The American Bush

It’s time to write a new blog, even if it’s quickly (and poorly) written!  

I have been back from Tanzania for almost one month.  I arrived in the US on September 26^th in Greenville, SC, flew to my parents' the 27^th in Indiana, back to Greenville Oct. 14^th, San Francisco Oct. 17^th, and arrived in my new home, Seattle, on October 19^th.  Whirlwind is an accurate label!

My last month of September in Tanzania was incredible.  I traveled to the Serengeti for the first time on a rather tight budget, sleeping in a small tent with two other FAME volunteers during the short rains.  We were closely watched at night by baboons and vultures that anxiously awaited our departure so they could gnaw on any leftovers.  They were in for a treat – the pilau cooked by our guide/chef team was delicious.

The animals weren’t out to play in the Seattle-like weather but traveling in the environment with few other land cruisers in sight and the crisp, clean air at our faces was worth the trip.  The mammals we did see were beautiful, and only the leopard eluded us.

My tent-mates, the UW nursing students, left in mid-September.  Following their departure, the staff and I threw a party at FAME, with a raffle and ice cream to boot.  Many of our past volunteers had generously left clothing and other items, so much in fact that our small administrative office was becoming over-run with non-medical stuff.  Inspired by my past company’s annual Holiday raffle, we threw a giant party, with all staff members walking away with clothing, shoes, or bug spray. The staff then turned the table on me by showing their own Thank You/Asante for my time at the clinic. 

The most beautiful cake I’ve ever seen was baked and decorated by FAME’s own staff cook. In one of my favorite Tanzanian traditions, the cake was cut into tiny pieces, and as the honored guest, I got to feed the entire staff, often stuffing their mouths with giant pieces of cake and laughing hysterically in the process.  In Tanzanian weddings, typically meat is the food offered on a toothpick to the guests by the bride and groom in lieu of cake.  If Chris and I ever tie the knot, I foresee offerings of teriyaki tofu and barbeque tempeh to our guests.

Saying goodbye to the FAME staff was easier than I thought it would be, mainly because I have a gut feeling I’ll be back.  Not a matter of “if” just a matter of “when”.  I deeply believe in the commitment the non-Tanzanian folks are making in Karatu (in addition to the fantastic Tanzanians). Spending seven months at FAME was an unforgettable experience, but it wasn’t every day, every week, every month, for years to come. High-quality medical care is provided, in quite possibly, the kindest corner of the world at a personal sacrifice.  Don’t forget about them: www.FAMEAfrica.org.

Following my time in Karatu, I took a 13.5-hour bus ride to Dar es Salaam, the capital of Tanzania. I considered flying but the $20 bus ride was far more appealing to my bank account than the $200 flight. I spent one night in the capital before ferrying to Zanzibar the next day. The highlight of my trip was a one-day cruise with a group of 100 Italians, 5 Polish folks, and one American.  I was the lone American. The tour guides were very considerate of my linguistic isolation, so they chatted to me in English after the festivities were announced in Italian and Polish. I enjoyed the fresh barbequed seafood, snorkeling in the pristine Indian Ocean, and the tiny swim trunks the Italians sported while on vacation.  It was an anthropologic experience.

The least appealing experience was the ferry from Zanzibar back to the mainland, where every African was “in disposed” as my mother would say.  Or upchucking to high heaven as I might say. Most Americans on the ferry had iron stomachs but it only took 30 minutes of sloshing waves to send me tossing cookies like the rest of them.

A 36-hour flight home with 3 connections, a missing camera, and an eight-hour layover in Qatar (apparently pronounced Cutter) followed my relaxing trip in Zanzibar (minus the ferry ride).  By the time I arrived in Greenville, South Carolina, my ankles were reminiscent of an 80 year old woman who had spent the last 60 years of her life eating bacon cheeseburgers and drinking strawberry milkshakes.  My feet, ankles, and legs were so swollen; it was a little worrisome.  I’m no doctor but I’m guessing the combination of a 2^nd degree sunburn, salty airport food, and 35-hours of rear-in-chair time may have caused the hypertensive appearance.

I headed home to Frankfort, Indiana (Go Hotdogs!) to visit my family for the longest time since I was 18 years old.  We had a really good time (shouldn’t say surprisingly, but Surprisingly!). My parents let me catch up on my sleep and six years of Criminal Minds in the almost three weeks I visited.  I spent time with my grandmother, watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy with her a few nights each week.  I kicked her butt on the pop culture jeopardy night. I knew all the deets on K-fed and Brittany.

I saw cute babies, big baby bellies, and good friends while in Frankfort. In Greenville, I spent more quality time with family before heading to San Francisco to see the wonderful people I spent over two years working with. Everyone looked healthy and happy.  I ate good food and saw the friends I loved that made the city my home.

FINALLY, I arrived in Seattle, Washington. Seeing Chris, the boyfriend I ditched for Africa, was better than I could have imagined.  Particularly since my first meal with him was a little something called Poutine (OMG).  I could eat it one hundred times over despite the impact it would have on my heart.  Now I know how people get fat. They eat French fries, covered with cheese curds and beef gravy.  And then they die. Happy?  Yes, probably happy.

My latest adventure?  I leave tomorrow for Leavenworth, Washington (aka Bavaria) for a 4-week Wilderness EMT class.  I’m slightly freaked out since I don’t yet know how to roll a sleeping bag (for that, I blame my father)… but Chris promises to teach me in the morning.  I’m going to try not to let on that Chris and I thought we could climb Mt. Rainier one day in May in our running shoes… or that I bought fancy equipment for Kilimanjaro but never actually used it.  My hiking books are un-scuffed 9 months after purchase, but I think it's time to put my weather-proofing skills to the test. Leavenworth, here I come.

I hope to have more exciting stories after a longer entry in the “American bush”, but in case I don't, goodbyeofficechair!

Directed by Eli Roth

I’ve been receiving threats from my father that I better write another blog or ELSE, so here we go.

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Mobile was last week and for the first time, I started feeling a bit of cabin fever.  The walls of Africa started closing and I craved the motherland of Seattle, really for the first time since I’ve been here.  Home has always been in the back of my mind but the experience has always outweighed the desire to return… until last week when the chapatti was a hair too oily, the rooster just a little too annoying, and the five-hour bus ride, a smidgen too bumpy.

During the July mobile clinic, my leg was elevated at a 30-degree angle and I was eating popcorn for dinner.  This time, I worked in the lab, carefully handling the poop and pee, recording data, and watching the almost 300 patients move throughout the carefully orchestrated clinic. There were many cute babies, although only a few I seriously considered stealing.  

