"Thanks" Giving dinner.....

I have to brag on the most awesome people I've ever had the good fortune to be mixed up with...

We are taken to our clinical site by MAF who are, by far, the best group of people I've been blessed to run across.

There I was...stranded in the middle of a 3rd world country....during the most coveted gluttonous holiday in the US. No ride, no family, nothing....Out of nowhere, my buddy John (one of MAF's pilots and our IT specialist) asked if Max and I would like to come over and have Thanksgiving with them. Without sounding too desperate and excited at the prospect of having my first real meal in a month, I happily accepted.

Without going too in depth, it was about one of the best times I've ever had. We had about 40 people (adults and kids) and more food than I'd seen in a long time. I was so maladjusted to eating that I was almost full after the appetizers. By the end of it, I was pretty sure I had done some internal damage, but it was soooo worth it.

Afterward, we went back to Johns and hung out, watched movies, played guitar, swapped pictures, and had some really great conversations.

Again, be breadth and depth of the generosity of all the folks at MAF (especially John and Marilyn) was endless, and I am truly grateful. Much like my family's move from Alaska, more often than not, the best times were had due to the unceasing kindness of our friends and family.

As I have said before, the doors are always open at our house if you find yourself weary of traveling and in need of a reprieve.

Exodus

We had a truck...they told me they had seen it, it was running...I saw it. Then I got that feeling. Like something wasn't right. Like I'd been in the Congo too long to take anything for granted. I told my interpreter to go check on the truck. He protested. I told him to go check anyway.

An hour later he returned to tell me that not only was the primary truck broken beyond repair (FUBAR) but the Bishop's private vehicle (which we reserved as back up) was no where to be found. 30 minutes before the plane was supposed to land, we decided to cut our losses.

Max and I gathered all our personal belongings and tethered them to the back of the 100cc Yamaha motos and made for the airstrip. Imagine this if you will...

2 white guys....driving through droves of congolese as school let out....with the back of the bikes loaded with bags and guitars and cases.....taking a 30 minutes exceptionally slow trip to meet the incoming plane.

Needless to say we were not low profile.

We met our replacements with the bad news. In fact, it was so bad, that they thought it was a joke. Sad to say, when reality hit, no one was laughing. With over a dozen boxes, 2 people, personal bags, and assorted items, there was no humor to be had....

I reflected on that as the plane lifted off....so sad...I cried a little inside...ok, maybe not, I was out of there....and it was sweet.......

Resolution to a previous post...

I found out what the thief (see post Jungle Justice) was assaulted over....are you ready....get this...

6 DOLLARS...thats right! Six dollars, it's not a typo! That's 3,000 Congolese Francs!

Man, keep your hand outta the cookie jar around this place!

Branhamites and motorbikes

Have any of you ever heard of William Branham? All you Kentuckians better raise your hands, he was born there! Anyway, there's this group called the Branhamites who are disciples of....that's right, W. Branham. Well, we had been 'advised' that there were Branhamites in Kole (of all places!!) and that we were to steer clear. COME ON! That's like telling a little kid (good comparison) that a house is haunted and to stay away. So what did I do? Naturally, I invited them to the house!

Now, before you go all crazy (and no, I didn't get converted, I don't think) I did my due diligence and researched this whole deal to see what the hubbub was all about. If you want to do a neat experiment, Google the word 'Branhamites' and count how many times the word 'cult' comes up. By the way, they don't refer to themselves as 'Branhamites', at least not outwardly, there as a bunch of different names. Anyway, there were some concerns from the powers that be (my bosses, not God) that they were operating in the area and were an issue. They confessed that they had little to no direct info so it was best to play it safe. Well, DANGER is my middle name, though my nick name is 'special ed'.

Like I said, they seemed like a nice bunch so I had them over for a chat. 2 guys showed up carrying a book. Why is there always a book? And no, it was NOT the Bible. It was Branham's notes on the Bible. They gave me the low down on the church, number of members, locations, how they are financed (supposedly), etc. etc. For a mysterious group they were pretty forthcoming. I passed on the info to the 'Powers' who demanded that I reveal my source! Though admittedly not that dramatic, it was more like, "Who told you that?!" I laid out the [ahem] story of how I came into these tidings (sans the invitation) and they were content for the time being.

I'll keep this next one short.

So we were running drastically short on patients and would be out by the time the next group got here if we didn't find more. So one of the guides and I saddled up the bikes and took off for Gengwa, where most of our patients had come from (see map below). After a tortuous 4 hours and 85km, we finally pulled into the local health clinic to discover there were NO patients. In fact no one had seen a monkeypox patient in about a month.

But amazingly...what they did have...were villagers with leprosy! How many people in the course of a career in nursing actually get to see leprosy, in person? While I felt truly sorry for the patients, I couldn't help the fascination with seeing them up close and touching them (with gloves). I couldn't imagine what an entire colony of people affected with this disease must have been like....unbelievable. After I had finished interviewing the staff we (dreadfully) headed back. Imagine driving from Fredrick to DC and back...on a motocross track. Fun you say? Ever see saddle burn from a motorcycle? Not pretty!

Bottom of the 9th, bases loaded....

Sweat is burning my eyes as I look for the signal.....

at least that's what it feels like, in my own head. I'm 5 days from leaving (not including today) and 8 days from being home...and this will NOT be going into extra innings!! We found out today, in typical Kole style, that the truck which is to bring us to the airstrip and our replacements and all the gear in, has broken down. Let me get into some specifics so you can appreciate the gravity of this event.

We have 2 people with their personal bags, 14 large boxes, and 2 large canisters of liquid nitrogen that need to travel 11 kilometers over some of the worst road/trail conditions you can imagine. Additionally, and arguably more importantly, we have 3 people and their personal belongings to get out!! The only conveyance we have available is 4 motorcycles and a bicycle....someone is going to have a REALLY long day!! More on that as it develops.

I haven't told Teresa that my camera (actually her camera) is broken beyond repair....Sorry you had to find out this way babe! So none of my pictures or video from the last 2 weeks will be up until after I get home. Before you say.."Hey Rhett, why don't you just take the card out and put it in your computer?"...HA! I say..I thought of that, but these African ants have gotten into my computer and disabled it. Before any of you questions my sanity (which may be somewhat warranted) you haven't seen these things. They get into EVERYTHING..and they love electronics. Think I'm fibbing, maybe exaggerating to sound all cool and exotic (also a possibility), I have a witness. He has seen them coming in and out of my computer shortly before it died. Teresa already knows about this, still sorry though ;)

So no camera, no computer (except the work one), no vehicle. I've learned that it is better not to ask "What else can go wrong". I'm afraid to get that answer.

On another note, we have been so starved for entertainment that one of most common saying to be heard here is.."Hey come see what the [insert animal here] is doing!!!"

We watched a battle royale between a chicken and a duck yesterday. After 5 minutes the duck had him and, I believe, was going for the kill until Gaston saw it and PUNTED the duck across the yard. He was obviously baffled by our frowny faces and protests. With a dumbfounded (and somewhat disgusted) look on his face, he went back inside and Max and I went looking for more entertainment. It didn't take long...

One of the chickens had gotten in the house. Now, the sane person would what? RIGHT...shoo them out, but the person desperate for amusement would call his buddy and shut all the doors so the chicken can't get out. One of the perks of having a veterinarian as a roommate is that they know some really funny things to do with animals... You ever hypnotize a chicken? Well if you answered 'NO', youll ahve to wait until I post the video...SORRY!


