Christmas Eve was certainly busy (and sadly dry) as I agreed to do the on call, 4 Caesarean sections, the last of which while our desert of pancakes waited, (sorry they were thin so crepes) culminated in a first for me of having to do an inverted T in both the uterus and the abdominal wall and pulling the baby out by its bum with a great slurping noise, though it seems none the worse for being jammed for many hours though by the amount of meconium about there will not be enough left for a meconium stool. The mother looks surprisingly well given that she had to travel a considerable distance and time while pushing hard to get to us. As ever the later borne 1.4 Kg baby was left cold and wet and hungry. There seems to be something in the African or at least the Ethiopian psyche that does not allow you to think for yourself or initiate any action at all of your own volition.
Chris a refugee from comfortable California, wanting to do good, put something back etc. has been working with computers, novice nuns and importantly access to God’s truck to which we have had some limited access, was struck by this when on a rest day he found them all listlessly sitting around and organised a football match in the compound which they all thoroughly enjoyed. The question is ‘Why like so much that is going on, could they not organise this themselves. Self-starters are in short supply and we are I think beginning to understand why but that will have to await another blog and probably from a better (Karen’s) mind.
Christmas day dawned and unlike today as I write this, surprisingly some internet access so we were able to skype friends and family and also send some e cards. The day was spent entertaining the rather too ever present young lads with no homes, shoes or food and who will consume anything put in front of them, on this occasion tuna pasta bake and coca cola. There feet are not pretty and they do recognise this and are reluctant to take their shoes (bits of rubber cracked flip flops off) so there is a thin layer of red African dust around the house. From the flood around the loo the concept of peeing in a water closet is also rather foreign. Despite three goes now they have yet to master the skills of opening perforations in cardboard to get the ever increasing sized advent chocolates (I do not think that they have spotted that they get bigger row by row0 but as there are 5 to a row and 5 of them it is only of academic interest, but bodes badly in terms of their ability to rise above the condition they find themselves in. Then along with our neighbours children, friends and relations, including one with mental health problems, though seems a little better we sit them down to a screening of Elf, almost brought to grief by one of the ever likely power cuts. They laughed a lot and seemed to like it, at least the slapstick parts. If we stay we may need to record rafts of Shrek, or other entertainment with visual gags, though if anyone would like to slip this onto a hard disc for us great. Karen thinks that Avatar might be too frightening and the complexities of Harry Potter are I think beyond them.
I am pleased to report that our last sortie into advanced gynaecology has so far, and it is early days, gone without immediate mishap as we managed to get out a 2b Ca Cx without too much trauma and with what appear to be clinically clear resection margins. I think that there may well be a place for radical hysterectomy without lymph node dissection for suitable women. As they are universally poor, and there is no ‘free at the point of delivery’ service (unless you have a prolapse and an American wanting to do it) we need to find a way of funding these operations without Adventists or any other NGO getting their slice.
Meanwhile it is now after school and time to cope with our increasingly demanding surrogate family, barren but obese and increasingly shitty chickens – the veranda would now count for barn reared on an advert – and is distressingly unhygienic as are the assorted snotty and unwashed orphans who we bought soap for (they say their clothes but their bodies could do with some too) and Jabber who being handed round lots now has snot and a febrile illness. We took the said yellow shirted youngsters to the ‘green bar’, us for a beer and them for some supper, bits of beef an egg and injera.* A v .large plate polished off in record time and some cokes, only full fat is available. The bar is fairly empty but Man U are playing in another time zone so those with satellite dishes (which also represent those roué enough to have a beer in public and afford it) are not there. Perhaps we can persuade a fan club to donate some orphans football shirts in various sizes.
*Injera is the Ethiopian staple which I may have described before. It looks like a dirty grey flannel and tastes sour and has an unpleasant chewy texture – I have not chewed flannels but I suspect……
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