Sounds of Mbingo
There is still the sound of falling rain on the zinc roof – not so often now as dry season approaches, but since Thursday evening, we have had a couple of short downpours (the sort when you can’t hear anything BUT the pounding on the roof) and some long gentle rains too. Earlier in the week, we went 4 days without rain, and with the hot sun, and the light soil, the garden and flowerbeds were dry in no time. Gideon and I carried many, many buckets of water (I felt like a real village woman) – I hope before the next dry days that we will finally get a hose sent out from Bamenda. On the other hand, it will be nice to let the house dry out some. I spent part of Saturday morning scrubbing 5 grass mats that have been on my floors for less than 2 weeks – and were covered with black mold! The concrete is going to take all the months of dry season just to finally dry out.
There is the sound of crying and wailing and singing in the night. A couple of nights ago, I wakened about 4am, and someone had obviously died and the relatives were mourning. I am somewhat protected in theatre from death – we do have the occasional one there, but nothing like on the medical wards. There, so many of the patients have AIDS and resulting complications, and death is an everyday event. The man who does the stonework here, Pa Amos, a very gentle kind man, just lost his 18 year old daughter. I remember her coming through theatre for a biopsy of an ugly big tumour on her shoulder, a sarcoma probably – and the poor kid was dead within a couple of weeks. There is so much sorrow here. For Pa, he not only lost the child, but now is burdened with a bill that will take him years and years to pay.
We do have the sound of crying in theatre too though. On Thursday, my students and I had just come back to OR after our morning of classes when a woman was pushed in on a stretcher. She had just been brought to the hospital from a motor vehicle accident. She had a terrible gash that lifted most of her forehead, and a few other smaller facial lacerations, and a broken forearm. But she had no life-threatening injuries. We heard the next day that she was the only survivor of a terrible accident between here and Bamenda. The vehicle she was in, either a van or a bus, hit a big truck, and 18 people died. No wonder people always ask for prayer when they have to travel in this country.
This week there was the sound of many vehicles coming to the hospital – many with patients and visitors of course, but also bringing an influx of expat visitors. An anaesthetist, a surgeon, and an orthopod, plus wives, all from the USA, arrived this week. The expat population is very high now – I have lost count. It is nice to have people come to help. It is also a bit of a job to integrate them, especially when the visit is only for a couple of weeks or so. We struggle to get by when we are on our usual routine; I wonder how many of them feel we aren’t utilizing them very well, after all their effort an expense of getting out here, and it’s true, often we aren’t. John Mbah as head OR nurse does a great job with all these people who pass through the OR each year, but there is no question, it takes skill and organizing and graciousness. I’m glad it is his job and not mine!
There is the sound of greetings – always, everywhere! Greeting is one of the central facets of life here. On Thursday evening, I was invited to the home of the most senior chaplain here at the hospital, who is also my neighbour in Middle Quarter. He is a very nice gentleman, the father of one of our nurse anaesthetists. His wife speaks only their own dialect, so she and the daughter and daughter-in-law had eaten on their own, and another young Canadian girl and myself ate with Pastor. It was the usual fufu corn and njamma njamma – very nice. It is just that there is SO much, and one is expected to get through it all. I am always defeated, and come home feeling absolutely stuffed. The ladies joined us after we’d eaten, along with 2 beautiful grandsons, one 8 months and the other just 10 days. We held the babies and played with the older, and it was a lovely evening. It is a touching part of this society that they see it as an honour to be visited – whereas we see the honour more in being invited to another’s home.
There is still the sound of the grasshopper hunt! Down at the yardlight not too far from my house, the kids congregate for several hours in the evening, and they are still shouting and hunting when I fall asleep. Fortunately the season only lasts 3 weeks or less.
This week there were lots of sounds of “jubiliating” as Obama won the US election. Many of the fellows in OR stayed up all or most of Tuesday night to listen to the results. People here are very aware of the importance to all the world of what happens in the US. Most of them were backing Obama; they were delighted when Kenya declared a public holiday. They are also very interested in how an election is held in a democracy, since, although they have elections here, they have never been part of one that was not hopelessly corrupt.
There is the sound of complaint. We are terribly short of nurses in OR. Three have moved elsewhere, and now one is on leave, and with no replacements, we do not have a scrub and a circulator to cover the 3 rooms that we have cases to fill. So the anaesthetists are helping to fill in (it’s universal!!!) – David, one of the nurse anaesthetists kindly offered to scrub one day last week. The guys are able to do this, because they have all worked for years in theatre and have done all the jobs in past. This led to a lot of discussion during the case though. They are my friends now and tell me a lot of things about colonial attitudes that persist to the present, and other things that really irritate them. I can’t do much about any of it, but I am learning such a lot – my world is constantly being stretched.
And there was also the sound of much discussion this past week too, this time on a lighter note. My gang got talking about joint accounts for a married couple. It was really very funny – the girls thought it was the only way, a couple of the fellows were dead against it (neither is yet married). They always have their reasons, and the arguments are heated. Julius who is not married then began telling us a whole list of “advice” that he has been given over the years regarding how to conduct one’s marriage. It was just too funny. We are now calling him our “man of ideas”. The group are so much fun, and I enjoy them so much.
There is the sound of a new slogan in OR. We just seem to have had so many issues to deal with there in the past couple of weeks. Anaesthesia is easy, all this other stuff is hard work. John one morning came out with “Every situation is manageable!” and that has become our frequently repeated slogan when yet another problem arises. I have made it into a poster and it will now hang at the door of the OR. And almost certainly, the expression is going to be a frequent sound of the coming weeks as well, unless there is a drastic change in life here at Mbingo!!
And finally, there is the sound of thanksgiving. The 6 weeks or so around this time of year, at the end of the big growing season, are the time of thanksgiving in all the churches. Each Sunday, a different part of the community leads in the thanksgiving (giving the offering), often bringing produce like yams and corn and chickens and even a goat one week (he was tied outside the church and let his protestations be known through the whole service) – and these are auctioned off after the service. The whole congregation joins in the singing and clapping and dancing up the aisle to the offering container. This part of Africa is by no means the worst off – but neither do people here have a lot by our standards in the west. But they do know something about being grateful – and it is neat to be part of their thanksgiving season.
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