Hospitals, Concerts, Nuns, and Goats

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Saturday:

After riding two hours in a “small taxi”—a circa-1990 Corolla carrying about 12 passengers (I kid you not! They even squish two people into the driver’s seat)—I arrived in a nearby town to visit my friend Irene in the hospital. Irene’s story is so sad! She was a nurse in our health center. Somewhere in the process of taking the blood of an HIV-positive patient, an open wound on her finger came into contact with infected blood. She rushed to the nearest hospital to begin taking an HIV prophylaxis. She had been taking the drugs a few days when she developed Stevens-Johnson syndrome, a rare but life-threatening drug reaction. She has been in the hospital for over a month. I had spoken with her on the phone a few times and was glad to finally be able to go see her in the hospital. When I first saw her, I startled. She looked like a burn victim, with open sores covering her entire body. She wasn’t able to talk the first couple of weeks because of the sores in her mouth, and her family was afraid she would die. Her condition is slowly improving, but she will likely have severe scarring and she still can’t eat solid foods. I wanted to do something for her but I just couldn’t think of what. I gave her the novel I had packed to read on my weekend trip, feeling a little bit silly but hoping it could at least stave off some boredom. I left feeling so sad, and then later angry. If she had been wearing gloves when she came into contact with the blood, none of this would have happened. Does our clinic not supply its nurses with gloves? I intend to investigate.

Next I sat in regular “taxi”—a 15-passenger van—for another four hours to the next big town, where I met up with another Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV). We continued on another taxi for another hour to another town, where we met up with a group of about eight more PCVs for dinner and then a fun concert. This town is near some tourist attractions, so it has a lot of “muzungu comforts.” I actually had a cheeseburger! Even though it was no comparison to Hires back at home, it was fantastic!

The concert was fun and interesting. The main performers were two popular Ugandan singers, Radio and Weasel, who do kind of reggae-ish music. There is definitely a different performer-crowd dynamic around here. I’ve decided that whatever developing countries may lack in political democracy, they make up for in crowd democracy! The warm-up bands were local musicians singing along to pre-recorded backup music, but after a song or two, people started shouting and someone from the crowd would jump up on stage and point to his/her watch, signaling that it was time for the next act. Eventually, Radio and Weasel came on and the crowd wetnt into hysterics! People were jumping up on stage and giving the performers money, taking pictures with them, and dancing with them. The guard standing on stage with an AK-47 (these guards are ubiquitous in Africa) did nothing, and the musicians didn’t seem to mind. It was definitely a concert managed by the people, for the people! After the concert, we saw Radio and Weasel as we all were leaving. Weasel saw us and shouted out “Muzungus!” My wonderful and hilarious PCV-friend Miranda shouted back, “You call me madam, not muzungu!” Way to sass off to a celebrity, Miranda! J

Sunday:

I left town in the morning to journey back home, taking another way back. Another hour on a “taxi”, then an hour and a half of waiting, and then what should have been three hours in a “small taxi”, except the fact that we had a flat tire and the car was overheating along the way. Three hours quickly turned into five. Finally I made it to another village about 15 miles from mine, where there is a convent with some fantastic Ugandan and American nuns! They also have two young German volunteers teaching in the school run by the convent, and an American volunteer, Nick, who has been here for a few months setting up a microfinance organization. It was Nick’s last night in town, so he invited me to come join them for his goodbye dinner. Dinner was great—Mexican food! We all played cards and dominoes for a few hours, and then I stayed up late talking and relating experiences with Nick. The sisters were kind enough to let me stay in one of the empty teacher rooms.

Monday:

I walked down the main road after breakfast, intending to catch another “small taxi”, but when I reached the road, I wondered how long it would take to walk. The area is beautiful and the weather couldn’t have been more perfect—sunny with a cool breeze—so I started making my way…

Two and a half hours later, I heard a goat in distress. I rounded the corner to find a goat hanging from a rope by the neck off a drop-off, one foot above the ground. The goat had been tied on the flat land above, but had fallen off the drop-off and the rope wasn’t long enough for the goat’s feet to touch the ground. I looked around to make sure nobody was watching and might think that I was trying to steal their goat, and then I picked up the goat and put it back on solid ground above the drop-off, but the goat just laid on its side, gasping for breath. I thought, “Goat, I don’t know what else I can do for you!” But luckily, the goat finally started breathing normally and stood up.

An hour and a half later, I finally made it home!

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