Wrinkled, swimming pool fingers typing away on a Sunday afternoon. Washing dishes is one of the many new skills we learn living the day to day here in Mwanza. Preparation: tub 1 with hot water, dish detergent and chlorine crystals, tub 2 with hot water and chlorine crystals, and tub 3 with more of the same. In the “man’s kitchen” Dan filters the flow of dirty dishes into tub one and assures that they get a good scrubbing. From there he goes for the no look pass I have come to expect. The soap suds are pulled in by tub 2 and the now virtually clean plate is dropped into tub 3 for the final step. Round three of chlorination takes care of the typhoid, salmonella, and whatever else may have otherwise been looking to hang on for the ride. Father’s day in Mwanza led Paula, the director here at Nyakato, to cook a feast not to be forgotten: eggplant parmesan, spaghetti, fresh baked bread, balsamic droplets in a puddle of olive oil, ice cream, and lemon cookies. The Tanzania everyone expected, right? Two days ago I even had pumpkin pie for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Here at Nyakato we are beyond lucky to be surrounded by amazing food, great weather, and wonderful people.
It’s Wednesday now. Internet went out last Sunday so the blog was put on hold, but now I am free to begin typing once again. Still wrinkled fingers, no worries. Just finished a stack of dishes again. Today is my miscellaneous day, a nice break in a strangely hectic drawl that equals life here. Each day comes to a close before one is ready for it. Stopping to think, though, I realize how much all the little quirks of living in Africa add up. Hanging clothes on the line to dry, soaking fruits and greens in chlorine water, waiting the flip of an hourglass for a webpage to load, charging electronics when the power is working, knocking shoes before slipping the feet in, doing dishes in three tubs, and warding off mosquitos, all while broiling away your energy under the inescapable steady stroll of the sun above… Every bit is worth it. It’s worth slowing yourself down and stepping away from the independent individualism of life at home.
There are currently ten medical students here (five from UNC, four from Mayo, and one from Iowa). The bulk of us live in the “bungalow” a nice two bedroom bunk-bed filled house with a kitchen, living room and a couple of bathrooms. We are constantly bumping into each other, but it works. In the clinic we rotate through a schedule that involves three lab positions (doing blood draws, measuring blood sugars, hemoglobins, and whatnot, conducting tests for malaria, typhoid, HIV, etc.), a couple rotations with doctors where we practice our physical exam skills and gain mostly tropical medicine knowledge, and finally triage and pharmacy. Aside from the clinic we occasionally outreach to local schools to give health presentations mainly focused on sexual health and STD’s because those are the topics most frequently requested.
Outside of the daily wanderings, one of the most memorable sights from our firs
t couple of weeks was a trip to Dr. Msengi’s dancing rocks. I wish you all could meet Dr. Msengi, one of the physicians we work with and the man who led us on our adventure. In three words he’s expressive, high-pitched, and old-fashioned. A one hour spine reorienting ride led us to what looked like a mountain of misshapen boulders rising behind a typical African village. Unfolding below the other side, however, was an amazing view of lush countryside, stone schoolhouses, and Lake Victoria. A whole afternoon could easily be spent on those rocks, a speck on the horizon. Whenever we can catch a free afternoon and are able to overcome the desire for shut eye, we venture on one of the multitude of splitting dirt paths leading us to either the village or the basketball courts. A trip to the village equals walking to the beat of a chorus of Swahili greetings from curious onlookers. Shouts of “Mzungu! Mzungu!” (Foreigner! Foreigner!) remind me of my morning walks in Ghana, where I for the first and potentially only time in my life was called a white person (Abruni! Abruni!) haha. A response in Swahili sometimes leads to the full test. If you can make it through all the greetings (Habari – Nzuri!, Mambo vipii – Poa!, Kazi – Kazi Nzuri) you are sure to get some very satisfied smiles and maybe even fall headfirst into a full out conversation you have no chance of keeping up with. Turning the corner into the village we come across the tailors who whip together African print scrubs in the matter of days, the cell phone shop for phone cards, and then our usual destination, a place we like to call pool bar. Basically, our one spot for a cold Coke and chance to watch some World Cup!
A stop by the basketball courts is usually motivated by our secret weapon and varsity athlete Jade. If she is successful at pulling at least three of us out of slumber we can usually represent. Although, I find it virtually impossible to hit anything on the humbling double rims, basketball is always fun and there is usually a good group of people welcoming us to play. The best memory was of thirteen year old Jeffrey from our first outing. After following through layup and shooting drills, we split into two teams with a couple subs. Sitting out at the beginning, I noticed little Jeffrey changing out of his shoes and pulling his polo over his head. Drills and no basketball? Jeffrey said he wasn’t aloud to play yet. The older guys owned the court and Jeffrey was still the little sibling. Not upset at all though, he smiled and watched. He said he would always come out for the drills, even if he couldn’t play in the games, because “Practice makes perfect.”
P.S. Since Priyanka and I are both here for the summer we thought we would include you on both of our writings. Read more about Nyakato and life in Tanzania here: http://priyankarao.blogspot.com
