jenniferhawke.com

Friday is quickly coming to a close. it’s 545pm and the sun has pretty much set. my stomach tells me it’s time for dinner. then i will probably indulge in a bit of socializing and an early bedtime. ending the week was actually harder than i thought…

John gave me a big hug as i said good-bye to Dambwa clinic this morning. i couldn’t hold back the tears and ended up mumbling a rushed farewell when the truck rolled up. i gave him his present, but couldn’t stay to watch him open it. i had anticipated our departure would be hurried and had tucked in a thank-you note with it this morning.

i was surprised at my emotion because the tears just kept coming even as we drove away. i wasn’t sure i felt sad at leaving the people behind… for some reason i felt i was leaving a part of myself behind. the wind in the truck was freezing as usual, but i didn’t put my sweater back on. i was thankful for the cold and welcomed my shivering limbs. the physical discomfort distracted me from my emotional turbulence.

i’m having a hard time even writing about it now… words and feelings are mixed up behind a protective wall. i think i have to let them sit before i can elaborate further… maybe they will be clearer then. maybe they will be gone then. either way, i have physically said “good-bye” to a huge part of my time here in Livingstone, but i know i will emotionally carry it with me indefinitely.

i squish the neon orange plugs and twist them in my ears until the sound of my heartbeat drowns out the howling dogs. thump-thump. thump-thump. i can no longer hear the night guard’s radio. no more laugher and voices from the girls down the hall and downstairs. i won’t even hear my roommate fumbling in the dark tomorrow morning when she gets up an hour earlier to meet her teaching bus.

there is a huge tree dense with dark leaves outside our bedroom window. in the morning, i like to lay in bed and watch as the rising sun pokes holes of light through the leaves like stars in a dark sky.

i lie in bed longer now. the mornings are freezing and sometimes i will put my socks on underneath the covers. then i turn back the three blankets reluctantly and quickly get dressed. it’s funny how we used to comment that you could recognize most of the children because they wear the same thing every day. and here i am wearing the same two sweaters every morning.

tomorrow is my last day of work here at the clinic. i will spend the morning with John at Dambwa and the afternoon with the Family Planning nurses at Maramba. then i will come back to the house and have dinner and be released from my responsibilities in this little corner of Zambia.

perhaps some of you have noticed that my writing has slowed. i’m not posting 7 or 8 entries each day anymore. my writing has slowed because my seeing has slowed. i’ve stopped looking at most things and only notice when they jump up and slap me in the face. i’ve spent this week closing off my senses and turning inward. the earplugs are stuck in tight. and so i don’t have much to say.

i bought the local paper today for 3,000 kwachas. according to the front and back pages it is “The paper that digs deeper.” “Zambia’s leading newspaper” claims that “While others imitate, we originate.”

the front page has a photo of President Mwanawasa buying detergent paste to mark the “Keep Zambia Clean” campaign. he is a round man with a round head in a purple shirt with a ring on his right hand. i recognize his face from the framed photo hung in most of the shops and all of the money changing places. a woman in a blue construction hat stands next to him and there is an array of photographers behind them.

today’s headline is: I WANTED TO EMBARRASS LEVY — SATA. Michael Sata is the Patriotic Front president and Levy Mwanawasa is the current president. according to the article, Sata was denied his chance because he was not allowed to give a vote of thanks during the launch of the Zambia Centre for Inter-party Dialogue. next to the article is a 1/4 page ad in yellow and red for ShopRite. they have extended their trading hours for this coming holiday weekend.

inside, i am informed that my “dream car has arrived!!” it’s the 2007 Hyundai Santa Fe !! on the same page, an ad for Dettol germicide soap tells me that there are 300,000 germs on my hands. i get up and wash the newspaper ink off with a bar i have in the bathroom.

the next few pages are filled with HOME NEWS involving leaders with names i can’t pronounce and paragraphs formatted in a slightly strange version of English. i find it hard to follow and notice a lot of paragraphs start with the word “And”. one of the only familiar stories is that of the recent London judgment regarding former president Chiluba’s fraudulent activity. he has been ordered to pay recoveries, interests, and costs, but applied to have the judgment set aside.

in Kabwe, health workers are going on strike and police have arrested a councillor for theft. in Petauke, the Catholic Commission for Justice Development and Peace has disbursed K1.1 billion to 27 community projects.

in BUSINESS NEWS, June’s inflation rate has decreased by 0.7 points to 11.1% and the Mineworkers Union of Zambia urge the government to amend the labour act. US oil stockpiles are apparently increasing and the Swedish state will review the OMX-Nasdaq deal. CIA’s plot to kill Fidel is detailed and Laura Bush targets malaria in Africa. oh, and Sudan’s presidential aide dies in a car accident.

in the COMMENT section, a rather intelligent article pokes satirical fun at the government’s decision to give the lecturer’s a raise — by taking the money from the students. underneath that, the question “Who is Gordon Brown?” and how he will acquire legitimacy as Britain’s new leader is examined in detail.

a CLASSIFIED section is filled with a couple dozen unsmiling colour photos wishing Happy Birthday and an advertisement for Kachema Meat Supplies: See!!! Buy!!! Fry!!! with a drawing of sheep underneath. i can only think of Smell!!!

after the classifieds comes a huge pull-out section almost as thick as the rest of the paper. The Farmers Post starts with colour advertisements for tractors and ends with “How to keep quails: A personal experience”.

