My Rural Senses

This month I was touched by the sounds, sights and smells that filled my senses on a daily basis. It seemed that God was trying to remind me of how unique this place is and how I need to take in all the different types of daily experiences that so often pass me by without a second glance. This reminder seems to have come at just the perfect time. With non-stop weekend getaways, remarkably busy week days and a tiring daily job, the constant rush has taken its toll on my body. I have felt a weariness at work this month and have found myself just wanting to climb into bed as soon as I get home. I was also plagued with the flu for a good two weeks which did nothing for my already waning attitude. God seemed to open my eyes to the wonderful and unique sensory stimuli that he provides me on a daily basis...almost as if to say “Keep the fire burning Caryn. Take time to appreciate me and the blessings with which I surround you. Relax and allow me to be your refreshment and strength.”

So this month, I’d like to take you through a normal working day out here in my rural Manguzi and maybe, just maybe, you will be able to experience a small piece of what I do every day. I’d ask you to close your eyes and just imagine all the things I describe but then you wouldn’t be able to read this – oh the joys of blogging!

I wake up to the soothing sounds of my waterfall alarm clock around 6:30 and happily hit the snooze button a few times. The duvet is hot on my skin and I can see the sun is already up and beckoning me towards a hot day, even in the middle of winter. A sharp “cock-a-doodle-doooooo” rings out as one of the many local roosters greets the morning with his usual gusto. A mother hen and her chicks can be heard just a few meters from my window as they search for food and tweet gently to themselves and each other.

I open the curtains to see two large trees standing about 10 meters away. Their roots have covered a lot of ground and I consider how many children must have played at their feet, how many nests have been built in their branches, how many health professionals they have witnessed walk past their sturdy trunks. The blaring of a TV from a nearby parkhome reminds me I am in Africa as the show is clearly a lively zulu morning programme. I shake my head in frustration, irritated that the noise is so loud and has broken the peace of the early morning natural humdrum.

I get dressed, conscious of the fact that I need to cover my body with respectful attire, but knowing that I need to stay cool enough to be able to work up close with patients for the majority of my day. 3 quarter pants, a light t-shirt and slops do the trick. A quick stop in my old, mosquito-infested bathroom to wash my face wakes me up and clears my mind of some of the dusty sleepiness that still weighs down my eyelids. I head to the kitchen for a good cup of coffee and some muesli. The kitchen is still in semi-darkness when I arrive as my other house mates have yet to surface. The back door is slightly ajar – we never lock doors in our house – maybe one of my housemates went for a run? I hope it isn’t a result of another wondering, (harmless) psych patient who has lost their way and entered our back door by mistake (yes, these things do happen!).

After a quick breakfast and time with God, I am ready for the day. I walk the 1 minute journey to our office, making sure to use all my senses this time rather than sending a few messages on my cellphone to family and friends. The first sound I hear (and now appreciate every morning) is the loud singing of school children as they start their school day. The singing is rhythmical and contagious and I can picture hundreds of children dancing and singing as they enter the school gates. The sound of a nurse leading the morning meeting outside also reaches my ears and laughter breaks out among the group – clearly a joke I missed. I notice a few patients walking up that path, one in a wheelchair, another with 2 children in tow. They must be headed to see the SASSA doctor or maybe the dental department. I smile as they pass me by and greet them happily in Zulu. “Sanbonani!” “Yebo, sawubona!” “Ninjani?” “Siyaphila, unjani ntombazan’?” “Nam, ngiyaphila.” I notice a few men working high up on a building next door. They must be re-thatching the roof. Looks like hard (and dangerous) work with very few safety measures put in place.

As I step into the therapy department I am greeted by a buzz of therapy assistants as they prepare for another busy day in the department. They all greet me, ask me how I am and we stop to chat about the new Ebola virus that they report has now entered into South Africa. We joke that it’s not long before it reaches us here in the sticks – “one of the Mozambiquean patients are bound to bring it in” someone jokes. I put my bag down at one of the desks and smell the usual strong tobacco scent wafting through the window. One of the male patients must be sitting outside on the stoop again – 2^nd hand smoke anyone? They are also playing one of the new radio releases on their cellphone and I absentmindedly hum along to the familiar tune. At least someone is keeping me in the loop with what’s popular outside of the confines of the hospital! Coffee scents hit my nose as I walk through the department as various team members have walked in with steaming cups of the blissful liquid. I try to check some emails on the one computer connected to the internet during the first 30 minutes of my day but I am distracted by the various stories of people’s weekends and general hospital gossip. Laughter fills the department and I rest comfortably into my seat as I listen to the comical banter and joking that surrounds me.

