Rachel's Holiday

I need a holiday.

Like a proper one. I want to be taken somewhere and looked after for a few weeks and not have to cook or clean or more importantly WORK.  After lying down comatose for about a week I’d like then to do some gentle exercises and maybe something creative with my mind and hands.  Ok yes I want to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital!

I stopped writing when the unending arrival of Effers peaked with the man from HQ who insisted, on climbing under a table at a training workshop at lunch time to sleep in full view of a group of the country’s top midwives. I wouldn’t mind but he was the Effing facilitator and I’d bloody well paid for the freak to come!

I should have known I was in for a spot of bother when the first conversation he told me about was his “re-birth’ at the age of 40. This apparently consisted of him lying on the floor in the foetal position crying, screaming with rage and rocking back and forth, being back to his four year old self and the feelings he felt when his mum had to leave him in the hospital because he was sick. The important part for him was that his then poor unsuspecting 71 year old mother was invited to watch this spectacle which made him ‘feel better’.  

So with this in mind and the fact that, well my mum left me at nursery at a similar age EVERY DAY, I’m writing this having just taken a break from my new favourite activity of taking Crayons to the wall while wearing a slightly soiled nappy. Well if you can’t beat them, join them and as this guy is one of the top guys in the organization, I am expecting a promotion any day now.

I have also just emerged from trying to write a proposal to get money from Comic Relief for a new project for disabled children; it was no joke! You would think that all you would need to do is feed them with a few Christmas cracker jokes and the jobs a good ‘un, but oh no, those guys want some serious shit. I was up until 2am on more than one occasion trying to convince them that, “honestly Lenny, give us a million quid, there’s no Effers here to misuse it”! I swear if the work of art I finally submitted doesn’t get past stage one, the only red nose I’ll be getting in the future is from ever approaching alcohol disorder.

There was then “cleaner-gate”; but I don’t want to air my dirty underwear in public too much, as the new women who’s been assigned to me is doing that well enough without me.

So the truth is I’m knackered. 100% physically and mentally knackered. And I need a holiday. So it’s quite concerning to me that when I look back over the last month, I have in fact spent the past 5 consecutive weekends either at a beach or staying in a rainforest.

Gambia hotel

Sailing (Sideways) up the river Gambia (I really was the one steering)



Bureh



Forest hut accomdation with the Chimps

These beaches are just too busy for me!

So if that isn’t doing the trick then quite simply it’s a stint in the nut house for me.  And I know I am deserving of a place, as despite feeling the way I do, I decided not to book that oh so tempting £600 one way ticket to Manchester for next weekend, but stay here until next April.

Mmmm I think we better book me an upgrade to a medium secure unit.....

xx

The F Factor......

Looking on NHS jobs is not a good sign; in fact it’s a terrible sign (what the hell is NHS England by the way??). But that is what I have been driven to after the last 2 months onslaught and endless arrival of what I am now calling ‘The F factor’s’ or more accurately the “What the F, Factor's??”  "Effer’s" for short.

After 20 months of working with Effers and more recently having had more encounters with the female of the species whereby in the past I was exposed to the male variety, herein are the results of my anthropological studies…

The Effers don’t stop complaining. Ever. Well except to eat cheese, and then they complain about that.

The Effers complain about each other….. then go out and eat cheese together

The Effers complain about the national staff (that would be the poverty and lack of a decent education system then)

The Effers complain about the rain (it the effing rainy season you dumbwits)

The Effers complain about the roads (that would be Africa then)

The Effers complain about being here – apparently they have some sort of particular cognitive problems whereby when they don’t want to be somewhere they get on an Effing plane and go there – amazing!

The Effers think it’s OK to speak to anyone however they like in the most rude and aggressive manners imaginable, but then become highly offended if it is done to them.

Having an overinflated sense of importance is common amongst the Effers which helps them undertake activities such as taking a vehicle to drive home without any authorization to do so and then abandoning it for the weekend in an unsecured place. Well the poor Effer had to get home after all!

