Friday, December 12, 2008
The New York Times
Unfortunately the conflict is continuing and shaking up Eastern Congo again as can be found here in a video by the New York Times.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Sombre République Démocratique du Congo
La situation s'assombrit dans les provinces de l'Est du Congo, les Kivus. Des milliers de déplacés n'ont plus de foyer. Les conflits reprennent de plus belle, malgré la résolution de l'ONU. Tant que les richesses minières seront exploitées, autant l'instabilité sera nourrie dans la région par toutes les factions, nourries par l'appétit occidental des minerais, du coltan pour l'électronique, des diamants. On parle maintenant d'une génération au complet qui a grandi dans les Grands Lacs sous guerres et génocides.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Triage
Dr. James Orbinski was a founding member of MSF-Canada in 1990 and the president of Médecins Sans Frontières international council from 1998 to 2001 and went to the podium for the Nobel Prize for Peace in 1999. He lived through the Somalia disarray and Rwandan genocide in the 90's. He has now his own NGO called Dignitas.
He now has an NFB movie called Triage - see here. Unfortunately no screening in Montreal yet - will have to wait for the NFB to edit it in DVD.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Postérité
Bill Moyers' Journal on humanitarian work in the Democratic Republic of Congo aired on PBS April 4, 2008. It is now here on the PBS website.
They filmed us in Shamwana back in November, during the cholera outbreak in Kishale, amongst all other things. Very complete reportage. I'm featured at the beginning of part 2 (at about 25 minutes into the episode).
They filmed us in Shamwana back in November, during the cholera outbreak in Kishale, amongst all other things. Very complete reportage. I'm featured at the beginning of part 2 (at about 25 minutes into the episode).
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Farewell Shamwana
The end of mission was somewhat messy. It is only now, a little more than a week later, that things have been digested and that I can narrate it. Greetings hence from the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro, where I have a few days to sit down and recount the last precipitated weeks before attacking the mountain if the weather gods are favourable.
Initially, the plan was for me to leave on March 7 from Shamwana, to meet up with a group of expats from Dubie to go to Zambia on March 10 for a week to hang around Victoria falls. The plane was preponed to March 6, at which point, we decided to prepone the big goodbye party which was thus planned for Saturday March 1. Two hospital nurses already had a big male goat ready for the feast. Cans of beer and sodas had been planned 6 weeks in advance on a truck from Lubumbashi that thankfully made it on time. I had specially requested the infamous Bifwebe, the traditional bush dancers and black magic sorcerers from Monga.
Then, on February 29, the strangest day of the year so far, we heard that the plane ex-Shamwana wasn’t going to make it. That meant that Lucas, the current acting project coordinator-logistician, wasn’t going to make it out for his vacation. It was decided by capital – and to this day this appears as a knee-jerk, poorly planned decision – that he would go down to Lubumbashi by car whilst my replacement the new expat doctor would make his way up by car as well. And because Lucas leaving left us 2 women first-missioners alone in the project, it was decided that all the Shamwana expatriates would have to evacuate the next day to the ‘safety’ of Dubie where there was another male and multi-missioner. Of course, there is NO security issue in the Shamwana region whatsoever, things are in the rebuilding phase. We learned all this the evening right before the big goodbye party. I had done the evaluations for most of my medical staff and had started my end-of-mission report. But to learn at 16h00 that you’re evacuated the next morning at 6h00 for 5 days to Dubie for very dubious reasons is for the least destabilizing; particularly when this is the end of your mission, and you’ve got things to wrap up, and a party to plan. I was seething with anger; it was not a pretty sight. I could not stay in place, had to call the Head of Mission to ask for explanations, and was overall quite irate. The national staff who were ready for the party were also quite disappointed. After a few hours of ranting I finally calmed down and resigned myself to the unpleasant situation. After all, I do believe in to making the best of what life throws at us (but I should also be allowed to complain and whine before!). So the next morning, I jumped into the car with a sigh and faced another adventure on the roads of Katanga.
Of note was the bloodred sunset that stained the sky like a bushfire, to add to the overall strange, out-of-this world atmosphere of February 29.
We got stuck four times on the road to Dubie, predictably as this is the end of the rainy season. It took us almost nine hours to get there.
Très sérieux embourbement! L’Unimog nous a tirés de là comme une voiture-jouet, c’était beau à voir.
The few days in Dubie were uneventful, if not boring. After a few hours of soulsearching, I made the right decision to postpone the vacation to Zambia and be out-of-sync with the group of friends in order to do a proper handover and finish the work well in Shamwana, as well as having a nice goodbye party for the national staff. After all, this was it for me and Shamwana, and for all these Congolese friends that in likelihood I will never see again, unlike the expats with whom it’s much easier to keep in touch (vive Facebook!). J’ai tout simplement refusé de partir comme une voleuse et d’honorer correctement le beau travail fait pendant les derniers sept mois à Shamwana.
