We are in the tail end of our trip now, quite unbelivably. Week One just flew by (as on wings of an eagle... ::snort::) and Week Two... well, it didn't fly by. It was more like trudging through deep mud (or flying dust) with a heavy pack on, growing blisters on your pinky toes, and developing a strong dislike towards rice, and just when you were about to grab a sunflower and stangle yourself with it... it was Week Three.
Our second village, Rombo, was... less than ideal. The trip got off to a rocky start (literally) as we crammed into a small van - called Rasta Baby - and took a bumpy, dusty, bumpy ride for a few hours to a Lutheran Hostel. The Hostel itself was innocuous enough, but it was apparently built adjacent to the LOUDEST spot in Tanzania. Dogs and blaring music and trucks and roosters and loud men and buzzing mosquitoes. All conspired to make Rombo a very difficult place to get a good night's sleep.
We did two triage days in Rombo, on the assumption that there would not be many people who would actually want help from a clinic. The triage days weren't horrible, other than the dirt and dust. I've never, ever, ever been so dirty in my life. And the shower was... well. More like a drippy spout than an actual shower.
The neatest thing about Rombo were all the cornfields and sunflowers. They're all growing together in total harmony. Everywhere. I love sunflowers. I tried to focus on that, instead of my hot and sweatiness.
Clinic Day in Rombo was... well, a day to remember. That day will go down in history for me as an example to compare things to. A bar that cannot be topped. As in, "Oh, goodness, look at all the patients waiting! Well, at least it isn't Rombo." I won't go into too much detail, except to say that we had 1 doctor, 1 optometrist, 2 med students, 9 pre-meds and 7 translators for 706 patients. Seven hundred and six. Oh, and I didn't get a translator that day. I and another team member did all of our patient histories in Swahili. Yeah. Swa. Hi. Li.
We left Rombo with no love lost. Our next stop was into Ma'asai land - a village called Faraja. We were housed at a beautiful place - the Lutheran Diaconic Center. Still don't really know what that means... something to do with deacons. And possibly disabled children... They like to give a lot of speeches at the Diaconic Center. They kept making me try to talk (because I'm the 'leader'), but I kept making someone else do it. Hee hee. Me no likey speeches.
Ma'asai Land was pretty cool. The Ma'asai people are very distinctive - tall warriors who have been very adamant about maintaining their traditions. They wear bright purples and reds and are very tall and carry spears or sticks. And they have the big holes in their ears. Nifty.
Today was our last clinic day. We saw 266 patients, so it wasn't bad at all. No Rombo, anyway.
I feel good about the work we've done here, but also frustrated. So much of it is so temporal - we can treat people for parasites, but if they take their medicine with contaminated water (which most of them will), what good is it really doing? I have to believe that we're helping to build a basis of trust in the medical profession and a desire for access to care that will carry on into future generations. That makes it seem better.
We're all done with the medical portion of the trip now. Before coming here, I thought that only 9 days of medical stuff would seem wimpy. I've completely changed my mind. We are all so very much ready for some vacation. Our Safari starts tomorrow! We get two days of safari - first at Lake Manyara National Park and second at Ngorongoro Crater. Then, we get a shopping day! Then, a day to relax and pack, and after that, it is time to go home.
We have a good group here. We've managed to grow close, as only a group that has intimate knowledge of each others bowel movements can. I definitely feel my age - besides Rebecca, the next oldest person is more than two years younger. It is fun to impart my (vast, unfathomable) wisdom. Of course, I think they stopped listening a week or two ago...
Oh - yesterday, my group consisted of me, the Morman in our group, and the model. I felt like we were a walking joke. Can't think of the punchline, though.
I hope everyone is staying safe back home. I probably won't blog again until I'm in Portland. I might though. Gotta keep the suspense up...
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