Nick and Tessa in Kisiizi

One way to say “how are you” in ruchiga translates as “Are you here?” reply:“Yes, I am there”

An hour and a half is a moderate sized lunch break.

“Kamasimwe” (praise god) is used as a filler in sermons where we would use “um”.

Everyone here seems to  know that God is Good, even those who do not follow him yet.

The nurse named “Jolly” is the least Jolly nurse in the hospital! She’s still nice though :p

Death is not abhorhent here. This is a double edged sword. People are accepting and content that their relative has gone to heaven. On the other hand if you miss a dose of medication and a patient dies, its not such a big deal is it?

There is no Ruchiga word for “maintainance”, only one for “repairs”. The implications of this are tangible daily…

We passed a newly admitted comatosed man on the way to break and stopped to make sure everything was done. It wasn’t. Unfortunately there was no oxygen measuring machine, no OXYGEN, no glucose strips, and no feeding tube on the ward!!! Nurses and I scattered around the hospital and managed to find everything. I’m not sure what is more amazing, that nothing was there, or that we found it.

In most families, at least one child dies before they reached adulthood. Thank God that New Zealand has clean water, no malaria, and no HIV. And that we have road rules.

A nurse will not run if a patient is dying, the only time anyone runs here is when it rains.

All the milk for the Kids ward is provided by 3 hospital owned cows in the paddock next door. Awesome.

A man from England who visited 8 Ugandan hospitals told me Kisiizi had the best values, highest standards, and hardest work ethic of all the hospitals. I should be happy, but something in me was hoping other hospitals were better…

There is no Ruchiga word for busy, which is frustrating when you are keen for things to get done in a hurry… On the other hand, I don’t think I have seen a stressed person.

There are 3 orphans schemes attached to the hospital sponsoring over 300 orphans from surrounding villages to go to nearby schools. Aid organizations work, and we’ve met the beautiful people who benefit. They praise God for it. 

Tessa was told to “repent” by one of the mothers on the children’s ward because she was painting Noah’s ark on a Sunday

One of the staff on Psychiatric ward was originally a patient who had his village-applied-handcuffs cut off by beautiful medical staff.  

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Hey everybody, thanks for your support once again We have just uploaded our best photos yet onto flickr, so be sure to click the photos link, or go here:    http://www.flickr.com/photos/33079877@N02/

Football

All 23 of us with both of the hospital

“What team do you support” is the first thing a lot of the guys here will ask.  People are fanatical about football here, especially the boys.

The ground here is extremely hilly, and space is scarce so it is difficult to justify soccer pitches. Kisiizi’s pride and joy is a little less than full size, has a couple of rather major slopes, has 2 large trees inside the touchline (great for confusing people), and is only about 80% grass. Despite these minor foibles, the pitch is one of the best in the region, and many teams travel to challenge the locals on it. 

I have played a lot of football on this hallowed turf. We “train” every weekday, which involves 2 teams being picked and playing a game for about an hour! Needless to say coaching and team structure are sorely wanting. The talent of the players however is impressive. There are sublime skills, and flair not practicality is the order of the day with little flicks, bicycle kicks and shots on goal from everywhere!!! People of all ages play, from 13 through 40, if they are good enough to get picked by the captains… After “training” has been a fantastic opportunity for me to get to know the local people, and talk to them about their lives and God. I have bonded better during and after football than at any other time.

I recently had the pleasure of playing a Kisiizi vs Rukungiri match. Ne’er have I played in front of such a large crowd, with over 300 people watching. The whole occasion was modeled on professional play, with everyone shaking hands before the game, and the referee playing strictly by international rules. We were down 1-0 with 5 minutes to go when we scored. It was a privilege to be around as the crowd erupted onto the field, doing somersaults and yelling like crazy. This has to be one of the best experiences in my life, and although I didn’t score I made 4 or 5 shots that were very well saved (if I may say so myself), and provided some excitement for the crowd. After the game for a couple of days loads of people came up to me and said “thank you for the game, thank you for the game” which was very strange. I replied with “thank you for watching” as only my faithful family comes to watch in New Zealand

But in the weekend, the soccer pitch is empty. Instead over 100 people pack in the local hall and sit on wooden benches to watch professional soccer on a couple of small televisions (see photo). People travel from local villages and try to sneak in without paying. If they get kicked out they watch through the windows from outside!!! The chaplain takes pride of place with his personal chair in the middle J The English premiership is part of the local culture. Everyone picks a team to support, and this is their team for life. Predictably only the top 4 teams have supporters!!! People are remarkably quiet during the games, until a goal is scored and such a yell goes up we can hear it from our rooms 200 meters away.

