Sorry, your story is not tragic enough.

Sorry, your story is not tragic enough.

The other day I bumped into some Asoyamias (white people) at the guest house.  This guest house is run to support mama laadis and I often go and visit those working there to say hello.  Anyway, this film making couple were staying there from the UK.  They were very nice people, doing a documentary on Hunger.  It is to reflect the desperation of Africans after the short rainy season this year and henceforth the poor crop yield during harvest.  They are looking for tales that show the outcomes of people living on the poverty line, who have to rely on the weather/harvest, and especially the the effects it has on the children.

This documentary, once made, will be shown to people to raise money to help many of those suffering, ultimately providing aid/food to hundreds if not thousands of people. 
Which is great.

But something just didn't sit right with me.

They are looking for people's tragedy to tell a shocking story that will pull at consumers heart strings so they will ring a phone line, and give over cold hard cash.
They got sent to Bolgatanga to find such tragedies.  Of course all the locals rallied around finding them struggling families, and of course these stories are ripe for the picking..... but sadly none 'bad' enough. 
How awful..... They turn up to a house that is clearly dysfunctional, the occupants do not eat more than one meal a day and haven't had a protein product in the last week ... there is already illness lurking in the shadows.... BUT it simply is not bad enough?

This is someone's life - this is a family who are fighting against becoming a statistic, teetering on the edge - and the director has to try and explain to the locals and family who presented their story; "I'm sorry, I can see your child is very malnourished, yip she looks like a skeleton, yip she cannot walk by herself because she doesn't have the energy, but she is simply not 'skeletal enough', sorry.  It's not enough to get the white people who will see this film to help you".  Sorry.

What is this?

They termed it 'over-saturation-of-the-starving-child-advertisement-campaigns'.  In advertising you always need to manipulate the masses to give over their money to buy into something they are talked into 'needing'.   With so many starving-help-the-child-the-little-girl-waits-advertising-campaigns, us 'whities' have essentially been there and seen that, and now we actually need to see a child 24 hours away from death to do something? What can be the 'wow' factor when we have seen it all? What about a child dying on screen, this is bound to move a few television watchers to get up off their tv-dinner arses and make the call? No?

What is this?

Is this kinda fucked up? Or is it just me?  Is this just natural instinct of humans? I guess I'm just too close to the children of Bolgatanga to see this situation without judgement.

If it's any consolation it made the documentary makers feel wierd and uncomfortable, and they have aborted their mission and gone home.  However, they are coming back when it's really dry season, when the harvest has run out, to catch 'proper' malnourished suffering children.

Free range

Free-range.

Where I'm from, clean and green New Zealand, we know 'free-range' as natural, organic and most commonly animals who get to roam around freely, eat the 'organic' grass that is growing around the garden and live happy 'holistic' lives.  Take chickens for example; their eggs are eaten daily by the family (yum, yokes as yellow as the sun!). They get given no 'evil' pesticides, antibiotics, hormones, and get to grow to a ripe old age, until they disappear once they are plump enough to be eaten at the Xmas table.

Not in Bolgatanga .......

In fact I came face to face with 'free-range' when I was driving to work on my moto last week..... A grandmas butt up in the air, buttocks flowing in the wind, and shit coming out in front of my eyes! "WHAT! " I  hear you cry! Yes! And this is before 8am, before my second coffee of the day, and before I had a chance to turn my head so I no longer get haunted by that memory! I was in shock! 

'Free-range' is what many of the locals do here, they poo everywhere!   One day I decided to go and see the river in town, but I couldn't get to it because of too much human faeces. And now I don't walk through fields or in any green leafy patches, just in case!

Old ladies shitting, men shitting, kids shitting, dogs, goats, donkeys shitting, I have seen them all!

Sometimes I feel as if I just don't fit in! He he

At the hospital I work in, people even 'free-range' just outside the ward window or next to where the nurses put IVL's in, despite security telling them off.... They are unstoppable!

I have heard the problem is, people are just so used to it.  Some don't have toilets in their house, and there are no public toilets, so you can't blame them.
But weirdly, even at mama laadis, where the kids know better, they have toilets, they have soap, they will still sneak out and go 'free-range'.  I know cause I saw them too! (wish those visuals would disappear) 

Why?
Maybe I should conduct a survey?

Madam... I see you are shitting right now.... Can you please explain why?  Madam ... You are shitting in front of small children and in public view, next to public toilets... Can you please yell my why? Ohhhh why???

