Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition
0 Comments Published by Ben on Saturday, July 21, 2007 at 9:46 AM.
I went to the field yesterday, going to the most northern part of the district to talk to people at these different sectors of government (schools, health centers, etc.). Fortunately, it's accessible by public transport (read: minibuses), so I could get out and back without overusing my welcome to borrow the motorbike.
I scheduled my visits with people, the first of which was with a guy who works with primary schools in the area at 9:00am. I didn't know how long it was going to get there and I knew someone who got stuck at the transfer point and wasn't able to get a minibus going north for an hour-and-a-half. So I got up and was out the door by 6:15; there were no bike taxis, so I walked into town and caught a minibus getting fuel on its way out of town. Once I got to the transfer point, it was clear that no minibuses were leaving anytime soon. But a guy with a car said it would only be K150 (like $1) to get where I needed to go, so I was cool with that.
I wasn't expecting there to be 7 adults, 3 children, and a man in the closed trunk (!!). I didn't know about the guy in the trunk until we got out. I shared the front seat with this nice guy who was taking his father-in-law to the same hospital where I was hoping to go before my 9:00 appt (I was basically sitting on the parking brake). We chatted the whole way up, which was nice. Halfway there, the car ran out of gas. The driver produces a 3liter bottle and fills the tank, with the car still running. Once he's done, the car shuts down. Apparently the solution was for the driver to open the hood and siphon the gas from the fuel tank up into the engine. Then he realized we were on a upward incline making the gas' passage into the engine difficult, so we pushed the car until we were on level ground (which took two tries to get it up the hill enough to make a difference); he siphoned more, the car started and off we went.
We got off at the hospital around 8:10 (the father-in-law’s comment about the guy in the trunk was "Ah! Saddam Hussein!! hahaha." which his son in law explained refers to anything shady and suspicious here because Malawis didn't like Saddam) and I thought I could stop into the hospital quickly before heading off to find the school. I'd talked with two people there the day before, and met some guys outside who worked there and asked them. The man was gone, but the woman (a nun) was. I hadn't totally put together until I was there that this was a Catholic mission hospital that was run in part by the government. In any event, I met her and we started talking about what I was there for. She'd never heard of our program before and had only been there for two months, so she went and got more senior sisters.
In walk two other nuns: one's maybe mid-30s and Asian, the other is like mid-60s and clearly from Spain. I explain my reason for coming (to get the name of the main community health worker so s/he can be interviewed in October) and then comes the third degree from the nuns. They wanted to know how we were monitoring the money (we're not, that's the government), how the people were being selected (we're not selecting, that's the government) and so on. I couldn't seem to convey that we were just evaluating the program so I just kept trying to say the same thing enough times and in enough different ways for it to make sense. Most of this was coming from Nun 1 and 30s Nun.
The Sister Spain goes in for it. She doesn't like that I'm there, that I'm asking for their help, that many, many other people come and ask for their help, they are just a poor hospital who have to treat every sick person who shows up whether they have the money to or not, etc. Then she said that she’d been in Malawi for 23 years, that she'd seen it all, so many people coming and asking for help. She'd been here for as long as I was very young, she said, and was just tired of it.
I was so not prepared for this, so I responded as best I could, "I can appreciate that you're overworked and under-resourced and clearly have a great facility and reputation in spite of those obstacles. That's exactly why I wanted to speak with some of the government staff who are here, to get their perspective." Seriously, all I needed was a name and a phone number. After another round of explanation, they start to understand what I want. I think they thought I was asking them to collaborate or do something else, which I wasn't. Something got us both confused along the way.
Then the other two sisters go outside to make copies and get the guy's phone number and I try to sweet talk Sister Spain just to be nice. I think she warms up a bit, and says, "Adios, Benjamin" as I'm leaving. In fact, when I was writing my name and contact information, I thought rightly to put Benjamin and not just Ben—immediately they started discussing Benjamin from the bible. I almost mentioned being (raised) Catholic, but really didn't want to go there if I didn't need to. It took about an hour and a half, but I got what I needed.
I called the guy I was supposed to meet at 9:00 to say that I was clearly late. He gave me directions the day before, which involved about a 2k walk through town (the hospital is south of town) and then another 2k off the paved road. I made my way up and finally asked for directions, thinking that I'd passed the post office, which was the landmark. I called him once I was near the post office and headed down the dirt road.
3k later, I realized that I was down the wrong road. I called him and explained where I was (which was, "about a 40 minute walk down the other dirt road. I'm in the shade under a big tree"), and he came to get me on his motorbike. It had actually been a nice walk, if not a little hot in the sun, so I didn’t really mind. And what could I do but laugh. Stuff like this just happens here, so I caught some shade and enjoyed the bike ride back. We went back to his office, had a good meeting, he gave me a Coke (which was just what I needed), and took me back to the "bus station" (a cement curb that is on the shoulder along most paved roads).
The ride back was pretty average: it got packed, the woman next to me had a grocery bag full of dried fish with her, there were lots of flies in the car. Once we got to the transfer point to come west to the boma, I got on this minibus that was possibly in the worst condition I'd ever seen. They had to push to start, the speedometer didn't work, the side door wasn't even on the track anymore. In the end, I got home fine.
