Kimmy's Comments - The engagement

Okay, so Mr Romantic AKA Peter Grant asked me to marry him this weekend. Evryone has been so sweet and excited which is lovely, but also they're asking for 'the details'.

We were at Bulungula, I wasn't suspecting a thing. Pete came up to our Safari tent which we were staying in for the weekend, one of those big permanent tents with a view of the beach and waves only 20m away. Heavenly place, and our total favourite place in SA.

He arrived (I was reading a book in the tent in the afternoon sun) with 2 cups of tea in tin mugs and a chocolate bar (he had me at the chocolate bar!)...he also produced a bag of scrabble tiles and we started playing speed scrabble (an abbreviation of the full on scrabble game, ask me, i'll show you some time). After i beat him for the third time I was like "okay, this is getting boring" but he insisted on one more game. Half way through that game he exclaimed 'finished' and I frowned and looked over and he'd written MARRY ME with the scrabble tiles. (see attached photo). I was speechless and sure he was taking the piss, so needed several confirmations before I believed him, Then I rummaged around in the scrabble tile bag and pulled out some tiles and wrote YES PLEASE. And that was it. We are engaged.

He initally gave me a plastic ring which is the 'dessert ring' you get at the evening meal at Bulungula if you want a dessert - a quirky pete-ism of originatilty. Later I got the real ring. yippee.

My ring is beautiful as is life. After 6 years together it feels 100% right to spend my life with Pete and I am feeling very lucky and delighted. So There.

See yall at the wedding in spring/summer 2010.

x

Home stretch

Sorry it has been so long since I last wrote. Things have changed so much in the last weeks and we are now already in the home stretch. It is hectic and I love it. Kim and I only have a month and a bit left in Zithulele and there is a lot to be done at the Foundation.

Much of my time is taken up with a renovation project. Accommodation is scarce here and we needed to find space for health professionals and volunteers. We decided on renovating the old clinic building – a 50 year old structure that is in amazing shape. See www.igiveada.mn (do you see what he did there?) to read more about Andy Duncan and his team that are coming out to work on it in December. Before they get here we are doing a lot of prep work on the site and building and trying to ensure that all materials are going to be there on time. It’s exciting and just the kind of work that I like: pressure, clear goal, short timescale.

At the same time I am trying to get things into shape here for the new team of volunteers. I am not sure that I have made it clear to you all that the Jabulani Foundation is amazing. There is such a mint group of folk here with great skills and vision and energy and it has been a privilege to be part of it. IT has also been bastardly hard going on the emotions and everything else. But we have achieved a lot and there is scope for so much more with a bigger team. What I could do if I had the luxury of delegation. Mmm. Oh poo, I need to write the November newsletter. See?

We have got some tree guys here cutting down big blue gums that overhang our volunteer accommodation (never fear, prospective volunteers, they are gonna be gone soon). It is utterly cool watching them work as they tie off a huge limb to another tree and chainsaw it off to be lowered to the ground by a team on ropes. They are nice too – cut us some 4 inch cross sections to make into road signs and table tops. When I say ‘us, I mean someone who is better at making stuff out of trees.

We had a guy called Carlos here today. Trying to get him to shoot and edit a film for us to promote the Foundation and hospital. He is a good chap and has made some cool films (http://www.ahbfilms.blogspot.com). He is currently making a film about how bees are very endangered in South Africa. The blue gum trees that we are cutting down are havens for bees apparently, so he had an issue with that. They are non indigenous trees (Australian, I think) and there is a big drive to kill off such species and replace with indigenous species, but he says people don’t consider the spin offs that could occur. Really interesting chat. It’s never as simple as it seems. We are cutting them down so they don’t drop branches and kill our volunteers so my conscious is clear. Anyway, we have a tree hugger called Roger who is gonna plant a million indigenous trees. In fact, if you want to sponsor the planting of one, give me a shout. R250 and it is done, fenced and fertilized to get a good start.

So basically it is all go and the crapola slump that I was in (working alone, going mental) for a good few weeks has passed, thank goodness. Thanks to those who listened to me moaning.

Kim carries on chopping women’s tummies open and pulling babies out (that is where she is now) and that is good.

Clint’s birthday party was amazing. Someone told me to write that. It was mint to see Mike and Adri again and eat more of Mike’s legendary chicken with his new hot sauce (check out supermarket shelves).

Mthatha admin

Yesterday I went to Mthatha to get the new (and first) Jabulani Foundation vehicle registered in our company name. I took the book ‘Bravo Two Zero’, by Andy McNab with me in case there was any waiting involved. I knew that it was going to be a long day, but as it was a good while since my last admin trip to Mthatha, I was confident of success.

The first thing to do was to collect the mail for three people at Mqanduli Post Office. This was carried out with no problems and I sped onwards. Prior to departure I had already read a good chunk of B20 and I learnt that preparation was everything for a mission to be successful. I had a list and I had checked and re-checked the documents that I needed.

I like the VW Citigolf. It is basically a VW Golf (for the UK folk) with no trims. 1.4l, no power steering, aircon or other dangerous electronic stuff to go wrong. Andy McNab would approve, but he would also probably call me a ‘big bag of bollocks’ as the SAS is prone to involve a lot of abuse of one’s peers. Anyway, it corners better than the big car and it feels like you are going fast all the time.

The next thing was to get the car checked for the insurance company so they knew it existed. I was nothing but charm. Make the personal link as quickly as you can so that they don’t torture you to death (or decide to be unhelpful, in my case). Job done, had a brew (well, a drink of juice).

Next to the Traffic Office for registration. My navigation intelligence had been from Shannon, one of the occupational therapists. She had done a good map and I was in there fast. The queue was pretty long. I spent the time talking to some dudes with great English. They were really helpful to me, so I didn’t shoot them.

When I got to the desk it all went a bit wrong. Two large ladies were firing info at me. I had to register to get a number as an SA driver first. I also needed an affidavit from the lady who sold us the car. The intelligence had been wrong. My mission was foiled. I decided to go and get the car’s ‘roadworthy certificate’ (one requirement that I knew about) so that all would not be lost. The last thing I did was to get a phone number for the office so I could double check details for next time. As I departed, I rang it. It rang out, as had all 3 of the other numbers I have for the office. They were clearly masters of obfuscation. Or some other big word.