Over the weekend, I went to Tarangire National Park and for five hours, sat in a safari car eating peanut butter sandwiches, chocolate-covered cherries, and watching animals.  The cutest part was watching a baby baboon jump on its mothers back.  The scariest?  When a young elephant decided to inspect the safari car and send its ears flapping. The mother was close behind, with her ears a-flapping.  Our experienced (not very talkative) safari guide put the keys in the ignition and drove us to safety once the elephant decided not to charge us.

A Spanish volunteer with a penchant for bad coffee asked our driver if he could get us kahawa in the middle of the savannah.  Seemed like a pretty crazy request but after about an hour, we pulled into a fancy tented campsite and we were served Africafe by a man wearing Jack Daniels boxers and nothing on top.  We would have had to pay good money for this kind of service in the States, one-dollar bills and all.   

After the safari, the Spanish volunteer and I headed for the big city of Arusha to do some shopping.  We got to our hotel pretty tired and then I got my first migraine headache.  The lights, sounds of the city, and damning pain on my right hemisphere made me want to jump off a bridge.  For those who have chronic migraines, I seriously feel for you.  After a nap and three hours of a throbbing brain, I started feeling better.  My new rafiki and I decided to get some late-night Chinese, just like in America.  Now I felt like home.  The only thing missing were the San Francisco hipsters with their tight jeans and Chris, with his free t-shirts.

The next day, we walked around the big city of Arusha and discovered the Maasai market, which was a gold mine for African crap.  Concha, my partner in crime, spent the rest of her residency savings on purses, bowls, and painted art.  I can’t tell what I bought since my family members may find it wrapped in newspaper in the next month.

I received my first rejection from medical schools this week – Boston University.  They did a good job letting me down gently, writing that 100 applicants vie for each spot.  I know many more rejections will come but as long as there’s at least one acceptance, I won’t feel too badly.

Finally my fundraising is going well for the Ride for World Health, thanks to the generosity of my awesome friends and family.  If you haven’t received an acknowledgement from me, it’s only because I don’t know who has given yet, except for my Grandpa and my parents.  THANKS FAMILY.  This is a quote from the treasurer for the event:

“Right now you and XXXXX are in a race to raise all the money you need before anybody else gets anything in.”

Thanks for being awesome.  I owe you, so give me a call or email when you decide to do Team in Training, or any other good cause that needs my credit card number.  Just give me, like five years, so I can have an income.

Okay, that’s all for this month.  I promise to make next month’s good.  Maybe some deeper observations...

XO,

Jess

The Runner's High

I have been in the habit of writing a blog entry each month after Mobile Clinic week.  I tried writing every Sunday but I’m a bit out of writing practice, so it was hard to get into the weekly routine.  I’m no Carrie Bradshaw!  So here’s my monthly blog – this time, during Mobile Clinic week.

Almost two weeks ago, I found myself without transportation at my bungalow in Karatu town.  Every day, I had been running with our young, strapping volunteers, so I didn’t want to miss a run as I was on my way to turning my Easter candy into muscle.  Without a car, I decided I would run to meet the volunteers.  I live in town and they live in the volunteer houses at FAME, which are about 2 miles from my home.  Feeling ambitious, I kept to our scheduled run at 6:30 am and was required to leave the house at 6:00 am, thirty minutes before sunrise.  I put on a headlamp and left my cellphone on the table before I walked out the door. 

The road I live off is pretty flat and not at all treacherous like so many of the roads in town.  The only problem is the deep divots between the road and the shoulder.  When a car passes, you basically have to jump a foot into the crevice off the side of the road.  Once in the hole, you wait for the vehicle to pass and return, cautiously, to the road.

That Thursday morning, a picky picky (motorcycle taxi) zoomed by me after I was a little more than an eighth of a mile from home, forcing me into a divot.  I successfully jumped off the road to avoid the motorcycle.  After waiting for the bike to pass and the cloud of dust to dissipate, I jumped back up to the road, right foot first.  Instead of landing solidly on my right foot, it twisted and what followed was a “popping” sound.  I had done some serious ligament damage and couldn’t put any weight on my right foot.

From where I was positioned, I attempted to use my headlamp as a means of catching someone’s attention since I didn’t have my cell phone.  Unfortunately, my personal SOS efforts failed. I forced myself to hop on one foot over to other side of the road where there was a bigger shoulder.  Eventually I caught the attention of some people walking on the road and they came to my assistance.

There were some greetings and “pole sana”s exchanged.  My new friends examined my foot and one man decided to take my shoe off, which was extremely painful.  In broken Swahili, I asked him to call a friend who could give me a ride.  About thirty minutes after he called and an hour after my injury, the new picky picky arrived. Since I couldn’t stand on my own, my helpers lifted me into the air over the picky picky and placed me on the back seat of the motorcycle.  They instructed the driver to take me home and as we were on our way, I told the driver “pole pole”, thinking the slow speed would make the ride less painful.  Instead, it was excruciating.

After making it home and turning on an episode of Friends to help time pass, I waited for my coworker Caroline and one of our physicians to return from a meeting.  The two of them took me to a local hospital with the only xray in town, which looked pre-World War II.  Luckily the machine was functioning and there was electricity in town at the time, so the xray technician produced a sufficient picture.  No bones were broken or dislocated.

When I returned to FAME for treatment, I was given a healthy dose of dawa (medicine) that put me to sleep, and two of our doctors casted my leg.  Normally in the US, doctors would put you in a fancy aircast, but those $500 pieces of equipment are in short supply in rural Tanzania.  After waking up five hours later from my delicious dose of drugs, I was given a pair of crutches and sent home.  I took one day off work but returned to work on Saturday.

Saturday night, after having a nice dinner with our volunteers and wageni staff, I watched a few episodes of Friends and went to sleep around 10 pm.  Instead of getting my normal eight or nine hours of sleep, I woke up at 3 a.m. to the worst diarrhea and vomiting attack I have ever experienced.  It’s a good thing the toilet and the sink were close together, because at one point, I needed the sink for vomiting because the toilet was occupied.  As the kids today say, TMI (too much information).

At around 11:30 a.m., the vomiting subsided.  My lovely coworker brought me two Sprites and so for the rest of the day, I sipped on the Sprites and prayed to the gastrointestinal gods.  For the next few days, I ate very little and watched the pounds melt away.  I have to say, I was pretty excited about that part.  I lost more weight in eight hours of puking than three weeks of running. 

During the stomach bug, I’d given up on using crutches and was just walking on my cast, which was much easier than hopping from my bed up to the toilet.  Housing in Tanzania has an incredible amount of unnecessary stairs.  I could feel my ankle swelling inside the cast from using it so much during my upchuck fest.  At midnight on Wednesday, I couldn’t bare the swelling any longer, so using the tiny little scissors on my Leatherman tool (thank you Chris), I cut the cast from my leg.  It took a long time, but the feeling of air on my purple ankle was worth it.  The next morning, I took a better look at my ankle and it was swollen beyond body-part recognition and I had internal bleeding (bruising) all over the place.

