Un-comfort Zone

Getting out of your comfort zone is a cliche. Therefore, when it is stated, the thought that you might be really uncomfortable doesn't really compute. There have been several moments thus far which have been uncomfortable, and instead of sugar-coating it and saying it's all okay now, I'll just let you savor it for what it is.

We'd had a day of traveling to DC, a 5 hour delay while inside the plane on the tarmac, a 14 hour flight to Addis with a stop in Rome, 3 hrs in the airport with customs/baggage/customer service, 2 hrs sleep in a hotel, and then 2 hrs in the airport before an hour-long flight to Bahir Dar. Because we missed our originally-scheduled flight, we were unsure whether anyone would be there to meet us. We used the restrooms with no toilet paper, and watched as the passengers (mostly white in skin color but few English speakers) filtered out of the one-gate airport to joyous family reunions, waiting friends, waiting tour guides, or their own vehicles. It was the last foreigner we would see for over 24 hours. We scanned the quickly-thinning crowd for any sign saying 'Medics Away.' Pretty soon, it was just a tour guide and a taxi driver trying to get our business who remained with us on the sidewalk. We were prepared to have to make a phone call, and the taxi driver generously offered his cell phone. We called our Ethiopian contact, Berhanu, and he said, "Oh you are medical students. Please come to my office." Bummed that he did not offer to pick us up, I said, "Does this taxi driver know the way?"

100 Ethiopian Birr later (Birr:$ is 12:1), we made it safely to Berhanu's office. He greeted us warmly and gave us chairs on which to wait for him as he went to get a vehicle to take us to our new house (he is the landlord). After about 30 minutes, he returned and took us to the house. On the way, he asked if we had heard about the Ethiopian Airlines flight which had crashed. Gulp. No. He also mentioned that he was unaware that we were coming. Gulp. He said, "I knew you were coming, but they didn't tell me exactly when, so the house hasn't been cleaned from the previous medical students who were just here."

It was hard to appreciate the beautiful scenery. I was so tired. We turned off the nicely-paved main road (with the palm trees and flowers in the median) onto a rough dirt road. We went through the red metal gate, greeted by a guard (who also doubles as caretaker and maintenance man in most houses). The path up to the house (which is on a slight hill) was lined by rocks. A garden was planted and the small yard was covered with various trees and flowers. Cool. This looks like I would really like it if I was not so tired. We chose our room and put the simple foam mattresses on the wooden frames. Berhanu and his sister began cleaning the house as we swept and arranged our room. There was a large living room with couches, a dining room, a kitchen with a small mobile gas stove, and 3 bedrooms. The bathroom had a sink, toilet, and bathtub. Berhanu asked us if we had any questions. I was too tired. He said, "well, you need toilet paper for the bathroom and matches for the stove and food to cook with and eat." If anyone knows me closely, I have confided to you that I do not like cooking. I don't mind following recipes or baking, but the effort it takes to think up meals, shop for groceries, and to make all the dishes hot at the same time is a talent that requires more time than I've had in our first year of marriage. Now, I was faced with a situation where I was in a foreign country, with no cookbook, with no spices, with little availability of meat, with no peanut butter (a staple when times are tough), and with very little sleep, and I had to come up with a shopping list of available foods in Ethiopia or we would not eat.

Berhanu and his sister left us to sleep. I awoke before Ryan, took a dribble shower (I knew what to expect with the water pressure. Ha!) in the bathtub, and set about trying to organize. Already I was feeling better with some sleep under my belt and hair with a less matted-down appearance and with a task I knew well how to do! Berhanu returned with the groceries, and I returned to my uneasy state. What am I going to fix us for dinner? I started small. We had bread with margarine and honey as we sat in chairs on the front porch that afternoon, enjoying the variety of birds (one that even sounded a lot like a monkey "oo oo ah ah ah"), and wishing the vegetation in front of us did not obscure the view we thought we might have had of Lake Tana. I ended up making pasta with margarine and salt for Ryan, and I mixed tomato paste, ketchup, and salt together to make myself a tomato pasta. It was... interesting. I like to leave room for improvement. I went to bed that night uncomfortable about the prospect of 6 weeks of this, uneasy about not having spoken to any native English speaker, and overall feeling apprehensive because we had been in Bahir Dar for almost a day and had not been able to get our bearings as to our location.

This morning, Berhanu took us to the government. He left us in the office of the medical director and went to work. No hand-holding here. After about a half hour, the medical director came out of his daily meeting with the doctors (which I will go to, starting tomorrow). It became apparent that the doctors in Bahir Dar were less fluent in English as I had previously experienced doctors to be in Addis Ababa. He gave us a quick tour of the hospital and then left me as suddenly as Berhanu in the gynecology department. We didn't know anyone coming in and out of the office area, but most had white coats. Maybe just for one day, I'd like some hand-holding. A couple of times I tried to ask what we should do and they just pointed to the chairs and said, "Wait, please sit." Ryan had his first sign bowel trouble, inconveniently in a bathroom again without toilet paper: definition of un-comfort. Finally, someone motioned to us that there was a procedure. Ryan appropriately stayed where he was sitting. Seeing gynecological procedures are sometimes difficult to watch even for those who choose to be in the profession.

Ironically, now I felt at home, comfortable. We watched as the doctor drained a Bartholin's abscess: 9 students and me, hovering and leaning together around a woman, with the glass windows giving an unobstructed view of the back of the hospital grounds. The room was quiet. The doctor quietly discussed the case, asking questions of us. Against the noise of animals and people's voices and the occasional cry from other parts of the hospital, we strained to hear, hoping to please him with our knowledge on the subject. He turned to me at times, directly asking me questions. This was a very familiar discomfort of medical school. Anyone who has been questioned publicly knows how quickly knowledge can just float away with the pressure of performing. I answered the first few correctly. Whew.

Ryan and I began walking back to Berhanu's office. This is the best way to get familiarized with a new city! 30 minutes later, we ducked into a small restaurant. Lo and behold, behind the counter we found our first native English speaker since we had left the airport! We had a wonderful sub sandwich with good meat on it, and it was a great comfort that the chef was born in California. Perhaps this shop with the bright yellow sign saying "SubAfrica" will be a mainstay for us. We can just eat eggs for breakfast and bread and honey with bananas for dinner. Or... maybe I'll have time to learn to cook vegetarian. In any case, we will not have to eat tomato paste pasta every night. Haha.

I returned alone to the hospital where I attended several more gyn procedures. These are textbook-quality cases because no one will come to the hospital unless it is really bad or progressed. I loved it! The language barrier is there, but it has more to do with the extent of their vocabulary and our mutual thick accents than of speaking different languages. All questions are posed in English and notes are written in English, but many times the discussions are in Amharic. I was able to visit the Fistula Hospital (which is just behind the government hospital) for a few minutes in the late afternoon, and I was soooo excited. I will be switching between the two hospitals throughout the weeks. I took the public transportation/walked back to meet Ryan, who had stayed at Berhanu's office to email and make phone calls to his contacts for volunteer jobs. That is where I am now, typing a novel, as Ryan said. He went to join Berhanu in the cafe next door for coffee. I think I'll join them.