I came to a vast, shiny warehouse with a sign on it saying “KSD Vehicle Testing Centre”. The process was to drive to the end of a queue and wait. There were 5 vehicles in front of me. I left enough room in front to maneuver out, as any member of B20 would have. The fat man with pretty good English told me that I was likely to have to wait an hour and a half. Not bad. I settled into the book.

Time passed. 2 hours passed. I realized that, like Andy McNab, there was no point in getting stressed out. I needed to bang some food and water in me, because I did not know when I would be able to do so again. Over 3 hours later I looked the wee man in the face. He was like a Scottish footballer in that he had only 2 teeth and was not very good.

I asked him how much longer it would take. He told me that I would need to come back tomorrow to collect the certificate. I asked why and pleaded with him that he try to do it ASAP. His response was to say that he did not want to commit to anything as he was the only man there working (there were two others). This was when I started to think about what Andy M had said about how to kill a man making minimum noise, but I wasn’t prepared to saw my Leatherman backwards and forwards across his windpipe just yet. I went outside to see fatman as he seemed to be in charge (ie doing nothing). He said that the guy inside was the only man working and that is was not possible. I said that I lived very far away and this meant me losing a whole day. I said the word “hospital”. I said “please, please, please”. He wandered off.

When he walked back past I gave him an eyebrows raised look that asked whether it was going to happen. He gave a small thumbs up. I walked round to see Toothless MacGinty. Toothless was clearly losing his mind. He stuck his tongue out and jerked his head forward as if he was walking like an Egyptian. I said “thank you so much for helping me today”. He stuck his tongue out. He then pissed about printing the form slowly.

The important thing was that I hadn’t shown him how I was really feeling. I was physically tired, but they had not broken me mentally. Andy McNab would appreciate that. When he was getting tortured by Iraqis he went through something similar. We both came through. As I started the engine, Toothless was at the window with his tongue out like a mentalist again. I did the international sign language for YOU ARE MENTAL. He nodded. Back again next week then.

Kimmy's comments-they pull you down then they pick you up

Yesterday was a funny day what with the DG stuff and a ward full of sick people. I had a 14 year old girl who suddnely looked terirble with breathing troubles yesterday. I put her on oxygen and strong antibiotics through the vein, but after lunch I took a look at her and she looked worse despite my attempts. me and some seniors spent an hour or so trying to get her breathing better with various potions, but she didn't improve. At 5pm I decided we should refer her to Mthatha Hospital , after all she wasnt my usual patient - she was HIV -ve, previously well, and only 14 years old. Unfortunately it was too late to get the helicopter to come as apparently it doesn't fly at night, so i had to settle for the Metro Ambulance along the bumpy wet dirt road to Zithulele (at least an hour away). Unfortunately before the ambulance arrived she stopped breathing and her heart stopped beating. We tried to rescuscitate her for about 45 minutes with adrenaline, atropine, the lot - tried everything we could think of but unfortunately had to give up eventually as she wasn't coming back to us. She died. I think it was a super nasty pneumonia. It was bleak. Only 14. So today at work bumbling around my busy ward and I was feeling pretty broken and sad about it all. Things just carry on you know and sometimes that's hard.

Just as I was feeling utterly bummed I got a call from Liz one of the other doctors and my good friend. "guess who's back" she said excitedly "who?" I asked.....it turns out that my favourite Paeds baby a 2 1/2 year old girl called Aphiwe who I'd sent very sick to a great hospital 3 hours away in East London had survived and was back with us! There was a lovely letter to me from the consultant saying 'thankyou for your excellent referral' and that our diagnosis of TB everywhere (chest, abdomen, liver...)was correct. She was changed to pills instead of antibiotics through the vein, which means she can go home soon!

I ran down to Paeds ward to catch a glimpse of her and she looked wonderful - fat faced and much healthier (she was wee scrap with a buddah belly before, adorable). She was wearing this cute flowery dress. This girl was the one that captured my heart for some reason on Paeds, I think I wrote about her granny being awesome a while back when I said she might be on the ward for 6 months. I am delighted she is better. Sometimes there are happy endings too!

Also yesterday Taryn one of the other doctors called me to see her kiddy for a peek, and it was a boy who'd burnt his leg a few months back and had been on my ward getting his burn cleaned up for a few weeks and then was sent to Mthatha Hospital for skin graft (no, not the one I wrote about a while back, he has disappeared, but another one). His leg looked great, graft had taken well, a wonderful result and another happy story.

So, it is funny that things pull you down but then something else lifts you back up. I think some people think these kind of things are the work of god or something. I'm in the 'of something' category, I'm just happy they happen when you most need your faith in yourself and what you are doing restoring.

Kimmy's comments - The ugly side of poverty

Firstly, I realise I always write sad things on the blog, I’d like to say that it is awesome out here too, and I;m happy, but I don’t want to make you all jealous by writing happy stuff all the time, plus the most interesting things are usually grim. But that is life...if you want cheering up then don’t read on.

Only a few months to go until we go back to The UK and it is strange looking back on my year here. I had a great three months on Paeds ward and now have moved on to female ward. Each ward change brings new challenges and it is a thought provoking time.

I have 25 beds on my ward, most people are pretty sick. One room is full of TB and there is a good scattering of HIV +ve women too. 25 year olds with brain damage from fitting for a day (a reflection of poor transport links here and inability to reach medical care.

To start a HIV+ve person on Anti retroviral Therapy (ARVs) they need counselling and also a treatment partner, someone who also understands that the pills are everyday for the rest of your life, and that they MUST be taken at the same time twice a day. Having a treatment partner means that if you are too sick to remember your ARVS they can give you them...pretty essential to the whole theory of ARVS needing to be EVERY DAY not to miss ANY as it risks the HIV will become resistant to the pills. And don’t forget these pills are horrid...nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, numb feet to list but a few side effects. But they’re a life saver too....so you bear the side effects.

Anyway, one poor lady on my ward has a very suppressed immune system from HIV and needs ARVS but they say she has no treatment partner. So today on the ward round she sits in bed looking gaunt and thin and ill. Her lips are purple from the gentian violet liquid we put on her blistered mouth. She looks so sad and weak. I ask her (via the nurse) if she can think of ANYONE to be her treatment partner, and she says no. Her father and mother I ask?...dead. Her sisters and brothers.....dead, her husband...died 2004. No friends. The only person she has is her 14 year old child. I discuss it with a colleague, we have no choice, we’ll have to try and get the 14 year old to be her treatment partner or she’ll surely die in the next year or so and then that child will be entirely alone. It seems the best option, the only option really. Shame to put such a big thing on a 14 year old but I guess already there life is a struggle finding money and shelter etc. As they say in SA...’Hectic’.

