So I've been going to the hospital a couple times a day to check on the girls there and yesterday one of the mothers told me more about herself. She is an orphan who is taking care of all her younger siblings. She has two children, one is four and one is two and a half. Her husband was killed in an accident when she was pregnant with the second.When she was younger she was advanced in school and was invited to study at an English speaking school here in Northern Uganda. She got to the end of primary school (about the age of 13 or 14 probably. But then had her first daughter and had to leave school. Here's the other thing, secondary school is way more expensive than primary and most people can not afford it. It is 270,000 a year. The equivelant of $142.11. Which, in the villages, is unheard of.
There was a man from Italy who had agreed to pay for her and her brothers to finish their schooling (which goes up to about age 20). He was willing to support them (I believe that both she and her brothers are rather intelligent) but right before he did, he was killed by the LRA. They got nothing. Josephine would like to go to vocational school (which costs less than $120/year) so she can at least learn tailoring and make some money for them. She seemed to say that she would like to go back to secondary but doesn't have the money to even consider it.
Here's the thing that amazed me, with everything that she said she expressed how much faith she has in God. "God didn't will for my husband to stay with us." "God took away my parents but didn't abandon us." "The man who was going to pay wasn't chosen by God to be able to help us." "I wake up and if God wills, I will find work for the day and will eat; if not - I will wait until the next day and see if it's in His plan for me to get work." "Maybe someday God will provide a way to go to school, but if not now, that is going to be okay." I can't even imagine not being bitter about everything that has happened to her but she has absolutely complete faith that God is on her side.
What an amazing human being.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
haha
The girls here are all trying to convince me to meet their brothers so that I can get married to a Ugandan and move into their villages.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
African Hospital
I didn't have enough battery power to write about last night in my earlier entry so I will discuss it now. At about 5:30 last night, Barbara (my supervisor) was informed that 5 of the children were really sick. We needed to take them to the hospital (as there aren't any doctors offices or anything here). I've experienced some pretty sketch hospitals in my life. But I've never experienced an African hospital.
While everything else here isn't at all like the African stereotypes you may assume, the hospital is. It's made of a bunch of different small one story buildings. The cement paths between them are broken, uneven or not even there. They are lined with people. People sleeping, eating, or just laying there. Inside and outside the floor is covered in urine and nobody is there to clean it up. You must have a family member with the patient at all times because there is no one to help them if you leave. You must feed the patient with food that you bring in, provide them with water, provide them with mosquito nets, and do basically everything for them.
There are a couple wards: the woman's ward, men's ward, children's ward, TB ward, surgical ward and the private ward. A ward constitutes one big room with about 40 narrow beds that are about 2 feet from each other. In order to be seen you go to the entrance of your respective ward.
So we took the kids and their mothers to the children's ward. The wait to be seen by what I guess would be our "triage" was about 50 people deep. All were mothers with their kids in their arms. There were no chairs and there was no orderly line. Barbra somehow worked her magic and got some nurse who was just getting off duty to agree to evaluate our kids. So I stood in the room (hidden because some guy from the psych ward kept following me) where this nurse was. As the other mothers saw that we were being helped they all wanted to get into the room too and my job was to make sure she saw our kids first. I felt like such a jerk pulling our girls in front of these other mothers whose children were just as sick but that was what the nurse and Barbra expected me to do.
So after they took their temperatures and such we had to split, some had to get lab tests and some had to wait for medicine. One of the girls handed me her baby (it was her 2 year old that was sick, not the 2 month old). So for a couple hours I felt like I had my own child. (And I love black babies so I was happy). The place was crazy and so unorganized. They kept no record of their patients except for some notes in a notebook that the patient had to bring and keep with them. Crazy. So after a while I went back to the girl that was just waiting for medications. She was still in the cramped, pee filled hallway. She told me they hadn't given her anything yet. Of course not. They had no record she was even there apart from the notebook that was still in her hand.
So for the first time in my entire life I feel like I used my skin color to get something done. I hate to even put this in writing because I know it's going to come off wrong but here it goes... I walked into the room with the doctor (which was stuffed with mothers wanting him to look at their children). I put the notebook on his desk and said "this child's mother has been waiting for these medications for her extremely sick child, can you please help me find them for her." Without second thoughts he got up and found the medications. I hate it because he wouldn't have done that for us if she were the one to go in and ask but because I'm such a foreigner they assume I have money and/or power or something and will go out of their way to help me
Three girls got to leave late last night and two more are still there with their kids. Thankfully the New Life Center is paying for them to have a private room. Which, as nice as it sounds, means only that the two moms and children share a 6foot by 4foot room with one bed, obviously no air conditioning and broken windows instead of being in the big children's ward. I guess that's something. We've been bringing them food and water from here.
So yeah, that's my African hospital story.
Funny thing is, as horrible as it was, I don't think I'd mind working at a place like that at some point.
While everything else here isn't at all like the African stereotypes you may assume, the hospital is. It's made of a bunch of different small one story buildings. The cement paths between them are broken, uneven or not even there. They are lined with people. People sleeping, eating, or just laying there. Inside and outside the floor is covered in urine and nobody is there to clean it up. You must have a family member with the patient at all times because there is no one to help them if you leave. You must feed the patient with food that you bring in, provide them with water, provide them with mosquito nets, and do basically everything for them.
