Three days before Christmas. Thousands of people heading home to their families; like little ants running through the airport. And I am one of them. So many people live far away from their families. I guess it’s part of globalization. Most of us can’t find a job where we live or can’t find the dream job in their hometown and so we move. Some go 900 km far away, others cross half of the globe to find happiness. But nearly all of us go back home for Christmas.
My family has never really celebrated Christmas. We didn’t have a tree, we offered gifts on New Year’s eve, we didn’t have the obligatory turkey. We just had a small family dinner. Small as it was just my mum, stepdad and me. I am more a New Year person. But as usual, 2007 is different. This year is going to be without my dad. I shouldn’t be a hypocrite. Usually I didn’t see my dad on the 24th. Sometimes I saw him on the 25th but it wasn’t regular.
Strangely when someone dies the meaning of these days changes. I will miss him of course but then I miss him everyday. It’s more the small things that are difficult. Like I said before: the new job, friends, experiences that I cannot share with him. The text message that he did not send this year at 7.45 pm, the exact hour I was born. Those things hurt.
However, it made me think about life in general. About putting things to later. “Oh yeah I should see this and that person”, “I’ll do this when I have a boyfriend”, and so on. I don’t want that anymore. I might become selfish but if I want to do something I will try to do it. There is no sane reason to keep on putting your life on hold. Saving money, yes fair enough but if you have enough why not go to New York for the holidays. Always wanted to work abroad? Do it. Don’t let fear, family or other consideration stop you. You don’t speak the language? You don’t have a job there yet? Does it really matter or are those just excuses to persuade ourselves that if those obstacles disappeared we would do it?
You can always find a job. It can be a shitty one but you can be a waiter in London, work on a farm in Australia, and teach in Africa.
Always wanted to buy an apartment or house? Always wanted to visit a country or city but waiting for mr/mrs right to do it with? What if you never meet that person? Should you exclude yourself from doing what you really want? Should we really live our lives expecting to find that special person to share things with? And worse what if that person hates your dream city? Should you never go then?
I know that things are usually easier when you sharing the experience with another person. Human beings are not made to live on their own. And financially it is easier if you have two incomes, especially when it comes to buy something. But small things like going on holiday by yourself, leaving your hometown for a couple of months to work somewhere else, doesn’t cost that much. It just requires courage. So do it. I am trying anyway.
Saturday 22 December 2007
Friday 21 December 2007
Sunday 16 December 2007
Three months
Three months since Friday that my dad has died, and not one day without thinking about it. Until now I have never really found the words to express what I feel and I am not sure I do now. So why try to lay down my feelings about this today? In a couple of hours I’ll be 29 and this is my first birthday without my dad. I received birthday cards from my mum and step dad and from my grand father. They were so sweet but also a reminder that this year my dad won’t send me one. It will also soon be the first Christmas, the first New Year, his first birthday and before I know it, it will be the first anniversary of his death. A series of “first” then “seconds” etc; days that will never have the same significance as before. Days that will be tainted with a loss.
Coming to Geneva was probably the best thing to do for my mental sanity but it makes it also harder. Brussels would have been business as usual. Geneva is different. Different job, challenges, friends, life style, experience, all of which I wish I could share with him and can’t anymore. I still remember the day I arrived here, Sunday 7th October, sending a text message to my mum to tell her I arrived safely and then nearly sending it to my dad. I also remember not been able to sleep the first month I lived here. Worried about all the stupid paperwork but also because I kept dreaming about him, waking up in sweat convinced it was all a bad dream and that he was still alive. Except he isn’t. I can’t send him text messages about what I am doing here, about the challenges in my new job, the beautiful place I live in, the friends I made. The hardest until now was the week that I was working at the UN. I think he would have been proud of me had he known.
I know that time is a great healer and that over time it will all be easier. My mum, step dad and friends have all been extremely supportive and I wouldn’t have made it without their help. Also, as I said before, it’s the first for everything so the loss is emphasized. Those “special” days will never really be the same anyway. But what if I forget? What if one day, it’s the 14th of September and I completely forget it’s the day my dad died. Or I forget his birthday.
I miss you dad, and I wish you were here.
Coming to Geneva was probably the best thing to do for my mental sanity but it makes it also harder. Brussels would have been business as usual. Geneva is different. Different job, challenges, friends, life style, experience, all of which I wish I could share with him and can’t anymore. I still remember the day I arrived here, Sunday 7th October, sending a text message to my mum to tell her I arrived safely and then nearly sending it to my dad. I also remember not been able to sleep the first month I lived here. Worried about all the stupid paperwork but also because I kept dreaming about him, waking up in sweat convinced it was all a bad dream and that he was still alive. Except he isn’t. I can’t send him text messages about what I am doing here, about the challenges in my new job, the beautiful place I live in, the friends I made. The hardest until now was the week that I was working at the UN. I think he would have been proud of me had he known.
I know that time is a great healer and that over time it will all be easier. My mum, step dad and friends have all been extremely supportive and I wouldn’t have made it without their help. Also, as I said before, it’s the first for everything so the loss is emphasized. Those “special” days will never really be the same anyway. But what if I forget? What if one day, it’s the 14th of September and I completely forget it’s the day my dad died. Or I forget his birthday.
I miss you dad, and I wish you were here.
Monday 26 November 2007
Geneva - the job
I haven’t talked about the job yet. As previously said, I work as a press officer in an NGO. Can’t say which one cos they’re not always in favour of uncontrolled blogs and also it doesn’t matter that much. Currently I am working for a campaign that aims to influence national and international policy makers to improve access to treatment and stimulate innovation of new medicines and diagnostic tools for developing countries.
Or an easier to put it is: before 2000, treating someone who was HIV positive cost 10.000 US$ per year. After years of advocacy and negotiations, the price is now around 300US$ per year, still too expensive for the patient but affordable for us, even though we wished it was still cheaper.
Two weeks ago, I participated at the IGWG meeting, the intergovernmental working group on public health, innovation and intellectual property. Intellectual property in the form of patents prevents developing countries to have access to essential medicines. Patents keep the drugs prices artificially high, as one manufacturer keeps a monopoly on the product and can decide of its price. My NGO wants to separate the cost of research and development of the medicine from the price of the drug. We are not against patents; we are against their effect.
The pharmaceutical industry, one of the most lucrative industries in the world, argues that they need the money brought by patents to fund their research. However, of the 1556 new drugs approved between 1975 and 2004, only 21 (1,3%) were specially developed for tropical diseases and TB, which account for 10% of the global disease burden (to read more).
TB is a very good example of how R&D (research and development) needs to be reconsidered. Tuberculosis claims 2 million deaths each year – almost 4 lives every minute – and two billion people (one third of the population) carry the bacilli. Most of them will not develop the disease as it is triggered by a low immune system. But a low immune system is a characteristic in HIV infected people. TB is the number one killer of HIV infected patients. For a couple of years now the TB community has been faced with another problem: resistant strains of TB. “Normal” TB can be cured and the drugs are efficient, though the cure is very long and difficult (up to 8 months), when you live in Belgium where social security is good you can manage; it’s going to be though but manageable. In developing countries where often the choice is between working and bringing food to the table or getting cured, it’s impossible. Resistant strains can only be cured with highly toxic medication with awful side effects, banned years ago because too dangerous. The R&D in TB is scares. Why? Because it’s not a highly profitable disease.
In the West, people infected with TB will rarely develop a resistance because they will get cured easily. In developing countries, patients don’t get diagnosed on time or cannot take their medication properly.
Another example is children infected with HIV. This problem nearly doesn’t appear anymore in the developed countries, as the antenatal care is good, mother are given proper medication and give birth by caesarian to prevent mother-to-child transmission. Therefore research in drugs to cure children infected with the virus have not really been developed. Doctors in our field project used to break adult tablets to give to the children; or they gave syrup that tasted awfully and sometimes even needed refrigeration! After years of advocacy R&D in drugs for infected children is finally getting somewhere.
Patents have been created to protect someone’s invention. You put hard labour into inventing or creating something and as a reward you get a protection for a certain period that prevent anybody to copy your work without permission, acknowledgment or royalties. This also allows the inventor of putting a price on his product. We don’t see how much a drug really costs as with our social security, the government is paying the difference. So a drug that we think costs 10 euro probably costs 10 time more. In countries without social security this has a direct impact to the patients access to drugs.
Patents exist on every single product but they don’t have such a disastrous effect on people as the patents on drugs. Simple example, when Philips invented the CD player, the price was extremely high. Within the next year prices dropped and two years later nearly everyone could afford a CD player. Other companies like Sony, Samsung quickly manufactured their own CD players. But the CD technology has a patent. But Philips was clever enough to put the CD player technology in a patent pool, meaning that everyone who was going to use the CD player technology to copy or improve it would have to pay royalties to Philips. This keeps the research active. This is not what pharmaceutical industries want. Putting the research for neglected and most neglected diseases to a shameful low.
Or an easier to put it is: before 2000, treating someone who was HIV positive cost 10.000 US$ per year. After years of advocacy and negotiations, the price is now around 300US$ per year, still too expensive for the patient but affordable for us, even though we wished it was still cheaper.
Two weeks ago, I participated at the IGWG meeting, the intergovernmental working group on public health, innovation and intellectual property. Intellectual property in the form of patents prevents developing countries to have access to essential medicines. Patents keep the drugs prices artificially high, as one manufacturer keeps a monopoly on the product and can decide of its price. My NGO wants to separate the cost of research and development of the medicine from the price of the drug. We are not against patents; we are against their effect.
The pharmaceutical industry, one of the most lucrative industries in the world, argues that they need the money brought by patents to fund their research. However, of the 1556 new drugs approved between 1975 and 2004, only 21 (1,3%) were specially developed for tropical diseases and TB, which account for 10% of the global disease burden (to read more).
