Holistic Approach to Life!

Quite often, my relationship with God has led me to believe in the importance of finding God within oneself. Today, I found out something way more important: finding God with other people… but we’ll get to that later.

                This weekend, I unfortunately didn’t have any epiphanies, but I did have a blast with Tori and Elizabeth and our host family. Friday night, we spent the evening watching the sunset and dancing to Zulu hip-hop outside with our host Mama, her sister Nqobile (pronounced “click”- bee-lay), Mama’s daughter Fanele, Nqobile’s son, and a host of their nieces and nephews (our host Mama is the kids’ favorite aunt because she’s young and cool J ). We danced traditional and modern South African Zulu dances, and looked at the stars as the sun went down. I realized, then, that although at this time in my life, I spend lots of time away from my family while in college, during breaks, and during summer, there is nothing in this world and this life like family. Dancing with Bandile who is 3 and calls me “Titi” (colloquial for aunt in Zulu) made me miss my niece and nephews, and watching our host Mama smile at her mom who lives in her own house next door, and her two brothers who live across the small field, made me miss my own village of great people who raised me. Nonetheless, I danced as if my own family was there smiling and singing for their lives!

                Sunday was filled with surprises. Our host Mama took us on an adventure to Kosi Bay, the mouth to the Indian Ocean which is a short 20 minute drive from our home in Manguzi. It was BREATHTAKING pictures just don’t do it justice. On one side is the freshwater sound, many use it for small scale fishing, and on the other is a small cove about the size of a few football fields… when you swim/wade/walk across the cove, on the other side of the sand dunes are the HUGE, blue rolling waves of the Indian ocean, and 200 meters up the beach, are the sands of Mozambique! Unfortunately, I didn’t get pictures of the huge waves, because I swam across the cove, but use your imagination people! It was amazing. After spending a few hours at the beach our host Mama drove us to the border, where we met up with her friends and her cousin (our go to guy), Lucky. There we met a few of her friends from Mozambique, and while we waited for dinner, we practiced our Spanish. By the time our freshly cooked dinner was ready, we ate by candlelight. Whole grilled chicken, fresh onions, peppers, and tomatoes in cold vinegar, and chips (like home fries). It was absolutely amazing...

                Now onto this epiphany I had today. God blesses us with innate passions, wants, and desires, and because we all are unique beings, we all may want different things for ourselves and our lives, but at the end (or the beginning depending on how you look at it), we all want to be loved. Quite often, western medicine and culture is very critical of that deemed “traditional”, even the word “traditional” evokes images of that which is “old”, “outdated”, and “unchallenged”, but perhaps traditional is traditional because of the idea that is works, has worked, and is working. Zulu medicine in South Africa is one that has come under increased scrutiny by the government and the public health department of South Africa and the KwaZulu-Natal province. However, after seeing the overcrowded, impersonal, sometimes painful experience of patients who wait for hours, sometimes days to be seen by tired, underpaid, and overworked doctors, only to be given pills (with no explanation because of the language barrier), and given a date to come back in two weeks. Even in Manguzi hospital, one that is infrastructurally sound, smiles are thin, and understanding of comfort minimal.

                It brings one to think, if my uncle who I knew my whole life was a Sangoma (a “witch doctor”) who had years of experience, numerous herbs, and had healed everyone I knew could help me as soon as I cried in pain, why would I visit a big, cold scary compound to be met with a patient number, prodding needles, doctors who can’t even speak my own language, and waiting lines for days… literally, days?  Fortunately, as we have seen in the nicest hospitals in the United States and many in Asian countries, western medicine CAN heal mind, body, and soul, it simply requires the attention, patience, and often sacrifices of the health care providers. Of course, all of this is easier said than done, and these same problems persist in the United States, but don’t we, as human beings, living things who require human interaction and security as much as we require food and sleep, understand the importance of nurturing the mind and spirit while simultaneously healing the body?