Free-range has problems.... especially now it's hammattan.  Everyone is having diarrhea and vomiting.  These people are 'free-ranging' (I just created my own verb!), and the bugs spread... Then the hammattan wind picks up, dust blows this diarrhea in the wind, and innocents (like moi) breath in the mix of dust/wind/faecal matter into their perfectly innocent 'free-range-free body!  It just doesn't seem legal!  It certainly brings a new meaning to 'blowing in the wind!' ha ha

In fact writing this I feel slightly short of breath, .... I have a cough coming on.... I start sweating in realization .....oh no .... my mask fell off my face last night whilst i was driving my moto..... Oh no...... Free-range faecal pneumonia! ...... Ahhhhh


Photos to be posted in upcoming blogs! Ha ha

Ode to the Girl with the Haunting Eyes

Ode to the girl with haunting eyes

I got delivered her in a bundle of cloth.

10 months weighed 3.5kg – same weight as a new-born baby

She was discovered in another hospital, photo was taken by a staff member who cared, about her condition – nothing was being done to help her– the photo was given to Mama Laadi who organised her to be bought to me.

 

I got delivered you in a bundle of cloth.

I could barely even find you in there.

First I see your eyes. 

No adjectives can explain the message you are conveying with them.

You have a depth and a hurt behind your eyes that I can never reach.

I unwrap the cloth like I am unwrapping an injured bird cared for by a child.

Your arms are smaller than my thumbs.

Your skin is peeling off

You can’t maintain your temperature, or your heart rate.

I’m scared.

Your eyes are staring at me, wide and expressionless.

Takes too much energy to have an expression.

I can’t hear your heart because my stethascope doesn’t fit between your protruding ribs.

I lift you up like you are a porcelain doll – I feel you can break at any minute.

Cuddling skeleton.

Can’t cry, too much energy to have a voice

Your grandma thinks you are an animal, I know your potential.

I promise you I will do everything I can to protect you.

Your eyes stare back, I’m searching for an expression……anything. 

No.

  

I’m experiencing the expressions for you – Disbelief… Anger…. Sadness….

Revenge ………Who has done this to you my girl? 

I break open some World Food Programme food …… you stare at me and eat furiously………….starving…….. who has done this to you?

I look at your grandma and words cannot explain what I want to yell at her, lucky she doesn’t understand English.  You can’t raise your head.

Keep eating.

I’m just so sorry, I’m sorry your mum died, and your dad left you. I’m sorry your grandma has no capacity to care for you.  I’m sorry she thinks you are an animal. I’m sorry you have only energy to blink every now and then.

Keep eating.

I hold you and whisper in your ear…. Everything will be alright…. You’ll see….. keep eating.

You look at me, your haunting eyes I will always remember, that now live in my heart.

I lie you down, wrap you in cloth, you dissapear in the bundle….

Hold on. 

yes

I can see a sparkle and fight in your eyes……… I can see it. 

I walk away from the bundle with an expression of relief  and hope

– I will feel it for you.

                     

Little tragedies

Little tragedies

I haven't written for a long time.
I got told by a friend I needed to stop writing depressing things and reflect on some happy times and I guess that kind of stopped me in my tracks. How can you talk about happy things when children are dying needlessly around me?

 I have been on a much needed holiday for 5 weeks, but leading up to that felt I was living in everyone's tragedy.

The difficulty of this though is, its not JUST a tragic story, or an anecdote, it's actually people's lives. 
Poverty, poor health, unloved children, violence against children and child deaths are a daily occurrence. Sometimes it is something I witness, other times its through relived stories that I'm told by others who have lived it. After awhile it becomes difficult to keep trying to make it OK in your head.. being a perpetual optimist is challenging.

How long can you keep living this life of tragedy? Is it hipocracy to be the 'western' person, who lives it for a short while, sympathizes, then happily takes her plump arse on the plane back to wealth, red wine and three meals a day? 