After two days of wearing an ace bandage, one of our volunteers, Erica, an awesome nursing student from Seattle, found a small air cast in the boxes of donations we received. It was little and wimpy looking, not the $500 variety, but maybe the $30 variety, but so far it has done the trick.  My ankle is looking remarkably more like an ankle, but still not ready for touching down on Earth.  I tried walking on it after the 12^th day of injury, and not ten minutes later, it was purple and hypertensive again.  

This week, instead of being on mobile clinic, you can find me on the couch of the volunteer bungalows with one leg elevated in the air cast.  Although I miss being on mobile, the good part of the deal is that I get to live in the volunteer house since it’s a stone’s throw from work, eat the volunteer food (Don’t tell Dave but I stole a handful of almonds), and my cat has another kitty to spend time with. 

The volunteers found a cat that is pretty evil by most standards and basically harasses my cat, who is much larger and nicer.  I have started to like my cat much more because of this cat, although she did pee on Caroline’s lap on the car ride over to the volunteer house.  I hope it’s a forgivable offense because cat pee is pretty disgusting.  I know it took me a while to forgive Maud’s cat when it urinated all over my bedroom.  Bed, floor, everywhere.

That brings me up to now.

The latest news is that I’ve decided to come home four months earlier than planned and will find myself in Seattle in October now instead of February.  I never considered leaving until the dreaded ankle twist when I had plenty of time laid up to think about my options… 

I love being here in Tanzania, working with the people I do, and enjoying a much calmer lifestyle.  San Francisco was go-go-go all the time.  Last night I almost read an entire novel.  Living here, I don’t constantly think about what I have to do next like I did in San Francisco.  I’ve learned a lot about slowing down, pole pole.  Tanzania is the poor person’s anti-anxiety medication. Or the rich person’s since it costs about $2,000 to get here.

I have decided to take a Wilderness EMT class in Washington state, two hours from Seattle.  The plan is to find a job and get some serious patient contact before medical school.  As rewarding as shadowing is, I kind of want to touch the patients. Good touches, though.

Also, I have signed up for a 3,700-mile bike ride to raise money for world health, from San Diego, CA to Washington, DC.  As part of the ride, I have agreed to raise $2,700 to donate money to three incredibly worthwhile organizations – the organizations are http://www.louieskids.org/ which fights childhood obesity, http://mananutrition.org/ which produces a product to treat severe acute malnutrition, or a  “ready to use therapeutic food", and lastly, http://www.oursoil.org/ which focuses on environmental health in Haiti.

Please consider donating to this wonderful event by checking out the website – http://www.rideforworldhealth.org/theride where I will soon have my own page you can donate to.  The goal is to raise $2,700 for the event, with $1,000 raised by December 31, 2011.  If I make the fundraising goal of $2,700, I am personally pledging $500, which will cover the expense of my participation in the ride.  That way, you’ll know that your donations went to the three great organizations above, and not to my Luna bars.  Thanks for your support and see you in October. 

Love, me. 

Baby Love

On Mobile Clinic this past week, a young Tanzanian woman walked by me with her baby strapped to her back in a carrier.  I was ooing and ahhhing over her baby and in response to my noises; she removed her child from her crisp leather carrier and handed her over to me.  Typically I dread this moment, when I have to pretend to be excited to hold someone’s pooping, stinking infant.  But the moment came and instead of hesitantly accepting this unwanted gift, I cradled the baby in my arms and never wanted to let her go.  Her name was Margaret and I didn’t care if she pooped, peed, or vomited all over me.  I was in love.

This baby was a little gooey, probably had diarrhea and some kind of intestinal worm, but I let her pull my hair, put her hands all over my face, and spit up on my clothes.  Twenty-seven and a half years after my own birth, I finally started daydreaming of a family.  Normally the daydreams involved traveling to faraway places, but for once in my life, I dreamed of a home filled with babies.

I pictured a giant purple house with a wrap-around porch, dogs running around, a garden of herbs and vegetables and a house filled with beautiful little African children.  Unfortunately, I’m guessing I would make some very cream-colored babies, so I dreamed of adoption, foster children, and a life full of love and family.

I always thought I would end up treating adults, but I’m pretty sure I like the little guys more.

Bed bugs and beer pong

I traveled to Seattle on May 9^th to take the MCAT.  My journey to the Kilimanjaro airport from Karatu was roughly three hours long and I shared a vehicle with a woman who had a terrible case of car sickness, throwing up first in her hand, then in her sweater, and finally in a plastic bag we picked up for her.  I thought this might be good luck, that the car trip might be uncomfortable, but the air travel would be a piece of cake.  That’s how karma works.

I waited at the airport for roughly two hours before the flight, reading my Kindle instead of studying.  I had stayed up the night before finishing the third book of the Hunger Games also instead of studying.  I had developed a love/hate relationship with the author and was deeply in love with Peeta.  In my head, he was way cuter than Harry Potter.

I love flying outside of the US because non-American airlines feed you over and over and over again.  Even if it’s a roll covered in disgusting mayonnaise and weird looking ham, I’m thrilled by the gift from the flight attendant.  After receiving my hoagie roll slathered in the egg/oil mixture, I was then asked my beverage preference.  I replied water, but the flight attendant misheard me and delivered wine, so I started my flight with a nice buzz. Asante sana, madam flight attendant.  

My flight made it to Mombasa, Kenya safe and sound, my first stop of many.  We then successfully made it to Ethiopia; however, I was met with unfortunate news.  My flight had been cancelled and I was stuck in a hotel in Ethiopia for 24 hours.  I shed a few tears, since I was anxious to see Chris, but once I saw the hotel and ate a delicious Ethiopian dinner, I relaxed in bed and slept pleasantly.  Throughout the night, I thought I felt something biting me, but I ignored the sensation and went back to sleep.  The next morning, I studied for a bit, and then after finding an English-speaking Ethiopia-born American, began to explore Addis Ababa for the day.  We went to a restaurant that served layered fruit drinks that were recommended by an expat in Tanzania, and followed up with a macchiato on a side street. 

I took a shuttle from the hotel to the airport at 7:00 pm for my 10:00 pm flight, which turned out to be a good idea since I spent the next hour and forty-five minutes in some kind of line.   I met two nice Africans on the plane.  One was an Ethiopian nurse flying to Seattle who’d won a “lottery ticket” to come to the US and go to school.  He had married a fellow Ethiopian-American and had two children who were still just babies.  The fellow behind me was from Burundi, living in Canada and working as an engineer.  He had left during the terrible genocide that occurred in the 90s.  I recommended Strength in What Remains to him, which is the story of a Burundian doctor who escapes genocide and comes to America to start a new life.