Dear Auntie Edith and a few letters to the editor kick off the LIFESTYLE section. Beyonce and Mo’Nique perform at the 7th annual BET Awards.

the paper ends with a SPORTS section covering everything from Venus on the tennis court to Zambian golfers at a Kenya tourney to Esther Phiri vowing to pound Radostinea Valcheva in an upcoming boxing match.

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”
~ t-shirt gift from a fellow volunteer

one of the American members of the “Awesome Foursome” brought over a t-shirt she had printed for me. well, she had one printed for herself and decided i might like one too. some of you may recognize the first half of the quote from Thoreau’s “Walden”.

another gift i am bringing home is an alphabet drawing from one of the girls at the afternoon reading club. today’s project was to write each letter of the alphabet and then draw a picture beside it that started with that letter. while other kids crowded the bench desks in twos and threes and even fours, Janet sat at the back by herself. she drew an apple for A, a banana, a carrot, a dog with a long pink tongue, an elephant, a betterfly (her spelling), a horse, an ice-bloock (her spelling), and a kalulu (no idea what that is).

for J she drew a jennifer. i have small eyes and eyebrows, two dots for my nose, and flat lines of hair across my head. a v-neck t-shirt covers shoulders wider than my head with skinny stick arms. i thought it was a perfect — and perfectly flattering — representation. i’m sure it will end up framed somewhere at home.

speaking of home, i’m not really bringing many gifts back. i know it will be impossible to bring a piece of this corner of Africa home with me and it feels futile to even try. instead, i hope my stories over coffee will be enough.

“I loved being in the sun. Maybe I had more wrinkles than I would if I hadn’t spent so much of my life outdoors, but I didn’t care. It was a privilege to grow old, and not everyone got to enjoy it. I was grateful for every minute I was given.”

Diane Chamberlain’s novel is a silly summer mystery meant to be read on a beach somewhere when you want to stuff fluff between your ears. her descriptions are predictable and cliche and the chapters end with things hangers like:

“I had no way of knowing the platform would one day haunt my dreams.” and,

“No one would ever know the clues were there. Or so I thought.” and,

“I needed Shannon to tell Julie soon, for my sake if not for hers.”

yet another book pilfered from the small library in the sitting room downstairs. it keeps me up at night until it’s late enough to go to bed and i really can’t complain because i don’t have many other options. besides, fluff is like donuts: good in moderation.

Graham Greene goes good with ginger cookies.

i think that is all. : ))

this week feels sort of like running downhill. i’d like to slow a little, but i can’t. instead i’ve surrendered myself to the momentum carrying me to the bottom. i’m concentrating at keeping my feet under me and forgetting to observe the things around me. physically and mentally, i feel big changes becoming obvious.

my arms look like they belong on another body. i feel like a doll with brown arms snapped in the sockets instead of the white ones that match her torso. naked in front of the mirror, i look like i am wearing a bright white sleeveless shirt. from the knees down, my legs are shiny brown with golden glints of the hair i haven’t shaved all month. white Vs cross the tops of my feet from my flip flops. i’m sure the Zambian sun has given me a few new wrinkles, but not only due to sun exposure.

since arriving back in Livingstone from Zimbabwe, i have also felt a significant shift in my attitude. i am socializing with the girls more. listening to their gossip and sharing my own. i am sitting by the pool reading in the sunshine at lunch time. i am talking about myself and getting to know things i could have learned about my housemates weeks ago.

i am distancing myself from Africa.

i am putting up walls of self defense with the hopes that my departure will be easier. i guess with the hopes that my departure will feel right and solid and final and timely and logical. i am drawing my emotions and hopes and disappointments back inside. circling the wagons, you might say. talking with the girls in the house helps me be my old self again. helps me remember who i was just by repeating practiced social conventions: “how are you?” “i am fine.” “when do you leave?” “what are you doing when you get home?” “is lunch ready?” “are you having a good day?” etc.

i can feel the lotus blossom in my chest closing slowly, but with determination. i am not worried because i know it will open again. it will open again after storing these thoughts and memories and emotions. it will open again when i am back with people i love and who love me in return.

