Soweto Adventure

Our adventure to Soweto was supposed to be simple...go there...run the race...enjoy the surroundings and quietly go home. Unfortunately, we got the full experience.

The Soweto marathon is an amazing run through the township. I did the 10K and noted two people running barefoot. Being a minority, I felt like I was in an olympic race with some of the most fit people around. The race itself was fun and even some had zulu headwear on with one man even sporting a skirt. Of course they wore all of that while completing the marathon in sub-3 hours while talking to their neighbors as if they were taking a stroll. It is here that the adventure began.

The one thing I have learned about Johannesburg is to never drive with Lesotho license plates and to definitely not park next to your friends. It was like a christmas day to any thief as we gifted them three lovely foreign cars to play with. Fortunately they only decided to leave with one but completely rip apart the starters for the others. We were the lucky ones to have the tools they used in our car still but the dangling wire underneath the wheel gave me the idea that we might be a bit stuck. No place to put a key to start the car, the very nice locksmith taught all of us how to hotwire a car. I felt like 101 in J-berg stealing. It was great!! We were able to get our car running again, but the dangling starter and ripped apart dash gave it a whole new look.

We decided to head back, but since our friends were one car short they asked us to pick them up in Johannesburg. Of course, we start to head in the right direction but immediately got lost...even with two atlases in hand. I think we toured the entire Soweto before finally finding M70 and feeling grateful...(even though we had to do a U turn on it to go back towards J-berg.) The map said we could get to the M1 and we really truly believed it, but alas the two girls (one with daddy as the geographer) amazingly got misplaced again only to get pulled over by the cops.

At this point my heart started to feel a bit more excited and I really felt as though I had just stolen this car and got caught...how the hell was I going to explain this crazy story to the corrupted cops who made me step out of the car. I got smelled up by the woman who blamed me for being "heavy on the wine" (unfortunately mistaking my bad breath for alcohol) while Ntate kept singing "wake up...wake UP". As they went back to the car to get the breathilizer I started to feel a bit at a loss....as thought this was just another addition to our already dysfunctional day. And leave it to me to get pulled over by the cops...it happens everywhere I go.

But after I pouted about our robbery and painted the truth with my just finished Soweto MARATHON they handed me back my passport and showed me the proper way to the freeway. At this point we were now an hour late only to receive the infamous phone call that they don't need our services anymore. It is moments like these that produce tears with your laughter from surrealism of the day. Please tell me, what more could go wrong?!

Well, the drive home was less of a story other than getting lost on the 709 only to end up on some foreign dirt road and running into the most amazing lightning storm following by diagonal rain....

What a journey. I do admit, this will be one to remember.

Isolation

A driver. Really?

I step out of what felt like "hell" in the midst of a finished Queen II hospital experience and was introduced to the fact that I will be required to have a driver take me to my outreach site and stay the entire week with me while I am there. Safe- says some of you. Aww yes. Says I . Maybe safe because I have another Sesotho speaking person with me who can help fix a tire or get me out of the mud. But safe for my life? Well, that I can argue is a much different answer.

I was quite irritated to hear that I would lose my wonderful time spent on the mountainous hills, listening to whatever music I felt like, and allowing my brain to sift through whatever material came through its way. Then I felt the loss of independence as I would have to wait for the driver to come pick me up, late, and take me to wherever they day would send me whilst he slept or played games in the car. It actually felt quite silly to me. But the third loss what control. Here I had someone else who was deciding the destiny of my life as we sped around curves and cliffs putting my poor own life to risk. And I say to myself...A driver. Really?

Needless to say, the crankiness dissipated as Mpho and I met at 5:30 in the morning for our daily high altitude run. With the sun just warming up the land and the birds already up for hours, we headed down new foot paths to a long footbridge that went over a beautiful winding river only to have to crawl back up the mountain again saying "dumela" to all the Ntates already up. Then we would take the 1-2 hour journeys to all of the outreach sites meeting with the staff, helping with treatment and initiation of HIV medicines and training.

These unbelievable rides to and from my sites are probably one of my favorite parts of my journey to Africa. Children still run up to the road just to wave you by and sheep still try to figure out what a road is really meant for. The mountain ranges seem to go for miles even though I feel our drives are just that long.

I did feel the pain of any job where you encounter those who are not passionate about life or their job, and you wonder why they even bother since they try to make your life miserable. But you just find that child that makes you smile and it all seems to move on.

But with this job, it seems that with every good bit comes a piece of sadness. I lost a child this week. I was very sad, and in fact had to stop to let my tears flow. Unfortunately, this is one I actually had hope would make it. And, of course, these are the ones that you put hope into and feel like you have "caught" them just in time to only find out they are gone. This child came to me in the hospital. She had short hair and cherry red lips to match her fever of 105. You could just tell that she was uncomfortable. I, for many reasons, was concerned but her mystery diagnosis had me dreaming of her at night. Before I transferred her to South Africa to receive better care, I felt in my heart that she must have cancer and we were going to "save her" by having them diagnosis and treat it.

