Monday marked election day in Trinidad. The day of the decision, where everyone by the end of they day would have their fingers dipped pink, a sure sign they voted. Based on proportions of advertising and listening to my friends talk, I thought the outcome would be clear--the incumbent PNM and Patrick Manning would remain in power. Though I enjoyed watching the country prepare, I wasn't sorry to say goodbye to the trucks passing by the hospital at the tail end of visiting hours, blaring "We voting PNM" at the top of their lungs, to the point where you can't hear the person in the bed next to you. Or the UNC truck parked outside my apartment last week, shouting "Who we voting? Carolyn. Who we supporting Kamla" to the point where the glasses in the cabinet were rattling.
Monday night, I was alternating between reading and writing when Vidya called me--did I want to go to Couva, to UNC headquarters? Though I was tired, I wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to see something unique and to possibly see history being made. We arrived, and finagled our way upstairs (though we weren't technically supposed to be there; once we were there, we were fine though...being foreign helped me, and Vidya has lots of connections), where results were coming in and every time the People's Partnership (UNC, COP, and a few others) won a seat, a green check mark was placed on the board to much cheering and shouting. I don't think the energy in the room could have been better. The partnership was doing surprisingly (to me) well, and kept gaining ground. When we got the swing seat of Tobago West, the room just erupted; people screaming and cheering and smiling, blowing into plastic horns and jumping up and down. The energy was contagious. I couldn't help being excited too. About an hour or two into the night, they announced that Manning had conceded; Kamla would be the next prime minister and the Partnership had won. It was a moment of history. Kamla was the "Change Candidate," like Obama, and the first woman prime minister--and she ended up winning by a landslide, the Partnership taking something like 29 or 31 of the country's seats. (Or maybe UNC alone took that many seats...can't remember.) It was a privilege, to be in the US to elect the first black President, and then to witness the announcement of the first woman prime minister in Trinidad. I wish I could explain the excitement in the room, all these people upstairs, many many many more downstairs, celebrating victory. The rest of the night passed with candidates and victors passing through to a cavalcade of cheers; Kamla's name was like a magic word--each time it was uttered, the joy became even more powerful, the screams louder. We of course missed Kamla--she didn't actually come upstairs, unfortunately. But as we left, just standing amid 100,000+ people gathered to celebrate, watching fireworks explode and the 3/4 moon rise, wow, just to be a part of that was incredible. Worth getting home at 3am for, absolutely. (I will say though, that the young woman waiting for a taxi with me one night was right on--election day is like Carnival...free food and drink, people coming in at 2am, an all-night party. Leaving though, despite the incredible traffic, reminded me why I love this country--cars going and coming would pause and talk on the street, passers by were helping cars back up without hitting anything, people called out excitedly to strangers...)
A week and a half ago, I traveled to the Performing Arts Center in Port of Spain (which cost more money than many citizens wanted to spend, has a hotel in it, and looks very much like the Sydney Opera House, though it illuminates very nicely at night) to see a steel pan show--Genesis in Steel, featuring the National Steel Symphony Orchestra. Steel Symphony Orchestra? You bet, and it sounds more orchestral than you would believe. I am almost always fascinated by steel pan music as a whole; I can't quite fathom how it makes the sounds it does, which are lighter and more elegant than you'd expect. Given that, the Genesis performance simply blew me away. Though the program did include Calypso (and Latin and Broadway), the entire first act was classical--Bach, Candide, Tchaikovsky, all that. (And Handel's Hallelujah Chorus, which gave me chills.) And wow. Just wow. I don't think I could describe it if I tried, but it just knocked my socks off. You could hear the strings and the brass within the steel pan. It was unlike anything I'd seen. I am only sorry I became aware of them just now, as I am getting ready to leave the country.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Trinidad At Election Time
About a month ago, the security in the clinic came down to where Sister Lewis and I were talking about the daily nursing report and preparing to leave--"Did you hear? Manning dissolved Parliament!" For those that don't know, as I didn't, the Trini Prime Minister can serve up to five years at a time, but he also has the power to choose when the election will occur--usually by dissolving Parliament (if that occurs, then an election date will be set in the very near future). In this case, Trini Prime Minister Patrick Manning dissolved Parliament just before they could give him a no-confidence vote (my sense is that is something like an impeachment, but I could be wrong there). And so we have elections May 24. I am excited for many reasons--even though I hate politics. I am curious to see how this thing plays out, what techniques candidates use--and I am learning how the political system in Trinidad is set up.
It works like this--there are two main political parties in Trinidad, the People's National Movement (PNM) and the United National Congress (UNC, in alliance now with the Congress of the People, or COP). Historically (and in reality, for the most part), the PNM is the black vote, and the UNC is the Indian vote. Trinidad is broken up into constituencies that are slightly larger than a single town, or are half a city like San Fernando. Both the PNM and UNC put a candidate up for Parliament in that constituency, and the people choose. The party that has the majority has control, and the Prime Minister is the party's leader. In the case of the PNM, it's Patrick Manning (though if the PNM wins but he loses his seat, someone else will take over the role of PM), and UNC is Kamla. It should be close. Listening to the PNM, Kamla is unprepared, and is not running a smart campaign. I just can't fathom Manning winning, if his Parliament nearly voted no confidence in him. I asked Mr. Beepath, a PNM supporter, about health care and he gave a bad but politically correct answer. The conversation after the SAS PR committee meeting yesterday reminded me so much of certain discussions I used to have at Marist....