                I guess not…  

PICTTUREESSSS

Actually due to technical difficulties (dial-up speed internet in the freaking woods!) I will no longer be posting pictures! You all will simply have to wait patiently until I return to Durban (on June 24) to see great pictures.
Sorry :-(

Day of Firsts

                This morning, for the first time in my life, a rooster actually woke me up. After a quick breakfast and a face-paced walk through back woods, narrow dirt paths, and inevitable wrong turns, we made it to work at 7:30am, just in time for the doctors meeting. There, young doctors from all over the world used this time to vent about the system, a tough patient, or one they were really worried about, then they all went their separate ways to make rounds all around the 10 acre hospital. I followed the doctor who was in charge of the female ward today.

                Never in my life have I seen so many young, beautiful women, decimated by disease, and yearning for the power to take their next breaths. In every section of the female ward, women were dying of opportunistic infections complicated by their HIV+ status. As we made rounds, we passed a woman who was 32 years old, 5’7” and 88 pounds. As I watched the doctor examine her, we realized she was taking her last breaths… I helped the nurses find her family information, and fill out the death certificate; there is no resuscitation in the female ward. I watched for the first time in my life, someone die, and honestly to see that she was not in pain, that she was tired, struck by a “bout” of social circumstance and chance, she just seemed tired.

 In 2 hours, the doctor had examined, checked treatment adherence, and spoken to (in broken Zulu), more than 50 admitted patients, the majority of who were under 30. After helping out (minimally) during a spinal drainage procedure on a woman with a CD4 cell count of 28, who had developed bacteria spinal meningitis, and helping during a lung drainage procedure on a girl who was 20 (my age) who had HIV and TB and telling here everything will be alright and actually seeing her smile and calling me sister… it was definitely time for a lunch break/ break for sanity.

The doctor who I was shadowing luckily took a break with me, and reminded me that for many patients in rural South Africa, they do not come to the hospital until they are gravely ill, and therefore I should be not be discouraged by the sights seen, and surprisingly, after seeing blood, fluid, and tissue come from places that I KNOW they should not belong …I was completely fine. After lunch, I returned just in time to sit in on a C-section and for the first time ever, see a person being born (I know, ironic).  It was amazing. The mother was 21, and very, very small, but she did an awesome job, although she was asleep. (And no, everyone, I was not queasy, I did not sweat, and it was actually quite fascinating to see how resilient the body is).

Seeing the mental, physical, and spiritual resilience, and hearing “ngbonga” or thank you from girls my age who were missing school to sit and die thanking me for simply  standing next to them with a mask on, and holding their hand with latex gloves on, completely separated, put a lot of things in perspective. In many ways, I am not sure how or if I can help, or even how or what I can learn, but I know that no matter what , being thankful, humble, and willing to do the things many people won’t do because they are too proud, makes God smile.

1st day of work!

Sanibonani (Hello Everyone)!

                Today was my first day at Manguzi Provincial Hospital and needless to say the day was filled with new experiences, new faces, and new stories. I began the day with a wake-up knock and good-morning from my host mama (although she has one child, she is very youthful and more like my host older sister than host mama). Side note: Although our house is beautiful, big, and filled with modern accommodations, we do not have running water; therefore we must use rainwater, and take wash-ups instead of showers. I realize now how important investment in public infrastructure really is to the true success of a community and population, more importantly I realize how little water we actually need to do daily tasks, so do better America! We began our day with a short walk to work. Manguzi is filled with sandy dirt roads, wire fences keeping in chickens, and areas that house an entire extended family, fully equipped with different houses, a shed for yard work, and an animal bin where chicken and other small livestock can mozy about.   We took the short walk from our house, past the bustling town center, up to the driveway of the hospital. Once we entered the barbed wire gates, the hospital looked more like a military base than a hospital. There our host mother waited for us to be seen by the hospital manager and our supervisor before leaving us to walk to work. As we waited, we sat with women who were waiting for an ultrasound, and in walked a young girl with her mother. The young girl, she could not have been over 14, was clearly pregnant, she looked as if she did not want to come and she had been crying. The other women who were sitting and waiting looked at her with a mix of amusement, disgust, and sheer rejection.