Most Effers appear to have some form of congenital birth defect which results in a form of a tick. This tick is most noticeable when you ask the Effers a question; the shoulders raise up quickly, the head tilts sharply to one side and the lips pout. Sometimes they expel a short burst of burst of air from between the lips creating a rather irritating “purhhh” sound. It’s an unfortunate affliction as when other cultures are exposed to this tick, or shrug as it’s also known, it can frequently induce a sudden violent reaction in the direction of the Effer's face.

I only have 9 days left trying to manage these Effers but these last 2 months has made be question any other previous decisions I might have made……..
so what is this NHS England business all about, in fact scarily, why are all the NHS jobs describing themselves as a business………
Oh God, I'm trapped between the Effers and the Effers

x

Asia

So at last I’ve broken free of my Europe/Africa travel boundary.

OK I suppose the rock in the middle of the South Atlantic also exceeded these limits, but I can now at long last say I’ve been to Asia. 

So what are my impressions? Well I like it, I mean what’s not to like. The food (wow the food), people with manners, real shops with things in you’d want to buy and some mind blowing beautiful architecture and buildings.


(Just tilt your head!!)

   

Maybe the part when some woman discharged the contents of her fridge on my face wasn’t too great. Yoghurt, honey, mashed bananas all smeared on my face, and then finished off by a mask of finely sliced cucumber and a sprinkling of melon water. Also maybe its best I forget about the unfortunate sexual assault I endured when another woman decided to massage by boobs with fragrant oils during what I thought was a shoulder massage. But apart from these incidences, Asia has left a good impression. My favourite bit was when I took a spur of the moment decision to hire a taxi driver for the afternoon to take me around all the best temples that Kathmandu had to offer. OK it was rather unformtunate that I got lost looking around one and had to get a taxi to take me to my taxi but hey, thats just me!! 

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve not only been seeking homosexual experiences in Asia (no I’ve been looking for good drugs too – joke!!!). I was in fact working - honest.  And I have to say working here has been even more surprising than the mountain goat humanoid who climbed all over me in the name of alterntive therapy.

You see, in terms of development work Asia is known to be more advanced than Africa. The poverty (and corruption) is somehow comparable, but overall there is no doubt that people’s educational skills are way beyond what we meet in West Africa. The national staff in the charity in Nepal for example are light years ahead of my team in Africa. There is internationally recognised medical and allied health training and some world class services.   There is a sense of order, standards and attention to detail that I do not see back in my adopted home.   There’s also a culture of customer service which to be frank, I’m just not use to and to be honest unnerved me the first few days I was here.  All that bowing and scraping is unnerving to a Northerner at the best of times, but to one whose been living in Salone for 18 months it's downright freaky!  

So how has this week affected me? Well, as we have all come to accept some time ago, I’m not what you’d call all there in the head, so rather than start job hunting for  a position in Asia, this exposure helped me make my decision to stay in Africa another 6 months. You see it’s not just that I’ve grown fond of West Africa, or my newly aquired toaster. Nor is it that I feel it needs my help more than Asia.  No in simple terms I think if I move to Asia they’ll soon uncover the truth that I haven’t a clue what I’m doing half the time and just bullshitting my way through life.

I don’t have such high standards and to tell you the complete truth everyone is so small in Asia I feel like a big wobbly giant. So I think it’s best for all concerned that I stay where my arse and more importantly my lack of intellect & moral fiber can do least harm.

What have I done…..

Matching cake!!

So, who'd of thought I'd have managed to get another year older eh, but look I made it!!

I know some of you are a bit sad that my cards and other things haven't reached me but please don’t be because I know the thought was there (and also it a nice thought that the man at the Post office has had some pictures and words to look at these last few weeks).
But  I want to reassure you that I've had a good birthday regardless.
You see despite missing you all very much at these times, I have managed to surround myself with surrogates.

No this is not a ‘dial a party’ delivery of ready made guests, but all these people are my actual genuine friends. Not sure when I got this popular, or how for that matter, but it touched me last night that so many people came to celebrate with me.

Even better is that for 2 mornings running I've had chocolate cake for breakfast......
 

Not even that but it matched my outfit!!

