The surgical ward is generally an interesting place. There are generally more than 20 patients, they generally (at least this time of year) spend very little time in their beds, there are flies everywhere, and we have a resident mouse who pops in from time to time. The vast majority of these patients have recently had surgery. Occasionally there is one or two who are waiting to have surgery. Right now, laporatomies and amputations are what most of the patients have had (one or the other, that is...not both).
Outside of the surgical ward, there is an expanse of...I don't know, dust, sand, dirt. Whatever you want to call it. This extends from the surgical ward over to the medical ward, not too far away. There are a few trees, and a whole lot of mats on the ground for people to lay on. During the day, there are people milling around, talking, cooking nearby. But in the evening the courtyard (it's really not a courtyard, but I have no better word for it) begins to change.
It's evening now. Some women are cooking dinner for their families in an open structure not far away. Some of the men are sitting around eating. Others are talking or resting on their mats. There is a rhythmic drumming sound. I look over and see a naked baby sitting on the ground, beating out a rhythm (of sorts) with two empty water bottles.
It's starting to get dark. The women are starting to exchange their complete outfits for just a pagne (basically a piece of fabric; two yards of it) wrapped around them just under their arms. Or some of them just take off their shirt and wear their bra for the night. The number of mats laid out is increasing. There are people laying everywhere. Some of them have been here for a long time. They all seem to know each other. This is almost like a tiny village. They have all of their food, bedding, things to wash with, and the whole family here with them.
We start passing out the evening meds. One of our patients is a cute little boy with an infected foot. He's about 8 I think. His sister is probably 10. She's cute and friendly, and likes to help us find the patients we're looking for to give meds to. She follows us around, and if we can't find someone, she tries to locate them. When we give her brother his meds, she brings him water, or holds a flashlight so we can see.
In the evening, this seems so much more like a home, a family. I like it.
It's evening now. Some women are cooking dinner for their families in an open structure not far away. Some of the men are sitting around eating. Others are talking or resting on their mats. There is a rhythmic drumming sound. I look over and see a naked baby sitting on the ground, beating out a rhythm (of sorts) with two empty water bottles.
It's starting to get dark. The women are starting to exchange their complete outfits for just a pagne (basically a piece of fabric; two yards of it) wrapped around them just under their arms. Or some of them just take off their shirt and wear their bra for the night. The number of mats laid out is increasing. There are people laying everywhere. Some of them have been here for a long time. They all seem to know each other. This is almost like a tiny village. They have all of their food, bedding, things to wash with, and the whole family here with them.
We start passing out the evening meds. One of our patients is a cute little boy with an infected foot. He's about 8 I think. His sister is probably 10. She's cute and friendly, and likes to help us find the patients we're looking for to give meds to. She follows us around, and if we can't find someone, she tries to locate them. When we give her brother his meds, she brings him water, or holds a flashlight so we can see.
In the evening, this seems so much more like a home, a family. I like it.
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