So, Gimbie here we come, devastatingly early wake up and luggage dragged downstairs to await land cruiser, sundry passengers and an improbable pile of luggage including scarce to obtain items in Gimbie such as milk. All luggage finally strapped to roof and on our way at break neck not to say white knuckle speed avoiding wandering goats, cows humans and even monkeys with a fine disregard for blind corners, brows of hills or white lines courtesy of Chinese engineers who still have to finish a peculiarly grizzly 120Km. Finally we arrive at the hospital and our new ‘home’ a bungalow that has stood empty and unvisited for a few months, with that typical musty smell and worries (unfounded thankfully) of little visitors who have made it their home. That night and the following day we set to work with various sprays, fairy liquid from home and a mop that has seen better days to clean and prepare. Now vaguely habitable with a mosquito net that looks like an anophelean super highway to sleeping skin it has so many holes we are settling in. A trip to the high street was greeted with the usual cries of farange, you, you, you and give me money, and the inability to buy any cutlery at all (they eat with injera and their fingers) and with the sad news that the haven of the European, Jimmy Juice had closed through lack of trade. The recession stretches far it seems.
That night had supper of lentils and other pulsey looking things with our Danish neighbours and Clara. Danes greeted red fluid of vineous extraction with delight. Also there was the Ethiopian doctor who was nice but shy and quite clearly wants to do it all, which is fine by me but although a Farange I am the only registered specialist in the place. However I assisted at a tolerable section, and watched him do a postpartum tubal ligation under local anaesthetic without making the patient wince too much. The patients are largely thin with divarified recti so it is not that difficult. Ends of tubes have to be inspected as there is nothing like histology here. To add to the practice curiosities the caesarean section was performed using chromic cat gut, which those of you of my generation will remember well. With the Danes, local employee who wants to do it all and me we are rather over doctored at the moment or at least all the doctors are in the wrong place. Karen has headed off to the Health Centres today so look forward to her report with interest. Yesterday was even more bizarre with an invite to a local Adventist wedding, a glorious mixture of American Evangelism, largely, no totally lost on me because it was in Oromo and African dancing and singing. Much of the service and lacy dresses are however missed because the video camera is all and all you get to see is the butt of a camera man dressed like a break dancing rapper. The service was interrupted by bang of exploding balloons as the light man got to close to them, the inevitable bleat of various mobile phones and random people walking up to take photographs. Even the bride paused to read a message mid sermon. A curious custom is the best men turn up at the groom’s house together with the groom’s guests, including us, to dress him, watch him pray and eat something with elders of the church before accompanying him to the church. (This is when the first of a series of horn honking auto processions takes place.) We then hung around the church (there was at this time a power cut) while he went off to collect his bride, and leave her at the back to process in and then greet her and her family half way down the aisle, various brides maids and boys with candles processing before. All this was done to a rendition of the triumphal march from Aida (it has another unfortunate title too). There was some nice if slightly fractured Oromo part singing and some splendid African male voice singing which together with some ululating produces a splendid sound.
Back in the cars all squashed together we have another high speed honking chase to the wedding feast where we sit in rows in front of a dais where the major guest eat and enjoy the meal. Karen bravely went for the boiled goat, I went for the vegetarian option, rice and cabbage (yes I will be thinner when I return) and Clara trumped all by getting a spoon. Eating rice with bits of injera is a skill I have yet to acquire. All this was being endlessly photographed and videoed for posterity. There was a large multi-coloured wedding cake on display which was ceremoniously cut and fed to senior guests (a singular honour) and then put back into its box-we got chewing gum.
Photos continued by a rather beautiful old bridge, a relic of the Italians, before we all set off another white knuckle ride, briefly interrupted by one of the passengers having a road side chunder.
We were dropped off at the hospital while others went on to deliver bride and groom to their new marital home. A fascinating experience and honoured to be asked, but bride and groom did not speak to any of the guests at all-we were all there as voyeurs.
So first impressions are mixed, all superficially very friendly, roles yet to be established and the ‘need’ not particularly apparent in this hospital and not being addressed in the community in a way in which women are coming forward – we shall see how things go over the next week, month, year so stay tuned. As I close some religious activity has started coming up the valley-it is very loud and distorted-the Lord works in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.