 

I'm now, at last, living in luxury having been given my very own toaster as a present. Toaster in one hand, cocktail in the other - this is living
OK I may not always have the electricity to use this but still you have no idea how chuffed I am (so much so I appear to be knocked sideways - no idea why the above picture is rotated?!!)
.....

And finally, OK I may be spending my birthday alone in a hotel room, but good god I'm off to Nepal and yeah, I'll be working and will only have 1 day to sightsee, but I'm off to NEPAL!!!

So while no cake will ever taste as nice as the one's made for me by my friends and family back home. And no matter how many friends I make here, they can never replace you guys or my much loved family, but look – I’m blessed.

xxx

Button Mushrooms for Sale

So some dimwit has put me in charge.

What the hell are they thinking? More to the point what the bloody hell were you lot thinking? For the last 18 months and even before then, when I went and sat on a rock in the middle of the sea for 6 months, we clearly established that I am one sandwich short of a picnic.

Do you not remember what happens when I’m left in charge – that’s right, hell gets unleashed.  I think you have all shirked your social responsibility to me and already poor and suffering people of West Africa by allowing this situation to develop!! Ok it’s only for the next 9 weeks and 4 days (guess who’s counting) but a lot of witch guns can be fired in that time and I’m sure some of those bullets will be coming my way!!

And something else - all this extra artillery will be coming my way just at the time when not only have I’ve run out of vampire porn to watch (HBO series True Blood) but the rainy season has once again descended. Do you people not remember this – this is the time that if I sit too long in one place I get covered in mould. There’s nothing to do, no-where to go, but juststay indoors drinking gin and tonic in your underwear and watch mushrooms growing out of your navel. 

But despite all this,  to finally substantiate that I am indeed totally unhinged, I’ve been asked if I would consider staying longer here, and I’ve said – well I’ve sort of said …err … yes I’ll consider it!

You see this is my problem. This week the last of the original French left, and to be honest  having seen his (and the previously Frenchies) leaving presents  I really don’t want to be made to look like Wee Willy Winky and be danced around, which appears to be what happens when you leave. So to avoid total embarrassment  and having to put my grade C drama GCSE to good use when I open the package,  its best for all concerned that I just stay a bit longer – I only got a grade C after all, I’m not that good an actress!!

But on a serious note, I sort of feel responsible – not for the whole third world poverty thing, I mean I know I’m obese but I didn’t eat everybody else’s share of the pies, just my own – and maybe just a few extra. No I mean that I feel responsible for taking the rehab project to its close and as the funding ends in April next year, and  wouldn’t be fair to just abandon it. The expression ‘rat jumping a sinking ship’ springs to mind.  Surprisingly the EU just don’t seem to be buying the reason that the rehab services are still a bit shite is because the manager is under constant attack from voodoo, so maybe I should stay those extra few months to put things in order as best I can. 

Or maybe, just maybe it really is time for one of you out there to drag my sorry arse back to the UK where it belongs……

……………….and yet, my arse never did really fit there, whereas here it’s the perfect size and shape…….

xxx

World gone mad

OK its been a while and I’m sorry but the Aliens have come and got me and transported me to a parallel universe and the internet connection is not too good from here!

So bit by bit I’m losing the French (*insert evil laugh*). 

The director left this week which all things considered was a bit sad. I had my speech all prepared about if it wasn’t for him I’d still have a well paid job, pension, career path and close proximity to a decent donor kebab, but for some reason they didn’t ask me to get up.

If I have to admit it, all things considered, and taking a good mouthful of humble pie, I will miss him slightly, and not in the least because between mid July and Oct I will be doing his job. Its my own fault, I went and opened my big gob and told them not to bother sending anyone shite to replace him, as I couldn’t cope with that and could do better myself. The stupid buggers then went and  believed me! So basically if you think that my updates of this blog has been a wanting recently just imagine what its like when I’m doing 2 jobs and unqualified for both!!

