Yes, another week in village life edition since they seem to be popular. The next one of these will probably be the last week in our village :(
Monday, 24 June: Toilet Inspections and Bread
I woke before dawn to hear Morsi, our biggest black rooster
crowing under a full moon. When
the first light came, all the other 15 chickens started chirping for food, and luckily
Scott got ou tin the cold to feed them all and I got a rare morning of sleeping
in until 7am under a warm blanket.
When I finally got out of the cozy cocoon, the outdoor
thermometer read 48 degrees farenheit, but I could see my breath in the cool
morning as I trudged across the street to check the neighbors’ goat milking
progress. These particular
neighbors had four female goats, all in the early stages of pregnancy, so they
weren’t milking yet. Two of the
more aggressive ones were bucking others off the stand, so I taught about
sensitization to people, putting on collars, and building a small house to
separate the kids when they are born.
I went back to do a little sweeping of our outside yard, but
Scott beat me to it—I was very grateful because outdoor sweeping is something a
Lunda man would never do. He spent
the rest of the morning going with the locals to find dry grass to repair our
garden fence. I decided to spend
the morning making bread, but because we were low on white flour, I used a
combination of local incredients to mix with the flour: mashed sweet potatoes,
soaked finger millet, and pounded fermented cassava flour. I crossed my fingers to see how it
would turn out!
I spent the rest of my morning and bought a local daily
calling plan so I didn’t use all of my pre-paid talk time to talk to people
from Peace Corps as well as counterparts at the district level to make plans
for the week. It took a good
morning in phone tag since typical Zambian cell phones don’t come with voice mail.
Lunch consisted of crackers and jam, and then I met Francis,
a community health worker who would help me conduct toilet inspections. Francis wasn’t there, but I found two
traditional birth attendants just outside of the local birthing house. One brought a woman from her local
village to the clinic to deliver and the birth had gone successfully at 8pm
last night, and another who walked 8+ miles of bush trails with two women from
her village for almost a week just to help them deliver in the clinic. The sick patients were lined up all the
way around the door, and both the in-charge nurse and paid employee were out,
so the clinic volunteer was doing the best he could do to triage the patients
without access to the pharmacy.
Finally the community health worker showed up and we walked
over the bridge across the river which was way down in dry season, less than a
foot deep. We saw women washing
dishes and children bathing as we walked up the hill on the other side of the
river. We started at the very edge
of his headman’s area and started asking various family compounds if we could
look at their toilets as part of a water and sanitation initiative. Those with a roof, a lid, and evidence
of ash with a latrine at least 2 meters deep would get a women’s or girls’
dress (handmade by my Aunt Joan)!
The pit latrine holes are dug with a handmade hoe or shovel, and are not
easy to dig, but if done right can last a family several seasons. A good thatch roof keeps out the rains
so the planks don’t deteriorate during the rainy season, risking someone to
fall in. The ash acts as a
disinfectant and to keep the smells down, and the cover keeps the flies
out. If the chimbushi (pit
latrine) is built correctly, the family has a lower chance of going in the bush
and infecting other households with potentially deadly diarrhea. Francis helped me explain to each
family leader that this is why we are giving rewards to those compounds that
have built a proper toilet. Out of
the 18 or so households we investigated, 5 (only some of the requirements) had
partial toilets and 6 had toilets with all the requirements . . . much better
than the 3/20 from yesterday.
Since Francis and I were both thirsty and parched from all the walking
in the sun, I bought him some bananas and we walked back to the clinic.
On my bike ride home from the clinic, I saw a huge bunch of
over 30 bananas and bought it for 3 kwacha (about 60 cents) because I knew we’d
be having Peace Corps visitors tomorrow.
Scott was out measuring a villagers’ pond, so I took a solar shower
while the outside air was still warm and sunny. My feet were so dirty from all the walking I had to scrub
them with a brush. The neighbor
kids came over asking to do their usual chores at 17:00 and I had two young
girls sweep out our outdoor kitchen and sweep a path in the dirt all the way to
our outdoor toilet before they got their stickers and pipe cleaners. I made a curry sauce with cabbage,
canned fish, and peanut butter.
