This is Africa (TIA)

Kenyan Coast

Last week Sarah and I took some time off over the Easter period to meet up with a couple of the other paediatric volunteers working in Kenya. We met at a beautiful part of the Kenyan coast and spent a significant amount of time sharing war stories.  It appears they both work in much better resourced hospitals (one hospital had a CT scanner!) and they were very shocked at how basic care was in our hospital.   This is not to say they did not have any challenges, they both had faced difficulties and dilemmas during their time in Kenya thus far.

Kenyan Coast

The break was a much welcome luxury; the Kenyan coast is one of the most beautiful places I have visited. Although the children at Jinja played on my mind constantly, I was very happy to have this time to relax and reflect on the work we are doing.  I have never prayed as much as I have in the last 2 months, each day I find myself quietly hoping that no child dies on our watch. I worry about the ones we have seen, the ones we couldn’t see as well as the ones I sent home because they were getting better and the parents could no longer afford to take time off work.

Most days, the work feels overwhelming and I wonder if we are doing anything to help. At such times I think of those children that have recovered, the once malnourished kids who are now a picture of health, the less than 1kg babies who made it home safe and are gaining weight and the joy on the faces of the parents as they thank you for the care you have given their children. Those famous words on the ward round “Well done, doctor”, is what has kept me going last week on our return to Jinja.  Despite the lovely break, the situation at work on arrival made the holiday seem like a dream. Things appear to be at an all time low, we now have less resources than we did a week ago!

Moonlight by the coast

We no longer have syringes, needles, or cannulas; parents have to buy these things so that their children can be treated, whilst you as the doctor wait anxiously, hoping that in that period nothing happens to the child. On arrival at work back off our holiday there was a child in shock who needed intravenous fluid immediately but we did not have anything to give the fluids, so we waited with bated breath whilst the mum ran to get them. Across the room a 6-day-old baby was having a seizure, ironically we had the medication to give but no syringes or needles to draw it out and administer it to the patient. Neither Sarah nor I were prepared for this, before we left we had syringes at least! We now “accidentally” have syringes/needles and cannulas in our pockets for such emergency situations or for those parents who do not have any money to buy these things.

I think the monkey understands my plight.  It stole my chair!

But I ask myself, is this sustainable? When we are gone who will “accidentally” find these things in their pockets? Where has the stock gone and who should provide them? These are all rhetorical questions; the resounding answer is “this is Africa” (TIA).  Such is our plight!