Race Day

So given our terrifying boda ride of two night before smart girls that we are we decided to take another boda ride in the pitch black darkness on race morning. On our defense though at 6am you don’t have much choice other then to take a boda to get somewhere, and thankfully this one went much better. We arrived in plenty of time for the race start, and entered through metal detectors to get to the stadium where the race start and finish would be. Instantly we were surrounded by crowds of runners all wearing the yellow race shirts and visors. They had a main stage with music and a man encouraging people to warm up, which for many Ugandans consisted of dancing and eating popcorn at the start line. The race started on Ugandan time- 20 minutes late, but we were greeted by Stephen Kiprotich, Olympic and World Champion marathon runner from Uganda waving at the start. As the gun went off everyone started singing the soccer cheer “we go, we go, Ugandan Cranes we go,” it was quiet the festive start. I had received a race map at packet pick up, but considering I do not know Kampala very well I had no idea where I would be running, and still was confused about the water stops. I had heard that you were supposed to bring the water bottle the race provided for you in your race kit along with you on the run and stop to fill it up from a big jug at the water stops. Well, I did not want to carry a bottle full of water for 13.1 miles so I left the bottle at home, and hoped I would be able to get a drink along the way. Lucky for me the water stops were just like in America…sort of…They handed out bottled water and sponges (no Gatorade) every few miles. I quickly found out that this race would not be easy when in the first mile we ran up a massive hill, and proceeded to do so for the next 13 miles. I knew Kampala was hilly, but when you are running through Kampala you realize just how steep those hills really are. As I was running spectators and even men running next to me would say “mzungu!” and then “female mzungu! Wow, you’re strong.” During the race I encountered a few men who would abandon their pace as I ran past, and instead decided to stick next to me for a mile enjoying the fact that they were running next to a white female. At about the halfway mark spectators started shouting that I was in 7^th place; I ended up passing two more women during the last half of the race, and then with a mile left many shouted that I was in 5^th. The hills were endless throughout the race, but somehow the race officials managed to save the worst one for last. By that point my legs were screaming and each step was a struggle. I thought a small water stop up ahead was the finish, but once I got closer to it I realized I still had a ways to go. I had to turn a corner, and another corner, and another corner all uphill before finally arriving at the finish. Upon reaching the finish line I was given the number eight signaling my position, and did not think much of it as I was exhausted and just happy to be done. At the finish I was surrounded by Ugandans without another white runner in sight, but quickly a Ugandan man who had been running by me during the race spotted me, saw my position card and said that my place card was incorrect, instead I should have received number five. So my new friend, Joseph, proceeded to walk me around to all the tents trying to find out what my correct position was. Needless to say, this is Africa, and we never did find out, but we decided to wait for awards as the top five would get prizes. In the meantime we found Anne who had finished and then went to purchase food, the choices of which were meat on a stick, chapatti, or bananas. Apparently all the volunteers had a huge buffet of fruit and drinks, but if you were a runner you had to purchase your own.

As we enjoyed our food and drink purchases while waiting for the awards ceremony we stopped to talk with some new friends along the way. However, we then received a call from the Sisters saying that they had arrived back in Uganda (they were flying in from Ghana) and would be able to pick us up and drive us the five hours back to Kyarusozi. We had originally thought we would have to struggle with public transportation to get home, so we were happy to hear that they could take us instead. Unfortunately, this meant we had to rush back home to shower, change, and pack and therefore miss the awards ceremony. Oh well, I was excited to see our African family back home again, and did not want to delay them after there long night of travel already. Second race in Africa done. Now what’s next…