So what's it like to be here during a political time? It's exciting. The undercurrents in the air are exciting. People are constantly talking, signs are posted everywhere, parties trash-talk each other constantly. I witnessed the fringes of a PNM rally last week (causing it to take an hour for me to get a La Romaine taxi to take me home), and walked through the beginning of a UNC rally on my way to church the next day. Hoards of people in the proper colors turned out, and the voices could be heard from quite a circumference. In the early morning, workers were out powerwashing the confetti on the Promenade down the drains. Music is the preferred medium for paid political announcements--and honestly, I find it works much better than the dull bashing of the other candidate or making empty promises of US ads. I heard the PNM song (soca--can you just imagine replacing Patrick Manning...my only concern is what if the answer is yes?) five times in an hour one day, and it ran through my head for the rest of the day. UNC has a few songs too--one talking about change, and another saying how Manning must go. Secretly (though don't tell Mr. Beepath), I am rooting for the UNC. In part because I could be witnessing history. After being in the US and electing the change candidate and first black President Obama, I'd love to be in Trinidad where the change candidate and first woman Prime Minister Kamla is elected.
I apologize for my continued long silence--now internet is even scarce, never mind time. My parents came up shortly after my last post--had a lovely visit, and loved the Tobago beaches (kudos to my dad, for driving the narrow, winding Tobago roads on the wrong side of the road!). Pirate's Bay, just a bit away from Speyside, is one of my most favorite beaches ever, with it's calm aquamarine water and palm trees and overhanging mangoes. In Trinidad, I am loving my work, loving my patients dearly. I had a wonderful time with a few from New Horizons, a place for socially displaced persons to get back on their feet, today--they always make me laugh. Last week, I was a part of a small miracle where a woman who was homeless and in the words of a nurse "liked living on the streets" finally wanted to get help--and everything went right so that she could. I still struggle with the balance between caring enough and caring too much, but I am getting there. We've now lost eight patients that I have worked with (I think actually nine now), but I am learning, and I am grateful. I leave Trinidad July 22. I will miss the people here more than anything. That's how it always is--I miss the people moreso than the place. The only place I miss is DC, so I will be happy to be spending the next four years of my life there. (By the way, if anyone knows anyone wealthy who wants to put me through medical school, I promise I will work anywhere in the world they'd like me to for four years after residency...I just signed my loan paperwork and the amount of money I will be borrowing is terrifying).
Be well, all of you, and God bless and keep you.
It works like this--there are two main political parties in Trinidad, the People's National Movement (PNM) and the United National Congress (UNC, in alliance now with the Congress of the People, or COP). Historically (and in reality, for the most part), the PNM is the black vote, and the UNC is the Indian vote. Trinidad is broken up into constituencies that are slightly larger than a single town, or are half a city like San Fernando. Both the PNM and UNC put a candidate up for Parliament in that constituency, and the people choose. The party that has the majority has control, and the Prime Minister is the party's leader. In the case of the PNM, it's Patrick Manning (though if the PNM wins but he loses his seat, someone else will take over the role of PM), and UNC is Kamla. It should be close. Listening to the PNM, Kamla is unprepared, and is not running a smart campaign. I just can't fathom Manning winning, if his Parliament nearly voted no confidence in him. I asked Mr. Beepath, a PNM supporter, about health care and he gave a bad but politically correct answer. The conversation after the SAS PR committee meeting yesterday reminded me so much of certain discussions I used to have at Marist....
So what's it like to be here during a political time? It's exciting. The undercurrents in the air are exciting. People are constantly talking, signs are posted everywhere, parties trash-talk each other constantly. I witnessed the fringes of a PNM rally last week (causing it to take an hour for me to get a La Romaine taxi to take me home), and walked through the beginning of a UNC rally on my way to church the next day. Hoards of people in the proper colors turned out, and the voices could be heard from quite a circumference. In the early morning, workers were out powerwashing the confetti on the Promenade down the drains. Music is the preferred medium for paid political announcements--and honestly, I find it works much better than the dull bashing of the other candidate or making empty promises of US ads. I heard the PNM song (soca--can you just imagine replacing Patrick Manning...my only concern is what if the answer is yes?) five times in an hour one day, and it ran through my head for the rest of the day. UNC has a few songs too--one talking about change, and another saying how Manning must go. Secretly (though don't tell Mr. Beepath), I am rooting for the UNC. In part because I could be witnessing history. After being in the US and electing the change candidate and first black President Obama, I'd love to be in Trinidad where the change candidate and first woman Prime Minister Kamla is elected.
