Hope you have some time on your hands...

Hello friends and family!

I have to apologize for not keeping up with my blogging. I do have a little bit of internet access at the place I am volunteering, but I feel guilty spending an extended time using it for personal reasons. So I have restrained. As a result, I am typing up a couple different journal entries that I have written over the past few weeks using Emily’s (my supervisor) ancient laptop. So this will be a long read if you have the time.

May 10th, 2008

My placement began this week. WUSC assigned me to volunteer at the Holy Cross Hospice with Warren and Brianna, two of my partners in crime from the Project Serve Mississippi trip in February. The Holy Cross Hospice is an organization that provides both day care and home based care to HIV and cancer patients. They generally live in the area of Old Naledi, the “slum” of Gaborone that was the settlement from which the city originated. The organization employs social workers and nursing staff that work with palliative care patients, as well as HIV infected clients that are beginning their ARV (Antiretrovirals) treatment. They offer a support group for people who are “Living Positive,” an ARV adherence program, and constant monitoring of health status to ensure rehabilitaton. If patients are too unwell to come to the centre, they are visited in their homes several times a week by a team of nurses, social workers, and community volunteers. The hospice also runs a pre-school and a kids club, both of which were programs that emerged organically as a result of demand for care for the children of patients as well as Orphans and Vulnerable Children (OVCs).

When we were told of our placement a few days before leaving Canada, I assumed that we would be working with the kids at the pre-school. I’m not sure where that assumption came from, but I think it was mainly due to the reality that none of us had a background in science, nursing, counselling or social work. I was surprised, and also a little bit nervous, to hear that I will be working with the adult patients, and not the children at all. What is the nature of the placement? I can’t really say as of yet, as there has been little instruction thus far. I believe that we will be working with the nursing department in some capacity, but it is yet to be seen how.

On the first day of our placement we were told by the director, that we needed to be patient with the pace of the hospice. She recognized that we are from a society that works on tight schedules with high expectations. Botswana is quite different, even in the business world. We were told it is very likely that we will get frustrated when there often seems as if nothing is getting done—as has happened already. The daycare patients don’t arrive until more than an hour and a half after we do, and we often are not needed to do anything until then. On Thursday, Warren, Brianna and I just sat around chatting with each other and feeling useless. Friday, however, I decided to look for some type of meaningful job to do. So I invaded the kitchen where the two cooks, Anna and Tsofatso work throughout the day. I chopped carrots with the dullest knife you could imagine and listened to the two of them sing in Setswana. I’m not sure if I was really needed, but I think is was a good way to challenge this need I have to be “productive.” Are not meaningful relationships more important than production? That is something that I have always believed in, yet I found myself contradicting it this week until I just relaxed and let myself slowly chop carrots.

May 12th, 2008

Day three at the hospice: complete. If you were to ask me last Friday morning what I thought of the placement, I would have responded in a slightly frustrated manner. I did not feel like there was a given role for us, or a way to really make a difference in the lives of anyone suffering from HIV/AIDS. That thought, however, has been radically challenged.

My Offering
On Thursday we met all of the nursing staff, and July—one of the nurses—very bluntly asked Warren, Brianna and I why we were there if we were not studying social work or nursing. At first I was asking myself that same question. What do I have to offer with no qualifications for this volunteer position? But I think what I have learned is that in an environment such as that at the Holy Cross, where people are sick, HIV infected people are losing the will to live, everyone is losing loved ones, staff are overworked and underpaid, and morale in down in general, what is needed is so much more than professional expertise. Everyone—staff, volunteers and clients of the hospice—are in so much need of love, encouragement and compassion.

I have been spending time building relationships with two of the HIV+ clients, Thembi and Lingi (fully name meaning “luck” in Setswana). On Friday we spent hours making a puzzle together, while I learned all about the two women, their families, their dreams and their lives. Thembi gave me a Setswana name, Mpho meaning “gift.” Names in Setswana are beautiful and all have a particular meaning that are usually related to events related to their birth. For example, the name Bopuso means “independence.” It is almost guaranteed that anyone with that name was either born in 1966, or on September 30th, the anniversary of Botswana’s independence. To return to Lingi and Thembi, both women came to the hospice today simply beaming. They were obviously dressed in their best and ready to spend the day with us making bracelets, making puzzles and chatting. In the morning, Lingi very proudly introduced us to her five year old son as he was waiting in the combi (minibus) to be taken to the preschool. With women like this who are so excited to be loved, how can I honestly believe that I have nothing to offer?