Race Day

So given our terrifying boda ride of two night before smart girls that we are we decided to take another boda ride in the pitch black darkness on race morning. On our defense though at 6am you don’t have much choice other then to take a boda to get somewhere, and thankfully this one went much better. We arrived in plenty of time for the race start, and entered through metal detectors to get to the stadium where the race start and finish would be. Instantly we were surrounded by crowds of runners all wearing the yellow race shirts and visors. They had a main stage with music and a man encouraging people to warm up, which for many Ugandans consisted of dancing and eating popcorn at the start line. The race started on Ugandan time- 20 minutes late, but we were greeted by Stephen Kiprotich, Olympic and World Champion marathon runner from Uganda waving at the start. As the gun went off everyone started singing the soccer cheer “we go, we go, Ugandan Cranes we go,” it was quiet the festive start. I had received a race map at packet pick up, but considering I do not know Kampala very well I had no idea where I would be running, and still was confused about the water stops. I had heard that you were supposed to bring the water bottle the race provided for you in your race kit along with you on the run and stop to fill it up from a big jug at the water stops. Well, I did not want to carry a bottle full of water for 13.1 miles so I left the bottle at home, and hoped I would be able to get a drink along the way. Lucky for me the water stops were just like in America…sort of…They handed out bottled water and sponges (no Gatorade) every few miles. I quickly found out that this race would not be easy when in the first mile we ran up a massive hill, and proceeded to do so for the next 13 miles. I knew Kampala was hilly, but when you are running through Kampala you realize just how steep those hills really are. As I was running spectators and even men running next to me would say “mzungu!” and then “female mzungu! Wow, you’re strong.” During the race I encountered a few men who would abandon their pace as I ran past, and instead decided to stick next to me for a mile enjoying the fact that they were running next to a white female. At about the halfway mark spectators started shouting that I was in 7^th place; I ended up passing two more women during the last half of the race, and then with a mile left many shouted that I was in 5^th. The hills were endless throughout the race, but somehow the race officials managed to save the worst one for last. By that point my legs were screaming and each step was a struggle. I thought a small water stop up ahead was the finish, but once I got closer to it I realized I still had a ways to go. I had to turn a corner, and another corner, and another corner all uphill before finally arriving at the finish. Upon reaching the finish line I was given the number eight signaling my position, and did not think much of it as I was exhausted and just happy to be done. At the finish I was surrounded by Ugandans without another white runner in sight, but quickly a Ugandan man who had been running by me during the race spotted me, saw my position card and said that my place card was incorrect, instead I should have received number five. So my new friend, Joseph, proceeded to walk me around to all the tents trying to find out what my correct position was. Needless to say, this is Africa, and we never did find out, but we decided to wait for awards as the top five would get prizes. In the meantime we found Anne who had finished and then went to purchase food, the choices of which were meat on a stick, chapatti, or bananas. Apparently all the volunteers had a huge buffet of fruit and drinks, but if you were a runner you had to purchase your own.

As we enjoyed our food and drink purchases while waiting for the awards ceremony we stopped to talk with some new friends along the way. However, we then received a call from the Sisters saying that they had arrived back in Uganda (they were flying in from Ghana) and would be able to pick us up and drive us the five hours back to Kyarusozi. We had originally thought we would have to struggle with public transportation to get home, so we were happy to hear that they could take us instead. Unfortunately, this meant we had to rush back home to shower, change, and pack and therefore miss the awards ceremony. Oh well, I was excited to see our African family back home again, and did not want to delay them after there long night of travel already. Second race in Africa done. Now what’s next…

City Life

So we made it to Kampala and were able to pick up our race kit for the MTN Kampala half marathon on Sunday. Anne and I were surprised by how well organized the registration process was at Lugogo Airstrip in Kamapla, and were happy to find out that we were indeed registered for the race. We received a yellow drawstring bag which contained our bib, a water bottle, sweat bands, a visor, and a yellow shirt with a huge MTN logo on it to wear during the race. MTN is a phone company, and they had their logo all over the race material.

Riding a boda in Kampala

After getting our race kit Anne and I proceeded to enter the grocery store across the street. Now this store looked like a legit American store, and we spent the next 2 ½ hours roaming through the aisles and jumping up an down like little kids when we found “novelties” like a hair straighter, folders, memory cards, shoes, Christmas decorations, kiwis, “white people” shampoo, and my favorite- a loaf of French bread. People in Kampala sure do have it easy- they have a huge assortment of foods to choose from including a deli section, a wide variety of pasta sauce, and chicken meat for sale that is cut up and prepared. We spent quiet a bit of money on our finds, and made a stop at an ATM. Although our bank accounts sure didn’t like the amount we withdrew we tried to rationalize that we are not here very often, when in Kampala right…?