TB is a very good example of how R&D (research and development) needs to be reconsidered. Tuberculosis claims 2 million deaths each year – almost 4 lives every minute – and two billion people (one third of the population) carry the bacilli. Most of them will not develop the disease as it is triggered by a low immune system. But a low immune system is a characteristic in HIV infected people. TB is the number one killer of HIV infected patients. For a couple of years now the TB community has been faced with another problem: resistant strains of TB. “Normal” TB can be cured and the drugs are efficient, though the cure is very long and difficult (up to 8 months), when you live in Belgium where social security is good you can manage; it’s going to be though but manageable. In developing countries where often the choice is between working and bringing food to the table or getting cured, it’s impossible. Resistant strains can only be cured with highly toxic medication with awful side effects, banned years ago because too dangerous. The R&D in TB is scares. Why? Because it’s not a highly profitable disease.
In the West, people infected with TB will rarely develop a resistance because they will get cured easily. In developing countries, patients don’t get diagnosed on time or cannot take their medication properly.
Another example is children infected with HIV. This problem nearly doesn’t appear anymore in the developed countries, as the antenatal care is good, mother are given proper medication and give birth by caesarian to prevent mother-to-child transmission. Therefore research in drugs to cure children infected with the virus have not really been developed. Doctors in our field project used to break adult tablets to give to the children; or they gave syrup that tasted awfully and sometimes even needed refrigeration! After years of advocacy R&D in drugs for infected children is finally getting somewhere.
Patents have been created to protect someone’s invention. You put hard labour into inventing or creating something and as a reward you get a protection for a certain period that prevent anybody to copy your work without permission, acknowledgment or royalties. This also allows the inventor of putting a price on his product. We don’t see how much a drug really costs as with our social security, the government is paying the difference. So a drug that we think costs 10 euro probably costs 10 time more. In countries without social security this has a direct impact to the patients access to drugs.
Patents exist on every single product but they don’t have such a disastrous effect on people as the patents on drugs. Simple example, when Philips invented the CD player, the price was extremely high. Within the next year prices dropped and two years later nearly everyone could afford a CD player. Other companies like Sony, Samsung quickly manufactured their own CD players. But the CD technology has a patent. But Philips was clever enough to put the CD player technology in a patent pool, meaning that everyone who was going to use the CD player technology to copy or improve it would have to pay royalties to Philips. This keeps the research active. This is not what pharmaceutical industries want. Putting the research for neglected and most neglected diseases to a shameful low.
Geneva - eight weeks later
Eight weeks that I have been here and only one post…. Shame on me…. Two main excuses: one I have been incredibly busy with my new job and other things, and secondly, living abroad is not that different than living in your own country. You get up in the morning, you work way too much, you get home knackered, you go out for the occasional drink and you go back to bed. In the film “l’auberge espagnole”, when the main character comes home after spending a year in Spain and his mum asks him over dinner “so how was it?” his reply is “well you know nothing special”. That comment is so true. For people who have never had the chance of living abroad, it seems exotic. For me, who is very fortunate to have lived in London and now Geneva, it’s more a day-to-day sort of life, not so much different than Brussels.
It’s got also probably a lot to do with the fact that London and Geneva are not that different from Brussels. If I lived in Asia, the States or Africa, I might be able to say more as the culture is so different. For the couple of American friends I have here, nearly everything is different: the stores that close early (I have to confess that was a surprise too the first couple of days when I went to the supermarket at 6.30 and found closed doors), the no–tipping policy, the walking rather than taking the car habit, etc….
But yes Geneva is very different from what I expected. For one, it’s much more fun than I thought. Before coming here, every time I was saying to people I was moving to Geneva for work, they were looking at me if I was going to hell.
Geneva was described to me as the place where: everybody goes to bed at 10, no social life whatsoever, everyone is very uptight. In short: I was going to be extremely lonely.
Nothing could be further from the truth. In fairness, I have fewer friends here than in Brussels but it’s not hard to make new acquaintances here. This city of about 180.000 people is composed by 45% of expats. Most in their late twenties, early thirties and most all single without any friends either. We are kind of all looking for new friends. It was so much more difficult to make new friends in London. There, everyone had their friends and getting included in a group is not easy. Here, people stay a couple of years, then move again. Groups are making and dissolving themselves rather quickly. Therefore joining a new group is totally normal here.
Living in Geneva is also a very good life. Okay it’s hugely expensive, but at the same time it’s much more laid back. People here are sweet, polite, and helpful. The bus driver will not drive away if he sees you run to him, nobody will complain if you take too long in a queue asking for some silly info that is known to everyone in Geneva but you. Again to be completely honest, not all my friends think that. But that’s probably because they don’t speak the language and communications are therefore more difficult.
I also only have to walk two minutes from my apartment to be at the lake. When it’s sunny, and that is quite often here, I take my bike and go for a trip.
One thing though drives me crazy here: the rules and the permits. For everything there is a rule and/or a permit. It goes from the “vignette” without that you’re not allowed to drive (for my part a good idea) to a paper for your bike (still don’t have that – kind of boycotting that, why should I be paying to ride my bike?)
Parking is also a nightmare and a good example of how rules literally rule your life. You simply cannot park here. Streets are divided in zone: the resident zone, the blue zone, the yellow zone and the white zone. To park you have to pay and you can only stay 90 minutes in the street where you’re parked. After that you have to drive away. And believe me they will fine you if you either stay or think they will not check up on the car. There are only two places where I have found out you can park here without a problem: the first one is called “le bout du monde” and the name says it all. The other one is a street next to the UN and the missions. My car is there and will unlikely move. On Sunday, people are waiting in their car for another car to drive away and to take the spot. It’s a street with about 40 parking spaces and 180.000 people in the city. It’s the parking jungle.
It’s got also probably a lot to do with the fact that London and Geneva are not that different from Brussels. If I lived in Asia, the States or Africa, I might be able to say more as the culture is so different. For the couple of American friends I have here, nearly everything is different: the stores that close early (I have to confess that was a surprise too the first couple of days when I went to the supermarket at 6.30 and found closed doors), the no–tipping policy, the walking rather than taking the car habit, etc….
But yes Geneva is very different from what I expected. For one, it’s much more fun than I thought. Before coming here, every time I was saying to people I was moving to Geneva for work, they were looking at me if I was going to hell.
Geneva was described to me as the place where: everybody goes to bed at 10, no social life whatsoever, everyone is very uptight. In short: I was going to be extremely lonely.
Nothing could be further from the truth. In fairness, I have fewer friends here than in Brussels but it’s not hard to make new acquaintances here. This city of about 180.000 people is composed by 45% of expats. Most in their late twenties, early thirties and most all single without any friends either. We are kind of all looking for new friends. It was so much more difficult to make new friends in London. There, everyone had their friends and getting included in a group is not easy. Here, people stay a couple of years, then move again. Groups are making and dissolving themselves rather quickly. Therefore joining a new group is totally normal here.
Living in Geneva is also a very good life. Okay it’s hugely expensive, but at the same time it’s much more laid back. People here are sweet, polite, and helpful. The bus driver will not drive away if he sees you run to him, nobody will complain if you take too long in a queue asking for some silly info that is known to everyone in Geneva but you. Again to be completely honest, not all my friends think that. But that’s probably because they don’t speak the language and communications are therefore more difficult.
I also only have to walk two minutes from my apartment to be at the lake. When it’s sunny, and that is quite often here, I take my bike and go for a trip.
One thing though drives me crazy here: the rules and the permits. For everything there is a rule and/or a permit. It goes from the “vignette” without that you’re not allowed to drive (for my part a good idea) to a paper for your bike (still don’t have that – kind of boycotting that, why should I be paying to ride my bike?)
Parking is also a nightmare and a good example of how rules literally rule your life. You simply cannot park here. Streets are divided in zone: the resident zone, the blue zone, the yellow zone and the white zone. To park you have to pay and you can only stay 90 minutes in the street where you’re parked. After that you have to drive away. And believe me they will fine you if you either stay or think they will not check up on the car. There are only two places where I have found out you can park here without a problem: the first one is called “le bout du monde” and the name says it all. The other one is a street next to the UN and the missions. My car is there and will unlikely move. On Sunday, people are waiting in their car for another car to drive away and to take the spot. It’s a street with about 40 parking spaces and 180.000 people in the city. It’s the parking jungle.
Monday 15 October 2007
Life in Geneva - part one
So it's been one week and two days since I've arrived in Geneva. And a lot has happened... Here's what I did (not in order):
1. Got a cold, went to the pharmacy and realised that medicines should probably be shipped from Brussels in order to still stay affordable.
2. Pharmacists don't give you drugs easily here. You have to beg for them to give you spray that is actually stronger than mouth wash.
3. On the other hand, they are nice...
4. Come to think about it, everybody here is nice. Not in an American sleazy and hypocritical way, just genuinely nice. Everywhere.
5. Found myself an apartment.
6. With a bed :-), in a room, gorgeous, big, with internet, washing machine, garage for my bike, and more importantly in the middle of Geneva, two minutes from work
7. Why the heck did I take my bike then?
8. Oh yes.... Saturday the weather was gorgeous so went for a bike tour along the lake. Sunday weather equally gorgeous did the same thing, only bigger tour and took a book with me. Read my book lying on a bench next to the lake.
9. I know, you're all jealous
10. Actually, if I take my bike to work, I get there in one minute.
11. Since Friday I wake up one minute later. Yippee
12. Oh yes... nearly forgot. Started a new job.
13. I am now officially the communication officer for the access to essential medicines campaign.
14. Thank god, they are two others... too much work
15. Nobody leaves work before 7.00pm
16. So I don't – not yet anyway
17. Went out on Friday with Mallory and her friends
18. Very nice friends, good evening and I can walk home from Old town to my bed in 15 minutes... and it's along the lake.
19. First big party in Geneva on Saturday: Rugby - and England won.
20. Watching second semi-final on Sunday - oh my god South Africa is going to wipe us out
21. Some people told me Geneva was going to be boring. Well it's not super exciting but it's relaxing and some parties are happening, just not during the week.
