Really satisfying day today in Kongwa. Lots of sites, lots of interesting stuff, and really great interactions with folks, particularly womenfolk. Let us begin.
We started the day visiting the district hospital in Kongwa, a sort of sprawling compound in which wards and other buildings are separated by outdoor covered walkways, exposing you to fresh air and sunlight and road-crossing chickens on your tour. A very pleasant setup, really. It probably wouldn't work in a freezing place like Chicago, I know, but it's nice to at least know an alternative exists to our enormous monolithic American hospital buildings. Mama Elizabeth was completely in her element, zooming in and out of wards, chatting with everyone, showing off all the hospital features. It's inspiring to see the clever use of limited resources here - if your town doesn't always electricity during the day, by golly, you just do your surgeries at night. Or, instead of enlisting an expensive and unreliable electrical dryer for your surgical scrubs, you hang them outside the operating theater to dry in the breeze. I think my tendency is to assume that low income medical facilities simply can't provide many services that we richer countries can; that's true to some degree, but sometimes they just pull off the same feats in a much more efficient way.
A long ride later, we met with the all-female staff of the Pandambili dispensary, a little building on the side of a rocky outcrop near the Dar-Dodoma highway. I was doing my best to follow along during the interview, peeking over at Victor's notes, so it wasn't until I was working with the nurses and medical attendants on my supplies checklist that I realized how incredibly friendly they were. (I'm beginning to think that in many rural spots, the default assumption upon meeting a new person is that you will get along swell; if you don't do anything to disprove that, you have a quick bunch of new friends.) So despite my clumsy Swahili, all four women were extremely welcoming, asking about my life in the US, insisting that I stay in Pandambili longer, programming all their numbers into my cell phone. Victor thought the whole thing was very funny. I was rather charmed by the whole experience and vowed to send them all text messages as soon as I could think of something reasonable that I could send in Swahili.
Then on to a second dispensary for more interviewing. Waiting for the car to return afterwards, we were witness to a sort of tragic-comic vaccine assembly line. About 20 moms and their babies were in a single room, waiting for the nurse and her needle to swoop by. The little babies sat on laps, not a care in the world, thighs ready and exposed, until the nurse made her way over and gave them a quick and efficient shot. Like clockwork, each baby burst into indignant howls as his mom quickly bundled him up and headed out the door; the other babies watched with bemusement. "What's wrong with THAT guy?" they wondered, as the nurse made her way ever closer.
Waiting for Mama Elizabeth later, Victor and I wandered around through Kibaigwa, a little town based right on the edge of the Dar-Dodoma highway. We ended up in a dark little bar, watching the Bunge proceedings on TV, and were quickly greeted by the barmaid, who looked to be the sole woman in the whole place. After serving us, she plopped herself down at our table, looking delighted to have such exotic company - a refined-looking fellow like Victor plus a mzungu lady! She and I chatted with Victor's help for about half an hour, her helping me along by miming Swahili words (charades skills come in useful again!). Again, her attention seemed very genuine. She wasn't angling to get us to buy anything, or make connections, or figure out what we could do for her - just wholeheartedly curious about how we had wandered into her bar.
An almost identical thing happened with our waitress, Flora, that night. After bringing Victor and me food (there was only one menu option - made the choice easy), she decided to sit with us as well, chatting and making her way through bottles of Tusker beer. She had an easy, giggly laugh and seemed happy to have companions; the place was pretty slow. Conversation initially went entirely through Victor, but when I broke out my halting Swahili for "We went to the International Corn Market today" (it's true, we did), she exclaimed, "She can speak!", proceeding to direct very slow and easy questions my way. Good times. Everyone was a little sad at the end of the meal that it was our last night in town. We tried to buy her a Barack Obama kanga at the store across the street (she'd expressed envy of the one I'd gotten the evening before), but to no avail. We invited her to come visit in Dar.
Back to Dodoma tomorrow, that toddlin' town.
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