I didn't expect just a Planes, Trains and Automobiles sort of day (or foot, taxi, and minibus as the Malawi case may be). And certainly not the Spanish inquisition. Another reminder that my expectations don't get me far here...
I scheduled my visits with people, the first of which was with a guy who works with primary schools in the area at 9:00am. I didn't know how long it was going to get there and I knew someone who got stuck at the transfer point and wasn't able to get a minibus going north for an hour-and-a-half. So I got up and was out the door by 6:15; there were no bike taxis, so I walked into town and caught a minibus getting fuel on its way out of town. Once I got to the transfer point, it was clear that no minibuses were leaving anytime soon. But a guy with a car said it would only be K150 (like $1) to get where I needed to go, so I was cool with that.
I wasn't expecting there to be 7 adults, 3 children, and a man in the closed trunk (!!). I didn't know about the guy in the trunk until we got out. I shared the front seat with this nice guy who was taking his father-in-law to the same hospital where I was hoping to go before my 9:00 appt (I was basically sitting on the parking brake). We chatted the whole way up, which was nice. Halfway there, the car ran out of gas. The driver produces a 3liter bottle and fills the tank, with the car still running. Once he's done, the car shuts down. Apparently the solution was for the driver to open the hood and siphon the gas from the fuel tank up into the engine. Then he realized we were on a upward incline making the gas' passage into the engine difficult, so we pushed the car until we were on level ground (which took two tries to get it up the hill enough to make a difference); he siphoned more, the car started and off we went.
We got off at the hospital around 8:10 (the father-in-law’s comment about the guy in the trunk was "Ah! Saddam Hussein!! hahaha." which his son in law explained refers to anything shady and suspicious here because Malawis didn't like Saddam) and I thought I could stop into the hospital quickly before heading off to find the school. I'd talked with two people there the day before, and met some guys outside who worked there and asked them. The man was gone, but the woman (a nun) was. I hadn't totally put together until I was there that this was a Catholic mission hospital that was run in part by the government. In any event, I met her and we started talking about what I was there for. She'd never heard of our program before and had only been there for two months, so she went and got more senior sisters.
In walk two other nuns: one's maybe mid-30s and Asian, the other is like mid-60s and clearly from Spain. I explain my reason for coming (to get the name of the main community health worker so s/he can be interviewed in October) and then comes the third degree from the nuns. They wanted to know how we were monitoring the money (we're not, that's the government), how the people were being selected (we're not selecting, that's the government) and so on. I couldn't seem to convey that we were just evaluating the program so I just kept trying to say the same thing enough times and in enough different ways for it to make sense. Most of this was coming from Nun 1 and 30s Nun.
The Sister Spain goes in for it. She doesn't like that I'm there, that I'm asking for their help, that many, many other people come and ask for their help, they are just a poor hospital who have to treat every sick person who shows up whether they have the money to or not, etc. Then she said that she’d been in Malawi for 23 years, that she'd seen it all, so many people coming and asking for help. She'd been here for as long as I was very young, she said, and was just tired of it.
I was so not prepared for this, so I responded as best I could, "I can appreciate that you're overworked and under-resourced and clearly have a great facility and reputation in spite of those obstacles. That's exactly why I wanted to speak with some of the government staff who are here, to get their perspective." Seriously, all I needed was a name and a phone number. After another round of explanation, they start to understand what I want. I think they thought I was asking them to collaborate or do something else, which I wasn't. Something got us both confused along the way.
Then the other two sisters go outside to make copies and get the guy's phone number and I try to sweet talk Sister Spain just to be nice. I think she warms up a bit, and says, "Adios, Benjamin" as I'm leaving. In fact, when I was writing my name and contact information, I thought rightly to put Benjamin and not just Ben—immediately they started discussing Benjamin from the bible. I almost mentioned being (raised) Catholic, but really didn't want to go there if I didn't need to. It took about an hour and a half, but I got what I needed.
I called the guy I was supposed to meet at 9:00 to say that I was clearly late. He gave me directions the day before, which involved about a 2k walk through town (the hospital is south of town) and then another 2k off the paved road. I made my way up and finally asked for directions, thinking that I'd passed the post office, which was the landmark. I called him once I was near the post office and headed down the dirt road.
3k later, I realized that I was down the wrong road. I called him and explained where I was (which was, "about a 40 minute walk down the other dirt road. I'm in the shade under a big tree"), and he came to get me on his motorbike. It had actually been a nice walk, if not a little hot in the sun, so I didn’t really mind. And what could I do but laugh. Stuff like this just happens here, so I caught some shade and enjoyed the bike ride back. We went back to his office, had a good meeting, he gave me a Coke (which was just what I needed), and took me back to the "bus station" (a cement curb that is on the shoulder along most paved roads).
The ride back was pretty average: it got packed, the woman next to me had a grocery bag full of dried fish with her, there were lots of flies in the car. Once we got to the transfer point to come west to the boma, I got on this minibus that was possibly in the worst condition I'd ever seen. They had to push to start, the speedometer didn't work, the side door wasn't even on the track anymore. In the end, I got home fine.
I didn't expect just a Planes, Trains and Automobiles sort of day (or foot, taxi, and minibus as the Malawi case may be). And certainly not the Spanish inquisition. Another reminder that my expectations don't get me far here...
Labels: malawi
0 Responses to “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition”
Post a Comment