The other thing I’ve noticed today is “the ugly side of poverty”. Just to give a background, unemployment is massive...it’s rare to find anyone with a job here. There simply aren’t any jobs round here, just rolling hills with rondavel huts on them but not much economy or work. The govenrm,ent gives grants for children, old age (>60 years) and disability. We have to fill out forms for them to be assessed, and they collect the grant monthly from a local shop or something. It isn’t much but large family networks of 8-9 people or more end up relying on a few family members grants from the government to get them through each month. Even more so with the HIv deaths in 30 something year olds leaving orphaned children being looked after by their gogos (grannies). They’re surviving on £30 for all of them or something like that. The problem comes when the gogos die and they wont be replaced with new gogos because lots of them are not living long enough. A flaw in the plan of life round these parts.

Disability Grants (DGs)are a nightmare for us, everyone wants them but the government lays down strict criteria. Unfortunately you don’t qualify for one just because there is no work, it’s more about whether you’re fit for work. And, no job centres out this way, oh no no no. But, in times not so long ago people could ‘buy’ grant, so there is still a lot of unrest because people who may be used to have a grant are now ineligible. And the families are so desperate that they waste time and money and effort on trying to get a grant, when these efforts would be better spent on finding work or working the land and planting food instead. Apparently in other parts of the country there is a black market on TB sputum. You get a temporary grant for having TB treatment (6 months usually) and some clever souls have cottoned on to this, that because TB is often diagnosed by culturing a sputum, they can sell their dirty Tb sputum to health people who hand it in as theirs then get put on TB meds (which are potent and have SE but they don’t care) and then get a DG.

Anyway, back to the ugly side of poverty. So today is grant collection day, or ‘epaye’ as they say. So all these young relatives of the old ladies on my ward with TB and strokes etc who are over 60 come crawling out of the woodwork to drag their old gogos to the shop to collect their pay. It just made me feel furious seeing these poor old ladies being wheeled out in wheelbarrows and all sorts to go sign for their pay (they have to go in person.). I am asked for permission to let them take the old ladies, what can I say....from a drs point of view NO, I want them on the ward being treated, but from a broader perspective you can see how this grant is essential for the families survival on a day to day basis. It is just that fair enough, if the family had been around before hand caring for their relative and then took them for grant that would be more palatable than them just turning up randomly on grant day.

So, I say yes, they can go, but I think the relatives sense my anger. Sometimes I long for the UK and its functioning welfare system. People just don’t know how lucky they are back home. I am going to be SO ANNOYING when i get back referencing my time here, I just know it! Sorry in advance, but poverty is ugly.

Romance, gluttony and elbow shaped punishment for the previous two

Kim and I just got back from a romantic weekend at Mngazi River Lodge. It is posh and nicely done up and feeds you til you rupture something. When it is only for a weekend, you can really go for it and eat everything to destruction. Seafood platter, cooked breakfast, soup and a roast... We met a couple at the end of their week. When asked if they were hungry they answered that they did not know anymore and that all they knew was that they had to keep eating. They were broken and they still joined us in having seconds of pavlova as well as trying the fudge cream cake.

We got a couples massage. Me and Kim, not the other two. Needless to say, Kim was responsible for booking this frivolous package and I was all to prepared for another crap, soft, Swedish massage with too much oil and not enough pressing. I asked for a “hard massage, please”. Let me explain, I have had several excellent thai massages in my time. I used to have one every week when I was in Thailand and they were hard and they were great. So when I said to Loreen that I wanted a hard massage and that, yes, I had had massages before, she could see that I meant it.

She kicked the shit out of me. She went straight in with the elbow and relentlessly continued as I silently screamed through my face-hole at the bowl of pebbles and twigs that ornately faced me. Kim, it seems, was going through similar turmoil next to me, equally afraid to protest. Seems I am not the man I was in Thailand and I have simultaneously gained tension and lost hardiness in my back. After the beating, we retired to a spa bath thing with some pink champagne, which helped.

Things that I saw this weekend that you probably didn’t

I was driving along the pothole road. I’ve got pretty good at dodging them by now. But there is a new scam. The kids have got spades and piles of dirt and act like they are filling the holes when you get close. They stop immediately after you pass. I encouraged the work by smiling and putting (both of) my thumbs up to them. I suppose they felt much improved after the exchange.

On Friday I attended and spoke at a ceremony to mark the official opening of Ngcwanguba clinic’s new (ish) prefab unit. You can try to pronounce the name of the clinic now and I will wait for you. Finished? That was pathetic. But at least you tried. A Joburg firm called Fabricated Steel Manufacturers donated the building, which now houses consulting rooms from which the ARV programme is run. There is also space for the HIV support group to meet – an improvement on a bit of grass in the rain.

FSM is run by a bloke called Felix Clemens. Felix attended and was accompanied by a classy pair in Hans and Elody, Chairman and shareholder, respectively and not a couple. They were delightful and pleased to come and see where we are and what we are about.

The ceremony was ace. Lots of ceremonial dancing and ululating (you can say that and all) went on, with local school kids performing traditional dancey stuff, as well as a short skit where a girl tried to persuade her boyfriend to test for HIV. He was not convinced at first but ended up getting into it and getting some counselling. The ARV support group gave a rowdy performance with drums and awesome singing. Doctor Iber whispered that he was pleased to see one woman who had once been at deaths door gyrating like a goodun. Good old ARVs; they keep you alive and enable you to live a full life. Some anyway. Best bit for me was when 4 teenage guys came in traditional garb, topless with beads on and sticks in hand. They did some facing off and a mad vibrating of the chest and shoulder area that I would struggle to imitate. The culmination was two facing off, nearly touching and giving it a good old vibrate. It was intense.

The event started bang on time at 9am. Except for the fact that it didn’t start until nearly 11am. I am getting used to it by now, and thus may well struggle when I get back to working in the UK. Hans gave a lovely speech, emphasising that FSM was a 3 generation family business and one which looks after its workers. It went down well with the crowd. I simply had to say thanks and give a quick bit on what the Jabulani Foundation is. It was a pleasure.