But, the email that none of us ever want to get gave me the date and time of her death along with all the efforts they did to save her. She did become an "interesting" case to them as well, but her loss became more of my memory than what she had. She would give me her arm so willingly as I would, yet again, try to replace another IV that had stopped working. Or trying to give her water as she so desperately would slurp it down wanting more. My resources were limited and the antibiotics I had seemed so minimal. But the thoughts just poor into your head- did I keep her too long? Could I have given her a treatment earlier that would have saved her? Could I have prevented her death?

Of course, I will never know. We did not have any of the resources they used in South Africa, but there is always the "what ifs". I know that I "did the best I could", but as a doctor it sometimes does not feel good enough. And you are just left to wonder. The guilt I can learn from and I do, or at least I try to. It makes you really sit down and think about that next patient that you don't want to die because of you.

In fact, that held true with a kid that came to me in outreach this week. Her arm dangling after falling with painful tears rolling down her dirty little face. She, in my eyes, had obviously dislocated her elbow anteriorly (not one we deal with as often). With the last child I had, they refused to go to hospital. So I tried my best to relocate it there. For days, that child haunted my thoughts with what the right decision was and I wondered if it ever went back. Fortunately, I just popped the girl and the mother in my car and we drove straight there to confirm the dislocation and provide analgesia to help her.

Emotionally, it has been a good week and month despite the sadness I carry with the loss of that child. I find the isolation from Baylor this month (whether it be Mokhotlong or my 3 week journey in the hospital) to be quite refreshing in moments like these. But it does make you feel isolated from everyone else who has been paralleling their lives at the COE. I am thankful to have people in my life that I can confide in and have put smiles on my face when I felt these moments of hardships hit me the most. It has been uplifting and comforting.

Queen II Hospital- Week 1

I have officially completed one week at Queen II Hospital- the main establishment in Maseru which is the capital of Lesotho.

I say that because as I round in the morning with the medical officers- I often drift off into space and count the cockroaches on the seeping walls wonder if there are more of them or more patients. The place would be condemned in the United States. I see a cockroach scatter across a baby's bed, on their food, in the cracks...they are everywhere. The babies sometimes share a bed, especially when we can't find room for them. The ceiling holds lights by electrical threads and the walls, I think you can see to the outside with the cracks.

HIPAA does not exist. I have tried. But the mother's sit on the bench next to their children and there is no privacy. The nurses may remember to check on a patient through the day or night, but the mother's are responsible to feed, bath, administer medicines to their child. And all the parents have for rest is the ground, or the hard bench next to the crib of their child. It's a mess.

Sanitation is a joke. But you try. I have gloves. That's a start. A mask in the TB ward is not heard of. In fact, you just give the children medicines and open the windows and hope your next PPD is negative still.

I have two patients that seem to stick out in my head and are worth mentioning.

My first is a 14 year old girl. She weighs 44 lb which gives you some inkling of the bones and skin that exist on this child. I have fought with her to take food and she has been a wild mess as to what she wants. I can't say too much more about her since I don't want to violate patient's privacy even though it does not exist here.

The second is baby death. Baby death was born a mere 5 lb. Mother stopped feeding the baby milk and started to use bread flour and water. The baby is 3 months old and weighs less than 4 lb. I think her weight is how much her bones, head, and organs weigh. There is nothing left. She came in grey, gasping, and with a very little heart rate. The only things we have to offer are bagging (thanks to NICU), some dextrose, warmth, and fluid. She decided she liked that, the first time.

After rehydrating her, we started feeds. She didn't like that and went back to dying. After I bagged her back and gave her more glucose she decided to live.

This morning, I walked by her crib and noticed her gasping like a fish out of water. No breaths. No real heart rate. And their sat the mom. Just watching her. I wondered if she just brought her to the hospital to die. She seems not so interested. But maybe that's the culture.

After bagging her back, checking her sugar and giving her more, adding more antibiotics than before and reassessing her bad line, I found a scalp vein and started her fluids once again. it's not like the fluids will save her. She needs food. But with her gut not probably getting the blood flow it needs, it's a tough spot to be in. We have no other way to feed her but the gut. But the fluid is giving her the sugar she needs now.

Well I will tell you how done I was with this child when I came back later and noticed the fluid had run out. Do you know what this means? Losing fluid means you practically lose your vein and access to this child! I had spent and hour finding that darn vein and now it was gone! I looked at the mom wondering if I should put any more effort into her child since she obviously was not. In this world of the hospital you teach the parents everything. I had to teach her about the fluid, the warmer, how to feed her child...etc. With the fluid, the instructions were...if this gets empty get a nurse! Your child needs this.

So for another hour I played with that same scalp vein fishing out clots with a catheter and finally getting it to work. I could not believe it. There the drips flowed from the bag to my baby death. Again- another small success.