22. oh and yes... took some pictures... here they are... enjoy
Ahhhh le Jet d'eau... difficult not to take its picture
My flat mate Ruud - he went for on Saturday around the lake, I followed with my bike. Here are some pictures of what we see when we run here...
Before that, in the morning, we explored the market... Very cheap vegetables and fruits. Sunday I made a pumpkin soup that was pretty good (although not as good as Amanda's).
And this is my street... Litteraly two minutes from the lake
Sunday 14 October 2007
Voir Dublin et mourir....
It has always been a dream of mine to visit Dublin and when Niamh, one of my Dublin colleagues’ and friend, invited me for her birthday in September, I didn’t have to think twice about going or not.
I finished work on Tuesday, packed my stuff for my six months expatriate trip to Geneva and left for Dublin on Wednesday.
Dublin is obviously a capital but still it’s not huge like London or Paris.You can walk everywhere, although I have to confess by Friday my feet where killing me, everything is cramped in the city centre. Wednesday is decided to have a general walk. I only had a few days and didn’t really want to miss anything. One of Niamh’s colleagues gives me some tips and with my map I can manage perfectly well. And anyhow, if you stay on a corner looking a bit puzzled, people come immediately to offer assistance… There is no way you can get lost in Dublin.
It’s a very interesting city if you like architecture. Houses are in Victorian style, covered in laurel and you kind of feel like you’re walking in an historic movie. Nearly every house has also a copper plate with the name of some famous Irish bloke who was born, lived or died in the house. I guess the sport in Dublin is to find a house without a copper plate!
Everything is also bilingual: English and Gaelic. The later is totally unpronounceable to me and Niamh and her flat mates have great fun hearing me trying to pronounce their cities.
One of my first visits was Trinity College. Beautiful building, interesting history but what makes it all worthwhile is the history society guided tours. Elisabeth, one of the guides, makes it a funny and very different visit from what you can expect. Apparently until 30 years ago Catholics were not welcome at Trinity College. Mary Robinson, former Prime Minister, had to ask for special permission to her bishop to attend Uni.
Elisabeth has also a very funny way of describing how students live. In some dorms, there are no showers or toilets and students have to go outside. In a girls’ dorm there was only one plug per floor until one year ago. You can imagine how difficult it was with your mobile, laptop, ipod charger and hairdryers. Another funny story is the acceptance of girls at Trinity. The story goes that George Provost, one of the most adamant opponents, apparently said “over my dead body” and actually died the day after the new regulation was passed. After the tour I went for lunch in the university cafeteria I think I looked young and lost enough to pass on for an Erasmus student ☺
The rest of my Dublin visit was pretty typical of any tourist: St Patrick’s cathedral, Christ church, going to see a live Irish band play music, visiting the James Joyce museum and Oscar Wilde’s house. One of the most beautiful places I’ve been during my three-day stay was the National Library. An exhibition about the Irish poet Yeats was organised but actually if you go there don’t hesitate about going upstairs to visit the library itself.
I was supposed to stay until Sunday, 16th September, leaving afterwards for Gairloch (Scotland) with Amanda, Archie and Pradeep (he plan was to rent a house and stay in Scotland for a week, enjoying nature, bike rides and walking). Niamh was celebrating her thirties’ birthday on Saturday night.
Unfortunately, the Belgian police phoned me on Friday evening to tell me that my dad had died. Apparently he fell down his stairs at home some days before and the neighbours got worried. Small consolation is that the doctor told me that he died instantly and probably didn’t suffer.
Niamh and her flat mates immediately brought me back to the airport, not before giving me the “alternative” tour of Dublin. Niamh’s boyfriend Mike really made this horrific morning pass well. At the airport, they all spit in different groups, queuing to the different companies to find me the cheapest and fastest way back home. Sadly, there wasn’t a direct flight to Brussels but British midland gave me their cheapest ticket but also gave me access to their business lounge, so I could relax. That made really the difference as well. I don’t think I could have managed 5 hours in the middle of Heathrow airport with screaming kids and people coming back from holidays.
I finished work on Tuesday, packed my stuff for my six months expatriate trip to Geneva and left for Dublin on Wednesday.
Dublin is obviously a capital but still it’s not huge like London or Paris.You can walk everywhere, although I have to confess by Friday my feet where killing me, everything is cramped in the city centre. Wednesday is decided to have a general walk. I only had a few days and didn’t really want to miss anything. One of Niamh’s colleagues gives me some tips and with my map I can manage perfectly well. And anyhow, if you stay on a corner looking a bit puzzled, people come immediately to offer assistance… There is no way you can get lost in Dublin.
It’s a very interesting city if you like architecture. Houses are in Victorian style, covered in laurel and you kind of feel like you’re walking in an historic movie. Nearly every house has also a copper plate with the name of some famous Irish bloke who was born, lived or died in the house. I guess the sport in Dublin is to find a house without a copper plate!
Everything is also bilingual: English and Gaelic. The later is totally unpronounceable to me and Niamh and her flat mates have great fun hearing me trying to pronounce their cities.
One of my first visits was Trinity College. Beautiful building, interesting history but what makes it all worthwhile is the history society guided tours. Elisabeth, one of the guides, makes it a funny and very different visit from what you can expect. Apparently until 30 years ago Catholics were not welcome at Trinity College. Mary Robinson, former Prime Minister, had to ask for special permission to her bishop to attend Uni.
Elisabeth has also a very funny way of describing how students live. In some dorms, there are no showers or toilets and students have to go outside. In a girls’ dorm there was only one plug per floor until one year ago. You can imagine how difficult it was with your mobile, laptop, ipod charger and hairdryers. Another funny story is the acceptance of girls at Trinity. The story goes that George Provost, one of the most adamant opponents, apparently said “over my dead body” and actually died the day after the new regulation was passed. After the tour I went for lunch in the university cafeteria I think I looked young and lost enough to pass on for an Erasmus student ☺
The rest of my Dublin visit was pretty typical of any tourist: St Patrick’s cathedral, Christ church, going to see a live Irish band play music, visiting the James Joyce museum and Oscar Wilde’s house. One of the most beautiful places I’ve been during my three-day stay was the National Library. An exhibition about the Irish poet Yeats was organised but actually if you go there don’t hesitate about going upstairs to visit the library itself.
I was supposed to stay until Sunday, 16th September, leaving afterwards for Gairloch (Scotland) with Amanda, Archie and Pradeep (he plan was to rent a house and stay in Scotland for a week, enjoying nature, bike rides and walking). Niamh was celebrating her thirties’ birthday on Saturday night.
Unfortunately, the Belgian police phoned me on Friday evening to tell me that my dad had died. Apparently he fell down his stairs at home some days before and the neighbours got worried. Small consolation is that the doctor told me that he died instantly and probably didn’t suffer.
Niamh and her flat mates immediately brought me back to the airport, not before giving me the “alternative” tour of Dublin. Niamh’s boyfriend Mike really made this horrific morning pass well. At the airport, they all spit in different groups, queuing to the different companies to find me the cheapest and fastest way back home. Sadly, there wasn’t a direct flight to Brussels but British midland gave me their cheapest ticket but also gave me access to their business lounge, so I could relax. That made really the difference as well. I don’t think I could have managed 5 hours in the middle of Heathrow airport with screaming kids and people coming back from holidays.
Wednesday 29 August 2007
Geneva - the sequel
So after two months I am back in Geneva. A lot has happened the last two months, so much so I didn’t really have time to write anything. It’s been exciting and stressful times. First job wise: two weeks after my interview in Geneva and a test in Brussels, they told me I was accepted for a 6 months contract to start with. In the meantime the UN invited me for an interview and then again for another one. I was in the last four but didn’t get it. I wasn’t really great during the interview and also the others had far more experience and networking skills than I have for the moment. So I accepted the job. The fact that it’s only for 6 months to start off with is reassuring: I don’t like it, it will be over quickly, I like it and more importantly, they like me, I can stay.
Also I am going back to my first love: medicine. This job is basically a campaign that focuses on making drugs available to everybody, so a lot of lobbying towards the pharmaceutical companies, WHO and WTO. Exciting stuff. However, now, back in the Geneva offices I feel overwhelmed, scared, excited and all of the above ☺
So now I am relocating to Geneva, well actually not until end of September. Before that I am taking a well-earned break. First on week in Brussels and then I am flying to Dublin for four days and then to Scotland!
The week in Brussels will be welcome as I just bought myself an apartment there. Yes I know sounds ridiculous to buy something and then moving out but I did the first thing before deciding on the later. The apartment is coming out nicely, although no real personal touch as I will be renting it out to two lovely (well I hope so) girls.
The last thing I still need to do is find myself a place to stay here in Geneva. And that seems to be extremely difficult. Not a lot of studio’s or rooms for rent and all quite expensive… So that another thing I have to do. I’ll keep you posted.
Also I am going back to my first love: medicine. This job is basically a campaign that focuses on making drugs available to everybody, so a lot of lobbying towards the pharmaceutical companies, WHO and WTO. Exciting stuff. However, now, back in the Geneva offices I feel overwhelmed, scared, excited and all of the above ☺
So now I am relocating to Geneva, well actually not until end of September. Before that I am taking a well-earned break. First on week in Brussels and then I am flying to Dublin for four days and then to Scotland!
The week in Brussels will be welcome as I just bought myself an apartment there. Yes I know sounds ridiculous to buy something and then moving out but I did the first thing before deciding on the later. The apartment is coming out nicely, although no real personal touch as I will be renting it out to two lovely (well I hope so) girls.
The last thing I still need to do is find myself a place to stay here in Geneva. And that seems to be extremely difficult. Not a lot of studio’s or rooms for rent and all quite expensive… So that another thing I have to do. I’ll keep you posted.