I apologize for my continued long silence--now internet is even scarce, never mind time. My parents came up shortly after my last post--had a lovely visit, and loved the Tobago beaches (kudos to my dad, for driving the narrow, winding Tobago roads on the wrong side of the road!). Pirate's Bay, just a bit away from Speyside, is one of my most favorite beaches ever, with it's calm aquamarine water and palm trees and overhanging mangoes. In Trinidad, I am loving my work, loving my patients dearly. I had a wonderful time with a few from New Horizons, a place for socially displaced persons to get back on their feet, today--they always make me laugh. Last week, I was a part of a small miracle where a woman who was homeless and in the words of a nurse "liked living on the streets" finally wanted to get help--and everything went right so that she could. I still struggle with the balance between caring enough and caring too much, but I am getting there. We've now lost eight patients that I have worked with (I think actually nine now), but I am learning, and I am grateful. I leave Trinidad July 22. I will miss the people here more than anything. That's how it always is--I miss the people moreso than the place. The only place I miss is DC, so I will be happy to be spending the next four years of my life there. (By the way, if anyone knows anyone wealthy who wants to put me through medical school, I promise I will work anywhere in the world they'd like me to for four years after residency...I just signed my loan paperwork and the amount of money I will be borrowing is terrifying).
Be well, all of you, and God bless and keep you.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Catching Up
As my friend and fellow Fulbrighter Reina said, what happened to March? I really should apologize for my relative silence throughout the month. Typical of me, I took the first few months of my grant "easy" (which most would interpret as a normal level of busy), and around February, suddenly shifted into busy. I work in the clinic until 4, have taken to visiting clinic patients (and anyone else I know or come to know) in the wards after, not to mention sitting in on client support meetings at SAS on Mondays, attending Bible Class on Wednesdays, and singing group on Fridays (I have been told that before I leave, I will be able to sing on pitch and recognize when I'm off...well, Luke and Kenneth have their work cut out for them!). I rarely get home before seven in the evenings, and by that time, I am pretty much cooked. Not to mention that one of the ward patients is very difficult, demanding a lot of energy. Of course though--I am happy. I love my work, love the people I spend my days with. I feel so blessed.
When I last wrote, I was sitting on a hotel bed in Port of Spain, awaiting the arrival of Fulbrighters from Barbados, the Dominican Republic, Dominica, and Jamaica for the annual Enrichment Seminar. From the time they arrived and joined us Trini Fulbrighters (and program director Cara) at the dinner table, it was hard to believe we hardly knew one another. It was invigorating and energizing to be around so many brilliant, passionate individuals who are having an experience similar to yours. I learned so much from them, about Dominican deportees, slavery in the Eastern hemisphere, TB in the DR... Interestingly, five of us were doing work on HIV (that discussion was amazing!) and four of us (all female) will be going to medical school next year. Outside of the amazing interactions, we also had the chance to go out and do things. We toured the controversial performing arts center, with a design like the Sydney Opera House, and a restaurant and hotel inside. We traveled up to Matura to see the turtles, and were blessed to watch the entire process with one leatherback (with my hand on her chest...you can touch them while they're laying because they go into a trance (wouldn't it be nice if we could do that during childbirth too?)...I could feel her breathing; it was beautiful). Watching her and talking to our guide, it seemed as though animal behavior was coming alive. And what could be more perfect than strolling along the beach at night, while the ocean waves crashed just beside you and jellyfish popped under your feet? We also heard some Calypsonians play at a club...a few were old and classic (one wore a purple sparkly suit), and a few were younger. All seemed to love this group of Americans sitting in the front, and many catered to us, bringing a few on stage or singing tunes to which we could sing along.
Interestingly, as amazing a time as I had in Port of Spain, I missed South, and I felt very disconnected from my day-to-day life. It wasn't a bad thing--I needed the break and would never have traded the experience--but it was strange. Yesterday was Easter Sunday. A year ago, I was flying back from New Orleans with Dr. Ingalls, and I found out about the Fulbright. Yesterday was also my birthday--a year before on which I was struggling through CS/IS in the Donnelly lab where I spent more time than in N4, it feels, until my wonderful housemates rescued me and took me to dinner. Yesterday, my Trini family made me feel special. After church, Dominic, Annie, and Paul, along with an American couple who've been here a year, took me to Pizza Hut (the pizza is mostly the same, except they always offer the option to add pineapple, and it's standard to serve the pizza with pepper sauce and ketchup). They also delighted in watching me turn red as they sang. It was a lovely day. It made me feel so blessed to have the wonderful friends and family I do, both in Trinidad and in the US (and in Cambodia, for that matter). This world is a large and dynamic place, but I know no matter where I go, I will always have a home.
When I last wrote, I was sitting on a hotel bed in Port of Spain, awaiting the arrival of Fulbrighters from Barbados, the Dominican Republic, Dominica, and Jamaica for the annual Enrichment Seminar. From the time they arrived and joined us Trini Fulbrighters (and program director Cara) at the dinner table, it was hard to believe we hardly knew one another. It was invigorating and energizing to be around so many brilliant, passionate individuals who are having an experience similar to yours. I learned so much from them, about Dominican deportees, slavery in the Eastern hemisphere, TB in the DR... Interestingly, five of us were doing work on HIV (that discussion was amazing!) and four of us (all female) will be going to medical school next year. Outside of the amazing interactions, we also had the chance to go out and do things. We toured the controversial performing arts center, with a design like the Sydney Opera House, and a restaurant and hotel inside. We traveled up to Matura to see the turtles, and were blessed to watch the entire process with one leatherback (with my hand on her chest...you can touch them while they're laying because they go into a trance (wouldn't it be nice if we could do that during childbirth too?)...I could feel her breathing; it was beautiful). Watching her and talking to our guide, it seemed as though animal behavior was coming alive. And what could be more perfect than strolling along the beach at night, while the ocean waves crashed just beside you and jellyfish popped under your feet? We also heard some Calypsonians play at a club...a few were old and classic (one wore a purple sparkly suit), and a few were younger. All seemed to love this group of Americans sitting in the front, and many catered to us, bringing a few on stage or singing tunes to which we could sing along.