In Dubie, we were confined to the MSF compound, played volleyball games, and I caught up with my two PPD companions and sisters from August 2007 in Amsterdam. Always being afraid of running out of food, I stocked up on quasi-expired security rice and more beer and alcohol for the upcoming party. The expat group from Lubumbashi, ie our project coordinator, mental health officer and F the new doctor were late by a day coming to Dubie and arrived on Wednesday March 5 to Dubie, after five harrowing days on the roads. Ironically the plane had been reinstituted on Tuesday and flew right over us. We finally all returned back to Shamwana on Thursday March 6 for my last four short days there, just enough for a decent handover to Dr. F. Poor Sir W, my lovely Congolese colleague - whom we’ve come to call that way because he is so considerate and proper - had been working alone (yet again) for a week and he looked quite tired.
The goodbye party was worth the wait. The Finco from capital had paid us a surprise visit for the week-end so he got to attend these ceremonials. The Bifwebe traditional dancers from Monga came for the afternoon and performed on the football field. They started with drawing a magic protective circle around the area where they were to perform; then they danced and tam-tam’d for a good two hours; they were again in trance and the atmosphere was full of sorcery. The whole village was watching. It started raining so they performed an anti-rain dance. Believe what one may, whereas most afternoons see a big thunderstorm fall down on us, on that day, it rained only very lightly over the football field where the Bifwebe were under two mango trees; the storm and showers hit a few hundred meters away. Comme Sir W le dit si bien, “nous ne vivons pas dans leur monde donc il nous est impossible de comprendre leurs pouvoirs” – all I can say is that it was odd and to an certain extent, disconcerting.
There was way too much food! (Of course that is a good thing!) At the last minute, the nurses had decided that one goat was not enough and that they should slaughter a second one; given as I had supplied twice the quantity of rice and drinks as usual, there was plenty of room for meat. In the end, we had too much food and everybody got to take some home. The evening continued with the obligatory floral speeches and Congolese music to which everybody danced. Sir W read his speech where he commented on my speediness – ‘Mayani, comme un TGV’. (Mayani has become my natural name in Shamwana, given by the children - it means ‘grass’ in Congolese Swahili). We finished the party much later than usual, it went on until 23h00, and then the expats continued until 2 in the morning. It was a lovely evening.
Sir W and Dr Mayani posing for the pictures
Lovely ladies in their best outfits at the party
My last Sunday in Shamwana was spent being on call, and spending the afternoon discussing Congolese politics, culture and beliefs over some fried chicken at Sir W’s. A patient with bad bowel obstruction walked into the hospital but in the end, she was not eligible for surgery. "A l’hôpital, c’est la routine", like we say in the morning meetings. We watched part of Season 4 of 24 as usual. Dr. F started working; he is experienced and will for sure do a very good job.
Monday March 10 was the definitive dreaded departure date. The last four days were incredibly intense, taking it all in, as if hours slowed down, one minute at a time. I filmed the daily morning meetings, packed, said a whole bunch of goodbyes and we all went to the plane. For someone who sheds tears less than once a year usually, I cried a handful of times in those four long days. The farewells at the landing strip were solemn and I couldn’t help but explode in tears on the airstrip. The medical team, all male, were all very sad and even one of them was wiping his eyes. To see a burly forty year-old Congolese man hide his tears is indeed very touching. These guys really got to my heart, a part of which is now left in Shamwana...
Hospital crew on my last day
Base crew on my last day
Farewell crew at the Shamwana airstrip, my view from the plane
The original AirServ pilot who first dropped me in Katanga in August 2007 – well, he’s back from Halifax and he also flew me out! Here he is, refueling the plane.
Chatting and goodbyes to the expats in Dubie while the plane gets refueled
So that was it. A lifetime of seven months in the Congolese bush. Goodbye Shamwana, now forever gone in time and place as it was for me. Such an intense and beautiful experience leaves indelible memories.
A la question qu’on m’a posée, si j’ai trouvé ce que je cherchais au Congo? Je crois que oui: des tonnes de bonheur et d’émotions et des moments inoubliables.
And to the question, will I do another MSF mission? From where I stand right now, it’s impossible that I won’t. I understand the converts now. When we are on the field, life is so rich and real, time so slow, and the heart just feels so much. We sense that what we do matters, that we have the chance of not just skimming the surface of life, and that we make a difference ever so slightly. So yes, I would do it again, in time. But who knows what lies ahead on the next turn...
Ciel et brousse du Katanga
Initially, the plan was for me to leave on March 7 from Shamwana, to meet up with a group of expats from Dubie to go to Zambia on March 10 for a week to hang around Victoria falls. The plane was preponed to March 6, at which point, we decided to prepone the big goodbye party which was thus planned for Saturday March 1. Two hospital nurses already had a big male goat ready for the feast. Cans of beer and sodas had been planned 6 weeks in advance on a truck from Lubumbashi that thankfully made it on time. I had specially requested the infamous Bifwebe, the traditional bush dancers and black magic sorcerers from Monga.