Six or seven hours into the flight, I broke out into what I thought were hives. The nurse next to me told me it must be an allergic reaction and it’s very common when traveling internationally.  By the time I landed in Washington D.C, my fourth layover, I was covered with red, ITCHY pimple-like bumps.  I was itching like mad but just wanted to get on my next flight.  One step closer to home.

Shortly after landing, I discovered Ethiopian airlines had forgotten to rebook my domestic flight from Washington D.C. to Seattle, Washington and I spent the next three hours itching my arms, arguing with the airline, and commiserating with a Canadian.  I finally was put on standby for the 12:00pm flight I was supposed to be on originally, and secured a ticket on the 5:00 pm flight. 

Ten minutes before the noon flight finished boarding, I was granted a seat. At this point, my family and Chris thought I had been abducted, murdered, and stuffed in a carry-on.  The trouble with not owning a cell phone...  

Finally, I made it to Seattle 54 hours after my initial departure, and to my surprise, Chris was waiting for me.  It was the first time we had been apart for longer than a few weeks, so I didn’t know exactly know what to expect.  What if he saw the 9 extra pounds of Easter candy around my waist and decided to leave me at the airport?  Luckily that didn’t happen and he took me to his new car and gave me a box of truffles.  Chris had come a long way in a matter of weeks… permit, to first license, to first car!  I knew it wouldn’t take much but he was already a better driver than me.  I knew I would never have to parallel park again, and that made me extremely happy.

We arrived to his apartment and the itching began to worsen and I was wildly scratching my arms, back, and stomach.  Confused by the strange bumps that clearly didn’t look like hives after I performed several internet searches, I began sending pictures of my itchy pumps to a couple that had volunteered with us and also to my boss since I had completely inadequate health insurance for the United States.

There was a debate over mites or bed bug bites, but in the end, it was determined that I was covered in 250 bed bug bites.  Imagine these nasty brown anthropods, crawling all over you at night, biting you, sucking your blood, then returning to their hiding spot in the mattress.  I looked and felt disgusting.  I was jetlagged, itchy, and I had a giant test to prepare for.

Chris spent the next few days covering me with hydrocortisone and peptobismol pink calamine lotion.  It was a romantic way to spend my return trip to the states. I also had the comforts of truffles and American food to keep me satiated, possibly adding another pound to the tire I was now sporting on my mid-section.  (Please see earlier blog post about losing 20 lbs in Africa and laugh accordingly.)

The days came and went.  I studied when Chris was at work, and at night we dined on sushi, pizza, and the night before my test, Chris made tacos.  I woke up at 5:00 am the morning before the MCAT, ate a protein-filled breakfast, and packed my lunch for the day:  Peanut M&Ms, Coke, a Peppermint Luna Bar, and a pound of almonds.  I made it through the test, unsure of myself in some parts, but just happy that I made it though.  Chris picked me up in his sleek black car, which boasted excellent gas mileage, just after lunch.  Instead of going to bed or filling the next few hours with episode after episode of Glee Season 2 like I had planned, I sucked it up and started in on my medical school application. 

That night, we took a trip into the city and ate at a posh sushi restaurant called Japonessa.  Chris and I are incredibly trendy people so we totally fit in with the hip crowd and the club music in the background.  I ordered octopus seaweed salad for some strange reason, and ate around the pink little octopuses.  My two-year stint as a vegetarian in San Francisco had turned me soft.  We walked around the city, imagining our lives when I finally moved there permanently, or at least for a few months in 2012 before I found out what medical school had accepted me.

The next day was really fun.  We went into the city, ate Beecher’s mac and cheese, and went to a Sounders soccer game.  We decked out in green Sounders gear and enjoyed the commradery between the fans and the sound of whale noises throughout the game, which we actually kind of weird.  After the winning goal was scored by the Sounders in the 92^nd minute of the game, Chris and I went to Poppy in downtown Seattle for dinner.  We ate a ridiculously delicious meal with 10 different mini “entrees” or thalis (as I think they’re called).  The chef of Poppy was on Top Chef Masters just last year and had only lost because of his lousy partner. 

On Sunday, Chris and I decided to drive to Mt. Rainier for a hike.  We didn’t do any research.  Chris was wearing jeans and I was wearing black stretch pants.  We didn’t even bring gloves.  We wound around the beautiful mountain, surprised that the degrees kept falling.  We started out at 60 degrees in Seattle and by the time we got to 4,000 feet at the visitor center, there was nine feet of snow on the ground and people were snow-shoeing all around us.  The trip entailed taking pictures and eating beef jerky but it was beautiful.  We decided we’d try again in August.

Our final day of togetherness was spent running errands.  I had put them off until the very last day, but at least we got to go to Costco, Target, and the post office together.  Our last meal was asparagus pizza, which makes your urine smell funny.  Try it.  We headed to the airport together and Chris hung out at security.  We waved goodbye and I was crying like I’d just watched My Girl or Schindler’s List. I bucked up and began my journey home.  With the exception of my driver forgetting to pick me up in Tanzania, it was much more successful than the US-bound portion of the trip.

As much as I love Chris and my family and would trade my left pinkie to spend more time with them, I know that for right now, my life and heart is in Tanzania.  There’s so much more for me to do here, and it took me a few days after being back in TZ to realize how incredibly lucky I am to have this experience and spend time with the amazing Tanzanian people I work with.  The Americans and the German are pretty great, too.

So now that I’m back, I have to give a “shout out” Facebook, Twitter style to the wonderful people who donated items for the clinic.  Ali Crawford Mullen, despite having a bun in the oven and so many other things that you could be spending money on, thanks for sending the donations.  The same goes for Jenna Blank, working full-time and in an MBA program.   Bill Clossin, with your big heart, donated money to FAME, and Ms. Kat Ticci sent me a check, which I gladly spent on KY Jelly and children’s vitamins.  Aunt Cynthia sent me a box of her kids’ used shoes that looked brand new by most standards.  I’ve already handed out several pairs to people working at the clinic who know just the child that the shoes will fit.  What a wonderful gift.  Chris helped out by buying truffles for the staff.  I don’t think it’s a gift that will necessarily save any lives but what a sweet gesture from my boyfriend back in America. Everybody loves chocolate.

I promise I also contributed with my own purchases for the clinic, as well as ping pong balls and red Solo cups for leisure activities.  Try and guess what those are for… now we’re just trying to find a door we can unhinge.

Now that I’m back, I’m working on my medical school application, trying to learn Swahili, and starting to jump rope.  I made my first attempt this morning doing this crazy pilates meets cardio workout from the latest fitness magazine at the airport.  I made in through 25 minutes today.  I have a feeling I won’t be able to sit up in bed tomorrow, so I’m going to take another crack at it Wednesday morning.  Chris and I have a fitness competition and I am planning to win.  Eat my shorts, Emond. 

