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Saturday, July 26, 2008
The Daily Beacon
The next three posts (Gap Year – Cause of War) are the articles I have written for my Beacon column, starting with the most recent.
Gap Year
The Gap Year. In the States, it’s a fancy term borrowed from the Europeans for those who want to “find themselves” before they go to college. Parents fear the words. If Johnny doesn’t go to college now, he’ll never make it. He might find something more appealing during that year, like eating frozen burritos and playing World of Warcraft. Students who had spent the last four years of their life building their resumes in the SGA and National Honors Society would never risk a gap year amidst the competitive atmosphere of college admissions. Now, however, with the help of a few of the top schools, such as Princeton, it is becoming an attractive option for college matriculates, even for those voted Most Likely to Succeed in high school.
There is a trend in the volunteers I’ve met here in Ghana. When I first arrived mid-May, I was one of the few Americans; most of the others were European gap year students. As finals were ending in the States, we began to receive the summer American influx, all somewhere in the middle of their college education. Now, as classes loom nearer, the Americans start to trickle away and the 08-09 gap yearers start to replace them.
It reflects the rush of American lives. If we took a whole year off, that would put us a whole year behind our peers, another whole year away from making the big money. In order to keep up, we opt for a gap summer, rather than a gap year.
It’s all too common for high school graduates to be herded on to college whether they know what they are interested in studying or not. It’s what you are supposed to do, or so says some middle-class cultural entity. Just as college is not for everyone, everyone may not be ready for college at the same time. Those who aren’t ready still likely proceed with their peers but end up spending more time exploring the strip than they do their professional interests.
So many people enter college with no direction in their lives. Upperclassmen wear their number of majors like a crown of glory. “I’ve changed majors eight times!” The academic advisors coax this into normalcy as they tell tales of these sixth year royals to the incoming freshmen. If you haven’t figured out why you are here after two or three years, maybe university isn’t the place it’s going to happen.
So if you’re starting to glue the jewels on your crown of eight majors worth of bragging rights, put the glue gun away. Stop doing what you’re “supposed” to be doing, and let yourself wander. Take a year and broaden the field of your search. Work, travel, just learn about life and yourself. Stop wasting your money, (or better yet, the governments) and do something productive. Experience life.
There is a trend in the volunteers I’ve met here in Ghana. When I first arrived mid-May, I was one of the few Americans; most of the others were European gap year students. As finals were ending in the States, we began to receive the summer American influx, all somewhere in the middle of their college education. Now, as classes loom nearer, the Americans start to trickle away and the 08-09 gap yearers start to replace them.
It reflects the rush of American lives. If we took a whole year off, that would put us a whole year behind our peers, another whole year away from making the big money. In order to keep up, we opt for a gap summer, rather than a gap year.
It’s all too common for high school graduates to be herded on to college whether they know what they are interested in studying or not. It’s what you are supposed to do, or so says some middle-class cultural entity. Just as college is not for everyone, everyone may not be ready for college at the same time. Those who aren’t ready still likely proceed with their peers but end up spending more time exploring the strip than they do their professional interests.
So many people enter college with no direction in their lives. Upperclassmen wear their number of majors like a crown of glory. “I’ve changed majors eight times!” The academic advisors coax this into normalcy as they tell tales of these sixth year royals to the incoming freshmen. If you haven’t figured out why you are here after two or three years, maybe university isn’t the place it’s going to happen.
So if you’re starting to glue the jewels on your crown of eight majors worth of bragging rights, put the glue gun away. Stop doing what you’re “supposed” to be doing, and let yourself wander. Take a year and broaden the field of your search. Work, travel, just learn about life and yourself. Stop wasting your money, (or better yet, the governments) and do something productive. Experience life.
The Brain Drain
The Brain Drain. It’s a growing problem in the global health. It’s quite a clever name for such a threatening situation. What is happening is health care professionals in third world countries are choosing to practice in Western nations or to work for Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs). Why? Money.
It’s a simple concept, really. The average nurse in Ghana makes about $100 a month. That’s $1,200 a year. Doctors, despite all their prestige, make a meager $12,000 a year. Yes, in Africa that’s much better than most make, but factored into the cost of living, it still doesn’t compare to Western salaries. Do you blame them for wanting more?
It’s the “American Dream”—in Africa. They all want the rags to riches story, and now they have the opportunity to write theirs.