Interestingly, as amazing a time as I had in Port of Spain, I missed South, and I felt very disconnected from my day-to-day life. It wasn't a bad thing--I needed the break and would never have traded the experience--but it was strange. Yesterday was Easter Sunday. A year ago, I was flying back from New Orleans with Dr. Ingalls, and I found out about the Fulbright. Yesterday was also my birthday--a year before on which I was struggling through CS/IS in the Donnelly lab where I spent more time than in N4, it feels, until my wonderful housemates rescued me and took me to dinner. Yesterday, my Trini family made me feel special. After church, Dominic, Annie, and Paul, along with an American couple who've been here a year, took me to Pizza Hut (the pizza is mostly the same, except they always offer the option to add pineapple, and it's standard to serve the pizza with pepper sauce and ketchup). They also delighted in watching me turn red as they sang. It was a lovely day. It made me feel so blessed to have the wonderful friends and family I do, both in Trinidad and in the US (and in Cambodia, for that matter). This world is a large and dynamic place, but I know no matter where I go, I will always have a home.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Challenges and Beauty
In the past two weeks, we've lost three patients on the ward and one at home, none of whom were more than 50. It's a crazy thing, when mortality strikes you in the face. Even when you're not suffering from AIDS or any other terminal illness, it reminds you how precious each and every moment is. Every day is a gift from God, and as my friend says, we need to praise Him for it every second. Let nothing remain unsaid or undone. Live each moment as if it could be your last, with no regrets. It's how I've always tried to live, but in these past few weeks, the importance of it is becoming ever stronger.
He was going crazy. Literally, I mean. I thought I saw it almost a week before he died, but I wasn't sure. He had told me he was a pastry chef, so though the conviction in his face made me a little skeptical, I thought his comments about getting flour and making me pastries were a combination of a joke and something he wanted to do for me once he got out and got back on his feet. But then he kept talking about it the next day, telling me how he needed help to get up, needed to find a tent, asking me to buy him flour. I mentioned it to the doctor in passing, and he mentioned toxoplasmosis or something, didn't seem too concerned. After all, this man had always been troublesome. He yelled, complained, moaned, sometimes disrespected others. He demanded. Who was to really pay attention; he cried wolf so often. But there were days he would remain covered in vomit. He was moved to the back, to "isolation," where his only companion confided to me in hushed tones "We're here because they don't like us." No real sheets, no pillow. I had to cover him with some of the clothes I had brought him. He spoke fragments of the Lord's Prayer and 23rd Psalm, and I filled in the gaps. On his last day, he made no sense. He had thrown things, and the floor around him was littered in urine and who knows what else. He told me he had seen me; I was dressed in white. He saved my life, and saved the hospital. Ok, I told him, I'm glad you did. The next day, I asked where he was and the nurse said matter-of-factly "in the mortuary." What?! My gut had said he wouldn't make it out, but I didn't expect it to be quite so quick. I knew at one point he had been discharged five days, and no one had come for him. I wondered if anyone would claim his body, or mourn for him at all. Pray for him with me.
On the upside, besides being ridiculously hot, the country is amazing. I feel I have become so close to so many people. I study with Dominic, spend hours chatting with Vidya in the evenings. I feel at home.
Saturday, I had my first exposure to Tobago, the sister island that is, ironically, farther away than Venezuela. People have been asking me since my second week in Trinidad if I had been to Tobago yet, and now, six months later (can you believe it's been that long?!), I can finally say yes. Everyone talks of how beautiful it is, and no one lied. It is a relaxed tropical paradise. The flight is a slightly bumpy 15 minutes at most. It takes no more than five minutes for the bags to appear on the baggage carousel from the cargo hold. Palm trees, white sand, glittering aquamarine sea. I went with my friend and fellow Fulbrighter Sam, and we met another friend and program director, Cara, there. Although we had no more than 24 hours, we made the most of it. We dropped our bags in our room (costing approximately $16US/person) and headed for the beach. Everyone had told Sam and I we had to try crab and dumplings, so we did. We didn't expect the crab to still be in shell, however. But after an hour's worth of effort and more than one green spot on our clothing, we managed to finish. Topped off with fresh grapefruit juice and coconut cherry ice cream, and I think we are near perfection. We weren't planning on renting chairs, but in keeping with the "it's nice to be nice" posted on the back, a couple of gentlemen rented chairs for us (this is when it pays to be a group of young American females). We spent the day bathing in the clear water and relaxing, reading. We took a sunset cruise, which neared perfection. Dancing, nylon pool (shallow sandbar in the middle of the ocean), sunset fading to dusk and stars coming out, palm trees becoming silhouettes....amazing. One of my favorite moments here so far. Even leaving at 10:30 the next morning (the latest flight I could get, booking three days prior), we managed to soak up a little more Tobago, having breakfast in the midst of a tropical garden, a mango tree just feet from the table (too bad it isn't mango season!). It's a lovely island, and I look forward to going back with my parents in April, and again after that.