But for some reason, after 18 months, the French seem to think I’m not so bad after all. In the midst of all this I’ve had a call from the head of rehab for South Asian region who was insistent that I go for a week  to help them in a piece of work. When the head of my region was reluctant to release me and before they started publicly fighting across cyberspace, their boss jumped in and said I should go! So flight booked for a trip to Nepal – it would be nice if I didn’t have to spend virtually 5 days in the air just for a 3 day workshop.

I also seem to have at long last impressed the French with my ‘ super high level’ after I gave a presentation to Ministers and Parliamentarians this week.  So there we have it, its official, I’m great – or just full of shit, one of the 2 (and I know what my moneys on!!)

But to be honest all this means very little in the face of reality….

So I return after another amazing holiday with you folks, not only to find myself in the wrong organization, but that the head the rehabilitation sector for the country is not too well. Soon after I see him hobbling into my office clearly in pain and starts to describe to me something akin to sciatica. However when he lifted up his trouser leg his leg was pure white – Mmmma bit odd I I think to myself wondering what tropical fungi has attached him, until of course he describes that he his treating himself with ‘ magical native medicine’.   You see he saw Doctor who, after assessment, clinical formulation and intervention removed from Abdul, 56 witch bullets! Yes that right – he went to the witch doctor as his first course of action who proclaimed that he had been shot by the witch gun!  WTF…….. This man is an orthopedic technician for Christ sake, trained for years, at a proper university, not Hogwarts and he is responsible for the promotion, development and sustainability of the REHABILITATION sector. He clearly needs physiotherapy not friggin’  jewjew medicine – is there really any hope when this is the man I’m meant to be working with to secure the sector!!?

But on top of all this, what tells me that I have left reality and living in another dimension is when one French this week complimented on my dress sense announcing, I looked almost Parisian! Well, when a fat bird from Bolton can elicit that compliment from a French you know we are just one step away from eradicating world hunger!

Oh well its back to normal then.

XX

Hero's

When people learn of what I do they often seem to think that I have some sort of special qualities that would make me give up a comfortable lifestyle and career to live and work in this context. They seem to think that I possess bravery, courage, humanity and other such worthy characteristics. No one appears to have picked up that I may just be one sandwich short of a picnic. Or maybe I am actually just having a humongous strop and throwing my teddy out the pram as I can’t find a decent husband, discarding my android phone and flouncing off exclaiming “well that’s it, I’m off to Africa”!

Well, even I’m not sure what drives me however I know I am no hero and do not wear my underwear on the outside of my clothes, (well except at the weddings and christenings and only if people are stupid enough to let me stand next to the complimentary drinks table).

But I learnt about heroes this week.

Let me introduce you to one of my staff, Sahr. Now Sahr is special. But not in the way I am. When people refer to me as special for some reason the word is positioned between speech marks as in: Jo is “special”. For Sahr I use to do the same, but now it is different.

If he was to describe himself, he would introduce himself as a ‘bush man’. He has no airs and graces and is more comfortable in the deepest, darkest parts of the African landscape than this  hotel. This week during a team exercise in Bo city I watched him patiently try and spread butter on his bread with a fork and eat his omelette with a teaspoon, thinking that the waitress had forgot to bring him a proper sized one. Sahr is a project officer, the lowest grade of staff and is the one who goes into the community to implement activities with local people, real grass routes stuff. He informed me this week that one of his strategies is that when he goes into the villages he does not make himself ‘gorgeous’, so that the poorest will relate to him. Apart from this slight misuse of English I have learnt this week that not only is he one of the most intelligent people I know but is true life, fully paid up hero.

You see Sahr will often frustrate people like me. Logistics and organization are not his strong points. We in the developed world seem to rate these qualities highly and mistake them for intelligence. To be honest Sahr has had more that one ex-pat shaking their head in disbelief and the phrase ‘where’s Sahr’ has become a sort of mantra in the office as he simply disappears off distracted by the need to fulfil a priority of his own. He doesn’t quite understanding the work ethic that we foreigners impose. And yet in his own way he is equally as dedicated to his work as I.

I already knew that Sahr could speak 4 languages fluently including English, French, Krio and his native Kono. Apparently he can also understand the basics in, oh ‘just’ 3 others. When you hear this, you start to forgive the slight transgression of a few misplaced words (although I have sister who wouldn’t be so forgiving especially if they are spelt incorrectly too).

