that was pretty spectaclar I felt like an idiot because I couldn’t figure out to make the bed thing work or the TV or really anything. But I can say I have now flown first class on an overseas flight. The rumors are true, there is real silverware, free wine and flat beds.

London was beautiful from the air, the english countryside was bathed in white.  My connection went flawlessly and although my flight got delayed a bit on the ground it was a great flight. One I will never forget. I watched the map program every couple of minutes once we hit the Med. Sea wanting to see the coast of Africa as we crossed it. It was beautiful and shockingly different than the coast we left behind in Italy.  I watched the sunset of Sudan and by the time we entered Kenya, I couldn’t sit still with excitement. The last time I did this whole go to a new country/new continent thing on my own I was 19 on my way to Romania. I was considerably less freaked this time around. I got my visa without problem despite the fact I accidentally left my original copy of my yellow fever vaccination in America on my scanner. All of my luggage made it and I was picked up by a kind man named George who took me to the Mayfield guesthouse. The guesthouse is lovely, full of  African art, mosquito nets and people from all over Africa who are passing through. I shared a room with a lovely girl from Ireland who is going to teach in a primary school in the North of Kenya.

I didn’t sleep much but I enjoyed what little I did get. I woke up early since my roommate was on her way north.  Took a shower, felt human and then explored the guest house. We eat meals family style here. The rest of the medical team that was supposed to meet me in London finally made it. Two of them will come to Kijabe with me. While they slept I went to orientation at the AIM office. I also saw Nairobi by day.  The smell is a cross between the humid, thick magic of a Carolina magic and the strange pugant tang that I associte with Bucharest. I am not sure if its a city smell or a developing world smell but it smells like home. Kenya has had two years of drought but its been raining and everything is green and there are many flowers.

Orientation was oddly interesting we talked a lot about the history of Kenya and plans for medical missions here in Kenya. I will write more tomorrow once I reach Kijabe. For now I am exhausted…

why freedom matters in Belarus…Georgia…Romania and Beyond

There was an article about Belarus in The Wall Street Journal this weekend!!! I am pleased to hear that people care. Because it really does matter and its not just the principal of thing.  The article talks about how what happens with Russia’s future is an inside and outside political game.  The outside is the former soviet republics and satellite nations like Romania.  These countries are what separate Russia from Europe and really from the rest of the western world.  These countries are small and most Americans probably couldn’t pick them out on a map but their freedom is essential to peace and stability in the region and really the world.    Russia has cut down on religious freedom and freedom of the press in recent years, all NGO (charities, churches, human rights groups) have to register with the government, prominent journalists have been killed in the dead of the night. This may not make the evening news 7000 miles away in Washington but it matters.

Why you ask? The usual reasons things matter in foreign policy: oil, power and blood.  Russia controls a big part of Europe’s oil supply and the oil passes through many of the former soviet republics.  Russia has friends like Iran and China.  Russia is becoming better armed all time and already has increasingly bad human rights record.  I am not suggesting that we as the west should go in and try to mess around with the region and play police or micromanger for these  corrupt, struggling infant democracies but we shouldn’t take them for granted.

Let’s all remember that it was our indifference after helping the Afghans win against the soviets that brought us the Taliban…

not the same situation, but the same principal. The battle for a free whole Europe is not over, its really only just begun.

Family Fued….

I am going wheelchair skiing this weekend.  Its going to be great. Emily is meeting me and I am staying with some friends from school.

I was dreading telling my Daddy (yes its Daddy I am from the south deal with it) .  There is a saying in our family: Victoria will laugh at what Dad says to do, Emily will do it to the letter and I will do the oppositte.  0:)  I love him and we are close. But lets be honest he is overprotective (perhaps for good reason).  If I had listened to hm I would have never gone to Romania, never gone to medical school , never gone to Wake Med and probaly would be living in my parents’ basement.  SO somewhere around the age of 16 I decided that while I loved him. He would always see me as far more physically and emotionally fragile than I saw myself.

Now don’t go thinking he is awful. He is really good at admitting he was wrong. And tells everyone he knows about his oldest daugther double major at Wake who is now going to do medical missions when she graduates Wake Med….he loves to hear my travel stories and we have read lot of good Russian literature and I photographed lots of WWII landmarks for him in my travels.

