Here is a little secret. I quite enjoy checking my junk emails. I only do it once a week or so. It doesn't take long to sift through - despite the mountainous quantities.
I'm not sure how I managed to become such a popular target. Mary hardly gets any. I have two possible answers. The first is that I give my email address to the likes of spurs.com. And my beloved sells on personal information. The second is that I'm a guy. And therefore more of a target for e.g. body part enlargement products.
Among my recent junk, I'm receiving lots of emails from Steph and Becky. Fortunately, I have yet to be fooled into opening any of their correspondence. For they need to improve on their entrapment scam. The title of their emails are 'new in town'. Now a title like this might work on peeps living in a big English city. But it ain't likely to fool me out here. If only Steph and Becky knew the excitement created in Ingwavuma when somebody new arrives. No need for modern communication devices. Word of mouth does the job.
It so happens I'm just off to do a very quick shop in the only Ingwavuma shop - Spar. I tell you if I meet either Steph or Becky (or both).
Thursday, 13 January 2011
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Mr Pilates
School starts again next Wednesday. In the meantime I am making the most of the last days of my long Christmas break. I have been filling days with reading (I can get through a book every couple of days), Zulu lessons, Pilates and house husbandry.
My Zulu is progressing but I am slightly limited by my learning resource. I half-inched a CD from one of the other doctors and have downloaded it onto the ipod. I walk the hospital grounds most days, or climb the water tower, listening and repeating. I am now able to manage certain encounters without resorting to too much English. For example, I am a master at the petrol station. I can ask the service guys to do almost anything. ‘Please could I have unleaded’. ‘Please could I have 50 Rand of petrol.’ ‘The tank is on this side.’ ‘No the tank is on the other side.’ ‘Please can you wipe the windscreen (iwindscreeni) while standing on your head’.
Unfortunately my conversational Zulu is less good. ‘Where do you live?’ ‘Are you married?’ ‘Do you have any children?’ Isn’t the weather nice today!’ Then I get a bit stuck and long to be with them at the petrol station so we can talk unleaded.
As some of you will know, I managed to slip a disc three months before coming out. It has been painful ever since. During the first few months in SA I became lazy at doing my exercises and made almost no progress. But help is now at hand. For I have joined Ingwavuma Pilates classes. They happen every day – taught by the daughter of the Baba Heese (senior doctor at the hospital). Surprisingly, no Zulu men have opted to join the class yet. So I am the only male. Nonetheless I am not being intimidated. Instead, I am gaining mental strength from withstanding the mirth created by my failure to master silly positions. And I am starting to feel the benefits for my back.
My house husbandry skills are also starting to improve. Edible deserts in Ingwavuma have to be made. I have now baked two chocolate cakes and a set of brownies. All were at least passable. Now, I am looking for the next dessert challenge.
Plans for this weekend are still to be decided. We would like to go to a game park in Swaziland. But it is much more expensive than the nearby Tembe Elephant Park. In addition, Tembe is luxurious, nearby, and contains almost all the big game (and also lots of birdies). So we’ll probably go back there.
My Zulu is progressing but I am slightly limited by my learning resource. I half-inched a CD from one of the other doctors and have downloaded it onto the ipod. I walk the hospital grounds most days, or climb the water tower, listening and repeating. I am now able to manage certain encounters without resorting to too much English. For example, I am a master at the petrol station. I can ask the service guys to do almost anything. ‘Please could I have unleaded’. ‘Please could I have 50 Rand of petrol.’ ‘The tank is on this side.’ ‘No the tank is on the other side.’ ‘Please can you wipe the windscreen (iwindscreeni) while standing on your head’.
Unfortunately my conversational Zulu is less good. ‘Where do you live?’ ‘Are you married?’ ‘Do you have any children?’ Isn’t the weather nice today!’ Then I get a bit stuck and long to be with them at the petrol station so we can talk unleaded.