Over time, us ‘white men’ have come to discover that Sahr also has a special talent for taking very complex information and both translating and interpreting it in such a way that a person without any education can understand. And I’m talking deep stuff here, life philosophical and conceptual frameworks, and other such bullshit. Pretty impressive stuff.

But not as impressive as his tale of the war.

Sarh comes from the district of Kono far in the east of the country. Diamond (Blood Diamond) region and one of the most fought over area’s during the rebel war. For much of the war the region was in the rebel hands although when Sahrs tale begins his remote village had not yet been captured. When news spread that the Nigerian soldiers who came to aid the government had liberated the city of Koidu, Sahr made the 2 day trek down from the bush to find provisions for his family.

The day after his arrival the heaviest and bloodiest combat broke out as the rebels advanced, atacked, and again took control. Sahr was captured amongst soldiers and other civilians and a great number were incarcerated. A short time after the prisoners were moved to another building in the city and amid the ensuing chaos, Sarh found an opportunity to escape and describes making a sudden, hasty decision and grabbed a young pregnant woman taking her along. They fled to a place of safety and when they looked back, found that the rebels had enclosed all the remaining prisoners in a building and set it ablaze.

Sahr and the woman walked together towards his family’s farm only to meet people fleeing, describing how the rebels had attacked and taken the area and that many people murdered. He made the difficult decision to change direction, away from his family, not knowing if they were alive or dead and follow the displaced people in their journey in search of refuge in Guinea.

It was several days trek and soon the pregnant woman lost strength and could no longer walk. Sahr was desperate and again found himself at a cross roads. He too was tired. He believed that he had lost his family and was still recovering from the trauma of being captured and witnessing what could have been his fate. He describes looking at the dishevelled woman sat on the ground, in fact his words were ‘she looked like a monkey’, and very honestly confesses that he just wanted to leave her there and continue on his quest for survival.

But then he suddenly made the heroic decision bent down, picked up the woman and place her on his back. For days he carried the woman and her unborn child, across the difficult terrain, in the unforgiving West African heat, all the way to safety.

They all survived. She gave birth to a son.

Sahrs acts render him a hero, not some white woman who has the audacity to come from a privileged background and criticizes him for his lack of planning ability. Jesus he had enough planning, reasoning and organizational skills to save 3 lives. I think that’s quite sufficient for any man!

All mine have ever done for me is led me to give up job security, a well established career, move me away from the people and life I know and love. All this and I still don’t even have a friggin’ husband!!

So on reflection, all things considered, the argument for me having some form of undiagnosed mental illness is growing ever stronger. And as for me being heroic when I’m just about to spend the equivalent of this mans monthly salary on a long weekend at the beach, well the notion is actually laughable.

xxx

Broken.

OK it’s been a while, sorry about that, but I honestly didn’t have much of particular interest to tell you about.

Well obviously I could go on about weekends away at the beaches, but I didn’t want to depress you all having heard about the little chilly spell there in Europe.

I mean do you really want to read about my experiences on secluded, isolated, palm strewn beaches watching a man shimmy up a tree to tap it for ‘poyo’ (palm wine).

Are you honestly telling me that you want to see these types images, captured while drinking this freshly harvested brew, silently watching the sun go down? Or afterwards lying on the still warm sand looking up to a sky so bright with stars that it dazzles the eyes.

I’m sure one or two of you would find it interesting that on one of these beach retreats I found myself drunk, unashamedly holding my skirt above my head wading through the sea to get back to my hut, having been caught out by the tide.

OK some would find it funny that by the time I got back my underwear was soaked, but the rest of you I know, you would just worry so I’ll keep it to myself. And I certainly know that one or two of you would be most unhappy to read about how I nearly poisoned myself by reaching out for the ‘snacks’ on the bar table, only to find it as in fact a communal bowl of cannabis, place there on a ‘roll your own basis.’ (10p a joint). Some things are best left unsaid.

