A Bundibugyo Weekend: Community and Fatigue

This was a community-oriented weekend, the kind that gives the shalom-sense of rootedness, connection . . . Alternating almost as quickly with the sense that it’s time for a break. When we get to the three-month mark of staying in the district without a Kampala break . . . both of those things happen in varying proportions. I’m more content to be here, more aware that this is home, more appreciative of the little ways that we are included or accepted across improbably deep cultural chasms. And I’m more tired, more ready to take offense or long for relief, to count the hours until a break. Colleagues. Fridays I set aside time for staff meeting at the health center. We do medical topics interspersed with Bible studies, discuss problems on the wards, report on any seminars people have attended, and generally exhort continued effort. This week I taught on meningitis after we lost a six-month-old boy to pneumococcal meningitis (one of the vaccines not deemed essential enough to provide to African children yet). Ugandans are almost universally eager to learn, and I appreciate their enthusiasm. The seriousness of the topic was balanced by their delight in the new jargon “nuchal rigidity” (means stiff neck in medicalese . . . ). Everyone always comes late and I generally start the sessions secretly planning to make the punishing announcement that I’m not putting the time into preparing and attending if they don’t come on time . . . But by the end there are almost 20 staff, and the atmosphere of camaraderie and prayer and commitment makes me willing to do it all again, and I leave cheered, steeled to face the ICU-like atmosphere of my now packed-to-capacity ward. I can tell the midwives are growing to lean on Scott, too. In Jonah’s absence they are calling him regularly (whether it is 3 am or Saturday afternoons) to evaluate difficult labors and take women to Bundibugyo for C-sections. He’s done two with Dr. Sessanga this week, a major step in their partnership as the two general doctors in this district, and one step towards Scott feeling confident enough to do surgery alone. Workers. Friday evening we invited one of our two house-workers and family over for dinner, which we had not done in probably a year. I was convicted by my tendency to value my workers for the way they make my life manageable (washing clothes by hand, doing the first installment of the day’s dishes, sweeping, mowing . . . catching up enough that when I get home from the hospital I can focus on cooking more than cleaning). I resist the time and effort needed to take interest in them for who they are. This man was ill last week, as he frequently is, and we wanted to address some heart issues with him in the presence of his wife. Scott really came through with a loving but clear talk about alcoholism, and a good plan to support abstaining. I think they felt loved by our intervention, time will tell (...he came to church today, for the first time in months!). Neighbors. Our closest neighbor is 76, has for a time survived cancer and a broken hip and severe hypertension, has been completely bed-ridden now for well over a year. This week we thought the end was imminent. Rain caught me when I went to visit, and I spent a good chunk of an afternoon with him, his two wives, his 78-year-old brother, a nephew and two other older ladies, all clustered around his mattress on the floor in the dim room as the rain thundered down. As the day wore on he revived, recognized me, held my hand. We all chatted about the things that most interest my neighbors (marriages and children). It was a rare time of sensing inclusion in the midst of sorrow. By Saturday he was back to his usual self, which is not great, but a relief. Friends. Both Julia and Acacia went to the market with me Saturday morning to find matching white shoes (amazingly, we did, cheaply made heeled sandals) for their wedding garb. They are to be flower girls in Ndyezika and Juliet’s wedding next weekend, so attended a rehearsal later in the day, another taste of inclusion. In between the market and the rehearsal we went to a birthday party Pat had planned for the two daughters of her friend Melija who died of AIDS last year. Kyomugisha turned 7, and Lydia 5. A handful of other kids and the missionary girls all blended in laughter over relay races and lunch. The delight on Kym’s face made the day particularly memorable. Lydia adores Julia, and Julia does a beautiful job of being friendly in the mixture. Pat was called forward to participate in leading a song a church today which she did with good humor, and then got called on to pray too. Her efforts to reach out do not go unnoticed, she is a much loved part of this community. A full weekend of being fully present. But tonight, after two Sunday evening patient consults, I’m counting the days left (11) until we get a break.