He was going crazy. Literally, I mean. I thought I saw it almost a week before he died, but I wasn't sure. He had told me he was a pastry chef, so though the conviction in his face made me a little skeptical, I thought his comments about getting flour and making me pastries were a combination of a joke and something he wanted to do for me once he got out and got back on his feet. But then he kept talking about it the next day, telling me how he needed help to get up, needed to find a tent, asking me to buy him flour. I mentioned it to the doctor in passing, and he mentioned toxoplasmosis or something, didn't seem too concerned. After all, this man had always been troublesome. He yelled, complained, moaned, sometimes disrespected others. He demanded. Who was to really pay attention; he cried wolf so often. But there were days he would remain covered in vomit. He was moved to the back, to "isolation," where his only companion confided to me in hushed tones "We're here because they don't like us." No real sheets, no pillow. I had to cover him with some of the clothes I had brought him. He spoke fragments of the Lord's Prayer and 23rd Psalm, and I filled in the gaps. On his last day, he made no sense. He had thrown things, and the floor around him was littered in urine and who knows what else. He told me he had seen me; I was dressed in white. He saved my life, and saved the hospital. Ok, I told him, I'm glad you did. The next day, I asked where he was and the nurse said matter-of-factly "in the mortuary." What?! My gut had said he wouldn't make it out, but I didn't expect it to be quite so quick. I knew at one point he had been discharged five days, and no one had come for him. I wondered if anyone would claim his body, or mourn for him at all. Pray for him with me.
On the upside, besides being ridiculously hot, the country is amazing. I feel I have become so close to so many people. I study with Dominic, spend hours chatting with Vidya in the evenings. I feel at home.
Saturday, I had my first exposure to Tobago, the sister island that is, ironically, farther away than Venezuela. People have been asking me since my second week in Trinidad if I had been to Tobago yet, and now, six months later (can you believe it's been that long?!), I can finally say yes. Everyone talks of how beautiful it is, and no one lied. It is a relaxed tropical paradise. The flight is a slightly bumpy 15 minutes at most. It takes no more than five minutes for the bags to appear on the baggage carousel from the cargo hold. Palm trees, white sand, glittering aquamarine sea. I went with my friend and fellow Fulbrighter Sam, and we met another friend and program director, Cara, there. Although we had no more than 24 hours, we made the most of it. We dropped our bags in our room (costing approximately $16US/person) and headed for the beach. Everyone had told Sam and I we had to try crab and dumplings, so we did. We didn't expect the crab to still be in shell, however. But after an hour's worth of effort and more than one green spot on our clothing, we managed to finish. Topped off with fresh grapefruit juice and coconut cherry ice cream, and I think we are near perfection. We weren't planning on renting chairs, but in keeping with the "it's nice to be nice" posted on the back, a couple of gentlemen rented chairs for us (this is when it pays to be a group of young American females). We spent the day bathing in the clear water and relaxing, reading. We took a sunset cruise, which neared perfection. Dancing, nylon pool (shallow sandbar in the middle of the ocean), sunset fading to dusk and stars coming out, palm trees becoming silhouettes....amazing. One of my favorite moments here so far. Even leaving at 10:30 the next morning (the latest flight I could get, booking three days prior), we managed to soak up a little more Tobago, having breakfast in the midst of a tropical garden, a mango tree just feet from the table (too bad it isn't mango season!). It's a lovely island, and I look forward to going back with my parents in April, and again after that.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
What You Wanted to Know About Trinidad
I realize the last few posts have been a bit heavy, courtesy I guess of the reality of working with HIV. I'll try to keep it lighter here, have a little fun letting you know little bits of life in Trinidad.
It's too hot. Believe it or not, I actually miss the snow. All week, it's been hot and oppressively humid, on the cusp of rain but the rain never fell. Actually, there's a water shortage now because it's the dry season and we get so little rain. (I always wondered how much of a difference there would be, but it's stark--in the rainy season, it rained at least five minutes in every day; during the dry season, if we get one day of rain every three weeks, we're blessed.) I don't so much worry about it, because I live in a very well-off area, but a family that invites me for lunch after church Sundays will be without water for the weekend, at camp we had to take bucket showers to conserve water, and the clinic water comes and goes.
Sahina is my favorite Trini food. Everyone is surprised it's not doubles (channa, or curry chickpeas, with pepper sauce or sweet sauce in a thin fried bread), but if you're me, can you really surpass fried leafy green vegetables? Roti is also popular. In the mornings, sada roti is popular, which is kind of like a thick pita. Buss up shut is lunch time, a much thinner fried bread. I've gotten it twice in the last two weeks with channa and curry potatoes at Mom's Diner (run by a family I know from church) on High Street. "Mom" said she'd teach me to make curry and roti as well, so I can make it for all my friends in my spare time in the States. I made saltfish successfully for the first time today--perhaps you remember the fiasco that was the saltfish at Thanksgiving? Well, this time I was sure to rinse it, soak it, and boil it and it worked! I was proud :) I think it's grapefruit season here, and I think I could do a grapefruit diet for a couple of weeks, that's how good they are. I bought six on Thursday, and they make me happy. Today, on my way home from the hospital, I bought a semicircle of coconut bake and a cassava pone (kind of a tart thing...hard to describe), okra, cabbage, bananas, and a plantain for about $6US. Amazing, isn't it? Things that I am surprised to find I like: oysters (well, I think I like them!), okra, cabbage, cassava root, pepper sauce (slight!).