The bread dough had risen, so I had confidence my experiment just might
turn out.
Scott came back just as I was putting the first loaf in a
cast iron pot over hot coals. Each
loaf took about an hour and we chatted with our neighbors Ryvus and Ryford as
we watched dusk turn to night and then the nearly full moon rise. They asked about how long it
takes for someone to reach the moon by spaceship, and we said we thought about
a week, although few people have done it and some have even died trying. We talked about which types of things
came from trees, and they were surprised and fascinated to learn that paper and
cardboard came from trees. They
also asked if someone wanted to get to America, how much money it would cost to
go there. We had to explain that
even if someone had a lot of money, they might not get into America since our
government has put restrictions on people coming in since the 9/11
attacks. They seemed to
understand, but it still seemed like a hard thing to say for being in a program
like Peace Corps where we’re supposed to share American values. When one of the loaves was done, I took
some hot bread to a different neighbor’s compound who were sitting around the
fire and they were all surprised and delighted.
Tuesday, 25 June: Peace Corps x3
I woke to our hens clucking for food, but not the rooster .
. . maybe he knew something was up.
I carefully let all the females and chicks out while Morsi stayed on the
cage. It was again cold enough to
see my breath and the thermometer registered 45 degrees. We didn’t have any goat-milking visits scheduled
this morning, so we could prepare for the Peace Corps cruiser visit. Scott gave our thirsty garden a deep
soaking with the leftover soapy water from the dishes and bathing.
The first Peace Corps cruiser rolled in around 8:30, which
was strange because we thought both of our visitors were coming in the same
cruiser between 11 and 12, so good thing I was home and not milking goats
somewhere. It was Dorothy from the
Peace Corps office, visiting everyone with Peace Corps grants. Since I had written a grant for the HIV
drama camp, she wanted to visit site to see follow-up from the program. Unfortunately, my good English-speaking
visitor who participated in the program was at the fields (Dorothy doesn’t
speak Lunda), but she did meet a newer Lunda speaker from our drama group. I showed her some pictures of the
programs, and we also talked about a livestock program we were running that was
started by a grant from a previous volunteer. She was interested in seeing our neighbors’ goat milking
cages/stands, and how they could be fabricated using bush materials. She was excited about the program and
encouraged volunteers from all provinces to attend this year’s livestock
training. She said the 2nd
cruiser with Scott’s visitor would be arriving sometime in the afternoon.
Scott and some neighborhood kids helped with the daunting
task of filling our large metal drum with water from the open well across the
road. The kids pulled the water up
with a jerrycan-turned-bucket attached to a heavily worn rope while Scott and I
took turns cycling buckets to the drum next to our garden. The water was an opaquely grey color
with little floaties in the top, so we use Chlorin to treat it before using as
bath or dishwater. Luckily there
is a spring about 1km away where we can fetch our drinking water. For their efforts, the children
received gummy bear vitamins. The
second morning chore involved making chicken-manure tea . . . if it sounds
gross, that’s because it is. You
take dried manure and put it in a breathable maize sack, soak the sack in a
covered bucket of water for 4-7 days, and voila, you get terrible-smelling
organic fertilizer for your garden.
I did one application last week and the plants really liked it, so I
thought I’d start another one. Tan,
the English-speaking drama-group leader came by later to apologize that he
“missed” Peace Corps, but I explained they came much earlier than
expected. I shared the photos and
an action plan for future HIV education events in our village.
We had a quick lunch of peanut butter and bananas just
before the second Peace Corps cruiser came with staff wanting to talk to Scott
about his fish farming projects.
In the meantime, I went with our regional coordinator in the cruiser to
a place 9 kilometers up the road that might be a good potential health
volunteer site. Back at site,
Scott showed the Lusaka staff his farmers’ fish ponds and our goat milking
stands and had some of his fish farmers meet with the staff. He had a one-on-one meeting where his
boss complimented me for being a supportive wife.