Near the end of the event, when we were all losing the will to live after too many speeches, the ANC bloke got up. He started by admitting that he hadn’t been to school, before proving it by stating that HIV is caused by poor nutrition (wrongly interpreting a previous speech from a nutrition manager) and going on to say that the government was doing A LOT to improve things. The irony of him saying this at an event devoted to the private and NGO sector delivering what the public should was lost. He said that he was pleased to see this Foundation, “I forgot the name...”. I was delighted to hear the front couple of rows shout “JABULANI!”. So they know our name, which is good. I realised the importance of getting out and doing formal things to spread the name and what we are doing. My speech included a last minute spiel on the waiting mothers’ accommodation, which we need to advertise so that pregnant women know they can come and be near the hospital at the end of their term.

Today, at the Superspar in Mthatha, we were loading up with groceries and looking for the shortest queue. I could see that one had 4 guys at it, but they were huddled real close and looked to be together, and with no trolly. I pounced. And verily took the space behind them. They were, it seems, pissed. And they were also buying only one item – again, well done me for choosing that queue. The item was a pack of sanitary pads. What would 4 pissed Xhosa guys be doing buying a pack of Lillets? We will never know. They did not buy them. I can only assume that they didn’t have enough money.

Cow in mud

Yesterday I went to SeaView Senior High School to check that they are ready for a dude called Craig Paxton to do his Maths camp next week. They are ready. But on the way I just had to pause and check out a bunch of wee boys pulling a cow out of a swamp.

The rains have just come and the poor cows are obviously not used to it. This skinny half-calf was sitting in the middle of the mud going nowhere until a team of, I dunno, 7 year olds came to pull it by the horns and tail.

They were making progress with it, slowly. It didn’t seem that keen; its only contribution was to lighten the load by pooing on one boys feet as he yanked its tail up.

I went off to the school to have my meeting. It was a short one and I returned via the same route with interest, to see where they had got to. Progress again and he was nearly at the dry bit. I went to help them, like America at the end of the second world war (although my hands did get a bit muddy). Felt like we were going to rip the poor things head off and it definitely wasn’t helping us one bit. They knew it was right to get the cow out though. A bit more heaving and it gunned its skinny legs into action like Bambi and wobbled to a stand. Job well done, I nodded to the leader (you can tell which one, I think. Furthest right except for mickey mouse kid). Cow walked off. Boys walked off.

Halfway through one boy had tried to steal my rucsac but the leader told him off.
Cows are worth a lot of money. I hope the boys each got a decent dinner that night or at least a thank you.

Otter shots

Here we go. Some obligatory jumping shots and the pick of the scenery. A special 'E' spelled out in the sea for my sister Bettina.

The Otter Trail

I am back in the village. I was away doing an awesome thing. The thing was the Otter Trail. I know. It sounds pretty weak. To add insult to injury, the otters in question are Cape Clawless Otters. So any danger that you may have been able to conjure from the idea of otter scratch-attacks disappears into comedy. If these otters are to attack, one can only assume that they bring it on with a slapping maneuver. I felt little threat but, as always, was on my guard just in case.

That we had read the visitors book at the beginning and saw that someone spotted a 4 meter zambese shark in the Bloukrans River, was a more immediate concern. I remembered that the smart money on the ‘how will Pete meet his maker in South Africa’ sweepstake was on shark attack. Work colleagues had even bought me a book on shark species. I shuddered.

The otter trail is a 5 day, 4 night hike in Tsitsikamma national park, along the coast at the bottom end of South Africa. It is right at the edge of the Eastern Cape and pretty damn far away from Zithulele. 12 people get to go at a time as there are two huts at each stop with 6 beds in each. The huts are great, simple things: pretty new and very clean. There are cold showers and toilets as well as water. Luxury, really.

So we set off on Friday lunchtime with very heavy bags, even more weighted down with the guilt of packing so much. The group consisted of me and 11 others. I was a complete stranger to all, having taken our friend Liz’s place as she had to work. The otter trail books up one year in advance so she and they did me an amazing favour in letting me go. I was really lucky.

The group was an assortment from 22 to about 60 years old. All were Christian white South Africans apart from me. This made me feel a little bit of an outsider, but I had confidence in my inimitable charm and wit. I am not sure whether anyone suspected that I was a heathen as we did not discuss religion openly. I am fairly sure that my irreverent style and swearing (though toned down considerably) gave the game away. I also omitted to say amen at the group prayer sessions. Who am I kidding, they knew. And they found out that I am living in sin too. I have to admit to harbouring a level of discomfort at various times when people are opining about ‘lord God’ – something which has been a feature of our stay in South Africa. The culture of Christianity here is just much more prevalent than in the UK and it pervades more of other aspects of life (health, government, education), where it is kept conspicuously segregated back home. Still, it is interesting chatting with folk who come from a very different perspective and it makes you challenge your own beliefs and lifestyle.

The otter trail consists of short days of only about 8k. They are hilly but easily manageable in much less than a day. The exception is the fourth day, which is 14k and also involves the hardest river crossing, after 10 of those 14k. It is important to get there at low tide for the crossing so we checked the tide tables eagerly at base camp. 8am. That meant a wake-up of 2am to ensure that we could night-hike there in good time to cross. Exciting. And it really brought the group together with folk bonding and helping eachother out.

As I swam across the Bloukrans, I shuddered again. It was morning, an estuary, the water was cloudy and sharks were known to swim there before (all of these things are to be avoided as they increase the risks of shark attack). Fortunately a woman called Ailsa took the bull by the horns. We were all faffing about on the shore thinking about how to get out of it when someone asked where she was. She was only halfway across the river! Good leadership. Gave us all confidence to follow.

Wait. Liz just came in (real time) and told us (among other things) that they once had a patient here who cut off his own testicles with a pair of scissors. “He was a psych patient”. “No shit”.

After the swim and a little secret sip of whisky for me, we faced a horrible rocky section. The map said ‘not advised’, but we were not keen to go for alternative route bouldering around the edge of the cliff above the water. The cliff was pretty darn steep and ropes were attached for most of the way. No one fell to their death, and that was a real bonus – icing on the cake stuff. We all looked back with an odd tired confusion at how we had managed to do it all.

