Doctor Doctor ...

Today I had to pay a visit to the doctor's for a bit of tummy trouble. If there's one thing that I have learnt since arriving in Kampala, it's that if you're sick you should go to the doctor's straight away, otherwise things will only get much, much worse.

Now there are many stories surrounding a certain British doctor who has a somewhat unorthodox bedside manner. Disconcerting as this may be, at least the doctors here seem to focus on the areas with the symptoms. Complain of a fever and the doc will promptly stick a thermometer in your mouth. Mention a funny tummy and you will be instructed to poo in a pot - sorry if this is a little graphic, but TIA!

This is more than could be said for some of the doctors in Colombia. Given that it is a nation of hypochondriacs, you would think they would be more on target. A friend of mine once visited the doctor's complaining of a sore throat. Rather than shine a torch on the affected area to take a closer look, she was told to stand against the wall chart to see how tall she was? Why, I don't know. The only possible explanation I can think of is that Bogota stands at an altitude of 2500 metres above sea level. Perhaps if you are over a certain height, you are more susceptible to afflictions of the throat due to lack of oxygen ... Another time, a friend went to the doctor to sort out an old knee injury. The first diagnostic question? How old were you when you lost your virginity? How is this relevant? And there she was thinking it was a running injury!

As for my tummy - I was diagnosed with food poisoning, most likely caused by the mayonnaise in my egg mayo sandwiches. I blame Umeme ... I'm on the mend though!

Just an average week in Kampala

Another week of the ups and downs of life in Kampala!

The week started on a serious down as a serious downer as I was struck down by the lurgy. On Monday morning I wasn't feeling quite myself. By the time I had delivered a mental maths test literally doubled over with stomach cramps I decided it was time to give in and go home. The rest of the day was lost in sleep and unpleasantries I won't explain in detail! On the upside, I have discovered there is a female doctor at the surgery who just gets on with it and treats you, without any inquisitions or inappropriate sarcastic comments - what a delight! Also, a friend explained to me how you are actually supposed to collect the samples. How was I supposed to know? Nobody ever talks about it - I am enlightened!

On Tuesday I started to recover and lost myself in a world of books and movies. I found 'Made in Dagenham' on my shelf (I must have subconsciously wanted a visit down memory lane the day I bought that one - maybe to remind myself how fortunate I am to live in the salubrious neighbourhood of Bukoto!?!) For those of you who don't know, I started my teaching career there. I can't say I look back on that time with rose tinted glasses. Sure, it's near enough to London, as long as you don't mind a ten minute bus ride to the 'eafway (Dagenham Heathway Underground station if you don't speak Dagenhamese), followed by an hour long ride through over twenty stations on the dilapidated District Line. And if you couldn't face the epic journey into town, then you could always entertain yourself by watching cars burning on the Safeway Car Park. The borough kindly provided us with affordable 'key worker' accommodation - a converted car park nestled between two tower blocks. I have never felt like more of a foreigner or outsider - when I went into shops and spoke in my dulcet northern tones, I was regarded with stranger looks than a muzungu in a remote Ugandan village. Anyway I digress ... back to the movie. I had no idea that the women of Dagenham were so instrumental in bringing about the Equal Pay for women act. I enjoyed watching these brave women fight for what was right and am not surprised that the feisty women of this area managed such a feat!

By Wednesday I was well on the road to recovery and enjoyed celebrating a friend's birthday at a Mexican restaurant. I ordered sangria and it came in a vase. She was also served a very special cake - it's amazing what can be done with a bit of icing these days!

Back in school, I have been surprised by how innocent my Year Sixes are. I'm not sure whether it's the cultural differences or whether they just have a different vocabulary, but they have certainly not giggled at the same things I did when I was eleven. At the start of the year, I read aloud from 'Godnight Mister Tom' and there was barely a snigger at the mention of poor little Willie. Yesterday, I was teaching the kids about Blogs and had to spell out the pun of Blogroll - a gag that most English eleven year olds would get in a second. We have been using calculators in maths for sometime now and the kids have been experimenting with spelling out the usual words - hello, shell, oil and so forth. I don't think my student was expecting to be congratulated when I spotted he had 58008 displayed on his screen. I said it was fine as long as he could write me a 3 step problem leading to that answer!

Fast forward to the weekend please!

Oh my - someone's in for a happy birthday!

Oh dear - have just noticed my vase of sangria is chipped!