I guess being away made me face some truths.  People on my travels couldn't believe I had sacrificed 'my life' to 'help' people. They called me 'courageous' an 'angel' and thought I was a wondeful person. Interestingly, in some ways my work bought me closer to people who perhaps would have found me invisible.  But lovely though their praise was, i felt that the work i do has really nothing to do with me being an 'angel', i just did it because i have too.  No real motive to it. In fact I feel embarrassed when people praise me because I am merely a temporary visitor in other people's tragedies.  Their fight with life will go on regardless whether I'm there or not. A friend said "dont you ferl like you are losing an eternal battle?"  i answered it with, whether i am or not doesnt really matter, I'm lucky to be there in a moment to try and manipulate a small portion of these peoples daily battles,which will hopefully help.... sometimes/often it doesn't.   At least I try.

On the plane going home, after exploring all the pleasures of life, wonderful connections with people who will be friends for life, French kisses, amazing food, wine, culture, music, learning a new language, the architecture,  rejoicing in every minuscule moment of what the historic Paris is breathing out, tears well up in my eyes.  Not because I'm leaving my hedonistic ways behind, but I know the little 'tragedies' will be waiting for me when I get home. 

Is it that I'm soft, sensitive, am i more affected by the tragic stories than others or are they more immune?  Im not at all scared of heartbreak, ma couer knows how to put itself back together, after all it's  had plenty of practice.

Im wondering if Perhaps it's just that in true poverty you experience the 'real' life.  Tragedies are a part of this, but luckily in bolgatanga they partnership with real love, connections with people, true laughter and singing/dancing without restraint.  

An hour to go to touch down, I am going home to my family, to sing and dance, and the more I let my heart sing the more Ma couer can have the strength to face the tragedies. 

Market Day

Bolgatanga is a very small town – has three main roads and a population of who knows……. as they are mostly village people….. but on Market Day it triples in population!  Because most of the villages around Bolga have no transport into town accept on this day of the week they all come on mass to get their vegetables, meat, and various other things they need.

It becomes a vibrant – crazy – hilarious place!

To me market day means two things: one – I have to avoid the goat, donkey and cow poo on the road while I’m biking to work . two – I’m going to have a long insane day at work. Picture this – old men on bicycle riding down the road and you just hear a ‘yelling’ goat at the top of it’s voice – and when you ride past you notice it in the basket!  Plus the dude has two live chickens hanging off each of the handle bars.  You see another guy walking with about 10 dogs all happily trotting along on leashes… little do they know they are walking to the famous Dog Market!  Yum yum.  Another guy I see regularly walks with a basket on his head….and in it are millions of alive baby chickens! 

Biking to and from work is actually my favourite part of the day.  I spend most of the time greeting people and laughing because of the hilarious things I see.  The kids where I live are seriously delightful!  They all run up to my bike and yell ‘Asoyoumia!!’ (white lady) at the top of their lungs.  One day I had a whole crowd of about 10 all chanting!  And sometimes you get ‘Asoyoumia bye byeeeeee!’  he he – and their little hands waving as enthusiastically as they can!  Tonight I got a little voice ‘Asoyoumia – how are you….’ from a paddock of corn – I couldn’t see where it came from so just yelled…. “I am fine!”  he he

Makes me feel pretty famous – even if it is just because I’m white!  Doh

  

 Man with basket

 Close up of goat in basket!

 donkey pulling couch!

Tree of vultures!  scary

The precious baby

One of the worst experiences of my medical life. 

This happened about a month ago – but I couldn't bring myself to put it down on paper due to the hurt and tears it caused me.  It is a good representation of the difficulties we face here.

A mum bought in her child to me…. 6 days old….born with no problems..  however day 4 of birth the babies skin started peeling off.  Literally the whole epidermis was peeling leaving red raw areas exposed.  There were also areas of superficial infection on the raw areas, and it looked a bit greenish.  The baby had slightly decreased feeding but was otherwise alert and vigourous.  When I saw the baby I thought the baby looked in pain, so decided to treat it with pain relief, some very strong IV antibiotics to get rid of the infection, regular feeding, and treat it like a burn; wrapping to keep warm, dressing, and IV fluids because it was losing fluid through the loss of its skin.

The next day I came in – more of the skin had come off including the babies hands and finger nails which looked like loose gloves.  The baby was making a constant whimpering sound which seemed like the baby was in extreme pain.  Oh even as I think of the sound it makes my heart cry.

I charted the baby a tiny whiff of morphine so the nurses could do some dressing changes…. After about half an hour the nurse ran to my room to say I urgently needed to come.  I arrived the baby was blue …. Blue…. Not breathing, heart rate about 20.  So I called for help and started CPR (thank god for my Advanced Paed Life Support training!).  It was the scariest thing I have ever done – anyway after a period of time of mouth to mouth and some oxygen the baby came back. 