...and here comes the pitch......

Jungle Justice

I know, it sounds like a bad Steven Seagal Movie...

Anyway, at 0445, I was roused by the sounds of yelling (yet again) outside. Thinking it was another funeral procession (we average about 1-2 a week) I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. This sounded different though....more primal...guttural...and somewhat festive. I decided to investigate further.

As I approached the front door I could tell this was most definitely NOT a death (unless the person was exceedingly unpopular). No, this was bordering on a riot. I opened the door to see throngs of angry villagers yelling and taunting and though my Lingala (local vernacular) borders on non-existence, I clearly got the gist of what was happening. Someone had been busted.

I watched as the crowd enveloped a lone soul who was dragged out onto the street from behind a house. I could barely make out the form which was now on the ground being sequentially pummeled in a grisly 'round robin'. After about 20 minutes the figure was lifted up and carried off to the police chief's house (also the courthouse and penitentiary). After talking to some of the people in the crowd, I found out he was a thief they caught red-handed.

What he got caught doing, no one could tell me. Everyone seemed satisfied with his castigation though, despite the lack of details.

Now, I could have said.."I stood around and watched some guy get his a** kicked today", but where's the fun in that?

I also thought of a riddle...

Q - What's black and blue and lumpy all over?

A - That guy..

I told that little gem to the lab staff but they didn't seem to get it. I’d better stick to my day job..

The Right Thing..

I debated heavily whether I was going to write about this. The only person outside of Kole who knows about it is Teresa. My reluctance is born in part from the fear that I'd come off stinking of self glorification. The other part from knowing somewhere, someone will possibly be waiting to rake my butt over the coals for it.

I decided that, in the right context, I'll neither sound self promoting nor guilty of 'breaking the rules'.

Growing up, as most kids do, I would ask my dad for advice (or a solution) for problems that I had. Invariably, his answer was, "Do what you think is right".
It used to drive me nuts. At some point in my (pseudo) adult life, I came to understand what he meant. This was one of those times.

I was finishing up reading malaria slides in the lab when our project physician, Gaston, asked if I could come help and draw some blood from a sick 4 day old that was a really difficult stick. I told him I'd be happy to have a look. I grabbed a few supplies just in case I saw a vein I liked.

After walking through the maternity ward we came to the last bed and I walked up on what I would have though was a corps of a newborn. He was as yellow as a gold brick from jaundice and as dehydrated as I've ever seen. There was a gaggle of nurses and docs standing around as I made for the bedside. Understandably, the mother was frantic and crying hysterically, making the perception of heat, humidity, and pressure even more intense as I examined the lethargic infant.

He barely squeaked as I moved him around looking for any indication of a vessel with fluid in it. I saw one that looked promising in his left arm so I pulled out the smallest needle I had (which also happened to be the longest, further upsetting the mother)and pierced his dry, wrinkled, jaundiced skin. I was able to get it into the vein, like tapping a maple tree, and let the blood flow out and drip into the purple top tube.

After running the blood, the staff decided he was in need of a transfusion or he wouldn't make it through the night. They typed and cross matched his blood (see my previous post for the other part of the story) only to find out he was A positive, and the only donors available were AB and B type. Since there is no way to store blood here, it is donated and transfused in real time, on demand.

After Gaston, told me what was going on I knew, without hesitation, what I was about to do. I told him, if he'll clear it with the staff, they could take it from me.

Military guys always know their blood type, mine is A positive.

After about 30 seconds of discussion, one of the lab technicians came up to me with what looked like a garden hose in his hand and asked me to roll up my sleeve.

The baby was transfused throughout the night.

The next morning Gaston and I went straight to the maternity ward to check on the patient. Remarkably, most of his color had returned and he was feeding. The previous weeks of relentless frustration had disappeared and I felt like I could absorb any problems and deal with it.

Now what, you ask, are you making a fuss about? Well, a few things came to mind after it was all over. Technically, I was practicing in a foreign country, without local clearance, aside from the staff, who were grateful. But gratitude won't pay for legal expenses were something to happen. Also, I let someone stick a needle (a very large needle) into my arm in the middle of the jungle, in a country where HIV, hepatitis, and a host of other blood born diseases are significantly higher risks than most other places. What if my blood had caused a reaction in the patient, despite screening it prior to transfusing it? I could go on, but you get the idea.

So why was my knee-jerk reaction to make the decisions I did? Why did I stick that kid? Why did I drop a pint of blood? What was I thinking?

My only defense is simply, I did what I thought was right.

It was a pretty good day and I'm not losing any sleep over it.

When it rains..

In the Congo, when it rains, it floods. This pattern not only follows the weather (currently the rainy season here) but is applicable to most aspect of daily life.

It starts with clouds rolling in, which for us is problematic because we run predominately on solar power. So its time to fire up the generator. Well, easier said than done when your triple filtered fuel looks like mud.

Then the clouds darken and the wind howls. The power inverter decides it doesn't like the volts and hertz being delivered by the generator and refuses to connect. The power system drops as you run critical labs and database functions.

Then it begins to lightning and thunder....see my previous post for a demonstration. You watch helplessly as the power is sucked from the system which the Congolese lab is now connected to because their labs power tapped out hours ago and there is a baby that needs a blood transfusion or he'll die.

Suddenly, rain lands like a waterfall on the roof of the tiny exhaust filled room you've been in for the last hour. Frantically, you begin to weigh your options and begin running a full system sweep.

Just as it begins to really come down, the internet goes haywire and all connections are lost. The power is getting critically low and the entire grid is about to shut down. Nothing on the inverter or network systems hints as to what is causing this nightmare. What do you do?

Break out the tools and begin taking everything apart looking for the problem. You shut off all non-critical systems (satellite uplink, lights, freezers, fans, etc.)and hope there is just enough power to get through the next 30 minutes while they type and cross the blood and the Polymerase Chain Reaction equipment is cycling. The rain comes harder and you are soaked from running back and forth between the lab and the electric room.

What was once sand has now become submerged muck which has been tracked onto every square inch of the floor you are now crawling on in order to run the miles of wire and cable connecting all the electronics to the power grid and the battery bank. The possibility of getting electrocuted briefly enters your mind.

By a stroke of luck, nothing seems out of place. This means the only thing left is the generator. Unfortunately, the other 3 generators in the room are incompatible. You you reach out to it off and decide if taking it apart in the rain is really a good idea. The rain is hitting the side of your face due to the wind. The good news is you're not asphyxiating on fumes at the moment and can think a little more clearly.

Just as your plan of action solidifies and you touch the off switch, it sputters, kicks, and dies. NOT NOW! Having been here prevoiusly, you knew all to well what that death roll meant, the fuel filter has clogged. You deftly reach the filter plug and begin to rotate it while catching minor contact burns from the engine. After a little negotiating, the filter, and a pile of oily muck, drop out. You hold it out and let the rain do the work of cleaning the filter. After the bulk is washed away, you apply a little manual air pressure and blow on it to release the rest of the obstruction and reinsert it finally replacing all the components. It fires up as if it was brand new...beautiful.

Before you complete you mental victory lap, you remember that there is still another, larger issue and power it down. As you unplug the main line from the generator, you notice it is a little hot and discolored. On a whim, you decide to take it apart and give it a better look. The rain lightens ever so slightly.