Patients start to fill the therapy bench outside and soon we are into the full swing of the day. My morning is filled with smells of unchanged nappies, sweaty bodies, strong detergents and gammy CVA hands. I am drooled on by a CP child, clung to by a malnourished baby and coughed on by an old mkhulu waiting for a walking stick. I wash my hands constantly but don’t always feel completely clean. My feet are caked in a fine layer of Manguzi dust and when I take my shoes off to treat a child on the mat, my slops leave dark lines on my feet, marking the place of the shoes straps. The heat hits me in different wards, especially those that are not well ventilated. I breathe through a mask at various times of the day whenever I work with TB patients or in areas when I am likely to contract this annoyingly common disease. Sounds of therapists chatting to patients fill my ears, along with the translation of their English advice to Zulu by one of the assistants. Children cry, gogo’s moan with back pain and a teenager coughs behind a screen as he spits into a sputum cup (to be sent off for TB testing). 

By 1pm the smell of food wafting from the assistants room is all I need as a reminder that it’s time for lunch. I walk home to find my house a cool safe haven, with clean dishes and drying laundry thanks to Bridget, our maid. I find something to eat in my fridge (one of 4 in my house of 8 people) and sit at the kitchen table to chat with the other therapists about their mornings’ activities. Outside I see other doctors heading home for lunch or jumping into their cars for a quick errand. I head to my room for a quick nap and enjoy a few minutes of peace and quiet on my bed. I wake up without an alarm just before 2pm (my body appears to be programmed that way) and I collect my things to head back to the wards. As I leave the house I hear the sound of the visitors’ siren going off, signalling the beginning of the afternoon’s visiting hours. The hospital is all of a sudden flooded with relatives from near and far coming to visit their loved-ones in hospital. Now is my chance to get collateral information on some of my more difficult patients and start the process of caregiver training with those that need it. I wave and greet a variety of people as I head to the ward and stop to chat to one of the admin clerks who seems to have taken an active interest in my time here in Manguzi. She asks me about my parents and when next I will be headed to Mpumalanga to visit my fiancé. We chat for a few moments before carrying on with our days. I run a dance group in MDR and move quickly onto paeds ward to educate two new mothers about malnutrition. These wards are on the other side of the hospital to the therapy department and I walk quickly to get everything done before 16:30. This doesn’t always work though.

Finally, I walk slowly home as the afternoon draws to a close and the sun sinks lower in the sky. The smell of local fires fills my nose and I smile as I notice deep orange rays filtering through the trees. I think about tomorrow – clinic day. That means a long drive to the apparent middle of nowhere where I will assess and treat difficult cases with little-to-no resources. It also means very appreciative patients, a chance to get out of the hospital environment and stop for a great “imdumbi” (locally grown corn cooked over an open braai) after the end of a long dusty day. I look forward to tomorrow. I am suddenly brought to reality with the shouts of two male psych patients as I walk past the fence towards my house. I don’t understand their babbling words and simply smile and wave. I enter my home, take a deep breath in and smile.

Life out here can sometimes be a shock to my senses, but on most days, it’s the most calming and refreshing experience in the world.

August memories:

One of the malnourished paeds patients getting a bath

Nothing like a bit local footie: Manguzi health professionals vs Manguzi Football Club

It was the month for wheelchair maintenance - hard and dirty work but by far the best way to understand how a wheelchair works (and a spanner for that matter!)

More wheelchair fixing to fill our days!

With our brand new stroke unit up and running, we took to educating patients and their families all about this condition. Here, Nonhlanhla, one of the physiotherapy assistants chats to this patient's family about what caused her stroke.

Kelly, our speech therapist, reading to little Zaida who is dressed in her newly donated dress from Westville Methodist Church.

Back to the ward we go!

It was wonderful to spend a weekend at the hospital as it gave me a chance to visit this beautiful little church with two friends from my Bible Study group. The tiny congregation was so welcoming and friendly!

August also called for a night out with the ladies in Durbs to watch Cape Town's very own Jeremy Loops

I was privileged enough to have my parents drive all the way up to visit me in Kosi Bay - what a special time it was!

Mum and dad got the opportunity to test out their new trailer-tent when we camped by Kosi Bay Mouth.