Friday 13 July 2007
Eternel recommencement
Long time no writing on this blog. The main reason is lack of time due to the start of our campaign and also because I had some “bad” news. The job I am currently doing is a replacement. I always kind of thought she wouldn’t come back to her old job but she has decided a couple of weeks ago that she would. Therefore I have to find a new job. Some might find that exciting, the start of a new thing. I kind of hoped to have a job for more than one year for once. I feel like the last 7 years I have applied more than worked. A few years ago it came to the point that I was sending out more than 50 cv’s a week. Just in order to get a job that would pay the rent basically.
I like my job now. They are things that I miss in my current job. I don’t write as much as I would like to. Personal initiative is kind of minimal. But the environment and the people I work with are great. It’s very interesting, I feel like my job as a purpose and the pay is good for an NGO.
So now it’s back to square one. Or not completely. Difference between now and a couple of years ago is that my cv is getting better and that I get interviews. So that’s why I am writing this blog from Geneva. I went there for an interview for the same NGO I am currently working for but a different section. It would be much more medical, I would write a lot more, initiative would be required. Only problem: it’s based in Geneva. And I don’t really know if I want to go there. For a year I wouldn’t mind, but I can’t see myself live there longer. It’s extremely quiet, people don’t seem to go out that much (how could they afford it anyway) and surprisingly it’s not the beautiful town I thought t was going to be. The old part is very nice but near the office it’s a bit like you’re stranded in the 60 in Eastern Europe.
There’s also the matter of my apartment in Brussels that I just bought, friends that I would miss… So a lot to think about for the next couple of days. But it’s early days yet, I don’t even know if I have the job… ;-)
I like my job now. They are things that I miss in my current job. I don’t write as much as I would like to. Personal initiative is kind of minimal. But the environment and the people I work with are great. It’s very interesting, I feel like my job as a purpose and the pay is good for an NGO.
So now it’s back to square one. Or not completely. Difference between now and a couple of years ago is that my cv is getting better and that I get interviews. So that’s why I am writing this blog from Geneva. I went there for an interview for the same NGO I am currently working for but a different section. It would be much more medical, I would write a lot more, initiative would be required. Only problem: it’s based in Geneva. And I don’t really know if I want to go there. For a year I wouldn’t mind, but I can’t see myself live there longer. It’s extremely quiet, people don’t seem to go out that much (how could they afford it anyway) and surprisingly it’s not the beautiful town I thought t was going to be. The old part is very nice but near the office it’s a bit like you’re stranded in the 60 in Eastern Europe.
There’s also the matter of my apartment in Brussels that I just bought, friends that I would miss… So a lot to think about for the next couple of days. But it’s early days yet, I don’t even know if I have the job… ;-)
Thursday 14 June 2007
The story of the foot
So it's been two weeks and my ankle was still in pain on Monday. So much that I thought the worst. Luckily there was a spot open to see the doctor immediately. And what has happened is too silly for words. My ligament is actually quite ok now. It's still a tiny torn but that shouldn't hurt so much. The pain is due more to the fact that I have been still for a week, trying to walk on it as little as possible. That was the doctor's order from the other clinic.
The result? My Achilles tendon (ok I had to look that one up - my English is not that good) is a little bit confused with me not walking anymore and has become lazy. You can laugh but that actually hurts as well. New orders from the doctor: walk normally, do some stretching and massages so that the blood goes back to my foot and that my muscles tend to be more supple.
Good news is: it works... Yesterday was a bit painful but today is already so much better.
Bad news: more and more I realise I actually should have succeeded in my medical studies.... At least I wouldn't have to go to various doctors with different diagnostic each time....
You live and learn.
The result? My Achilles tendon (ok I had to look that one up - my English is not that good) is a little bit confused with me not walking anymore and has become lazy. You can laugh but that actually hurts as well. New orders from the doctor: walk normally, do some stretching and massages so that the blood goes back to my foot and that my muscles tend to be more supple.
Good news is: it works... Yesterday was a bit painful but today is already so much better.
Bad news: more and more I realise I actually should have succeeded in my medical studies.... At least I wouldn't have to go to various doctors with different diagnostic each time....
You live and learn.
Tuesday 5 June 2007
Life on crutches....
After years of skiing, snowboarding, swimming, running, playing tennis, it’s a miracle that I haven’t hurt myself sooner. However life on crutches is not as fancy and fun as I imagined. Beside the fact that my ankle actually hurts quite a lot, I am not managing those crutches as well as I would like to. I don’t know how people manage to look cool with them but I nearly fall every time I take a step. It's difficult to open a door, take a shower, ...Also, my other leg is now killing me.
Anyway, my own dumb mistake; should have trained more…. And I shouldn’t complain too much: it’s not the end of the world and I can stay home another day tomorrow. Yippee
Anyway, my own dumb mistake; should have trained more…. And I shouldn’t complain too much: it’s not the end of the world and I can stay home another day tomorrow. Yippee
Monday 4 June 2007
20km and one torn ligament later….
I did it!!! Ok, it took me 2 hours 49 minutes and 30 seconds but I did it. And I have a medal to prove it. Sadly now I have a torn ligament in my ankle and can’t really walk anymore.
Last Monday, the day after the 20km in Brussels, my legs were killing me. I thought that was pretty normal considering the amount of sports I had suddenly done compared to the last 28 years of my life. So I wasn’t that sussed about it. In the afternoon however, my ankle was killing me and I was incapable to walk on it. I thought I just had strained my muscle and didn’t want to be a sissy so I left it at that.
Today, a week later, and because my doctor told me to, I decided it was about time to go to the emergency room. Diagnosis: a torn ligament, 3 days in bed, one week on crutches…
I thought sports were supposed to be healthy… Thank god for 24, Desperate housewives and Prison break….
Last Monday, the day after the 20km in Brussels, my legs were killing me. I thought that was pretty normal considering the amount of sports I had suddenly done compared to the last 28 years of my life. So I wasn’t that sussed about it. In the afternoon however, my ankle was killing me and I was incapable to walk on it. I thought I just had strained my muscle and didn’t want to be a sissy so I left it at that.
Today, a week later, and because my doctor told me to, I decided it was about time to go to the emergency room. Diagnosis: a torn ligament, 3 days in bed, one week on crutches…
I thought sports were supposed to be healthy… Thank god for 24, Desperate housewives and Prison break….
Thursday 17 May 2007
Liberia - last days
Monday – Tuesday - Wednesday 14th – 15th – 16th May
Tuesday morning in our clinic at New Kru Town. The waiting room is packed. It's very hot, smelly, noisy and about 200 patients want to see a doctor. Around 11 women gave birth during the night or in the early hours and therefore have to share their beds. At least two women per bed with their newborn baby. And we complain when we can't have a bed in a single room back home! Another 5 women are in labour in the other room.
Monday is usually the busiest day of the week. Liberians don't like to come on a Friday I am told. Work, looking food, lack of money, ignorance about the severity of their condition and probably the idea of the weekend puts them off of going to the hospital. However Monday 14th was Independence Day and the clinic was closed. So now Tuesday it's even worse than any other Monday.
Sofie and I decided to follow a patient. Theresa is 27 years old and suffers from high fever and acute headache. She arrived around 7.30 in the morning to get a number to see the doctor. By noon she's still in the waiting room. I have trouble staying there and I am not the one with an excruciating headache. It's noisy because the nurses keep on shouting numbers, babies are crying, people are talking loudly, it's even hotter than in the morning and the air is missing. Theresa is a typical malaria case, or at least that's what we suspect. Malaria is more and more frequent around this time of the year. Most people who come to the clinic are treated for this condition that is life threatening. Symptoms are a very high fever, chills and headache. If you leave it untreated, you can start convulsing, fall in a coma and die.
While Theresa is waiting just to see a doctor, Sofie and I go to the family planning. This is a program that is working very well. Women who have just given labour are advised to rest a little before they have a new baby. This is good for the mum but also for the newborn as it will breastfeed longer. Teenage girls who don't want to become pregnant also come here to get their free pill. One girl, 16 years old, came just to get her pill but during the consult we realise that she is shivering. I put my hand on her forehead, she is burning. Probably malaria. The nurse tells us where she needs to go and probably because Sofie and I were with her she is treated immediately. Well immediately is a vast conception. The result for the simple malaria test is negative and so they have to do a smear. Christiana will have to wait another 3 hours before it's confirmed she's indeed suffering from malaria and receive proper medication.
It's not the staff's fault. They are highly qualified, do a really good job, but they're just too many people. The corridors, the benches, the waiting rooms, the floors, everywhere it's packed with people waiting. Most of them wait for hours.
Theresa is still in triage. It's now 2.30 and she still hasn't seen a doctor. She's got number 108 and they're not there yet. I could have found a patient with a smaller number but I want to know I long it takes to see a doctor here. So far Theresa has had to wait for 6 and a half hours!
Theresa has nothing to read, she basically can't read anyway. She is staring quietly , not moving as she is scared she might lose her seat. Interviewing people in Liberia is not easy. They're friendly and very happy to talk to you but their English is so different from mine. They don't really understand my English and I have trouble with theirs. Somehow over the last week it's easier cos I am getting used to it but still. Here they call it pidgin English. Antenatal care is called "belly check", "passing poopoo" is diarrhoea, titty water is breast milk etc… Another difficult thing is that most people actually have no idea how old they are and how old their children are. For me, Western girl, absolutely obsessed by time it's the most difficult thing to grasp. They're usually in between ages. "I am in between 25 and 30 years old, my baby girl is about 5 to 6 months". Sometimes you definitively see that the baby girl is closer to one than to 7 months but most of the time it's hard to say.
This is a major problem when it comes to vaccination. Some vaccines can only be given after 5 months. Doctors therefore usually ask questions regarding the season, the sun and determine if the baby is old enough. You have to find a solution to everything here.
With the rape victims I have interviewed today, it's the same problem. They usually don't know when they have been raped. You have to kind of guess according to historic events. The woman today was raped somewhere during the first world war so probably around 1990-1992. As she told us she was married at that time we also determined her age: around 35 (and not 27 as she thought she was). Time is a different conception around here.