Dumb luck is better than no luck at all. The hot wire has overheated the connection and separated from the plug. Pulling the necessary tools to repair the line, you yell at the lab to hold all operations for 5 minutes while you cut, strip, and reconnect the lines. 4 1/2 minutes later, you yell back to resume everything, start the generator, and flip the switch....everything begins to hum as the grid lights up; it feels like Christmas came early.

You sit down and look at the mess you'll have to spend the next 3 hours cleaning up. Satisfied, you look outside and notice the rain has stopped.....for now.

Chicken Little

What can I say...the sky WAS falling. Enjoy!


If you look at the 4 and 38 second frames, you can see how close it is..

I Have A Dream

They are starting again…

Nuclear war had ensued; I actually saw the mushroom clouds. There were burned out buildings, very Mad Max. The strange thing was I still had to take Rylyn to school. And she was late.

The other one I was going to my buddy Brian’s house. I called him from my parent’s house to say I’m going to be late. He said ‘You haven’t even left yet have you?” Then, I WOKE UP…looked at my watch, WENT BACK TO SLEEP, and told him I’ll be there at 9. It was four hours after the time I has seen on my watch, the exact amount of time it would take me to get to his house from my parents’.

The Incinerator Incident

How hard is it, really? Put trash in, add gas, light match, clean out when done, repeat. I EVEN WROTE IT DOWN!!!! IN FRENCH!!!! I GAVE A CLASS ON IT!!! COME ON!!!
I was warned before coming out that there were issues with the incinerator. They said I wouldn’t be happy; they TRIED to fix it, but saw it was no use.
I had no words when I saw it (none I can repeat here). Apparently, the hospital staff had been skipping the final, and most critical step, of ‘clean out when done’. So they would make clandestine trips to put trash in the incinerator, WITHOUT cleaning, burn, and put more on top, and burn, and CONTINUE to pile it on. Until finally, it was overflowing with biomedical, hazardous, waste. Needles, bloody bandages, broken glass, EVERYTHING, ALL OVER THE PLACE…..I was not in a good place, mentally, and I lost it.
I called a ‘senior staff’ meeting to find out what in the h**l had been going on. The sisters told me the staff FORGOT how to use it …..REALLY??!!!!! They were glad I was back so I could fix it, and by that, they meant clean it out, REBURN the partially burned refuse, and construct yet ANOTHER pit for the sterile waste. Back to square one.
I thought about it for a minute, and said NO. Not only was I NOT going to fix it, I offered to level it and take the barrel back to the house. Needless to say, the nuns, well, everyone was taken aback. I laid it out for them….if they were incapable of maintaining a metal barrel for burning trash, it wasn’t worth my time to fix it just to have it return to this state after I left. I suggested an alternative. They get THEIR staff to clean it and I’ll do some remedial training. After explaining that it was the hospitals equipment and they needed to take ownership and not rely on outside people to keep it going, they took my point, begrudgingly. We'll see how it goes.

What Happened!!??

For those of you who are a bit more…’mature’…or who grew up in the South, you will get the following reference. Did you ever watch the Andy Griffith Show, and then you saw it go from black and white to color, then to that terrible Mayberry RFD? And you were like, this stinks, I liked it better the old way, well, that’s what it is like here. Everybody is different, attitudes mostly. I don’t know what went down over the last 6 months but it was catastrophic. Not so many friendly villagers, the staff is all wrapped around the axle about something, and worst of all, I can’t find ANY of the coffee supplies I left here.
The food, don’t even get me started! No more cool, exotic entrees, it is rice, beans, fish, and corned beef. THAT’S IT! I have gotten the sense that, more so than usual, people are being more demanding of us. More free stuff, more batteries, money, etc., etc. It has gotten to the point where I had to physically remove someone from my front porch because he couldn’t get past NO! after 20 minutes. It was the little old guy I gave the cowboy hat to. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like it one bit..

Back in the Saddle

Well, where to start….

True to my word, I found my way back, though much earlier than I had intended. As it happened, they needed someone who had been here before to cover since there were two of us coming out this time. This time, well, everything is different. I’ll get into that in another post, sufficed to say it has drastically altered my fun factor. No crazy incidents on the way over, no people pretending to be medical missionaries, no crazy nights in foreign cities, no oompaloompas (see my 2^nd entry for reference), nothing. In fact, I contemplated creating a scene just so I had something to entertain me (I’m perpetually 5 years old). The only thing remotely interesting that happened was sharing a booth with some random stranger at an airport bar while waiting to get a beer, even he was boring!

After an unceremonious arrival to Kole, I was greeted briefly by the two people we were replacing. Most of their time was spent yelling and getting their luggage on the plane as fast as they could. I got a “Hey, glad you’re here, I’ll email you the details later, bye!” From there it was back to the house to settle in..

And now.... for the final conclusion (for now)

I have a million excuses for not finishing, basically I was lazy and a poor steward to those of you who took the time to read the dribble on these pages.

I'm posting my last entry from the previous trip below and will work on getting caught up....there are some things I need to get off my chest....get ready, the story is about to take a turn.

Going.....Going......GONE!!

I’ve spent the last 3 days sitting in a hotel in Kinshasa, reflecting on what an amazing experience the previous six weeks has been. Realizing I’ve been able to go places, meet people, and do things most will never do (especially in my job), and for that, I feel truly fortunate. The last week in Kole had ended so abruptly, I barely realized it was over as I observed the lush expanse of dense tropical foliage pass from ten thousand feet above. As my final few days closed in, the people I had lived and worked with for the last month and a half had stopped me at every chance to say ‘good bye’ and ‘thank you’ though the pleasure was definitely all mine. We had exchanged gifts after the other crew arrived with supplies from the states and though I think they felt the same, I believe I received undeservedly greater endowments. Most of my time was spent getting my two proxies exposed to the duties and routines and I felt like I was neglecting my social responsibilities.

The lab staff had pulled me aside and took turns delivering sentiments that made leaving all that more cheerless but made me more grateful to have been out here. I felt like a veteran of the Congo as the new arrivals looked on in disbelief at some of the things that I first marveled at, and still do. I caught myself saying trite phrases like ‘oh yeah, it does that all the time’ and ‘yeah, you’ll see a lot of that’ or, my favorite…’good question!’ Some things just defied explanation…

e.g. “Where does that go?” referring to a mysterious 6 inch pipe in the center courtyard of the hospital, down which EVERYTHING is dumped….EVERYTHING!!!

Some things out here are better left unrequited; you might regret finding the answer!

On the lighter side, we had a rep from the pharma company, Doug, who came out. He was very cool and we hung out most of the time and discussed all manner of issues. He got to go to a ‘Fisherman’s Festival’ at the river and observe demonstrations of different fishing techniques. Then, they motioned to him to go haul a line out of the water, which, on the other end, was attached a crocodile! I was very envious after seeing the pictures. Here less than a week and gets to reel in a crock! Not fair…..

We made a few stops on the way back to Kinshasa. One was to pick up a couple of ailing Swedish Missionaries who were in a very remote village and delivered them to an adjacent parish for care. Then we had to stop and refuel, lest we hike the remainder of the journey.