While Scott finished the meeting, I prepared for the four
newest Peace Corps volunteers who were planning on cycling over to our site to
hang out with us that evening. I
had told my host mother earlier in the day that she could help process the
rooster and she was so excited that she came by three times before we were
ready to kill it. While I was
peeling sweet potatoes and chopping vegetables for a crowd, another older neighbor
ran by our outdoor kitchen asking if they could use one of our chairs to strap
to the back of the bicycle as a makeshift ambulance to send a feverish young
woman 3.5k to the clinic down the road.
I said I couldn’t because Scott’s boss was coming back from the fish
pond visit, but I did go over to see the sick woman who looked like she had
malaria or some other sort of tropical fever. Although I couldn’t offer the chair, I quickly mixed up some
kool-aid like juice and put it in a bottle for her to bring to the clinic. I asked why they didn’t take her in the
morning when the clinic was actually open, but no one could give me an answer.
It was almost dusk, and our 3rd batch of Peace
Corps guests (this time fellow volunteers without the luxury of a cruiser) still
hadn’t arrived by bicycle. I
texted one of them and she said they were still about 45 min. away and probably
wouldn’t arrive until dark. Amaama
Judith came over and I held Morsi the rooster’s legs while Scott cut its head
off with a freshly sharpened knife.
We waited for it to bleed out as it went through convulsions for a
minute or so before surrendering into the red earth. I was proud of myself for not being too squeamish and helped
Judith pluck the feathers, but busied myself with washing dishes as she did the
dirty work of cutting out the organs and guts. She was absolutely delighted that we gave her family the
head feet, liver, heart, kidneys and anything else non-muscular that Zambians
considered edible. She knew
exactly where to cut the pieces at the joints and we placed them directly into
the boiling curry soup water.
Our guests finally found our hut in the full moon, although
only Dan, Katie, and Travis showed up since the other one decided he lived too
far. Katie explained the delay by
saying she got caught up building a mud brick wall inside her house. The chicken was mostly cooked by the
time they arrived, and Scott shredded it off the bones and put the small pieces
back into the soup. We also added
pumpkin and tomatoes and rice that our visitors brought to make it into a
curried stew. Scott cooked pumpkin
bread into a cast iron skillet for dessert. As we listened to new music on Dan’s ipod, we stayed up past
the circles of chatting Zambian neighbors enjoying good food and company.
Wednesday 26 June: A Lion Cancels the Plans
We had a bit of a late wake-up due to staying up with
visitors last night, two slept in our tent while Travis slept in the main room
of our hut since it was too cold out to sleep in his camping hammock. Scott fed the chickens, and we started
the brazier to re-heat leftover breakfast: leftover stew, pumpkin bread, and
fried sweet potatoes, even though we were still very full from the night
before.After breakfast, we gave the other volunteers a tour of our garden and
we gave Dan some lemongrass and pepper starts.
I rode to the clinic while Scott and others went to the
BOMA. The plan was to go with the
daily worker to help weigh and vaccinate some children in a remote
village. When I arrived, the
in-charge was out, and the daily worker we couldn’t go because we heard word
yesterday that there had been a lion spotted killing over 20 cattle in the
area. I knew this man was prone to
exaggeration, and that he probably just didn’t want to cycle all the way to the
outreach site, so I asked a few more people at the clinic. They said the lion was much further
north, but I couldn’t do outreach without the clinic worker, so I had the
afternoon free. I went around back
to the labor rooms and there were two brand new babies. I happened to have my camera, so I took
pictures of the babies and their proud mothers. I then cycled over the river so give the Peace Corps
application to the community that the cruiser passed by the next day. I told them that this was just a
request and I definitely couldn’t promise a volunteer, but they were excited
anyway.
I cycled home and used the remaining daylight to do half a
load of laundry by hand.
