témoignage
as someone who basically lives each new experience whilst simultaneously writing about it in my mind, sometimes i find adjusting to such completely different cultures kind of exhausting :) either it's that which is exhausting me, or it's my complete inability to sleep due to the heat, donkeys, dogs, goats, flies, fleas etc etc etc. i liked not being able to sleep when i was sharing my room with aurelie because lying awake talking was such a great way to process and decompress. now that she's gone, lying awake all night ranges from stressful to just plain boring.
side note: one of our guards just came into the office to batten down the hatches for the apparently imminent sandstorm (we have metal windows that can be latched shut against the storms). they were NOT kidding when they said that the rainy season here was preceded by "violent" sandstorms. you can barely breathe for the dust, and i get to wait them out more or less inside. i can't imagine what it'll be like when i get caught in one outside. i feel like it would be just as much fun as burying my face in the sand on the ground and inhaling.
the past couple of days have been relatively slow at the WHC (women's health centre). we had a couple of huge storms and the people who have land within habillah or just around the edges of it are spending this week planting their crops (hence not many patients). that sounded hopeful until "h" told me that the paramilitary had already told the farmers to go ahead and plant, and they will be by later to collect everything that is grown. also, no longer waiting for the villagers to leave habillah, they have taken to coming into the village to help themselves to the animals that are still left here. rather than there being the expected safety in numbers, the villagers are weaponless and unable to defend themselves against the guns that the paramilitary were supplied with by their government. all the people here can do is submit and hope to not be hurt in the process. it seems like every other day we hear of a villager being killed by them. it makes me frickin crazy. i have this strange love/hate relationship with the fact that the colour of my skin renders me safe here. i hate that the militia can, and do, hurt/rape/kill any villager they please, but they won't hurt me because doing so would bring too much attention to what is happening here. how is my life any different than that of the people here? why would the world care that much more if i was killed here, simply because i carry the title of a "humanitarian aid worker"?
we've only had 3 deliveries since i arrived, which is making me a bit restless. i thought it was just that the women wouldn't leave their homes at night to come deliver with us, but "h" pointed out that there are also far less pregnant women than would be expected from a population this size as so many of the men were killed in the fighting or have left to find work.
in the TFC, the increase in numbers continues. yesterday we transferred 3 children from the SFC (supplemental) back to the TFC, meaning that they had slipped back into a state of severe malnourishment. "h", my sudanese bosom buddy and the national doctor in the WHC, and i were talking today about how maddening it is to watch these children starting to slip back, and to be unable to intervene until they reach a certain level of starvation (70% of what they should weigh). during home visits with our community health workers it was found that some families are down to only enough food for the next 2-10 days, and the next WFP distribution isn't until august. for those of you who have asked what you can do to help... i think it's beyond individual donations (although that certainly helps). i would encourage all of you to start raising awareness, hold fundraisers and urge the governments of the world to get a clue. i'm a fan of msf and i think they are incredibly conscientious about where they spend donor money.
on the plus side, i have loved having this slow few days in order to just get to know my staff and the patients and their families. outside the WHC is a sheltered waiting area, with a huge woven mat on the sand, and a thatched roof against the sun. we've spent the time lying around, melting in the heat, laughing and talking. they have shared their stories with me and in return i have dazzled them with my magical digital camera that allows them to see pictures of themselves for the first time. i now spend much of my time taking pictures of the women and showing them the picture on the screen. the look on their faces is complete confusion, then amazement, then they laugh their heads off. my cheeks seriously hurt sometimes. i LOVE sitting there and watching the women interact, greet each other in their singsong chant, sit down and arrange, then rearrange their flowing gowns, nurse their babies, make fun of each other (and me. excessively:) h and a translate the majority of what is said, and the topics range from the heartbreakingly serious to the completely ridiculous. it's a nice balance- i think it's a welcome respite for many of them to just come sit and laugh for awhile. yesterday the sudanese women were making fun of us (the expats) for always getting sick here (every other day. sigh). they said it was our own fault for living lives so free from germs, drinking clean water, etc. then h motions to one of the babies from the TFC who is crawling around outside (and who promptly picked up a dirty sandal and started to suck on it). apparently he was building immunities. somehow i don't think that using a baby from the TFC is a good example for why i should live a dirtier life :)
another side note: yesterday i made the mistake of mentioning that the spiders here weren't that bad compared to other places i had been. the team informed me that there was a big, scary kind here but they had only ever seen them in the garden, and never in the tukuls. so about 10 minutes ago i went into my room and a huge beetle ran across my floor. i was chasing it out, telling it that it was NOT welcome in my room and all of a sudden i stopped midsentence. there, on my wall, was one of the big, scary kind of spiders. of course. it was in one of those precarious positions where if you give it any forewarning it will have the chance to escape behind a pile of your things. carmenza got one of the guards for me and i tried to explain to him that if he missed and the spider escaped, i was going home on the next plane. no, he doesn't speak english but i still felt it was important to say it out loud. he missed, of course, and i actually screamed and jumped up and down like a total girl until he managed to kill it. carmenza then asked me to sit down, breathe and have some water. what can i say.. i am in dire need of therapy (and a stiff drink).
well, another day, another thousand mood swings. i can go from complete joy and absolutely loving it here, to staring at the 6 months left on the calendar and wondering what the hell i was thinking, all in a matter of moments. i'm definitely so glad that i'm here, i just pray that it does some good. i've been warned that i will likely leave feeling like i did absolutely nothing, but to remember the true purpose of my being here- témoignage. témoignage is french for "testimony" or "witness". it basically means that if nothing else we are here to witness the events and to tell the world. i want the people of habillah to know that the world hasn't forgotten them. please don't forget them.