On a note of personal growth (or sheer stupidity) I have noticed a HUGE difference in my demeanor on my return to the Memling Hotel. I felt relaxed walking the streets downtown and going into the shops and stores, having picked up a decent amount of language and exposure of the culture. I can say I NEVER would have done that when I was here that first night. I debated even coming out of my room for food. Now, I have been walking around, eating at the local cantinas and bickering with street merchants. We have been out working in the counterpart to USAMRIID here waiting for our flight and when we were short a vehicle to return to our hotel, we commandeered a WHO (World Health Organization) truck. Didn’t think they’d miss it for a few hours. I decided I’d have a better vantage point if I rode back in the bed of the pick-up. I will say there aren’t many cowboy hat sporting white guys here, so I drew a little attention. Doug said I looked like the spitting image movie stereotype of an undercover CIA agent trying to ‘blend in’. Obviously not so covert if I looked like that, but no worries.

I’ll be back home in about 48 hours, and I’m already scheming for my second tour.

Alas, we meet again...

A few technical issues and other odd occurrences have arisen over the past few days and I am able to sit and catch up. I have surmised that the internet, maybe technology as a whole, hates me, and entertains itself by going to extreme lengths to belittle and enrage me. At least, that's how I see it. The other possibility is that I have been here too long, ingesting things my body can't cope with properly, and I'm on my way to senility a bit early.
Either way, it prevents me from sleeping, I think. At the risk of having a mental health professional meet me at the plane instead of my family, I wanted to give you a little taste, a morsel, of what happens inside my head every night when I close my eyes at the end of the day.

I have recurring dreams about:

1. My teeth falling out. I attribute this to the random bits of bone that accompany most meals. They look suspiciously dental in nature and I rigorously check my grill (teeth for the non-gangsters) for missing parts. None thus far, but the dreams get more and more traumatic.

2. Breaking bones. This is pretty routine and I'll attach it to the string of near misses I've had.

3. Eating stewed people heads. They were looking at me as I carved off a slice. Not so routine and a bit unnerving. I'll spare the graphic details, but I woke up in a cold sweat remembering the taste.

4. Watching a TV show...in real life. This one is harder to explain. If you can imagine watching a sitcom from inside the TV, like sitting on Seinfeld's couch instead of your own while you were watching it, something like that. That little episode raised questions as to what and how many pills I was taking when I called home after waking up at 3am. None.

5. Well.......I'm not going there. Needless to say, they are frequent and frustrating.

6. Probably the most interesting and the one likely to buy me a straight jacket and some tranquilizers was meeting my "Spiritual Guide". I know what you are thinking....who has the number to the in-patient ward....Let me delve into this one.
So after running through an amalgam of disambiguated scenes, I come to this....
Samuel L. Jackson sitting yoga style on a cloud (or mist, I wasn't sure). His eyes were closed, deep in thought, peaceful. Slowly, he looks at me, I can see his eyes focus and adjust to the light. He opens his mouth to speak, but the voice that comes out is not his, it is Bruce Lee's. I'm stunned. So I have Sam Jackson talking to me with Bruce Lee's voice. It's not like an overdub, it's natural. So he proceeds to tell me that he is my Spiritual Guide and he is laying a plan I am to follow...
"I want you to stay in the Army for 3 more years, you will go to Egypt and__"(I can't remember). He also proceeds to tell me to be good to people and a few other gems that escape me now. The only reason I remember the beginning is because (I think) I shot straight up out of bed and jotted it down. I found it on the floor when I woke up a few hours later.

So Bruce Jackson, Samuel L. Lee, whatever incarnate name you want to give him, visited me in my sleep and told me what the plan is.

What am I supposed to do with that?

The hour is nigh.....

Man oh man...my replacements will be here in 2 days, I'll be home in 2 weeks!
Don't misunderstand me, I've had a great time here, and hope to return, but I've grown weary of being the sideshow, the mendele, the osuku. I haven't eaten a meal, not one single meal, where some one (usually kids) doesn't park in front of the house and gawk. After I try to ignore them for a few minutes, they usually proceed to taunt me until I look up. Once they have my attention, they call for their friends, and the ritual repeats. I've taken to learning a few....stern...phrases in about 4 different languages. This guarantees that when I yell them consecutively, at least one is understood. If that doesn't work, our 'security' guy (he lives in the hut behind me) will chase them with a stick. I don't know that he has ever caught one, or could. I just need a break.

I've been busy tying up loose ends, working out as many problems as possible, and compiling what amounts to "The Idiot's Guide to Running A Remote Clinical Site". I'm attempting to mitigate the torrent of emails which will follow my departure so I can enjoy my leave in quiet. I think I'm reaching.....

I have done almost everything there is to do here, twice, with the exception of going on a hunt. I had arranged one, then found out it was on less than level terms and would have to be clandestine. Usually I'm all for that, but seeing as we could only get 2 bullets for the gun and would be going 80km into the jungle (away from everything), and if intercepted would need large amounts of cash to buy off the locals, officials, and other hunter, I opted out. I think everyone was relieved.

I did go about 90km (one way) to remote villages to look for patients. We were in a dry spell at the project. After finding a few, we reached the last village. For our troubles (we also delivered a tribal emissary), the chief gave us a chicken. He rode back strapped to the back of my bike (WHAT? Was I supposed to carry him?) and did NOT have a good time. I think it may have had a tenderizing effect because he was scrumptious!

Bored, I spent a day looking for the tallest structure in Kole so I could climb it. To my amazement, there was a 8-10 story (best guess) water tower by the catholic mission. So, I climbed it. My translator declined the offer to join me. True to form, someone noticed me, and a riot ensued. The crowd thinned out after I refused to descend and only a few onlookers were left. They decided to do a dance for me(see below)....strange.

Congolese Idol....

OK, not so much. But folks here LOVE to sing and dance (more so during the wee hours of the morning it seems).
The first video is of the people at the water tower. They almost fainted when I showed them the playback. I think it may have been the first time they had seen themselves on video..

The second was from 'Donors Day', where they celebrate and honor all the people who give blood. It was neat.....for the first 3 hours. As an honorary guest, I was placed front row center, with no hope for escape. I was accosted when I got up but explained if I didn't go pee, I'd pass out. Skeptical, they let me go. After I returned, I endured another hour and had to wake up the lower half of my body. I think I may also have some mild hearing loss. Enjoy!


They laid on that bullhorn for hours!

Best comeback EVER!

I laughed about this for an hour.... Every morning, as I get to work; I'm greeted by the groundskeeper who is this little 60 year-old man (though he looks 80). Every morning, I say 'Bonjour', and he says something back, and I say 'Oui, d'accord' (Yes, ok) So finally I ask my interpreter, what he is saying every morning.

T'shikala: He says to give him money.
Me: What, THAT's what he says every morning (now realizing the error of my response!)
T'shikala: Yes, and your cowboy hat.
Me: What, is he going to rob me? [laughing]
T'shikala: He says you have more.
Me: [joking] Tell him I can't, my wife spends it all!
T'shikala: He says ok, tell your wife to send him money!


***For having the best comeback ever, I'm sending him a cowboy hat!

Romancing the Stone...

Imagine I'm telling this story after a few beers, it'll be funnier...


So this guy came into the hospital the other day. Apparently, he was working in Lodja in the diamond mine and swallowed a rock the size of the the Hope Diamond (so he says) in an attempt to smuggle it out.....Well he starts getting belly pain, go figure, and wants the sister to excise that betty. So they take an x-ray, nothing! But he's in pain so they fillet his ass, still nothing! Then after he recovered, he demands his booty! When the sisters turn out empty pockets, he flips the script and goes, of all places, to the POLICE! He re-lives the adventure and his narrow escape (Indiana Jones style) and at the end of the tale, they arrest him!