2 Weeks ago I co-coached an under 16 team (with one 25 year old???) to a match in Kabale. Most of them had never been to the local centre before, despite it being just over 1 hours drive away. The trip was anticipated for days, and the boys were up at 9:00am on game day running around the field before we left at 12:30pm. I’m not quite sure why, I didn’t have the heart to tell them it was best to conserve energy.

                      21 in the back

We picked 14 boys to go, but somehow 21 boys packed into the back of the Kisiizi ambulance (see picture). And don’t ask why one of 2 hospital ambulances is taken for soccer trips. After spending 2 anxious hours finding the people we were supposed to play, the match began. The Kisiizi boys have never lost a game vs. the local villages, (I have seen them slaughter 3) but the city boys were too good going down 2-0. The boys will blame it on the pitch… The match was played in great spirits and I was happy to be part of Kisiizi. On the way back the ambulance was still buzzing with excitement, despite the driver having to stop twice as fights broke out for the millimeters of spare space. There is still post-match analysis at training (although I can’t understand most of it).

Perhaps I have convinced Tessa the merit of sport. Kama Simwe

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I run up the red path, banana plantations to my left, a pineapple garden to my right. How do pineapples grow? On the ground in little clumps, apparently. Two seconds later a stream of  little children trot along behind me, giggling and yelling:

“Mzungu Mzungu!! (white person white person!)”

“I’m fine I’m fine, how are you?” (chirped at high pitch)

“You give me my money!”

“You give me sweeties!”

On one occasion a little boy even said “give me balloon!” (Balloon??!?) Charming aren’t they… for a long time I wondered where these kids got the idea that all mzungus constantly carry with them small change, sweets and balloons. Apparently a ‘children’s mission’ visited a couple of years ago and well meaning Brittish folk distributed many boxes of sweets and balloons. And have thus plagued western visitors in the area for evermore…..

I run to the ‘the mast’ (radio tower high up in the hills) most days, and unfortunately create quite a spectacle, firstly because I am white, and secondly because nobody seems to run here, especially not up hills. Some people laugh and smile and wave “agande!”, some joke and follow me for a while and some stare blankly.

After a few weeks I met Shellinah. A tiny girl came running from her home towards me chirping ‘I want to talk to you I want to talk’. And she did, bright eyed, in perfect English, not asking for anything. Shellinah is a pretty bright cookie, and wants to be a doctor. Her father died five years ago, which has made things pretty hard for the big family, although her mum has kept the family plot of land flourishing well, complete with several goats and pigs. Shellinah is blessed to have sponsorship that pays for her schooling at the very good (private) Kissizi primary. Her brother (one year older, 11) is not so lucky and is now herding goats. School fees are fairly ridiculous, NZ$150 per year, while a hospital laborer like Shellinah’s late father earnt $400 per year. Government schools are much cheaper but by all accounts rubbish.

That made me sad, because he too is a keen spark…he didn’t ask for sweeties. Infact, when we were discussing children begging mzungus for sugar he declared:

“Sweets give you tooth decay, a disease called tooth decay!”

He also noted seriously, ‘Smoking and Alcohol is bad, they can give you lung cancer and asthma.’ Alcohol gives you asthma? Education is a beautiful thing.

Visiting Shellinah is an interesting experience. They live high on the hill in a mud-brick house with separate kitchen/cooking-fire overlooking their ‘garden’ (patchwork crops). Shellinah showed me her room and prized English bible, then her family showed me their photo album, a common occurrence when you visit someone. Photo albums are full of serious portrait shots of  family members and friends at important events (baptisms, deaths, weddings, school ceremonies). Notable in their album was:

1)    The ‘men’ with a disembowled ?goat?!? A triumphant kill for a special occasion

2)    A photo of a man who none of the family knew

3)    Scantily clad western models cut out of a magazine…..don’t ask. I have NO idea why.

You may well ask, where are these photos printed? How are they taken? Well. There is no electricity in this village and no running water in houses but there is still more than one photo studio  in these remote remote hill villages of Uganda. Photographs are important here…and exchanging photographs is very meaningful!

