Fashion hit Mountain High Hospital like a torrential rain that drenched the patients, staff and community with showers of blessings. Like all experiences in uncharted waters, the fashion show had moments of uncertainty and worry but the purpose was to provide entertainment for patients for an hour or so, take their minds off their illnesses and highlight the Zulu beading teacher that had been our guest for the last two weeks. Even a bad, poorly attended fashion show would be better than none! The Zulu fashion show took a life of its own-a better description would be that the Community Grabbed the Diversion and turned it into a Big Event utilizing their ingenuity, expression and creativity. To kick off the Fashion Week, advertisements were posted around the valley and the hospital inviting everyone to come to the Mountain View Fashion Show and promised Zulu Fashions, Music and Refreshments.
All fashion shows must have a rehearsal so the day before the volunteer models gathered to learn how to walk, turn, and display their outfits. The rehearsal was a lot of fun as the Step, Step, Step, Turn, Smile, Turn were demonstrated. The AIDS Counselor was recruited as the announcer and she jumped into the roll with ease and grace. The list of models and outfits was prepared with a jaunty description of where the model might be heading in their special outfit. “Here is Sipho in his orange and green hand painted shirt headed for a night on the town in Newcastle. What a gorgeous guy.” The models included 6 patients, 3 nursing staff and one office worker. They giggled as they practiced their steps, turns and hand motions. The models were instructed to make sure they were gorgeous for the big show.
The morning of the fashion show tables were set up to display the handwork done by the patients and staff and post banners with turquoise birds announcing the show. No event in Zululand is complete without blasting rock music so by 1030am the hospital was rocking. Slowly the patients, residents of the valley and nursing staff began trickling into the chapel rocking in time to the music, many in traditional Zulu dress or other African garb. The trickle turned into a torrent as the chapel filled with people looking to have a good time. I quietly suggested to the announcer that she should turn down the music and signal the models to move to the rear for the show. Instead the rhythm of the event escalated and more people arrived boogying down the aisle (including officials from the church sponsoring the hospital.) After 30 minutes of this entry the announcer called the models to congregate to the rear where I expected the fashion show to begin. Instead the models lined up, the volume of the music cranked up and they each did their dance as they came down the aisle and paraded behind the pulpit in their fabulous Zulu outfits and blue hospital issues. The ten models each had their 15 seconds of fame; then, instead of quietly sitting down, they repeated the parade. The audience began cheering as the dance routines became more and more intricate and expressive. The announcer just smiled and enjoyed the spontaneous expression of art and creativity. After the models finally finished the hospital domestic employees in their pink uniforms went to the rear, made signals to each other and began prancing down the aisle dancing Zulu style with perfect foot rhyme, bumps, jerks and a big smile. The shy nursing students decided it was their turn and they gathered in the rear to practice their gig and come down the aisle in partners jiving to the music. Soon it was time for the head nurse, director’s wife and church official to do their stuff which was pretty good for management but did not match the domestics for enthusiasm and art. Individuals in Zulu dress began to steal the show but the highlight of the parade was the domestic in pink uniform coupled with a nurse in Zulu attire bumping as they swayed down the aisle.
After an hour of this amazing spontaneous expression of the joy for living, the music went down and Monki, the Zulu beading teacher, danced to the front and told her life story, speaking boldly about beauty and faith conquering despair and withdrawal. After her talk the floor opened up to individual artistic contributions as a chaplain trainee performed a dance about the great race of faith, two staff members sang solos (one was rendition of Rock of Ages using only the three words), a boys choir appeared from the school next door and sang Zulu melodies, church officials gave a blessing on the gathering and Monki was thanked for her extraordinary contribution.
