Day Five (July 7, 2006)

A much better day. I found myself humming this morning. I don’t think I have ever hummed at work before. It must have been the lingering effect of yet another time of praise and worship. Apparently, clinics all over Africa start the day this way and it has the uplifting effect of leaving everyone singing and humming hymns. Another example of the many extremes that coexist in this country, praising and rejoicing amongst the suffering, 20 degrees during the day and minus eight at night, desert and tropical jungle.

This morning I saw six women all under the age of 35. They had all been widowed in the late 1990’s and all had CD4 counts that were less than 100, all had lost children. The same recurring themes except this morning all these women were on treatment and all were well. I wish I had the foresight to have added up the number of children they cared for collectively. All of these children have been spared the agony of losing their last living parent, at least for now. One woman said to me, “I was very sick when I came here. Now I am well. I am very proud of ARV’s.”

I met Mekheti today. He is 11 years of age. He has lost both his parents and came to the clinic with his very old grandmother. She is not sure where his three brothers are. Three years ago, Mekheti had a serious infection that required hospitalization and left him with a permanent partial paralysis of his left arm (Likely encephalitis). His HIV has progressed and he will soon need treatment. Hopefully his grandmother will live long enough to care for him into his adulthood.

There is humour and hope coexisting with the death and illness at Tsepong. The staff works like a well oiled machine and never seems to flinch at the devastating effect this disease has on the people around them. Keep moving, get the job done, push forward, stay strong…. these are the prevailing attitudes. I used the office that has the only bathroom today. By 11 am the female staff started to use the facilities and to do so had to interrupt me, the interpreter and the patient. The interpreter automatically handed each person the role of toilet paper from the desk as they walked by.

Toilet paper left in the washroom seems to sprout legs of it’s own. This system resourcefully keeps the overhead costs down. Every 15 minutes the same thing happens and it is treated as completely normal. Imagine being in your family physician’s office in Canada and during your appointment you are interrupted several times by staff using the WR. The last to come through was Johan. I couldn’t contain myself. He declined the TP. “Men don’t need toilet paper!” I blurted out.

So ends the first week at Tsepong.