There are a couple wards: the woman's ward, men's ward, children's ward, TB ward, surgical ward and the private ward. A ward constitutes one big room with about 40 narrow beds that are about 2 feet from each other. In order to be seen you go to the entrance of your respective ward.
So we took the kids and their mothers to the children's ward. The wait to be seen by what I guess would be our "triage" was about 50 people deep. All were mothers with their kids in their arms. There were no chairs and there was no orderly line. Barbra somehow worked her magic and got some nurse who was just getting off duty to agree to evaluate our kids. So I stood in the room (hidden because some guy from the psych ward kept following me) where this nurse was. As the other mothers saw that we were being helped they all wanted to get into the room too and my job was to make sure she saw our kids first. I felt like such a jerk pulling our girls in front of these other mothers whose children were just as sick but that was what the nurse and Barbra expected me to do.
So after they took their temperatures and such we had to split, some had to get lab tests and some had to wait for medicine. One of the girls handed me her baby (it was her 2 year old that was sick, not the 2 month old). So for a couple hours I felt like I had my own child. (And I love black babies so I was happy). The place was crazy and so unorganized. They kept no record of their patients except for some notes in a notebook that the patient had to bring and keep with them. Crazy. So after a while I went back to the girl that was just waiting for medications. She was still in the cramped, pee filled hallway. She told me they hadn't given her anything yet. Of course not. They had no record she was even there apart from the notebook that was still in her hand.
So for the first time in my entire life I feel like I used my skin color to get something done. I hate to even put this in writing because I know it's going to come off wrong but here it goes... I walked into the room with the doctor (which was stuffed with mothers wanting him to look at their children). I put the notebook on his desk and said "this child's mother has been waiting for these medications for her extremely sick child, can you please help me find them for her." Without second thoughts he got up and found the medications. I hate it because he wouldn't have done that for us if she were the one to go in and ask but because I'm such a foreigner they assume I have money and/or power or something and will go out of their way to help me
Three girls got to leave late last night and two more are still there with their kids. Thankfully the New Life Center is paying for them to have a private room. Which, as nice as it sounds, means only that the two moms and children share a 6foot by 4foot room with one bed, obviously no air conditioning and broken windows instead of being in the big children's ward. I guess that's something. We've been bringing them food and water from here.
So yeah, that's my African hospital story.
Funny thing is, as horrible as it was, I don't think I'd mind working at a place like that at some point.
Can you just leave a place like this?
Yesterday was intense.
I met with one of the girls to do this evaluation that we're working on. The questions range from if they have any income to how they have been abused. She told me a bit of her story. How her dad abandoned her and her mother was killed. How she has 5 younger siblings to take care of. How she lives with her uncle who doesn't want them. How she has no means of income. How she has a 6 month old daughter whose father ran from them. How she has no money to feed or clothe herself or the other children. How she never feels joy, has suicidal thoughts, can not sleep, is not accepted by her community and how she feels that things will never get better. As she sat with me, crying and holding her beautiful daughter, I realized how ridiculous it is that I am going to leave here, to go back to my plush life, to go back to parents, food, a house, an education and more while these girls leave here and go back to nothing. Go back to struggling just to get by. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to adjust back. I feel invested here and I hate thinking about just up and leaving these girls to their difficulties while I get to go back to comforts these girls can't even imagine.
I want to save them all, to pay the small amount it would cost to feed them for a year, to do something. I don't know what though. What will help someone without hindering their motivation to work. I could give money, but will that help the problem or just cover it up or delay it?? I had read Acts 3:1-10 yesterday morning and was thinking about how it's easier to throw money at a situation but that by doing so you are really just delaying fixing the problem. Just allowing the person to live to the next day. I want to do something. I want to change it, fix it. But it's not that easy and that sucks.
I met with one of the girls to do this evaluation that we're working on. The questions range from if they have any income to how they have been abused. She told me a bit of her story. How her dad abandoned her and her mother was killed. How she has 5 younger siblings to take care of. How she lives with her uncle who doesn't want them. How she has no means of income. How she has a 6 month old daughter whose father ran from them. How she has no money to feed or clothe herself or the other children. How she never feels joy, has suicidal thoughts, can not sleep, is not accepted by her community and how she feels that things will never get better. As she sat with me, crying and holding her beautiful daughter, I realized how ridiculous it is that I am going to leave here, to go back to my plush life, to go back to parents, food, a house, an education and more while these girls leave here and go back to nothing. Go back to struggling just to get by. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to adjust back. I feel invested here and I hate thinking about just up and leaving these girls to their difficulties while I get to go back to comforts these girls can't even imagine.
I want to save them all, to pay the small amount it would cost to feed them for a year, to do something. I don't know what though. What will help someone without hindering their motivation to work. I could give money, but will that help the problem or just cover it up or delay it?? I had read Acts 3:1-10 yesterday morning and was thinking about how it's easier to throw money at a situation but that by doing so you are really just delaying fixing the problem. Just allowing the person to live to the next day. I want to do something. I want to change it, fix it. But it's not that easy and that sucks.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Busted Internet
Once upon a time, I was sitting in my office when I heard some funny noises and smelt some funny smells. And then heard a loud pop. And realized that the generator was not happy. Then the internet box blew. Sorry I haven't been on!
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