The fashion show was held on a very warm day in KwaZuluNatal and after two hours of dancing and cheering the performers, the crowd was thirsty. As many things in Africa, the water supply dried up that morning and cups were nowhere to be found to make tea for that huge crowd. As spontaneous as the gathering occurred, money for purchasing canned soft drinks also appeared and the crowd finished their day of fashion with homemade biscuits, tarts, nobake cookies and drinks. It may have not met the standards of Strowbridge Junior High School, circa 1961, but the small attempt to entertain the patient population turned into a wonderful outpouring of local culture and articulated the need for celebrations and joy in this place. The residents know how to put on a show. They only need a forum. Big learning day for Peace Corps Volunteers!
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Royalty and Fashion Week at Mountain High
Brendon and I joined the Peace Corps to fulfill a lifetime dream, have some fun and maybe do some good!! Our remote location, 80 km to the nearest grocery store, seems an unlikely site for two middle-aged city people who love good restaurants and fine music. However, our dreams are fulfilled on a daily basis. This week topped the cake when a much loved Zulu princess came to visit the patient therapy sewing group and wanted to hear about our lives in the Peace Corps. She resides in Nongoma, the official headquarters for the Zulu Kingdom. The Zulu King traces directly back to Shaka, one of the history’s greatest strategists. The princess, however, won our hearts with her beauty and graciousness. She sat down on the wood bench with the patients in her lovely black gown and discussed Zulu culture. She did not announce her special status but walked in with a young boy and joined the group. Her bearing, clothing and impeccable English made me wonder who she was and how she found our sewing circle in the hospital chapel. She merely stated that she was from Nongoma. I, almost jokingly, asked if she was a princess and she said YES. I then charged back through my Peace Corps cultural training to find the proper response- Does one bow, curtsy, lower folded hands? Somehow the Peace Corps had overlooked this essential training in the cultural sessions and I drew a blank. The Princess saved the day by extending her hand for a western style handshake. She explained that she had business in the area and had been told about the women’s group and wanted to see the activities. By the way the Princess drives a silver KIA!
The Jabule therapy group this week was led by an African woman from Soweto who is an expert at Zulu beading and crafts. The director of the hospital had been praising this gifted woman since our arrival in Sept. and lo and behold she showed up Monday to teach the patients beading and sewing methods. In addition, she added exercises, group therapy, singing and dancing to the repertoire of the sewing circle; quitting time was kicked out to 4pm. The eight patients showed amazing stamina as they got the hang of the beading and picked up speed. On Monday she pulled out her wares-beaded necklaces, bracelets, dolls, aprons, purses, bags, white suede skirts, and traditional Zulu dance garb made out of impala skins. The first project tackled by the patients consisted of sewing a red glass bead border on a small cell phone bag. The beads form their own lace design as the needle is reinserted into a previously strung bead. The second project of the week was an elaborate six layer necklace that lies like a collar with colored bands of plastic bead extending to the shoulders. Some women were able to make two or three of these creations.
She told her life story that read like a tragedy; orphaned at four, mistreated by an uncle, hospitalized for 6 months with disc problems with four children to raise alone. Hers is also a life of faith with the church playing the stabilizing role in her life. This graceful woman also interwove art and creativity into every aspect of her life. On Friday she repeated her story to the patients in the Hospital’s AIDS Support Group who come together to try to find some meaning in their lives. Her T shirt and head scarf bore the telling message “Love Life”.
In conversation, it came up that the women would enjoy having a forum for their artistic endeavors to include all of the knitting/crochet and clothing they have hand sewn. Voila! Time for a fashion show. Thus the Mountain High Fashion Show will be held Thursday with patients and nurses modeling Zulu attire and jewelry, music, refreshments, boutique and a message about Beauty and Faith from our beading teacher Monki. This must be a first for a TB hospital in Africa! Of course most of the models will primarily be wearing hospital blue but it is a good background color for their creations. Hopefully, the parade of beauty will be able to make rounds through the hospital so that the bedridden patients can have a look at the Zulu art. They are bored with the sameness of the hospital bed 24 hours a day. This will be a busy week with the patients sewing and beading items for the boutique and practicing their fashion modeling. Step, step, step turn! Sure wish we had a makeup artist!
