Don't Fence Me In

My cousin Charlotte does not believe in paying money to look at an animal behind a cage.  Why would you look at an animal behind a miserable locked cage when you could view an animal in its natural happy habitat?  I must say, I do agree.  My cousin Charlotte also dyed her jack russel pink with beet juice because she was bored during the rainy season.  Clearly, I am related to this person.

That being said, since our return from Botswana we have spent much of our free time in South Africa visiting different nature reserves and playing with various animals face to face.  Monday we went to the rhino and lion park where we were allowed to pet a cheetah named Eddy and some lion cubs.  It was about mid day and they were very sleepy and didn’t really care one way or an other, but 1 lion cub did show me his teeth and if my translation is correct (the African accent was pretty thick) I think he said, “back the F$%# off white girl.”  Whatever.  I pretty much wrestled a rhino, don’t worry about it. 

On this particular trip we also saw an ostrich-mating dance, which was pretty incredible.  Basically the female ostrich prances around a little and shows off her feathers, then the male comes over with his pom-pom ass and really shows off his feathers.  Then the female acts all uninterested and the male continues prancing around for her.  I can’t help but think how much bird-mating displays are like every bar in a college town on a Saturday night.

Monday night we spent about a half an hour divvying up an impala that one of Uncle Nick’s customers shot.  Apparently there are a hundred different flavors of antelope in Africa.  Impala would be one of them.  200 kilos of impala meat is apparently a lot.  Therefore there was some disagreement as to if this dude actually shot an impala or a kudu or water buffalo or something else entirely.  Personally, I don’t really care, but when you marinate this mystery African meat in pomegranate and cover it with spice and star fruit it is absolutely delicious.    

Tuesday after a lazy morning fueled by coffee and bacon, Charlotte took me to Glen Afric (an other nature reserve near her place) to frolic with the elephants.  There is a mama and 2 babies.  By babies I mean an animal taller than me and weighs 50 times as much, but thinks it is a playful kitten.  When I was in Thailand I was not fazed when riding the elephants or even when the elephant I was riding decided to role around in the river we were walking through.  I am not sure why (charging rhino) but for some reason (charging rhino) I felt a little more jumpy around these elephants (charging rhino).   Regardless it was fun to pet them and have them throw dirt in our general direction.

Rewind!  I should also tell the story of our re-entry into South Africa from Botswana (Sunday afternoon) because even though I am sure it was nothing to Charlotte and Brevis, it was an experience that added a few more grey hair to my head.  If you will remember we still, obviously, didn’t have registration papers for the car we were trying to drive across this particular African border.  This particular African border is interesting because most people from Botswana apparently hate the Afrikaans in South Africa.  History lesson that I will not go into for your own sake.  So even though Charlotte and Brevis both speak Afrikaans, when a Botswana official greets them in Afrikaans Charlotte and Brevis are forced to feign ignorance because if they were to reply in Afrikaans to these officials we would be in about 3 hours and a lot of moneys worth of trouble.  I have so much to learn.  At any rate, we (again) get through the passport side of things.  We even get through the car side of things and we are about to drive over the border when we see an other car ahead of us stopped with at least 4 African officials in uniform surrounding it.  The passenger from the car is clutching his passport and looks scared out of his mind.  Again, I am trying to judge the veterans in the car and when I hear Charlotte mutter, “uh-oh…” my pulse quickens. 

The second we pull up behind the other car, the African officials (and their guns) become immediately disinterested in the poor gentleman they had just been harassing and all eyes turn to our car.  Said harassed gentleman quickly jumps into his own car and speeds away.  Lucky bastard.  Once again I try to plaster on my not so sly wide-eyed creepy grin.  I am in the front seat and Charlotte is in the back and Brevis is driving, mind you.  Brevis, cool as a freaking cucumber, hands the officials his passport and drivers license and asks the officials if they would like to see anything else.  At this point, Charlotte and I are both sitting on top of a number of ostrich feathers we were attempting to bring back.  Charlotte also has a giraffe tail she found on the ground tucked into her Prada.  Yes Prada, your handbags are now being used as vehicles to carry giraffe tails around Africa.  We dirty Americans thank you.  At any rate, the African officials smile at Charlotte (obviously not the weird girl in the front who looks like she has just been let out of the psych ward) and ask Brevis to step out of the car.  They lead Brevis to the back of the car and Charlotte turns around ready to grab certain luggage if and when they open the trunk.  We see them all laughing and within 20 seconds Brevis is back in the drivers seat laughing.   The trunk door not even touched.

“So what was that all about?”  I asked, trying to seem like I wasn’t crapping my pants at that exact moment.

Brevis just laughed and nonchalantly said, “Oh those guys said I had 2 beautiful women sitting in the car and I must have more important things to do than sit at the border and I had better be on my way quite quickly so I could take care of things.”

Charlotte just giggled and said, “Oh you gotta love Africa.”

Yes.  Yes I do.

My Polar Bear Story

I have a friend, Mali, who went on a very long and intense canoe trip in Northern Canada with a group of amazing women.  Toward the end of their trip a polar bear came into their camp and stalked them for over 24 hours.  It is an incredible story.  A story that I make Mali tell at parties frequently and when she isn’t there, I go ahead and thrill people with the story myself.  It is a story that keeps people on the edge of their seats (literally, a rugby guy I know sat on the edge of our couch for an hour while Mali told this story once).  I am proud to say that after visiting with my long lost cousin Charlotte Hanks, I finally have my own polar bear story, so I won’t have to steal Mali’s any longer.  But, I will let you sit in anticipation of that story while I give you the intricate and significant details that lead up to such a story.  But you can bet your smuggled ostrich feathers (an other story) that I will get there!