With little left in my back pocket to use, I told the mother we are just going to have to start feeding your baby. This child will die if we don't, and maybe she will die if we do. But I can't chance not feeding her anymore.

It has been quite a week and there is the weekend and 2 more of these for me to have my fill on! I have so much respect for the medical officers who are doing it all in addition to running to the c-sections to assist in surgeries! At home, I feel that we have nothing to complain about. These medical officers are run to the ground. No duty hours making them go home at noon post call. And at night, they have to hold down all of the hospital.

That is QEII hospital.

Week 1.

Mokhotlong Revisited

I have secretly fallen for this rather desolate homely piece of the world! Spare me as I repeat the description of this district.

Set against the majestic Drakenburg Mountain Range with the highest peak over 11,000 feet (Thabana Ntlenyana). I drive over the smaller ranges of 10,000 ft to get to the town of Mokhotlong. It really was thought of as the most remote location in Africa, but now a road has been constructed all the way to the center. However, that is it. Even the road here has the occasional large pothole that will take out the bottom of your car, and is impassable in the winter with snow that can leave people without access for weeks.

But as I sit in the Senqu hotel and look out my door, there are layers of mountains that paint the background as the sunset creates various shade of blue. The children are laughing below as you can hear them running after each other trying to kick the ball between the two makeshift goals on the dirt. I watch everyone walking home from work, school, or just walking talking to each other on the goat paths with no fences that separate people's lives here. We lose that at home. The poverty here makes it impossible to find work and people just work hard to survive. The farms are packed against each other as people have to farm their own food in order to eat. There is not much here, and people often feel as though everyone including the government fail to remember that they are here.

The potential of Mokhotlong is here and there is already an amazing group of people already in place, if only people would stay. This area is so remote that they are unable to keep anyone, especially for how low their salaries are for how little it appear people seem to appreciate their work. People, in general, seem to only want out once they are forced in. But there are a few that have remained, mainly because they are from here. Mpho is my partner in crime and who I rely on to help me find information. She is young but with a great sense of humor that keeps me on my toes. She keeps everything going including me and has it all ready by the time I arrive every month. Siti, her sister, is the numbers girl and keeps all the statistics in line. She has been an amazing asset when trying to get a new clinic accreditated for HIV treatment, and the only thing that seems to hold this team back is the ministry. The clinics in the Mokhotlong district are "hole haholo" (Sesotho-far) and are so remote they can't even get Ibuprofen supplied in sufficient amounts. They send request to the ministry but will only see a response months later. It feels as though people are left with little hope but will do anything with what they have.

I can see the potential but this district, this country needs a voice. They need a change. And I feel like it all starts with the Ministry who runs this joint. The funding- is it really not there? There must be. Is it not odd that the government will guarantee HIV treatment suppplies to be readily available to all facilities (thanks to Baylor's voice and push) but they can't treat the daily events of pneumonia, pain, broken bones, etc. It's almost surreal. I met a boy whose arm he held by his side, deformed a bit from kids beating him. I could tell the elbow was out, but could not get him to settle to put it back in. The mother refused to go in because she could not afford the xray. The little I could do may have put it back together, but without painkillers the child refused to have me near him again. It made me realize how little we are trained for general medicine out here, and how much I want to help and find ways of improving this impoverished place.

Ballito Beach Trip

The Beach! A novelty for a New Mexican girl like me who is so used to the dusty desert ways. 5+ hours and there we were on a whirlwind journey with my Maine addicted ocean lovers and me- face to face with the vast South African Sea!

Our journey began on Friday night after I had 5 minutes to stuff a backpack and throw myself into the Opel Corsa rental vehicle only to realize after the border that one thing I forgot was the only thing you need---a swimsuit.

We journeyed to a lodge near the dramatic and majestic Drakenburgs that housed two dogs the size of ponies and otherwise known as St. Bernard. Their slobbery kisses and horsepaws came pounding over for a good rub on the belly. They stole each of our hearts and left us wondering how to add one into the compact vehicle if we were to steal one. The lodge felt like an old plantation house with crickety beautiful wooden floors- tall ceilings and more pillows than you could ever need on one bed. In the morning, we awoke to beautiful sunlight and a view that could easily have been mistaken for Scotland meets Ireland! Unbelievable! We were above the clouds!

We left driving past the rather ugly baboons that sprayed the hillsides and the sides of the roads to our final destination- the Beach! Our plan was to stay at the Secret Spot Surfers Camp located not so much on the beach as the advertisement led you to believe. In fact it had nothing to do with the beach. And after wondering which rodent left a nice display of feces on one of the beds, we quickly meandered on finding the most lovely french B&B up the road. It looked like a picture and had everything french about it including lavender in the garden, a fountain, and a view to leave you only wanting more of it! We must have looked desperate requesting any room available, and the french lady soothed our minds with a lovely family room for 4.

The four of us- Jaime, Alex, and his mom on a whirlwind tour to find the one thing they cannot live without- Water in beach form!