I could just hear exactly what he was going to say as I told him…are you crazy…you are almost done with your third year…do you really think now is a good time for a femur head fracture….and I would still go but I would feel uneasy and guilty for at least the first 24hrs.

so the day came and I called him and told him.  And then I nearly fell over and broke hip.  “That sounds like fun, a great way to blow off steam…just wear a helmet and use common sense.”  he said.  he was actually happy for me, excited for me.  WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH DADDY?

I decided he was either A. intoxicated, B. is using some sort of weird reverse psychology on me or C. has grown to see me much as I see myself or at lest in the same galaxy.   I like C so I am going with it.

you know we always talk about children growing up, but I think parents grow along the way too.

Does Benny Hinn go to the Doctor?

She has long white hair tied back. Her skirt is handmade and long and flowy. She is here for her yearly GYN exam. I as the token med student of the hour review her history and medications with her. She tells me that 6 months ago she was slain in the spirit and Dr Jesus healed her gallstones. I smile warmly and nod. She then tells me since that time she has been off ALL her medications because Dr. Jesus is taking care all her needs. I gently discuss her medications and what they are for and the pros of taking them. I walk out of the room and try to figure out exactly what I am going to say to my resident as I present this patient. The resident is understanding and we manage to get through the rest of the exam without incident. I then walk the patient to the check-out desk and walk to a nearby counter to collect my notes.

All of the sudden I felt an arm around me I look up to my patient’s smiling face. She closes her eyes and proceeds to pray loudly to the point where everyone in the busy nurse’s station is now staring at the two of us. I stand there at a complete loss of what to do. Among the professional ethics scenarios I was never given any guidance on what one is to do when your patient tries to faith heal you. I find myself fighting embarrassment and annoyance. She prayed on and on it seemed (I don’t think it was particularly that long) about God healing the places where my legs had been broken and the spirit descending and such. Her AMEN brought a sigh of relief for me. I mumbled Thanks because well it seemed like the only polite response and then walked away (dare I say limp away) from the counter. I found myself oddly comforted by each bit crackling of my limbs, nothing happened.

I remember once in Belarus I was rolling along with my friend and translator Koia across a field on the way on to a home visit. When a beautiful Roma beggar with long dark hair and traditional gypsy clothing was walking in the opposite direction. She saw me and stopped and started rummaging in her purse and before I knew it she was thrusting Rubles into my lap. Koia explained…Americanka…and passed the money back to the beautiful Roma lady. She looked confused but reluctantly took the money and walked on. I sat there in shock at the realization I was living in culture where my people were lower than even the beggars. At the same time I was shocked by her compassion, as embarrassed and surprised as I was. I was shocked by her compassion when the world showed her so little. I was reminded of this experience after much reflection on my encounter with the faith healer.

Their compassion was misplaced. In the same way the beautiful Roma lady did not know that the woman in the wheelchair on the path was not a poor beggar but a rich American. The faith healer did not know that I have never questioned my wholeness before God that I found much beauty in my so called brokenness. And I realized the most remarkable thing. At bacculature I was asked to be the gospel reader I read the famous passage from Matthew 25 about how the righteous gave Christ food, clothles and shelter. And they ask when did was he hungry, naked etc? And he explains that whenever they served the poor and the outcasts they served him.

I do not pride myself in being one of the least of these nor do I truly consider myself one (that whole rich American thing) but I accept that I am easily confused as one. I think you can appreciate this passage no matter your religious background because it reveals something key about the way our world looks at others. The least of these are the people that everyone tries not to see in society. If you don’t look at them they don’t have to exist and you don’t have to feel guilty about their suffering. Yet you  never know who you are denying kindness and you never know when it will be you who is in need of it.

So even though I sincerely hope that no one tries to faith heal me (especially in the middle of clinic) me again any time soon I am convicted. Not to drop out of medical school and start a faith healing ministry but to notice the things that everyone tries to ignore. And yes to be tactful about acting on it. So I go and not royally embarrass the individual. At the same time I was convicted not to be so dam professional and polite that I miss moments to be compassionate, miss moments to remember my humanity.