For about three days there I got into this routine where I would drink about a half a bottle of wine or so and wake up in a different country.  It all started last Thursday when I was packing up my hotel room in Ethiopia and I had some wine left over from…whatever…and I drank wine and watched the traffic of Addis and woke up the next morning (not so surprisingly) in Ethiopia.  The next night I drank wine and watched wildebeest graze and woke up in South Africa.  The following night I drank wine and watch baboons at a watering hole and woke up in Botswana.   So how did I get here (there)?  Well let me tell you!

The end of my thrilling data collection in Ethiopia was anti-climatic to say the least.  I finished up my work Thursday and my ever so kind and thoughtful mentor offered to pick me up Friday morning at 6am to take me to the airport.  It was Friday the 13^th and I kept trying to convince myself that I was not superstitious, but when you have a father that survived a firey plane crash and an uncle that was on the plane that crashed into the Hudson river, you can’t help but wonder…so I check in and the woman gladly puts me in the emergency row, hands me my ticket and wouldn’t you know I am in row 13.  I mean…come on!   

As “luck” would have it I survived, but not without denouncing the thought of ever having children thanks to the ill-attentive mother and her 3 heinous children that ran into my legs for 5 hours – straight.  Woah is me.  At any rate, I arrived in Johannesburg and had told my cousin (whom I have never met before, we are actually maybe 2^nd or 3^rd cousins…we have the same great-grandmother maybe?  Whatever, the point is we both have the last name Hanks and we are facebook friends and she lives in a cool place that I wanted to see) to take her time as I was going to try to change my return ticket home.  An other story that you do not want to hear.  As I was standing at the counter trying to change said ticket I hear a voice behind me say, “Are you my cousin?” I turn around to find…a Hanks.  I don’t know how to describe a Hanks to one that does not know our family.  There is something about a Hanks that reeks of mischief and fun.  Something that tells you, “I am going to get into a lot of trouble with this person, but have a hell of a good time doing it.”  I immediately knew I was in for an adventure. 

After figuring out the ticket situation we piled into her car with her husband Brevis.  Nerdy sidenote – for those of you who have had the pleasure of studying the anatomy of the hand or foot you know that there are many muscles that are short and long and named as such – pollicis longus and pollicis brevis.  Adductor longus and adductor brevis.  Brevis’ mother was a medical student and liked the sound of Brevis.  That made me happy.

At any rate, we drove about an hour outside of Jo-burg to the nature reserve where Charlotte and Brevis live.  I mean…wow.  Just…wow.  The view, the house, the wine.  All, just stunning.  We had a glass of wine and watched the sunset over the hills.  They live on the top of a hill where you can see (as before mentioned) wildebeest grazing as well as whatever other wild animal comes along. 

That night we went to dinner at Uncle Nick Hanks’ house literally down the dirt road.  Uncle Nick is Charlotte’s uncle and my….relative?  Whatever, same last name, so I am in.  2 other couples living on the nature reserve joined us.  One couple was a British man and his French wife who runs a spa that serves only raw foods to her visitors for 5 days straight.  Charlotte says they live in the castle down by the river.  We were invited to hang out while I am here and I can’t wait.  Dinner was a trip.  I learned what “vee” means in French and it is incredibly inappropriate. 

The next morning I woke up in South Africa and still hadn’t showered from my travels.  We were trying to leave for a gaming camp in Botswana, but Charlotte said, “Oh you must have a bath and watch the sun rise over the African hills.”  Ugh…I guess if you say so… She drew me a bath and it was pretty much a life changing experience. 

After having my life changed, we loaded up the car and drove for 5 hours to Botswana.  When we arrived at the border (and I should mention that for whatever reason I am incredibly skiddish of any border police or customs or what have you) we are walking up to the office when Brevis does a deep intake of breath a la Ethiopian agreement sign and looks at Charlotte with wide eyes and says, “we forgot the car papers!”  Keep in mind we have already driven across South Africa for the last 4 hours.  The game camp is just 30 min across the border, but trying to get across a border with out registration for the car you are driving kind of makes it look like you stole the car.  Oh well, thought I, Botswana would have been nice.  To my surprise, Charlotte looked worried for all of half a second and then giggled and said, “Oh well we have gotten out of worse situations at African borders.”  Dare I ask?  Probably not the time.  Charlotte then turned to me and said, “Open your eyes very wide and smile very big and laugh and say thank you.”  Uh-huh, whatever you say cousin Charlotte.   So we got all the way through the passport part and we finally walk up to the car part of the deal and here I am standing with what had to look like the scariest, biggest grin and eyes popping out of my head, behind a cool, calm, collected Charlotte and Brevis.  We walk up to the window and this Botswana man jerks his head up and says, “What?  No you didn’t just catch me sleeping!  What can I do for you?  I am awake you see!”  I let out a, very likely, much too loud laugh as Charlotte bashfully giggles and says we are headed into his beautiful country for the weekend.  So much smoother than me.  Must be the cool Hanks side, obviously.  We get all the way through the process without him ever asking for the papers for the car, we pay him for our ticket to get in and start walking away.

As we are reaching the door Charlotte whispers in my ear, “I can’t believe we just got away with th-“

“WAIT!!”