The Jabule therapy group this week was led by an African woman from Soweto who is an expert at Zulu beading and crafts. The director of the hospital had been praising this gifted woman since our arrival in Sept. and lo and behold she showed up Monday to teach the patients beading and sewing methods. In addition, she added exercises, group therapy, singing and dancing to the repertoire of the sewing circle; quitting time was kicked out to 4pm. The eight patients showed amazing stamina as they got the hang of the beading and picked up speed. On Monday she pulled out her wares-beaded necklaces, bracelets, dolls, aprons, purses, bags, white suede skirts, and traditional Zulu dance garb made out of impala skins. The first project tackled by the patients consisted of sewing a red glass bead border on a small cell phone bag. The beads form their own lace design as the needle is reinserted into a previously strung bead. The second project of the week was an elaborate six layer necklace that lies like a collar with colored bands of plastic bead extending to the shoulders. Some women were able to make two or three of these creations.
She told her life story that read like a tragedy; orphaned at four, mistreated by an uncle, hospitalized for 6 months with disc problems with four children to raise alone. Hers is also a life of faith with the church playing the stabilizing role in her life. This graceful woman also interwove art and creativity into every aspect of her life. On Friday she repeated her story to the patients in the Hospital’s AIDS Support Group who come together to try to find some meaning in their lives. Her T shirt and head scarf bore the telling message “Love Life”.
In conversation, it came up that the women would enjoy having a forum for their artistic endeavors to include all of the knitting/crochet and clothing they have hand sewn. Voila! Time for a fashion show. Thus the Mountain High Fashion Show will be held Thursday with patients and nurses modeling Zulu attire and jewelry, music, refreshments, boutique and a message about Beauty and Faith from our beading teacher Monki. This must be a first for a TB hospital in Africa! Of course most of the models will primarily be wearing hospital blue but it is a good background color for their creations. Hopefully, the parade of beauty will be able to make rounds through the hospital so that the bedridden patients can have a look at the Zulu art. They are bored with the sameness of the hospital bed 24 hours a day. This will be a busy week with the patients sewing and beading items for the boutique and practicing their fashion modeling. Step, step, step turn! Sure wish we had a makeup artist!
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Summer Back to School-Guns on Board
School starts next week in South Africa so the Mountain residents and town businesses are abuzz with parents anxiously buying school uniforms and supplies. The taxi to Vryheid filled up in a hurry at 6am today with shoppers getting their kids ready for school, just like September back to school at home. The children have been on summer vacation for two months with Christmas being a double whammy of holiday and freedom from school. The boarding students add a dynamic to the mountain top that we enjoy as they sing every night at 9 pm on their return to their dorms from study hall. They always have a cool greeting hanging around on the dirt road. The 60 boys in the boarding school are chaperoned by only one adult and have no soccer team or other activities to keep them busy. The Hospital had hoped that the Bond’s would organize a team and coach the boys but volunteering as a Ref for the AYSO league in Palos Verdes does not qualify one for coaching 17 year olds looking for blood. The kids here play soccer with a vengeance and are very skilled but need a coach to learn strategy. If anyone out there has a calling…..