As more NGOs are responding to the AIDS pandemic in Africa, they need more health care professionals to staff their field offices. Hiring from local sources works to the benefit of both the locals and the organization. It costs less for the organization to hire local nurses, and the organization gains the inside knowledge and experience of a person having lived in the area. On the other side of the handshake, the NGOs will be able to pay the health care providers more than they would be able to make working in a local hospital. This situation sounds win-win, right?
Not exactly. The majority of the NGOs that come to work in third world countries focus on specific problems. Some of the most popular targets are AIDS, malaria, tuberculosis, malnutrition, etc. Therefore, the nurses are being recruited to work in specialized clinics, leaving a dearth of nurses in the primary care environment. When people get sick with non-trendy illnesses, they have to wait long periods to see one of the remaining primary care providers. But if they had AIDS, they could walk across the street to the clinic and be treated promptly since those foreign clinics are adequately staffed with the health care workers they lured away from the primary care hospitals.
When laid out in such a fashion, it is easy to say that the locals should show loyalty to their cities and villages and not abandon the local clinics for the ritzy NGOs. A few months ago, looking at the situation through my nice 15-inch laptop screen, I wondered how these nurses could cave and be entranced by the jewels the NGOs have to offer. Part of me knew the answer. But I just wanted everyone to be a mini Mother Teresa.
The hard truth of survival remains. Everyone wants the same thing for their children—a good future. If the nurses see an opportunity to provide a better life for their families, they’re going to lunge at it. We should not blame them for wanting to better their situation and that of their children. Most of us would do the exact same thing.
However, that still leaves us with the swirling Brain Drain.
It’s a simple concept, really. The average nurse in Ghana makes about $100 a month. That’s $1,200 a year. Doctors, despite all their prestige, make a meager $12,000 a year. Yes, in Africa that’s much better than most make, but factored into the cost of living, it still doesn’t compare to Western salaries. Do you blame them for wanting more?
It’s the “American Dream”—in Africa. They all want the rags to riches story, and now they have the opportunity to write theirs.
As more NGOs are responding to the AIDS pandemic in Africa, they need more health care professionals to staff their field offices. Hiring from local sources works to the benefit of both the locals and the organization. It costs less for the organization to hire local nurses, and the organization gains the inside knowledge and experience of a person having lived in the area. On the other side of the handshake, the NGOs will be able to pay the health care providers more than they would be able to make working in a local hospital. This situation sounds win-win, right?
Not exactly. The majority of the NGOs that come to work in third world countries focus on specific problems. Some of the most popular targets are AIDS, malaria, tuberculosis, malnutrition, etc. Therefore, the nurses are being recruited to work in specialized clinics, leaving a dearth of nurses in the primary care environment. When people get sick with non-trendy illnesses, they have to wait long periods to see one of the remaining primary care providers. But if they had AIDS, they could walk across the street to the clinic and be treated promptly since those foreign clinics are adequately staffed with the health care workers they lured away from the primary care hospitals.
When laid out in such a fashion, it is easy to say that the locals should show loyalty to their cities and villages and not abandon the local clinics for the ritzy NGOs. A few months ago, looking at the situation through my nice 15-inch laptop screen, I wondered how these nurses could cave and be entranced by the jewels the NGOs have to offer. Part of me knew the answer. But I just wanted everyone to be a mini Mother Teresa.
The hard truth of survival remains. Everyone wants the same thing for their children—a good future. If the nurses see an opportunity to provide a better life for their families, they’re going to lunge at it. We should not blame them for wanting to better their situation and that of their children. Most of us would do the exact same thing.
However, that still leaves us with the swirling Brain Drain.
Do you know the cause of war?
“Do you know the cause of war?”
Last Wednesday, I was sitting with a group of about seven Liberian refugees in a camp outside of Accra, Ghana. I’d been hearing for the last few hours the effects of war. I’d talked to children who hadn’t seen their parents since they left for work on the morning of the day they fled Liberia. I’d talked to people who were beaten and tortured. I’d talked to people who had watched from the bush as their families were beheaded. I’d talked to people who had experienced things I could never even imagine witnessing.
The one experience that stood out most from that day was not the tales of atrocities or the pictures of bloody family members that a refugee carried in his briefcase. It was a question posed by one of the refugees, Mr. S, that captivated my memory.
After a pause, Mr. S looked at us and asked, “Do you know the cause of war?” My mind went directly to the course I am talking this fall entitled ‘The Causes of War’. How could this one man, sitting outside his brightly painted mud hut, tell me what I will be taking a 3-month course to try to understand in the fall? He had asked the question to lead to a single answer. One thing causes war. I was sitting on the edge of my seat as I waited through his pause. He looked at us. I wondered if I was about to hear some emotion fueled answer from a victim of war, or if I was going to hear a trinket of wisdom that comes only from those who have experienced such atrocities in life as had Mr. S. We locked eyes. “Poverty.” Poverty is the cause of war.