Then, on February 29, the strangest day of the year so far, we heard that the plane ex-Shamwana wasn’t going to make it. That meant that Lucas, the current acting project coordinator-logistician, wasn’t going to make it out for his vacation. It was decided by capital – and to this day this appears as a knee-jerk, poorly planned decision – that he would go down to Lubumbashi by car whilst my replacement the new expat doctor would make his way up by car as well. And because Lucas leaving left us 2 women first-missioners alone in the project, it was decided that all the Shamwana expatriates would have to evacuate the next day to the ‘safety’ of Dubie where there was another male and multi-missioner. Of course, there is NO security issue in the Shamwana region whatsoever, things are in the rebuilding phase. We learned all this the evening right before the big goodbye party. I had done the evaluations for most of my medical staff and had started my end-of-mission report. But to learn at 16h00 that you’re evacuated the next morning at 6h00 for 5 days to Dubie for very dubious reasons is for the least destabilizing; particularly when this is the end of your mission, and you’ve got things to wrap up, and a party to plan. I was seething with anger; it was not a pretty sight. I could not stay in place, had to call the Head of Mission to ask for explanations, and was overall quite irate. The national staff who were ready for the party were also quite disappointed. After a few hours of ranting I finally calmed down and resigned myself to the unpleasant situation. After all, I do believe in to making the best of what life throws at us (but I should also be allowed to complain and whine before!). So the next morning, I jumped into the car with a sigh and faced another adventure on the roads of Katanga.
Of note was the bloodred sunset that stained the sky like a bushfire, to add to the overall strange, out-of-this world atmosphere of February 29.
We got stuck four times on the road to Dubie, predictably as this is the end of the rainy season. It took us almost nine hours to get there.
Très sérieux embourbement! L’Unimog nous a tirés de là comme une voiture-jouet, c’était beau à voir.
The few days in Dubie were uneventful, if not boring. After a few hours of soulsearching, I made the right decision to postpone the vacation to Zambia and be out-of-sync with the group of friends in order to do a proper handover and finish the work well in Shamwana, as well as having a nice goodbye party for the national staff. After all, this was it for me and Shamwana, and for all these Congolese friends that in likelihood I will never see again, unlike the expats with whom it’s much easier to keep in touch (vive Facebook!). J’ai tout simplement refusé de partir comme une voleuse et d’honorer correctement le beau travail fait pendant les derniers sept mois à Shamwana.
In Dubie, we were confined to the MSF compound, played volleyball games, and I caught up with my two PPD companions and sisters from August 2007 in Amsterdam. Always being afraid of running out of food, I stocked up on quasi-expired security rice and more beer and alcohol for the upcoming party. The expat group from Lubumbashi, ie our project coordinator, mental health officer and F the new doctor were late by a day coming to Dubie and arrived on Wednesday March 5 to Dubie, after five harrowing days on the roads. Ironically the plane had been reinstituted on Tuesday and flew right over us. We finally all returned back to Shamwana on Thursday March 6 for my last four short days there, just enough for a decent handover to Dr. F. Poor Sir W, my lovely Congolese colleague - whom we’ve come to call that way because he is so considerate and proper - had been working alone (yet again) for a week and he looked quite tired.
The goodbye party was worth the wait. The Finco from capital had paid us a surprise visit for the week-end so he got to attend these ceremonials. The Bifwebe traditional dancers from Monga came for the afternoon and performed on the football field. They started with drawing a magic protective circle around the area where they were to perform; then they danced and tam-tam’d for a good two hours; they were again in trance and the atmosphere was full of sorcery. The whole village was watching. It started raining so they performed an anti-rain dance. Believe what one may, whereas most afternoons see a big thunderstorm fall down on us, on that day, it rained only very lightly over the football field where the Bifwebe were under two mango trees; the storm and showers hit a few hundred meters away. Comme Sir W le dit si bien, “nous ne vivons pas dans leur monde donc il nous est impossible de comprendre leurs pouvoirs” – all I can say is that it was odd and to an certain extent, disconcerting.
There was way too much food! (Of course that is a good thing!) At the last minute, the nurses had decided that one goat was not enough and that they should slaughter a second one; given as I had supplied twice the quantity of rice and drinks as usual, there was plenty of room for meat. In the end, we had too much food and everybody got to take some home. The evening continued with the obligatory floral speeches and Congolese music to which everybody danced. Sir W read his speech where he commented on my speediness – ‘Mayani, comme un TGV’. (Mayani has become my natural name in Shamwana, given by the children - it means ‘grass’ in Congolese Swahili). We finished the party much later than usual, it went on until 23h00, and then the expats continued until 2 in the morning. It was a lovely evening.