If I look out the window of my apartment, I can see fragments of the sunset, and it fills my kitchen/dining area with a lovely orange or watermelon-colored light if I time it right. In the evenings in the first quarter of the moon, I can also see the moon-sliver setting. On Wednesdays when I get up early, my bedroom is filled with a soft, muted light from the sunrise.
My perfect moment today occurred on my walk. I stood halfway down a hill, with the sun setting to my right behind a stand of silhouetted palms and a tower of clouds. Just to my left, the nearly full moon was rising large over a classic scene. Coconut palms heavy with fruit. Trini houses of vibrant colors, including violet, sea foam green, cream, and orange and teal. A slight breeze blew my hair behind me. In front of me, the road, with its potholes and softening pavement.
My favorite time of day here and everywhere is twilight with its silences. I can see the Atlantic from the back of the clinic, and every day it makes me smile. Sometimes, I can see the refinery in the distance, and the lines of oil rigs out if it's a busy week. The country here is filled with old sugar cane fields and wide open spaces. The people come in all colors and sizes, and they laugh easily. KFC serves fish during Lent. Driving and walking both take a mix of aggression, insanity, and careful precision. Everyone greets everyone else with a "Good Morning" or "Good Evening." Taxi drivers like finding ways to help the foreigner find a La Romaine car so I can get home. Stands sell pirated movies for very low prices, but you have to be sure of the quality. This morning, as I walked to the hospital to visit my patients, I couldn't help but feel the city itself was in motion.
It's too hot. Believe it or not, I actually miss the snow. All week, it's been hot and oppressively humid, on the cusp of rain but the rain never fell. Actually, there's a water shortage now because it's the dry season and we get so little rain. (I always wondered how much of a difference there would be, but it's stark--in the rainy season, it rained at least five minutes in every day; during the dry season, if we get one day of rain every three weeks, we're blessed.) I don't so much worry about it, because I live in a very well-off area, but a family that invites me for lunch after church Sundays will be without water for the weekend, at camp we had to take bucket showers to conserve water, and the clinic water comes and goes.
Sahina is my favorite Trini food. Everyone is surprised it's not doubles (channa, or curry chickpeas, with pepper sauce or sweet sauce in a thin fried bread), but if you're me, can you really surpass fried leafy green vegetables? Roti is also popular. In the mornings, sada roti is popular, which is kind of like a thick pita. Buss up shut is lunch time, a much thinner fried bread. I've gotten it twice in the last two weeks with channa and curry potatoes at Mom's Diner (run by a family I know from church) on High Street. "Mom" said she'd teach me to make curry and roti as well, so I can make it for all my friends in my spare time in the States. I made saltfish successfully for the first time today--perhaps you remember the fiasco that was the saltfish at Thanksgiving? Well, this time I was sure to rinse it, soak it, and boil it and it worked! I was proud :) I think it's grapefruit season here, and I think I could do a grapefruit diet for a couple of weeks, that's how good they are. I bought six on Thursday, and they make me happy. Today, on my way home from the hospital, I bought a semicircle of coconut bake and a cassava pone (kind of a tart thing...hard to describe), okra, cabbage, bananas, and a plantain for about $6US. Amazing, isn't it? Things that I am surprised to find I like: oysters (well, I think I like them!), okra, cabbage, cassava root, pepper sauce (slight!).
If I look out the window of my apartment, I can see fragments of the sunset, and it fills my kitchen/dining area with a lovely orange or watermelon-colored light if I time it right. In the evenings in the first quarter of the moon, I can also see the moon-sliver setting. On Wednesdays when I get up early, my bedroom is filled with a soft, muted light from the sunrise.
My perfect moment today occurred on my walk. I stood halfway down a hill, with the sun setting to my right behind a stand of silhouetted palms and a tower of clouds. Just to my left, the nearly full moon was rising large over a classic scene. Coconut palms heavy with fruit. Trini houses of vibrant colors, including violet, sea foam green, cream, and orange and teal. A slight breeze blew my hair behind me. In front of me, the road, with its potholes and softening pavement.