side note: one of our guards just came into the office to batten down the hatches for the apparently imminent sandstorm (we have metal windows that can be latched shut against the storms). they were NOT kidding when they said that the rainy season here was preceded by "violent" sandstorms. you can barely breathe for the dust, and i get to wait them out more or less inside. i can't imagine what it'll be like when i get caught in one outside. i feel like it would be just as much fun as burying my face in the sand on the ground and inhaling.
the past couple of days have been relatively slow at the WHC (women's health centre). we had a couple of huge storms and the people who have land within habillah or just around the edges of it are spending this week planting their crops (hence not many patients). that sounded hopeful until "h" told me that the paramilitary had already told the farmers to go ahead and plant, and they will be by later to collect everything that is grown. also, no longer waiting for the villagers to leave habillah, they have taken to coming into the village to help themselves to the animals that are still left here. rather than there being the expected safety in numbers, the villagers are weaponless and unable to defend themselves against the guns that the paramilitary were supplied with by their government. all the people here can do is submit and hope to not be hurt in the process. it seems like every other day we hear of a villager being killed by them. it makes me frickin crazy. i have this strange love/hate relationship with the fact that the colour of my skin renders me safe here. i hate that the militia can, and do, hurt/rape/kill any villager they please, but they won't hurt me because doing so would bring too much attention to what is happening here. how is my life any different than that of the people here? why would the world care that much more if i was killed here, simply because i carry the title of a "humanitarian aid worker"?
we've only had 3 deliveries since i arrived, which is making me a bit restless. i thought it was just that the women wouldn't leave their homes at night to come deliver with us, but "h" pointed out that there are also far less pregnant women than would be expected from a population this size as so many of the men were killed in the fighting or have left to find work.
in the TFC, the increase in numbers continues. yesterday we transferred 3 children from the SFC (supplemental) back to the TFC, meaning that they had slipped back into a state of severe malnourishment. "h", my sudanese bosom buddy and the national doctor in the WHC, and i were talking today about how maddening it is to watch these children starting to slip back, and to be unable to intervene until they reach a certain level of starvation (70% of what they should weigh). during home visits with our community health workers it was found that some families are down to only enough food for the next 2-10 days, and the next WFP distribution isn't until august. for those of you who have asked what you can do to help... i think it's beyond individual donations (although that certainly helps). i would encourage all of you to start raising awareness, hold fundraisers and urge the governments of the world to get a clue. i'm a fan of msf and i think they are incredibly conscientious about where they spend donor money.
on the plus side, i have loved having this slow few days in order to just get to know my staff and the patients and their families. outside the WHC is a sheltered waiting area, with a huge woven mat on the sand, and a thatched roof against the sun. we've spent the time lying around, melting in the heat, laughing and talking. they have shared their stories with me and in return i have dazzled them with my magical digital camera that allows them to see pictures of themselves for the first time. i now spend much of my time taking pictures of the women and showing them the picture on the screen. the look on their faces is complete confusion, then amazement, then they laugh their heads off. my cheeks seriously hurt sometimes. i LOVE sitting there and watching the women interact, greet each other in their singsong chant, sit down and arrange, then rearrange their flowing gowns, nurse their babies, make fun of each other (and me. excessively:) h and a translate the majority of what is said, and the topics range from the heartbreakingly serious to the completely ridiculous. it's a nice balance- i think it's a welcome respite for many of them to just come sit and laugh for awhile. yesterday the sudanese women were making fun of us (the expats) for always getting sick here (every other day. sigh). they said it was our own fault for living lives so free from germs, drinking clean water, etc. then h motions to one of the babies from the TFC who is crawling around outside (and who promptly picked up a dirty sandal and started to suck on it). apparently he was building immunities. somehow i don't think that using a baby from the TFC is a good example for why i should live a dirtier life :)
another side note: yesterday i made the mistake of mentioning that the spiders here weren't that bad compared to other places i had been. the team informed me that there was a big, scary kind here but they had only ever seen them in the garden, and never in the tukuls. so about 10 minutes ago i went into my room and a huge beetle ran across my floor. i was chasing it out, telling it that it was NOT welcome in my room and all of a sudden i stopped midsentence. there, on my wall, was one of the big, scary kind of spiders. of course. it was in one of those precarious positions where if you give it any forewarning it will have the chance to escape behind a pile of your things. carmenza got one of the guards for me and i tried to explain to him that if he missed and the spider escaped, i was going home on the next plane. no, he doesn't speak english but i still felt it was important to say it out loud. he missed, of course, and i actually screamed and jumped up and down like a total girl until he managed to kill it. carmenza then asked me to sit down, breathe and have some water. what can i say.. i am in dire need of therapy (and a stiff drink).
well, another day, another thousand mood swings. i can go from complete joy and absolutely loving it here, to staring at the 6 months left on the calendar and wondering what the hell i was thinking, all in a matter of moments. i'm definitely so glad that i'm here, i just pray that it does some good. i've been warned that i will likely leave feeling like i did absolutely nothing, but to remember the true purpose of my being here- témoignage. témoignage is french for "testimony" or "witness". it basically means that if nothing else we are here to witness the events and to tell the world. i want the people of habillah to know that the world hasn't forgotten them. please don't forget them.
posted by Amy Osborne | 9:40 AM
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