And with surfboard in hand the four of us found our feet melting into the South African sand! I am here! The beaches are, as always, pristine. Surfers wading out looking for the perfect wave, dolphins in schools dancing past the surfers, men with their long fishing lines enjoying the moment, children either kicking a rugby ball or making posts for the soccer pick up...and the rest of us who either take a moment to breath in all of the sites or attempt a run on the sinking sands.

What a weekend!

Mokhotlong Outreach

A dirt road entrenched with potholes and rocks and steep narrow inclines. I have never really been four wheeling but the 2 hour journey we have to take in order to reach one of the clinics will definitely make me a stronger driver on these dangerous roads. The new clinic we are about to visit is stuck back in such a remote place, I started to realize why this has been called the “loneliest place in Africa". Critically ill patients don’t make it, and even if they are able to flag a car down, their chance of making the journey to the hospital is slim. Our bones (especially mine) were aching from the extreme jolts, but the car and us made it. We have a Toyota fortuner which is a beast out in these narrow roads but gets the job done when you need a 4x4.

Mokhotlong. My new outreach area can be found in the mountainous region of Eastern Lesotho. You have to pass by the only AfriSki hill in Lesotho...and maybe southern Africa (a one kilometer ski hill that is almost worth the visit just to be amazed that such a thing exists). The road to get there winds through mountain ranges that exceed 10,000 feet that still have snow hiding in various patches from the ending winter. There is not much in the form of trees or green, but again, winter is almost over and the trees that do exist have pink blossoms shooting over the stoned round huts that are so common here. Basotho men chase the thousand of sheep and goat with their stick as we pass by. They have their blankets wrapped around their shoulders that can be used to sit, sleep on long journeys, and keep warm during the colder times. Donkeys are horses trail the roads dominating the few dogs that exist here. Kids use the donkeys as their transport sometimes with their boots draped over the sides almost touching the ground.

One of the five clinics that we are visiting on the most desolate road is a health clinic that is about ready to start HIV treatment. It’s exciting because it is new to the clinic and myself and we can watch each other grow hopefully very strong together. The only nurse that works there is alone, and is in desperate need of help. She is from Kenya and stays right next to the clinic. Her heart is made of gold as she turns no patient away and feels that she can't leave, at least now, because who will help these people if she were to. I know that her eyes showed worry when we tell her that this will be easier on the patients already on medicine who currently have to walk miles to another clinic in order to receive HIV care. This means more patients for her, I am glad she is who she is because she is amazing. She is already testing and educating her patients on HIV. All she need is medication. I’m amazed at how much she is already doing on her own.

We sat down to look at the books, do a brief needs assessment, and then we were off with her anxiously waiting for next month when I arrive again. She is smart and that makes my job even easier. Paul, a Baylor PAC doctor who is here to show me the ropes, has also made me drive back from each visit so that I will know where to go next time. This also means getting used to the left side of the road, and manual on the wrong side of the car. I got stuck on a steep incline filled with boulders and potholes. With the vehicle stalled and had no idea how to get unstuck, Paul provided the helpful tips and encouragement telling me I will have to learn sometime. If I couldn't get it, the car would roll back but there was no place to turn around since the other option was off the small cliff to our left. It took four tries and shaking legs to finally manuevuer the clutch, gas and emergency brake and allow us to start going forward again. My heart has finally returned to a normal beat and the sweaty palms are better. Scary!

I will end with this small story as Mokhotlong will have many more adventures in the future since I will be there once a month from here on out. We were asked to examine two small twins that a nearby orphanage (Touching Tiny Lives) had recently inherited. The family had flagged down their car as they were driving through the community and handed them the tiny tots unable to take care of them. Apparently the mother had just given birth and died shortly after. The girl was only 1 kg, and the boy a whopping 1.5kg. The two were wrapped in 7 layers of blankets before I was able to put a stethoscope to one of them. In our world, these kids would be on lock down in a sanitized unit filled with labs, monitors, and what not to "make them live". Here, the only thing we have is formula and hope. We were able to put the girl on oxygen at the orphanage and her little blue lips became slightly pinker. You wonder how any child makes it out here sometimes. I guess you just deal with what you have and hope for the best

Children of Maseru

Children of Maseru.....No need to write a blog! The video is enough!

Enjoy

Heart and Soul

When you leave Baylor Clinic in Lesotho, especially if you have become part of the family, then you cannot leave without feeling the heart and soul of this place. I asked Edith Mohapi, what would I have to do to receive a farewell party like this. She looked at me, paused, "you will have to stay at least 3 years" and then laughed with her heartfelt belly one!