As some of you will know, I managed to slip a disc three months before coming out. It has been painful ever since. During the first few months in SA I became lazy at doing my exercises and made almost no progress. But help is now at hand. For I have joined Ingwavuma Pilates classes. They happen every day – taught by the daughter of the Baba Heese (senior doctor at the hospital). Surprisingly, no Zulu men have opted to join the class yet. So I am the only male. Nonetheless I am not being intimidated. Instead, I am gaining mental strength from withstanding the mirth created by my failure to master silly positions. And I am starting to feel the benefits for my back.
My house husbandry skills are also starting to improve. Edible deserts in Ingwavuma have to be made. I have now baked two chocolate cakes and a set of brownies. All were at least passable. Now, I am looking for the next dessert challenge.
Plans for this weekend are still to be decided. We would like to go to a game park in Swaziland. But it is much more expensive than the nearby Tembe Elephant Park. In addition, Tembe is luxurious, nearby, and contains almost all the big game (and also lots of birdies). So we’ll probably go back there.
Monday, 10 January 2011
Messing about on the river
After three weeks without leaving Ingwavuma, we were suffering from mild cabin fever/ Mosvold malade. In search of an antidote, and a rubbery boat, on Friday we set off for Swaziland to go white water rafting.
The enthusiasm for another white water experience was slightly one sided. Mary had very understandable apprehensions about the plan. Unfortunately her highly reasonable concerns were met with the idiotic logic of her husband.
M, ‘I’m worried about dislocating my shoulder.’
H, ‘Don’t be, you were fine going down the Zambezi.’
M, ‘But I took a big risk then.’
H, ‘All life is about risk taking.’
M, ‘Thank you, Evil Knevil.’
H, ‘Besides, you are just as likely to crack your head on a rock or get trapped under water. No need to worry especially about a dislocation. Indeed it might help to keep your mind off worse eventualities.’
M, ‘Yes, very comforting.’
Two things turned out to make rafting the Ushutu River more daunting than the Zambezi. The first was the time of year. Rafting during the rainy season is much more hairy. There are heavy rains most days at the moment. Rivers are bursting. Secondly, instead of big 8-10 men rafts, as on the Zambezi, we would be in cosy two person vessels. The two person capacity for the rafts changed things dramatically. And Mary was quick to spot the increased danger.
M, ‘Do you remember when we were last in a vessel together.’
H, ‘Remind me.’
M, ‘With Adam and Trish at the cottage.’
H, ‘Um. Yes.’
M, ‘Do you remember that we were both in that Kayak. On a very still day. And we capsized. After 30 seconds. And Adam had to replace you.’
H, ‘Focus on the positives. I am wiser now.’
Despite the apprehensions of my first mate, we had a terrific morning on the river. With navigator Mary in front barking orders and captain (a complete misnomer) Henry paddling hard behind, we made it to lunch without any big dramas. The clear blue sky above created a great in raft atmosphere. And by lunchtime I was feeling confident enough to begin praising myself on my insistence on our choice of adventure.
In full peacock mode, I gave little thought to the possibility that the afternoon might be tougher. How quickly I regretted this.
The first section of the river after lunch required us to keep to the right. We were warned not to go too far right, to avoid the black rock with nasty whirlpool beneath. We could go to left or right of a big tree. Off went both the guides to show us our options. Both looked fine. Unfortunately I failed to recognise the importance of being higher up stream to attempt to get to the left of the tree. I also forgot to discuss the options with my navigator. Setting off for our run, I aimed left of the tree. Paddling hard we got half way across. Then, the first mate began shouting that we weren’t going to make it round. And I panicked. Like the batsman in the middle of the wicket trying to take a dodgy single, I began frantically to back paddle. And before Mary could say, ‘You idiot, now we are stuck on the tree’, we were stuck among the branches. Raft against tree, water pushing hard against one side of the boat. Out went the two crew and off down the river.
