Off of the Grid: August 2012

It began like any other night. The sun was setting over the mountains like a runny Spanish omelet on a cheap diner plate. I was alone. Well, as alone as one can be in Rwanda. I had just finished eating my supper, rice and wild mushrooms (delicious, but also a gamble every time you eat them…one of these days I’m probably going to ingest a poisonous one). After supper I decided to walk over to my Health Center to use the internet. Thanks to a grant from Partners in Health, we have WiFi all over the center. It’s not exactly high speed, but really I’ll take what I can get. The strongest signal can be found in the waiting room, which usually means you’ll have a small crowd gathered around you to see what you are doing. On this particular night I could see from out my window that the lobby and waiting room were empty, prime time to use the WiFi! I began locking my doors and heading down the hill.

Now, somewhere along the way, the power went out. Living here in Rwanda I’ve realized there’s a big difference between ‘having power’ and having power. For example, I ‘have power’ in the sense that there’s a light bulb in my bedroom as well as a [single] electrical outlet to charge my things. But, that doesn’t necessarily mean that I have power, because really it’s out about 50% of the time. When the power goes out at night, it’s dark. Very dark. Because of this I’ve become accustomed to always carrying around a small flashlight in my pocket so that I can see where I’m going. As soon as I saw the lights die, I began fishing around in my pocket for my flashlight when...WHACK! I had tripped in one of the water drainage ditches that run around the health center (a necessity when living on the side of a mountain) and hit my head on a brick wall.

I was a little dizzy, and without my glasses (god knows where they flew) I couldn’t exactly see what was going on, but when I went to pick up my computer case I saw that it was a bloody mess. As were my pants and shirt. Not sure if the blood was coming from me I put my hand up to my forehead and…yup it was me alright. A little scared I then remembered that I’m at a freaking health center! I began walking down the corridor to the on call room hoping to maybe get a band aid and be on my way. As I began walking the blood was shooting out of me like old faithful and I came to the realization that I may be needing more than just a little gauze. Upon reaching the duty nurse’s office I saw that she was with a patient but nothing could stop me at the point, I busted open the door with all of my force and then realized I had no idea what to say; I simply pointed my tiny flashlight at whatever was going on up on my head and much to my dismay I got a ‘ya baba we!’ {oh my god!} from both the nurse and the patient! They quickly cleared off the stool that was stacked mile high with papers and began putting gauze on my forehead.

Now, maybe I suffered a mild concussion, or maybe I was just a little scared, but in that moment I couldn’t speak a word of Kinyarwanda. Or French. Or Swahili, or any of the languages swimming around in my head right now. Another nurse entered and they were checking out my head and then motioned for me to go lay on the bed, the next thing I know they were whispering to each other and I distinctly heard the word kudoda {verb:to sew}. I realized I needed stitches, but I could remember our Peace Corps doctor’s stern warning to never use the local Health Centers for medical care, and so I immediately pulled out my phone and called him. The nurse looked at me like I was crazy, making a social call at a time like this!

Hello, he said. Dr. Elite I’ve fallen and busted my head and now I’m here in the Health Center and I can’t speak Kinyarwanda and I think I need stitches and they showed me in the mirror and it looks bad and I’m scared and I think I want you to talk to them and maybe tell them what I should do I just don’t know, I say. Okay give her the phone, he says. [brief interlude where they talk in rapid Kinyarwanda, then, phone is handed back to me] Okay Ian, it looks like since you are so far away from me we’re just going to go ahead and let her give you the stitches, but I should warn you that these are really bad stitches and there’s a possibility you’re going to have a big scar. Good night, and good luck!

Not exactly comforted by his words they laid me down on the table and began cleaning out the wound. Keep in mind the power is still out and so she put the flashlight in her mouth, bit down on it, and began sewing me up. Now, without any kind of numbing or pain killers I’m not afraid to say that I began crying like a little baby. It HURT! But survived, and after washing all the blood of my face (head wounds bleed like crazy!) I realized it really doesn’t look all that bad at all. I also feel stupid for crying, because everyone here survived a genocide and I was scared about a few stitches. But it was a pretty horrible experience and I think I’m going to start following my roommate’s advice from this morning to watch where I’m going (what kind of advice is that?!) because I don’t want any more incidents.

and now for something completely different

I’ve been at site for just over a month now and so far (last night aside), everything has been going really well. Before we left training we were assigned with drawing up a plan for our initial three months, a blueprint for integrating at site. While glancing over the plan yesterday I realize that I’ve already accomplished a large portion of the things that I had wanted to. Since being here I’ve successfully gotten my home in order, gotten aquainted with everyone working at the Health Center, met and spoken with dozens of community health workers, introduced myself to local officials, and met with NGOs working in the area. Miranda, another volunteer in Kirehe district, and I have also arranged a meet and greet with hospital staff in the provincial capitol. We are looking forward to meeting with them and building a relationship over the next two years.

So things are looking up…but maybe from now on I should start looking down more often. You know, to see where I’m going.

The past two weeks I've been busy helping with with Community Health Worker training at my site. Community Health Workers (or abajyanama b'ubuzima in Kinyarwanda, try saying that ten times fast!) are locally picked volunteers who work in their respective communities promoting health, passing out meds when needed, checking in on HIV+ patients, etc. The list is endless, and since the program began almost 7 years ago there has been a dramatic decline in the number of deaths reported.

This training was specific to the maternal specialists. They are responsible for checking in on pregnant women living in their umudugudu {village} and checking their progress, giving them advice, and encouraging them to visit the Health Center for prenatal care. It was an interesting few weeks and I too learned a lot. Some topics covered: breast feeding (I've seen lots of boobs here, all I'm saying), checking newborns' pulses and breathing for irregularities, weighing said newborns, and of course, the always important how to properly fill out le fiche {the mother's medical record}. Though the training was certainly interesting, it was also pretty boring most of the time, I was crammed into a tiny wooden bench along with a bunch of ladies, and the classroom we were using (the students are on summer break too) was so hot I could barely breathe. Not sure how any learning goes on there in the afternoon! The experience was good, but I'm ready to get back to work at the Health Center next week.

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