Post Traumatic Passenger Disorder

Tim wrote about this briefly in his blog, "He drives like my dad," but I would like to reiterate our experiences last Tuesday. This is our story.

Our mission: to visit, observe, teach, and experience [even more] rural health care taking place in Congo.
Our vehicle: a 4 wheel drive 2001 Toyota Landcruiser- quite a survivor considering the conditions.
Our driver: Jamaican Crocodile Dundee- laid back, Dundee hat, aviation sunglasses, arm out the window, chewing on a blade of grass, no fear.
Our passengers: Tim, Paul, myself, Katherine, Dr. Lay (health zone director), Dr. Ji' May (resident), 4 or 5 health zone nurses and an infant- couldn't see well beyond the giant packs of mosquito nets, medications.
Our destination: Kingala, located 80 km away as the health center furthest from Vanga of the 52 centers it services within the health zone.
 
We left early in the morning and stopped by another health zone along the way. We met the 4 staff members which consisted of a nurse, a midwife, a lab tech, and a sentinel/guard/go-fer. They gave us a tour of the clinic, lab space, and surveillance areas within the first building. The second hut was for maternity with an exam table and a small amount of instruments as well as a birthing room/postpartum room. Outside, under a large tree, people were gathered for the start of preschool clinic. There are special days of the week for preschool clinic and for prenatal clinic so it is more organized and people know when to come. As we walked out of the huts and toward the throng of people under the tree, I noticed there were many women dressed in the same material for dresses. All at once, they began chanting and singing, complete with motions. As Katherine interpreted what they were saying, we understood that they were sending health messages out. They sang about the importance of vaccinating your child. (Incidentally enough, they have better vaccination rates than we do in the US! Good for them!) They sang about STDs (would love to have that running though my head). They sang about coming to prenatal clinic for maternity care. It was the highlight of my week to be among these health ambassadors. The nurse had community support from this volunteer development team, and the people were getting a message which was memorable in their oral culture. Preschool clinic began and, like an assembly line, children's names were called, they were weighed (in a sling hung from a scale mounted on a wooden frame under the tree), they were given vaccines, and this was recorded in an orderly fashion. We left with a gift of bananas and joy in our hearts at what an impact this small group of people is doing for their villages/communities.

Then came the road. The dirt road is fairly maintained for a stretch. It is basically sand. When it is dry, it is a bit like driving on 2-3 inches of snow. We were fishtailing and careening down stretches of the road that were dry. When it rains, it erodes quickly into big gullies and potholes.The best part of the road is where it is damp, packed down, and where the ruts cut by the rain are quickly filled by the shovels of the road crew (paid for in sections by the Belgian government, to keep the roads open to export the palm oil). So when we were not careening/fishtailing, we were navigating the gullies. This is where PTPD comes in. See, when I was in Kenya in 2005, we drove in a bamboo rainforest which was uber-muddy! We were packed to the gills just like we were now. In Kenya, we drove careening through the mud and on a steep incline sideways at a 30-40 degree angle and at one point, we actually tipped over against the mud bank on my side! All "100" of us piled out and they pushed the car back upright, or I should say, back on a slant. They then drove the car and we sloshed through the mud until the car was in a more flat spot and we all 100 piled back in. So therein lies my post traumatic passenger disorder. Now, in Congo, when we were driving through the gullies at a 30-40 degree slant, I was slightly paranoid that we would tip on over onto the bank again.I was okay when my side was on the upper part, but when I was on the lower end of the slant, I became nervous. In addition, when I was small, I fell out of an old truck when the door came open when we were driving around a corner. Ever since then, I have been careful to make sure doors are locked when I am tightly squeezed into a vehicle. PTPD again. I was sure to check that the door was locked as we careened and fishtailed.

To finished the story, we made it safely to Kingala in one piece. We had a very productive and informative time there. The chiefs of 5 villages as well as the chief chief with his carved wooden staff were present as Dr. Lay talked to the village people gathered around about the importance of coming for care at the clinic. We then saw 86 patients, 30 for prenatal clinic and 56 for general medicine consultations which were over the level of expertise of the nurse. We ate the local cuisine in the nurse's hut across the road/path from the health center building and played games with the people of the village as the sun went down (this is their time to just hang out, after the work day and before dark). It was a wonderful time.

On the harrowing drive back, it was dark, yet our Jamaican Dundee was as laid back as can be in the rutted, now dark road. It was a perfectly clear night without a cloud in the sky. Tim had a great idea that we should stop and look at the stars. I say that without any sarcasm. It was glorious. We stopped on a patch of road and turned the car and lights off. We tumbled out of the car and walked down the road a bit. There was not an ounce of light pollution. The Milky Way seemed a little too bright! The moon was not out, just the stars. It was amazing to see how well lit the road was just by the light of the stars. Words are just not sufficient to describe the glory of the sky, so perhaps you can just imagine it.