The clinic is a special place. It doesn't hit you when you walk in the door, although every person that you pass by will smile and ask how you are doing. It may not even grab at your skin when you first meet the staff, who all seem to hug and enjoy being in each others company. But come down in the morning at 7:50am and join the group for morning song followed by prayer and the little hairs may start to stand on your arms as you feel this overwhelming urge to hold back a tear with such joy for being here. Then you watch Dr. Mohapi as she translates the day's updates in Sesotho/English. Her calm demeaner and wit...thrown in with a joke or two that makes everyone laugh. You can't help but feel the warmth coming from her. She is the Director, Lesotho made, but American grown...and returned to help her country. She makes you want to come to work in the morning...and now I will never be late, because that morning song is what I live for everyday.

Then you notice the staff. The translators, the cleaning ladies, the nurses, the receptionist, the lab draw, the other doctors, the social workers. No matter what, they smile. Pat you on the back. Even give you a hug. Anytime you walk by someone, a greeting is said that only opens the smile and the person within. There is a warm sense of humor. People don't mind if you are "in their space" and they are excited to ask a question if they can't find it themselves. The nurses would love to teach you how to do a DNA PCR if you don't mind sweating a bit to squeeze every last drop from some poor infant's heel.

And be careful whenever you want to leave this place, because they will grow on you and you them. I can only say this by the party on Friday. The doctor had been there three years, through two pregnancies and the death of her mother...and now she is going to South Africa to study pediatrics. The staff loved her and it showed. I don't even know her, but her speech to the clinic made me welt with tears sad to see such an amazing woman go!

There is so much love here. I think it is because this job can be emotionally trying. And you need a smile to remind you of why you are here.

Heart and Soul!

Jail Time-Almost

I have to admit that when the Old doctors mentioned initiating us during a retreat this weekend, I had no idea that had spoken to the border patrol to try and have me arrested! That just seems a bit much, don't you think?

We all were met by the older PAC doctors at 10:00 am for what we thought would be a nice weekend retreat in South Africa. We arrived to the border, my third time through this interesting process. The Lesotho border requires that people stand in a line to stamp out of the country, and then re-enter your car so that you can drive across a bridge and again stand in a line to allow you a stamp into South Africa. This process, of course, is required in reverse when returning back into the country. Some have already had to add pages to their passports so as to house the multiple stamps.

I was first to the window and with a great smile handed my passport to the lady. She must not have received her morning hug because she immediately asked where my stamp was to get back into Lesotho. I smiled, thinking we will easily sort this out, but she backed away from the counter holding tightly to my passport.

"You are an illegal immigrant of Lesotho. I will have to detain and you will spend a night in jail".

The words seem almost amusing as they slipped off her rather wicked smile. I apologized for not understanding looking pleadingly at the other doctors and trying no to laugh at the rather comical state. Paul, our amazing PAC doctor and the one pointing us into the future in the photo, gave her his passport and tried to explain the newness of my understanding of this whole process. However, I have followed everyone's guide since I have been in country, standing in lines that the drivers point me to and following other PAC doctors in places the go. In defense, I thought I had done a pretty darn good job.

She looked at Paul, then down at his passport, refusing to stamp his passport either. She became angrier and held his with her other paw, drawing more confusion into all of our eyes. The other doctors, now looking down at their passports, tried to decide if it was even a good decision at all to hand them theirs.

"Please, somebody go for Lineo...I don't really want to go to Jail!"

Paul manages to retrieve both of our passports unstamped and rushes me to the other side of the building hastily retrieving a paper and hiding me in a corner in hopes that the lady would not see our mischieveness. I rushed through the questions and ran to the counter hoping that stamp to make me legal would happen before the lady on the other side could see us (and I could see her!)

Stamp!

Ok! Now. I am a legal Lesotho visitor. Now how do I get the lady to stamp me back out so I can continue on this relaxing weekend. Lineo, our lovely associate director who is native by birth, luckily arrives into the room and starts to try to clear this up. 10-15 minutes later with a few demonstrations of stamping, many apologies, lots of "ooohhh, I see" (in Sesotho), the lady heftily stamped my passport and made sure I felt the power of her words as I left the building.

Needless to say the rest of the retreat went slightly more smoothly with lovely walks in Golden Gate park (again, New Mexico in a nutshell), nice lovely dinners in a very Santa Fe-like town (did I really ever enter Africa yet), and laughs with the mixing of the PAC doctors old and new!

Sesotho 101

The sun felt so warm on our face as we waited patiently on the curb in front of the Baylor clinic for our Sesotho instructor. Jaime had her green apple eagerly waiting to give it to her new-founded teacher. Every car the pulled up had to be her. But, they weren't. We decided to start our own sesotho which turned into a clicking session trying to even make the sound and more basking in the sun.

Finally an older lady in a pink knitted beanie and 5 layers (in this beautiful 80 degree weather) stepped out of a car and meandered over to our obvious foreign circle. She reminded me of a wonderful old grade school teacher that has a paddle hiding somewhere in those layers. We followed her upstairs and the session began.

She squeezed each one of our cheeks and spoke loudly in each of our ears exaggerating every syllable hoping these foreign wannabes would get the odd tongue dialect with it's french flare. Jaime, with shoulders tense and wide-eyed, desperately tried to watch the lady's mouth until she finally told her "listen, relax! Don't be afraid of my language!"