As she sat on the bench to wait, those sitting there moved and sat on another one. Later on, I would see many other young mothers in the maternity ward, which functions without anesthesia.  After waiting for a short while, the manager saw us quickly, and directed us to our supervisor, a young Nigerian female doctor from the UK who was here for a year contract before finishing her MD degree. The hospital, which had living grounds for the doctors, was organized into wards; the outpatient department, emergency unit, maternity ward, pediatric ward, allied health (nutrition, physical therapy, mental health etc.), social work, HIV and TB, highly drug resistant TB ward, female ward, male ward, surgical theater, and mortuary. It is fully equipped with a full laundry, cafeteria, and social services to help patients, and those is need pay a one-time fee of $20 rand (about $3) to be served.

                Many people will come in the morning by foot or by bus if from a more rural area, and wait all day to be seen. Manguzi also oversees rural clinics that manage local healthcare for the 10 or so rural areas in KZN and near the Mozambique border. With all of these resources, a staff of 15 full-time doctors, needless to say I was completely overwhelmed… Let’s recap: I am a public policy major with a concentration on global health and African American studies… definitely not pre-med. And because of this, I had the realization and fear that I may not be able to make the difference, let’s say, I did at Aid Atlanta or Project P.O.W.E.R., and I may not know what questions to ask, or jump with awe at the sight of my first surgery, but I hope that I can at least learn. Our days at the hospital will begin at 7:30am where we sit in on the planning meeting of the doctors on staff, then we will proceed by picking a doctor to shadow that day, or go to the ward that most interests us. Being at the hospital today reminded me that as Americans we tend to see community service with much structure, our times and hours of service are fixed and recorded, we are often given a reward, but as cultural concepts change across borders, so does the idea of service. Many doctors and nurses here work well past their hours, and take on treating the whole patient, body, mind, and soul. I hope that I can overcome my own cultural limitations and help when and where help is needed, and take any other time to soak it all in!           

With an abundance of nurses, orderlies, and volunteers from all over the world I really hope that I can be of help, unfortunately the language barrier is a pain! Most people I run into speak Zulu to me without a flinch, and I sadly must respond with my go-to phrases (see blog above). Most people will look at me confused and laugh, but some will continue on in Zulu, as if they don’t believe me… and then laugh. Oh well! Hopefully in the next few weeks I can brush up on my language skills and make some new friends.

Zulu Nation/ KZN

                So I know it has been a while since I have updated my blog, and needless to say, a lot has happened in the past few days! First and foremost, South Africa’s internet connection and I have become arch enemies and best friends simultaneously. Internet here is on a pay per MB usage plan, however, the plan for which I paid decided not to work for most of the time in Durban. Thankfully, with the time that was usually taken up by blogging, sending e-mails, reading CNN, and checking Facebook, I had the unique opportunity to make new friends at the backpackers lodge, brush up on my Zulu phrases, take a long, warm swim in the Indian Ocean, and have time to process all of the new sights, voices, concepts, and people that I met daily, most importantly I feel myself developing meaningful relationships with my Robertson crew, as well as find time to “whyl” with my line sister, Jessica ( I see you 9). Durban was much bigger than I expected, it has a metropolitan population of 5 million, most of who are Zulu or Indian. KwaZulu- Natal is the province in South Africa with the largest population of Zulu and Indian people. “Kwa” means “the land of”, and Natal (Portuguese for Christmas), was the name of the province before and during Apartheid. Sugar cane and pineapple fields cover most of the crop land, 94% of which is owned by the Boers (Afrikaner farmers).