Damnit.

The man is yelling for us to come back and all 3 of us simultaneously slump our shoulders and walk back, knowing what must be coming.

“You for got your change.  Have a great weekend in my beautiful country!”

Unreal.

So we make it to Mokolodi lodge where we are staying in a chalet overlooking the watering hole.  Mokolodi is a nature reserve of 8000 hectares with all sorts of animal that basically just hang out and don’t have to worry about being poached.   When we pull up to our chalet there are bunch of baboons just chilling at the watering hole.  So we more or less joined them with our wine.  After that Ranger Brevis took us on a game drive through the park where we saw countless kudu and impala.  You pretty much just drive through these dirt roads and there are animals everywhere and they are not behind cages or captive or anything gross like that.  Just hanging out.

After the game drive we had dinner at the lodge.   Charlotte had been raving about Botswana beef so I ordered a fillet (pronounced Fill-Let in Africa apparently) with the Mokolodi sauce, which consisted of Camembert cheese and cherries.  I will have dreams of that dinner for the rest of my life.

The next morning we wake up around 7 am, enjoy a cup of coffee and pile into the car that informs us that it is 4 degrees Celsius.  Apparently it gets cold in Africa.  We meet up with 2 guides at the registration office for our rhino tracking tour.  This basically involves sitting on benches in the back of a truck freezing your ass off for 2 hours.  To be fair, we were driving through the bush and it was pretty awesome.  Finally, we spotted some fresh rhino tracks (are you paying attention?  Because this is the where the “polar bear” part of the story comes in).  Our 2 guides tell the 3 of us to get out so we can start tracking the rhino on foot.  I was pleased to see one of the guides pull out a very large shotgun from the truck as they tell us this.

We then proceeded to play a little game I like to call, “follow the gun.”  Both guides were tracking the rhino, but there are 7 rhinos in this reserve, hence many different tracks, so often the 2 guides would split off in different directions.  I would always “follow the gun,” for obvious reasons.  Finally the guide with the gun tells us that we have walked quite far and he is going to go back and circle around with the truck so we don’t have to walk so far when we come back and he hands the gun off to our female guide.  He leaves and she leads us further into the bush.  I should mention that we are walking through sandy Kalahari bush that is laced with Acashia thorns, which are (no lie) 2 inches long.  These thorns kept ripping off our hats and tugging at our jackets.  At any rate, we are walking along and all of the sudden our guide says, “wait…I think he was…and then he went…there!”  And she is pointing to what appears to me to be a bunch of thorns and bush.  “You see him?  Right through there?”  I see thorns.  But then…maybe?  And then I realize there is something very large not 20 yards away from us.

I pull out my camera and start trying to snap some pictures.

“That is the male that protects the herd,” our guide was saying.

“Oh yeah?” snap, snap.

“Yes, he cannot see very well, but he can hear us and smell us,” says the guide.

“Yeah?”  Snap, snap.

“Yes, he is not a very nice rhino…”

“Really?” Snap, snap.

“Yes, he has heard us.  He is not happy.”

“Wait…”

“Ok, now we run.”

Pardon?

“RUN!!”

Have you ever had a gazillion pound prehistoric creature with a horn that could skewer you in an instant, come charging through the bush in your direction from 20 yards away?  I have. 

I don’t even know what happened next, but we were running.  The 2-inch thorns were not helping, but next to the blind, angry rhino behind us they looked like child’s play.  Basically we darted left and rhino went straight and we avoided him for the most part.  When we finally came to a clearing it appeared that we had escaped the most immediate threat.  I was, obviously, still shaking and trying to catch my breath.  I turned around expecting to find the same of my compatriots only to find Brevis calmly smoking a cigarette, Charlotte looking at me with this huge grin saying, “I don’t know about you, but I love this sh*t!” and our guide banging the butt of the gun on the ground and pointing at me and howling with laughter saying, “Woooo!  You should have seen the look on your face!  I said, ‘Ok now we run,’ and you say, ‘Where?!’  Hoooo!! Hahaha!” 

Ok, first of all I don’t remember saying anything except for running.  Second of all, really?  No kidding I was scared!!  Then, she pulls out 2 shotgun shells from her pocket and says, “You don’t have to worry.  If anything serious happens I put these in the gun.”  Wait.  You are telling me that gun isn’t even loaded?!  Then it dawns on me that I am standing in the middle of the African bush with these 3 loony toons, an unloaded shotgun, and a very pissed off male rhino somewhere in the bushes.  Excuse me while I go change my underwear…

Pass the Syrup

My hotel has complimentary breakfast.  I actually find it better than most complimentary hotel breakfasts (breakfasti?) in America.  There are scrambled eggs and what they call French toast, but I actually think it is better and sweeter.  Plus they have all the Ethiopian fixings which adds delicious spice and of course coffee….mmm….coffee.  At any rate, it’s a pretty sweet deal and there really is something for everyone, I think.  So yesterday this big dude comes in for breakfast right after I arrive looking like he just got off the boat and is trying to figure out the deal.  I inwardly grin at myself because it’s nice to finally know what’s going on (sorta).   I should also mention that the staff here at Harambee hotel have been awesome.   Many of them speak only a little bit of English, but we all smile at each other a lot and it’s very pleasant.  So anyway, dude is trying to figure out breakfast and to his credit he smiles and says good morning to me, but then…he gets stuck on wanting syrup.  Then he does that thing that just makes me want to throw my American passport out a window, when no one understands what he is asking for, he just says it louder.  And louder.  “Suuur-UP!  DO…YOU…HAVE…ANY SYUUR-UP?!”  Come on man, you are in Ethiopia!  Does it look like syrup is served with this meal?  And then he does the thing that I hope none of you will ever do when traveling to a country other than your own, he lets out this exasperated (and very loud) sigh and demands, “get me someone who speaks English.”