My favorite time of day here and everywhere is twilight with its silences. I can see the Atlantic from the back of the clinic, and every day it makes me smile. Sometimes, I can see the refinery in the distance, and the lines of oil rigs out if it's a busy week. The country here is filled with old sugar cane fields and wide open spaces. The people come in all colors and sizes, and they laugh easily. KFC serves fish during Lent. Driving and walking both take a mix of aggression, insanity, and careful precision. Everyone greets everyone else with a "Good Morning" or "Good Evening." Taxi drivers like finding ways to help the foreigner find a La Romaine car so I can get home. Stands sell pirated movies for very low prices, but you have to be sure of the quality. This morning, as I walked to the hospital to visit my patients, I couldn't help but feel the city itself was in motion.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Halfway Through
Today is, by Fulbright's standards (they started my grant on September 21st rather than the 18th, when I landed here), the exact halfway point on my journey in Trinidad. I am reminded of Ursula LeGuin's quote given to me by my friend Susie, trail name Hammock Hanger, when I met her just before lyme disease stifled her second attempt at thru-hiking. "It's good to have an end to journey toward, but in the end, it's the journey that matters." Here, the end is medical school, Georgetown, beginning August 3 with orientation. I am excited to go, excited to finally do what I believe I am called to in the world, but the journey through Trinidad to get there really is what will shape me, what will matter.
How has Trinidad already changed me? The list could be endless. I feel I have grown up here. I have moved from being an idealistic college student bent on saving the world to an idealistic adult (Naomi Shihab Nye did say if there were no idealists in the world, nothing good would ever happen!) who is realizing she can't actually save the world at all, but will still try with all she's got and let the ripples go.
I have learned to find my way completely on my own, and more than that, I have come to realize how much we need one another. For as much as I love my space and independence, I would have been lost here had Stanley not taken me around my first week, helped me get a phone, shown me how to catch a taxi. I would be terribly lonely without people like Dominic and Annie, Kenneth and Denise, the families at church who have offered their love, Vidya and her children. They as well as the clinic patients are making my experience what it is. I have learned about suffering and about strength, for I see both in patients every day. I am learning about AIDS and its harsh reality. I have learned I like things like callaloo and roti and channa and curry. I can eat raw oysters and even kind of like them. My least favorite dish is macaroni pie, which is the most American of them all.
I also continue to learn how God appears in the most minute details. The sunsets' brilliant oranges and pinks from my window. The ocean every morning as I traipse sweatily down the Promenade en route to the clinic. The flowers. A smile from a stranger, a text from a friend, a breeze.
I have started my research (finally!) and am excited to see where it takes me. I look forward to seeing what relationships grow stronger, what new ones are formed. What new challenges come to face me, what new blessings find ways of lifting me. I want to learn how to cook Trini food. I want to let something really open me and for something beautiful to fill me. I want a tan. More than anything, I want to continue to grow.
How has Trinidad already changed me? The list could be endless. I feel I have grown up here. I have moved from being an idealistic college student bent on saving the world to an idealistic adult (Naomi Shihab Nye did say if there were no idealists in the world, nothing good would ever happen!) who is realizing she can't actually save the world at all, but will still try with all she's got and let the ripples go.
I have learned to find my way completely on my own, and more than that, I have come to realize how much we need one another. For as much as I love my space and independence, I would have been lost here had Stanley not taken me around my first week, helped me get a phone, shown me how to catch a taxi. I would be terribly lonely without people like Dominic and Annie, Kenneth and Denise, the families at church who have offered their love, Vidya and her children. They as well as the clinic patients are making my experience what it is. I have learned about suffering and about strength, for I see both in patients every day. I am learning about AIDS and its harsh reality. I have learned I like things like callaloo and roti and channa and curry. I can eat raw oysters and even kind of like them. My least favorite dish is macaroni pie, which is the most American of them all.
I also continue to learn how God appears in the most minute details. The sunsets' brilliant oranges and pinks from my window. The ocean every morning as I traipse sweatily down the Promenade en route to the clinic. The flowers. A smile from a stranger, a text from a friend, a breeze.
I have started my research (finally!) and am excited to see where it takes me. I look forward to seeing what relationships grow stronger, what new ones are formed. What new challenges come to face me, what new blessings find ways of lifting me. I want to learn how to cook Trini food. I want to let something really open me and for something beautiful to fill me. I want a tan. More than anything, I want to continue to grow.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
The Reality of AIDS
When patients come into the clinic for testing, I like to ask them what they know about HIV. If they realize HIV and AIDS are not the same thing (for those interested, HIV is the virus, which can stay in your system quietly for a long time, and AIDS is, last I looked, defined as a syndrome occurring after you have two or more opportunistic infections). I tell them that at least 75% of the patients in the clinic have HIV, but do not have AIDS. Sure, a few of them present with thrush, or pneumonia, or candidia, or something like it. I am sure a few would qualify as having AIDS, but not so that you'd notice. AIDS the way I had read about it, from doctors working at the beginning of the epidemic, was never real to me. At least not until this week.
The first patient is one whose story I had been a part of since probably early December. I knew his wife first, because I had been there when she was admitted to the ward and visited her and fought for her while she was there. When they came in together after both were discharged, she was fighting for breath and stressed, and he had to be carried in. All he said to me was "I remember your voice." They came in three weeks ago too, and that was when I nearly burst into tears to see her smiling and he walking nearly on his own. And then last week, his wife came back, with symptoms mirroring a heart attack (if I didn't know her better...but I know that she manifests intense stress that way), half sobbing, a wild look in her eyes. Her husband was back in the ward, a lot worse off than she thought. After working for an hour to calm her down and convince her to take her tablets and try to eat something, I promised to visit him. Monday, he looked terrible. My unpracticed medical mind thought it could be a coma. He was completely unresponsive. I took his hand and got nothing. His eyes were closed. Nothing seemed to know I was there, and yet...it may have just been a twitch, but I feel like he knew my hand was missing when I took it away. Still, I was shaken--enough that I came back on my way in Tuesday, just to be sure he was still alive (I was encouraged--his eyes were open, though his cheeks still twitched and his jaw gyrated). The doctor thought toxoplasmosis, but I felt he had a stroke--even now he still cannot move half his body. Both are common in AIDS. By the end of the week, his eyes were open, his mouth had closed (though still revealing a few decaying teeth). He was trying to form words, but couldn't quite. When I took his hand though, he would hold it tight, reluctant to let it go. Like I and his family were his only lifelines into hope and the world.