Anyway the baby was placed on oxygen and I sat with her all day.  She continued to have these blue spells where her heart rate dropped and she needed CPR all day. She had overwhelming sepsis from the secondary skin infection that meant she needed support to maintain her physiology.

The fourth time she stopped breathing her heart rate no longer dropped she just kept having long spells where she couldn't initiate a breath....she could go 15 mins or longer without a breath, when this happened we would push the oxygen through a bag and mask, which would start a breath again.  She remained on oxygen which was helping her and then……………suddenly …….the oxygen ran out…….. and there was none in the whole hospital.

I looked at the other doctor who was with me and my eyes welled up – surely she is not going to die because we ran out of oxygen!  He got into action and started bagging her (which means a mask and a bag attached – so essentially we were pumping in air which has less oxygen in it).  The pressure of the bagging of air maintained her heart rate and we continued like this, one by one, for about an hour.  Until finally she started breathing by herself. 

Rightio – this is about 5 hours later and she was finally stable enough to be sent by ambulance to the Regional Hospital where they had oxygen. Called the ambulance….”oh sorry doc the ambulance, it’s travelled for servicing”…… called ambulance number two….”sorry doc it is not running today…”  WHAT!

When finally we found an ambulance that was running from the Regional Hospital, and it arrived quickly...but without oxygen and sirens!  "doc the sirens have spoiled"... sigh... ok I will take it in my stride.   I sat in the back with the 6 day old baby and watched her constantly, while the ambulance was beeping it's horn trying to get bicycles, goats, pigs, cars out of it's way.

Nearly at the hospital... baby stopped breathing, turned grey and I couldn't even hear a heart rate with my stethascope.... argh ....started CPR and continued it until we arrived at the maternity area of the hospital.  Now, when I got there the baby was still not breathing so I ran with this limp doll in my arms - up the corridor, around the corner, up another corridor .....(where the hell am I!!!!!) until I finally reached maternity.  I kept with the cardiac compressions and mouth to mouth when I found a bed and kept yelling "HELP!".

The midwives found me and directed me to an area where the ladies give birth, and I started bagmasking the baby until she pinked up.

NOW..... we are here at the Regional Hospital, it's 6pm and the baby is still alive and on oxygen... whew!  

BUT....... where is the doctor?  Apparently it's protocol to arrive at outpatients department and see them there.  Oh well I thought, I will go down to the OPD and discuss the emergency situation with the doctor on call.  Walked all the way there (approx 500m) and found the consulting room.  I introduced myself, and explained the situation, and that he needed to come immediately to assess this baby.  Anyway, he said NO, he said he was not going to attend to the baby and that he wanted to finish off the 'well' patients  who were waiting.  WHAT???  I then asked him his name, and if he was a medical assistant (which he was), told him he was making a grave mistake because this baby is going to die, and walked out.  As soon as that door slammed behind me....I balled!  I couldn't believe it that the one person consulting would not attend to this baby....AND it turns out he was the only doctor in this useless hospital!  (all the cuban doctors that work here had gone away on a conference!).

I was then stunned.... what do I do???  I walked to the paediatric department where I knew a nurse who was working and stood there crying.... in front of all the nurses.... what do I do??? The nurses just stared in disbelief... a white doctor crying for a local baby...

Luckily though the nurses where empathetic enough to call in one of the doctors who was on call and at home, which is totally not allowed, it is meant to be the Medical Assistant who calls them in.  He kindly agreed to come in, so I waited for him to arrive.  Whilst waiting the nurses were wonderful enough to move the baby to ICU (a bear room with oxygen...that's pretty much it), the baby had one more episode of cardiac arrest which we managed with bagging, but became stable on the oxygen until the doctor arrived.

About 8pm, exhausted I went home, and cried and cried......cried with frustration of the lack of caring of the MA.... cried for this baby who would have died if I hadn't been a boshie whitey..... cried because we ran out of oxygen..... cried because doing CPR on this baby felt as if I was holding a limp grey doll in my hands....

Next day I heard the baby had started taking NG feeds of expressed breast milk and was stable, I felt relief but also a degree of numbness.

.....sadly the baby died two days later.  All I know is the feedback from the midwives, apparently it was a technical difficulty in ICU.....something to do with the oxygen.....sigh

Some photos :)