Allow me a little soapbox time for a minute here.  When traveling outside of your home country, you are guest.  It is not a requirement for everyone in the world to speak English, much less serve you syrup.  Yes, it is frustrating to not be understood, I’m not claiming that I haven’t been a little frustrated myself in the last couple weeks, but usually my frustration is with myself for not knowing the language.  I had drinks with Peace Corps Volunteers last weekend who spoke easy Amharic to our waitress and I was so jealous to not have that ability in this country.  It is just so much more respectful, I think, to take the time and learn the language, not just demand that someone speak your own native language.

Ok enough preaching to the choir soaps or whatever, let’s all just be polite and if you are traveling away from home remember to BYO syrup!  On a lighter note, I started thinking about different ways to say (or not say) signs of agreement.  For example, in America when someone says, “Hey man, brats and beer at your place?”  One would reply with a “Yeah” or “Yup” or “Right on” or what have you.  In Samoa (and this is my personal favorite) they don’t reply.  They simply raise their eyebrows a few times.  I caught on to this pretty quick and I actually still catch myself doing this from time to time in America.  It can be a little tricky though because if you are not looking at the person when you ask, “Is this the right road to the beach?” and you hear nothing it can be deceiving.  But then you look up and see a flutter of eyebrow activity and you know you are on the right track.

In Ethiopia, I have discovered that the sign for agreement is a sharp intake of breath.  Like, pretend someone just crept up behind you and grabbed your shoulders.  “Huuuhhh!”  I don’t even know how to write that, but go ahead and pretend that happened right now.  Go on – quick breath intake.  Got it.  That sound.  So I was going through all my data today with my mentor, making sure I wrote down the right name for diagnoses and procedures, etc.  Which is actually trickier than it sounds because it involves trying to decipher various doctor’s handwriting out of a log book.  So I would periodically say something like, “this one here, is this perforated bowel?”  To which he would respond with a sharp intake of breath (go ahead, do it again so you get the full effect) to which I would jump (every time!) and be like “What!?  Where?!  I’ve got pepper spray!  Oh…you mean…yes, bowel perforation, sooo next surgery…”  Eyebrow raising was much easier on the nerves…

Sucker

Ethiopian kids do this cute little trick where one kid comes up to you and distracts you with something he is selling or saying “hungry” over and over again, while his buddy puts his filthy, sneaky little hand in your pocket or purse.  I know this.  I have been warned about this.

So today I woke up late and enjoyed a nice breakfast across the street from my hotel.  The waiters finally understood my sign language for “jam” on my toast (this took 3 weeks to work out) and all was good.  I then went to the ATM to get money for the week and pay my hotel bill.  After that my plan was to walk down the street to buy a present for some friends (Tim and Burda you better like you stupid gift) and then stop by the hospital and do some work. 

I was walking to the shop when this kid about half my size jumped in front of me with a box of gum.  He was persistent.  I will give him that.  I’ve also been told that avoiding eye contact helps to show your lack of interest.  So I was trying to do my best to look straight ahead and keep my hand firmly over the top of my bag which was carrying my wallet, my passport, one of the 4 backups for my data, and my laptop.  My phone, unfortunately, was in an outside pocket because I had just been texting with a Peace Corps Volunteer in Addis about possibly meeting up. 

It was after a couple of yards that I heard this little punk’s friend coming up behind me and grabbing my arm muttering what I could only imagine was his attempt at “hungry.”  I kept walking with eyes forward trying to shake them without being too rude.  Finally after a block or so, they mysteriously dropped off.  I thought I had just done a good job and looking uninterested.  Once I crossed the street and was about half way up the hill to the shop I reached into the outside pocket to check the time on my cell phone only to discover, you guessed it, no cell phone.  &$%*#@%!!!  Come ON!

I am trying to remind myself that at least it wasn’t my passport or my wallet that I just put $3000 birr in (roughly $200USD) or my computer full of all my data.  But it is hard to be optimistic when an 8 year old just made you a sucker…Damnit!!

Puzzle day

 Dr. Nebyou and I outside the OR at Black Lion Hospital

Ethiopian Epic...

Beats Working

My sister’s boyfriend likes to do puzzles.  My sister’s boyfriend is also very strange, so we usually just roll our eyes and laugh when he talks about doing his puzzles, but I started thinking today about how the human body is kind of like a 3D puzzle.  This morning I watched my mentor remove a giant, very vascularized (read - very bloody) carotid body (read – in the neck) tumor.  Watching him work through the anatomy of the neck was like working through a very complex puzzle… one that occasional sprayed blood in your face.  It is such an incredible thing to posses the knowledge that enables one to cut into a human, remove the problem, and then put them back together again.  Watching something like that…its like time, spreadsheets, food, school, nothing else exists except for that giant 3D puzzle that needs to be put back together.    

My Dad always says that, “any day in the OR beats working.”  I never really understood what he meant by that until I actually worked a 9-5 job and then set foot in an OR.  Yes, I only just finished my first year of medical school, which means I know next to nothing when it comes to medicine or surgery for that matter, but there is just something consuming about being in an OR and watching a surgeon work out the puzzle.  Maybe that will change for me one day, but at this point in my life, it really does beat working.

