Where is Your Milk Moustache?

Cold milk. That is the answer to the question of what I miss most. I had been asked the question many times by people leaving Shyira to return to the States. “And what will you eat first when you get home?’ I would normally answer that I enjoyed the food here and there is nothing that I missed terribly. Sure, the convenience of a microwave and refrigerator were nice, but the gas stove and filtered room temp water were working out just fine. Even at Thanksgiving I didn’t feel like I craved the mashed potatoes or turkey the American Embassy provided for all the ex-pats.
I still had no answer to the question of what I would eat when I got home. It was over breakfast this morning that I found out. I was about to order juice or coffee as usual when my companion ordered some milk. I decided that even though I get fresh milk daily from the cows in Shyira, it had been a while since I had anything refrigerated and some ice-cold milk would hit the spot. I was a bit skeptical when the waitress brought out a square packet, snipped the edge off and poured the whopping 3.2% milk into my glass. I had never heard of milk coming in small half-liter plastic bags, only cartons or plastic jugs. But when that creamy goodness hit my lips, I knew that I had an exact answer next time someone asks what I will eat when I get home. I assume I’ll eat Oreo, or chocolate chip cookies, or anything else that goes with milk, just as long as I have milk. After drinking a liter to myself, I felt like a million bucks.
The weekend in Kigali has been a nice change so far. I enjoy how slow and rural Shyira is, but I’m 23 and need to get out do something every once in a while. I met up with a good sized group of Americans after the Thanksgiving dinner and we went over to Dr. King’s cousin’s house to socialize, play cards, and just hang out. Around 11 o’clock I realized what my small town living had done to my biological clock, and I headed home catch some sleep. Ill be going back to Shyira on Sunday and I have to admit I’m looking forward to a little peace and quiet.

A Little Retreat

Last week started just like any other. Monday was a busy day at the hospital, as usual, with an influx of patients coming in with countless ailments. The women’s area was so overpopulated that we had filled every bed and some patients were obliged to lie on the floor. Fortunately, there is nothing life threatening to any of the patients at the present, so after treating their infection, high blood sugar, or anxiety, most are happy to return to their family.
I am currently working with Dr. Louise King, alternating each day between the men’s and women’s ward. As I headed to meet her on Tuesday, she received a call from Dr. Caleb King asking if I would like to accompany him on his trip to Lake Kivu for a meeting. As one of the 5 great lakes of Africa, I was not about to turn down this offer. I must have gone back and forth from my apartment to the King’s house at least 5 times to assure I had brought everything I needed. Our first stop on the way to Lake Kivu was in Kigali so Dr. King could run a couple errands.
Things usually take longer then expected here in Rwanda. If someone tells you we are leaving in 20 minutes, feel free to get in one more chapter in your book and have a quick cup of tea, all with time to spare. Even in the hustle bustle metropolis of Kigali, the only thing you can set your watch to is the time in which people leave to go home. We stop at the immigration office to check on the status of some visas, then over to the offices of a couple non-government organizations to find money for our social fund at the hospital, and finally we chat with an architect about the design of a hydroelectric project Dr. King has been working on. All this takes a good four hours and we have a 2 and 1/2 hour drive to arrive at our final destination. Although the darkness came early on during our drive, the roads were in good condition and we made it safely to the guesthouse.
The next day Dr. King leaves early in the morning to his meeting and Caleb Jr. and I are left with a rented boat and a whole day to do as we please. The boat ride was beautiful and we were able to just see the silhouette of Congo in the distance. The workers at the desk warned us that the water was cold, but we are right on the equator and it was very refreshing even at 9 in the morning. Caleb Jr. and I wandered to the local market and bought a little candy to munch on while watching a movie on my computer. By the time Dr. King returned, we had built up a nice appetite and the lunch of grilled tilapia really hit the spot.
It was nice to get a change of scenery for a couple days from Shyira and do a little bit of sightseeing here in Rwanda. I plan on spending my Thanksgiving meal with my fellow countrymen at the American Embassy in Kigali and can’t wait to meet other people and hear their stories of what they’re doing here. I will be spending the weekend in Kigali and then back to the grind Monday.