THEN, he accuses the sisters of pinching the rock while he was under the knife, David Copperfield style! So the prosecutor wants the sister to alakazam and appear in Lodja, effectively shutting down the hospital. They say 'no dice' (exact words!) and he is heading here. What’s amazing is that they are entertaining this idiot that 'stole' the stone!


He probably lost it when he released the chocolate hostages!

Not this big, but you get the idea!

A visit to the Chief

I took a ride to go see the Provincial Chief yesterday. It was the first time many of the villagers had see a 'mendele', white person, so I drew a bit of a crowd...and scared some of the kids. We sat in his hut for 2 hours talking while waiting for the afternoon deluge to pass. I was courted by several ladies, though they were either 13 or 80 (see the picture). One of the older ladies started yelling at a young man and I asked what she was going on about. My translator told me that she was saying "See, you make fun of me for wearing a tank top when this big man from America is wearing one!" Not sure how I felt about that! This picture was taken about 20 minutes before I drove my bike off of an 8 foot washout after getting a face full of mud. I made out better than the bike with only a few scrapes. We hauled the bike out and continued home, a little beat up and a lot dirtier....

Say What?

“How fat is your wife?”

Sorry!?

“She must be fat, you live in the U.S.”

[laughing] No, she’s not..

“Oh, don’t you have a lot of food?”

Conversations with the provincial Chief

Two things to note, the term fat is relative when an entire population is hurting for food and you eat whatever you can get you hands on, also, since there is a lot of food in the US, we must eat all the time….why wouldn’t you?

My Alarm Clock

True story (at least what my doc told me), most people here don't own watches. They rely on the roosters to let them know what time of day it is. Creepy!
0500 -Time to get up
1000 -Don't know
1200 -Lunch
1500 -Work's over
1700 -Dinner

Like clockwork, EVERY DAY! I hate them!!!!

Talking politics

“Here in the Congo, we want either Clinton or Obama to win.”

What about McCain?

“This is the Democratic Republic of the Congo, not Republican”

-conversations with my Congolese doc

Congo Communication Lesson #3

Dealing with merchants...

• Is that ivory?
• Yes, you like?
• Yes, but I can't buy it.
• Yes you can, I sell it to you.
• No, it's illegal.
• Yes, you can buy it.
• NO I CAN'T! I will get arrested
• Yes
• YES!? I don't want to go to jail...CUSTOMS...ILLEGAL..I cant take it home.
• But you can still buy.....
• What am I supposed to do with it then....
• Go to jail?

Touché. Score one for circular reasoning....

Congo Communication Lesson #2

Related to the chicken episode:

• T'shikala!!!! Stop the bike!!!!
• What is the problem?
• I ran over a chicken!
• WHAT!? OH NO!
• Is that bad?
• (turning white)YOU RAN OVER SOME CHILDREN!!!!
• NO!!!! A chicken....bock bock...(imitating poultry)
• OH! No problem!

Congo Communication Lesson #1

Conversation Between Paul and one of the locals....

Paul: (pointing to the sling women carry babies in) Hey, you think I could buy one of those, I know someone who'd like one.

Local: (looking kind of astounded) Yes, I suppose. You will have problems with customs, but if you really want one.....

Paul: (confused) Really?

Turns out they thought Paul wanted to purchase what was IN the sling!!

Run through the jungle....

I went on a 50km trek the other day that would make some of the X-Games moto freaks envious. It started off that we were going to negotiate the release of some ice cold beers (for cold hard cash) that were being unjustly detained and abused (not being ingested) by local militia (police) a few villages over.
We ended up driving until dusk going village to village. I had a rockstar welcome at each stop, people screaming and waving and chasing the bikes, surreal. My guide, Jean Pierre, would pull over, tell be the name of the village, give me a chance to take pictures, and we'd take off.
Unfortunately, I ran out of battery before I could take really good video on the trails. Most which however, required both hands on the moto....

Short and sweet

I've gotten notice that I am..and I quote, "a bit wordy" in my posts.
I've decided to swallow my foolish pride (that I can write) and try something new. I know most of you, myself included, may not have the time and/or attention span to stay engaged with the blog. So I'm distilling it down and adding pictures/video. Like a pop up book. If you like it, let me know. If you don't like it, let me know. Whatever you say, I'm pretty much gonna do what I want, but I'll be thinkin' about 'cha!

All the best!

Why did the chicken cross the road?

It didn't.....it made it about half way before I hit it with my bike...oops!

What was I supposed to do!? I was going 85 kmh in the sand.....

I worked it out with the locals, turns out they were gonna eat it soon anyway. It was, however, the first time they'd seen a chicken fly in a while!

Medicine Men....

I went on rounds today with the Doc who I work with. It was an eye opening experience. I'll spare the graphic details but rest assured, you should wake up every day and be thankful that when you get sick, you are seen in the US.....
After some in depth conversations, I have made arrangements to go see the local medicine man and talk to him. Curiosity got the best of me and I wanted to see how he treats his patients. Turns out that almost everyone goes to see him first then, when all else fails, they come to the hospital. He basically 'prescribes' some herbal remedies and 'homeopatic' treatments to 'cure' whatever is ailing the patient. As many of the remedies contain the natural form of several drugs (atropine, caffeine, penicillin) this can compound the issues with the patient. Also, he charges five times as much!
Another big issue I'm attempting to tackle is the waste disposal problem. Right now, all medical waste (blood, sharps, etc.) is thrown in a big pit and lit on fire about one a week. The problem is obvious. We have found kids playing in it many times and taking the contaminate trash to play with. I got the blessing of the Sisters to build an incinerator to handle the biomedical waste. Despite my significant experience burning things as a kid (sorry mom and dad!) I'm finding that constructing an appropriate device which reaches high temperatures is taking a little extra studying on my part.

Wish me luck (more so with the medicine man than the incinerator!)......

Death is a loud and scary thing...

Allow me to set the scene...
It's 0500...
Barely dawn....
An impervious mist cloaks the street
It's completely silent (except the rooster, I've gotten used to it)...
I'm sleeping peacefully in a pool of my own sweat....

Then, screaming breaks the silence!
I shoot up, attempt to gain my bearing, put my shoes on, and run to the window....
I can't see anyone yet, but the screaming has awoken the village...
I put on a shirt and step out onto the porch.....
Through the mist, down the road, the screaming gets louder...I'm getting concerned.

Then, as if making an entrance from behind a curtain, people appear. They are crying, yelling, chanting unintelligible things (my French isn't that good), and they are getting closer.

Luckily, I was prepared for this and had an idea of what was happening. I had previously learned that when someone dies, it borders on what seems like mass hysteria. There is a complete cultural opposite here. As most Americans are brought up to hold back, show solace quietly, and contain their feelings as they can; here, they have 10 days of outward grieving to mourn the dead followed by a celebration on the eve of the 10^th day to commemorate their life.

I watched in astonishment as two dozen people ambled by, carrying the body of the decease (a well known and well liked tailor) wrapped in an ornate blanket to his village 5 km down the road. All told, about 100 people marched past, crying and yelling and singing and clapping all the way.

Las Malades (the patients)…..

So I got comments that I have neglected to mention what I’m doing here (aside from what seems like a vacation) and what the hospital and patients are like. Despite my profuse writing about EVERYTHING else, I do have an actual function here.