Getting Fat in Africa

Dear Friends and Family,

This will be my last note before I head to the states on my 32-hour flight.  I stop in Ethiopia, Rome, Washington DC, and finally find myself in Seattle!  I'll finally post pictures, drink a latte, and go for a run.

Speaking of needing a run, I literally just ate two deep-fried chapatis.  My goal for my next nine months in Africa, besides immersing myself in the culture, learning swahili, and working on public health projects, is to start to exercise.  With the MCAT no longer an excuse, this girl needs to get off her bum!  Getting fat in Africa was not part of the plan.  I did read that when men go to Africa, they lose weight.  When women go, they gain weight.  Everything is rich in carbs, so I'm eating like I'm in college and my metabolism is not as efficient as it was when I was 18.  Almost ten years later, I finally see the immediate consequences of chapati, beans, and rice for dinner.  Just take a look at my ass.

So, besides talking about my giant derriere, I am also making one last request for donations, before I find myself in Walmart with a grocery cart full of lubricant.  For vaginal exams, we are in need of KY Jelly, for our medical mobile clinic and a variety of uses, we need duct tape.  It's amazing what you can do with it - have you seen those duct tape prom dresses?  Maybe if we get enough donations, we can just start wearing it... and don't get me started on the pens.  We could also use powdered gatorade.  These are the few things I'm requesting help with, so if you can send it to the address below, I will cart it back to the bush, and you will become part of our FAME family, which is a pretty fantastic family to be a part of.  Once a member, you'll be hooked for life.  Frank and Susan, the directors of FAME, are basically the most wonderful people I've ever met.

In other news, Chris just got a job at Microsoft so I'll be staying in his sweet corporate pad for the next two weeks, while I study for the MCAT and do a little apartment hunting with the honey on the side.  By the way, Chris and I do not use pet names, actually barely use our first names.  We have a "hey-you" kind of relationship.

The address is here...

Jessica Coulter
538 CENTRAL WAY APT B206Kirkland, WA 98033 

...and HEY-YOU,

See you in 4 days!

XOXO,
Jessica

Cheapskate

I’m not sure if I can justify spending more than 30 cents for a coke, $2 for eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and 7 cents for a banana when I go back to the US.  (I got in a fight with an old lady last week; she was trying to charge me 14 cents (200 TSH) for a banana.  I am no silly mzungu.)

For a $30 meal in the US, I could eat for a month in Tanzania.  So, do I not eat for a month?  Or, just fill my carry-on with bananas?

There are a few things that are cheaper in the US

1. Mountain bikes, road bikes, any kind of bikes (cars, too)
2. Almonds, they are so expensive here!
3. Toothpaste
4. Internet, fast, wonderful internet that allows me download YouTube videos, like the one of Justin Timberlake doing “if you like it than you better put a ring on it”, upload pictures, and skype. 

Skyping in Tanzania goes a little something like this…

“Chris are you there?

“Chris?”

“Can you hear me?”

 Grab phone and text, “Hey, I’m on skype, can you hear me”

 Chris texts back, “I saw you for a split second!”

      What do I miss most about the US?  In no particular order…

Glee, Glee, Dexter, Glee, Californication, Boardwalk Empire, Treme, Glee, Sushi, Chris downloading episodes of Glee for me

I have just over 3 weeks remaining until the MCAT to study as much as possible.  My books from my sister finally arrived last week, only taking two months.  A care package from Ali also arrived the same day.  Both packages were filled with chocolate and easter candy, which I’m embarrassed to say I finished in a week.

Two Observations

1. Thin mint girl scout cookies do not hold up in a Tanzanian post office for 2 months
2. I still managed to eat all of them in record time

          Please contact me at jessica.coulter@gmail.com if you are interested in 

donating children's clothing, crocs, or money to FAME.  

  
       Frank and Susan, the directors of FAME, are currently on a 6-week trip in the US, heading to Calistoga, San Diego, Nebraska, Boston, and New York, raising money to support FAME's mission of providing quality health care services in East Africa.  If you would like to attend any of these events, please send me an email.  Check out the website: www.fameafrica.org for more info.

With love,

Jessica

Eating my way through Africa

A quick blog entry of recent events… 

Today I attempted a half-marathon with two volunteers and a volunteer coordinator from a local NGO.  I say “attempted” because we got our butts kicked by the East African runners from the get-go.  As soon as the race started, we had no chance.  We couldn’t even see another runner after the first ten minutes.  We were also strongly encouraged to end the run 3 miles early since we were running so slowly, so we only completed 10 miles of the run.  We still earned free t-shirts and passed five people before we finished.  One person pulled a hamstring, but it still counts.

As we passed local villages during our run, people were cheering for the slow white women. A group of schoolgirls, dressed warmly in purple sweaters, breathing lighter than we did in 5,000ft altitude air, joined us for part of the run, chatting to us in Kiswahili. A little part of me dies every time I have to say “hapana kiswahili”, meaning no Swahili.  I will master this language after the MCAT.

We also had regular people join us, women who looked like they left the rice on the stove, but just wanted to run with us for part of the trip.  We could hear the clicking of a woman’s heels from the back of the pack.  It was pretty magical.  If I wouldn’t have been wishing for death for the first 8 miles of the race, I would have found our company and the scenery much more enjoyable.

Following our run, we went to Gibb’s Farm and enjoyed an amazing buffet-style lunch.  We piled our plates with food, drank tea, coffee, beer, and water, and sat on the veranda and enjoyed the incredible gardens.  If you get to Tanzania, stay at Gibb’s.  It’s breathtaking.  They’re known for their chocolate pudding but the rhubarb crumble is what did it for me.  It reminded me of growing up in Frankfort, Indiana, eating Grandma Ana’s rhubarb pie.  My mouth waters at the thought of when she would take extra dough from the pie crust, cover it in butter and sugar, bake it, and serve it to us as an afternoon snack.  Mom, take notes, those are the things grandmothers should do.  Fill their grandchildren with sweets so they only have fond memories of their childhood.

Speaking of my childhood, during the infamous ice storm of the early 90s, we watched Arachnaphobia.  I think I was 8 at the time. I had flashbacks to the movie just this week...

Two nights ago, during my MCAT studying, I looked to my right and saw a tarantula sitting on my wall outlet, less than one foot away. Luckily for me, there was a male volunteer at a nearby pub who felt inclined to remove the creature from my home and release him into the wild.  His girlfriend was there, and between the two of them and our development coordinator, there was a long argument as to whether we should just spray the tarantula with DOOM and end his sorry life, or, somehow capture the tarantula in plastic tupperwear using a wooden spoon, and take him back to the woods.

After ten or fifteen minutes of toying with the tarantula, our MD volunteer caught the beast and took him outside.  As soon as the volunteer passed the askaris (our security guards), the askaris took the plastic container away from him with the tarantula inside, dropped the spider to the ground, and stamped him out with their walking sticks.  Our volunteer was a bit traumatized at the thought of them crushing the liitle guy, but I will sleep much better knowing the tarantula won’t be returning to eat me anytime soon.