Initially, I thought this was a great answer. How many of the wars in Africa spawn from the perpetual state of poverty? The more I thought about it, however, I began to disagree. Poverty is definitely a significant contributor to the causes of war, but as I have learned, nothing stands alone.
Poverty is better attributed as a catalyst of war. Government soldiers in Somalia rob the citizens selling food in the market, not as a show of power, but because they are starving. Children will risk venturing into towns known to be inhabited by soldiers that will kidnap them because there is a chance they might find food there. People in impoverished areas have little to begin with, and what they do have is destroyed in the process of war. When in this situation, people are likely to cross the right-or-wrong line to stay on the favorable side of the life-or-death line.
In Africa, specifically, I’d attribute much of the conflict to Western colonization and the practice of putting a Sharpie outline around an aesthetically pleasing chunk of land. The chunks are occupied by several different ethnic groups and hundreds of different tribes, none who want to be controlled by another ethnic group. Viola.
As for the other causes of war? I guess I’ll find out this fall.
Last Wednesday, I was sitting with a group of about seven Liberian refugees in a camp outside of Accra, Ghana. I’d been hearing for the last few hours the effects of war. I’d talked to children who hadn’t seen their parents since they left for work on the morning of the day they fled Liberia. I’d talked to people who were beaten and tortured. I’d talked to people who had watched from the bush as their families were beheaded. I’d talked to people who had experienced things I could never even imagine witnessing.
The one experience that stood out most from that day was not the tales of atrocities or the pictures of bloody family members that a refugee carried in his briefcase. It was a question posed by one of the refugees, Mr. S, that captivated my memory.
After a pause, Mr. S looked at us and asked, “Do you know the cause of war?” My mind went directly to the course I am talking this fall entitled ‘The Causes of War’. How could this one man, sitting outside his brightly painted mud hut, tell me what I will be taking a 3-month course to try to understand in the fall? He had asked the question to lead to a single answer. One thing causes war. I was sitting on the edge of my seat as I waited through his pause. He looked at us. I wondered if I was about to hear some emotion fueled answer from a victim of war, or if I was going to hear a trinket of wisdom that comes only from those who have experienced such atrocities in life as had Mr. S. We locked eyes. “Poverty.” Poverty is the cause of war.
Initially, I thought this was a great answer. How many of the wars in Africa spawn from the perpetual state of poverty? The more I thought about it, however, I began to disagree. Poverty is definitely a significant contributor to the causes of war, but as I have learned, nothing stands alone.
Poverty is better attributed as a catalyst of war. Government soldiers in Somalia rob the citizens selling food in the market, not as a show of power, but because they are starving. Children will risk venturing into towns known to be inhabited by soldiers that will kidnap them because there is a chance they might find food there. People in impoverished areas have little to begin with, and what they do have is destroyed in the process of war. When in this situation, people are likely to cross the right-or-wrong line to stay on the favorable side of the life-or-death line.
In Africa, specifically, I’d attribute much of the conflict to Western colonization and the practice of putting a Sharpie outline around an aesthetically pleasing chunk of land. The chunks are occupied by several different ethnic groups and hundreds of different tribes, none who want to be controlled by another ethnic group. Viola.
As for the other causes of war? I guess I’ll find out this fall.
Experiencing Life
Life has been pretty busy since I last posted. In the past 3 ½ weeks, I’ve traveled essentially the whole of three countries: Ghana, Togo, and Burkina Faso. Although I initially didn’t plan on doing such extensive traveling, it has definitely been one of the best decisions I’ve made. I’ve learned so much in the past few weeks; I’m sure it’s more than even I realize at this point.
Northern Ghana
There are certain trends that history and modernization have carved out in West Africa. In general, the coastal south is predominately Christian and the north, Muslim. This is largely due to the path of European exploration and colonization. The Western Europeans, mainly Britain and France, came by boat along the coast, bringing with them their Christian teachings. The Muslims brought their teachings down with the caravans of salt through the desert from the north.
In Ghana, the capital, Accra, is in the middle of the southern coast. There are signs of modernization everywhere. At times, I even look out the window and think I could be driving along a road back in the States. Then I look out the other window and know I am definitely in Africa. People wear a combination of traditional Ghanaian fabrics and modern styles like clothes you would see in most Western nations.