The taxi ride started tamely enough, even though the mist of Mountain High enshrouded our home. One kilometer down the dirt road a small antelope (one of the small boks- reebok, springbok, bleesbok) sprang across the meadow. This was the first game that we have seen so close to home. Mr. Zulu, the driver got a big grin on his face and confidently pulled out a gun from the side of the car while driving through the mist. He then waved the gun at the antelope and we joked that it looked like a braai (barbeque) tonight. Fortunately he put the gun away and returned to driving the taxi down the mountain. We were almost incredulous seeing the ease that he produced the weapon while driving but safety issues in this Country probably require taxi drivers, bus drivers and truckers to be prepared to defend themselves and protect their cargos. There is an edge to South Africa that detracts from the enjoyment. The citizens are a strange combination of courtesy and kindness mixed with fear, suspicion and vigilance. We are constantly being warned not to picnic next to the roads, to hide our cash all over our bodies and carry a “dummy wallet” for muggers, stay inside at night, and avoid looking like a tourist. At the same time the locals are amazingly generous and trusting. A motel owner offered her car to us to drive to a local restaurant so that we wouldn’t have to walk at night. (we declined-Peace Corps does not allow driving when not on leave). When I thought I had missed the bus to Richards Bay because of delays at the beauty shop, the owner offered to drive me to the next stop to meet the bus. Eight Peace Corps members have been mugged out of our group of 80, but we have never even felt uncomfortable or endangered in any way. So it is hard to generalize but we are grateful we have two years to come to an understanding of South Africa.
Our front row seats in the taxi next to Mr. Zulu are a mixed blessing in spite of being more spacious (only 3 passengers can ride in the front row, the other rows are limited only by one’s imagination and aggressiveness). The middle front seat passenger is required to collect the taxi fare from all passengers and make change. The first step is to count the total number of passengers and multiply by the 22 Rand fare. This is the easy part. Then the money starts coming forward, change made for those R100 bills and the change passed back to the passengers. Mr. Zulu does not participate in this process-he is only interested in the final sun meeting his target. This process is full of room for errors and misunderstandings. The 50 cent coin looks like the 5 cent coin. Sometimes there is no change available and the passengers have to juggle around to make the fares come out right. The taxi does not deliver the passengers until the total is right-today 16 passengers (and 2 infants) = R352. I secretly hoped that we would be reassigned seats as the job requires too many skills for newcomers but today I looked around to the back of the taxi after all the change had been made and one woman announced that “Finished”, a good sign that no one was shortchanged. Today Mr. Zulu did not ask Brendon to fill out lotto numbers. I guess our luck is up or he got tired of losing the last four months with the Bond’s picks. Maybe our luck will come during the police traffic stops and his taxi is not put out of commission. Today the windshield wipers were working so we appreciate improvements, even in small doses. The government is trying to phase out the old unsafe taxis but there is resistance due to added costs for the owner.
The work at the Hospital was brightened this week by the arrival of 14 nursing students doing a monthly rotation in the TB wards. They live in rondavals on the hospital grounds without TV, cinemas, shopping, fast food or boyfriends. Their arrival brought an expansion of the Jabule Sewing group as they were solicited by some of the bedridden patients to obtain sewing and yarn materials from my stash to pass the hours in bed. Two of the nursing students asked for yarns and fabric to make hats for themselves. I felt badly turning them down but told them that membership in the elite Jabule group required a diagnosis of TB or AIDS. This week was also successful in getting a few men to sew booties and small coin bags out of python printed fabric purchased for R5 a meter ($.75). The interest in the coin bags started when the patient that finally received his welfare grant needed a place to put his money and conned a female patient into sewing a drawstring bag that he proudly wore around his neck containing his riches. Some of the other men wanted bags do so they were willing to sew for themselves in spite of their own stigma about men sewing. Wire and pliers were also offered for crafts but no takers this week. A chaplain student attempted to determine some meaningful activity for the men and discovered that they would enjoy learning how to repair shoes and carve wood so maybe these activities can be developed.
The good news is that the patient that received his welfare grant last week (with the python drawstring bag for bounty) was discharged on Wednesday and left the hospital to live with his children in a nearby town. He was feeling higher than a kite on Tuesday night when he started to imagine his new life outside of the hospital after being a patient for 1 ½ years and wearing dull blue pajamas 24 hours a day. He smiled broadly as he announced that maybe he would go to JoBurg and do some strong work. There are success stories at Mountain High!