Jerk Shower

I am currently not speaking to me excuse for a “shower.”  Ugh the nerve of that guy!  So I come home from the hospital earlier this week.  Side note, I finally convinced my mentor that I am perfectly capable of walking the 4 blocks from my hotel to the hospital this week.  I know he was just trying to help me out, but after sitting all day and staring at a computer a 15-minute walk can be the difference between insanity and pseudo-sanity.  At any rate, I walked home and I should also mention that I have never seen as much air pollution in a 4-block radius as I have here.  “I need my asthma spray!”  But seriously…I find myself wheezing every time I make this walk and have debated wearing a surgical mask on the walk if I didn’t already stand out like a sore thumb. 

Ok but for real, the damn shower!  So I get home and all I want is a hot shower.  As mentioned, there is a little box connected to the showerhead that apparently controls the hot water.  If the light on the box is on, the water is hot.  No light=ice cold water.  Don’t be fooled in thinking I have any control over this light.  I don’t.  So I get in the shower, tired and covered in African hospital and pollution and the water is hot.  Thank you shower box gods!  Oh but wait…just kidding.  I get maybe 30 seconds into this delicious hot shower before the light shuts off.  Cute shower box gods.  Real cute.  I take a deep breath, finishing getting my hair wet and shut the water off.  Sometimes if you just give the water a break it will decide to get warm again.  Sometimes.  I take this water hiatus to put a good amount of shampoo in my hair.  Since I am feeling particularly grimy I go ahead and really lather it on.  After a few minutes I try the water again.  Nothing.  Not hot water, not cold water, but NO water.  Umm excuse me?  The string of swear words that followed would have scared any rugby player or pirate.

In other news, I met our oldest ancestor Lucy last weekend.  She is very short, skinny, doesn’t talk much and lives in a glass box in a basement.  Rough life...or death I guess.  We also went to the Ethnological museum at Addis Ababa University.  It was a little bit more well done than Lucy’s home.  The AAU campus was gorgeous though. 

Last Sunday I was supposed to go to Entoto Mountain with my friend Liz who is a family medicine resident at UW and also working here.  I can’t help but mention that she is a year older than me and 5 years ahead of me in schooling.  Sigh.  At any rate, a friend of hers from her MPH program lives here in Addis.  Both of them have been very nice by including me in weekend outings and lunches and whatnot.  At any rate, we were going to go up the mountain, except for this whole rainy season thing.  It rains.  All.  The.  Time.  So instead I slept, read, and watched movies all day.  I honestly can’t remember the last time I spent a day doing that…maybe when I lived in Samoa.  There is something to be said for the fact that I have to leave America in order to get a day off.   

A few pics

It takes for freaking ever to upload pictures but here are a few that will hopefully hold you over for awhile.  Please Enjoy

 

Critter taking in the sites from our hotel window

Traditional coffee house with traditional chickens mixing up the traditional coffee

Turtles!  This was by the crater lake I went to in Debre Ziet last weekend

The Tiramisu Rule

I have this rule - whenever Tiramisu is on the dessert menu, no matter how full I am or how little money I have, I must to order it.  It is part of my greater plan to find the best Tiramisu in all of the land.  I know what you are thinking, that is a massive challenge not to be taken on by the faint hearted!  Psh, no kidding.  But have no fear dear readers!  I do not take this rule lightly and I never back down from a challenge.  That is one of the many reasons why I am so delighted with the Italian influence here in Ethiopia.  There is some interesting history here, having to do with invasions…and people…but I won’t bore you with it (mostly because I don’t really know it), but the punch line is – every restaurant I have entered in Addis boasts a fantastic Ethiopian menu along with spaghetti, lasagna, and pizza.  Never fails. 

A few days ago my mentor took me out for coffee and I shouldn’t have been surprised when I opened the bakery menu and tiramisu was there.  I should mention that my mentor only knows me as the strange farangi (Amharic for white person, I will come back to this later…) who sits at a desk for 10 hours a day entering numbers onto a spreadsheet and shows little to no emotion (those of you who know me otherwise, yeah, this is happening).  So when I began to have a mini-meltdown about the fact that Tiramisu was on the menu I think my mentor was a bit taken aback, to say the least.  Enter waitress to dash my dreams and say the Tiramisu is finished for the day.  Luckily (or unluckily) my mentor was so surprised by my infatuation of said tiramisu that he insisted on driving across town to an other coffee shop that did have tiramisu.  Insert Ethiopian hospitality.  Love.

Moral of the story, I got my tiramisu and it was delicious.  Not the best.  But, still delicious.  They had the right amount of espresso soaking the lady fingers (go figure), but not enough of the creamy stuff.  Hence, my search continues…

So one of my favorite words to learn in different languages is the translation for “White person.”  Well, not only the translation, but the meaning behind the translation.  In Paris, it was pretty easy to translate “Stoopeed Aahmerican!” but I digress…In Samoa I was a “Palagi” pronounced PA-lang-ee.  The “Pa” means burst and “Lagi” means heaven.  We done burst from the heavens yall!  I was told this was for 2 reasons, 1 because we sailed in on big ships that looked like they burst right out of the horizon and 2 because we brought over a bunch of bibles and pictures of the long haired Jesus dude with the heavens bursting from behind him.  Dear ancestors, you are embarrassing me again…

In Amharic, the more or less official language in Ethiopia, I am referred to as a “Farangi” pronounced FA-ron-gee.  I was told that this was because the first paler shade people to come to Ethiopia were the French.  Frenchies.  Fa-renchies.  Farangis…I think I see it.

