I don't really feel like writing a novel like I have been, so this is going to be a lot shorter.
It's funny being here -- half the people we meet could have walked directly out of a brilliant novel. The other have are geniuses, hiding here in the middle of nowhere. Here's a short rundown.
Mr. Badjie -- the CEO of the hospital. He studied in England, and was asked by the President to head the hospital. He would have gone back to the UK anyways, but his friend from Tanzania told him that if he left, he would be "just one more drop in the ocean," so he stayed. A tiny man, he is very well-respected and well-known throughout the country. However, he could literally have stepped out of a novel: every morning, a man (who has, I think, no other job; the hospital employs a large portion of the town to do very little) cleans Mr. Badjie's glittering Nissan SUV (complete with leopard-print seat covers). Then, Mr. Badjie gets in a drives the 200 meters to the administrative building, where he works. He'll walk back to his house, which is directly across from our quarters, for lunch, and then drives home in the evening, to start the process over.
President Jammeh -- called "His Excellency," the President's face is everywhere. The cell phone companies "congratulate" him on "building the foundation of the Gambia" in big billboards, and banners celebrate his birthday. Cloth is sold in the markets emblazoned with his face, to be made into full outfits work by most of the ladies -- especially approaching July 22, the anniversary of the coup in which the President took power in 1994. But that's not the best part. His Excellency President Jammeh travels in a huge glittering motorcade that looks surprisingly like an American one, only with fewer limos, and from his window he throws cookies. Bags and rolls of oat cookies and coconut cookies and lemon cookies -- and they're all for the little kids -- the soldiers with machine guns will glare at you if you go for them. A dozen or so kids die from it every year, running out into the road for cookies (they really are that good, by the way) and then getting smacked by the next car in the caravan.
Mr. Sarr -- the 3rd in command at the hospital, Mr. Sarr would be the antihero of a dystopian novel. He is never in his office, and is always feigning urgent work. Reeally, he goes to a department and sits to talk. If you are looking for him (it usually takes about half an hour, especially if you bother to check his office at all) and find him somewhere, he will claim another errand, and move his lack-of-operations somewhere else. It will then take a further 45 minutes to actually do anything. And forget about setting up a meeting -- you'll have to get Mr. Beyai (2nd in command) to call his cell phone, because there's no way he'll actually show up. Of course, I'm also feeling a bit more uncharitable towards him than usual, as working for him until 1 in the morning made me miss the cataract surgeries that I'd been looking forward to for 3 weeks. Of course, why were there cataract surgeries at midnight? Because this place is insane and the opthalmic surgeon was 13 hours late.
Dr. Ulrich Jones -- the general surgon from Sierra Leone. He trained in Edinburgh, worked as an orthopedic surgeon in Liverpool, then came back to Sierra Leone and headed the surgical unit at the major hospitals. He took a fellowship to learn neurosurgery (and become fluent in Japanese) in Tokyo for a year when the field was first emerging, and was eventually sent to The gambia by the WHO. He is known all over West Africa, and has travelled to the states several times. Furthermore, he's brilliant and well-versed in literature. In short, the greatest biography that has yet to be written is about him.
Dr. Wilfredo -- the head of the Cuban Doctors here, he's the one who is really committed to working in Africa (or elsewhere in the 3rd world). I described him in an earlier post; ylu may remember the haircut description.
Robert DiFlavio -- A local Gambian man, Robert takes the name of whoever he feels like being for a while -- the real Robert diFlavio was an Italian-American who worked at the hospital several months ago. When Chuck, the local Peace Corps, met him, he introduced himself as "Chief Justice." He's a pot dealer, though he doesn't smoke it himself, and his biggest dream is that his birth parents will get back together.
Touba -- one of the medical students here learning from the Cuban Doctors, Touba is a very bright but very quiet man who studies until 4 in the morning and then works at the hospital all day. It's a tragic story here, though -- Touba's father is no longer in the picture, and there is the possibility he may have to drop out to support his mother and three younger sisters instead of pursuing his dream of becoming a doctor.
Lamin Ceesay -- at 29, Lamin is the brightest person I've met at the hospital. The holder of an RN degree and the head of the medical department (at 29!) he doesn't actually want to be a nurse -- he wants to study biochemistry and pharmacology, and do drug development for Big Pharma. He could do it, too. He wears glasses with purple lenses and is a fantastic nurse, so if anyone has an extra biochem book, I know someone who would love it.
Mariama -- Mariama works in the eye unit, and since my Gambian name is also Mariama, we say we are named after one another. She is the opthlmic nurse -- no accredited -- but she loved it so much that she apprenticed the opthamologist so that she can diagnose pretty much anyone as soon as they walk in. She's also tiny -- smaller than me, and I think shorter than Nicole (I KNOW, CRAZY) and gorgeous, with three beautiful children, the oldest of which just graduated as Head Girl (class president) of nursery school (kindergarten).