The taxi ride started tamely enough, even though the mist of Mountain High enshrouded our home. One kilometer down the dirt road a small antelope (one of the small boks- reebok, springbok, bleesbok) sprang across the meadow. This was the first game that we have seen so close to home. Mr. Zulu, the driver got a big grin on his face and confidently pulled out a gun from the side of the car while driving through the mist. He then waved the gun at the antelope and we joked that it looked like a braai (barbeque) tonight. Fortunately he put the gun away and returned to driving the taxi down the mountain. We were almost incredulous seeing the ease that he produced the weapon while driving but safety issues in this Country probably require taxi drivers, bus drivers and truckers to be prepared to defend themselves and protect their cargos. There is an edge to South Africa that detracts from the enjoyment. The citizens are a strange combination of courtesy and kindness mixed with fear, suspicion and vigilance. We are constantly being warned not to picnic next to the roads, to hide our cash all over our bodies and carry a “dummy wallet” for muggers, stay inside at night, and avoid looking like a tourist. At the same time the locals are amazingly generous and trusting. A motel owner offered her car to us to drive to a local restaurant so that we wouldn’t have to walk at night. (we declined-Peace Corps does not allow driving when not on leave). When I thought I had missed the bus to Richards Bay because of delays at the beauty shop, the owner offered to drive me to the next stop to meet the bus. Eight Peace Corps members have been mugged out of our group of 80, but we have never even felt uncomfortable or endangered in any way. So it is hard to generalize but we are grateful we have two years to come to an understanding of South Africa.
Our front row seats in the taxi next to Mr. Zulu are a mixed blessing in spite of being more spacious (only 3 passengers can ride in the front row, the other rows are limited only by one’s imagination and aggressiveness). The middle front seat passenger is required to collect the taxi fare from all passengers and make change. The first step is to count the total number of passengers and multiply by the 22 Rand fare. This is the easy part. Then the money starts coming forward, change made for those R100 bills and the change passed back to the passengers. Mr. Zulu does not participate in this process-he is only interested in the final sun meeting his target. This process is full of room for errors and misunderstandings. The 50 cent coin looks like the 5 cent coin. Sometimes there is no change available and the passengers have to juggle around to make the fares come out right. The taxi does not deliver the passengers until the total is right-today 16 passengers (and 2 infants) = R352. I secretly hoped that we would be reassigned seats as the job requires too many skills for newcomers but today I looked around to the back of the taxi after all the change had been made and one woman announced that “Finished”, a good sign that no one was shortchanged. Today Mr. Zulu did not ask Brendon to fill out lotto numbers. I guess our luck is up or he got tired of losing the last four months with the Bond’s picks. Maybe our luck will come during the police traffic stops and his taxi is not put out of commission. Today the windshield wipers were working so we appreciate improvements, even in small doses. The government is trying to phase out the old unsafe taxis but there is resistance due to added costs for the owner.
The work at the Hospital was brightened this week by the arrival of 14 nursing students doing a monthly rotation in the TB wards. They live in rondavals on the hospital grounds without TV, cinemas, shopping, fast food or boyfriends. Their arrival brought an expansion of the Jabule Sewing group as they were solicited by some of the bedridden patients to obtain sewing and yarn materials from my stash to pass the hours in bed. Two of the nursing students asked for yarns and fabric to make hats for themselves. I felt badly turning them down but told them that membership in the elite Jabule group required a diagnosis of TB or AIDS. This week was also successful in getting a few men to sew booties and small coin bags out of python printed fabric purchased for R5 a meter ($.75). The interest in the coin bags started when the patient that finally received his welfare grant needed a place to put his money and conned a female patient into sewing a drawstring bag that he proudly wore around his neck containing his riches. Some of the other men wanted bags do so they were willing to sew for themselves in spite of their own stigma about men sewing. Wire and pliers were also offered for crafts but no takers this week. A chaplain student attempted to determine some meaningful activity for the men and discovered that they would enjoy learning how to repair shoes and carve wood so maybe these activities can be developed.