And my family in particular will freak when they realize that this is my new favourite swimming pool

And I know it will not please any of you to read that I this morning I cannot answer my phone after stupidly giving my card to the deputy home office minister who was buying me vodka's all evening. What was I thinking, he's the bloody home office, he can get me evicted…… Please, I don't want to have to sleep with the deputy minister for home affairs

But to be honest, these experiences are precious, and like the ex-pat charity worker staple food, Laughing Cow Cracker Sandwiches, they save your life here. (One day I will let you all in on the infamous Laughing Cow Cracker Sandwiches)

However getting enough of these experiences to balance against the daily arduous, drudge of working life here is difficult. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid of hard work. OK that’s a big fat lie I’ve never been convinced it’s for me really, but in the most part I get stuck in and have a bash.

Here though, I seem to work all the hours God sends and it’s never anywhere close to being enough. Oh and don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about me being on a one woman crusade here to take on the country’s poverty by single handedly feeding and educating the population. No what I do, is probably, in the grand scheme of things, just bullshit. I do shit that someone thought was a good idea, they asked the EU for money to do it, and they gave it so I do it.

I mean I’m doing exactly what it says on the tin, but you know it doesn’t work. I’m following all the instructions, but it still just seems broken. In fact that’s just it. It’s broken.

And I’m not sure I want to play with broken toys. Despite the Poyo, the sea, the stars and of course the Laughing Cow Cracker Sandwiches, playing with broken toys is not so much fun.

The Adventures You Don't Want

One of the reasons people chose to work in overseas development is a desire to live and learn about a different culture. But there are some cultural experiences that you wish you didn’t have to experience.

Like attending a funeral.

Two weeks ago we lost a member of our staff, David, the driver, who you may remember was the brave soul who was eager to help me learn to drive on these uninviting roads (and also get me into church I hasten to add).

When people ask what he died of, I only have a one word answer: Africa.

You see we don’t know why David died, but most likely through a combination of an inadequate healthcare system and not enough money for the drugs or to stay in hospital. He was sick, and then he died. That is what we know.

Out of all the national staff I was close to David, him being the only person to help me find my way around Freetown when I first arrived. He introduced me to his family in Freetown and Bo and unlike other staff would share food with me, helping me get a taste of Africa. He helped me find medicine when I was sick and even offered to give me his spare mosquito net when I couldn’t find one. He was kind.

And so yesterday it was only right that I paid my last respects by attending part of his funeral. Seated under a canopy outside his humble home Christian songs being amplified, I watched amongst his family and friends as his casket was brought in and rested on a table amongst us. Each of us there having identical badges pinned onto our chests placed there by family when we arrived. A laminated photograph of David, lying close to our hearts.

The casket was carried by 10 men, to mitigate for the rough terrain underfoot, making their task even more difficult, and music stopped while the people stood and sang a traditional hymn, clapping along. It was then opened for us to be able to get our last look at David, and as it was, someone doused the body with strong perfume, to mask the smell of the decomposing body which was now laid out in 30 degree heat. An act that was repeated frequently in the hour that I was there.

Surprisingly people started to take photographs and short film clips. At first I thought this was strange, but then I got it. This was their last opportunity to see David, capture his memory and take a momento of the day when people came far and wide to pay their respects. He looked at peace and so why shouldn’t they, I reasoned

People in Africa show their grief more openly that in Europe. We’ve all seen news footage of women and men screaming or beating their chests, after some tragedy in a far off place. But to be stood next to a 14 year old girl screaming for her daddy and watch her collapse at your feet, while trying to reach out to grab at his body, simply wrenches your insides out. There are no words.

And the hardest thing about yesterday was not lamenting my own small loss, or watching the raw anguish in his  children. No, it was the knowledge, having already been warned, that people in the congregation believed that in some way the organization may have contributed to Davids suffering in the end, by not giving him money for drugs. I do not know of any truth in the accusation but it was what was being said by by the staff.

And so there I was stood amongst his nearest and dearest, representing the organization as one of the rich ‘boss mans’, someone who, to them, could possibly have saved his life and their pain.  But they did not know that I was there, just representing me, and in a small way to share their grief. To say my goodbye to David, my friend. 