My job: Clinical Research Site Coordinator

The disease: Monkeypox

The research: Characterization of monkeypox in humans

Ok, I know what you’re thinking…what does that mean...

My job is to maintain the research site, track the patients from enrollment to discharge, observe physical exams, supervise lab operations, run patient labs to a limited extent, scan a god awful amount of paperwork, and put out fires. At times I feel like a glorified maintenance man, which means everything is running smooth.

The patients we have run the gamut of demographics, male, female, infants, elderly, you name it. Some have only mild disease while others have severe symptoms which are crippling. Monkeypox falls into the same family as smallpox, which is why it is of interest. It is virtually clinically indistinguishable (though we are noticing otherwise here) and since smallpox has been ‘eradicated’, provides an excellent model for characterization and possible treatment. The virus progresses after initial contact (1-2 weeks) from headache, back ache, fever, and swollen lymphnodes to a rash. The rash has stages from a macule, papule, pustule, then they get crusty, scab over, and fall off. Patients can have a few spots or so many that the almost run together into what is called confluent lesions (one giant lesion). We have a 2 year old who is close to that and it is heartbreaking. His mother bathes him and he howls from the sores (they are painful). That being said, he smiles every time I show up with a jolly rancher.

Unfortunately, like smallpox and other orthopox viruses, there is no treatment or cure. This is the central issue, if you can analyze it, track its progression and symptoms, you can pave the way for treatment. The good news is that monkeypox is not as lethal as smallpox was, though the disease can appear as appalling. The patients stay at the monkeypox ward to separate them from the rest of the patients, but they come and go as they please.

Naturally, you’d think monkeypox comes from…..survey says…..monkeys! Well, I’d give you partial credit, but you failed to show your work! It turns out that that squirrels and a few other rodents carry it, as do prairie dogs. There was an outbreak in the US. Don’t believe me? Google it, then it has to be true, right? It is (as we can tell) transmitted by coming in contact with and/or eating dead or dying animals. This is problematic here, as a dead animal is seen by many as a gift from God. The carcass is promptly collected and taken home and prepared and served. WARNING: PERSONAL OPINION – From talking to the staff here and what I’ve seen, this is common with the kids. They will go out, play in the forest or hunt, and retrieve the remains of an animal. Education is a huge issue to curtail outbreaks.

Ok, so now you know. Go forth and share the wealth. Knowing is half the battle (I miss GI Joe!)

1 is NOT the loneliest number…..

Amidst concerns of my impending solitude, I will tell you I have not spent one single meal alone. I have made friends with everyone here involved in the study, won over many of the locals by delivering promised goods, and have a gaggle of kids following me to and from work everyday saying “goody morning” and giving me high-fives, and the occasional “give me money” (my personal favorite as I imagine Rylyn will be saying that soon!)

I traveled to the river to go fishing (What, you thought I’d pass up the opportunity to fish in the Congo?!) and produced nothing but a snagged line and a new group of fishing buddies (see picture). There is an ingenious hydroelectric water wheel in the river which feeds the hospital and a very questionable but sturdy bridge along the way. After our failed outing, we decided to go to the source, the Artesian well where everyone gets their fresh water. After a long hot day, we retired to the house where 2 ice cold beers were delivered; nothing I’ve had has tasted sweeter!

The Father, the Nuns, and the Holy Goat…

Now that I have a solid internet connection, I can bring this thing up to speed. Let’s kick it into high gear…

BTW, I’m backdating my posts so they are sequential and not one long rambling thought. Better a bunch of small diatribes, easier to digest, like chapters, right?

So on Sunday, we were invited to the sisters’ house for Paul’s “bon voyage” and my “Welcome to Kole” –I don’t know how to say it in French…don’t start. The whole crew came out. Father Petri (who’s German), the Sisters, (From Spain and Congo), me, and Paul. At that point we had…4 different languages …going at the table, so between the lot of us, I think all understood one another. The dinner was outstanding. They served an awesome fruit salad with mango, passion fruit, bananas, papaya, and pineapple. The main course was goat prepared with an unbelievable sauce. The dinner ended with cake and cream. The curious thing, there is no milk here, and I haven’t seen any eggs….roosters…no eggs…hmmm.

On Tuesday, our pilot/tech guy came out to ameliorate our suffering and fix the network. This was minor compared to the strife and struggle Paul went through, but none the less, it seemed daunting. After several hours, we headed back to the house for some relaxation and rest.

The provincial governor (or deputy) was in town and apparently I made his security force a bit nervous. Going back and forth to the hospital, they made several passes by me, I smiled and said hello, they frowned and said nothing. No harm, no fowl. I will say I was a bit unnerved by the rifles and rocket launcher, which I found a bit excessive and questioned whether it functioned. I wanted to take a picture, but thought better of it, not wanting to learn the answer to my question the hard way.

Wednesday we packed Paul up and rolled out to the airport. John (our pilot) and his wife Marilyn rode in the Rover along with Paul and 2 passengers en route to Kinshasa. Two of us followed on the bikes. Unbeknownst to me, there is an unwritten security policy that states, when traveling to the airfield, you must no go less than 50 km/h and blast the horn the entire time. So, with speeds exceeding breakneck narrowly missing masses of pedestrians, goats, dogs, and debris, we arrived unscathed to a rowdy crowd assembled at the plane. Our ‘security’ person attempted to abate the masses by yelling and wildly swinging a large stick.

We loaded the plane, said out good-byes, chased the goats off the air strip, and headed back to the house.

Business as usual….

This little piggy went to market…..

In the heat and humidity, I’ve lost 8 lbs in my first four days here (211-203). Guess I had a little more spare tissue than I thought. Paul has lost a little over 20 pounds during his 6 week tour here, I think I may exceed that. There is a peculiar syndrome that hits you after a few days here (no it is not Marburg, thanks to whoever voted for that!) It is an insatiable craving for something particular to eat. Paul and I discussed it and thought it may be a combination of fructose (high and regular) corn syrup, salt, trans-fat, and other preservatives found in the food in the states. Whatever it is, you want to eat like 3 or 4 helpings of the meals, but it is futile. And stranger, as much as I eat, I’m still dropping a lot of weight. I know, all you fitness geniuses are saying water weight, which I’d partially agree, but I’m tossing down water like a camel at an oasis.
So about a gallon lighter than when I arrived, I spent part of yesterday securing our fuel. This involves finding the guy who sells gas (there is only one), taking all 11 of the 25L gas cans to him (via motorcycle), inspecting the gas (lots of dirty gas here) and negotiating a price. After that was done we watched him fill the cans (if you don’t you may get a can of water) and proceeded to drive them back to the hospital. During one of the trips, a bungee cord snapped and hit one of the guys in the hand; I jumped up and said “You OK?” The 10 or so little kids behind me thought that was hilarious and began running around saying “OK! OK!” and as we took off from the compound, they ran behind the bike screaming “OK!” When I returned, I was greeting with what I assume is now my name…”OK!” I tried, unsuccessfully, to tell them that Ok was like sa va…no luck. As I kneeled down and tied the last can of petrol to the bike, I could a detect a little ruckus behind me. Despite my inept understanding of the French language, it was unmistakable what was happening. The assembly of pint sized petrol dealers were goading one of their brethren into doing something. It got quiet, and I felt one of the kids run up and rub my hair. With that, they all screamed and ran off. As we departed for the final haul, they all materialized along side the road and waved and screamed “OK!” as we rode by.
Four hours into the day, I was soaked with sweat, caked with dirt, reeked of gas, and having a great time. The guy I was with, who assisted in brokering the petrol, suggested we go to the market and check it out. I agreed and we headed out to the open air bazaar. We stopped at what I swear was an exact replica of the set from Sanford and Son. There were hovels selling every bit and bobble you can imagine. From random bicycle parts, soap (there was lots of it), salt piled on tables, foods of all kinds, and miscellaneous electrical parts to name just a few. The food section was fascinating. They had assortments of fish, some so alien in appearance I questioned their origin. There were live animals for sale, recently departed animals, and…well…roadkill. Truthfully, nothing got to me, that is, until I ran across the indiscriminate monkey parts table. Some portions were unidentifiable (not that it was that important in the grand scheme) others were immediately known. I looked down, agape at an outstretched monkey paw which was disembodied, charred at the end, and had fingers which were protracted as though they were attempting to grasp at something. The aroma of charred flesh and hair coupled with the sight of the bits of mandrill scattered about the stand bought my trip to the market to an end.