The good news is that the patient that received his welfare grant last week (with the python drawstring bag for bounty) was discharged on Wednesday and left the hospital to live with his children in a nearby town. He was feeling higher than a kite on Tuesday night when he started to imagine his new life outside of the hospital after being a patient for 1 ½ years and wearing dull blue pajamas 24 hours a day. He smiled broadly as he announced that maybe he would go to JoBurg and do some strong work. There are success stories at Mountain High!
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Got Your Goat! Fun in 2007
After our dream vacation touring the game parks and beaches of Kwa Zulu Natal, we journeyed back to our lives as Peace Corps Volunteers in a remote Christian hospital for TB and AIDS, high in the mountains of an indigenous forest. The Greyhound bus pulled into our town, we picked up groceries for the week and rode expectantly up the mountain road to home. In spite of the luxury living the last two weeks, we looked forward to sleeping in our own bed, cooking our own food, tending our garden and taking a shower after the long trip. Two of the four were not to be as a thin trickle of water slithered out of the faucet and then quit upon our arrival. The fan belt had broken on the water pump and a part had to be brought from town. “Let’s check the garden” I suggested to Brendon as I had some anxiety about leaving the beautiful mealy, cabbage and vegetable crops for two weeks. There was plenty of rain in the area during the interlude so all should be well.
The garden looked like it had been hit with a lawn mower! Most of the cabbage plants had been hacked from the inside out and the mealys were sawed off directly across the budding sheaves. What an ugly sight. In addition weeds had sprung up around the decimated cabbage plants. Immediately we suspected those large green and brown locusts that had been swarming around the hospital and declared our attempts at organic farming to be a dud. Bring on the herbicides, pesticides and any other cide that will sustain our feeble garden. The next day the hospital gardener reported that the culprit was a family of goats. The mother, wanting good nutrition for her children, moved in and helped herself to the budding cabbage heads and mealy leaves. The patients in the Jabule sewing group who lounge outside by the garden when then weather is nice stated that they tried to beat off the goats but they would not be deterred from eating the bounty. Usually goats are found in garbage heaps but they made their way into the hospital grounds. After our office duties the last two days, the second job was to try to salvage the remaining veges and strike terror into the hearts of any goat that came around. Truthfully, they are very cute and are quite a site with their unique coat patterns and kids trailing but I am glad I left my weapons with CA DHS.
Many of the patients were discharged over the Christmas holiday, but new patients are trickling in so my job is to encourage them to start a craft, sewing or needlework project and join the other women in conversation. They are reluctant to participate at first and ask what they will have to pay. There is no charge and they are given choices to select the project, style and colors that they prefer. This causes some delay and would be more efficient by assigning activities and materials but life in a TB hospital has very few opportunities for choice or creativity. The patients were thrilled with the beautiful yarns and materials that my son transported to SA from donors in California. The yarns here are very dull (and expensive) so the beautiful colors were a pleasure.
Friday brought success with the South Africa Welfare Department as I escorted a male patient to the bank and he was able to get his disability grant after a 1 ½ year wait and countless visits to the welfare office. We timidly went up to the teller and inquired as to whether the deposit had been made and Bingo, his grant was there for the taking. I had almost given up after an entire day was spent at the welfare office in Nov. and ended up with a quick escort out the door at 4 pm when they closed. The patient was jubilant and thrilled that at last he had a little cash in his pocket. I think of the patients being elderly as they move very slowly and seem aged. In fact most of them are under 40 and cannot fathom my age. (57 years) AIDS and TB have robbed them of their prime years, robustness and joy of living. Not to mention the dangers from the roads and accidents in this country. Everyone is in a hurry and the narrow two lane roads are full of obstacles-pedestrians, stalled cars, cows, goats and mist that obscure the dangers. A domestic employee of the hospital was killed in car accident this week when her car swerved to miss a stalled vehicle and she was thrown out. Life expectancy is very short (around 47 years) here in spite of the trappings of the first world. Many people are fatalistic about death and accidents-this may be a vestige of Apartheid where cause/effect and critical thinking were not encouraged. I am convinced that every human being is special and that there are no throwaway people. There are so many obstacles to prevention and safe practices-safe societies are a luxury to some degree. However, carnage from AIDS, TB, Malaria, wars and car accidents is decimating the parents and breadwinners of Africa. One more preventable death is a lament that underscores all the bodies that leave the hospital in cheap caskets. Life is not depressing in this place, only frustrating!