Our trip throughout Ghana commenced with a 12-hour bus journey to the north. I watched as the landscape turned from the flat coast to the beautiful hills of central Ghana. Along with the landscape, the people and villages changed too. In Tamale, a larger city in the north, I noticed how many more women were wearing the traditional fabrics. Everywhere I looked my eyes filled with the bold colors and patterns.
Our first stop was Mole National Park, where we saw wart hogs (Disney took some liberties to beautify Pumba), antelope, and elephants. We stood about 30 meters from a group of five elephants. Later we toured Larabanga, a 100% Muslim village that sits right outside the park, and stayed at the Salia Brothers Guesthouse. One of the Salias won the opportunity to go to a leadership course at Columbia University in New York. He has done wonders for the village of Larabanga from building the tourism market in a dignified way, to settling disputes. He offered great insight on the effects the formation of Mole National Park had on the surrounding communities. Although the government drew the line on the national park right along the edge of Larabanga as not to displace the village, they still cordoned off their farmland. The people are used to going into their backyard to kill their dinner but are now told that it is illegal to kill these protected animals. Even though they did not have to leave their homes, the park had and still has great effects on the community.
On our way back to the south, we stopped at a place in Nkoranza called Operation Hand in Hand, which is a community for homeless disabled children. It sits on an expansive, beautiful piece of land behind the town’s hospital. It was started by three Ghanaians and one Dutch doctor. (The Dutch doctor is also the woman that introduced health care insurance to Ghana!) Hand in Hand was one of the highlights of my trip. It’s so great to see a community like this in an area where people usually discard children born with disabilities. Hand in Hand is set up so that one caretaker has from one to three children that they essentially parent. They become families, living with the children. They have a workshop where the kids make and string beads, and weave fabrics on looms. Their days adhere to a strict schedule to allow the kids they stability they need. There are game rooms, a siesta room, and they watch a movie every night at 7:00. There is a government-funded school on the premises specifically for the disabled children, and they have begun to take kids from the town as well. We stayed in the guesthouses that they have built as a way to generate income. They also sell the products the kids make in a shop.
Our next stop was Kumasi, the second biggest city in Ghana. They have a huge market with almost anything that you would want to buy. They had beautiful fabrics! I’m in love with all the different colors and patterns. Although I’m used to it, I still hate walking through the meat section of the market, with fish scales flying and raw meat covered in flies. If you’re one for people watching like I am, the market is the place to do it.
It was amazing to see the north and see the cultural differences throughout the nation. It’s so much more peaceful outside the bustle of Accra. At the end of it all though, it was good to be back home. For a day anyway.
Togo
One jollof rice and chicken dinner later, we were back on the road heading east towards Togo. Overall, I really enjoyed my time in Togo, but not being able to speak much French, I wasn’t able to talk to people much about their culture. I was just moving through a country and observing, rather than experiencing it the way I have been in Ghana.
We visited Togoville, Togo’s namesake, in the east first. It is known for its animist beliefs (Voodoo). Our guide explained many of the fetishes and how they are used. He mentioned that if someone gets a snakebite, they place him in front of a particular fetish and leave them for three days. I asked if they believe in/ use western medicine, but he never answered me directly. Dr. Paul Farmer said the in Haiti they might believe someone cursed them and made them ill, but they trusted western medicine to treat them. I was wondering how medicine was integrated into the Togoville community, but alas, could never get a straight answer.
In Tamberma Valley in the north of Togo, we visited the Tata villages. They are a very specific type of compound unique to the area. The people came from Burkina Faso long ago and settled here. The village was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen, but it is really hard to explain with out pictures of the compounds! I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out how to explain them but can’t seem to do them justice, so I’ll have to do it with pictures when I get back.
Burkina Faso
Because of the rainy season, much of what we planned to see in the southwest was going to be inaccessible due to poor roads. The capital of Burkina, Ouagadougou (pronounced Wag-a-doo-goo), is a very interesting city. Burkina is the third poorest nation in the world, and much of the old city reflects that. The current government, however, has come up with a plan to rebuild the city completely. They just bulldozed large portions of the city and replacing the old with new buildings, none less than four stories. This resulted in random sections of the city being piles of dirt, then an oasis of bright lights and shiny buildings. The main boulevard was so clean and the buildings so big, boasting their neon lights. It was incredibly nice, but it also felt incredibly out of place. (Especially the Palm Beach Hotel in land-locked Burkina)
The remainder of our time in Burkina was filled with the Gorom-Gorom Thursday market and camel rides in the desert. The market is famous in West Africa and very different from any I had seen thus far. Most of the men wore turbans, each different fabric representing their ethnic group. The Tuareg wear indigo and the Bella (the Tuareg’s former slaves) wear black. The Fulani men wear a two-toned blue/indigo turban, whereas their women are distinguished by their elaborate, colorful dresses and distinct accessories.