I have a cat now; her name is Ugali. I named her after the bland, Play-Doh-like porridge eaten by Tanzanians and now me.  Ugali (the food) is reminiscent of grits at Shoney’s.  You know, the restaurant that was about as sanitary as licking ice cream off a bathroom floor.  Unfortunately, there isn’t a PetSmart anywhere nearby, so I’ve had to create my own toys for Ugali.  She loves playing with plastic bottle caps, scratching the legs of chairs, and chasing tampons, probably because they look like mice.  I’ve hung tampons all around the bungalow, attached to shoe strings.  She goes nuts for them!

I’m heading to Seattle in May, and by the time I arrive, it will have been three months since I’ve left the blessed states but it feels like no time has passed.  When you don’t follow world events and just keep track of faith healers and count your mosquito bites, it’s hard to imagine what family and friends are doing.  I’m sure my mother is planting a beautiful garden for summer, my sister is studying nights and working days to get through nursing school (eating a lot of taco bell, I’m sure), and Chris is moving and packing to a whole new city.  My dad?  Probably still wondering what happened to Indiana Basketball.  “Bobby Knight”, he mutters, as he pours himself another glass of wine…

Just kidding, Dad.  You’re flying all over the country, saving miles to come visit me in Tanzania.

Anyway, life is good.  I'm studying fairly diligently, but still finding time to update my blog and chat with my family and friends.  I'm also cooking A LOT which is a nice change from San Francisco, where I ate out almost every night.  Cooking here is wonderful because everything is so cheap.  For 2,500TSH (Less than $2), I bought two avocados, four tomatoes, three bundles of greens, and a bunch of bananas.  I also finally have a camera - so once I'm in the states and don't have to pay internet fees by megabite, I'll upload a lot more pictures.

Thanks for reading.  Yours always. 

  

Rooster Soup

We just finished another mobile clinic out in the bush, which means a meat buffet and stories from the week.

We had planned to leave on Monday for clinic however the rainy season in Tanzania had other plans.  The roads to small villages like Gitamilanda tend to be a little treacherous when the long rains begin.   We waited one day for the clay roads to dry and crackle like crème brûlée and then headed to the bush on Tuesday.

We packed the bus with our clinicians for the week: a neurologist, a pediatrician, a family practice physician/ surgeon, a Tanzanian doc, a lab professor, and me.  Needless to say, I felt inadequate.  We traveled smoothly until we came to a large, muddy dip in the road with a man standing in the middle of it, waving his hands for us to stop.  Our Tanzanian driver became irate and drove despite the man’s heed.  When we made it to the other side of the ditch-that-was-once-a-road, our driver stopped the bus, opened the door, and began screaming at an audience of several villagers, including the man from the middle of the road.  All I heard was “swa-hi-liiii”.

When our animated driver got back in the car, he informed us that the man had wanted money for the road being made passable for our monstrosity of a land vehicle.   Our driver kept asking the crowd,” Who fixed this?  Tell me who fixed it?”  The toll person had no idea, but said he still felt he deserved money for the repair.  It turns out, our driver had been the one to fix the road. He was pissed!  There were two more Land Rovers behind us, soon to be crossing this same intersection of road and villagers.  Our driver talked to the village elder to ensure that the other vehicles would not receive the same welcoming we had received from the village.

Thirty minutes later, a rock hit the side of our car.  Our driver immediately hit the breaks, parked the bus, threw open his door, and went out to find the little shit that did it.  Possibly a spanking and a “You need to teach your kids how to behave” later, we were back on our way to Gitamilanda.

Ten minutes from the village, we came to a river, which had not been there for our first mobile clinic.  None of us could remember a river with white caps such as this one.  Aww yes, the rainy season.  Our strapping clinicians and fellow FAME staff, hiked up their pants, grabbed their shovels, and waded across to the other banks and began shoveling the sand to create a ramp for the bus to climb up.  Forty-five minutes later, the men had built a passable ramp and we headed into the village just after dark.

I was dreading going out into the bush for this clinic a little bit because I wanted to be somewhere with proper electricity for studying at night.  Boy am I glad I went!  Even though I’m in the lab doing urine dip sticks, pregnancy tests, and sometimes sticking my fingers in poo, I love being there.  One woman walked two days to receive care.  It’s incredible.  Although the medicine isn’t as advanced as everyone would like in such a rural setting, we treat many diseases that could be fatal if left untreated.  We also work with nurses from the government who immunize the kids.

One of our coordinators, Paula, had recently been to her home near Chicago and had received clothing donations.  These little Hazabe children from a tribe in the area were soon dressed in Baby Gap and Ralph Lauren.  I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a Lily Pulitzer dress.  Because all of the children have short hair, Paula would take off their dirty clothing to put on a donated outfit and quickly learn the little girl she was going to put in a cute little dress was actually a little boy.  By day two, red and blue Ralph Lauren polos were playing in the sand.  I think Paula even taught them the brand names, “Okay, now say Ralph Laur-en”…

There is a huge language barrier since our volunteers only speak English, our staff mostly speaks Swahili and English, and the patients at the clinic only speak their Datoga tribal language.   We asked for a stool sample from one young man and gave him a paper cup and a wooden stick to retrieve his sample. We say kidogo, which means, just a little.  He returned with a dripping paper cup filled with urine.  On the second try, he nailed it.  

Day 2 wrapped up nicely and we saw approximately 120 patients in those two days.  Not bad, considering a large chunk of our patient-base was in Loliondo, drinking root juice.  (See previous blog).

The food this trip was spectacular.  Our first day, we had burritos for lunch with guacamole and mango salsa.  That evening we had rosemary goat stew – man, do I love goat (says the ex-vegetarian).  For dinner the third night, there was a quick realization that there wasn’t enough chicken to go around.  Apparently, they were able to purchase a chicken to provide enough sustenance for our dinner that night and some to spare for our breakfast the next day.

The next morning, instead of waking up at 4:30 a.m., we all woke up at 6:30 to the sound of our alarms.   We quickly realized where the cooks had purchased the chicken from the night before.  The doctor from the village has sold his rooster to us and we had eaten our wake-up call.  The rooster that was literally staying in the room next to us was now in all of our bellies.

Hakuna Matata. 

On a different note, I will be back in the states in May and I am hoping to gather some donations for my return.  I’ll come up with a good list closer to my departure date but if you have any rugrats that are out-growing their clothing or you feel a strong urge to hit the spring garage sales, I’ll happily transport anything you purchase back to FAME and out to the mobile clinic.  If you have shoes you can donate, those are also needed as most of the little kids are running around barefoot and can become re-infected with worms.  