The garden looked like it had been hit with a lawn mower! Most of the cabbage plants had been hacked from the inside out and the mealys were sawed off directly across the budding sheaves. What an ugly sight. In addition weeds had sprung up around the decimated cabbage plants. Immediately we suspected those large green and brown locusts that had been swarming around the hospital and declared our attempts at organic farming to be a dud. Bring on the herbicides, pesticides and any other cide that will sustain our feeble garden. The next day the hospital gardener reported that the culprit was a family of goats. The mother, wanting good nutrition for her children, moved in and helped herself to the budding cabbage heads and mealy leaves. The patients in the Jabule sewing group who lounge outside by the garden when then weather is nice stated that they tried to beat off the goats but they would not be deterred from eating the bounty. Usually goats are found in garbage heaps but they made their way into the hospital grounds. After our office duties the last two days, the second job was to try to salvage the remaining veges and strike terror into the hearts of any goat that came around. Truthfully, they are very cute and are quite a site with their unique coat patterns and kids trailing but I am glad I left my weapons with CA DHS.
Many of the patients were discharged over the Christmas holiday, but new patients are trickling in so my job is to encourage them to start a craft, sewing or needlework project and join the other women in conversation. They are reluctant to participate at first and ask what they will have to pay. There is no charge and they are given choices to select the project, style and colors that they prefer. This causes some delay and would be more efficient by assigning activities and materials but life in a TB hospital has very few opportunities for choice or creativity. The patients were thrilled with the beautiful yarns and materials that my son transported to SA from donors in California. The yarns here are very dull (and expensive) so the beautiful colors were a pleasure.
Friday brought success with the South Africa Welfare Department as I escorted a male patient to the bank and he was able to get his disability grant after a 1 ½ year wait and countless visits to the welfare office. We timidly went up to the teller and inquired as to whether the deposit had been made and Bingo, his grant was there for the taking. I had almost given up after an entire day was spent at the welfare office in Nov. and ended up with a quick escort out the door at 4 pm when they closed. The patient was jubilant and thrilled that at last he had a little cash in his pocket. I think of the patients being elderly as they move very slowly and seem aged. In fact most of them are under 40 and cannot fathom my age. (57 years) AIDS and TB have robbed them of their prime years, robustness and joy of living. Not to mention the dangers from the roads and accidents in this country. Everyone is in a hurry and the narrow two lane roads are full of obstacles-pedestrians, stalled cars, cows, goats and mist that obscure the dangers. A domestic employee of the hospital was killed in car accident this week when her car swerved to miss a stalled vehicle and she was thrown out. Life expectancy is very short (around 47 years) here in spite of the trappings of the first world. Many people are fatalistic about death and accidents-this may be a vestige of Apartheid where cause/effect and critical thinking were not encouraged. I am convinced that every human being is special and that there are no throwaway people. There are so many obstacles to prevention and safe practices-safe societies are a luxury to some degree. However, carnage from AIDS, TB, Malaria, wars and car accidents is decimating the parents and breadwinners of Africa. One more preventable death is a lament that underscores all the bodies that leave the hospital in cheap caskets. Life is not depressing in this place, only frustrating!
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Picture Gallery
For more pictures click here , open the albums by clicking the album cover picture, get larger images by clicking on pictures in albums.
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