Lamin Fatajo -- the 2nd in command in the Lab, Fatajo also does not hold a degree. He came to work in the lab directly after finishing high school, and is very good at it, and is very, very bright. However, he doesn't want to study medicine or be a doctor -- he wants to be (no joke) an entomologist. He wants to study insects. He says he learned about bees in high school and was absolutely fascinated, and will study anything about insects that he finds. However, a career in entomology isn't really an option here in The Gambia -- but if you have extra literature about bugs (and I know some of you reading this do), then I known someone whho would devour it.
Lilu -- the Peace Corps guy here, Chuck, adopted a dog. A rascist dog. Since the dogs here are usually wild, most Gambians will beat them or throw rocks. As a perfectly logical but highly amusing result, Lilu only likes white people. It's actually hilarious.
Hassan -- the head of OPD (outpatient), Hassan is the nicest guy I've met here. You know when you meet people who are just flat-out good people? Hassan is one of them.
Katherine Cunningham -- Katherine is the girl you find when you look for this hospital on the web -- she raised $350,000 in 3 years to put this hospital on solar power. When she started, she was my age -- 20 years old, and had just finished her second year of college -- and now she's just completed her first year of UPenn medical school. She's visiting for a moneth along with her 17-yr-old cousin Lucy, her husband Mike, and her mom Carol, who actually flew back home on Sunday. We hit it off right away, and I'm sure I'll be talking to her a lot more soon (she's currently in Banjul for a few days).
Mohammed -- Mohammed owns the shop across the road from the hospital, and we see him almost every day. he is our hook-up for (somewhat) cold sodas -- Pineapple Fanta, anyone? -- from glass bottles (soda always tastes better in glass bottles) and sandwiches for lunch. He's also tiny, and fluent in five languages -- and when he sees us or says goodbye, he sings it in a bizarre falsetto. Salam aleikum! Yes, Helloooo! Okaaaay!.
Bintou Camara and her younger brother, Bob (ModouLamin Bojang) -- they come to the hospital every day, and do this every summer. As a result, their english is excellent. They know all the crossroaders, and love to play cards. Bintou is 12, and is obviously becoming a sassy teenager -- however, she looks about 9. Right now, her hair is plaited in dozens of tiny braids that look like tiny dreadlocks, so her nickname is Baby Rasta. Her little brother Bob is 7, and just graduated as Head Boy from nursery school (kindergarten). He NEVER wears shoes and his pants almost always have a highly indecent rip, that may or may not be intentional. His head is enormous, and last week, he tripped over his (unshod) feet and got a giantic lump on it, bigger than a golf ball. He's also always really dirty, as he will roll around in the dirt and then refuse to bathe. He's also got the worst poker face on the planet, and cheats (poorly) at cards.
That's all the bios I'm going to do -- this was still really long. Short update on what I've been doing: 2 baby-naming ceremonies in 2 days this weekend, I fell off a bench after falling asleep and scraped my knee in possibly the dumbest injury known to man (it was funny, though), in the medical ward, I administered meds through IVs (I suck at it) and cough syrup to little kids (I suck at it even more), I saw a woman dying of meningitis that had progressed to psychosis, and I stood in on surgery for over 6 hours, and saw a Schwannoma (a tumor in a myelinated nerve cell) and caught it on video. It was gross -- the size of a racquetball, it blurped what looked like orange marmalade. Mmm.
20 days til home! When we get off the plane in Atlanta, Molly and I are going to find the really good parfait place and we're going to have a PARFAIT with blueberries and granola and raspberries. Then, when I get home, I'm going to eat cereal -- Cheerios! And Cinnamon Toast Crunch! And I'm going to eat salty things, which are nonexistat here -- Sun Chips. And I'm going to have a frappachino from Starbucks and it will be delicious, and I'll go out for Mexican and have a green chile enchelada, and go to Chipotle and have tons of guac, and I'll go to Olive Garden and get a SALAD (no greens here) and I'll eat chicken and finish it off with tiramisu and a chocolate mint that has never melted. any my dad will grill pork loin with lemon pepper marinade and maybe we'll make the curry chicken skewers with cucumber sauce. And I'll go to Graeters and get a double scoop of Black Raspberry Chip Ice cream. And then my system will go into shock and I'll be kind of miserable, but it will be worth it. I MISS real food.
(I am eating, of course, but it's easy to get tired of rice and pasta. There's a lot of starch and little of anything else -- except out egg (pre-boiled) sandwiches for lunch!).
