Travels with my Stethoscope .

Wednesday June 12^th 2013

Arrived in Juba yesterday, after a perfectly acceptable flight to Nairobi, a very nice flight to Juba, and a scrum at the airport to be allowed in. I had been warned, and thank goodness for that, because if I had no clue as to what I had to do, it would have been bewildering to say the least. Juba airport is the perfect example of the “tin shack” that travellers beguile listeners with when telling  their intrepid tales. It is hot, dusty, noisy, and sits next to a part completed much larger stone building that, apparently, is to be the new airport, when it is ever decided who hasn’t run off with the cash (again). There is no indication of what it is you need to do to be allowed through the wooden archway that leads to Juba itself. There is a dusty glass fronted box, in which 4 uniformed officials sit, and in front of which there are 6 or seven “queues” of passport waving nationals, and confused looking non-nationals. The idea is you give your passport, entry permit, and a crisp $100 bill (no marks, no earlier than 2006, it is carefully examined)to the guard on the left, who nods curtly at you, and mutters something that could be “move to the right hand window”. After fighting your way to the right hand window, you then wait an hour or so for your passport, and carefully handwritten receipt for your  $100, to be examined by the official on the right, who fills in another piece of paper, and hands it to the official on his left. Once it gets to the top of HIS pile, your name is called out (I usually have to listen really carefully at this point as no-one can ever pronounce my surname – it is usually something like “AAW-ES”), you are fingerprinted, and granted entry for a month. Phew. After having your bags opened, checked for goodness knows what, and marked with a bit of chalk, you are finally allowed through the hallowed wooden archway into Juba itself.

I have to say I was so tired that I hardly noticed the streets as we passed through, just a haze of dustiness. What I did notice, however, and which made my poor co-worker sigh in a resigned fashion, was that the sign on the clinic door read “closed Sunday’s”. Ooh that will have to be painted out ! I was shown to my little stone cottage on the compound where everyone who works here lives, which contains a double bed, air con, internet (patchy, but OK during the day), and a hot water shower in the bathroom – frankly a lot more than I was expecting....

First day at work today, and everyone has been so friendly and welcoming I feel completely at home already. Just getting to know the staff, and how everything and everyone fits together is going to take a few days, but so far I feel confident that it is all possible.....

Am off to bed now as I’m shattered, and was just about to pop my night shirt on, when I couldn’t find it.  I have been warned that the cleaning ladies will wash everything they can lay their hands on if you leave it lying about, and certainly my clothes from yesterday disappeared today, but I thought my shirt was safe, on the bed, by the pillow. Clearly not. I shall have to hide my second one somewhere safe in the morning , or I shall be sleeping in my uniform – I wonder if you lie in late, if they physically disrobe you from last night’s clothes.....