And on a slightly more hysterical note, remember the squat toilet I mentioned in earlier the blogging entries?  The one next to the Emergency Department, with no light and a running hose from the wall?  Yes, well, the emergency surgical staff unfortunately believed that I am intelligent enough to use said bathroom on my own now, without an escort.  So this morning one of the scrub nurses gave me a key and I walked to the squat toilet with my head held high because I am such a seasoned traveler now.  As mentioned before, the door does not lock from the inside, but I had the key this time!  I locked the door from the inside and went about my business.  Man, I wish I had listened when the original guy that took me to the bathroom told me that the lock was broken from the inside because while you can in fact lock it from the inside with a key, you cannot UNlock it.  So there I was turning the key over and over again in the dark water closet while trying to also hold my cell phone flashlight to figure it out.  After about 30 minutes of this (real time = 45 seconds) I couldn’t even be scared because I was laughing so hard at my own stupidity, I began banging on the door in hopes that someone in the Emergency Department waiting room (directly outside the door) would have pity on this silly little Farangi.  Of course a nice lady did (because who could miss the blond girl going into the bathroom earlier and then mysteriously not coming out?).  There was a hole in the door that I shoved the key through and meekly squeaked “Help?”  She took the key and easily unlocked it from the outside for me with a smile.   Ethiopian Hospitality.  Heart.

A comparitive study

I wrote this entry last Friday.  Had a pretty awesome weekend shopping in Africa's largest outdoor market and swimming in crater lakes.  Will update my loyal readers soon.  For now I am off to my happy place...i.e. OR :-)

Because I think in studies now and I also can’t help but to compare Ethiopia to Samoa to America.  Maybe this a little early in the game to be attempting this, but here it goes…

On Food: Ethiopia wins, hands down.  Again, to be fair I haven’t even tried that many dishes, but everything I have tired is so flipping good!  There is so much spice!  In Samoa the only spice they ever used was salt.  Well, that is true unless you want to include coconut milk and butter.  All the food was horribly bland and covered in butter and coconut cream.  I would leave meals feeling like a bowling ball was sitting in my gut.  Obviously I love most American foods (mmm…cheese curds…) but in the first week in Ethiopia its just fun to experience a new, unique and delicious taste

On Coffee: Ethiopia again.  Sorry starbucks.  In Samoa their idea of coffee was that instant crap (gasp!) with approx 17 tablespoons of sugar and cream.  Sometimes I wasn’t sure if there was even coffee in there.  Samoa did have koko Samoa, which was pretty delicious, but again, lots of sugar.  And if we are going to play the hot chocolate game, Brussels is gonna win that one every time.  Man do I sound like a pretentious jet-setter or what??

On People: Sigh…Ethiopia, although Midwesterners may rival Ethiopians in niceness.  Everyone I have met (again in 1 week) has been so gentle and kind and everyone smiles.  To be fair, in my first week in Samoa I would probably have said the same thing about Samoans.  Samoans are incredibly happy people, but they are also very touchy and pushy.  I felt like I was constantly being touched, hugged, pushed, or pulled.  It wasn’t that big of a deal at the time, but I have noticed how nice it is to be in a culture that doesn’t constantly have to be touching you.  Samoans are also very nosy.  Whenever I opened a book or had a bag of things whoever was sitting next to me, whether I knew them or not, would grab my book or my bag and just riffle through it.  I grew to accept this and patiently wait for them to finish and give it back, but in Ethiopia I am constant collecting data and no one has asked to look at my computer or my notebook once.  They just smile at me politely and go about their business, similar to Americans in that way I guess.  You do your thing and I will do mine.

On Weather: America i.e. the midwest.  Ethiopia, like Samoa, does the dry/rainy season thing.  It is currently rainy (or as I like to call it “sleepy”) season.  Personally, I like my 4 seasons.  Yes snow is annoying, but it makes summer that much more enjoyable. 

And that is all I got for now.  Hopefully more categories to come.

Adventures in a Water Closet

For those of you who have ventured to the European planet or beyond you may have encountered a door marked “WC” standing for “Water Closet”.  My British friends love making fun of me for saying “Bathroom”.  “Is there actually a bath in that public toilet??”  Well no…but who wants to say I’m going to the toilet?  And to say loo would just be posing.  So how do we get water closet from all of this.  Well, I have a theory.  In many of these water closets one will find a shower with no walls and a drain not only in the shower but also in the middle of the floor.  Thus, when one showers in said water closet in becomes…well…full of water. 

So after traveling through time to get to Ethiopia I found myself standing in such a water closet.  Oh goody.  My first shower was lukewarm at best, but I thought, psh!  I’ve played this game before.  When I lived in Saaaamoa the water in my “shower” was arguably the coldest water on the island, so I used to go on a run or chase pigs around or do something to work up a sweat before I hopped into the frigid cement box.  So I tried something similar the next night, except with very limited space.  This time I did a bunch of sit-ups and push-ups (I don’t know if you heard me in there, but I did over a thousand) and then skipped into the water closet congratulating myself on how smart I was. 