Unfortunately, the BBC on our shortwave had cut programming hours during
the middle of the day, so all I had to listen to were Zambia songs in Bemba, a
language I do not understand.
Just before dusk, I transplanted some lettuce starts that
seemed to be doing well, and a group of children gathered around the fence
wanting to help work in exchange for gummi vitamins. I had already promised some work to some girls who were in
school that afternoon, so unfortunately I had to keep telling them to go
home. Finally just before dusk
some schoolgirls came over, so I had them gather a bag of leaves and dried
grass for garden mulch. I then
took a fast solar shower as the air was quickly cooling down with darkness
approaching.
Just as Scott was approaching on his bicycle from the BOMA,
four of the cutest village boys ages 2-4 came strolled over with linked hands
wanting to read a story. Even
though it was getting dark, I couldn’t say “no,” so they sat in stools in our
outdoor kitchen and we read a fuzzy caterpillar book.
Scott and I re-heated leftover stew on the spirit stove
inside the hut and he recounted his trip to the BOMA. He had met with the vet and some other government officials
in Mwinilunga and played cards with some of the Peace Corps at an nshima
restaurant. He even brought home a
treat—fresh milk and guava jam!
I woke up early to soak the garden with 6 buckets of greywater leftover from our bath and dishwater, and then spent some time putting the straw that the children collected for me on the new transplants. The chickens had been sneaking in and pushing it off, but the mulch was badly needed to preserve our precious water to evaporations. I also swept manure from under the chickens’ night shelter so it could go to the garden rather than the sheep and filled the solar shower. To take advantage of the full sun, I put bananas and guava paste on a drying rack where they could preserve into yummy dried fruit snacks.
After all the chores, I started packing my bike for an all-day journey to another outreach site where I would do follow-ups for a child nutrition program that ended in late January. I packed my bike panniers with the scale (pretty much the same as a meat scale), vinyl harness and notes from January as well as the toilet inspection book. Unfortunately, I forgot the dresses as a reward. Kenneth, the clinic volunteer me at the junction of the road and the bush path and told me to continue 500m on the road to great the in-charge nurse at the clinic. Although he was very busy, I wanted to touch base regarding upcoming programs.
Together we took a dry, sandy bike ride nearly 10k through flood plains interspersed with forests and cassava fields. We arrived before noon and lots of women whose children we were supposed to be weighing were doing dishes and bathing their children in the stream. They didn’t look like they were mobilized for the child weighing, but everyone seemed to know it was happening. The village nutrition volunteers consisting of 3 women and 3 men showed up at an empty church, and since the mothers hadn’t come for a weighing yet, we took the time to teach about the toilet inspection program and all 4 things needed for a proper toilet. The nutrition volunteers helped me scour the village, including the headman’s house for a proper toilet, but only found three (coincidentally all at houses of the volunteers). Other villagers were educated about what to do to complete their toilets, including making a thatched roof to keep the rains out in the rainy season and prevent the planks from eroding to the point of someone sinking in.
Finally the mothers came trickling in the mud brick church building and we weighed the children while nutrition volunteers gave a health talk of what mothers could feed their children during the dry season—at this point there were more sweet potatoes and maize but less green vegetables available. In the end, 8 of 9 of the original mothers arrived, which was good attendance since the program ended 5 months ago. Of those, six of the children gained enough weight to bring them out of the malnourished category, and the mothers were very proud. Kenneth gave some parting nutritional advice, and then the grateful mothers sang us a thank-you song.
We left the mud church and went to go look at the last completed toilet at a health volunteer’s house. He was so proud that he had finished the thatch roof last week, but unfortunately within the course of 2 hours weighing children, his entire straw roof as well as the grass bathing shelter had burnt down from a farmers’ land-clearing bush fire. We had seen the fires going on during the weighing, but he seemed to think that they weren’t near his house. I saw the remains of the fresh thatch now blackened and gave him the benefit of the doubt by putting his name on the list for a toilet.