After we started cooing and trying to sing the words, Me Madela tried to act out being our patient entering the room. She would shuffle her entire two feet of space between you and her putting her face as close as possible "boa"....(speak) until we would finally ask her what her name was. Then she would be elated at the idea you spoke to her, grin entirely too dramatically, and then speak back! It was quite entertaining and I think we had more laughs watching the play out version of how to speak Sesotho rather than actually speaking it ourselves.

Needless to say, I think I can safely say "Ke Boa Sesotho Hanyenyane" and will need a lot more sessions with this woman! She definitely knows how to make it entertaining.

Tomorrow we are tempting the 1st Annual Retreat....which I am sure will only generate more blog stories for the future!

Christmas in Lesotho

Apparently, even in Lesotho you can find Santa in August.

We all got excited as Akash presented us with our very own Christmas hats for the party that NGO's were having. We anxiously called the Perfect Taxi to pick us up, and carried our white elephants over the car. He laughed at our pseudo attire, but we were ready for christmas...again!

We take off past the guards and 1 minute later he stops. Yes. We phoned a taxi for a house that was 1/2 block from ours. Needless to say it was a very comfortable walk home after the show (no taxi required).

The Christmas party gone frat house felt like we were in rush for a sorority in college rather than a christmas party in Africa. Everyone practically was from the states...there was the obvious American music blasting with beer and wine and sugar cookies that Jaime guarded with her life (although she would pleasantly talk to anyone that went near them).

We all had to sit on Santa's lap who was dressed in cowboy boots, shorts, a red shirt and a cape (a costume that was more difficult to come by) to receive our white elephant gifts...and yes, they were everything that people were trying to get rid of.

But, frat party or not, we all smiled and dance and actually had a great time meeting people from the clinton foundation, Habitat for the humanities, the UN, EGPAF, etc. There is a lot of help in Lesotho....and that's a start! You just might find everyone relaxing on the weekend!

Eyes: The Window into the Soul

The seven layers make it difficult to fit the stethoscope close to their heart, but I finally reach it. Yep. It's still beating.

I look at their eyes. Not much to say since we speak different tongue. But, with kids you don't always need to speak. I quickly whip out the best tools I have..my hands and my smile. And we connect

The eyes have so much to say. Outside there is a deep engrained sadness that speaks of the years that only a grandmother should see. The deaths of family, friends and the hardships of life for themselves. And yet, they are only 1...8...17 years old. The mouth, somber. "Eh" they answer for yes anytime a question is asked to the translator. That is it.

But the hands slowly venture to the infamous belly, and a smile creeps onto their face as they can't hold the laughter from the tickling machines. We finally connect and not a word is spoken. The eyes soften, and I realize that through all of their pain that they have endured in their life, the child can still be found with a simple smile. I hug each one profusely wishing I had a way to make their eyes show the child they deserve to be. But I settle for the simple smile and wave as I attempt my sesotho.

Dumale abuti (hello, little boy)!

Eyes.

They are the Window into Our Souls.

Land Mines

Day 1. I realize that we are in the terribly unstable world of Africa, but the reality only comes true when your first day of work entails staying at home until Ntate Pii has scoped the streets to see if they are stable enough for us to return! Day 1.

There was an organized strike trying to keep people away from work in order to reduce the potential of riots, but luckily it was all ok. Lesotho is actually quite a safe country in general. The last time they had a "stay away" was 2 years ago, so it was just a wonderful introduction for us "newbies" into this new world.

Our day began in the waiting room of the centre. The patients with babies strapped to their backs and the entire staff of baylor stood together in song followed by prayer. As the song began, my eyes welted with deep emotion for the sound of beautiful harmony in sesotho. What a way to begin the day! I am so happy to be here and I do not even know what that entails!

We have been pampered in many ways including multiple phone calls from the staff to "check in" and make sure we are doing well in our new homes. We have been warned and provided multiple safety precautions in hopes that we all take measures to be safe. I feel like we are in any latin american or 3rd world country where you don't walk around with your socks pulled up to your knees and a $1000 camera hanging around your neck asking for your money belt to be swept away by the obvious poverty watching you! Come on! NYC on crack...just be careful!

So after our day of orientation, Akash, Jaime and I decided to take an evening run to refresh our brain cells and muscles. Again the lungs took their exercise first working harder than any organ to get us up the hill. We wandered and found an incredible trail along the river that led to a soccer field of active players still finishing a game of pick up. We tried to meander around the military barracks but soon realized that it was not easy and slowly worked our way back toward our pad.