Eventually we were both picked up by the two guides. And they were livid. For our boat was now stuck several hundred metres up stream. (This was really their fault as one of them should have stayed at the back of the group.) Off they went to get it leaving an horrifically long time for team Toulson to engage in a debrief. Attempting to defuse the situation I immediately declared 150% responsibility. Sadly, this had already been taken for granted by the Navigator. She instead was keen on examining the preventability of the outcome. She was less keen to focus on the positives – both alive and no dislocated shoulder.
Eventually our boat was rescued. But it needn’t have been. For our afternoon was mainly spent out of the boat. Fortunately, for me, all the other boats were capsizing with equal frequency. The volume of water meant sections of the river were ferocious. Indeed, on one section all the crews were in the water.
Thankfully, we all made it to the end of the day. And without any injuries. Overall the day was sensational. But, with slipped disc and weak shoulders, I think it may also mark our honourable retirement from the white water scene. For the river God was truly cheated and I fear giving him any chance for revenge. I don’t think Mary will argue.
The enthusiasm for another white water experience was slightly one sided. Mary had very understandable apprehensions about the plan. Unfortunately her highly reasonable concerns were met with the idiotic logic of her husband.
M, ‘I’m worried about dislocating my shoulder.’
H, ‘Don’t be, you were fine going down the Zambezi.’
M, ‘But I took a big risk then.’
H, ‘All life is about risk taking.’
M, ‘Thank you, Evil Knevil.’
H, ‘Besides, you are just as likely to crack your head on a rock or get trapped under water. No need to worry especially about a dislocation. Indeed it might help to keep your mind off worse eventualities.’
M, ‘Yes, very comforting.’
Two things turned out to make rafting the Ushutu River more daunting than the Zambezi. The first was the time of year. Rafting during the rainy season is much more hairy. There are heavy rains most days at the moment. Rivers are bursting. Secondly, instead of big 8-10 men rafts, as on the Zambezi, we would be in cosy two person vessels. The two person capacity for the rafts changed things dramatically. And Mary was quick to spot the increased danger.
M, ‘Do you remember when we were last in a vessel together.’
H, ‘Remind me.’
M, ‘With Adam and Trish at the cottage.’
H, ‘Um. Yes.’
M, ‘Do you remember that we were both in that Kayak. On a very still day. And we capsized. After 30 seconds. And Adam had to replace you.’
H, ‘Focus on the positives. I am wiser now.’
Despite the apprehensions of my first mate, we had a terrific morning on the river. With navigator Mary in front barking orders and captain (a complete misnomer) Henry paddling hard behind, we made it to lunch without any big dramas. The clear blue sky above created a great in raft atmosphere. And by lunchtime I was feeling confident enough to begin praising myself on my insistence on our choice of adventure.
In full peacock mode, I gave little thought to the possibility that the afternoon might be tougher. How quickly I regretted this.
The first section of the river after lunch required us to keep to the right. We were warned not to go too far right, to avoid the black rock with nasty whirlpool beneath. We could go to left or right of a big tree. Off went both the guides to show us our options. Both looked fine. Unfortunately I failed to recognise the importance of being higher up stream to attempt to get to the left of the tree. I also forgot to discuss the options with my navigator. Setting off for our run, I aimed left of the tree. Paddling hard we got half way across. Then, the first mate began shouting that we weren’t going to make it round. And I panicked. Like the batsman in the middle of the wicket trying to take a dodgy single, I began frantically to back paddle. And before Mary could say, ‘You idiot, now we are stuck on the tree’, we were stuck among the branches. Raft against tree, water pushing hard against one side of the boat. Out went the two crew and off down the river.
Eventually we were both picked up by the two guides. And they were livid. For our boat was now stuck several hundred metres up stream. (This was really their fault as one of them should have stayed at the back of the group.) Off they went to get it leaving an horrifically long time for team Toulson to engage in a debrief. Attempting to defuse the situation I immediately declared 150% responsibility. Sadly, this had already been taken for granted by the Navigator. She instead was keen on examining the preventability of the outcome. She was less keen to focus on the positives – both alive and no dislocated shoulder.