Sir W and Dr Mayani posing for the pictures
Lovely ladies in their best outfits at the party
My last Sunday in Shamwana was spent being on call, and spending the afternoon discussing Congolese politics, culture and beliefs over some fried chicken at Sir W’s. A patient with bad bowel obstruction walked into the hospital but in the end, she was not eligible for surgery. "A l’hôpital, c’est la routine", like we say in the morning meetings. We watched part of Season 4 of 24 as usual. Dr. F started working; he is experienced and will for sure do a very good job.
Monday March 10 was the definitive dreaded departure date. The last four days were incredibly intense, taking it all in, as if hours slowed down, one minute at a time. I filmed the daily morning meetings, packed, said a whole bunch of goodbyes and we all went to the plane. For someone who sheds tears less than once a year usually, I cried a handful of times in those four long days. The farewells at the landing strip were solemn and I couldn’t help but explode in tears on the airstrip. The medical team, all male, were all very sad and even one of them was wiping his eyes. To see a burly forty year-old Congolese man hide his tears is indeed very touching. These guys really got to my heart, a part of which is now left in Shamwana...
Hospital crew on my last day
Base crew on my last day
Farewell crew at the Shamwana airstrip, my view from the plane
The original AirServ pilot who first dropped me in Katanga in August 2007 – well, he’s back from Halifax and he also flew me out! Here he is, refueling the plane.
Chatting and goodbyes to the expats in Dubie while the plane gets refueled
So that was it. A lifetime of seven months in the Congolese bush. Goodbye Shamwana, now forever gone in time and place as it was for me. Such an intense and beautiful experience leaves indelible memories.
A la question qu’on m’a posée, si j’ai trouvé ce que je cherchais au Congo? Je crois que oui: des tonnes de bonheur et d’émotions et des moments inoubliables.
And to the question, will I do another MSF mission? From where I stand right now, it’s impossible that I won’t. I understand the converts now. When we are on the field, life is so rich and real, time so slow, and the heart just feels so much. We sense that what we do matters, that we have the chance of not just skimming the surface of life, and that we make a difference ever so slightly. So yes, I would do it again, in time. But who knows what lies ahead on the next turn...
Ciel et brousse du Katanga
Monday, February 25, 2008
Shamwanesqueries, shamwanoddities
Shamwanesqueries
Resteront gravées, pour la postérité...
Les nuages sur les collines au petit matin, lorsque je cours sur la piste d’atterrissage, et le brouillard qui se lève.
Toutes les petites filles qui pilent du manioc. La femme congolaise de brousse travaille de l’aube au soir, et tient tout de la bête de somme aux yeux des hommes.
Les orages-moussons presque prévisibles en saison des pluies, la pluie tambourinant sur notre toit de tôle.
Les absurdités de Shamsterdam. Conséquences de nos désastres logistiques dûs à la bureaucratie de la capitale: le fait qu’on ait à racheter à la population locale la farine de maïs distribuée gratuitement par Concern (via le Programme d’Alimentation Mondiale de l’ONU) pour... nourrir les patients à l’hôpital suite à nos ruptures de stock. Le fait que la majorité de notre staff national, les urbains de Lubumbashi, ne consomment pas le manioc local et donc aussi rachètent la farine de maïs (il y en a même qui se mettaient en ligne chez Concern à la distribution, alors qu’ils constituent clairement la haute bourgeoisie de Shamwana).
Vue du nouvel hôpital, vers la salle d’op
* * *
Shamwanoddities
This is pretty much my last mass e-mail from out here as I am now flying out of Shamwana on March 6th - it keeps on being preponed! And who knows if I’ll ever get to meet my replacement as the flights are as unpredictable as ever – and more out of incomprehensible coordination problems, not weather issues.
The last week was a busy one. I thought that I would commit it to staff evaluations and end-of-month and end-of-mission reports... but instead, it was time to go back to the operation theater!
After a few months of normal deliveries, we’ve had a string of obstetrical disasters again. Our deliveries in hospital have increased to about 30 a month from less than 10 when I first arrived in August. Last week, a woman was sent from Kisele, one of our peripheral villages, with a dead baby and a roaring infection of her uterus. Our midwife had to use the vacuum to pull it out and, I’m told, the stench was palpable. The patient now has a vesiculo-vaginal fistula, to be expected, that is, a permanent connection of scar tissue between her bladder and her vagina. It means that she is now incontinent of urine. Fortunately, the fistula surgeon will be back in Dubie sometime this summer so she might be eligible for surgical correction.