I turned at one point noticing a man in the distance also appearing to get in his evening jog...but like a good girl this always makes me a little nervous (we were luckily on the main road with many people). As the man got closer we realized he was in full military uniform running with beads of sweat and combat boots. We stopped to find that we were unfortunately near old land mines and he was only doing his duty to catch up to us to let us know we should probably not take that route by the barracks again. We all stood in surreal shock, then tried to laugh the reality of the situation and the fear out of our bones as we thanked the man profusely and swiftly ran home for a needed glass of wine! After all of the warning, and three smart well traveled people, I could not believe it! (yes mom, I will be safe from now on!)

Needless to say we will be asking the "safe" running routes from now on!

The picture you see is our "wander" yesterday to a nearby hill. We decided to try and view Maseru from a mesa and as we climbed we would pick up a child. I think 5 of them finally made it to the top with us. What else to do on a sunday but follow the 2 rubias with an indian man to the top of their back yard. The children wore slippers, heels, and or simply nothing to join us in the small journey...and their hearts were made of gold! One girl held my hand any chance and I just wanted to sweep into my arms and keep her. Yes. I am sure this will be a daily pain..trying to figure out how to bring them all home!

The land is Lesotho (Leh-sue-to)

The people are Besotho (beh-sue-to)

and the language is Sesotho ...I think you get it.

Easy enough...now I just gotta learn the Halala language! No problem!

Fonane!

First Impressions

Lumela (Do-Meh-La)!

I have always been a believer that first impressions can make or break a friendship...at least at first. So I will attempt to give mine and we will see how far I go in life after this!

When I saw the vast desert with moutainous peaks, my first impression of Lesotho was New Mexico...with a Lesotho twist of course. I was amazed at how normal it all felt. The streets are not as well kept, there is no REI...no Target...and of course only one grocery store that packs the entire town down every isle. The selection is different...and limited. Our new saying is "If it's not a ShopRite, you don't need it". People don't balk as much as I expected, but they still smile!

This morning I followed my new found Indian gone Scottish friend on a run. Akash is great. He's got a great British accent, hates to be touched, and does not like children (but will tolerate them). First impression- I can break him in. A hug a day and he should be set, but I get this odd feeling that he's not keen on these yanks that don't understand personal space. Whatever. We ran along the paths broken by cattle and other animals trying to avoid paddies and puddles. The weather was a bit more fresh this morning but quickly my lungs and hamstrings were burning from the 2 months off of exercise.

Last night we journeyed with Paul to an Indian Restaurant and then to the only "bar" that this town has (so much for night life). I feel I need to give a one liner on the PAC (Pediatric AIDS Corps) doctors old and new of Lesotho.

Theresa is on her 3rd year here and originally from Nebraska. She not only imported her two cats but a car as well. She can definitely keep a conversation going, and knows how to interior decorate. I think that she has the unfortunate luck of having bad things happen- aka a shattered heel, pleural effusions, etc. If you need someone to talk, Theresa is your woman!

Smitha is a little bottle of energy that I will probably need to slip away and take naps just to recover from. She was my "tour" guide around the hospital which meant running me around aimlessly introducing me to the world and talking about how old she was (she's a year older than me). It seems like she will have the energy for ideas...and can keep the team alive!

Meena was my go to girl. I got called by her and checked up which made me feel like my little isolated self was actually not so lonely. She invited me to Swaziland for the bushfire festival this weekend but I felt my luggage was a priority. She's got the energy that makes you feel like you can hang around her just a little bit longer.

Paul is currently growing an afro and is from Georgia. Apparently he gets mistaken for a lesotho local. Laid back, easy going, ladies love him...and that's all I know. He's got that relaxed energy that I am sure balances smitha and Teresa energy and makes the team united as one.

Rajni- my neighbor. She's from the west or that what she says. Laid back. A Shree meets my friend Ashley Curry sense of humor. Hates mornings. And she's gonna live 3 doors down. She can throw a mean light show with two cell phones and a dance floor

Jamie (and Alex) is probably the girl that I'm going to keep trying to steal until her man comes and steals her back. A Maine-r at heart she kept us all laughing last night. She's good for a cuddle on the couch watching the Daily Show when nothing else is going on, and could be my new runner/hangout/ bff if she didn't live 15 minute walk and had a husband. I'll still work on her! She's great!

Alex- also Main-r and married to the above item is nice! Always smiling or so it seems. Chill. Cool. A runner. and what more can I say. I'm just gonna snuggle with both of them when I 'm lonely!

Raj and Lindy I have yet to really meet.

That's Team Lesotho- Akash, Alex, Jamie, Lindy, Meena, Paul, Rajni, Raj, Smitha, Theresa, and me.

I am now sitting with my coffee, waiting for my hands to warm up with the propane heater. Tomorrow we start work at the clinic so the entries should be a bit more interesting and better written.

Amy

Arrival to Maseru Lesotho

My head was still buzzing from the lack of sleep on the 12 hour journey. I opened the sliding glass door to look at the sun setting over the hill. The sky an unbelievable purple/pink. I sat for a moment taking it in and contemplating what vegetables I will start to garden once winter is over when I start to hear the distant sound of men singing in Sesotho in A capella. A sigh and a smile melt onto my face! I am here- I am home.