shortly before bed, around 9pm, i like to eat a bowl of Corn Flakes while standing up in the kitchen. the boxed milk is full fat and too sweet, so i use it sparingly. the Flakes stay crunchy longer that way too. we only have a few bowls in the house and most often have to use small deep plates. the spoons are all tiny, more suited for measuring sugar into your cup of tea than transporting mouthfuls of cereal or yogurt.

i also like using the sandwich toaster to make cheese toasties late at night. butter or margarine on the outside of the bread cooks to a brown crisp while Gouda cheese and tomatoes melt together inside. ground black pepper tops it off and makes me want a big glass of milk when i’m done. but the full fat tastes like drinking cream, so i opt for water instead.

i have introduced the girls from Scotland to cinnamon toast. i think they looked at me a little crazy the first day i sprinkled brown sugar and the dark brown spice over melting margarine on my bread fresh from the toaster. now they are hooked. they have it before bed and first thing in the morning. Ivy has had to buy more cinnamon for us.

sometimes at lunch (especially if the egg salad has far too much mayo or the pasta salad is dripping with oil) i have a bowl of plain yogurt with sliced kiwi. i hope not to offend Ivy by passing up her cooking, but her heavy hand with the butter and oil has been hard on my stomach. in the evenings, i sometimes will skip dinner and have a cheese toastie after Ivy has gone home for the night.

i like the Ginger Nuts cookies from the grocery store. they don’t have nuts in them, so i’m a little confused at the name. we call them ginger snaps back home. they are good dunked in tea or milk (yes, even full fat) and their dense texture travels well in the bottom of my backpack. sweet and spicy.

i have stopped drinking coffee! the bag of favourite grounds that i brought from home has been sitting in the freezer untouched for weeks. instead i have a cup of Red Rose in the morning and another around 4pm. i experimented with sugar and cream for a little while, but found i prefer it black like my coffee. i didn’t think i missed coffee very much, but as i type this i realize i am looking forward to a good brew at home.

some of the girls are making lists in their heads of things they want to eat when they get home. comfort foods they miss. favourite dishes that just aren’t the same out here. one of the girls has instructed her mother to cook a big roast dinner for her arrival. she misses the gravy and mash. for some reason i miss Pop Tarts. i rarely eat them at home, but would love a raspberry or strawberry one with burn-the-roof-of-your-mouth icing on top.

for the first time today, i adventured through the tourist market filled with carvings and ebony jewelry and masks and statues of animals and extremely pushy salesmen.

this market is different than the sprawling mass of black plastic tarps that hid the tailor down its’ twisty, smelly, narrow aisles. and different from the jumble of stands with goods like rice and oil and toilet paper and sugar where the locals shop. it was similar to the curio market at Victoria Falls, but longer, narrower, and more repetitive.

until now, i had avoided this tourist trap because i don’t like bargaining and i didn’t want to buy any of the “local art” they typically sell. but today i had two things specifically in mind that i wanted to take home and couldn’t find anywhere else in Livingstone: a smoking pipe (for a co-worker of Jonathan’s) and a Zambian board game. so when i heard that some of the girls were heading over at lunch, i decided to tag along. i figured there might be strength in numbers and that i could just hide behind someone else if i got tired of saying “no thanks”.

turns out, my practiced avoidance of eye contact came in especially handy with the salesmen. i could nod and keep walking or pretend i hadn’t heard their invitations to view their goods. i could ignore outstretched hands without feeling more than a tiny bit rude because i made it clear i was not browsing. i was looking for something specific.

a few of the stands had the game i was looking for. it’s a version of Mancala played by moving small seeds around circle indentations in a folding board. i compared wood colour, carvings, and overall craftmanship of a few boards before settling on one of the first ones i saw. it was made of dark wood and, when shut, had simple carvings of a rhinoceros, water buffalo, elephant and lion on the outside. the seller told me the man standing nearby was the carver and that i could have it for the low price of 75,000 kwachas. as i turned away, he insisted the price was negotiable if i would come back. i thanked him and said i would return.

i wandered further up the long aisle and asked a few people if they had smoking pipes. no one did. someone said it could be made special order, but most others tried to entice me into something else: a bowl with intricate paintings inside, a giraffe statue made of lava, teak beads on a short necklace, bracelets made of some hard blue-green rock that reminded me of a cross between turquoise and jade. i looked away, politely nodded, kept my mouth shut and looked at the tables or my feet to discourage them from their Hard Sell.

finally i ended up back at the table with the board game i liked. the seller greeted me enthusiastically and asked me how much money i had to spend. i had actually planned very well for this excursion. i knew exactly how much money was in my pocket and made sure it was less than i wanted to pay. i pulled out three crumpled 10,000 kwacha bills from my khakis, but hesitated because i thought it might not be enough. i had a few more bills in my backpack, but didn’t want to dip into that yet.