The head nutrition volunteer told me to come to her house at the top of a hill so I could take nshima (gooey pasty staple eaten with meat or vegetables) with the clinic worker. I went to see her cooking in the small brick kitchen building over a 3 log fire and offered to help, but she responded in Lunda, “rest, you are tired.” As the men sat in a thatched chota talking of manly things in Lunda, I sat on the side of the hill and watched 4-5 fires burning in the distance. The sun was near the horizon and reflecting on a fish pond, and I remembered journaling another time at this same picturesque scene. Finally Keneth and I were invited into the house while Grace poured warm water over our hands in preparation for eating nshima with our hands. The pasty cassava meal was served with beans and small dried fish fried in oil and salt. During the meal, I asked Kenneth why there were so many fires near the houses (fairly far from the main fields), and he said it was to keep the area clear for snakes as well as clear land to look for bush rats to eat. Finally it clicked that I’d seen lots of children roasting rats lately.
I cycled home at dusk, and Kenneth and I parted ways on the bush path. I took a lukewarm solar shower and Scott had a fresh garden salad ready, although I could only eat a little since I still had a big nshima lump in my belly. Ryvus and Ryford came over at night and I told them I wanted to record their story on my recorder, so we outlined what they would say starting tomorrow.
Friday 28 June: Bush Rats and Furry Potatoes
In the morning, I woke up early and rode 9 kilometers to the furthest goat milker’s very early in the morning to see how they were doing. I donned my fleece jacket, synthetic down vest, full-length gloves and lined pants, and it reminded me of the early morning commute to work in Yakima. I found the health volunteer in the area sitting with the headman and other highly respected men, and she said that hers had quit producing as well as the neighbors’ goats. Unfortunately this has been the case with all the goat milkers within the past few weeks due to a combination of little grazing foliage in the dry season and many of the goats becoming pregnant again. I gave her a community agreement for a replacement volunteer and she was interested in talking to the community.
On my ride home, it warmed up enough to remove a few layers, and Scott had hot tea ready, which was a treat. Just as I was finishing the tea, Ryford came with a small covered pot that had a hunk of some sort of meat in gravy sauce. At first it looked a little like chicken, but on further inspection, I realized it was a bush rat as I saw its little white teeth sticking out! It wasn’t at all furry, but Ryford said he already had burned the hair off. I asked if his mother used some of the curry powder I gave them last night to add flavor for their dishes (and to cut the exorbitant amounts of salt they use), and he said yes. We had just eaten, so Scott wanted to save and reheat some for an early dinner, and I said I’d try a tiny bite.
Scott was busy prepping for the grand finale of his ELITE program, working with the school to teach leadership and some football (soccer) activities. The plan was to give a second education session re: HIV/AIDS and add up cumulative points to see which team was the winner. They had previously been divided into 4 teams: Chelsea, South Africa, Barcelona, and Arsenal. We first went over the ABC’s of prevention (abstinence, being faithful, and condom usage) to explain what level of HIV protection each prevention strategy offered. Teams got points for contributing the correct answers. Then, we played a matching game on the wall and the same game on the soccer pitch where they had to perform a relay race. The good news was that ¾ of the teams got most of the matches right, so hopefully they retained something about HIV.
Giving prizes to the members of the various teams was quite a spectacle as Scott added cumulative points. The second place team Barcelona got pens and pencils, courtesy of WA Middle School who we partner with, and they had to line up at the door of the room when they got them to know who had received the prizes. Chelsea came in first, and they got to draw from a “mystery bag” including items from the free bag bin from Peace Corps volunteers who had left, including a mirror, hair clips, an umbrella, used shoes, and a flannel shirt. Some items were more popular than others, but all the winners were very excited to put their hands in the mystery bag to see which prize they received.