Of course, my arrival came with a few interesting twists.

England was the first transition after Houston, Texas that gave me the luxury of adjusting to time change and slightly more refreshing weather than muggy Texas (not highly recommended). Neil, my most favorite and loved British bastard, reintroduced me to British lango and beer. I met the 4 other blondes of his life and decided that all of my future children will have a british accent just because they sound more proper- even when they whine! My friend Kweku made me the most amazing Vietnamese-Asian fusion dinner and introduced me to his world in Bristol! Not only does he fly Prince Charles around for fun, he has shmoozed with Abba!

After attempting to "sample" every British beer, I arrived to the airport yet again attempting to trolly 200 lb of luggage. Neil, thankfully, did not do a drop and run special but decided to make sure I got on the plane so that he was sure to be rid of me! Unfortunately, I did not anticipate that Europe charges by the kg and would hand me a lovely $3000 bill if I wanted to send my luggage with me. After a moment of shock and surrealism, I opted not. But what to do with the luggage? I had already spent the last 1.5 hours in lines that I didn't even know existed paying for luggage (another line) and getting my tickets. Time was not being kind and the luggage company that ships excess luggage decided that they don't go to Lesotho. I looked at Neil, laughed (what else do you do) and quickly said my goodbyes as he took my luggage home with him for me to figure out later! I ran to my gate (yes and it was the last possible gate as well) barely making my flight. Not what you would expect when you arrive 2 1/2 hours early...but I was feeling that this might be my first taste to Africa.

I sat next to my first taste of a South African. I thought I would push my luck and start the conversation regarding the Apartheid just to see what the thoughts were on blacks and whites (he was a white man who grew up on a small farm, hunter, conservative....perfect)! I learned that he was not only open, but he did not like being called African because that was reserved for black people (He, on the other hand, was from South Africa). Hmmm. So being the dumb blonde I like to play, we talked of this Obama figure, politics of his country, travel, and so forth which is half the reason I arrived in a state of buzz to Johannesburg (the other being that it was near impossible to get comfortable in those chairs).

I meander my way over to the propeller plane that will "safely" fly me to my new home! As the mountains started to appear after vast arrays of desert a smile appeared on my face. I will now always remember the moment the plane landed and I took my first breath of air in Lesotho.

Ntate Pii and the driver pick me up and we wonder through streets of poverty toward the clinic where 150 children wait in the front to be seen. I see the chaos and my sleepless mind just observes. I am quickly introduced to everyone not remembering one name and see the clinic in a daze. I walk toward a glass door to leave and on the other end a little child looks up me with a big smile! My heart settles as I realize this is all going to be ok...and I'm doing the right thing! I am going to have a really hard time not taking them all home!

We arrive to my new home in a gated community which relates to a security man leaning his body weight onto a metal pole in order to lift it and let us in. I live in #20. On some street. somewhere in Maseru Lesotho. I feel the cold immediately when they opened the door and wished I had my other two pieces of luggage with my winter attire! The home at first looks basic. Nothing on the walls. A few pieces of furniture. 2 bedrooms. 1 spare room. A bathroom. Then as they leave me to rest, I sit. Almost like welcoming your new home to you and vice versa. I see the garden that was, the distance of mountains, a river across the way, smell of smoke, sounds of kids laughing, men singing, and the white walls start to feel more comfortable! I turn on my heater using a gas tank that I have to turn on (feel like I should get some chicken out and grill it while I'm at it). The heater heats exactly 5 feet in front so I don't walk to far! But it's not as cold as I had imagined.

It's New Mexico! All with a Lesotho twist!

And with that, I will leave you with my only word I have learned in Sesotho...

Kea leboah (Thank you)

AFRICA!!! Houston Style!

Well. Here I is! Humidity and Heat with down coats packed for South Africa. What an interesting oxymoron.  Today we had the infamous orientation that required knowing how to be grown up! I had to actually decide what benefits to choose, talk to lawyers regarding my salary bracket and international work with taxes, and all that grown up stuff. Man, glad I'm in pediatrics and not the only one feeling like these adult words were a bit more intimidating than needed to be.

I am staying in one of those luxurious Marriott Residence Inn- yes the ones with a kitchenette and fireplace thankfully paid for by whoever is paying for all of this. I am 100% insured and that means now anything can decide to happen to me and mom will feel safe.

I have a great group of variety pack that is here for the same reason. And I LOVE the people that will be attending the same country and I am. It is a crew of Malaysian induced Scottish Indian, Relaxed non-coffee drinking arizona child that is equally as forgetful and doesn't mine sharing a meal with me, and the Mainer couple that keep me laughing and are my tour guide. I think we should make a rather rowdy bunch! But may actually get a long while we are at it.

I am less nervous as I left Albuquerque with nauseous knots of energy in my stomach. I am now starting to actually get....excited.