And we had a beautiful sunny day coming on fast and a feeling of achievement. The views got better and better and the tiredness just made it all the more wonderful.

We saw otters, too, by the way. But when they saw me they bottled it and shot off into the bush. Maybe if they had had claws they would have tried it on, but I gave them that martial arts stare and they knew I had won before the battle had begun.

Petes birthday













playing with torches













Rhodes, me and pete be a jumping

Kimmy's Comments - Transkei Makeovers

Our friends Neen and Kev arrived all the way from the UK at the weekend and are the first friend to make it to our hospital door. We salute you. Was great for them to see where we’ve been living for the last 6 months. They dropped off their swanky BMW hire care by our accommodation and we headed for Bulungula in our big 4x4. It’s our favourite place to relax, and a real slice of Transkei beauty. We all recharged our batteries and the weather was heavenly making the scenery all the more breathtaking.

Neen and I spent Saturday afternoon painting our nails. I went for fluorescent pink polish and she had bright blue. Shortly afterwards two young local girls who were hanging about came to admire our toenails. We offered to paint their nails with much gesticulating and saying English words hopefully in an African accent , as if that helps them to understand. There is no language no barrier when it comes to girls and makeup! They quickly jumped up to fetch a pen knife to cut their nails in a roundish fashion, then we set to work painting their finger and toe nails. Seemed a bit weird with their feet bare and all dusty from scampering around the hills-but apparently it is a sturdy nail polish, doesn’t chip easily.

Unbelievably the girl whose nails I was painting was actually a very demanding ‘customer’ making sure I applied several layers and didn’t miss a spot. We then ran off to grab our full on makeup bags and gave them both shimmering eye shadows and Juicy Fruits pink lip gloss. Annoyingly the makeup looked so much better on their lovely full lips...so we decided to give them both a little makeup kit of our stuff to keep. They were so happy and ran around posing with their new looks. Their names were Atini and Andisiwe, great girls. We finished off the makeover by all dancing around together flicking our newly painted hands back to the rhythm of a drum in a new-age dance move. I guess you had to be there for that one.

It was great fun though to just have a cool interaction with some locals that wasn’t health related. When you see all the poverty you find yourself wanting to give people things, but when kids shout for sweets as your car drives past you know that is a result of hand outs from foreigners, and it isn’t the answer. But, I am starting to find subtle ways of helping, by hopefully changing locals perceptions of foreigners like me. I help mums on paeds with money for transport which is a little gesture too. But, I think a cool interaction where the foreigner gets down and paint a little local girls pinkies is totally all good. Break the mould and the divide a bit. You never quite feel like it is enough though.

Kobb Inn

The best breakfast in the Transkei is there, we learned today. They did this thing with baked beans, onion and slivers of beef that I can’t believe I didn’t think of before. And they didn’t stop there. Egg, bacon, really nice brown bread and a wee sausage. It was marvellous.

So we left there satisfied after that breakfast and a weekend of relaxing hard.

On the way home we passed a good few people with their hands out for lifts. Hitch-hiking is a huge part of life out here and I often wonder how people ever get to where they are going with the trickle of traffic that often prevails. Now, before you get too excited, we are not idiots. In fact we are, as I have stated before, extremely risk-averse in our approach to South Africa. So when I say that we picked up some hitch-hikers, you can be confident that they were old ladies or old men. We are not in the market for the mid-twenty year old male, even if he looks really nice. In fact these guys must have a nightmare getting lifts from anyone white. But that is how we roll.

Today we gave a lift to a big fat dude who was all smiles. Shortly after that we passed a pastor (if you will) and let him in. Later we passed a very, very large woman indeed who also held a hand out. I could see some nervousness in the faces of the two men, but I knew we could do it. All of a sudden, no one in the back was very comfortable anymore, but they were absolutely gutting themselves laughing, so we set off. Fortunately, Reverend Greenbag got out 5 minutes later, leaving ample space for the other two to continue roaring with laughter at Kim and my attempts to converse.

When we were down to the one lady, dressed in her Sunday best, we were driving along nicely when she offered my two rand. “No, thanks”, I said, in isi-Xhosa and kept on, smiling. It was Kim who quickly pointed out that that had been her way of indicating that we were at her stop. Woops. We declined the money and let her out a hundred meters further than she had hoped. Pretty cool that she offered to pay, if you ask me.

Water is still off. Electric went off for a bit and then back on. Now on, so fingers crossed. Water is rumoured to be getting fixed tomorrow. People here are starting to smell pretty bad. Kobb Inn had good showers.

Kimmy’s Comments – the story of no water and the hot water burns.

Haven’t written for ages. Sorry, lots been happening. I have just got back from snowboarding as pete said and unfortunately the water is off again. At lunchtime today the electricity went off too and I thought I might die, but the electricity is back at least. I stink. Havent showered in a few days and am desperate to be washing the horrid powdered glove smell off my hands from todays work. Apparently the water should be fixed in a few days...we only have one sterile pack left in theatre for a caesarean so we’re keeping it for a super emergency. All other c/s will go to Mthatha.

I was frustrated today. I have a 6 y o boy who got a severe hot water burn to his left leg about 6 weeks ago. The burn was quite big (from tip of toe to bottom of ankle) and quite deep (involved tendons and outer ankle bone). He needed a skin graft. We sent him to Mthatha hospital and they kept him on the ward a few days then sent him back to us due to bed shortages and asked us to get the wound clean then they’d admit him again for a graft when wound was nice and clean and ready for surgery. So, I took him back, swabbed his manky foot, gave him appropriate iv antibiotics and 3 weeks later his wound looked beautiful and clean and pink, ready for graft. Then, I sent him back to mthatha in the ambulance. That was 2 weeks ago. I heard nothing more and assumed all was well. That was until today when the childs uncle who works at a nearby clinic brought a note from the childs mother saying that he went to mthatha hosp that day and they said because he arrived at noon it was too late to see a doctor so he should come back next Friday. So, they went home, slightly disgruntled at mthatha hosps care(quite right).