In all my excitement about all the new sights and sounds, I completely forgot to inform my reader about the more mundane aspects of life here. While the work at the hospital is far from predictable, I do have somewhat of a schedule that I can rely on.
Each weekday I wake up at 6:45 to the sound of Clementine, my house help, banging around in my apartment kitchen fixing breakfast and getting ready for her day. My humble abode consists of a bathroom connected to my simple bedroom, a living room with a bed in case I ever have another male volunteer arrive in Shyira, and a kitchen consisting of a sink, gas stove, oven, and a shelf. I eat my breakfast of bananas, pineapples, and another bitter fruit called tree tomato along with some tea, the occasional fried egg, and bread. By 7:25 I bring my dishes into the kitchen, chug my tea, bush my teeth, and briskly walk the 5-minute commute to the hospital.
Every doctor is required to be at the Morning Prayer service starting at 7:30. Spoken in the local tongue of Kinyurwandan, a Bible passage is read out loud by the minister, which is followed by instructions as to how we can incorporate this lesson into our lives. The speaker is usually half yelling and this intimidating lecture is accompanied by an aggressive facial expression demanding the listeners’ full attention. A briefing in French follows the 30-minute bible study summarizing the events that took place while the various doctors were on call the previous night. There are a total of 100 beds in the whole hospital, so each of these updates can be just the same as the day before, or a new case inspires a comprehensive discussion between the doctors and nurses.
There are a total of 6 doctors here at Shyira. Doctor Caleb and Louise King are American and Harvard trained, specializing in pediatric gastroenterology and internal medicine respectively. Dr. Caleb King is the director of the hospital; he and his family have been here in Shyira for almost 5 years now. Matthias Kohls is a German OB/GYN who came a little over a year ago with his wife, an English teacher at the high school, and 3 little girls. Dr. Jean Luke, Dr. Dona, and Dr. Theonest are Congolese doctors each having been at Shyira for a varied amount of time, all trained in general medicine. I have alternated weeks assisting Matthias and Louise so far, but I hope to get a chance to work with Caleb when he finds time, and follow the other doctors as my French gets a little better.
I begin making the rounds about 8 a.m., which involves going bed to bed asking the patients how they feel, with the assistance of a translator. Although I always accompany one of the doctors, I do get to listen to the patient’s breathing and heart with my trusty stethoscope. Some people get right to the point and address their needs in a very matter of fact manner. Others come up with new symptoms everyday that elude the staff in how to diagnose the problem. In the maternity, a sick new mother or wailing young girl in labor demands our full attention. An elderly man with night sweats and weight loss or a young lady complaining of lack of energy and a cough gives us the impression that we have a new tuberculosis case on our hands in the internal medicine ward.
Around 12 noon I head to the little house inhabited by the only other current young foreigner here in Shyira, a 20-year-old German girl named Steffi. Steffi is working at the local kindergarten and tutoring the 2 oldest Kolhs girls. I eat lunch everyday with Steffi and her house help, also named Clementine, who is an outstanding cook and provides our meals every day. Lunch always includes red beans and rice, a potato dish, cheese covered cabbage, and carrots. Although this meal is generally very predictable, it is one of the daily events I look forward to most. The 30 minute long lunch is followed by a relaxing coffee break accompanied by reading time in the armchairs of Steffi’s house. I usually peruse one of the few U.S. News & World Reports or numerous girly magazines left by the previous inhabitants of the house. By the way, this winter’s Dolce & Gabbana line is hideous.
The first thing on my agenda during the afternoon is tutoring the second oldest King child in Latin. Sum, es, est, summus, estis, sunt. Ask her and I guarantee she can rattle those off for you. After our 45-minute lesson, I head back to my apartment to teach a local guy that is my age how to type. I usually use one of the few books I brought and have him copy it word for word. I recently got a hold of a typing program and he was over 15 words per minute last time I checked. The late afternoon is when I am left to read, have my twice-weekly 90-minute French lesson, or study my MCAT material. It is a time where I can usually sit outdoors, as long as our daily rain has already passed, and enjoy the warm air with a cup of tea. On Wednesdays and Fridays, all of the non-Rwandan people, 13 of us in total, and a couple Rwandan orphans eat together at either the King or Kohls household. It is nice chance to socialize and eat together a couple times a week, as well as give us a chance to talk about things other then the hospital, its patients, and its problems. On nights where we do not have a group dinner, I usually make a simple meal with the bread, rice, and cheese I have on my shelf.
My apartment, the King’s house, the Kohls’ house, Steffi’s house, one other doctor’s house, and the hospital are the only places in all of Shyira that have electricity. The generator goes on around 6 p.m. and is surely off before 9 p.m. The sun is down around 6:30, and unless someone is getting judgment for his or her involvement in the genocides by the community, almost everyone is in their houses getting ready for bed. The satellite is on while the generator is on, and I would say it’s a toss up between using the Internet and lunch as to what I love most outside the hospital. I usually get in bed by around 9 or 10, because I have a full day ahead of me.