Then last Thursday, our new Congolese midwife (who used to be a mental health counsellor), called us urgently to the delivery room. A woman no taller than 1m40 was on the table, visibly diaphoretic and talking. Upon taking the vitals signs, her blood pressure was... absent. I verified by checking her radial pulse... absent as well. True shock, and yet, there she was, still talking and crying! She had been in labor at home for one or two days, and was finally transferred to Shamwana on a bicycle as usual. Her contractions had stopped; her cervix was fully dilated, but there was no fetal heart. This kind of scenario spells a disaster: a probable full uterine rupture. After crossmatch and an IV line, we went straight to surgery. The uterus was completely ruptured and attached to its lower third by a mess of organized clots and necrotic tissue circumferentially. The baby had been dead over a day – its skin was literally falling off and it was hard to grab it to take it out. Talk about stench and sight again! I assisted my Congolese colleague in performing a total hysterectomy; we couldn’t even salvage the adnexae or the ovaries. We were in there for a mere... four hours. I came out exhausted. But... she is alive, stuffed silly with antibiotics, and received almost two units of blood. Surely, she would have died of haemorrhage or overwhelming sepsis with a decomposing baby in there. Yikes.
Who said that green wasn’t a good colour for me??? :)
As well, we hadn’t used our blood bank for a while, and then we got a string of children sick with malaria causing severe anaemia. I encountered the lowest haemoglobin that I’ve ever met: 14. For comparison, my own haemoglobin probably hovers around 140. Again, the child was defying all medical knowledge: he was still breathing and crying, in spite of having 10% of one’s normal oxygen-carrying capacity. Unfortunately he did not survive in spite of the transfusion that we gave him – he could not compensate any further. Human resilience does not cease to amaze me, and few of these disastrous cases ever make it to the literature. Nobody teaches you this in medical school!
* * *
More Shamwana pictures around the hospital
Seriously cute kids!
J, our burn patient, the one who had seized. He’s now into his third month at the hospital but is getting so much better. We actually discharged him earlier today
Our last set of twins – Kyungu (=oldest twin) was the sick one, whereas Kabange (=younger twin) was the fat one at 2 kg.
* * *
Sur ce, je vous souhaite une bonne continuation. Je vais rouler ma bosse sur le continent avant de rentrer pole pole à la maison quelque part en avril. Je serais sur des plages tanzaniennes, sur le Kilimanjaro, et à Amsterdam chez une certaine psychologue. Portez-vous bien et on se revoit à mon retour!
Resteront gravées, pour la postérité...
Les nuages sur les collines au petit matin, lorsque je cours sur la piste d’atterrissage, et le brouillard qui se lève.
Toutes les petites filles qui pilent du manioc. La femme congolaise de brousse travaille de l’aube au soir, et tient tout de la bête de somme aux yeux des hommes.
Les orages-moussons presque prévisibles en saison des pluies, la pluie tambourinant sur notre toit de tôle.
Les absurdités de Shamsterdam. Conséquences de nos désastres logistiques dûs à la bureaucratie de la capitale: le fait qu’on ait à racheter à la population locale la farine de maïs distribuée gratuitement par Concern (via le Programme d’Alimentation Mondiale de l’ONU) pour... nourrir les patients à l’hôpital suite à nos ruptures de stock. Le fait que la majorité de notre staff national, les urbains de Lubumbashi, ne consomment pas le manioc local et donc aussi rachètent la farine de maïs (il y en a même qui se mettaient en ligne chez Concern à la distribution, alors qu’ils constituent clairement la haute bourgeoisie de Shamwana).
Vue du nouvel hôpital, vers la salle d’op
* * *
Shamwanoddities
This is pretty much my last mass e-mail from out here as I am now flying out of Shamwana on March 6th - it keeps on being preponed! And who knows if I’ll ever get to meet my replacement as the flights are as unpredictable as ever – and more out of incomprehensible coordination problems, not weather issues.
The last week was a busy one. I thought that I would commit it to staff evaluations and end-of-month and end-of-mission reports... but instead, it was time to go back to the operation theater!
After a few months of normal deliveries, we’ve had a string of obstetrical disasters again. Our deliveries in hospital have increased to about 30 a month from less than 10 when I first arrived in August. Last week, a woman was sent from Kisele, one of our peripheral villages, with a dead baby and a roaring infection of her uterus. Our midwife had to use the vacuum to pull it out and, I’m told, the stench was palpable. The patient now has a vesiculo-vaginal fistula, to be expected, that is, a permanent connection of scar tissue between her bladder and her vagina. It means that she is now incontinent of urine. Fortunately, the fistula surgeon will be back in Dubie sometime this summer so she might be eligible for surgical correction.
Then last Thursday, our new Congolese midwife (who used to be a mental health counsellor), called us urgently to the delivery room. A woman no taller than 1m40 was on the table, visibly diaphoretic and talking. Upon taking the vitals signs, her blood pressure was... absent. I verified by checking her radial pulse... absent as well. True shock, and yet, there she was, still talking and crying! She had been in labor at home for one or two days, and was finally transferred to Shamwana on a bicycle as usual. Her contractions had stopped; her cervix was fully dilated, but there was no fetal heart. This kind of scenario spells a disaster: a probable full uterine rupture. After crossmatch and an IV line, we went straight to surgery. The uterus was completely ruptured and attached to its lower third by a mess of organized clots and necrotic tissue circumferentially. The baby had been dead over a day – its skin was literally falling off and it was hard to grab it to take it out. Talk about stench and sight again! I assisted my Congolese colleague in performing a total hysterectomy; we couldn’t even salvage the adnexae or the ovaries. We were in there for a mere... four hours. I came out exhausted. But... she is alive, stuffed silly with antibiotics, and received almost two units of blood. Surely, she would have died of haemorrhage or overwhelming sepsis with a decomposing baby in there. Yikes.