A night in the House

After a hectic week in school, I'm having a quiet night in with Dr Gregory House. If you're not familiar with this series, then a typical episode goes something like this: the featured patient will be going about their business, playing tennis, mowing the lawn, having dinner in a restaurant or whatever seeming perfectly healthy, the next moment, they collapse clasping their chest, or their hands will swell to three times their normal size,  or they turn blue or blood pours out of some orifice or other. Somebody then yells 'Call 911'. Cue title music. Throughout the course of the episode, House and his team will treat the patient for several bogus diseases, the patient will experience major organ failure, then at the last moment, some essential medical evidence will come to light and the patient will recover within a few minutes. 
I am slightly addicted, as I enjoy the dark humour and Hugh Laurie's sarcastic tones, but every now and again I have to stop watching as I start to fear that I am at risk of some strange disease.
House will often send his lackeys off to the patient's home to search for traces of fungus, dust, vermin or parasites that may have affected them. He always asks if they have travelled abroad, so a passport jam - packed with African visas would send the diagnostic team at Princeton-Plainsboro into a frenzy. I regularly find cockroaches and mouse droppings in my cupboards at school and sweep them into the bin with barely a shudder anymore. What does make me shudder though, is the thought of what their little feet have run through on the streets of Bukoto. In my time here, I've taken pills designed for horses to rid my body of bilharzia and have had my body invaded by various amoebas and bacterias.   I inhale lungfuls of dust on my bike rides and have leaped over open sewers on the hash. I expect myself to be fully immune to every infection on earth by the time I leave here!
Touch wood, though, I'm in fine fettle at the moment ... but should I turn a funny shade of purple, please call for medical assistance!

A rolex is chapatti, eggs, cabbage, onion, tomato and who knows what added extras!

In Sickness and In Health …

Before setting off to any exotic location, there is always a full checklist of health requirements you have to fulfil. There are injections for Hepatitis, Typhoid, Yellow Fever of Course and a few more, diseases that conjure up strange images – I still imagine that yellow fever must turn you yellow. As residents in Kampala, most of us have opted out of taking regular anti-malarial drugs on the grounds that the chances of getting infected in the city are low and that the effects of taking the drug long term is allegedly worse than getting malaria. We have access to excellent healthcare here and feel confident that everything will always be fine. Of course we don’t imagine that we’re going to get caught.
Last Friday morning, I was started to shiver in assembly. That happens sometimes, on a cloudy day, if you forget a cardigan. Whenever I feel chilly here, I start to think that I must be acclimatised to the weather. By late morning, it had brightened up, but I still felt a chill, and my muscles were aching a lot. I shrugged this off, convinced that I had done a few too many laps at swimming training the evening before and that I must have gotten a real chill. I battled through the afternoon, begrudging the fact that all of the extra burdens at the end of term should make us feel so exhausted. I walked out of the door as the bell rang, resolving to go home for nap before the England match later that evening.
Needless to say I didn’t make the match. I spent the night aching, shivering and sweating and wondering what was going on. In the morning I didn’t feel much better, but tried to push away thoughts that it could be anything really nasty. School had paid for free tickets for us to attend the St George’s Ball at one of the big hotels that night and I didn’t want to miss out on a rare sparkly high heel moment in Kampala. By afternoon, the niggles got the better of me and I decided to call the doctors. A friend took me in and before the appointment I had decided that there was nothing wrong with me and I should just go home instead (probably the prospect of our beloved GP who has a worse bedside manner than House). Half an hour later and I was diagnosed with malaria.
Understandably, the people who were most concerned for me are living in the UK. They will have read the statistics that malaria can kill or that it is the biggest killer of under 5s in Africa. Friends in Kampala were caring and helpful and knew that everything would be fine. Those who had suffered from it before, (one friend only 2 weeks ago!) offered practical advice and sympathy by the bucketload. Good friends ran to the shops for me, while my flat-mate made a great nurse. Ugandan friends and acquaintances also offered their sympathy, many of them having had it several times, and I began to feel a bit like a member of special club of those who know what it is like to suffer from malaria. Catching malaria for Ugandans is much like me catching the ‘flu. Ugandans are born with semi-immunity, while we have none, so even if they have a much higher parasite count, I will still suffer more, as my body offers no natural resistance.
Being ill, especially when far from home, turns us all into small children again. No matter how much of an independent world traveller I think I am, when I’m sick, all I want is a hug from my mum and dad. I’m not used to being so reliant on other people and I’m not used to not being able to do the simplest of things. I started to worry about how I would ever cope with being old, if being sick for a few days was so bad! I don’t think being ill suits me – it gets in the way of life too much. So you will understand why I felt aggravated after the following conversation. A Ugandan acquaintance asked what medication I was taking, so I told her. She asked me if I was taking it with milk or fruit juice and I replied water. She then commented, in total seriousness, that it probably will not have worked, especially, if I haven’t eaten a fatty meal afterwards. Well, of course, doesn’t everyone with malaria just fancy a big fat portion of fish and chips? I had been able to eat virtually nothing in 5 days, and there she was, suggesting that I stuff my face with pizza or something. I sighed with any energy I had.
I am now well and truly on the mend, although I am getting tired quite quickly. On Friday, I called into school and was greeted with the biggest bear hug from the whole year group. I went to the cinema that evening to see one of the worst films in history (some J-Lo romcom nonsense) – the girls complained but it was the highlight of my week! I have packed all my stuff for moving, with a few naps along the way! And I’m so happy that England got through on Wednesday, so I can finally go to the pub with everyone and watch the game – life is good again!