“oh, maybe just a bit more, madame,” the seller encouraged.
“well, i don’t have any more money. that’s all i brought,” i folded the bills and went to put them back in my pocket.
“what else do you have to trade?” he looked knowingly at my backpack. “maybe some pens or something for my small cousins?”

i swung the pack over my shoulder and rooted through one of the corner pockets. it contained two highlighters — one pink, one neon yellow — a mechanical pencil, an eraser, a pencil sharpener, and a tube of lip gloss that i hadn’t used in about three years because it seemed to chap my lips. i offered the lip gloss and the seller looked at it curiously, “what is it?”

“it’s for women. for your lips like this,” and i touched my lips with the tip of my finger.
“can men use too?”
“well, no. it’s for women. but i suppose so,” i laughed and conceded. the tube was clear plastic and contained bright pink gloss with a slight sparkle.

the seller motioned to the highlighters and pencil in my hand, so i turned them over. another man had already wrapped my board game in paper and was holding it out to me. i gave the seller my three crumpled bills and the writing tools.

“there. that’s good. okay, thank you!” the seller nodded but looked hard at the pocket of my backpack as i zipped it up quickly. he smiled and waved with the lip gloss in his hand.

“thank you. this is a present for my boyfriend. i hope he likes it.” i started to turn on my heel.
“ah! yes! this is for my girlfriend!” the seller held up the pink tube and laughed with his head back. “she will like it!”

i laughed shook his hand and made a beeline for the exit while his neighbour tried to sell me something from his table for 10,000 kwacha so he could go buy lunch. i passed a few other tourists on their way in as i escaped to freedom and the sellers turned their attention to the fresh meat.

all in all, the curio market wasn’t quite as intimidating or annoying as some of the girls at the house made it sound. i think, when necessary, i can carry myself in a way that is a bit standoffish and creates distance without appearing blatantly rude. or maybe i do come across as blatantly rude. hmm! : ))

i have been spending the last week trying to figure out a way to say “thank you” to John, the nurses, and the nursing students at both Dambwa and Maramba clinic for putting up with me over the last month.

they have all been extremely kind and welcoming and open. they have (for the most part) answered my questions with patience and let me roam the halls and wards at will. they have shown me birth and death and just about everything in between. they have shared their boiled sweet potatoes and sugary cocoa hot drink. how on earth can you let someone like that know how much you appreciate their efforts?

when i left the hospital in Fort St. John after a week of doctor shadowing, i ordered a huge bouquet of flowers for the nurses’ lounge, brought in a few dozen donuts from Tim Horton’s, and mailed personalized cards with thank you notes to all of the doctors i worked with. in hard times, i have learned not to take kind people for granted. they aren’t as common as you might think.

i already know i can’t trust the African mail system enough to send something of worth after i have left. so my “thank yous” have to be made this week before i go. the nursing students have their last day at Dambwa clinic on Thursday and i thought some sort of group appreciation in the form of a cake from Wonderbake might be nice. Janice took a group photo of the nurses at Maramba clinic and had it blown up and framed. they were delighted when she presented them with the gift this week.

John, the clinical officer that wants me to set him up with My Sister The Pilot, is a remarkable and kind man. he is smart and funny and a very sharp dresser. he always wears well-pressed suits or dress shirts under sweaters. he uses one handkerchief to dust his shoes when he walks in the door and another to dry his face throughout the day. he obviously makes a bit of money with his job, but not enough to drive a car or carry a fancy briefcase or use anything other than the cheapest stethoscope.

i decided early on that i wanted to get him something personal that he would also find useful. since nothing is on computer and the photocopy machine is usually down, John writes by hand everything from prescriptions to radiology referrals to patient history to sick notes to lab test requests on small squares of plain paper that he frugally folds and tears. i searched all of the stationary shops in town for a nice pen set, but to no avail. they were all cheap and plastic-y looking.

this afternoon, i saw a simple, but elegant blue tie with dark blue squares in one of the tourist shops and thought it would compliment his dark suit. so i bought it. i just hope it doesn’t come across as too personal. i mean, back home it would seem like just a generic tie, but i would never buy an article of clothing for someone i barely know. i think the last time i bought a tie was for Father’s Day ages ago. at any rate, it seems in line with his taste and he should get some use out of it. hopefully wearing it will remind him of his promise to visit Canada someday.

i really won’t forget any of these people for as long as my wee brain cells are still firing properly. they have changed my character. they have shaped the future woman and doctor i am destined to become. i cannot be changed back and i am thankful for the lessons.