                 

             Most of my time spent in Durban was spent based on our own discretion, needless to say, we spend our few days in town, riding the Peoplemover, the bus started for the World Cup and continued for tourists, dodging Mini-buses (taxi-like vehicles that pick up and stop and every and any time possible), and trying so hard to speak Zulu- ngisafunda isiZulu and ngivela emelika “I am still learning zulu” and “I’m from America” are my most used phrases. Nonetheless throughout my time of hanging out and being mistaken for a Zulu woman every 20 minutes, we did have time to do “touristy” stuff. We began our “tourist” day with a trip to Mahatma Gandhi’s house, which is now a museum and South African historical site where we had an amazing tour of his compound and learned about Gandhi’s views of equality, discipline, discrimination, and racial marginalization. Sadly, I learned that the majority of killings that occurred during apartheid were black on black crime, typically from being accused of scheming with white Afrikaners (which were usually a set up by Afrikaners themselves) or being a “sell-out”. Going to Gandhi’s house made me further critique my own sense of nationalism and how critical (or un-critical) I am to America as an American citizen. Furthermore, Gandhi’s story as was shared by our tour guide, is one that preaches simultaneous criticism and reconciliation (good stuff).

                Of course, after that enlightening tour of Ghandi’s house, we had a chance to visit an “authentic” Zulu village, courtesy of “Zulu-land entertainment parks”, and watch a Zulu dancing show. Needless, to say, I have never been so uncomfortable in my life.   I truly believe that there is a difference between showcase for education and enlightenment, and pure entertainment. Unfortunately, an opportunity to teach those completely ignorant of an amazing, deeply-rooted, and fierce Zulu-empire, were instead allowed admission into a minstrel show. The dancers thought it was a joke (and were winking and making eye contact with Jess and I, as if we spoke Zulu and knew how ridiculous the whole thing was), and afterwards, the dancers/pantomimes/actors were unable to talk and instead a black man with a British accent, dressed in khaki “safari gear” narrated in third person about the “silly” and “backward” cultural practices of the Zulu people, all for a laugh and a buck. After the dance, we were led into huts where the narrator continued to speak mockingly of those who were demonstrated their cooking practices, war-fare strategies, and healing practices. We were unable to ask questions, and those demonstrating were not allowed to speak. Imagine visiting Jamestown where black people are half-naked, chained, while your light-skinned tour guide tells about the perils of slavery? ::Awkward turtle::

                Anyways, enough of my venting (we all know how I can get); the rest of the day was a complete success. We visited Phoenix, the Indian settlement and had lunch at a temple of Krishna consciousness (which was awesome). After of course, was packing for Manguzi and dinner at uShaka World marine theme park, the best marine theme park EVER… which was 100m away from my doorstep!

                As I am typing, I actually come to you from Manguzi, after a 7 hour bus ride of rolling hills, breath-taking mountains, and green plains. We made it to Manguzi! My host mama (who is definitely young enough to be my host sister), welcomed us with open arms. Many of her friends and family thought I was her niece from Jo’burg (cue two Zulu lines) so I had ample time and opportunity to practice my poor Zulu. While on the bus, I met a new friend. A student at University of KZN, who taught me lots of new Zulu phrases and was as interested in black American culture as I was in his own culture and language. Oupa, who is 22, owns an internet café in his home village and gave my insurmountable advice about navigation, not getting mugged, and how to work on my clicks. He was an awesome riding buddy! The bus was like a tap-tap bus, stopping on random spots on the side of the road, fully equipped with traveling street vendors and smart-ass ticket boys, that try to get a few extra bucks out of tourists (not on my watch). We stopped for cows, watched fully uniformed school children walk home, and I actually saw an elephant… just chilling lol. 

                Nonetheless, we got to Manguzi safe and sound. It is a bustling small town with a town center filled with the entire population. A fresh famers market stretches for two blocks on both sides of the street and small business enterprises line the streets behind it; including a KFC, Sparr (like Food-lion), and barbers and salons for days. My host mama owns her own hair salon, so if my braids start falling… she said she would hook me up! Tomorrow is my first day at work, and from the sheer number of girls I have seen in town who are underage and pregnant, I’m sure today (and every other), will be a day filled with learning and new understanding. Wish me luck!

               

Cape Town!!! O snap !

Sanibonani!