Theresa will finally see a doctor around 2.45 (yes I have a watch). Her malaria test is negative but her urine test is positive. She's got a urinary infection. She should have come on Friday when she had the first symptoms. That's why today (4 days later) she's got fever, pain in her lower back (due to the kidneys). But the main thing is that with strong antibiotics she'll be ok. So back to another waiting line: the pharmacy. About 25 people are before her in the queue. It will probably take another 30 to 45 minutes.
I can't stick around cos we have an emergency. A little boy with malaria is unconscious and needs to be transferred by ambulance to our other hospital. The mum is crying in despair, we rush to the hospital with An the midwife.
In Island hospital, doctors are immediately attending to him, I'm taking the mum to registration and trying to calm her down, reassuring her a bit. A few minutes later a nurse and I are putting the boy in a tub and put cold water on him to get the fever down and get him conscious. The boy will be fine but again it proves that sadly people wait too long before coming to hospital. Of course it's not their fault. They don't know, have no money. They're just trying to survive.
On a more personal note, I have been running a little bit in Monrovia. Never thought it to be possible as security is very tight but it is as long as you have a guy with you. So I have been running twice: once to Africa hotel (in the pre-war glory day the most beautiful hotel in the city) and to the beach. It's quite surreal to run here but it was nice. Also, Sam, the watsan (water and sanitation) specialist has taken us for dinner last night. We went to New Jack's, local bar/restaurant in downtown Monrovia run by Myriam, a Liberian woman married to an Oxfam employee. Her mum was there and told us about Liberia's history, the wars and the problem this country is facing today. It was nice to get an "inside" perspective. And if you ever go on holiday here, and hopefully one day it will be possible, it's the best food in town!
Tuesday morning in our clinic at New Kru Town. The waiting room is packed. It's very hot, smelly, noisy and about 200 patients want to see a doctor. Around 11 women gave birth during the night or in the early hours and therefore have to share their beds. At least two women per bed with their newborn baby. And we complain when we can't have a bed in a single room back home! Another 5 women are in labour in the other room.Monday is usually the busiest day of the week. Liberians don't like to come on a Friday I am told. Work, looking food, lack of money, ignorance about the severity of their condition and probably the idea of the weekend puts them off of going to the hospital. However Monday 14th was Independence Day and the clinic was closed. So now Tuesday it's even worse than any other Monday.
Sofie and I decided to follow a patient. Theresa is 27 years old and suffers from high fever and acute headache. She arrived around 7.30 in the morning to get a number to see the doctor. By noon she's still in the waiting room. I have trouble staying there and I am not the one with an excruciating headache. It's noisy because the nurses keep on shouting numbers, babies are crying, people are talking loudly, it's even hotter than in the morning and the air is missing. Theresa is a typical malaria case, or at least that's what we suspect. Malaria is more and more frequent around this time of the year. Most people who come to the clinic are treated for this condition that is life threatening. Symptoms are a very high fever, chills and headache. If you leave it untreated, you can start convulsing, fall in a coma and die.
While Theresa is waiting just to see a doctor, Sofie and I go to the family planning. This is a program that is working very well. Women who have just given labour are advised to rest a little before they have a new baby. This is good for the mum but also for the newborn as it will breastfeed longer. Teenage girls who don't want to become pregnant also come here to get their free pill. One girl, 16 years old, came just to get her pill but during the consult we realise that she is shivering. I put my hand on her forehead, she is burning. Probably malaria. The nurse tells us where she needs to go and probably because Sofie and I were with her she is treated immediately. Well immediately is a vast conception. The result for the simple malaria test is negative and so they have to do a smear. Christiana will have to wait another 3 hours before it's confirmed she's indeed suffering from malaria and receive proper medication.
It's not the staff's fault. They are highly qualified, do a really good job, but they're just too many people. The corridors, the benches, the waiting rooms, the floors, everywhere it's packed with people waiting. Most of them wait for hours.
Theresa is still in triage. It's now 2.30 and she still hasn't seen a doctor. She's got number 108 and they're not there yet. I could have found a patient with a smaller number but I want to know I long it takes to see a doctor here. So far Theresa has had to wait for 6 and a half hours!
Theresa has nothing to read, she basically can't read anyway. She is staring quietly , not moving as she is scared she might lose her seat. Interviewing people in Liberia is not easy. They're friendly and very happy to talk to you but their English is so different from mine. They don't really understand my English and I have trouble with theirs. Somehow over the last week it's easier cos I am getting used to it but still. Here they call it pidgin English. Antenatal care is called "belly check", "passing poopoo" is diarrhoea, titty water is breast milk etc… Another difficult thing is that most people actually have no idea how old they are and how old their children are. For me, Western girl, absolutely obsessed by time it's the most difficult thing to grasp. They're usually in between ages. "I am in between 25 and 30 years old, my baby girl is about 5 to 6 months". Sometimes you definitively see that the baby girl is closer to one than to 7 months but most of the time it's hard to say.
This is a major problem when it comes to vaccination. Some vaccines can only be given after 5 months. Doctors therefore usually ask questions regarding the season, the sun and determine if the baby is old enough. You have to find a solution to everything here.
With the rape victims I have interviewed today, it's the same problem. They usually don't know when they have been raped. You have to kind of guess according to historic events. The woman today was raped somewhere during the first world war so probably around 1990-1992. As she told us she was married at that time we also determined her age: around 35 (and not 27 as she thought she was). Time is a different conception around here.
Theresa will finally see a doctor around 2.45 (yes I have a watch). Her malaria test is negative but her urine test is positive. She's got a urinary infection. She should have come on Friday when she had the first symptoms. That's why today (4 days later) she's got fever, pain in her lower back (due to the kidneys). But the main thing is that with strong antibiotics she'll be ok. So back to another waiting line: the pharmacy. About 25 people are before her in the queue. It will probably take another 30 to 45 minutes.
I can't stick around cos we have an emergency. A little boy with malaria is unconscious and needs to be transferred by ambulance to our other hospital. The mum is crying in despair, we rush to the hospital with An the midwife.
In Island hospital, doctors are immediately attending to him, I'm taking the mum to registration and trying to calm her down, reassuring her a bit. A few minutes later a nurse and I are putting the boy in a tub and put cold water on him to get the fever down and get him conscious. The boy will be fine but again it proves that sadly people wait too long before coming to hospital. Of course it's not their fault. They don't know, have no money. They're just trying to survive.
On a more personal note, I have been running a little bit in Monrovia. Never thought it to be possible as security is very tight but it is as long as you have a guy with you. So I have been running twice: once to Africa hotel (in the pre-war glory day the most beautiful hotel in the city) and to the beach. It's quite surreal to run here but it was nice. Also, Sam, the watsan (water and sanitation) specialist has taken us for dinner last night. We went to New Jack's, local bar/restaurant in downtown Monrovia run by Myriam, a Liberian woman married to an Oxfam employee. Her mum was there and told us about Liberia's history, the wars and the problem this country is facing today. It was nice to get an "inside" perspective. And if you ever go on holiday here, and hopefully one day it will be possible, it's the best food in town!
Monday 14 May 2007
Weekend in Liberia
Saturday – Sunday 13th May
It's the weekend and so operations are a bit slow. Saturday I was invited at a wedding. Two members of the staff were getting married. One British girl with an Ethiopian man. In the morning Céline, Sofie and I went to chill out on the beach and get a tan. Well at least for Céline and Sofie. I just get either red or stay completely white. As I want some colour, I just stay in the sun. Result: I am red and have some spots on my face. Hopefully it will go away before I get back.
Talking about getting back… This is going to be difficult. I really like it here. The staff is great, expats and nationals, they made me feel more than welcome. I am not counting the days when Wednesday comes and I will have to catch the plane to Brussels. I am happy to see my friends and family back but also really like my job here. I hope I'll get the chance to go back on the field soon.
The wedding was set on Golden Beach in the centre of Monrovia. The sea there is completely different from the one that we usually go to (Cece beach). It's impossible to swim there as it's rough and dangerous. It was a really nice buffet and it was a good opportunity to speak to the staff in a different setting than just plain work.
I also had the chance to speak more extensively with the national staff. I wanted to know how they live, how they spend their days outside the NGO, how they saw the future, if things had changed since the war. They wanted to what Belgium was, like how I live and why white women are so scared of spiders .
Blackie, one of the national staff, invited me for the next morning to his church as I wanted to know how an African mass is celebrated.
The next morning I took the car downtown to an area where probably it's rare for "white" people to go. Blackie was waiting for me, all dressed up and proud that I would do the honour to visit his church. He had even warned the pastor that I was coming. African mass is very different from what we know. First you get the pastor to preach and then they basically sing and dance for nearly two hours. What's not different is that they have to give money to the pastor. For a population that's living on less than 1 dollar a day, they surely give a lot to the church. Blackie explains to me later that it's only because they actually don't have a church. It's kind of a small house with bullet holes (probably a leftover from the war in 2003) and a metal roof. No more than 15 people can sit in it but the community is growing so they need to move, hence the money… Hum
Houses are as scarce in Liberia as is clean water. They're a few from the glory days before the war and rarely inhabited by Liberians. Most "houses" are either ship containers that European companies just dumped, in "full" wood or "small" wood. Don't really know how the explain it correctly but some houses are entirely in wood, others just have four wood sticks and a metal roof.
Apart from being extremely hot, Liberia is one of the most humid countries in Africa, if not the most. It rains here regularly and when we complain in Belgium about a heavy rain shower, just come here and see hell break in the sky. It's amazing. But not for the people living in the wooden houses. After a rainy night you can see that it has rained inside their houses. You also have to imagine that they haven't got a running water system (nor toilet system) and no electricity (some have generators). The morning after the rain the smell inside the city is quite indescribable.