Who said that green wasn’t a good colour for me??? :)
As well, we hadn’t used our blood bank for a while, and then we got a string of children sick with malaria causing severe anaemia. I encountered the lowest haemoglobin that I’ve ever met: 14. For comparison, my own haemoglobin probably hovers around 140. Again, the child was defying all medical knowledge: he was still breathing and crying, in spite of having 10% of one’s normal oxygen-carrying capacity. Unfortunately he did not survive in spite of the transfusion that we gave him – he could not compensate any further. Human resilience does not cease to amaze me, and few of these disastrous cases ever make it to the literature. Nobody teaches you this in medical school!
* * *
More Shamwana pictures around the hospital
Seriously cute kids!
J, our burn patient, the one who had seized. He’s now into his third month at the hospital but is getting so much better. We actually discharged him earlier today
Our last set of twins – Kyungu (=oldest twin) was the sick one, whereas Kabange (=younger twin) was the fat one at 2 kg.
* * *
Sur ce, je vous souhaite une bonne continuation. Je vais rouler ma bosse sur le continent avant de rentrer pole pole à la maison quelque part en avril. Je serais sur des plages tanzaniennes, sur le Kilimanjaro, et à Amsterdam chez une certaine psychologue. Portez-vous bien et on se revoit à mon retour!
Friday, February 1, 2008
Pour Damien Lehalle
Official MSF press release about the tragedy: three MSF-Holland workers killed in bombing in Kismayo, Somalia, Jan 28 2008
* * *
Le monde humanitaire et plus particulièrement, les travailleurs MSF, sommes tous sous le choc face aux décès de nos collègues expatriés Damien Lehalle, logisticien de France et Victor Okumu, chirurgien du Kenya, lors d'une attaque contre une Land Cruiser de MSF-Hollande à Kismayo, en Somalie, lundi dernier le 28 janvier 2008.
Damien était le logisticien de Dubié en août 2007 lorsque je suis arrivée au Katanga. Je l'ai rencontré brièvement lors de la réunion médicale d'août qui s'est tenue à Dubié. C'était un mec joyeux de vingt-sept ans, souriant, au sens de l'humour clownesque, et qu'on n'oubliait pas facilement. Il se promenait avec ses pantalons en pagne et un grand sourire brillant. Tout le monde de la mission l'adorait. Lors de notre réunion médicale, il y avait trop de visiteurs à Dubié, et donc il avait prêté sa chambre. Il dormait paisiblement à la belle étoile sous un moustiquaire sur le terrain de volleyball. Dubié a été sa première mission pendant quatorze mois et il était au premier mois de sa deuxième mission à Kismayo lorqu'il a été tué. Lorsqu'il a quitté Dubié en octobre, il a dit ses adieux à toute la mission sur la radio HF; comme j'étais moi-même en route pour Kishale dans une Land Cruiser, je lui ai souhaité un bon voyage et une bonne continuation. A Dubié, on l'aimait tellement que tout le village est venu à sa fête d'au-revoir (arrosée de fruits de la passion, m'a-t-on relaté), et le staff national l'a transporté physiquement jusqu'à l'avion le jour de son départ. Sa vie a été brutalement interrompue; ses parents ont perdu leur fils unique. Nous sommes tous en deuil.
De tels évènements nous rappellent que malgré toutes les meilleures intentions du monde, la violence est constante et imprévisible dans le monde humanitaire. Tout travailleur MSF est bien mis au courant des risques possibles d'une mission. Mais nos personnalités fortes nous font croire à une certaine invincibilité. On tente de gérer le risque en choisissant un pays moins armé qu'un autre, mais le chaos et le danger sont toujours possibles là où MSF choisit de travailler. Que l'âme de Damien repose en paix. Nous, qui avons croisé son chemin, avons été chanceux. Nous accompagnons tous en pensée sa famille et ses proches durant ces moments difficiles.
* * *
The humanitarian world in general and MSF workers in particular are devastated by the deaths of Damien Lehalle, French logistician and Victor Okumu, Kenyan surgeon, in a MSF-Holland Land Cruiser that was bombed in Kismayo, Somalia last week.
