Getting to Know You (A Song for Morrumbala)

After a little more practice on my bike today (about 10 km of practice, roundtrip to the office to use the internet), I think the trick to driving in such sandy conditions must be the perfect speed. Too fast, and you lose control. Too slow, and there’s not enough inertia to keep you moving through the really sticky patches. So I’ll just continue to navigate, teeth clenched, toward the most compacted looking spots on the “road”.

Today the cook hard-boiled eggs for my breakfast and made me more grilled chicken, with spaghetti and homemade sauce for lunch. He also informed me that he knows how to make coconut curry and various soups. We’re gonna get along just fine. He’s already my favorite person at the compound, although it’s a close tie with the guy who washed my clothes and fixed the electric water heater in the shower. I’m still surprised by how much of this country’s paid domestic labor is performed by men, but it does seem that every single able-bodied woman has a baby (or two) clamped at all times to her breast.

I finally got taken out to the campo today with some World Vision employees who are working on conservation agriculture projects. We stopped at several farms to see how the owner’s were doing with the new techniques, although on our final visit, I found it difficult to focus on farming. The family we were visiting was quite large, and the smallest baby girl, bouncing on her mother’s hip, was suffering from some terrible rash-like, scabbed over infection on her face, and some notable swelling underneath her chin. When we asked what treatment if any she was getting, they produced a frighteningly grungy bottle of milky penicillin for my observation, injections of which she had been receiving since last Thursday. After firmly stating that I am in no way medically trained, I postured that perhaps the swelling on her throat was an allergy to the medication and that they should mention it to the hospital staff the next time they cover the many dusty kilometers on foot to take the child for an injection. It’s likely that even if it is an allergy, the hospital will have no way of testing it, and nothing else to give her.

Earlier this week, the 15 month old grandchild of a well-known pastor died in the hospital after 2 weeks of diarrhea and vomiting. It’s easy for anyone but a well-trained and well-stocked rural health physician to feel completely useless here.