Cars are also a big issue. People have no money to buy a car and mostly take the cab. You have to imagine that yellow cabs are not taking one person but several people. They just hop in along the way, mostly four people cramped in the back, three in the front.
Africa can be considered as Europe's dustbin. Well at least Liberia, I haven't been to all the other countries and wouldn't call myself and African connoisseur. They get the t-shirts we can't sell anymore, the toys we wouldn't give to our children etc. The worst are the cars. If you ever wondered were your 13 year-old car is, well now you have the answer: it's in Africa polluting the atmosphere. I saw a car with a smap (Belgium insurance company now called something else) sticker on the back and one with a Kortrijk (a city in Belgium) sticker.
A vast majority of the cars (used as cabs, Liberians rarely have a car) also have stickers at the back showing what country they're from (B for Belgium, CH for Switzerland, NL for the Netherlands are the most popular).
As a result, Monrovia is extremely polluted and it's sometimes hard to breathe when stuck in traffic. All this time we are lobbying for the environment and at the same time we dump our old, polluting cars on the poorest.
For those who are interested in reading more about Liberia and the NGO's, an actual writer has actually written a very good piece in the Observer. "Letter from Liberia", Zadie Smith, 29 April 2007. Go and check it, it's brilliant.
It's the weekend and so operations are a bit slow. Saturday I was invited at a wedding. Two members of the staff were getting married. One British girl with an Ethiopian man. In the morning Céline, Sofie and I went to chill out on the beach and get a tan. Well at least for Céline and Sofie. I just get either red or stay completely white. As I want some colour, I just stay in the sun. Result: I am red and have some spots on my face. Hopefully it will go away before I get back.
Talking about getting back… This is going to be difficult. I really like it here. The staff is great, expats and nationals, they made me feel more than welcome. I am not counting the days when Wednesday comes and I will have to catch the plane to Brussels. I am happy to see my friends and family back but also really like my job here. I hope I'll get the chance to go back on the field soon.
The wedding was set on Golden Beach in the centre of Monrovia. The sea there is completely different from the one that we usually go to (Cece beach). It's impossible to swim there as it's rough and dangerous. It was a really nice buffet and it was a good opportunity to speak to the staff in a different setting than just plain work.
I also had the chance to speak more extensively with the national staff. I wanted to know how they live, how they spend their days outside the NGO, how they saw the future, if things had changed since the war. They wanted to what Belgium was, like how I live and why white women are so scared of spiders .
Blackie, one of the national staff, invited me for the next morning to his church as I wanted to know how an African mass is celebrated.The next morning I took the car downtown to an area where probably it's rare for "white" people to go. Blackie was waiting for me, all dressed up and proud that I would do the honour to visit his church. He had even warned the pastor that I was coming. African mass is very different from what we know. First you get the pastor to preach and then they basically sing and dance for nearly two hours. What's not different is that they have to give money to the pastor. For a population that's living on less than 1 dollar a day, they surely give a lot to the church. Blackie explains to me later that it's only because they actually don't have a church. It's kind of a small house with bullet holes (probably a leftover from the war in 2003) and a metal roof. No more than 15 people can sit in it but the community is growing so they need to move, hence the money… Hum
Houses are as scarce in Liberia as is clean water. They're a few from the glory days before the war and rarely inhabited by Liberians. Most "houses" are either ship containers that European companies just dumped, in "full" wood or "small" wood. Don't really know how the explain it correctly but some houses are entirely in wood, others just have four wood sticks and a metal roof.
Apart from being extremely hot, Liberia is one of the most humid countries in Africa, if not the most. It rains here regularly and when we complain in Belgium about a heavy rain shower, just come here and see hell break in the sky. It's amazing. But not for the people living in the wooden houses. After a rainy night you can see that it has rained inside their houses. You also have to imagine that they haven't got a running water system (nor toilet system) and no electricity (some have generators). The morning after the rain the smell inside the city is quite indescribable.
Cars are also a big issue. People have no money to buy a car and mostly take the cab. You have to imagine that yellow cabs are not taking one person but several people. They just hop in along the way, mostly four people cramped in the back, three in the front.
Africa can be considered as Europe's dustbin. Well at least Liberia, I haven't been to all the other countries and wouldn't call myself and African connoisseur. They get the t-shirts we can't sell anymore, the toys we wouldn't give to our children etc. The worst are the cars. If you ever wondered were your 13 year-old car is, well now you have the answer: it's in Africa polluting the atmosphere. I saw a car with a smap (Belgium insurance company now called something else) sticker on the back and one with a Kortrijk (a city in Belgium) sticker.
A vast majority of the cars (used as cabs, Liberians rarely have a car) also have stickers at the back showing what country they're from (B for Belgium, CH for Switzerland, NL for the Netherlands are the most popular).As a result, Monrovia is extremely polluted and it's sometimes hard to breathe when stuck in traffic. All this time we are lobbying for the environment and at the same time we dump our old, polluting cars on the poorest.
For those who are interested in reading more about Liberia and the NGO's, an actual writer has actually written a very good piece in the Observer. "Letter from Liberia", Zadie Smith, 29 April 2007. Go and check it, it's brilliant.
Sunday 13 May 2007
Liberia 4
Friday 11th May
I already told you that Liberia has a high number of rape victims. For this my NGO has set up a special sexual violence program. One of the key person in this program is Angie, the psychologist. She's training 3 social workers who counsel the rape victims. Two for the adults and one for the children. Raping children is quite common here as well.
The 2003 civil war but also before (they refer it has world war I&II – between 1989 and 1997) has made rape a "natural" thing. Many women, children were raped by the rebels and the army. Today, the perpetrators have still not been punished and rape is still very much part of their daily life. We also went to see the Female Lawyers association ,which is helping to change the rape and gender based violence law. Slowly the country is changing but it will take years before the rape stops altogether.
Interviewing rape victims, especially children is extremely hard. I begin to get the impression that I am this white girl coming to Liberia to hear all the miseries of the world and then is going to go back home to my comfortable daily life and routine. And worst part is: it's true. Next Wednesday I'll be back home. These people still have to live in terrible conditions. I'll just worry about what to wear on my next date. I have these extremely mixed feelings: I feel guilty and at the same time I can't take all the misery of the world on me. Already I am helping a little bit by raising awareness of what is happening here. A beautiful country with very capable people that have sadly been living in a country destroyed by 20 years of civil war. They have to start everything back from scratch.
Despite all that, there is hope. This morning we went to the delivery room of the hospital we work at. A lot of women were in labour but as I have learnt over the last few days, it can sometimes take hours before they actually have their baby. But this morning we were lucky: 4 babies were born. And all boys! One woman even had twins. All perfectly healthy babies. So good to see this especially after the last few days.
I was a bit apprehensive with the labour. Probably I'll go through it one day and somehow I thought that seeing a delivery would put me of the idea. But it was great. Ok, it's very impressive and the first one is not scary, not gross but at the same time scary and gross (if you get what I mean). But by the second one (very quick one) and then the twins it was totally natural. The women don't really make a big deal out of it. They don't scream their lungs off (and we don't give pain killers), they just moan a little and some sing. In general it's a silent business. Very reassuring for the day I'll go through this myself :-)
I already told you that Liberia has a high number of rape victims. For this my NGO has set up a special sexual violence program. One of the key person in this program is Angie, the psychologist. She's training 3 social workers who counsel the rape victims. Two for the adults and one for the children. Raping children is quite common here as well.
The 2003 civil war but also before (they refer it has world war I&II – between 1989 and 1997) has made rape a "natural" thing. Many women, children were raped by the rebels and the army. Today, the perpetrators have still not been punished and rape is still very much part of their daily life. We also went to see the Female Lawyers association ,which is helping to change the rape and gender based violence law. Slowly the country is changing but it will take years before the rape stops altogether.
Interviewing rape victims, especially children is extremely hard. I begin to get the impression that I am this white girl coming to Liberia to hear all the miseries of the world and then is going to go back home to my comfortable daily life and routine. And worst part is: it's true. Next Wednesday I'll be back home. These people still have to live in terrible conditions. I'll just worry about what to wear on my next date. I have these extremely mixed feelings: I feel guilty and at the same time I can't take all the misery of the world on me. Already I am helping a little bit by raising awareness of what is happening here. A beautiful country with very capable people that have sadly been living in a country destroyed by 20 years of civil war. They have to start everything back from scratch.
Despite all that, there is hope. This morning we went to the delivery room of the hospital we work at. A lot of women were in labour but as I have learnt over the last few days, it can sometimes take hours before they actually have their baby. But this morning we were lucky: 4 babies were born. And all boys! One woman even had twins. All perfectly healthy babies. So good to see this especially after the last few days.
I was a bit apprehensive with the labour. Probably I'll go through it one day and somehow I thought that seeing a delivery would put me of the idea. But it was great. Ok, it's very impressive and the first one is not scary, not gross but at the same time scary and gross (if you get what I mean). But by the second one (very quick one) and then the twins it was totally natural. The women don't really make a big deal out of it. They don't scream their lungs off (and we don't give pain killers), they just moan a little and some sing. In general it's a silent business. Very reassuring for the day I'll go through this myself :-)
Friday 11 May 2007
Liberia 3
Thursday 10th May
This morning, when I went to the hospital, I already knew just by seeing Foday's face that something was wrong. Foday is a Liberian doctor who works in the ICU. He's really great, caring and great with the patients. He told me he had to talk to me but preferred to do it later and outside. In the meantime I saw Kristina, one of the expat doctor, who told me the ad news: B. died during the night. Although I knew the chances of survival were very slim and that without a mother and also with the probable mental problems following his malnutrition he's better off, it's still a shock. I really hoped he would make it. Kristina explained to me that the first 3 days were critical. Tonight, it would have been three days. I am just grateful that I didn't see him die.