                For past few days the group has been tearing up the sideways, freeways, beaches, mountains and valleys of Cape Town. We have seen a lot, heard a lot, and learned the most. We left Johannesburg on an early morning flight to Cape Town at a bright and early 6 am. Cape Town airport was sophisticated, chic, and as cosmopolitan as I’ve ever seen. Flags and pictures from nations across the world were joined on the walls with advertisements of the latest and largest South African investment banking and green energy corporations.  “Welcome’s” were said in at least 15 different languages, and after renting our car, off our group went to explore Cape Town. However, the realization that South Africa has the highest amount of inequality in the world quickly slapped me in my face. Immediately driving out of Cape Town International Airport parking lot, miles and miles of squatter camps were lined up along the highway. Many people were on the side of the freeway lighting small fires for burning garbage, or simply walking to a destination.

 A thin, poorly built fence separated inhabitants from speeding traffic. These camps are colloquially known as the infamous “Cape Town flats”. The African National Congress has just installed a row of functioning toilets in them this past year, yes the same year the World Cup in South Africa boosted the GDP 3%. Sadly, many of these toilets are not covered, often forcing residents to use the restroom without shelter, facing the entire neighborhood. While I have my qualms about western ideals of prudence and showing one’s “private parts” to have such poverty juxtaposed with ever increasing wealth was sad.  20 minutes later or so, we arrived in the town of Stellenbosch, French Chateau inspired, the town is filled with miles and miles (kilometers and kilometers) of wine vineyards. At the top of the hills are sprawling villas, filled with the latest German automobiles, and in the valley are innumerable colored and black people who are year round residential workers who man the vineyard, they live in shed-like compounds and wear uniforms while tending the vineyards. 

                Cape Town, like any other metropolitan city boasts awesome shopping, great food and sun bathing with the who’s who from Europe, unfortunately, amidst this continued notoriety for its “high class” there continues to remain and systematic and social exclusion of the poor. I learned that this exclusion has been going on since the 1600’s. We visited Robben Island, the Island where Nelson Mandela and thousands of other political and “common criminals” were held under the apartheid government. Surprisingly, this place has been used as a place for the outcast for centuries! First, the indigenous tribe to Cape Town, the Khoikhion,  were placed here when they did not comply with the “laws” of the Dutch sailors who landed on the island, it was later used as a leprosy colony, a common criminal prison, a political prison during apartheid, and finally a museum, a place of learning and reconciliation. Interestingly, many of the tour guides at Robben Island were ex-political prisoners, who use their opportunity as a bit of “healing”, and to imagine, this was during my lifetime….

                As entertaining and touristy these few things may seem, we did do more fun and less educational things while in Cape Town. Aside of visiting and splashing in the amazing beaches, I went to an excellent (mom you would have LOVED it) vineyard tour and wine-tasting of the historic Constantia area,  I took a cable car to the top of table mountain, visited the point where the Indian Ocean and Atlantic Ocean “meet”, went to the city park –which was something like Central Park, except tropical style (complete with city  rats and exotic birds), visited District 6 where violent forced removals of residents of the apartheid government caused national and international outcry, ate at the Waterfront, and visited a friend by the historic Mount Nelson Hotel.

                As I prepare to leave and get adjusted to Durban life (for the next week), Cape Town has definitely been amazing! Although internet has been a bit spotty (hence the giant post without much in-depth info).  

                Hopefully, I will have better access in Durban and keep you all up to speed!

Oh. PS- It was voting day this Wednesday in South African for local and parliamentary seats, so keep your eyes out on the news for results! The most hot topics this week were corruption under the ANC government (the party in power, who is the revolutionary party that ended apartheid), the historical legacy of racism within the Democratic Alliance, failing education system, the “retreat” of the large growing middle class from the working class, and how to continue the extensive social programs needed in a “developing” nation with tax base of only 6 million people, with 14 million people receiving government assistance. Keep an eye out on CNN (or BBC I guess J )

 Lauren

Here are photos!!

Leper Grave on Robben Island

Stellenbosch winery rest area

View of Capt Town from Table Mountain

We were 3,558ft in the air!

Old homes (for returning WWII soldiers) overlooking the ocean

Camp Bay Beach! (with Alpha and my LS Jessica!)