I went home, showered, relaxed, and contemplated about what I had seen. Who knows, maybe it tastes like chicken, only one way to find out.....

Here at last…..

I met up with our charter pilot the following morning and after some questionable ‘fees’ to fly out, loaded my gear and departed to go to yet another, distinctly different, jungle. The flight out was really nice as I chatted with the pilot, listened to his i-pod, and slept. We landed in Kole to a rather large crowd of onlookers and ‘official’ looking people. Of course, I was requested to pay a ‘landing fee’ and, of all things, ‘tourism fee’. Paul, whom I’m replacing, was able to negotiate a $15 dollar fee to pay the aforementioned charges and tip the baggage handlers. We loaded our gear and moved out to the lab to drop off the boxes and then to the house.

I will say the atmosphere here is much more laid back than in Kinshasa. There are the occasional people asking for money, but over all, everyone is very nice. I met the Sisters (Nuns) and our lab personnel and began getting my bearing as Paul gave me the layout and began showing me the ropes.

If you think you are hard-core, wait until you see an 80 tear old nun on a motorcycle riding through the jungle....you'll think twice!

The food here is outstanding. It is all fresh (killed or out of the ground) and cooked in palm oil. There is tons of fresh fruit, bananas, passion fruit, pineapples, coconuts, etc.) and I was shown the big stick we use to whack the fruit off the tree with. There are ugly lime type fruits which go very well, sliced or squeezed, in adult beverages. One of the best things (and most recommended) is the pili pili, a hot oil made from a local variety scotch bonnet (habanaro pepper) cooked in palm oil and spices and goes well on everything. So far I’ve had the local chickens, some sort of giant sardine (very good), antelope, wild rice, red beans, tons of fruit, greens, and fresh bread.

The accommodations are great. We live in a 1950’s Belgian house, all mahogany and teak doors, windows, and furniture which gives the house a warn spice smell. It is probably one of the nicest houses around. Most of the locals live in mud brick or palm and stick houses. There is a very camping feel here with all the wood fires and lack of facilities, which, make no mistake about it, is how these folks get by day to day. The guilt of my lodging and provisions has set in after seeing the conditions in which these pleasant people subsist. Never the less, they are friendly and offer a polite ‘bonjour’ as I walk by. Being the new white guy, I am still a bit of a spectacle. The cowboy hat doesn’t help :)

Welcome to the Jungle....

It should come to you all as no surprise that I am cheesy, so dig the title and move on. I am also a fan of double entendres. In this case I am referring more to the city than to the actual research site. I will say I wasn’t prepared, mentally, for what I encountered after getting off the plane in Kinshasa. I can only compare it to Barnum and Bailey’s on acid. There were 2 belts that luggage came off of and it seemed that there were 3 people for every bag. One of my friends who came out here before me used the term ‘oompa loompa.’ She was referring to the little guys in orange jump suits who, immediately on seeing a bag, grab it and start moving it around. At first there seemed to be no reason or rhyme to the circus before me, but I began to see guys with two way radios and cell phones ordering the oompa loompas around. I recognized a crude spelling of my name on a sign and assumed it was my ‘expeditor’, a term which SHOULD be misconstrued. He called a few of the oompa loomas out and they began excising my items from the mass of baggage on the carousel. A couple of fist fights broke out as disagreements about who gets the tip ensued. I noticed a few familiar faces as the four quasi-physicians, also with an accompaniment of oompa loompas, shouted obscenities at me to get my attention.

As they were also being received by the embassy, they had their bags put with the ‘critical medical supplies’, under guard at this time, in a bid to ensure their bags didn’t walk off. We exchanged pleasantries, offered out ‘professional greetings’ Spies Like Us style (doctor, doctor, doctor, doctor) and gave a last adieu as our expeditors moved our bags to different vehicles. Afterward, several small children surrounded me, very surreptitiously, and began berating me for money. “NO” is a word most everyone understands.

The drive from the airport to the hotel was enough to ulcerate my innards. The electrical grid in Kinshasa is spotty at best. About every 15^th streetlight is functional along with the occasional incandescent light bulb on the road side shops. All other light comes from an assortment of vehicles which may or may not have two working lights. This is especially important given the fact there are no lines or boundaries on the road so you are not sure if there is a motorcycle or semi headed your way. Couple this with the NYC quantity of cars and pedestrians after dark, no sidewalk, and stationary (broken) and/or pushed cars and it makes Brussels look like a Sunday drive on a country road. After dropping my boxes off at our receiving facility, I arrived unscathed after 45 minutes at the hotel and checked in.

Mussels in Brussels and a Trip to the Jungle….

The title is a reference to my activities and not Jean Claude Van-Damme, check the spelling!

Anyway, we were given reservations by the United staff, at United crew rates (substantially cheaper than anything else), for a nice hotel downtown. We secured our bags and I had brokered a deal to have United store all my cargo in their secure facilities. It was for dying people after all.

Note: All of you can spare me the ethics lecture, you weren’t there! There were 12 boxes, they were HUGE! What was I supposed to do with them?

During the cab ride to the hotel, we set upon the difficult task of prioritizing our to-do list while staying in Brussels. Go to the Grand Place and get:

1. Beer – a wide sample selection was decided on.

2. Waffles – Dude, we’re in Belgium, of course we were getting waffles!

3. Mussels – Good with beer

4. Sleep – If there was any time left.

We made for our hotel and then straight to the Grand Place. It did not disappoint! Having never been to Europe, I was in awe. Very much as I had imagined, artists were selling their works in the middle, a variety of mouth watering smells from the chocolate, waffles, and beer, lots of kids dressed in ‘fashionable’ clothes (taste is REALLY selective) and tourists. The architecture was staggering. I decided immediately that I had to find a job in Belgium. I know you are whining, “But you’re in the Army!” You know what, we’re everywhere! I’ll find a way.

From looking at the pictures, I’d say I had a good time. The food looked good; I tried lots of beer, and had chocolate on my pants from what was probably a chocolate covered waffle. It was AWESOME!

Not so much the next morning (few hours later) when I got a call that I had overslept! Head pounding and still a little inebriated, I threw everything in my bags and made for the lobby.