Liberia and our project is not only about death. So many children come here every day at the hospital to get free treatment and the vast majority come out of this hospital cured. This little girl for example who had malaria is better and will be released tomorrow. Another one who has a bad cough has gone home today smiling. The doctors are saving the lives of so many children. But sadly sometimes you have a case like B. and even though they tried the best they could it wasn't enough to save his life. In Belgium he would have been fine. First of all he wouldn't have been 3,7kg at 7 months and second he would have been hooked on so many machines that would have helped him. In Liberia, one in 5 children dies before the age of 5.
This afternoon, we went with An the midwife to see some deliveries and to check on the new born babies. When we arrived, the nurse told us that a young mm had given birth to a 500gr baby, probably 26 weeks old. The mum was very anaemic and needed to be transported to the hospital next door. We couldn't really wait anymore and carried her as quickly as possible. Once in the hospital, An gave me the baby, that was still alive, for a few minutes to help the mum. I have never seen anything like this before (and I probably already wrote this sentence in this blog but this time I mean it), he was tiny, weighing nothing, looking more like a foetus than a baby.
This trip to Liberia is life changing, at least to me. It's a big cliché, but I won't come back the same person as I was before. Too many things happened. Africa has revealed itself in all its beauty and despair. This trip makes my job worthwhile.
This morning, when I went to the hospital, I already knew just by seeing Foday's face that something was wrong. Foday is a Liberian doctor who works in the ICU. He's really great, caring and great with the patients. He told me he had to talk to me but preferred to do it later and outside. In the meantime I saw Kristina, one of the expat doctor, who told me the ad news: B. died during the night. Although I knew the chances of survival were very slim and that without a mother and also with the probable mental problems following his malnutrition he's better off, it's still a shock. I really hoped he would make it. Kristina explained to me that the first 3 days were critical. Tonight, it would have been three days. I am just grateful that I didn't see him die.Liberia and our project is not only about death. So many children come here every day at the hospital to get free treatment and the vast majority come out of this hospital cured. This little girl for example who had malaria is better and will be released tomorrow. Another one who has a bad cough has gone home today smiling. The doctors are saving the lives of so many children. But sadly sometimes you have a case like B. and even though they tried the best they could it wasn't enough to save his life. In Belgium he would have been fine. First of all he wouldn't have been 3,7kg at 7 months and second he would have been hooked on so many machines that would have helped him. In Liberia, one in 5 children dies before the age of 5.
This afternoon, we went with An the midwife to see some deliveries and to check on the new born babies. When we arrived, the nurse told us that a young mm had given birth to a 500gr baby, probably 26 weeks old. The mum was very anaemic and needed to be transported to the hospital next door. We couldn't really wait anymore and carried her as quickly as possible. Once in the hospital, An gave me the baby, that was still alive, for a few minutes to help the mum. I have never seen anything like this before (and I probably already wrote this sentence in this blog but this time I mean it), he was tiny, weighing nothing, looking more like a foetus than a baby.
This trip to Liberia is life changing, at least to me. It's a big cliché, but I won't come back the same person as I was before. Too many things happened. Africa has revealed itself in all its beauty and despair. This trip makes my job worthwhile.
Wednesday 9 May 2007
Liberia 2
Tuesday 8th May
His name is B... I looked for him everywhere all morning but he had been taken to the ICU (Intensive Care Unit). He's 7 months old and only 3,8kg. Most babies weigh more when they are born. He's in bad shape but at least he pulled through the night. B… has become "my patient". Not that I can help, by any means, but he is a symbol for all those acute malnourished patients we have. His mum died a few weeks after giving birth to him. We suspect HIV but are not sure. It's the mum's sister who has brought him to the hospital. She wakes over him like he is her own. B… is suspected to have TB has well. He is probably suffering from secondary malnutrition: malnutrition following an infection or disease like malaria or TB. He's grasping every breath he can and is looking more and more distraught by the hour. A fever is also coming up. I am really upset. Not in front of the doctors nor the sister but this is really difficult. I like this kid. I whish I could just take him in my arms and tell him everything will be fine but that would just be a lie. No-one at this stage can guarantee that he will survive.
B… is one of many patients that come here suffering from acute malnutrition. When we arrived after lunch time in our hospital with Kristina, the Swedish doctor, a baby boy was receiving CPR. For 25 minutes, the doctors tried to save him but it was already too late. Seeing a little baby aged not more than a few months been given CPR is something I wish on no-one. It's hard. It looks like they're going to break the baby in two. The mum, a girl that didn't look more than twenty, was crying in a corner. She just came to the hospital too late. Many mums come to the hospital or clinics when sometimes it's too late to help the children. Not because they don't care but because they can't do otherwise. They either don't know that we provide free care, live too far away, have to work to provide for the other children or can't afford a cab to drive them to the hospital. 75% of the Liberian population lives on less than 1 dollar per day. Taking a cab is just not an option.
I have spent the entire afternoon in the ICU. Not only for B… but also to see how other children were taken care off. The good news is that some were stable and could leave the unit to go to a "normal" ward. It's certainly not only about death, it's about hope for a great majority amongst them.
His name is B... I looked for him everywhere all morning but he had been taken to the ICU (Intensive Care Unit). He's 7 months old and only 3,8kg. Most babies weigh more when they are born. He's in bad shape but at least he pulled through the night. B… has become "my patient". Not that I can help, by any means, but he is a symbol for all those acute malnourished patients we have. His mum died a few weeks after giving birth to him. We suspect HIV but are not sure. It's the mum's sister who has brought him to the hospital. She wakes over him like he is her own. B… is suspected to have TB has well. He is probably suffering from secondary malnutrition: malnutrition following an infection or disease like malaria or TB. He's grasping every breath he can and is looking more and more distraught by the hour. A fever is also coming up. I am really upset. Not in front of the doctors nor the sister but this is really difficult. I like this kid. I whish I could just take him in my arms and tell him everything will be fine but that would just be a lie. No-one at this stage can guarantee that he will survive.
B… is one of many patients that come here suffering from acute malnutrition. When we arrived after lunch time in our hospital with Kristina, the Swedish doctor, a baby boy was receiving CPR. For 25 minutes, the doctors tried to save him but it was already too late. Seeing a little baby aged not more than a few months been given CPR is something I wish on no-one. It's hard. It looks like they're going to break the baby in two. The mum, a girl that didn't look more than twenty, was crying in a corner. She just came to the hospital too late. Many mums come to the hospital or clinics when sometimes it's too late to help the children. Not because they don't care but because they can't do otherwise. They either don't know that we provide free care, live too far away, have to work to provide for the other children or can't afford a cab to drive them to the hospital. 75% of the Liberian population lives on less than 1 dollar per day. Taking a cab is just not an option.
I have spent the entire afternoon in the ICU. Not only for B… but also to see how other children were taken care off. The good news is that some were stable and could leave the unit to go to a "normal" ward. It's certainly not only about death, it's about hope for a great majority amongst them.
Outside, mothers are waiting with their children to go home. It's good to see how well some children leave the hospital. A boy runs to me with a big smile on his face. He's just so cute, bubbly and full of life. I play with him for a little while: he tries to push me but he's probably not even two years old. It gives me confidence: this incredible team is achieving so much. It's not only about hope but about concrete results and this little boy is the living proof of that. I just wish B… will come out of the hospital with a big grin on his face. Long way to go though.
Tuesday 8 May 2007
Liberia - First two days
Sunday 6th May
I wish I could start this blog with the same sentence Ryszard Kapuscinski wrote in his book Ebène. "Premier choc: la lumière. De la lumière partout. Hier encore, Londres dégoulinant sous une pluie d'automne, un avion ruisselant d'eau, un vent froid et les ténèbres. Ici, dès le matin, l'aéroport baigne dans le soleil, nous baignons tous dans le soleil." Sadly I am not as lyric and well written as he is and also it wasn't the case. We arrived In Liberia around 5 o'clock and the weather was surprisingly good. Although very humid, the temperature was around 25 degrees. Night is falling quickly in this part of Africa. From the plane you could see how green Liberia is. Huge area's of green trees surrounded by rivers and swamps. This is beautiful and I have never seen anything like this. It's truly like in the movies or like a postcard.
I am travelling with a journalist to Monrovia, the capital of Liberia and this for work. We will visit several projects my NGO has in this country, mainly focusing on women: maternal health, sexual violence, tuberculosis, malaria, …
I have always wanted to come here. In August 2003, in the middle of the civil war that destroyed Liberia, I started working as a trainee-journalist for a newspaper in Brussels. My ever first article was about this country I had never heard about. It was an article explaining the history and creation of Liberia, the first country to gain independence in Africa.
The civil war here was pretty awful: extreme violence, systematic rape, child soldiers and even reports of cannibalism. This has left deep marks and we are trying to help the best we can. About 8 women out of ten were raped.
The driver takes us to a welcome barbecue in one of our compounds. Nothing extremely fancy but it's really nice. We have a view on the sea. The expats and locals that work with us are great and make us feel very welcome.
After a good meal, Céline, the journalist and the people we stay with bring us back to our place: a really nice house.
And here comes a dreadful confession: I am totally arachnophobic. Once in my room, I just check everything. In the bathroom also. I close every bag, put socks in my shoes and try to sleep. I try to convince myself that the mosquito net will probably save me from any encounter with a big black fury spider but still: what if I wake up one morning and there's a spider above me on the mosquito net….
Shouldn't think about that, close my eyes and get some sleep….What's that noise?
I wish I could start this blog with the same sentence Ryszard Kapuscinski wrote in his book Ebène. "Premier choc: la lumière. De la lumière partout. Hier encore, Londres dégoulinant sous une pluie d'automne, un avion ruisselant d'eau, un vent froid et les ténèbres. Ici, dès le matin, l'aéroport baigne dans le soleil, nous baignons tous dans le soleil." Sadly I am not as lyric and well written as he is and also it wasn't the case. We arrived In Liberia around 5 o'clock and the weather was surprisingly good. Although very humid, the temperature was around 25 degrees. Night is falling quickly in this part of Africa. From the plane you could see how green Liberia is. Huge area's of green trees surrounded by rivers and swamps. This is beautiful and I have never seen anything like this. It's truly like in the movies or like a postcard.
