Sunday, August 21, 2016

Malawi: Getting Sick on Placement


"Inga-rid?"
"Yes sweetie?"
"In the morning you should go to the hospital."


I groan and roll over as my little (host) sister looks at me with concern. I don't really blame her.. I'm lying on her kitchen floor. My roommate Chrissy and I had been cooking dinner for our host family, but things weren't completely going to plan. The pasta seemed to have melted into some kind of paste, our mushroom sauce was proof that oil and milk aren't supposed to be mixed together and now I was on the floor clutching my belly. Awesome.


Thinking back to our pre-departure training, I can't help but curse the accuracy of our "you'll probably get sick" warning. Now, 2 months later, I'm curled in the foetal position as I half-heartedly cling to an empty bucket and the remnants of my dignity.


I'd been so careful!
All of my water had been bottled or boiled, and I'd been risk assessing my meals more thoroughly than a team leader on a mission.. And yet here I was! Oh well - these things happen.


I will spare you the messy, smelly, alot-less-solid-than-it-should-be details of my condition... And focus instead on my experience of getting sick whilst on placement in a developing country (Malawi).


As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac this had been one of my biggest fears. I don't like hospitals.. Or needles.. Or blood. Very luckily for me, the next 24 involved all these things, along with a considerable number of complaints and wounded puppy noises to keep my roommate entertained... (Sorry Chrissy).


There were a few key differences I picked up on between my hospital visit here and going to a GP in the UK.


Firstly, just because its a hospital, doesn't necessarily make it exempt from charging 'Azungu' (foreigner) rates, as my team leader later informed me she was charged 20kw more the other day when she'd been in with another volunteer.


Secondly, there didn't seem to be any kind of queuing system. Awkward, particularly for polite foreigners. Nevertheless, when thr doctors door opened, a lady stumbled out, and in I went.


It turns out I needed a blood test and a finger prick to check for malaria. As squeamish as I was, I have to admit, everything seemed very hygienic and well maintained. The nurse was patient with me and didn't seem to judge when I asked for a moment and started meditating on the hospital bed. She tied a glove around my upper arm as a substitute tourniquet, waited for my signal then went for it. She also pricked my finger for a Malaria test, which sounded like quite a routine test and took about 15 minutes (similar to the HIV testing the UK volunteers went for to see what its like.)


Anyway, I'm sure you'll all be very pleased to know I tested negative to having malaria, and the doctor prescribed me some antibiotics which seem to be doing their job.


I can't say it was a pleasant experience, getting sick in unfamiliar surroundings, but I feel very lucky to have had a team leader who helped me get medical attention, a roommate who will throw Panadol at me when I wake her up making whimpering noises at 2am and a little host sister who insists on doing my dishes for me when I'm lying on her kitchen floor.


Well... Maybe not as lucky as all the other, healthy volunteers, but at the end of the day what can you do.
Sh*t happens... And, evidentially, not always when you want it to. ;)

Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Malawi Life: Being an 'Azungu'!


"Azungu! Azungu!"


I instinctively look up to smile and wave at the children who gleefully greet me as I walk past.
I am getting used to being known as 'Azungu', meaning 'white person', and have almost started responding to it as though it were my name. It's a strange phenomenon - almost like being a celebrity!


For obvious reasons, my fellow volunteers and I stick out pretty obviously as foreigners in Malawi. Usually this means people greeting you with curiosity, and coming over to ask questions. This morning I was approached by a few university students as I waited for my bus. They were super friendly and asked many questions about who I was and what brought me to this particular little African neighbourhood.


However, just because you're a bit of celebrity doesn't necessarily mean getting special treatment. For example, you may need to do a bit more haggling when you go to the market. Although some sellers are quite honest, a number of them will raise their prices unapologetically when they notice your strange accent or the color of your skin.


I find the whole experience to be quite surreal. Never in the UK would you hear people excitedly shouting 'foreigner' at strangers and waving to them as they walk down the street.
After all, I am many things.


Back home I'm a Baha'i, sort of nerdy, artsy, goat loving, tree hugging, drama student, who always makes a point of ticking the 'other' box so she can write 'world citizen' on census forms. And here in Africa, I suppose, I still am.


But for the first time in my life, I'm also a minority.
And its written all over my face.


There are so many different ways we categorise each other. By the clothes we wear, the colour of our skin, the way we speak, how much money we have... And I'm realizing how easy it is sometimes to let these things distract us, as they are the first things we see. But at the end of the day we are all human, all unique and all doing our own thing on this planet we call home.


I've always believed this on some level, but to live in a country where my race is such a significant part of how I'm seen and the way I'm treated, my eyes are being opened to a new experience entirely.


I am here now, and as for how my identity has been influenced by life in Malawi, I feel that there are a few things I need to add to my list...


Foreigner, host daughter, team member, sister and friend.