Damien was the logistician in Dubie in August when I arrived, and I met him shortly during the Katanga medical meeting. He was a fun-loving, energetic, popular, tongue-in-cheek, joyful 27 year-old guy, and was well loved by everybody in the mission. I remember his twinkling eyes and beautiful smile. When we held our medical meeting in Dubie, we were out of tukuls for all the visitors, so he had parked a bedcamp and a mosquito net under a tree next to the volleyball court and slept there happily under the stars. His first mission had been Dubie, for fourteen months, and he had been for only one month in Kismayo for his second mission when he was killed. When he left Dubie in October, he said his goodbyes on the radio to everybody in the Katanga mission; as I was en route for Kishale in one of the Land Cruisers, I wished him good luck and a good continuation. He was so loved that all of Dubie attended his goodbye party and the national staff carried him to the plane on his day of departure. His young life has been cut short; his parents in France have lost their only son. We are in mourning.
It is a harsh reminder that no matter how good our intentions are, it's a hard world out here. MSF workers are fully warned of the risks of leaving on mission, but I believe that we somewhat sin in invincibility in a way or another. Of course, risk can be to some extent managed by picking a less gun-prone country vs. another, but the risk of chaos is present in most places that MSF chooses to work. May Damien's soul rest in peace. Those of us who have had the luck of crossing his path were all blessed to have known him. May his family and loved ones bide well during this hard time.
* * *
Le monde humanitaire et plus particulièrement, les travailleurs MSF, sommes tous sous le choc face aux décès de nos collègues expatriés Damien Lehalle, logisticien de France et Victor Okumu, chirurgien du Kenya, lors d'une attaque contre une Land Cruiser de MSF-Hollande à Kismayo, en Somalie, lundi dernier le 28 janvier 2008.
Damien était le logisticien de Dubié en août 2007 lorsque je suis arrivée au Katanga. Je l'ai rencontré brièvement lors de la réunion médicale d'août qui s'est tenue à Dubié. C'était un mec joyeux de vingt-sept ans, souriant, au sens de l'humour clownesque, et qu'on n'oubliait pas facilement. Il se promenait avec ses pantalons en pagne et un grand sourire brillant. Tout le monde de la mission l'adorait. Lors de notre réunion médicale, il y avait trop de visiteurs à Dubié, et donc il avait prêté sa chambre. Il dormait paisiblement à la belle étoile sous un moustiquaire sur le terrain de volleyball. Dubié a été sa première mission pendant quatorze mois et il était au premier mois de sa deuxième mission à Kismayo lorqu'il a été tué. Lorsqu'il a quitté Dubié en octobre, il a dit ses adieux à toute la mission sur la radio HF; comme j'étais moi-même en route pour Kishale dans une Land Cruiser, je lui ai souhaité un bon voyage et une bonne continuation. A Dubié, on l'aimait tellement que tout le village est venu à sa fête d'au-revoir (arrosée de fruits de la passion, m'a-t-on relaté), et le staff national l'a transporté physiquement jusqu'à l'avion le jour de son départ. Sa vie a été brutalement interrompue; ses parents ont perdu leur fils unique. Nous sommes tous en deuil.
De tels évènements nous rappellent que malgré toutes les meilleures intentions du monde, la violence est constante et imprévisible dans le monde humanitaire. Tout travailleur MSF est bien mis au courant des risques possibles d'une mission. Mais nos personnalités fortes nous font croire à une certaine invincibilité. On tente de gérer le risque en choisissant un pays moins armé qu'un autre, mais le chaos et le danger sont toujours possibles là où MSF choisit de travailler. Que l'âme de Damien repose en paix. Nous, qui avons croisé son chemin, avons été chanceux. Nous accompagnons tous en pensée sa famille et ses proches durant ces moments difficiles.
* * *
The humanitarian world in general and MSF workers in particular are devastated by the deaths of Damien Lehalle, French logistician and Victor Okumu, Kenyan surgeon, in a MSF-Holland Land Cruiser that was bombed in Kismayo, Somalia last week.
Damien was the logistician in Dubie in August when I arrived, and I met him shortly during the Katanga medical meeting. He was a fun-loving, energetic, popular, tongue-in-cheek, joyful 27 year-old guy, and was well loved by everybody in the mission. I remember his twinkling eyes and beautiful smile. When we held our medical meeting in Dubie, we were out of tukuls for all the visitors, so he had parked a bedcamp and a mosquito net under a tree next to the volleyball court and slept there happily under the stars. His first mission had been Dubie, for fourteen months, and he had been for only one month in Kismayo for his second mission when he was killed. When he left Dubie in October, he said his goodbyes on the radio to everybody in the Katanga mission; as I was en route for Kishale in one of the Land Cruisers, I wished him good luck and a good continuation. He was so loved that all of Dubie attended his goodbye party and the national staff carried him to the plane on his day of departure. His young life has been cut short; his parents in France have lost their only son. We are in mourning.