Eventually our boat was rescued. But it needn’t have been. For our afternoon was mainly spent out of the boat. Fortunately, for me, all the other boats were capsizing with equal frequency. The volume of water meant sections of the river were ferocious. Indeed, on one section all the crews were in the water.
Thankfully, we all made it to the end of the day. And without any injuries. Overall the day was sensational. But, with slipped disc and weak shoulders, I think it may also mark our honourable retirement from the white water scene. For the river God was truly cheated and I fear giving him any chance for revenge. I don’t think Mary will argue.
Friday, 7 January 2011
Jo Jo Joy Joy
Regular readers will know that we have been having problems with our water supply. Water to our taps returned some time ago. Long may it last. Unfortunately it isn’t really drinkable. It can be made safe by boiling. But it tastes disgusting (for an empathetic experience try drinking a glass or used bath water; your own or somebody else’s will do). A much better source for drinking water is the Jo Jo that collects rain water (each house has one of these). On emptying our Jo Jo (see earlier blog explaining why we did this) we found the bottom of our tank to contain about 2 inches of filth – spiders, worms, ants, caterpillars etc.
I have delayed doing anything about the situation for three weeks. Yesterday, I finally relented. Having summoned up courage from St Roger of Billhurst, I decided I must tackle the problem. I emptied the Jo Jo again. Then with help from one of the workmen, I tipped it on its side. Donning a head torch I crawled through the small man hole and into an Ingwavuma Hades. And suddenly I was Andy Dufresne from Shawshank. For I spent the next three hours crawling through indescribable muck.
The rest can be told in one picture. And I will endeavour to attach it asap. Very surprisingly, I can report the whole experience as being quite fun. It was also very rewarding. We now have a pearly clean Jo Jo. It is the envy of Mosvold. Everyone that comes to visit is taken out to inspect it. It smells of apple washing up liquid. I am a very proud man.
In the midst of cleaning the Jo Jo I nearly had my first snake experience. I overheard reports that a snake had been spotted in the trees. The moment a Sammy has been eyed the locals immediately try to butcher it. I rushed over to try and catch a pre death glimpse. Sadly, the snake had vanished. This morning one of the workmen came and called for me (I am getting a reputation as the snake obsessive). Taking me to the bins by HR he showed me a dead green mamba. Unusually it was still in one piece. I got to perform a dissection. Very thrilling. Momentarily I considered taking him back in a bag and slipping him under Mary’s pillow. Then I gathered myself and threw it back in the bin.
Thursday, 6 January 2011
Dam fine outing
At the moment we are having many hot days. This is set to continue. February and March are usually the stickiest months. It is unpleasantly humid at night. Lying under the fan, we try to stay as still as possible. In silence we are then able to hear the delicate tip-tap of rat dancing classes above our ceiling. I tend to pass away the time, until falling asleep, thinking of the wonderful current Ashes series. When Mary becomes restless, I tell her to do the same. A few words from me about the phenomenal batting averages of our top order usually helps her to nod off.
Increasingly, we are waking to fight mosquito wars. They haven’t been too much of a problem until recently. Now they are in their fiesta season. Before going to bed we usually watch an episode from a DVD drama series (we have a few to choose from courtesy of my brother). I have discovered that this is an excellent way to smoke out the mosquitos before trying to sleep. They like to settle on the laptop screen. And I am then able to squash them. (Unfortunately, the screen is now a bit opaque.)
Last night a couple of mosquitos evaded early capture. We were woken at 0100 by the sound of buzzing. (Well, more accurately, I was woken by the buzzing and Mary was woken by my bite scratching.) ‘Mosquitoes hath murdered sleep.’ On went the light and carnage ensued. Like out of form Australian batsman the mosquitoes were quickly squished. Both exploded on impact allowing me the satisfying feeling of reclaiming my blood.*
Thankfully, we have a getaway at the end of really hot days. About two miles from the hospital is a dam. This provides the water for the hospital. And it is a lovely place to swim. Here we get to be as hippos, wallowing away the last of the sunshine. And tranquillity rains. The only sound to disturb the silence is Mary giving swimming lessons or devising synchronised swimming routines for the locals. Plus ca change.