I wave goodbye to Shellinah, her brother Josiah and the rest of the family and run down towards the hospital…what are they thinking?

My impression is that Shellinah and her brother like hearing about strange places and telling me about their lives, and listening to my MP3 player. Shellina listened to the Beatles: “a yellow WHAT?” ….try explaining submarines to a land-locked 10yr old who has never traveled beyond her village. I think her big sister wants me as some sort of permanent donor to the family…while Shellinah’s mum seems quite chuffed to be visited by a mzungu (arghhh so wrong!). 

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With our powers combined, we are… Captain medicine! (yeah right)

There are 2 new medical students here, Shi and Alice from Malaysia. Over the New Year with doctors on leave, we are doing ward rounds with little supervision. Together we nearly make up one “real” doctor, and are certainly not up to the super-sub-specialty medicine we are attempting at the moment. God is with us and the patients though, and is a continual comfort. (Oh dear that sounds bad, “attempting” medicine. The sad thing is the element of truth….)

P.S if you like House you will like this…

“Heart”

“bzzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzz” Oh dear, his chest is buzzing due to a damaged valve, not a good start to our exam. He’s only 60 and usually well, but his heart is failing ‘cause a valve is stuffed. His family says they can afford an operation in Kampala, but the noble patient refuses, saying it would leave his children broke and would force them to sell their small farm. What an awful situation! We do all we can to get rid of the fluid in his lungs so he can at least sleep again. Who knows what will end up happening here?

Water

I put my hand on her tummy and leave a deep handprint as I displace the water under her skin. I have never seen a patient this swollen before. She is swimming in her own fluids.

She came in nearly dead after not peeing for 3 days. Her kidneys had packed up and unless they started again soon, her time was short…

Incredibly she was quickly by the best doctor here, and by the grace of God improved drastically. Her complaint today is that she is still puffed up like a balloon and she wonders why we have not cured her yet? We lovingly explain that she has to gradually pee out the litres and litres of excess water and that this will take a long, long time…

Fire

Thankfully the nurses have managed to take temperatures every 6 hours. Yes, she is on fire. 40 degrees again last night? Dark brown urine? Lost nearly all her red blood cells??? After 20+ minutes of searching I find a doctor who confirms one of our thoughts. She has malaria with the dreaded “blackwater fever”. So many red blood cells get destroyed and excreted, the urine bizarrely turns nearly black. Dr. Patrick shakes his head and labels her a “time bomb”. “The only thing which will help her now is blood”

“What…. No blood at the lab….???”

Mortified, I charge around like a headless chicken. Thankfully she is O+ (extremely common). I track down the lab technician, who helps Shi and some nursing students give blood and become instant life saving angels. She get blood, and is now at home just a few days after nearly dying. Kama Simwe (praise God)

Wind

This man was direct from the village through the hospital doors, not on our “captain medicine” ward round. He was a 20 year old happy guy whose only complaint was a cough for a month. I would have sent him back to his village had he not taken off his shirt. He was wasted and sickly looking and was only 38 kgs!!! I admitted him for tuberculosis testing and it turns out his lungs are infested with the dreaded consumption. Chances are he has HIV this young with tuberculosis. I feel for him but it is awesome that people from all around the world fund hospitals like this so that poor young men like him can get free treatment (HIV and TB treatment is free).

Earth?

“Just a sore leg and a headache?”

“Yes but the leg is so sore I can’t even walk on it, and the headache and leg pain have been getting worse for about 3 months now. The pain is almost unbearable”

“???????”

Bewildered, we tap his knee with a tendon hammer. I have never seen such a big kick. We pull his foot up and are mesmerized we watch it bounce up and down until we release the pressure (clonus). The cogs in our young medical brains tick away slowly. Brain tumor? We decide to wait till Dr. Denise comes before telling the patient and the family to make “absolutely sure”. Bad call. That night after 3 months of gradual deterioration the tumor must have bled and he dies and is taken home before we even see him in the morning. His family will never know what killed their father, their husband. I pray they do not blame the hospital for killing him. I feel pretty awful

His body is in the earth, but I believe and pray for much better for him.

And with their powers combined, they are… captain medicine. Not. And believe me when I say this is just a selection… Pray for me, Shi, Alice, Tessa, the doctors nurses and the patients as we work together in this awesome place of healing. 

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