 

Asante sana (Thanks very much), Love you all… Jessica

Boogers and Faith Healers

I have been in Tanzania for exactly one month as of today.  Time flies! 

I have learned basic Swahili from communicating with the staff here, and I've found, the most popular phrase is “Pole kwa kazi” (this is spelled wrong, I’m sure of it, but I’m too lazy to check) which means Sorry for your work.   Pole is a very useful word – when someone sneezes you can say pole, when someone is driving too fast, pole pole is slow down.  It’s probably my favorite word so far.  When you can’t think of anything to say, just say pole.

I haven’t mentioned this yet, but I’m actually staying in a Hilton in Tanzania.  Okay, not really, but the volunteer bungalows here are really nice.   We have a chef who cooks delicious baked goods including bread, peanut butter and cinnamon cookies, and banana bread.  Tonight he made a leek quiche for dinner.  We have an amazing housekeeper who the other day, shaped my blanket into a flower-like display with my stuffed elephant in the middle of it.  Did I mention that I could lick the floors here!  I won’t because we have tons of crickets running around, and my lab guru roommate claims she can hear mice playing soccer under the bookshelves.  But I probably wouldn’t get sick.  I would just taste disinfectant and cricket poo.

Boogers.  The village of Karatu has all of this red dirt everywhere that gets all over your shoes and when it gets dusty, can get all up in your nose.  When I blow my nose and look into the tissue, it looks like brick-red egg whites.  So, nose picking is very common here.  It’s very strange, you’ll be in the middle of a conversation with someone… and finger into the nose!  Dig, pull out, flick!  Even the mzungus who have been here for a long time dig for gold without a second thought.  I get it, I definitely flick the exterior of my nostrils more here than anywhere else, but no picking yet for me.  Like I said, I’ve only been here a month.  I'll be nose pickin' in no time.

Faith Healers.  Patient stealers, more like it!  There is a Lutheran pastor in TZ who is selling a root concoction for 500 TSH, which is equal to about 30 cents.  Tens of thousands of people are flocking from within Tanzania and the surrounding countries to get rid of AIDS, diabetes, high blood pressure… all of the chronic diseases.  Even members of the Tanzanian government are going.  People are dying from ending their treatment to get a drink of this guy’s “medicine”.  The only hope is that people will realize this drink won’t replace their antiretrovirals and insulin, and they go see a doctor before it’s too late.  

http://www.thecitizen.co.tz/sunday-citizen/40-sunday-citizen-news/9007-untold-story-of-loliondo-mystery

To everyone who has sent a care package (my mom, sister (do MCAT books count; I'm not sure), and Ali), my boss received a care package from her mom today, sent December 3, 2010.  That's depressing.  3.5 months.

On a lighter note, a line from Out of Africa:

Karen Blixen: What's wrong with marriage anyway?
Denys: Have you ever seen one you admire?
Karen Blixen: Yes, I have, many. Belfield's, for one.
Denys: He sent her home for the rains in 1910. Didn't tell her they were over until 1913.

Next week, I'm back to the bush.  Hopefully I'll have exciting stories for you upon my return.  Thanks for reading!  Asante sana!  

Running in Africa

When I run in Africa, I hear the giggles of Tanzanian children along the red dirt road that splits the coffee fields.  I’ve been told that Tanzanians only run if they’re running away from something. I can understand this as I zigzag along the road to avoid piles of elephant dung.  Yesterday I looked up into the trees and pictured a lioness hanging from a limb, ready to pounce on me at any moment.

When I run, I wear an Argentinian soccer jersey (number 10 for Messi), hoping that at least people will I assume I’m running to soccer practice, or running to get in shape for soccer.  As long as it’s only the giggles of children and not the roar of a lion, I’ll keep running on this little road.  “Silly Mzungu” I imagine them saying.  The lioness thinking… chakula (lunch).

It’s true that Tanzanian women don’t need to run.  They spend all day caring for children, cooking, balancing kilos of wood or water on their heads.  During a walk last week, I wanted to take a picture of the woman laboring behind the young, healthy man jauntily walking in front of her, without a load to speak of. 

In the car yesterday, a group of us had a discussion about how to solve this problem, of women doing all the work.  You create women’s groups, give women microloans, but how do you keep the idle men from resenting the women for their triumphs and lashing out at them?  What will change the way men think, that to provide for their family is the manly thing to do? 

First Mobile Clinic in the Bush

Last week was my first week of FAME’s mobile clinic.  On Monday morning, we packed up a bus that carried the lab, the pharmacy, and the FAME staff to a little town called Gidamilanda.  The drive takes about five hours and is rather bumpy.  There’s no use trying to read, so driving there, I mostly listened to music, enjoyed the sun on my face, the warm breeze, and my butt bouncing up and down the entire way. 

“Karibu to the bush,” my butt said.

The cooking staff arrived to Gidamilanda first, and shortly after we arrived, we enjoyed a delicious meal.  Chapati were very popular for dinner and breakfast.  Chapati are very similar to flour tortillas but are made with fine corn meal and are basically deep fried.  For breakfast, I would load my chapati with a hard-boiled egg, sweet potatoes, and beans.  I mentioned that I was told I would lose 20 pounds in Africa.  Scratch that.  Gain 10 pounds in Africa. 

At night we slept in an uninhabited schoolhouse with mattresses on the floor and mosquito nets overhead.  Surprisingly, the beds are no less comfortable than an IKEA futon, and if it weren’t for the still air and 80-degree heat, I would have slept like a baby.  Instead, I read most nights until midnight, thinking about the creepy, crawly things around me and my nagging constipation.  Too many bananas I’ve been told.

The first day, we drove to the small village of Endesh, which was about an hour away.  We hosted our first day of clinic there and the second two days back at Gidamilanda.  Since I have no true clinical skills yet, I was charged with recording new patients in the lab book, labeling the receptacles for their stool, urine, and blood, and passing them off to the other lab person Julius, who would draw blood and check for malaria and other parasites under the microscope.  Malaria and ringworm are the most common parasitic infections.  STDs however are just as common.

In the Datoga culture, men are allowed to have several wives, which makes it difficult to stop the spread of disease, unless all of the wives and the husband come to the clinic to be treated together.  The other problem is that the sharing of wives is socially acceptable.  If you’re lucky enough to stop the spread of disease with the current wives, a new wife or shared wife can reintroduce a sexually transmitted disease.  Quite the dilemma.  Condoms could help but those are far less socially acceptable than multiple partners.

In addition to recording lab results, I was promoted to urine testing by our resident lab guru, Joyce.  She’s a professor and PhD from the east coast who has given up a year of teaching to instill lab processes into the hearts and minds of the Tanzanian staff.