It is a harsh reminder that no matter how good our intentions are, it's a hard world out here. MSF workers are fully warned of the risks of leaving on mission, but I believe that we somewhat sin in invincibility in a way or another. Of course, risk can be to some extent managed by picking a less gun-prone country vs. another, but the risk of chaos is present in most places that MSF chooses to work. May Damien's soul rest in peace. Those of us who have had the luck of crossing his path were all blessed to have known him. May his family and loved ones bide well during this hard time.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Tunnel Vision
Retour sur Shamwana après les vacances. C’est drôle, autant que j’avais hâte de revenir, autant, après quelques jours, je me sens essoufflée. On ne se rend compte qu’après les vacances à quel point on est fatigué. Je ne regrette pas d’avoir prolongé ma mission ni d’être revenue, mais en même temps, le départ en vacances (repoussé loin dans la mission) était aussi un avant-goût des adieux qui seront le 10 mars, nouvelle date officielle. Quelque part, les oeillères sont tombées. Je commence à voir au-delà de Shamwana et de son quotidien. Entrent dans mon champ de vision d’autres lieux, d’autres latitudes, une autre vie, un retour en terre industrialisée, une réhabitude à l’anonymat dans une grande ville urbaine occidentale, des possibilités d’hiver québécois et de grisaille pluvieuse. J’ai le pied à moitié sorti d’ici mais en même temps je sais que je dois savourer chaque heure maintenant car la finitude arrive et se fait pressentir.
En trois semaines, beaucoup de choses ont changé dans mon village de brousse. La saison pluvieuse est définitive, les orages-moussons sont prévisibles tous les après-midis après quelques heures de canicule. Nous avons déménagé de notre grande tente à la bâtisse définitive de l’hôpital, ce qui ôte un peu son charme au projet, mais ce qui bien sûr est bien plus pratique et bénéfique aux patients. De par notre nouveau laboratoire et notre salle d’opération, nos chiffres restent élevés – dire qu’en août nous étions tombés à 9 patients, rarement plus de 20, et maintenant on hospitalise couramment 40 patients. La clinique externe ne dérougit plus. On trime, sans aucun doute.
Autant mon souvenir était d’être débordée avant de partir, maintenant que le travail m’est familier, il me semble y avoir beaucoup de temps libres. Et les sources de divertissement sont vite épuisées – aller courir, prendre une marche, entamer une autre conversation avec les collègues expat (les sujets commencent à s’épuiser!), pitonner sur l’ordi, classer ses photos et sa musique. Il est vrai que les situations d’urgence se sont stabilisées, la rougeole persiste (11 morts maintenant, qui auraient pu être prévenues, mais nous n’avons toujours pas l’autorisation du gouvernement congolais de commencer les vaccinations d’urgence), et le choléra semble avoir disparu. Et je connais mon travail donc j’en dérive plus d’efficacité.
* * *
Another day at work. This child had a supracondylar fracture of the humerus for four days, had been treated with straw splints and traditional herb ointments that macerated his skin before showing up to our facility.
Desquamation and depigmentation post-measles
Too weakened by kwashiorkor to drink, hence need for a feeding tube
Kwashiorkor so severe that the face swells up
En trois semaines, beaucoup de choses ont changé dans mon village de brousse. La saison pluvieuse est définitive, les orages-moussons sont prévisibles tous les après-midis après quelques heures de canicule. Nous avons déménagé de notre grande tente à la bâtisse définitive de l’hôpital, ce qui ôte un peu son charme au projet, mais ce qui bien sûr est bien plus pratique et bénéfique aux patients. De par notre nouveau laboratoire et notre salle d’opération, nos chiffres restent élevés – dire qu’en août nous étions tombés à 9 patients, rarement plus de 20, et maintenant on hospitalise couramment 40 patients. La clinique externe ne dérougit plus. On trime, sans aucun doute.
Autant mon souvenir était d’être débordée avant de partir, maintenant que le travail m’est familier, il me semble y avoir beaucoup de temps libres. Et les sources de divertissement sont vite épuisées – aller courir, prendre une marche, entamer une autre conversation avec les collègues expat (les sujets commencent à s’épuiser!), pitonner sur l’ordi, classer ses photos et sa musique. Il est vrai que les situations d’urgence se sont stabilisées, la rougeole persiste (11 morts maintenant, qui auraient pu être prévenues, mais nous n’avons toujours pas l’autorisation du gouvernement congolais de commencer les vaccinations d’urgence), et le choléra semble avoir disparu. Et je connais mon travail donc j’en dérive plus d’efficacité.
* * *
Another day at work. This child had a supracondylar fracture of the humerus for four days, had been treated with straw splints and traditional herb ointments that macerated his skin before showing up to our facility.
Desquamation and depigmentation post-measles
Too weakened by kwashiorkor to drink, hence need for a feeding tube
Kwashiorkor so severe that the face swells up
Thursday, January 24, 2008
En attendant
Faute de mots ici, images des quelques derniers mois...
Shamwana alias Shamsterdam
Promenades autour de Shamwana
Dubie en août et en novembre
Shamwana alias Shamsterdam
Promenades autour de Shamwana
Dubie en août et en novembre
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