They have NO money so can’t get back to mthatha and the uncle tells me the wound is now full of pus again. So, back to square one. I put a lot of effort in to getting this child well for graft and it has all amounted to nothing. Apparently the family are now disillusioned and don’t want to go back to mthatha, and also if they turn up with a dirty wound they’ll be sent away cos to graft the wound needs to be clean. If they leave this foot it will get mankier and mankier and at best he’ll loose his right foot, at worst he’ll die from septicaemia (blood poisoning).

I despair. I asked the uncle to being the child to Zithulele so i could admit him again and start from scratch. He says he has no money to bring him and i should give him some. My gut feeling is i don’t trust him, so I didn’t give him any. I spoke to someone later who confirmed that that was a correct decision. Instead i told him to try to convince the mum to bring him to us...we have a dr who goes to Wilo clinic which is near him and he might be able to bring him back in his car next Tuesday. Watch this space. It rings true though “if you want something doing proper, do it yerself!” Unfortunately I can’t do a skin graft so will have to rely on incompentent others who have no conscience and are happy to simply send away patients who’ve travelled 1 ½ hrs, have no money and a clear need for medical attention. Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh The frustration is massive

It’s cold, it’s white and it’s bloody brilliant

Skiing in Africa? Well no. But we did snowboard. In an explosive weekend of pub story provoking activity, we have come away to Rhodes, which nestles nicely amongst huge mountains and is a 45 minute drive to Tifendell Ski Resort. It was always going to be a good idea to go there, regardless of how crap it was. As we waited to get our lift passes I drolly drew a short straight line on my hand with my pen and said, “check it out, I have drawn a piste map”. Everyone agreed that I was not funny.

But I was pleasantly surprised when we got up there. The only run that was open was short, but long enough to get up some speed. The snow was that nice soft sugary snow, before it goes too sugary and turns into waves that you can’t carve through. The tow lift was a button, but not one of those jerky ones that tears at your undercarriage. No, it was gentle. It wasn’t anywhere near as busy as it would have been in Scotland in those conditions. In fact it was nice and quiet. I only banged into one child and he was asking for it anyway. I did not draw blood and it will teach him to look around him in future.

There weren’t really any black people there. Having said that, there haven’t really been any black people when I have skied in Austria. The difference there is that most people in Austria are not black. So it was a bit of a weird bubble up there in the snow and it was extremely odd and cool to see two black men walking down the hill in massive blankets and balaclavas with walking sticks. They might have been from Lesotho. Not sure. It made us all feel a bit soft for being dragged up the hill by a tow lift.

Roger and Karen are here. They are to be married very soon. And Richard, the medical student came too. It is a good group of folk, unless Karen is given too much sugar. It is nice to fill the car when you go away and even nicer when the folk are good craic and chilled out.

We camped on the Saturday because, annoyingly, our self-catering accommodation was only available Friday and Sunday. So a bit of upheaval, but it has been fun. The camping was pretty Baltic and I am not sure my nose has thawed out yet but we had scrounged lots of cold weather gear from Karl and Sally (next door neighbours) so we were fine. Richard and I steeled ourselves for the night with several beers, a chat with a man called Grandad, a game of rugby and last, but not least, a shot of Underberg. Underberg is horrible. It comes in little bottles that fit into an ammo belt. The last time I drank anything like that was in Thailand and that was a laxative for cleansing my system. Fortunately this didn’t have that effect, but it wasn’t delicious.

Grandad and Tony, the two pissed old lads at the bar told us in a roundabout way about how the country is going to bollocks now the blacks are in charge. There were several Zimbabwean monetary notes stapled to the wall as a warning and some jokey ones with Jacob Zuma plus shower attachment and a figure of 600,000,000 rand. They were generally very anti-immigration, but we decided to go the way of talking about farts, rather than engaging in a discussion about how London relies on immigrants to be successful. “Shit, was that you?”. “Yes, sorry Grandad.”, was all I could offer. Tony thought it was only fair after the car journey that he had recently endured with Grandad and Grandad’s arse. Grandad also explained that we were in the southern Drakensberg. Many people say that Underberg (the place, not the spirit) is in the Southern Drakenberg. They are wrong people and they must be stopped. We got to the stage where we were thinking of invading.

We got mad props from the two of them for living in the Transkei. Tourists nowadays are a bunch of softies, but we seemed to be okay because our electricity goes off sometimes.

Now we are back after our awesome boarding and feeling justifiably sleepy and almost ready for a beer to round things off. I have skied in Africa and that is great. Almost better and dramatically cheaper was yesterday, when we found a patch of snow up another hill and used a big orange bivvy bag to sledge about on. Needless to say silly photos were taken and everyone got a wet bum.

This accommodation is wonderful. A big old barn of a farmhouse with lots of furniture one would see at a grandparents house. Makes me think of my Gran, whose house has just been sold as she is in a home now. It is a homely place with heavy pots and character. The maid has come in and cleaned and made the most incredible fire for us. It is made so that all you have to do is throw a match in and it goes. The level of service is pretty remarkable considering that we are paying R120 per person per night. I wonder what she gets paid.

It does exactly what it says on the tin

I went for a wee run this morning to shake off the pork belly and wine. Off I went along the coast. There are little goat trails contouring along the hills, skirting cliffs above a raging sea. They do not call it the Wild Coast for nothing. It is wild. And it is a coast. In that respect it is a lot like Ronseal Quick Drying Wood Stain.

And goats there were along my run. They scampered in fear as they saw my impressive form wheezing towards them. I have to admit that I didn’t get the best of the spectacular scenery as I was concentrating on 3 foot space in front of me to avoid coming a cropper like Billy, who had gone into rigourmortis on the rocks below a 50 foot cliff. My mind turned to the braai we are having this afternoon, but I think he might be a bit ripe for that and I wasn’t exactly sure how to get to him anyway.

I didn’t go too far, but you reach isolation very quickly. The only bodies out are the odd fisherman. I am sure I could make a joke about that. I reached a nice wee sticky-out cliff and had a good sit down and a swatch at the sea. This is something that I could do for a very long time but breakfast called.

I have just been asked to take control of the egg phase of breakfast. Kim may be a very good doctor and a creative maker of shell and driftwood mobiles, but she is pish at frying eggs and she knows it. Muffin, bacon, eggs, black pepper. Kim likes to sully hers with tomato ketchup. And that is her right, of course.

Today’s braai is to consist of a grill balanced on rocks from the beach. Simple is, of course, besto. We have a chicken and we will verily flatten the bugger and get him well cooked.