The cabbie headed to the airport in as though we were in the Indy 500. I remember now that I had blocked the first trip from my memory. As the car careened down the narrow streets, the combination of beer, sweets, and shellfish (and other unknown fare) began to froth in my stomach. In what I’d describe as a near catastrophe, I began to recall the sum of the previous night’s intake. I was green, according to Frank, from the top of my head to the neck of my shirt. Though we joked about it most of the night, Frank maintained the title, “Dr. Jennings”, and diagnosed me with an acute hangover. With an unhelpful but well meant slap on the back, he reassured me I’d be fine in a few hours. I successfully willed myself to refrain from having a ‘Technicolor Yawn’.

After a futile bid to get me into the high roller’s lounge at the airport, Kevin, Frank, Mike, Rich, and I parted ways for the time being. I splurged for a few bottles of water and thought to check on the boxes. After what seemed like hours of jack hammering on the keyboard, each keystroke producing a miniature migraine, they told me none of my boxes had been received. In what could be translated internationally, I let out a loud ‘WHAT!?’ I was told to go out through security, back through customs, out to arrivals, talk to United, get the boxes (all 12), check them all back in, come back through security and customs, and to the gate. “You have 45 minutes, better hurry!” – not helpful!

In what I’d describe as my most sobering moment ever, I pulled myself together and ran out of the terminal. I’ll forego the details, but I completed the task and arrived back at the gate with a cool 2 minutes to spare. I trotted up to the remaining four members of the Kinshasa 5, obviously worried that the naïve trekker had lost his way, or worse.

I spent the next 8 hours regaining my faculties and going over my mission plans.

The Kinshasa 5

We landed in Brussels after a brisk 7.5 hour flight. I quickly smelled the B.S. after my initial encounter with the ‘doctors’. After the five of us disembarked, the mood quickly lightened. A round of laughter came from the group as they revealed that they were in fact not doctors, but rather worked for the Department of State and REALLY wanted to get off the plane. I was only upset that I hadn’t thought of something like that before. As very experienced travelers (they had been all over the world setting up embassies) they decided I should stick with them, I happily agreed.

We ran through security, customs, and baggage, and on to the gate. We sat as Kevin, the project leader, haggled with the gate attendant to hold the plane. She begrudgingly agreed but said there was NO way our bags could make it. “Hell no!” Kevin bellowed. “I need my bags, my suits are in there!” the attendant apologized but said that was the best they could do. “I’ve got a meeting with the Ambassador, multi-million dollar deal; you think I can walk up in jeans in a t-shirt?” Kevin reached back and put his arm around me, “plus, he has critical medical supplies, PEOPLE ARE DYING!”

I assume most of what he said escaped her, as she repeated the same thing, like some sort of Belgian automaton. He looked at us, “Well, I guess we’re staying the night, any objections?”

Kevin, by trade, was an international negotiator, and was constantly looking to perfect his craft. Unfortunately, most of those who stood between him and his objective became little more than target practice. “The Kinshasa 5”, as we became to be known, was the title given to us by the lady behind the counter at the United stand in Belgium. This was, I believe, used to warn the other staff member in the airport, and not an honorary appointment. In what had to be a record, Kevin was behind the counter on their computer finding our per diem rates while the other three staff members neglected all other customers to assist us. Not bad.

Too easy

I have been so busy; I’ll need to take a minute to get caught up. I should have known from the beginning that there would be issues, there always are. But getting through Dulles was so easy…..there, I said it, the E word. Shortly after getting there, “sorry the plane is broken, please have a 3 hour wait while we find another one.” This was a problem because my layover on Brussels was how long? That’s right, 3 hours! Keeping in mind that I had my personal baggage and 12 large boxes of medical supplies, I rushed to make calls to get a plan in place. Finally, the gate announcement came “Thank you for your wait, congratulations for you, we have a plane, and good news, it is not broken! [sic]” During the decent, the attendant came on the intercom, “ Would the medical team going to Kinshasa please come to the front of the plane?” Surely they didn’t mean me! “Passenger Robinson, please push the call light.” Ugh, here we go. They thought I could sprint to the next gate and catch the flight, unaware of my luggage situation. Additionally, four other gentlemen had moved to the front. I politely asked them who they were with, assuming they were also a ‘medical team’. “The obvious leader snapped, “We’re doctors!” A bit annoyed, I retorted, “Really, what’s you background?” The lead spoke up as they looked at each other, “In Medicine!”

I'm off!!!

Well,
here it is, the night before I leave and like a kid before Christmas, I find myself awake when I should be slumbering. I've been having stress dreams about forgetting things when I get in country. Strangely, it is never of anything of importance. In one vignette, I was freaking out because I forgot a camera. Obviously, my priorities may need adjustment. I've been endowed with more advice than I know what to do with. It is taking me longer to sort the information I have than time is available. I plan on some heavy reading on the plane.
I spent the last few weeks getting trained up on different procedures. I learned how to set, stain, and read slides to diagnose malaria. However I think it may be intended more for self diagnosis more than anything else! I also cleaned out the local pharmacy stocking up on travel meds. I contemplated buying one of those day by day pill dispensers my grandmother has, but that seemed a bit more than I could take. I rattle when I walk now, so should I get lost in the jungle, I'll be easy to find.
Sadly, the dirt bike training never got scheduled, and has to wait until I get back, which is a little counterintuitive, but who am I to question?
Also, I called the hotel in Kinshasa, which is REALLY nice, (http://www.memling.net/indexb.html) to confirm my reservation, and realized that my solemn oath to learn french has yet to pan out. Hell of a time to remember that! "Uhhh, monsoir...uhhhh...parlez vous.....uhhhh....tienes..." before long I realized that I was speaking a combination of spanish and french. So much for international relations!

So I'm forcing myself to sleep so I can enjoy my flight to Brussels (a friend told me there is awesome beer there) and on to the DRC.

back soon!

All things...

If anyone is a fan of irony, or fate, or coincidence, or cliche's, here you go.....
All things come to those who wait...well, wait I have.
Be careful what you wish for, you may get it....get it I did.
After 11 months of non-stop operations, I finally got cleared to go into Africa, to the Congo, and assist with the research going on out there.
The only time I have slowed down is when I had to have back surgery to fix a ruptured disc (I was still working from home!) and have so much going on, I haven't had a chance to take leave. With that in mind, I didn't think I'd ever get to go.
The irony is that I am currently scheduled to leave EXACTLY 1 year, to the day, from my last entry in this blog. Ok, it's not that that creepy.

So I feel the need to correct some technical errors from my last post, so I don't get slammed by any of the eggheads reading this. The title makes an incorrect reference, but I like it and refuse to correct it. Brazza actually refers to the other Congo, across the river, and the capital which bears the name. My bad.

If the Congo could be considered the middle of nowhere, I will be about 800 miles into the middle of nowhere for about 6 weeks. I will be living in a remote village assisting in a research project. The only way in or out is a very long flight in a very small prop plane.
During the last 11 months I have been helping out from this end preparing supplies and personnel to go out. It has been a little frustating watching everyone else go, but I had enough going on.

In preparation I am going to spend the next 2 months studying research protocols, refreshers on cell separation techniques, polymerase chain reaction (PCR), disease pathology, and epidemiology. I will also attempt to learn enough french to get around, since the colony was founded by Belgians. Don't I feel like a fool, I never paid attention in french class - "When the hell am I EVER going to need to speak french!" Jokes on me I guess (more irony, for those keeping track)

I am also going to take a tactical dirt bike course, as that is the only means of conveyance there, excluding my size 12 boots. And should I need to make a quick getaway (there is a bit of civil discontent down there) I will be on two wheels.

Off to another adventure!

Much more to follow....