Back in Accra
Both Togo and Burkina were so different from Ghana, from the food, to the buildings, the transportation. This is largely due to the French influences versus the British influence. It’s been really interesting to see the effects of the colonization and modernization in different countries.
I know I’ve learned so much over my whirlwind tour through three countries, but I’m still processing it all.
Revisiting the Operating Room
I made an observation in my last post about how the draping, or lack there of, in the OR here allows the face to show. I said it brings the humanity back to the practice. But there was a part of me that held that thought and tumbled it around in my brain. Of course, there’s a reason other than being cold and heartless that we drape the face in the States. Ironically, a few days later, I was reading How We Live by Dr. Sherwin Nuland, and he addressed exactly that issue. Reading his description was like reading the words out of my mind, but he puts it so perfectly, I’ll let him explain: “There are reasons both medical and emotional that surgeons drape an incision site so closely that nothing else human can be seen, as well as hide their patient’s sleeping face behind a cloth screen. Those reasons go far beyond the prevention of infection, and the most critical of them is to maintain detachment from the intimidating reality of what they are doing to a man or woman made very much like themselves. The greater the danger, the greater the need for distance. Never is that more true than when we are fighting for a life.”
Next Up
A week from Saturday I will be going with a doctor that is coming over fro the States to help set up a clinic in a village outside of Accra. I’m really looking forward to comparing a rural medical setting to the urban, government hospital that I’ve been working at in Accra.
When I get back, I’ll have less than a week before I go back home. I can’t believe it’s almost over already!
Northern Ghana
There are certain trends that history and modernization have carved out in West Africa. In general, the coastal south is predominately Christian and the north, Muslim. This is largely due to the path of European exploration and colonization. The Western Europeans, mainly Britain and France, came by boat along the coast, bringing with them their Christian teachings. The Muslims brought their teachings down with the caravans of salt through the desert from the north.
In Ghana, the capital, Accra, is in the middle of the southern coast. There are signs of modernization everywhere. At times, I even look out the window and think I could be driving along a road back in the States. Then I look out the other window and know I am definitely in Africa. People wear a combination of traditional Ghanaian fabrics and modern styles like clothes you would see in most Western nations.
Our trip throughout Ghana commenced with a 12-hour bus journey to the north. I watched as the landscape turned from the flat coast to the beautiful hills of central Ghana. Along with the landscape, the people and villages changed too. In Tamale, a larger city in the north, I noticed how many more women were wearing the traditional fabrics. Everywhere I looked my eyes filled with the bold colors and patterns.
Our first stop was Mole National Park, where we saw wart hogs (Disney took some liberties to beautify Pumba), antelope, and elephants. We stood about 30 meters from a group of five elephants. Later we toured Larabanga, a 100% Muslim village that sits right outside the park, and stayed at the Salia Brothers Guesthouse. One of the Salias won the opportunity to go to a leadership course at Columbia University in New York. He has done wonders for the village of Larabanga from building the tourism market in a dignified way, to settling disputes. He offered great insight on the effects the formation of Mole National Park had on the surrounding communities. Although the government drew the line on the national park right along the edge of Larabanga as not to displace the village, they still cordoned off their farmland. The people are used to going into their backyard to kill their dinner but are now told that it is illegal to kill these protected animals. Even though they did not have to leave their homes, the park had and still has great effects on the community.
On our way back to the south, we stopped at a place in Nkoranza called Operation Hand in Hand, which is a community for homeless disabled children. It sits on an expansive, beautiful piece of land behind the town’s hospital. It was started by three Ghanaians and one Dutch doctor. (The Dutch doctor is also the woman that introduced health care insurance to Ghana!) Hand in Hand was one of the highlights of my trip. It’s so great to see a community like this in an area where people usually discard children born with disabilities. Hand in Hand is set up so that one caretaker has from one to three children that they essentially parent. They become families, living with the children. They have a workshop where the kids make and string beads, and weave fabrics on looms. Their days adhere to a strict schedule to allow the kids they stability they need. There are game rooms, a siesta room, and they watch a movie every night at 7:00. There is a government-funded school on the premises specifically for the disabled children, and they have begun to take kids from the town as well. We stayed in the guesthouses that they have built as a way to generate income. They also sell the products the kids make in a shop.