Last night we watched ‘Dan in Real Life’. Dan in Real Life is not the worst chick-flick that I have ever watched. And that is about all that we say about that.

Kimmy’s comments : Things are looking up

What a lovely weekend I’m having. We have come to ‘Hole in the Wall’ which is about 20min drive from the hospital and sits in a pretty bay with the big ‘hole’ in the wall being the featured attraction. I was never a huge fan of hole in the wall, it has a tatty hotel and oozes the remains of colonialism. The beach has lots of local kids begging for money from the spattering of tourists who stay at the hotel. The geographical feature that is the hole in the wall is quite nice, but one visit is enough.

However, we’ve struck gold by finding this little gem of a holiday home owned by some South Africans who rent it out when they’re not staying there. Normally SA holiday homes are a bit kitschy and tasteless with florals and doilies everywhere and old veneer furniture. However, this place is LOVELY. Firstly the location –tucked away just about 100m from the lapping waves on a beautiful quiet beach just round the corner from the more populated ‘hole in the wall’ beach which has a hotel etc. The place is made from a rondavel (roundhouse) with a square bit on the side making more space. All the sea facing walls are covered with big windows, letting lots of light in and the views are spectacular. You can sit with a cup of tea just watching the waves roll. Not a soul in sight. The whole interior is whites and pale blues, shells, marine themes. This owner must be an interior decorator me thinks. Lots of candles and lovely touches, a nice kitchen with everything you could need. It has such a positive vibe and is a great place to recuperate after a weeks work.

We arrived Friday night and were just about to settle down and watch a DVD (our favourite escapism pastime -thanks Al+Tori for the new material). Anyhow, just as we pressed play the electricity cut out (it’s been doing this a lot lately). This ruins all plans of DVDs and cups of tea and dinner as we hadn’t brought our camping stove and the oven works on electric.....bugger. Then Pete had the genius idea of driving over the green hills about another 20minutes to coffee bay, the home of Papazellas pizza place. So we called the owner to check they were running, he cooks on gas so all stations GO. We drove over and ordered our favourites...Papazella for Pete (mince meat, peppers, onions) and Mammazella for me (chicken, garlic, peppers). Funny how we like those named ones best...pappa and mammazellas. These pizzas are DIVINE, even by UK Italian restaurant ratings. Thin bases, nice toppings, mozzarella and even homemade chilli sauce if you can take the heat! It was delicious (are you hungry reading this?). We sat right by the big brick oven that was cooking them to keep warm.

We drove back to our haven at Hole in The Wall and the lights were back on (yippee) so settled down for a DVD- The Last Samuri, which of course I fell asleep watching and missed the end...think he gets the girl which is all I’m bothered about. Pete sold it to me saying there was a love interest in the film, he failed to remind me that that was in between extreme violence fight scenes! It was fun though.

Yesterday(Saturday) we fashioned a game of boule from some sort of round small boulders on the beach. It was fun until I lost miserably, despite my training sessions in the UK during Als wedding week I got my butt kicked twice by pete, who was sure to gloat a ridiculous amount. I blame it on the bloulders not actually being round.

We had a brunch of fried eggs and bacon on a savoury muffin with a cuppa. Brilliant.
Watched The Springboks beat The All Blacks at rugby up at a local restaurant called Whiteclay (the one with the calamari). Then had a pork belly for dinner washed down with divine oaked chardonnay (costing only £3 a bottle). Great stuff.

Today is Sunday. Some friends are coming over to us and we’re having a braai. Winter is here, and it is chilly by South African standards, but by uk standards it is definitely warm enough for a braai. Happy days.

Although being half way through our time here has given us a lull in enthusiasm, this weekend has brought a nice feeling of being settled and knowing our area. Awesome weekend, not much achieved on the surface, but actually underneath that lots done on a mental level. The cost to stay in this paradise for the weekend you ask? £7 per person per night including someone doing the dishes for us. And you know how we Brits love a bargain!

A whiff of sustainability

Yesterday I went to the first Zithulele Pre-school parents’ meeting. It was awesome.

Now, I have been banging on for a good while about how we need a committee to run the school and a parents’ committee to talk to it, sending one representative to our meetings. A pre-school committee we have. Not a big one, but it is there. I never really thought the parents end would happen without me forcing it (pessimistic swine), but on Thursday, Thandeka said to me that there was to be a meeting at 1pm on Friday. I was like, “can I come”, she was like “yes, please come”. So I went. You cannot imagine the happiness that I experience when something like this surprises me out of the blue. Good old Thandeka and good old parents too.

The woman who led the 11 women in the meeting did so with crossed arms, an incredibly Sunday-best smart outfit and the look of a teacher near retirement in the prime of her authority. She speaks good English. I met her when we enrolled the kids and she introduced herself as having worked in the hospital (in the kitchen I think) since the 70s. “Seen a lot of change?”. “Yes”.

The meeting started the way meetings here generally do, in prayer. One person is asked by the chair to pray and they make it up on the spot. Quite organic and specific to the meeting. Not that I understood a word because it was in isiXhosa, as was the meeting. Thandeka did a good job of translating the bulk so I could understand and be understood.

The agenda was laid out in 5 points. They wanted to know: who I was, how the school was being run, what we were feeding the kids, if parents were paying the fees on time and how long the school would run for.

It was well chaired and allowed me to make the point that the school will run as long as we have money; everything costs money so we are trying to do things cheaply to help it last. This was me laying down a precursor for us discussing whether to give the kids lunch or not. That is a discussion for another day.

We started blithely providing lunch, but it is one of the big running costs and we are not sure that it can sustain. Is it our responsibility to provide lunch? There is a chance that we will cut the lunches at the end of this year and start next year by asking parents to send kids to school with a packed lunch. There are pros and cons to this. I like the idea of asking the parents to commit to provide lunch as a condition (this is what Mdumbi’s lot do). Ideally, though, I would like to keep the lunches and use them as a way to teach healthy eating. We hope to have a little veggie garden as well to teach kids and parents from the school and bolster the meals with greenery. There may be a middle way. All of this boils down to money and whether this can sustain after I/we leave.

Abenathi's mum got a roasting from Thandeka because her big kid had not been coming to pick up little Abenathi on time for a week. Mum said sorry and committed to doing it herself at 1pm. Bingo.