Jenn the nurses aid?
I have always said that I am too squeamish to be a doctor or a nurse. I may have proved myself wrong today. As part of the home based care program, I accompanied a team of social workers and nurses to the home of a man who had surgery to remove a serious cancerous tumour. As the social workers talked to the family, I went into the house with July to help were change the dressing on the man’s wound. It was terribly infected and had an awful smell, and the man was living in a tiny space that was not clean at all. After earlier questioning my ability to do anything with the nursing staff, July had me right in the scene, mixing solutions, soaking gauze and pouring disinfectant on the wound. I shocked myself with my calmness and focus, and absent desire to look away. After such an experience, I am not considering enrolling in nursing, but I have proved myself total capable of working within an environment that I had assumed I would be very uncomfortable in. In addition to being surprised at my own ability, I am amazed at the degree of involvement that we have been given with no experience. No one without a nursing degree would ever be permitted to aid the treatment of a patient in Canada. But work in the AIDS crisis in Botswana doesn’t seem to be governed by legality and permits. It is a matter of need and willingness to help.

May 17th, 2008

AIDS and Degeneration

Up until a few days ago, I do not that think that I have been able to wrap my head around the real tragedy of AIDS. I know that millions of people die each year from a disease that ruins their immune systems and takes them away from their loved ones at a young age. It causes orphans and widows and broken families. But I have never thought of how it affects a persons’ humanity. Then I met Shimane.

As I was at my placement this week I agreed to join two nurses, Monica and Mohutsi, as they were taking a patient to the hospital. He was so feeble and weak that he could barely moved, let alone get into the car. Between struggling breaths, he looked at me and asked me how I was doing, in perfect English. As we moved him from the car to a bed in the emergency zone of the Princess Marina Hospital, I could not take my eyes away from him. It was obvious that he had been a big man with broad shoulders and a strong body. Now he was curled up, practically skin and bones with a sunken tired face. Even so, there was something in his eyes—something very special. I could not place it, and I knew nothing about him, but something told me that he was an extraordinary person. I felt this intense desperation for him, with the knowledge that it was essential that he survive. I began to pray, for what I do not even know, and I could not stop.

After we had left him at the hospital, Monica told me his story. He had been a client at the hospice several years ago, and had regained his health and strength with rehabilitation and ARV treatment. He then became a community volunteer, identifying persons in the community that were infected with HIV and were in need of the services of Holy Cross. He is now an employee of the hospice, working as a lay counsellor and offering counselling to patients while beginning their treatment. He recently became ill again and has taken sick leave. Monica said that this man—Shimane—was a real “man’s man.” He was very big, very strong, and a real fighter against AIDS. He once spent eight months in the hospital fighting for his life, but came out and continued his work at the hospice. She described him as a wonderful people’s person, and an incredible inspiration to the staff, volunteers and patients. My instincts turned out to be true. He was an extraordinary man. AIDS has turned him into but a corpse. Lying there on that bed, he was a shadow of the man he once was. AIDS does not only take away health. It is not only a physical deterioration. AIDS starts to dismantle the spirit. It masks the very person. To me, that is the biggest tragedy. A disease has the power to turn extraordinary people with so much spirit, talent and heart, into shadows.

May 20th, 2008

A need for elephant crosswalks

The past weekend, I was so frustrated by the degree of ignorance that human beings can have regarding nature. Our group took a trip that was so kindly organized by the folks at WUSC to Pilanesberg Game Reserve just over the border in South Africa. The reserve, which was established out of farmland in the 1970s, contains a wide variety of game that includes a large herd of elephants.