Some patients would fill their entire container with urine, so much so that upon opening the lid, the urine would spill out and take up residence all over my hands.  Other times, our translator would forget to show the patients how to open the container, and instead of peeing in the cup, they would pee on the lid.  For many patients, this is their first time seeing a doctor, so I’m sure I would have thought “WTF”, too, when handed a container I had never seen and asked for pee.

After the first long day (it was exhausting), we drove back to Gitamilanda and again enjoyed something delicious at night.  I can’t quite remember all the meals (I’m no Pat Coulter), but I won’t forget the delicious fruit salad and the warm beer.  After touching urine all day, I felt like I was drinking it.

At bedtime, we’d sit outside and chat.  One woman with her box-o-wine and pack of camels.  We’d eventually make it to bed and attempt to sleep through the stifling heat.  When we awoke at 6:30 am, it was bucket-shower time.  I truly can’t complain too much, because I feel like the majority of volunteers in Tanzania don’t have their bucket shower piping hot and served shower-side.

After the shower, I’d walk next door to the squat toilet and attempt to avoid peeing on my shoes.  By the third day, I had perfected the art of squatting and peeing but it certainly takes practice.  I also said a little thank you to the man in the sky for granting me constipation last week. 

Wednesday and Thursday clinics at Gitamilanda were a little slower than Endesh.  They were at the same location as the schoolhouse, our squat toilet came with toilet paper, unlike the squat toilets at Endesh, and we could run back and forth to wash our hands.  There wasn’t a lot of hand washing at Endesh, so it was lucky I got promoted to urine on the second day of clinic.  

On Friday, we returned in the early afternoon.  After a long nap, the FAME staff and volunteers went to the most amazing place called Octagon.  It’s beautiful, covered in foliage and flowers, an open building with the night breeze blowing.  And what they serve is equally magnificent.  My father’s dream – a meat buffet: pork, chicken, goat, beef.  After being a vegetarian for over two years, this was pretty delicious.  We didn’t realize that they had a non-meat buffet with vegetables and sides until we had already filled our plates with barbeque.  We shared stories and wine, talked about lower back tattoos, and ended the meal with rhubarb and ginger pie.   Such a good ending to a warm, dusty, dirty and fulfilling week out on mobile.

Hello, Africa

I arrived from Paris on Wednesday, February 16^th, camera not in hand, so I deeply apologize for no pictures.  My camera is in a taxi, a hotel room, or a plane somewhere.  To those of you who know me well, this won’t surprise you; it will just disappoint you, because it is beautiful here!  I hope to post pictures soon.

Getting through customs was no problem, both of my bags luckily arrived in one piece and with all of their contents.  I exited the airport and quickly found the young Tanzanian boy with the sign “KIA Lodge, Jessica”.  I was so happy to see my name!

We traveled the 3 or 4 minutes to the KIA Lodge, where I met Caroline, the old volunteer coordinator (me being the new one).  We had breakfast, chatted, and our speed taxi picked us up two hours later.  The speed taxis are notorious for driving very fast, so you can just say “pole pole” and they will slow down, or so I’m told.  Caroline, who is German and very good at speaking Swahili, took care of all of the telling.

We arrived at the clinic a few hours later, where I met the staff, most of them English-speaking with the exception of some of the cleaning staff.  I’ve been telling them I’ll practice my Swahili soon…

My first dinner included an interesting pizza-like pie and cabbage salad.  Tanzania apparently does not have the same baking traditions as Paris.  This may prove better for my health, but I’m guessing in a couple months, I would kill for a good pastry.

Talking about killing, the director of the clinic, Dr. Frank, today drew a line to describe his philosophy in life.  On one end of the line, he wrote Gandhi.  On the other end, Rambo.  He said he used to try to live his life in the direction of Gandhi, but currently, he keeps bouncing back to Rambo.  So if anything goes wrong, he kind of wants to kill someone.  Just like I might kill for a chocolate croissant in a few months.

So far, I’ve had two social outings.  The first to a bar called Happy Days, which has American-style food – grilled cheese, hamburgers, mac & cheese, and really large beers – I’ve tasted Kilimanjaro so far.  I think all light beer drinkers would approve.  I met the local guys who Caroline hangs out with after work and it proved similar to hanging out with a bunch of boys from the states. 

My second outing was to a restaurant everyone calls “Ashley’s” only because the girl who owns it is named Ashley.  It might have a different name but no one really seems to know it. The place has really delicious drinks and food.   Last night was Margaritas and Burritos night for all the expats around in TZ.  I feel like I should be eating food fermented from the ground like on Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmerman, but instead I’m eating delicious burritos with good cheese and guacamole.  I think we all picture Africa a lot differently than it actually is.  I haven’t met one person without a cell phone.

Next week we leave for Mobile Clinic, which involves bringing the clinic at FAME to the bush.  (I’m really excited for the squat toilets.  I’ve heard they’re great for your thigh muscles.) I’m going to be put to work in the lab.  At this point, it sounds like I’ll just be taking names and recording test results, but hopefully in a couple months, I’ll learn enough to run a few tests myself.   I looked at gonorrhea under a microscope today.  I don’t think I want it even though I learned it’s very treatable.

So far, so good.  I miss my family and friends a lot.  I had my first realization yesterday that I am very far from home, home basically being the entire United States since my loved ones are spread from end to end.  I started craving sushi.  I hear the chocolate cravings begin after the first month (hint, hint, dark chocolate with almonds sounds pretty good right now).

Jessica Coulter

FAME Medical

P.O. BOX 351

Karatu, Tanzania

I’m sure I’ll have a lot to write after the mobile clinic next week.  I have yet to truly rough it here in Tanzania.  I feel a little spoiled so far, but I’m sure that will change when I move out of the volunteer quarters next month and into my own space.  I also have to learn how to drive on the other side of the road and in some muckity muck when I get back from Mobile.  That will be interesting…

I love you all so much.  Being far away from home gives me the chance to remember how special all of you are.  

Good Americans when they die, go to Paris. - Oliver Wendell Holmes

My last stop before moving to Tanzania for a year included five wonderful days in Paris.  I've been told that I'll lose 20 pounds in Africa, so I decided to gain at least 10 pounds in Paris, so my pants would still fit at the end of my journey.  I'm simply too embarrassed to report how many euros we spent on food...


Duck confit, pain de chocolat, nutella, expresso upon expresso, eggs and salmon, and lastly, the most terrible, veal with lemon creme sauce.  Unbelievably terrible - my only bad meal at the very best restaurant for Valentines Day! 

Veal Scallopini and Scallops sound incredibly similar when spoken in english with a french/italian accent.  I promise to improve my french for the next trip, so I order scallops and not scallopini.  "Desole" to the cow whose baby I ate tonight.  Definitely not a vegetarian anymore!


Couldn't have asked for a better goodbye to fine dining, comfortable beds, and my best friend and love, Chris.