The other patient came into clinic just after the blood rush ended on Wednesday. I was the first to see him and greet him, asking him in my usual cheerful way, "How are you?" His reply was "sick," and when I asked why, the first reason he gave was the virus, and then he described his chest pain and general malaise. He sat to wait for the doctor. He complained of his temples being sunk in. When I asked him when he last ate, he said three days ago, and when I rubbed his back later, I could feel every vertebral protrusion and every rib. Brenda in the clinic helped me find some food to give him, and we also gave him some juice, which he promptly and loudly threw up (making me fight my fear, which I did reasonably successfully). While he waited, he moaned loudly and wondered why he was being ignored (I wondered the same thing). Ultimately, he was admitted and his admission sheet read like a classic AIDS symptom list: night sweats, fever, thrush, etc. I worried about him, but when I saw him the next day, his spirits were good. He was eating, hopeful, making plans for the future and seemed determined to live. I think he was simply starved for human kindness as well as food, and being around people who cared made all the difference. He was discharged, and I have not seen him since. I hope and pray he makes good on his word.
These two men were the first two cases of full-blown AIDS that really jumped out at me. I was re-reading a memoir of an AIDS doctor, and seeing cases he described in patients at the clinic. I knew it was coming, and am grateful for the opportunity to see AIDS and to learn how to deal with it. I am still working on the dealing with it part, but I am praying a lot and so blessed to have some very good friends here.
I wish you blessings, and challenges, and beauty in the midst of it all. Thanks for listening :)
The first patient is one whose story I had been a part of since probably early December. I knew his wife first, because I had been there when she was admitted to the ward and visited her and fought for her while she was there. When they came in together after both were discharged, she was fighting for breath and stressed, and he had to be carried in. All he said to me was "I remember your voice." They came in three weeks ago too, and that was when I nearly burst into tears to see her smiling and he walking nearly on his own. And then last week, his wife came back, with symptoms mirroring a heart attack (if I didn't know her better...but I know that she manifests intense stress that way), half sobbing, a wild look in her eyes. Her husband was back in the ward, a lot worse off than she thought. After working for an hour to calm her down and convince her to take her tablets and try to eat something, I promised to visit him. Monday, he looked terrible. My unpracticed medical mind thought it could be a coma. He was completely unresponsive. I took his hand and got nothing. His eyes were closed. Nothing seemed to know I was there, and yet...it may have just been a twitch, but I feel like he knew my hand was missing when I took it away. Still, I was shaken--enough that I came back on my way in Tuesday, just to be sure he was still alive (I was encouraged--his eyes were open, though his cheeks still twitched and his jaw gyrated). The doctor thought toxoplasmosis, but I felt he had a stroke--even now he still cannot move half his body. Both are common in AIDS. By the end of the week, his eyes were open, his mouth had closed (though still revealing a few decaying teeth). He was trying to form words, but couldn't quite. When I took his hand though, he would hold it tight, reluctant to let it go. Like I and his family were his only lifelines into hope and the world.
The other patient came into clinic just after the blood rush ended on Wednesday. I was the first to see him and greet him, asking him in my usual cheerful way, "How are you?" His reply was "sick," and when I asked why, the first reason he gave was the virus, and then he described his chest pain and general malaise. He sat to wait for the doctor. He complained of his temples being sunk in. When I asked him when he last ate, he said three days ago, and when I rubbed his back later, I could feel every vertebral protrusion and every rib. Brenda in the clinic helped me find some food to give him, and we also gave him some juice, which he promptly and loudly threw up (making me fight my fear, which I did reasonably successfully). While he waited, he moaned loudly and wondered why he was being ignored (I wondered the same thing). Ultimately, he was admitted and his admission sheet read like a classic AIDS symptom list: night sweats, fever, thrush, etc. I worried about him, but when I saw him the next day, his spirits were good. He was eating, hopeful, making plans for the future and seemed determined to live. I think he was simply starved for human kindness as well as food, and being around people who cared made all the difference. He was discharged, and I have not seen him since. I hope and pray he makes good on his word.
These two men were the first two cases of full-blown AIDS that really jumped out at me. I was re-reading a memoir of an AIDS doctor, and seeing cases he described in patients at the clinic. I knew it was coming, and am grateful for the opportunity to see AIDS and to learn how to deal with it. I am still working on the dealing with it part, but I am praying a lot and so blessed to have some very good friends here.
I wish you blessings, and challenges, and beauty in the midst of it all. Thanks for listening :)
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