 By the time we finished shopping in every grocery store they had in the mall strip it was getting dark. We were planning on staying at McCauley House, the house the Holy Cross priests and brothers own in Kampala. We have stayed there before, but we were not entirely sure of how to get there. Street addresses are not common here, and trying to direct someone to a place you aren’t even sure where it is is not easy. Last time we tried to make it to McCauley House our thirty minute trip turned out to be almost two hours of driving around in circles. Needless to say I was a bit worried about getting back especially since it was quickly getting dark and we had our weekend luggage plus several bags containing new purchases we had made. Anne suggested we take the quickest way back- a boda, and I agreed. BIG mistake. That was the most terrifying boda ride I have ever been on. A boda is basically a taxi motorcycle, and they are everywhere in Uganda. I have taken one several times before, but had yet to ride one on this trip to Uganda. First of all it was dark, second of all I had a lot of luggage to fit in between the driver and myself, and third of all their was a lot of traffic. Now traffic is no issue for boda drivers, they just weave in and out of everyone. So imagine being within a foot of cars on each side and going over thirty miles an hour while trying to maintain in contact with Anne’s boda in front of you. Now the roads in Kyarusozi are bumpy and a 4 mile drive can take well over an hour when it rains. Given my slew of car problems/accidents before I left I am a bit traumatized by driving. Two clinic workers we drive with every morning, Grace and Jennifer, picked up on that quiet early, and they always save the spot in the back middle seat of the car for me. They are both a bit larger and they squeeze me into the middle and often hold onto me during the ride when the car is sliding a lot. So without them between me on the boda things felt weird. The ten minute boda ride felt like it was never going to end, and the entire time I was either praying the rosary, wondering where Jennifer and Grace were, or thinking I am going to kill Anne if we make it back alive. Somehow we made it back alive, I was able to get my heart rate back down to normal, and Anne is still here safe and sound J

Sad Week at the Clinic- warning don’t read/look if you are queasy

So our week “in charge” at the clinic ran smoothly for the most part and went by quickly. Seeing how much there is to do really makes me appreciate all the work Sister Angel does daily. On Friday I spent some time in the inpatient unit, and saw some tough things. First, on Thursday night before we were about to come home a young male child came in with severe burns over most of his left arm, his chin, his back, and a good portion of his upper chest. His skin was literally hanging off, and raw pink skin was exposed. It looked extremely painful, and the child and mother were both crying as the nursing assistant attempted to insert an IV. Apparently hot water had fallen on him. On Friday he had a dressing change of his wound. I watched as the nursing assistant removed the gauze bandage from his body, cleaned his skin, applied a fresh layer of burn cream on him, and then wrapped him in a fresh seat of gauze. The child was clearly in pain during the dressing change, and even urinated during the procedure. I have seen burns before, but never to this extent. Additionally, although only one day had passed since he was burned already his skin had large blisters on it and his arm had swollen quiet a bit. It was painful to watch and made my heart ache seeing what he was going through. I pray that he will recover from the burn, will not get a systemic infection from it, and that his future scars will not cause him to be self conscious of the way he will look.

Warning-sad/descriptive medical information coming up

Seeing a burned patient like this was enough for me for one day, but unfortunately, I witnessed another sad case as well. A mother had come in Thursday night as well with a potential spontaneous abortion. She was placed in the female ward and started on IV fluids and medications. Friday morning she was having severe lower abdominal pain and bleeding. Ali, one of the nursing assistants, came up to me and told me that he thinks the mother was going to abort the baby and should be moved to the maternity ward instead. I told Ali I agreed with him and together we moved her to the maternity ward and then proceeded to do a brief examination. She was passing large clots at this time and at this point we were in a wait and see state. An hour later I returned and found her with the midwife. She had just passed the baby and was extremely tearful. She was sixteen weeks pregnant and the parts of the fetus were clearly distinguishable. Having worked in the neonatal intensive care back home I have seen small babies under 1000 grams, and am not easily shocked by the size of a premature baby. However, this fetus was unlike anything I have ever seen. It’s arms and legs were present and its spinal cord intact. It’s head was there but not attached and it’s eyes were just beginning to form. The placenta was intact, but still small due to the young gestational age. When a premature baby dies at home we bathe the baby, dress it and allow the mother to hold it. However, the baby was about the length of the palm of my hand, and at 16 weeks they do not bury the child. Instead the fetus was wrapped up in a sterile glove package and handed to the mother. The mother was alone at this point, and wanted to hold on to the fetus until her mother arrived so she could show her. I stayed with the mother for a bit, and then gathered up her belongings and walked her back to the female ward so that she did not have to stay in a room with newly delivered babies and happy mothers. She was moved back to the same bed that she was previously in and she immediately curled up in a ball and put her bed sheet over her entire body and sobbed. It was heartbreaking seeing someone go through this and to make things worse she did not have the privacy afterwards that she deserved. I rubbed her arm and tried to soothe her, but what efforts can you really do besides be with her as she goes through this. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, but in reality those words don’t comfort and don’t mean much of anything (and it also doesn’t help much when you don’t know how to say that in Rutoorro.) At the end of the day I just wanted to go to the school and see the healthy and happy children playing or see my village friends and give them a big hug. We take life for granted too often, and seeing things like this helps me realize how grateful I am that I am healthy and happy here in Uganda.