But I am left to wonder could I have done more?

Snakes

Happy New Year to you!

The Chinese variety that it. But does it matter, surely they’re all meant to be a time of reflection on the year past and bring hope and excitement for the new beginnings? Well that and another excuse to get hideously drunk and gorge oneself on food., Well as one of my friends is a bona-Fido Chinese woman it would have be rude not to join in!!

So as I still have a hangover at 9pm the night after, the night out, I’m definitely back in the swing of things here in Africa. To be honest these last 2 weeks have been pretty full on, not just with work but my social life! Out of the 14 nights I’ve been back, I’ve been out 9 of them. No wonder my stomach is having a mini protest, I’ve drank more this week than I drank in the 6 weeks I was in the UK!!

So I’m back and having new beginnings and round 2 in Africa. And today became the year of the snake. I’m not sure what that actually means. I do know I’m a rabbit, you know the shy retiring introverted sort (As if??!!), or maybe it refers to the other sort of rabbits….. ;-)

However the year of the snake appears to be uncovering a few slimy beasts from the rocks under which they hide. Well actually when I say rocks I really mean the Ministry of Health building, but it’s the same difference really.

Soon after I arrived back 10 of the top people at the ministry were suspended and had their passports confiscated for suspected mass corruption of millions of donated dollars meant for medicines.

And I’m talking serious peeps here, like oh, the Chief Medical Officer of the country, not just some bloke who has the petty cash tin.

And of course 2 of my contacts are amongst the 10 – so that’s my projects f***d this year then!!  I’m imaging the report to the European Commission now:

Please report achievements against the below project objectives giving clear indicators of progress:

1) Development of sustainable health financing system for rehabilitation:

 Jo: Not achieve. The chief finance officer was imprisoned in 2013 and was unavailable for meetings despite my formal requests for a visitors pass. Actually when he wasn’t in prison in 2012 he was also unavailable for meetings, probably as he was busy at the internet café transferring millions of dollars to an off shore account.

2) Development of national curriculum and education materials on disability prevention and early detection

Jo: Not achieved. The head educator officer has been unavailable due to taking a new role, acting as the fag to the chief finance officer

3) Implementation by the Ministry of the National Rehabilitation Policy:

            Jo: Not achieved. Several visits were made to the Ministry to initiate this essential work eventually securing a meeting. Fortunately I realized after one hour that the lack of response from the Health Development Director in front of me was not if fact due to lack of motivation and commitment, as we saw throughout 2012. No, it was due to the fact that I was actually talking to a ball of tumbleweed which had blown into his palatial office. The mistake only became apparent when a nesting mouse emerged from what I thought was the gentlemans forehead.

I considered this meeting one of the most positive and constructive during my time with the project.

On a positive note the organization held a free raffle for all the staff over the Xmas period, which I thought was lovely of them. Yes it was a ‘faulty office equipment’ raffle. That’s correct, the organization dished out shit to people. The worst and most ironic was the illiterate cleaner who is so poor that she lives in the slums; she had the wonderful gift of a broken computer keyboard. WTF?!!!

Yep, so nothing much has changed then!! This is (still) Africa!!

Now where’s the Gaviscon, ah bugger that, where those pega packs, come to mama…….

xx

Casper the Friendly Ghost...

OK I am sorry!

No I am not:

Dead/seriously ill/kidnapped/ had a mental breakdown /in the throws of a passionate love affair or any other such disaster.

I have to admit there were all good guesses from you for the reason reasons I’ve not updated the blog for 2 months, but alas, wrong.

The actual reasons are:

1)     Well to be frank, there was all that politics malarkey which was all a bit too grown up and serious for my liking! BOOOOOORING!!