While Scott finished with the head teacher, I quickly cycled to the clinic to touch base with my in-charge about tomorrow’s meeting. While I was there, 30+ women were still waiting to be seen to have their children weighed, since it was the last Friday of the month somewhere 100 women had walked several miles to the clinic with babies on their backs. The women had been waiting all day and most didn’t carry any food or water with them (most Lundas don’t) to give as a snack to their already malnourished children. I was a little sorry that the school program kept me from helping with the scale. I had a toilet inspection program in the village, so I couldn’t stay to help, but on the way out near the anthill, some women were selling purple fuzzy potatoes that I had never seen before.
On the bike ride home, schoolchildren from the winning teams were walking proudly with their prizes, and some even thanked me for the shoes. I ate a quick very late lunch of bananas and peanut butter, fed the chickens and waited for our local health volunteer Pardon to come by my house for the toilet program. He wasn’t there, so I went back to the clinic because I forgot something, and by the time I arrived again at our mud house, Pardon was there.
While we finished inspecting toilets in our village, Scott boiled and peeled fuzzy potatoes and made yummy white white beans with rosemary and dill. We even ate fresh pineapple grown in our neighbors’ fields for dessert! A little later, I started the first part of recording Ryvus and Ryford’s interviews about their childhood growing up in a different village and moving here as teenagers.
Saturday 29 June: Saving a Life
I did the typical morning chores and then spent the morning preparing for a malaria training I’d be giving to the community health workers at the clinic. I dug out test kits that Peace Corps gave us for training from under our bed and found some other informational materials to use for the training. Scott and I had a hot breakfast of French toast and pineapple, which put me a little behind the 8am meeting time at the clinic, but I hoped the other clinic workers would also be on “Zam time.”
I finally arrived at the clinic a little past 9 and did the usual greetings with the traditional birth attendants in the birthing house and female family members of the women awaiting labor. The women told me that the in-charge (also trained as a midwife) Joe and traditional birth attendant Hilda were in the labor room. I gently knocked on the door and the women ensured me I could go in the birthing room while they waited outside. I felt a little timid, but Joe told me that the baby would be coming in the next 30 minutes and that I should put on some gloves to help with the birth. Although I had seen multiple births in the village and in the clinic, I had never been with a trained midwife and was excited to see his expertise. Hilda gently but with an elder’s expertise talked the new 18 year-old mother through each contraction. Joe pulled the woman’s skin back and showed me where the head was in the birth canal while the teenage mother held her own knees in her elbows in an uncomfortable-looking frog position. She didn’t make a sound, except an occasional wince to go along with the grimace on her face during each contraction.
The radio played local music in the background and Joe nonchalantly coaxed the mother to breathe as he occasionally peeled the skin back to check for progress of the head. I offered my hand on the mother’s foot as a foothold for pushing so she didn’t have to hold her legs with her elbows. Finally came the big moment where the head and body came out with two big pushes from the mother without so much as a sound from her. The head was face down, and there wasn’t a peep from the baby either. Joe quickly laid the baby face down on the mother’s stomach while he clamped and then cut the cord, and the baby girl was still not making a sound as he picked her up with gloved hands and examined the chest for breaths. There were still no movements or breaths. Time stood still and I flashed back to this previous scene that I witnessed just months before where a baby was born like this and the helpless birth attendant was unable to add any medical guidance—that baby died the night after its birth.
Joe laid the small girl face up below the mother and retrieved the plastic suction tube and miniature bag valve mask from a nearby drawer (several months ago we didn’t even have one at the clinic!). He knew time was ticking, but seamlessly and gracefully suctioned the baby’s nose and mouth while the three of us women in the room took a deep breath. He then placed the bag valve mask entirely over the little girl’s face and gave her 5 quick pumps of air with his hand. Images of my infant CPR class flashed through my head. All three of us gently massaged the baby’s skin on the back and tummy to get the blood circulating. Joe did the suction again, the mask again and finally we heard two little grunts coming from the infant, although still no crying. Her small chest started moving up and down and we all breathed a sigh of relief.