Sad Week at the Clinic- warning don’t read/look if you are queasy

So our week “in charge” at the clinic ran smoothly for the most part and went by quickly. Seeing how much there is to do really makes me appreciate all the work Sister Angel does daily. On Friday I spent some time in the inpatient unit, and saw some tough things. First, on Thursday night before we were about to come home a young male child came in with severe burns over most of his left arm, his chin, his back, and a good portion of his upper chest. His skin was literally hanging off, and raw pink skin was exposed. It looked extremely painful, and the child and mother were both crying as the nursing assistant attempted to insert an IV. Apparently hot water had fallen on him. On Friday he had a dressing change of his wound. I watched as the nursing assistant removed the gauze bandage from his body, cleaned his skin, applied a fresh layer of burn cream on him, and then wrapped him in a fresh seat of gauze. The child was clearly in pain during the dressing change, and even urinated during the procedure. I have seen burns before, but never to this extent. Additionally, although only one day had passed since he was burned already his skin had large blisters on it and his arm had swollen quiet a bit. It was painful to watch and made my heart ache seeing what he was going through. I pray that he will recover from the burn, will not get a systemic infection from it, and that his future scars will not cause him to be self conscious of the way he will look.

Warning-sad/descriptive medical information coming up

Seeing a burned patient like this was enough for me for one day, but unfortunately, I witnessed another sad case as well. A mother had come in Thursday night as well with a potential spontaneous abortion. She was placed in the female ward and started on IV fluids and medications. Friday morning she was having severe lower abdominal pain and bleeding. Ali, one of the nursing assistants, came up to me and told me that he thinks the mother was going to abort the baby and should be moved to the maternity ward instead. I told Ali I agreed with him and together we moved her to the maternity ward and then proceeded to do a brief examination. She was passing large clots at this time and at this point we were in a wait and see state. An hour later I returned and found her with the midwife. She had just passed the baby and was extremely tearful. She was sixteen weeks pregnant and the parts of the fetus were clearly distinguishable. Having worked in the neonatal intensive care back home I have seen small babies under 1000 grams, and am not easily shocked by the size of a premature baby. However, this fetus was unlike anything I have ever seen. It’s arms and legs were present and its spinal cord intact. It’s head was there but not attached and it’s eyes were just beginning to form. The placenta was intact, but still small due to the young gestational age. When a premature baby dies at home we bathe the baby, dress it and allow the mother to hold it. However, the baby was about the length of the palm of my hand, and at 16 weeks they do not bury the child. Instead the fetus was wrapped up in a sterile glove package and handed to the mother. The mother was alone at this point, and wanted to hold on to the fetus until her mother arrived so she could show her. I stayed with the mother for a bit, and then gathered up her belongings and walked her back to the female ward so that she did not have to stay in a room with newly delivered babies and happy mothers. She was moved back to the same bed that she was previously in and she immediately curled up in a ball and put her bed sheet over her entire body and sobbed. It was heartbreaking seeing someone go through this and to make things worse she did not have the privacy afterwards that she deserved. I rubbed her arm and tried to soothe her, but what efforts can you really do besides be with her as she goes through this. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, but in reality those words don’t comfort and don’t mean much of anything (and it also doesn’t help much when you don’t know how to say that in Rutoorro.) At the end of the day I just wanted to go to the school and see the healthy and happy children playing or see my village friends and give them a big hug. We take life for granted too often, and seeing things like this helps me realize how grateful I am that I am healthy and happy here in Uganda.

Church Choir

Practicing singing, dancing and drumming for mass

So the Sisters are usually in charge of being the choir for morning mass on Wednesdays. Soo…since the Sisters were all gone this week it was up to Anne, Cissy, and I to be the choir and do the reading for mass. Only problem- Anne and I have no musical talent at all. So we spent Tuesday night practicing for over an hour on how to sing and drum 4 songs, believe me it was not easy! We spent a lot of time laughing and wondering how the next day would go considering we ended the night not quiet confident in our musical ability. The watchmen heard all the singing and noise inside and we found him peeking through the window in at the chaos. Although he never goes to morning mass the next morning he was the first one in the church to hear us “sing.” Mass, well let’s just say happened. I wouldn’t call it a success, but we did it and I am sure everyone had a good laugh at the noise we created. I do not think I have smiled so much at mass as it took a lot of energy to keep from laughing.