On our final drive, we came upon the herd drinking near the road, as did about twenty other vehicles. It was incredible to be quite so close to a herd of “wild” elephants and watching them play in water while taking phenomenal photos. At one point, however, the elephants attempted to cross the road and head off into the hills. About half managed to do so between a break of cars, but the other half was scared of the moving vehicles that were so eager to get close up shots of the herd. With the half that had managed to cross was a male bull that was obviously concerned for the unity of the herd and was staring down any car that drove in front of it. Curious tourists continued to drive up next to him with passengers leaning right out of the window snapping pictures in a flurry. Anyone with the slightest knowledge of elephants would know that they are commonly temperamental, dangerous and quite destructive if threatened. We watched from behind several vehicles as cars continued to block the path of the elephants, nervously praying that they would not see it fit to charge the cars. Elephants usually begin with a mock charge to see if the threat will retreat, but that is not always a guarantee and the reality is that tourist deaths due to elephants in game parks is not an unheard of occurrence. I was relieved when space was finally made for our truck to leave the scene, but I am curious to know what ended up happening. Maybe I overreacted, as I am fully aware that I have an irrational fear of wild animals, and elephants in game parks are more used to people and cars than I would think. Regardless, I feel strongly that there was a serious lack of respect for an extremely dangerous wild animal. When a man is in his car, he often believes he is invincible. But the truth is that a Ford Explorer is no match for the massive feet of an angry elephant.

May 25th, 2008

Thoughts on Batswana (The people of this beautiful country)

Batswana, even if they are another customer at the gas station, or a stranger walking down the street, love to know what we think of Botswana and how it is different then Canada. I have been asked that question so many times that I have really been able to take time and think about it. Batswana are different in so many ways from Canadians.

My first observation is that Batswana, for the most part, greet everyone. They tend to say “dumela” (hello) to everyone they pass on the street or sit down beside on a combi (minibus). When they walk into a room, is it custom to greet everyone before sitting down or going ahead with your business. I try to keep in line with this greeting, but still end up getting reprimanded for failing to greet people in situations I never deem it to be necessary. For example, we went to a Braai in a small neighbouring village on Friday. A Braai is like a BBQ, put on by an establishment every weekend. I paid about two dollars and they hand you a massive slab of chicken. Then we were to take it and cook it ourselves on a outdoor grill and eat it with a plate of pap (thick white mashed potato-esk food made from Maize) and some tomatoes. We walked into the covered area where the tables were, put down our bags and went to start the cooking. As we were walking by, a table of ladies called Katherine over, asked her why we didn’t greet them, found out where we were from, and gave her a Setswana name. It is so different from at home. I am not suggesting that Canadians are rude and fail to greet each other…but we tend to keep to ourselves and save our greetings for our friends. I feel like Batswana are not told to not talk to strangers as young children as we are in our overprotective and more personal culture.

My second observation is that when speaking Setswana, Batswana always sound like they are arguing. On Thursday, Brianna and I were in the Holy Cross vehicle with six employees who were speaking to each other in Setswana. I could have sworn they were arguing for the entire car trip. But it is just a way of talking. A very intense way of talking. We were told when we arrived here that you need to be quiet because Batswana are very soft spoken and are difficult to hear. That is completely false. They are quiet when speaking English because they are not confident in the language. But in the middle of a Setswana conversation, it feels like a brawl is about to break out.

My third observation is that Batswana are very aware of what is happening in the way, particularly politically. Every morning the patients come to the hospice, and one of them brings a pile of daily newspapers with them. We sit around and read the paper, discussing the political events in Zimbabwe, about which everyone has a strong opinion as there are many close connections and personal feelings involved. We talk about the American primaries and hear everyone’s thoughts on Obama and Clinton. The patients at the hospice are from low-income backgrounds and most of them did not complete secondary school let alone attend university. But the quality of thought and analysis on both national and international issues is astounding.

Conclusion of the longest blog entry you have probably ever read:

If you are reading this…that means that you stuck with reading the whole thing and I am very impressed. It was practically a novel. I have four more days left at the Holy Cross before we wrap up our program. Next Sunday half of the group will be flying back to Canada, while six of us stay to travel in the north for close to two weeks. Then I am off to India. I will try and post a couple more times before I leave Botswana. I miss you all and hope all is well at home!