Joe examined the child and quickly wrapped her in 5 blankets (not a joke) to keep her warm and stated she was still too weak to start sucking her mother’s milk. I peeked under all the layers of blankets, and indeed she was still breathing. Joe and Hilda then started working on the placenta, gently massaging the mother’s belly so it would come out intact. Finally the afterbirth arrived along with a trickle of bright red blood. Joe showed me how to inspect the placenta so there were no pieces left inside the mother as well as the vaginal walls for signs of tearing. Miraculously (especially for a first-time mother), there was no tearing.
I helped sanitize the equipment in bleach water while Joe wrote the birthing report and Hilda helped the new mother bathe in a nearby bucket of water (no running water in the clinic). Joe showed me the Apgar scores table, and marked a 3 for the baby’s first minute of life, which moved to a 6 after she had been resuscitated. I couldn’t believe my eyes and help but think that if I were 10 years younger, I just might be interested in studying midwifery. Joes methodical, deliberate ease (paired with a year of specialized technical training) had indeed made the difference between life and death for this child.
I went out to fetch more wash water from the nearby borehole and told the female relatives that it was a girl, in which there were hoots of celebration. I pulled a few women aside, including another traditional birth attendant, and explained that we are lucky the family took this one to the clinic—had she been born in the village she would have died.
I cleaned myself and prepared to wing-it for the malaria training since most of the health workers were already there (it was well past 10:00am). The little baby under the makeshift incubator of 5 blankets and asked if she was ready to go to her mother to feed. We made sure the mother was lying comfortably in the resting room and wrapped the small infant skin-to-skin around her mother. Although she didn’t start sucking right away, she was sleeping soundly with weak breaths and Joe said she was very tired from the birth and resuscitation. He assured me she would start sucking soon.
I had to shift gears quickly from ecstatic observer to teacher mode as the community health workers gathered around a large desk (makeshift table) in the main clinic building. I wrote the schedule on a large paper and per Joe’s request, we did some health planning activities before the malaria in-service. We mostly discussed what everyone thought were health problems in the area and activities we could do over the next year to address them. We then reviewed how to do simple pinprick blood tests for malaria and some of the health workers practiced testing each other. We talked about the importance of testing in the field, especially those health workers who live far from the health center because malaria can be life-threatening if not quickly tested and treated in the field. The workers had lots of good questions regarding medications and treatment.
We took a late lunch break and ate maize nshima (easier on the tummy and not so gummy) and fried kapenta fish. After lunch, some of the health workers went to get drinking water from the diphole by the river, even though we have a covered borehole just near the clinic. I was a little worried that health workers all thought river water was “cleaner” than borehole water, so I made an impromptu matching game of the most contaminated to least contaminated water sources . They ranked as a group different sources such as spring, shallow well coming from a river, borehole, river and swamp, and after much deliberation, it was finally agreed that a borehole was indeed much safer to drink from, even though it might look “dirty” from iron specks coming from the water passing through that part of the water table.
We learned a bit more about malaria, including picture prevention books they could use to tell stories to villagers who couldn’t read, and then had a general housekeeping for other things related to the clinic. Around 16:00, the health workers started getting anxious to leave, mostly because they saw there was music and dancing just outside the clinic. The people said it was a wedding party.
I stopped by the labor ward and the female relatives of the mother wanted me to name the child. Although I had named six boys, I had never named a girl, so I called her “Genevieve” after my maternal grandmother. The villagers had a bit of difficulty with pronunciation, so they called her “Vivi” for short.
Back at home, Scot had heated water for a refreshing bucket bath, and because the coals on the brazier were hot, I had my goal at no bake cookies since we happened to have extra cocoa and sugar in the hut. Unfortunately that experiment failed miserably and it turned out into more of a chocolate toffee. Even though I was exhausted for the day, I did part 2 of the interviews with Ryvus and Ryford where we learned all about Ryford’s village wedding. He was very excited for me to bring his story to America.
Yep . . . sometimes working on Saturdays aren’t all that bad!!!