* They tend to prefer English over Canadian.
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
Tell me the way from Ingwavuma (to tune of 'Is this the way to Amarillo')
Which are the most popular places in the world for tourists to visit? Paris? London? New York? But how popular are they in December/January? And what about a calculation based on their per capita size? Where would this put them in the list? The answer might be below Ingwavuma. Why?
In December and January, and during all the South African holidays, Ingwavuma receives a large number of visitors. This is not because it is en route to an enticing destination. Instead, almost all make the journey unwittingly. Having reached Ingwavuma, they embark on the same ritual - driving round trying to find a white person to help them. For they are lost.
At Christmas time lots of people in KZN get on the N2 and head for the beach. They turn on their Sat Navs and select their sand haven of choice. And then they sit back, drive and relax. Until they reach Ingwavuma. For their Sat Nav does not tell them that they need to go left at Bhambanana. In fact Bhambanana, a very small town, does not exist. (Spooky?) And most instead take the road right for 20 km. Hence our great influx of tourists. Drive out of Ingwavuma any day at this time of year and you will almost certainly see half a dozen big 4x4s inadvertently visiting the small, big ‘I’. (We now wave at them with great joy as they pass.)
This could of course all be stopped with one big signpost. But where would be the fun in that. And this is Africa. Sat Navs do not belong here! Rather than helping them to avoid visiting Ingwavuma, I’m more interested in how the place could make some revenue from these moneyed people. One idea could be to introduce a toll road (though making anyone to travel across the atrocious road between B and I and back again would be of dubious ethics). Another would be to set up a tourist information centre and shop. Granted the visitors would only want to know the answer to one question – ‘Where am I and how do I get to…?’ But they might at least have bought an ice cream. And why not sell some t-shirts here. The slogan could be ‘Paris, London, New York, Ingwavuma. I’ve completed the set’.
The number of inadvertent Ingwavuma visitors should fall dramatically this week as most return to work. While we will miss laughing at them, we are happy to have our favourite weekend destinations vacated. After a month mainly spent in Ingwavuma, we will be off again on Friday. Probably to white water raft in Swaziland. If so, we will be thinking of you Eimear.
In December and January, and during all the South African holidays, Ingwavuma receives a large number of visitors. This is not because it is en route to an enticing destination. Instead, almost all make the journey unwittingly. Having reached Ingwavuma, they embark on the same ritual - driving round trying to find a white person to help them. For they are lost.
At Christmas time lots of people in KZN get on the N2 and head for the beach. They turn on their Sat Navs and select their sand haven of choice. And then they sit back, drive and relax. Until they reach Ingwavuma. For their Sat Nav does not tell them that they need to go left at Bhambanana. In fact Bhambanana, a very small town, does not exist. (Spooky?) And most instead take the road right for 20 km. Hence our great influx of tourists. Drive out of Ingwavuma any day at this time of year and you will almost certainly see half a dozen big 4x4s inadvertently visiting the small, big ‘I’. (We now wave at them with great joy as they pass.)
This could of course all be stopped with one big signpost. But where would be the fun in that. And this is Africa. Sat Navs do not belong here! Rather than helping them to avoid visiting Ingwavuma, I’m more interested in how the place could make some revenue from these moneyed people. One idea could be to introduce a toll road (though making anyone to travel across the atrocious road between B and I and back again would be of dubious ethics). Another would be to set up a tourist information centre and shop. Granted the visitors would only want to know the answer to one question – ‘Where am I and how do I get to…?’ But they might at least have bought an ice cream. And why not sell some t-shirts here. The slogan could be ‘Paris, London, New York, Ingwavuma. I’ve completed the set’.