But for those of you who care about world affairs (as come on in all faith I’ve never pretended to, have I?!!); red ones got in, green ones got a bit pissed off,  so a few of them had a tantrum and started being naughty. They got done and told off and everyone in their cities was grounded for being bad (not sure if they all had to sit on the naughty step or not, but certainly they had to be in bed for 7pm) As none of the other green ones in the country wanted to get in trouble they just behaved themselves so the bad ones just gave up trying and after week everyone was good again. So after a month of virtual shut down for intense political rallies, shut down for the Election Day, shut down for the result announcements and intense celebrations and/or strops – nothing is different! Eat your heart out Nick Robinson!!

2)     My new friends:

I’m proud to introduce to you my present guests who took up residence in my digestive system some time ago, and despite looking all cute and friendly have caused me no end of trouble. Parasites eh, you gotta love em!! So these little beasties have been making me feel a little bit pants to be honest. Part of their frolics in my gut has been playing hide and seek with the stuff I put inside me, like my other medication, which meant other parasites could come and play too.  Well I can tell you the malarial ones who they let in, were not gentlemanly at all, and made me feel proper poorly one week.

Anyway sadly today the eviction notice has been served on these little buggers and so soon they will be on their way and hopefully I will be back to enjoying my pegapacks in no time. (Although to be honest how they have survived the pegapack attack is beyond me!!)

But do you know what pisses me off the most? Its not that I could only eat one helping of Xmas dinner. Or that I have been going into nice restaurants and not being in the least bit interested by the menu. Not is it the fatigue which had me closing my eye’s during my favorite film of all time (Les Mis in case I haven’t bored you, even despite the fact Russel Crow should be ashamed of himself and shot for lack of professional integrity and that performance) No it’s the fact that these particular beasties are not even bloody exotic or classed as a tropical disease - you can catch them in the UK - I’ve been conned I tell you!! Worst still, look at the little blighters - there with their smiley effing faces, only I could get infested with something that looks like Casper the Friendly Ghost!

Anyway despite being  a holiday camp for a group of protozoa I have still had some amazing times in the past 2 months and plenty of those ‘moments’ when I wonder where the candid camera’s are hidden. A particular precious time was the International Day of Disability on the 3^rd of December, where I found myself to be the only white person marching through the streets of Bo city amongst 200 disabled people. I wouldn’t mind but they made me wear a t-shirt which I had to put over my existing clothes and then had to walk in blazing heat. To be honest I needed a friggin’ wheelchair at the end of it, and a surgeon to remove the 2 layers of clothes plastered to my body! But Oh no, I was then dragged up onto the stage at the local city hall at the ‘insistence’ of the mayor and city commissioners and made to give an impromptu speech to the TV crew and ensemble which had grown ever larger. I will not beat about the bush. I was shit! Really shit!

It was then topped off at the local amputee football match whereby I stole the show, much to the frustration of the awe-inspiring players, when all eyes turned to me when a local woman decided it was time I should learn how to put on the native head dress – yeah ‘cos that’s what I needed, more layers!!

All this humiliation and I’d bloody paid for the day (well the charity had)!

Other special times have happened since coming back and realizing that I am totally blessed to be surrounded by such amazing friends and family. OK one or two moments have also been quite harrowing, like the appearance of a dear old friend in a onesie. I mean I’ve seem some sites this past 12 months in Africa but nothing prepared me for that horror. (You know who you are and it’s not right and it’s not proper and you should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself!!)

But still, I continue to be amazed by the fact I’m so very blessed to have so many of you in my life, keeping me strong and sane and making sure I have special times when I’m here and supporting me in your own ways when I’m not.  

So I suppose I am saying ‘thank you’, for all the support and encouragement you have given me. You see the reason I am not, dead/seriously ill/or had a mental breakdown is in part due to all of you who have helped me cope in your own individual ways (well except for the stranger reading this, after stumbled across it and being attracted to the picture of Casper – sorry to disappoint you mate I’m just a rambling aid worker with parasites and long suffering friends & family).

But its also thanks to your support, and the knowledge that you’re there that  soon going to take a deep breath and right dive back in. Mental I know – maybe I did have that breakdown after all! But before I go I have a few more preparations to do. It will definitely involve eating lots more cake and being scrubbed down with a brillo pad!

Happy 2013 everyone.

And Thank You for 2012. It’s been one hell of an adventure!

Xxx