Near the end of the meeting I was asked if we would open a grade R class next year. Their kids will all be eligible for grade R next year and that means going to a local school to join a poorly stocked, over-populated class of differently aged children. I had to tell them that we couldn’t do it. Apart from the money and admin, we don’t have a volunteer to run the early childhood development project yet. Added to this, if you get into grade R you are competing with the other schools and that opens up several cans of political worms.

The parents were happy with the school and my answers and nominated a representative to come to our committee meetings. She is a very smiley woman, the mother of the equally cheerful Sibongakonke – surely the longest named child in all the Transkei.

At the end I was told that they suspected that I was touched by God. Far be it from me to argue with those who know more about these things than I do.

Kimmy's Comments - my fading tan

It’s winter in South Africa now and my tan had faded along with my enthusiasm. I feel like I am in the middle section of the trip now. Right in the thick of the experience, and I’m tired. Pete too I think. We are lucky that our great friends Alexis, PJ, Douglas and Crawford all came to see us last week from Scotland and we did a swanky game drive with plush settings and luxurious accommodation, at a luxurious price too might I add! Think Pete’l tell you more about that.

Now it’s quite clearly post-holiday-blues time and I feel I just need to get my head down bit and let time fly past as fast as possible. Is that bad that I feel I want the time to whizz by? A big part of me can’t wait to be in the ease of home. Of knowing how things work and where to get what I need and that friends and family are nearby. I’m sure I’ll miss South Africa when I’m gone, but it gets tiring being the odd one out all the time, you know, not in the same culture, white skin, different hospital experience here, TB HIV all things I never learnt about at med school, can’t speak the language. I always feel at work I’m accommodating their inability to do stuff proper. You know, how can it be right to have NO hospital transport to get patients to a specialist clinic 1 ½ hrs away? I juts fund it myself these days and give them 50rand towards a taxi ride.How is it ok for authorities to not pay you correctly. How can we run out of basic things. The latest ‘run out of’ is none sterile disposable gloves. The depot where we get them has run out so we’re waiting on them to get more so we can have some. We only have the expensive sterile gloves left...which cost lots more. Poor Monique our pharmacist is going nuts (she is in charge of such stock). She found the cleaning ladies with a big box of these expensive gloves (the gloves meant to be worn only for sewing up stuff or intimate examinations). They were literally changing one set of bed sheets in a pair of gloves, whipping them off, tossing them in the bin then getting another pair for the next bed. I hear screaming in my head at the wastefulness when Monique tells me this. Monique had words with them and has just decided to try to find her own solution by buying 40 pairs of rubber cleaning gloves so each cleaner has one. But she shouldn’t have to do stuff like that, that’s the point I’m making, or the point that is bugging me right now. Government should make these public hospitals run better. I’m on a political rant now so I’ll change subject I think.

Did I tell you about Taxi Queens? The taxis here are like white mini vans with lots of seats and everyone crams on like sardines. Everyone that is except The Taxi Queens...I’ve been told that the pretty girls who the driver takes a liking to can ride up front with him and get free transport...this then entitles him to a bit of loving with the lady. Sounds like a rubbish deal to me, I’d rather walk personally, but I guess if you have no money these sorts of things happen when you’re desperate.

I’m trying to have some hobbies again. I keep meaning to plant veg in the little garden plot out back – mum you would be very disappointed at my lack of green fingers. However, in my lunch break today I made a hanging mobile from shells and driftwood. Hung it in the bedroom tonight... I hope pete doesn’t think it too voodoo! He helped me for ages combing the beach for shells with natural holes in them to my specific liking. Oh the wild life we lead!

Trapped

I am trapped again. I am sitting on my swivel chair in my office and I cannot go anywhere. Thandeka 2 has mopped the floor around me. This is deeply oppressive. Trapped in my own home. I just wheeled myself over to the window to open it in an attempt to let some air in to dry the floor more quickly. I can see it drying now. In patches. I might be able to step through it carefully. Hopefully the font room is not a minefield as well or I could be trapped here for some time. I am hungry and thirsty.

Restless Natives

I am about to watch the movie Restless Natives. It is a quintessential Scottish movie. It is charming and funny and harmless. I think. I last watched it when I was very young so I am not sure. I hope it is not crapola.

DVDs are a big part of life out here. Sad really, but escapism really works and there is nothing quite like locking yourself away and watching an old movie that you once loved. That Kim has baked buns is the icing on the cake, if you will. I am full of lasagne, but I can manage a cake or two. Indeed, I may have several. For it is Sunday evening and hang the expense!

On Friday, Roger is coming with a team of missionaries to pick up litter in Zithulele. I am excited about that and sad to miss it. Only risk is that it is all white Americans doing the up-picking. I hope he gets the community involved and am sure he will. Saturday is Nelson Mandela Day (his 91^st birthday) and people are encouraged to do something good for their community, so it seems an excellent opportunity to get folk mobilised.

Roger has managed to convince the hospital management to allow two big bins outside their gate. They will dispose of the rubbish that gathers too, which is awesome. The place is a complete kip, so we hope that this little measure improves things a bit. You can’t really blame people for tossing their rubbish on the ground when there is no refuse service in the village. Still gets on my nerves though. Having said all of that, I have seen friends of mine throw rubbish on the street in Glasgow when a bin was nearby. You know who you are and you are a tit.

Time for Restless Natives and a cake.

Restless Natives was very good. A sweet movie that shamelessly pushes Scotland as a tourist destination. Tonight (for it is days later now) must watch Kim’s choice of film. That means, to my utter resignation, The Accidental Bride. I am not even sure if that is the title but it is something like that and it already smells fairly bad. Yes, we are 20 minutes in and I am considering punching myself in the face so hard that I go to sleep.

Seeing some old friends on Sunday when we go to a swanky game reserve. It is not called safari. If you call it safari, South Africans take the piss. It is a game lodge. And it sounds real nice. A top place to see friends that we haven’t in ages and we are delighted that they are coming pretty close to us. Delighted that they made it onto the plane really, as two amongst them have a reputation for missing flights abroad. PJ and Douglas went to T in the Park and still managed to get on the plane the next day. Incredible. Crawford apparently will not know that he is going to South Africa until he is there and Alexis is the brains behind the operation.

The Accidental Bride was bad. Love Pete.