The number of inadvertent Ingwavuma visitors should fall dramatically this week as most return to work. While we will miss laughing at them, we are happy to have our favourite weekend destinations vacated. After a month mainly spent in Ingwavuma, we will be off again on Friday. Probably to white water raft in Swaziland. If so, we will be thinking of you Eimear.
Monday, 3 January 2011
Happy New Year!
The past two weeks have been very busy for all of us.
The week before Christmas was busy both at work (with on-calls) and socially - with lots of farewell parties The South African school and health system runs from January until December so there were lots of good-byes to say and what better way than celebrating! We had pizza parties and pudding parties and it was all great fun!
I was lucky not to be working Christmas weekend. Henry and I decided to spend the festive weekend in Ingwavuma. On Christmas Eve, we had a lovely Christmas supper with four of our friends. It was very authentic with turkey, gammon and roasted vegetables. We also had crackers (South African jokes were no funnier) and secret Santa. We ate too much and had a lovely time.
On Christmas Day, we headed to church in the morning. The service was outside. The ceremonly was in both English and Zulu. After church, we headed back to Mosvold. Henry and I went into the hospital to give out biscuits to places where I spend lots of my time - my wards isolation and paediatrics (I took care of both wards for just over two weeks during the festive season), OPD and theatres. The nurses and patients were extremely grateful. Christmas lunch involved a community gathering at Fancy Stitch (the one and only restaurant in Ingwavuma). Unfortunately, the tea garden is closed for one month (missing my milkshake post on-call very much) and so everyone brought a dish or two. We all mingled and had a lovely time. There are so many children in Ingwavuma (one couple has adopted 13!) so I became organiser of a series of games. All seemed to have fun (though none as much as me). In the evening, we headed to one of the doctor’s houses for a braai – again games ensued!
On the Sunday, we enjoyed a lie in followed by a lovely lunch at our cleaner’s house. She welcomed us so warmly into her home (she lives a man’s stone throw away from the hospital) and we enjoyed some Zulu food with her massive family. We thought we would be with her for ten minutes.* In fact with her family for five hours! Sometimes, I love the African sense of time.
I then worked the week between Christmas and New Year. I was on-call on Tuesday (and up all evening) and then felt quite unwell on Wednesday. I received a tick bite a few weeks back on the back of my right knee (from Ingwavuma). It did not bother me at the time. I was aware of my lymph nodes in my groin being up - noticed it when assisting a c-section. Then on Christmas Eve, I had an atrocious headache (unlike my husband I don’t suffer from headaches). I was advised to take an antibiotic for my troubles. This transformed my headache into nausea. Super. Anyway, I am now finished the course and feel back to my old self. The bite is still on the back of my knee but I’m told I’m unlikely to ever get tick bite fever again. Yipee!
Unfortunately, I worked this past weekend. We celebrated New Year’s Eve with three other couples who have become good friends of ours. One of our friends has a pasta maker so we spent the evening making pasta. Neither Henry nor I were the most competent pasta makers but we had fun! Two of the couples left – they each have two young girls and were knackered – but the four of us who don’t have children enjoyed bringing in the New Year together!
For some strange reason, I thought (and hoped) New Year’s Day was going to be quiet. It wasn’t. The day/night was spent identifying fractures and suturing lots of lacerated faces. One lady came in with her hand in pieces. She had lost three digits to a firework. It exploded before release. I plan to stay clear of the African pyrotechnic industry.
Well, a new year has arrived and I am excited for 2011. We are really pleased to be here in rural South Africa helping out as we can. I felt like a new challenge so have taken over Male Ward. Male Ward is any male patient from the age of 11 years old upwards who does not have a diagnosis of TB or probable TB. I really enjoyed being the Isolation doctor for three months but felt I was becoming too specialised in TB and wanted a general ward. My first ward round today went well - lots of orthopaedic, medical, surgical and psychiatric problems.
* Henry never thought ten minutes was realistic.
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