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| Ed Damer Hospital |
Not to exaggerate
my near demise in the north of Sudan ... but let's just say it's been a long eight
days.
It started out as a
typical upset belly and I dismissed it as being something I ate.
Over the next few
days I was stuck in bed and unable to attend classes due to severe stomach cramps that
made it almost impossible to stand up straight.
I would shuffle
back and forth between the sitting room and the kitchen, doubled over and hair
askew like a housewife gone to hell.
... I lost my appetite
and my momentum.
The neighbours
stopped by with cups of mint tea and kindness, but still it didn't pass.
I began research
possible causes online, which bought up a long list of possible bacterial
suspects, including the rather nasty sounding Helicobacter Pylori bug.
When I complained
about my symptoms to my friend Rahel she announced she was taking me to
hospital.
I'm not going to
lie, an African hospital immediately inspired horror images of dingy, roach
infested wards.
This image wasn't
helped any either when Rahel informed me that the doctors at the hospital were not at
the best time of their careers.
In truth, it looked
as though people had turned up at the hospital for a social outing rather than
because it was medically necessary.
White turbanned men
squatted in the shade drinking tea and chatting, while on the other side women
in traditional tobes greeted each other in typical Sudanese style -
tapping the shoulder and then shaking hands.
The women's
colourful clothing adding a splash of colour to the otherwise drab surroundings
and dirt-caked hospital walls.
We entered a
nondescript room and Rahel translated my symptoms to a young, female doctor and
without any further examination or consultation, she ordered a round of blood
tests.
This involved me
sticking my bare arm through a small slot in a window and a nurse stabbing at
my forearm.
I squirmed and
yelped while the lady manhandled my veins. Embarrassingly a line of people
waiting behind were there to witness my lack of bravado.
Afterwards, Arm
Stabber cackled loudly and suggested a tour of the hospital while we waited for
the results
“Who is she?”
“Where did you
find her?” , came the incredulous whispered enquiries as we passed through
the corridor.
The hospital
grounds comprise of the mud-splattered main building, thankfully cheered up by a small
front garden lined by palm trees.
We find a cafeteria located to the back and
a dusty outdoor waiting area running parallel to the entrance.
It wasn't
immediately clear, however, what people were waiting for exactly, as no-one
seemed to be in pain or even in any particular hurry.
Women lazed on
benches or on the ground, while nearby a family picniced together on a straw
mat.
We snuck in a back
door that was marked 'No Entry' and were greeted by a towering guard, who immediatley
took on the role as tour guide.
Dressed in a white
turban and flowing jellabiya, he had
an imposing presence and a booming voice that echoed down the empty corridors.
Setting a brisk
pace, the guard pointed out the specialists' offices, as well as the surgical
and maternity wards.
The equipment and
procedures were somewhat old-fashioned and haphazard, but the hospital itself
was clean and well-kept in sharp contrast to my earlier visions.
Half-way down the
hall the guard suddenly lowered his voice and quietly enquired about my marital
status to Rahel.
When she translated
for me, he roared with laughter, giving me a hearty whack on the back that in
my newly emaciated state nearly sent me flying down the corridor.
He finished the
whirlwind tour by parading me in front of a group of exhausted looking new
mums, apparently unperturbed that one was in labour on the bed, before giving
me another hearty whack on the back in farewell.
My tests were
negative for malaria and typhoid and when I return to the patient's room with
my results, I find two new doctors inside.
One says it could
be the helicopter err ... helicopbacter thing, while the lady doctor declares it's gastro and
promptly leaves the room.
Again there was no
examination, although one advises me to drink milk - specifically cold milk and
only in the evening.
In the end they
send me home with a packet of meds that cost 2 pounds (about 35 euro cents).
Two days later I
was at the house of Fadia and her husband Abdul Raheem for lunch only to
collapse immediately following the meal.
It was at this
point that I was truly grateful for the Sudanese custom of having beds, rather
than couches in the living room.
Poor Fadia had to suddenly contend with a groaning, immobile house guest that kept dozing off.
She covered me with a sheet and did her best to take my mind off things with mint tea and discussions
about literature.
Instead of the
usual handshake, I hug Fadia goodbye as I'm leaving - partly because I'm having
standing up straight and partly because I'm so grateful for her mothering and
kindness.
The following day
Fadia and Abdul Raheem pick me up and take me to a private clinic in Atbara
that was recommended by another SVP volunteer.
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| Ambulance at the ready |
The clinic is run
by the softly spoken Dr Wadia, the former Dean of the Medical faculty at
Camboni College, who is also a supporter of SVP.
His friend Dr Safiah, who is the
current Dean, is also there.
They both speak
near flawless English and have a friendly and reassuring approach - although I
start to have a nagging concern that my 'condition' isn't nearly serious enough
to warrant the attention of two medical deans.
They perform an
examination, as well as a series of tests - which all come back negative - and
refer me for an ultrasound.
Before leaving the
clinic, I knock on Dr Wadia's office door to thank him and enquire about
payment.
He looks up from
his notes briefly and raises his hand, saying simply: “You are our
guest” .
I am both humbled
and touched by Dr Wadia's kindness. In fact, his gesture leaves me lost for
words at the time.
I can't help
thinking how unlikely a similar gesture would be repeated in Australia or other
parts of the Western world.
Likewise, Fadia and
Abdul Raheem gave up hours of their time to make the 24km round-trip from Ed
Damer twice in one day - first to the clinic and then back again in the evening
where we waited hours for an ultrasound appointment.
I can honestly say
I have never experienced such genuine kindness, hospitality and generosity
anywhere else in the world. It is a rare quality and a beautiful aspect of life
in Sudan.
Oh...and the
diagnosis in the end - gastritis brought on by the anti-malarial meds I was
taking.
Turns out news of
my medical woes has also been doing the local gossip rounds, with teachers at
the various schools Rebecca and I teach at already well-informed about my
diagnosis well before I returned to work.