In my particular water closet, the shower head is connected to a box that is connected to a wall outlet.  After stepping into the water closet the box starting making noise.  Weird.  Thought I, but continued enjoying my semi-lukewarm shower…until it was no longer semi-lukewarm but scalding hot.  Apparently said box is a water heater that was not working the day before.  You can turn it off, but then the water is ice cold.  So, boiling hot or ice bath are our choices here.  At least we have choices right?

My next WC adventure came yesterday at the hospital.  I have started a new project which involves collecting data from a book that is located in the emergency OR and is not allowed to leave the OR.  This means that I spent the last 2 days sitting on a wooden bench in a side room of the OR hunched over this book and listening to…well…let’s keep it light shall we?

On my first day I had to use the bathroom/loo/toilet/wc and I asked one of my new friends where I should go.  “Yes, come with me.”  Sure why not.  I followed him out into the Emergency Department which is scattered with scared faces eagerly looking towards my white coat like I know something.  My buddy showed me to a locked door in the corner of the ED.  He unlocked it to reveal a pitch black room with the sound of running water coming from…somewhere.  “You have light on your cell phone?”  Umm I think so?  “Good there is no light.  And I can only lock the door from the outside, so knock when you are done” and then a slight shove and I was standing in darkness in a water closet in a hospital in Ethiopia.  My we have come a long way from Vegas haven't we?

After fumbling with my phone, I found the flashlight option only to discover the running water sound was coming from a hose above a squat toilet.  Squat toilets.  You again.  I won’t go into the details, but its just not pretty.  At any rate, my buddy didn’t leave me and I was able to get out with a sigh of relief.  Needless to say, I have been dehydrating myself during the day (besides the coffee of course) only to sprint into my hotel at night to use my WC after a long day on the wooden bench.  Guess I am out of shape with adapting to my surroundings.  Then again, its only the first week…

And oh the coffee!

 How could I forget the coffee?  I’ve been to a country famous for beer, chocolate and waffles, which was delicious.  I’ve been to a country famous for beaches and coconuts, which was a swimmingly good time.  But a country famous for coffee?!  Yes please!  And everyone I have meet so far takes every opportunity to stop and enjoy said delectable coffee.  Every time my mentor and I walk by the little coffee stand in the hospital he says, “You like a coffee?”  Um, yeah!  So we stop and enjoy a cup no matter what we were doing or what time of day it is.  I like.

Other than that, today I spent the day doing data entry.  All.  Day.  Long.  Anyone who has had the “pleasure” of doing data entry for hours on end knows where I am coming from with this.  I got through 1 log book, only about 10 to go…

Open the gates! I'm an American!

Finally on African soil!  Well, unfortunately my dear devoted readers, my travels were about as exciting as driving through North Dakota with your mom(sorry Rocco I know you like that flat place).  I took off from Chicago at 1020pm headed to Istanbul where I was probably the only female on the plane that was not traveling with 5-9 screaming children.  But it was nothing that 2 mini-bottles of Turkish wine and a little white pill couldn’t make disappear.  I woke up in Instanbul with 20 min to run through customs and make it to my gate.  Of course, after sprinting through an airport that doesn’t really have signs (and when there were signs you can bet your Turkish delights they weren’t in English) I found my gate and discovered my plane was delayed.  Everytime.

When I did get on the plane it was about 6pm-ish Istanbul time.  I, of course, was not at all tired as it felt like morning to me.  So I stretched out in my emergency row seat and watched as many movies as possible, one being Jeff, Who Lives at Home (that was for you Carlisle…and yes, you are Jeff, and yes it is totally a sign that you had just told me about that movie and then it was on my plane…). 

I landed in Addis Ababa at approx 2am and thanks be to whomever you choose both of my bags made it.  Unfortunately my large suitcase that I have never used before was sporting a huge gash down the seam.  Cool.  My first night I stayed at the Hilton which was a very overpriced, but a good idea because they had a shuttle waiting for me and some grumpy businessmen.  When I arrived at the Hilton I luckily got on facebook to discover a friend had posted an article on my wall that skype had just been outlawed in Ethiopia and using it carries a 15 year jail sentence.  Awesome timing.  So there goes my mobile communications for now.   Hopefully blogs are still allowed…

I woke up in the Hilton and my phone said it was Sunday so it must be true.  I stumbled down the street to find the Harambee hotel which boasts a $25/night charge, is a 5 min walk from the hospital AND has free yummy breakfast!  So I checked it, pseudo-unpacked and promptly passed out for 5 hours.  I woke up at dinner time and against everything in my body, forced myself to eat.  I tried Doro Wat for the first time and it was delicious!  Dear Samoa, meet spices! 

Today I started work at Black Lion.  I mean, it was the first day and what first day isn’t exciting?  I was picked up by my Ethiopian mentor whom I have been harassing with emails for the past 6-7 months.  Luckily, he took it easy on me.  He showed me around the hospital, which was…eye-opening.  Before I left, the vascular surgeon from UW that I am working with, told me that when you go to Africa you need to take a different nose because the smells can be so overwhelming.  It was like every 5 steps I was hit with a different intoxicating scent, from harsh metallic to sweet spices.  I did not take my camera because I didn’t want to seem like a tourist on the first day, but I hope to take pictures in the future as my inept writing skills would not do it justice.