Our next stop was Kumasi, the second biggest city in Ghana. They have a huge market with almost anything that you would want to buy. They had beautiful fabrics! I’m in love with all the different colors and patterns. Although I’m used to it, I still hate walking through the meat section of the market, with fish scales flying and raw meat covered in flies. If you’re one for people watching like I am, the market is the place to do it.
It was amazing to see the north and see the cultural differences throughout the nation. It’s so much more peaceful outside the bustle of Accra. At the end of it all though, it was good to be back home. For a day anyway.
Togo
One jollof rice and chicken dinner later, we were back on the road heading east towards Togo. Overall, I really enjoyed my time in Togo, but not being able to speak much French, I wasn’t able to talk to people much about their culture. I was just moving through a country and observing, rather than experiencing it the way I have been in Ghana.
We visited Togoville, Togo’s namesake, in the east first. It is known for its animist beliefs (Voodoo). Our guide explained many of the fetishes and how they are used. He mentioned that if someone gets a snakebite, they place him in front of a particular fetish and leave them for three days. I asked if they believe in/ use western medicine, but he never answered me directly. Dr. Paul Farmer said the in Haiti they might believe someone cursed them and made them ill, but they trusted western medicine to treat them. I was wondering how medicine was integrated into the Togoville community, but alas, could never get a straight answer.
In Tamberma Valley in the north of Togo, we visited the Tata villages. They are a very specific type of compound unique to the area. The people came from Burkina Faso long ago and settled here. The village was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen, but it is really hard to explain with out pictures of the compounds! I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out how to explain them but can’t seem to do them justice, so I’ll have to do it with pictures when I get back.
Burkina Faso
Because of the rainy season, much of what we planned to see in the southwest was going to be inaccessible due to poor roads. The capital of Burkina, Ouagadougou (pronounced Wag-a-doo-goo), is a very interesting city. Burkina is the third poorest nation in the world, and much of the old city reflects that. The current government, however, has come up with a plan to rebuild the city completely. They just bulldozed large portions of the city and replacing the old with new buildings, none less than four stories. This resulted in random sections of the city being piles of dirt, then an oasis of bright lights and shiny buildings. The main boulevard was so clean and the buildings so big, boasting their neon lights. It was incredibly nice, but it also felt incredibly out of place. (Especially the Palm Beach Hotel in land-locked Burkina)
The remainder of our time in Burkina was filled with the Gorom-Gorom Thursday market and camel rides in the desert. The market is famous in West Africa and very different from any I had seen thus far. Most of the men wore turbans, each different fabric representing their ethnic group. The Tuareg wear indigo and the Bella (the Tuareg’s former slaves) wear black. The Fulani men wear a two-toned blue/indigo turban, whereas their women are distinguished by their elaborate, colorful dresses and distinct accessories.
Back in Accra
Both Togo and Burkina were so different from Ghana, from the food, to the buildings, the transportation. This is largely due to the French influences versus the British influence. It’s been really interesting to see the effects of the colonization and modernization in different countries.
I know I’ve learned so much over my whirlwind tour through three countries, but I’m still processing it all.
Revisiting the Operating Room
I made an observation in my last post about how the draping, or lack there of, in the OR here allows the face to show. I said it brings the humanity back to the practice. But there was a part of me that held that thought and tumbled it around in my brain. Of course, there’s a reason other than being cold and heartless that we drape the face in the States. Ironically, a few days later, I was reading How We Live by Dr. Sherwin Nuland, and he addressed exactly that issue. Reading his description was like reading the words out of my mind, but he puts it so perfectly, I’ll let him explain: “There are reasons both medical and emotional that surgeons drape an incision site so closely that nothing else human can be seen, as well as hide their patient’s sleeping face behind a cloth screen. Those reasons go far beyond the prevention of infection, and the most critical of them is to maintain detachment from the intimidating reality of what they are doing to a man or woman made very much like themselves. The greater the danger, the greater the need for distance. Never is that more true than when we are fighting for a life.”
Next Up
A week from Saturday I will be going with a doctor that is coming over fro the States to help set up a clinic in a village outside of Accra. I’m really looking forward to comparing a rural medical setting to the urban, government hospital that I’ve been working at in Accra.
When I get back, I’ll have less than a week before I go back home. I can’t believe it’s almost over already!
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