Monday 1st July 2013

I’m gradually settling into life here. Daily I meet the widest range of people I would ever hope to meet – the slightly mad Australian  psychiatrist professor with the self confessed anxiety, who insists on calling me “Alexander”, the 7 foot tall South Sudanese minister for something important, with the most beautiful voice, the hard working and hard playing South African miners who are our neighbours, and are to a man, polite, funny, and ever so slightly crazy. There is a theme here....

Last week I went to a leaving party for the miners, who are all going home as it’s coming into rainy season, and they can’t work. They’ll all be back in 2 months, but for now they were singing, cooking the most wonderful BBQ’d meat, and inviting me into their free bar. They live on the compound next door, and welcomed me with open arms, kindness and gin. (There is also a theme here don’t you think???)

So much so that one of their number, who has only one leg due to a landmine incident, professed undying love for me (bearing in mind that there were only 2 women there, my boss, and me ), then promptly fell over. Few too many whiskeys....we “nursed” him into a low chair that he couldn’t get out of, and left them all singing along to Culture Club and Bronski Beat .....really....

Work-wise, it’s certainly a steep learning curve. Being Head of Clinic, and managing staff is not such a jump from my previous job, but I’m currently buried under purchasing/ordering/stocking..... There were several “fillers in “ before I got here, each with their different systems, some with none, and I spent Sunday’s on-call (mercifully no patients) unceremoniously “filing “ 2 years worth of stuff into a plastic bag and starting again. I’m consoling myself with the thought that at least I will know what I’m doing. The poor deputy head, on his return from leave in the UK, will, however, not have a clue where anything is – I fear I’m making a rod for my own back...

One of my jobs is the “Pharmacy Run”. This involves getting my patient Kenyan driver, Okello, to drive me round all the pharmacies in town to try and find drugs that we have run out of. Now this is a perilous endeavour, not for personal safety reasons (I’m getting to know them all, so It’s actually quite good fun), but simply because you have to check every drug to see where it’s made (China – don’t buy, Arabic – be deeply suspicious, Kenya – probably OK ). This is to do with the vast amount of counterfeit drugs for sale. Pretty pointless to get a drug cheaply, and then find out it’s chalk. Occasionally you have to ask them to show you a pill, then crush it, to see how easily it disintegrates. A lot of the drugs are near to expiry, hence being sold on in bulk, so you have to check every expiry date – if you’re not going to use it quickly, no point in buying. All of this is new to me, along with exactly how much we use of everything and the fact that I only find out that something has run out when it’s gone (bit like putting an empty carton of milk back in the fridge). Why don’t we have a system ?  We do, but again, it’s not perfect and I’m still wrapping my brain round it.  The nice thing about these “runs” is you get to talk to local people, have a bit of a laugh, and in one pharmacy, watch the most awful Nigerian soap opera (in English) on the ubiquitous TV that sits in the corner of every shop that has walls. It’s over the top, over-acted, and very funny. I’m sure it’s not meant to be....

You do get to see some odd sights on these runs though – today I saw a “Boda Boda” driver (motorbike taxis, who are constantly being run over) driving down the road with his motorbike encased in bubble wrap. He, of course, was not even wearing a helmet. A sign for “Big Boyz” (that one for Brighton folk) and an old lady, her face shrunken like a little old prune, wearing a baby’s cap on her head to ward off the sun – made of wool.

Tonight I went to Yoga. I’m not a stranger to yoga, having practised a few times on and off over the years, but this is YOGA. 2 hours of contortions, standing on one leg, twisting yourself inside out , and it’s really tricky. Last week we were in the very posh EU compound, in a little air conditioned hall, but tonight we were on a rooftop. A flat one, obviously – heaven knows it doesn’t need to be any more difficult that it is . On the rooftop was what appeared to be the whole staff of Marie Stopes International, The International Red Cross, and several assorted other NGO’s, all stretching the fatigue and the stress away under a clear night sky.  As we lay down for a particularly tricky pose, (it was dark by now), I saw a shooting star – honestly the first one I have ever seen. Down below the streets had become alive with music, tooting horns, laughter. I could see the fledgling city stretching out to the foothills of the Jebel Kujur ( the hills in the distance), half built buildings silhouetted against the clear, starry sky, and for the first time since I arrived, I appreciated that I was part of a  living, breathing,entity. Hidden behind rolls of barbed wire and travelling by car everywhere you miss it.

 But there it was, and I liked it.