Three lines of red
embroidered words interrupted the dark navy background of his fraying beanie:
NCAA Indoor Track & Field
1993 Division III Champions
DePauw University
That beanie had seen a
lot, but not nearly as much as the old man wearing it. I took notes on the
clinic computer as the doctor continued to ask questions and the man responded in soft rasps from the front of his throat, almost as if his esophagus were a
tube of toothpaste and he was squeezing out the remains of a voice that had
carried him through a lifetime. He had a spattering of thin gray hairs on his
upper lip, and when he spoke, only his bottom row of teeth showed, revealing
the dark brown stains indicative of growing up with a mineral-deficient water
supply. His grip was firm as he shook my hand, and with a nod of his beanied
head, he left.
In the
hyper-green expanses of coffee fields that are only interrupted by the
occasional cloud crowned freestanding mountain, in the smiles that easily
welcome and offer advice to improve your terribly inadequate knowledge of
Swahili, in the indefinable yet undeniable rhythm of music, traffic, and
conversation, richness exudes from Arusha, Tanzania. Though I only spent a week
and a half as a medical volunteer at Olorien Community Clinic, I was privileged
with a wealth of experiences and relationships that seemed almost
disproportionate to my short time spent there. One part service, one part
research for how we might develop the clinic in Kibera, the trip as a whole was
dense with value on many levels.
The majority of the time, I could
have been found in the laboratory drawing blood and setting up various tests that
the doctor had ordered, though at other times you might have found me in the
consultation room taking notes or observing minor procedures in the (very)
small theater room. By far my least favorite experience about working in a
blood lab was having the duty of obtaining samples from babies. Here comes mama
carrying her bundle of joy wrapped in 15 blankets and wearing a teddy bear hat,
pudgy cheeks and trusting eyes meeting me with a happy gurgle that conveys the
little person’s utter joy at getting to meet me, and all the while I can only
think, “You’re about to hate me.” And, sure enough, as soon as I poke the
little finger offered to me in complete confidence, the baby’s world of trust
and happiness crumbles away into shadows of deception and evil bearded men that
prick your finger when you offer them friendship. Scarring children for life
notwithstanding, getting the hands-on experience of working in the lab
definitely represented one of my favorite day-to-day activities while in
Arusha.
The doctor who presides over the
clinic, Dr. Robert Byemba, is an incredible man whom I had the distinct
pleasure of working with most of the days I spent in the clinic. I admire this
man, not only for the 7 languages that he speaks, his personal stories that
could easily serve as the premises for Hollywood movies, his ability to handle
the wide-ranging patient presentations that come into the clinic (performing
operations on the head with a chisel and a hammer if need be), but also for his
extreme humility and evident hunger to continue learning whenever the
opportunity presents itself. He even came to me on a few occasions when he was curious
about the use of some English words or certain nuances of American culture. These
two traits, humility and the drive to continue learning in diverse subject
areas, are quickly becoming notable consistencies in the doctors for whom I
have the most respect.
Dr. Byemba also amazed me with the
efficiency with which he could reach a diagnosis during consultation sessions.
His experience with tropical diseases makes him particularly well suited to
make determinations quickly in this context, but to the uninitiated, it almost seemed like
wizardry. Of course, I'm not expected to be at a level of diagnostic expertise at this point in my medical
pursuits, but I couldn’t help but draw some parallels between the contrast of a
doctor and premed’s ability to readily discern a patient’s condition and my own
continued journey to see the world as it is. Why did that man with the beanie
stand out to me during that consultation I described at the beginning of this
blog? I could have told you that the US and other Western nations regularly
send the preprinted clothing of runner-ups in major sporting events to third
world countries before I came to East Africa. I knew this. Yet to unaccustomed
eyes, confrontations with hitherto unseen realities, even if they are
conceptually recognized, take some time to reconcile.
Along these same lines, there was another
moment that made an impression on me at the school just across the street from
Olorien Community Clinic where I would often spend afternoons playing games
with students, employees, and members of the community:
He couldn’t have been more than 10
years old, but his clothes were noticeably dirtier and more torn than the other
kids’. As I taught a small group of 10-12 year olds how to throw a Frisbee, I
noticed him engaging some of the other children in a combative manner, even
knocking things out of their hands as he ran past. One boy was holding some
sort of cookie-like snack, and when the kid in question took a swipe at him, a
few small crumbs fell onto the outdoor courtyard floor. Stooping down quickly,
the aggressive boy snatched up the crumbs and stuffed them in his mouth, all
the while glancing over his shoulder as if he expected someone to come snatch
his prize away.
I could
have told you that there are 10-year-old boys who are hungry enough to eat
crumbs off of the ground because of the extreme poverty in which they live long
before I arrived in Tanzania. Believing in the realities of poverty, hunger,
and suffering was never an issue; it’s just the seeing itself that makes the
eyes sting a bit. To be honest, I don’t know what to do with some of the things
I’ve seen during my time here. I don’t know how to fix poverty or alleviate
systemic suffering (shocking, I know), but I do believe that seeing these
realities, in all their nitty-gritty complexity, is the first vital step in any
honest effort to have a meaningful impact in these areas. As such, I welcome the growing pains of expanding
perspective in recognition that effectiveness is often determined by one’s depth
and clarity of vision. Impatient as I may get to act beyond my current
abilities, I’m grateful for the amazing opportunities I have been given to grow
kidogo kidogo (little by little).
At the end
of my stay in Arusha, Dr. Byemba and some other men presented me with an
honorary Maasai outfit, complete with a blanket, shoes made from car tires, and
an “authority stick” to thank me for the time I had spent at the clinic.
I was
absolutely blown away by such generosity, especially since I felt that I had
far more to thank the people of Arusha for than I had given. I’ll certainly treasure
these gifts, but far more the memories that will accompany them. Interestingly,
the name for a single Maasai male is a moran.
So, if there were any doubts before, I’ve now officially been dubbed a moron. I’ve even got the stick to prove it.
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