After my short tour we went to a staff meeting/rounds.  I found out (not for the first time that day) that Ethiopians are incredibly soft spoken.  Maybe my eardrums are just de-sensitized to screaming rugby girls, but I could only catch a word or 2 about every 5 sentences.  After the meeting we went on a hunt for OR log books for my research.  I came here with 3 projects in mind, hoping that one would turn into a paper.  We found that one of the projects I was considering, a study on ED mortality, was already being done by a group of Canadians.  1 project down.  Blame Canada. 

After this discovery I went on rounds with my mentor and a bunch of overexcited and overeager med students.  Ahhh…reminds me of home.  What did not remind me of home were the patients.  There was little boy with a goiter the size of a cantelope, like the kind that we only see in text books.  (sorry if that is to sciencey – just google goiter and you will see what I am talking about).  After rounds it was time for lunch.  My mentor took myself and an other female resident from UW who is also working here out to a pizza joint.  I know…who knew? 

When we came back to the hospital I started working an other research paper idea and have pretty much been doing that ever since.  At any rate, that is my first couple days.  No super crazy stories as of yet, but I am sure that can only last so long…love to you all and more to come!

Adventure is out there!

So its June 15th huh?  Weird.  Those last 4 weeks sure did fly by fast, which makes me wonder what the next 4 weeks of summer have in store for this Adventurer.  This last week I have been experiencing an emotion that is very foreign to me.  Fear.  I will arrive in Ethiopia at 1215am, a solo white female in the craddle of humanity with a ton of crap and a lot of American cash.  I have a room booked for the first night at the ridiculously overpriced Hilton (really Hilton, need you charge so much in Africa?), but after that I was unable to book a guesthouse in advance because they don't do reservations.  I guess that is an American thing to plan ahead.  The doctors I am supposed to work with while I am there have yet to email me where I am supposed to go on Monday, much less a number to call in order to find them.  The good news is I have an Ethiopian cell phone chalk full of numbers of people living Addis that are ready to help out a Wisconsinite at the drop of a cheesehead.

When I joined the Peace Corps I was 23 years old and too dumb to be scared of anything.  Rocco says I should use a nicer word, like naive, but I still say 23 year olds are the dumbest creatures on the planet.  Now at 29, I have a sense of my own mortality, but I guess I was dumb enough to think I could do this on my own so maybe by 30 my adventures will be to more comfortable places like time shares in Florida. 

Don't get me wrong.  I am beyond excited about this adventure.  I finally get to go to freaking Africa!  I just want to be there, know where I will be staying for 4 weeks and know that the doctors I will be working with see me and know I am there.  Worrying has always been my strong suit.  Taking a deep breath and letting go of the reins is something I am still working on...until then...Adventure is out there!   Squirrel!!!

I'm back!  Well, its been almost 3 1/2 years (yes, I just counted that on my fingers) since I packed up my mosquito nets and moldy t-shirts on that funny little South Pacific island.  I am well overdue for an other adventure to say the least.  I guess that is a little unfair to say that the last 3 1/2 years have not been an American Adventure of sorts.  I had a lot of crazy ideas while in the Peace Corps, one of them was to go to medical school.  So upon returning from that silly South Pacific place I went to a funny little pretentious east coast school to get my Post-Baccalaureate Pre-Medical "certificate" that really meant nothing except that I could then START applying for medical schools at the young age of 27.

So I did that and then promptly moved to Madison, Wisconsin to play rugby, drink beer, eat cheese and work in a research job in the Department of Surgery all while applying to schools.  I guess the important people were out of the office one day because by the grace of Darwin I got into the University of Wisconsin.  Last August I started my first year of medical school here in Madison.  That sure was neat.

I survived first year, but Derm just about did me in.  Anyone that goes into derm is weird.  Is this the part where I have to say that the views on this blog are mine and mine alone?  Anywho, where does the adventure come in?  At the beginning of the year I was already itching to do something crazy.  For those that don't know, the summer between your first and second year is your LAST SUMMER EVER!  Seriously they take away sun tans and bikinis after this summer.  Its true, I read it on facebook.  So, like all type A people, most med students sign up for research jobs for their last holy summer.  I would love to say I didn't, but I did...but wait, its a cool research job because I get to go to Ethiopia!  There is a vascular surgeon at UW who is from Ethiopia and has established a partnership with Black Lion Hospital in Addis Ababa.  I approached him approximately 5 minutes after I received my acceptance letter asking him if there would be any research opportunities for someone like me.  Sure, why not?  he said.  We dreamed up a whole mess of projects I could do while I spend 4 weeks this summer in Addis.  Most of these projects will be working in their Department of Surgery and one includes a needs assessment investigating the need (or not) for a colorectal residency program, which means I get to team up with my of my favorite colorectal surgeons who came from that same silly little eastcoast school I mentioned before.

I fly out for Addis June 15th and will hang out there until July 13th at which point I will jet on down to see a long-lost Hanks cousin in South Africa who spends her time flying planes around the south.  What can I say, Hanks women are badass whatever country you are in.  I will spend a week with her and then fly back to the States on June 20th.  I think I will be flying for 30 hours, but it will always be Friday, which is awesome because I can then add "discovered time travel" to my resume, which will surely piss off many of the gunners in my med school class. 

Until I leave I will be researching various medically Ethopianly related topics in the Department of Surgery as well as doing a bit of jet-setting in the states including going to Pittsburgh this weekend to play on the Midwest Select side team, Denver next weekend to watch my dreamy rugby guy play in the National Championships for rugby, followed by same dreamy long-haired brother's wedding in Vegas the next weekend.  And then I will wake up in Addis....Adventures continued...