I was reflecting the other day, while
walking down town to the open-air market for groceries, about how much fun it
is to live in a smaller African city. I was thinking about the things that I
now take for granted, that make my days so interesting, and the things I will
miss once I’m home. I couldn’t help smiling as I listening to the men chatting
and joking good naturedly, the women calling out to me for my custom, the
constant honking of horns, the loud music being played from trucks parked in the
middle of the road selling either Indomie noodles or Hypo laundry powder, the squawking
of live chickens or the quacking of ducks tucked under the arms or vendors.
Then there's the smells; the raw meat on huge chopping blocks (and the
intestines shaped like honeycomb) and cows tongues, the dried fish (and some
still alive, squirming in wheelbarrows of water), even the mud from the rain
the night before smells of African earth. Then there’s the colours; the vibrant
greens of spinach and okra, the red of tomatoes and hot chili peppers, the
bright-multicoloured Nigerian wrappers, and the fluorescent shades of the
younger generations clothing. You can't become distracted for one minute or
take your eyes off your feet otherwise you'll fall down a gutter, stand in a
muddy puddle, step on someones wares or bump into someone carefully balancing
trays of fresh peanuts or ribena berries on their heads. Having to greet
everyone that greets you is also exhausting, but makes for such a sense of
community. Home is going to be so boring in comparison!
I got a phone call at 8pm last Sunday night
from one of the Uncles out at Gyero. He went on to tell me one of the boys had
been playing and had fractured his hand. I asked a few questions over the phone
to ascertain the extent of the injury and learnt that the assumed break was
“near his thumb and there is a small bruise”. After giving instructions over
the phone for pain relief and immobilisation, I assured the staff I would come
first thing the next morning to take Michael for an x-ray. Once I arrived at Gyero, the real story came
out! Michael had fallen, and was then seen with his arm bent in half and the
bones sticking out! He had broken BOTH his ulnar and radius mid shaft and the
bones had punctured the skin! One of the uncles had straightened the bone immediately
and put on a very effective splint made of bamboo sticks, packing and a bandage
(I commended his efforts and technique later). Michael, who usually has a very
staunch countenance, even for a 14 year old, was sobbing quietly, which broke
my heart; I doubt he’d slept much that night either. I took Michael for an x-ray
and got to use my radiography skills practically for the first time since I’ve
been here. When I explained the importance of good views (at ninety degrees
from each other) for diagnostic purposes and planning for a potential surgery,
he looked at me with a bewildered lost face and asked me to come and show him
what I meant. I didn’t need anymore of an invitation that that! After we were
back at clinic, I helped the surgeon in theatre as we sedated him, attempted to
realign the bones, and placed him in a temporary cast. Time will tell if the
bones heal by themselves or whether he’ll need some internal fixation.
Two days later on a routine visit to Transition
House to check on the older boys health, after chatting with the uncle there
for over an hour and him assuring me there was no sickness at present, Kelly
and I were about to start the car to leave when he remembered one boy who had
complained that morning about feeling unwell. We got back out of the car and
entered the compound to find David unconscious sprawled on the concrete floor.
He was febrile and unresponsive. I thanked God that Kelly was there at the time
because of her experience with Malaria in Nigeria she recognised the symptoms
and we rushed to the nearest pharmacy and got some IV fluids, some intra
muscular Malaria medication and other bits and pieces for symptom control.
Kelly herself had suffered the same symptoms including the Black Water Fever
element (peeing coke coloured urine!) and so knew the importance of hydration.
After an hour and a half and a litre of IV fluids, David had regained
consciousness and was able to start taking oral fluids. I returned the next few
days to give the rest of the medication, but by day 3, David was a different
boy, still very brave while I jabbed him in the butt with needles, but now able
to joke about it with me!
Another highlight of my weekend was a
meeting I had with some Nigerian girls who will be fellow bridesmaids at the up
coming wedding of a mutual friend. We discussed transport, accommodation,
decided on a dress style, jewelry and shoes, then the conversation turned to
hair…that was where it became irrelevant for me! Because Nigerian women ‘make’
their hair, i.e. they all wear extensions; they needed to decide on the colour,
the attachment and the style once the weave was applied. I’m positive the grass is always greener in
this instance, but I actually envy the ladies having the opportunity to
recreate their image each 4-6 weeks! From a short bob cut to long flowing curly
locks or braids, the sky is the limit for possibilities. Apparently for the
first few days it hurts a lot as the weave is so tight and I often wonder how a
lot of the ladies sleep with their huge heavy braids, but combined with the
amazing eye make up Nigerian’s can get away with on their dark skin, I
anticipate walking into the church with some very stunning ladies indeed!
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