I am travelling with a journalist to Monrovia, the capital of Liberia and this for work. We will visit several projects my NGO has in this country, mainly focusing on women: maternal health, sexual violence, tuberculosis, malaria, …
I have always wanted to come here. In August 2003, in the middle of the civil war that destroyed Liberia, I started working as a trainee-journalist for a newspaper in Brussels. My ever first article was about this country I had never heard about. It was an article explaining the history and creation of Liberia, the first country to gain independence in Africa.
The civil war here was pretty awful: extreme violence, systematic rape, child soldiers and even reports of cannibalism. This has left deep marks and we are trying to help the best we can. About 8 women out of ten were raped.
The driver takes us to a welcome barbecue in one of our compounds. Nothing extremely fancy but it's really nice. We have a view on the sea. The expats and locals that work with us are great and make us feel very welcome.
After a good meal, Céline, the journalist and the people we stay with bring us back to our place: a really nice house.
And here comes a dreadful confession: I am totally arachnophobic. Once in my room, I just check everything. In the bathroom also. I close every bag, put socks in my shoes and try to sleep. I try to convince myself that the mosquito net will probably save me from any encounter with a big black fury spider but still: what if I wake up one morning and there's a spider above me on the mosquito net….Shouldn't think about that, close my eyes and get some sleep….What's that noise?
Monday 7th May
I kind of got some sleep last night. The noise is probably lizards running around on the roof. I checked everywhere and couldn't find my 8 legged enemy. Should be ok now…
Today the sentence of Kapuscinski is revealing the awful truth: I am melting :-). Took a very quick cold shower (water is scares her and should be treated with respect) and I am already sweating… The good thing is that everyone is suffering so no one actually minds. Work starts early here: we are in the office at 7.30… Quick briefing and then we get to meet the team. The national staff pays us a compliment: they introduce us as "the two lovely and beautiful ladies from Belgium". After that we leave for one of the clinics we work at.
I have never been to Africa. I have only seen films and read books that described this incredible country. Last night I was too dark to see anything but this morning I am finally seeing it all. Walking on the famous African sand, smelling African food, hearing people sing or playing music, bargaining on the market. It's all there and I love it.
On the other hand, I am seeing real poverty. Not the first time cos I have been to some very poor countries before, but never so obvious and in such number. People have literally nothing. They live on less than 1 dollar a month, 85% is unemployed, more than 70% cannot read or write, leftovers from a civil war that is still making victims 4 years later. Things are not cheap here either so don't think that 1 dollar can get you anywhere.
The hospital is an MoH hospital (Ministry of Health) but we help with the staff training, the logistics, a doctor is visiting the most serious cases and a midwife is training future midwives and helping with deliveries.
First impressions when I arrive is that the waiting room is packed. About 400 women are there. Either pregnant or accompanied with their child/children, many seek treatment for various sicknesses like malaria, a good family planning or come to have their antenatal check-up or even give labour.
We start the day with an antenatal check-up of a woman named Lucy. She's 33 and expecting her second child which is quite late here. She'll deliver beginning of June. An antenatal check-up is different from those we know in Europe and then they're not so different. It's back to basic. The baby's heart is checked by using a tube put on the woman's belly, the midwife just count the heartbeat to see if it's fine. To see how far away the pregnancy is, they measure with a tape measurer the belly. To see if the baby is in the right position before birth they use their hands. Here you'll find no scan, no ultrasound, no vaginal check-up. The midwives use their five senses. A student explains it well: you only need your hands, your eyes and your common sense!
After that we go to the delivery room. A young girl is suffering from pre-eclampsia and is referred to a bigger hospital where she might get a c-section. Others are waiting to deliver. No drugs, all alone (men are not there during the birth), and in insufferable heat. I have great respect for these women, especially since most of them are actually young girls: 15, 16 years old is no exception. The national midwives are extraordinary, they help these women the best they can, give courage for those who are facing giving birth for the first time.
Sadly one baby will die. It's only my first day here and one didn't make it. He had an abnormality so it's probably for the best, but it's a shock. The mum will stay in the same room as the others who gave birth successfully, no making one sound.
In the afternoon, we visit our hospital. The NGO hospital. It's specialised in paediatrics and has various sections. I am especially worried about the malnutrition section. I don't want those mums to see how distraught I will be the first time I'll see a little baby in really bad shape.
We start visiting the malaria patients, the TB patients. A little boy runs to us: he has just been given a cast for his leg. He smiles, grabs my leg, gives me "five". He's just great.
Many babies cry before and during the vaccination. They're scared and don't really know what happens to them. Many also cry when I enter the room and try to come closer to them. I just merely want to reassure them but they cry because I look so different. For the first time I realise that I look different and probably scary to them.
The malnutrition section is hard. Especially acute malnutrition. The children are tiny, thin and it's scares the shit out of me. However, I realise that I am stronger than I thought. I don't give a peep. And more importantly those children are so strong. The malnutrition is due to the quantity of food but also to the quality of food. Always eating rise is making them lack essential supplements. Malnutrition exists in two forms: the first one is the one we know most: children are tiny. The circumference of their upper arm can go down to 85mm. The other form is known as kwashiorkor. The baby is actually not thin but swollen. His body is full of oedemas and the skin is bursting. He basically looks like a burn victim. One of the babies in the clinic is suffering from that probably painful condition but with proper treatment he'll be ok. The worst form of malnutrition is a combination of both: a tiny body with oedemas on the feet. Again, the clinic has one patient : she's 1 year old. Looks about 6 months. The doctor says she'll probably be alright.
The last patient of the day is the worst. He is 7 months and according to the MUAC (a device that able you to measure the degree of malnutrition) he's in the red. He is dangerously malnourished. His eyes are convulsing, he suffers from acute diarrhoea and I honestly think for one moment he's going to die in front of me. He doesn't. The doctor suspects a TB infection as well and wants to start the TB treatment immediately. The next three days will be critical. I just hope that he'll be there tomorrow.
I kind of got some sleep last night. The noise is probably lizards running around on the roof. I checked everywhere and couldn't find my 8 legged enemy. Should be ok now…
Today the sentence of Kapuscinski is revealing the awful truth: I am melting :-). Took a very quick cold shower (water is scares her and should be treated with respect) and I am already sweating… The good thing is that everyone is suffering so no one actually minds. Work starts early here: we are in the office at 7.30… Quick briefing and then we get to meet the team. The national staff pays us a compliment: they introduce us as "the two lovely and beautiful ladies from Belgium". After that we leave for one of the clinics we work at.
I have never been to Africa. I have only seen films and read books that described this incredible country. Last night I was too dark to see anything but this morning I am finally seeing it all. Walking on the famous African sand, smelling African food, hearing people sing or playing music, bargaining on the market. It's all there and I love it.
On the other hand, I am seeing real poverty. Not the first time cos I have been to some very poor countries before, but never so obvious and in such number. People have literally nothing. They live on less than 1 dollar a month, 85% is unemployed, more than 70% cannot read or write, leftovers from a civil war that is still making victims 4 years later. Things are not cheap here either so don't think that 1 dollar can get you anywhere.
The hospital is an MoH hospital (Ministry of Health) but we help with the staff training, the logistics, a doctor is visiting the most serious cases and a midwife is training future midwives and helping with deliveries.
First impressions when I arrive is that the waiting room is packed. About 400 women are there. Either pregnant or accompanied with their child/children, many seek treatment for various sicknesses like malaria, a good family planning or come to have their antenatal check-up or even give labour.
We start the day with an antenatal check-up of a woman named Lucy. She's 33 and expecting her second child which is quite late here. She'll deliver beginning of June. An antenatal check-up is different from those we know in Europe and then they're not so different. It's back to basic. The baby's heart is checked by using a tube put on the woman's belly, the midwife just count the heartbeat to see if it's fine. To see how far away the pregnancy is, they measure with a tape measurer the belly. To see if the baby is in the right position before birth they use their hands. Here you'll find no scan, no ultrasound, no vaginal check-up. The midwives use their five senses. A student explains it well: you only need your hands, your eyes and your common sense!After that we go to the delivery room. A young girl is suffering from pre-eclampsia and is referred to a bigger hospital where she might get a c-section. Others are waiting to deliver. No drugs, all alone (men are not there during the birth), and in insufferable heat. I have great respect for these women, especially since most of them are actually young girls: 15, 16 years old is no exception. The national midwives are extraordinary, they help these women the best they can, give courage for those who are facing giving birth for the first time.
Sadly one baby will die. It's only my first day here and one didn't make it. He had an abnormality so it's probably for the best, but it's a shock. The mum will stay in the same room as the others who gave birth successfully, no making one sound.
In the afternoon, we visit our hospital. The NGO hospital. It's specialised in paediatrics and has various sections. I am especially worried about the malnutrition section. I don't want those mums to see how distraught I will be the first time I'll see a little baby in really bad shape.
We start visiting the malaria patients, the TB patients. A little boy runs to us: he has just been given a cast for his leg. He smiles, grabs my leg, gives me "five". He's just great.
Many babies cry before and during the vaccination. They're scared and don't really know what happens to them. Many also cry when I enter the room and try to come closer to them. I just merely want to reassure them but they cry because I look so different. For the first time I realise that I look different and probably scary to them.
The malnutrition section is hard. Especially acute malnutrition. The children are tiny, thin and it's scares the shit out of me. However, I realise that I am stronger than I thought. I don't give a peep. And more importantly those children are so strong. The malnutrition is due to the quantity of food but also to the quality of food. Always eating rise is making them lack essential supplements. Malnutrition exists in two forms: the first one is the one we know most: children are tiny. The circumference of their upper arm can go down to 85mm. The other form is known as kwashiorkor. The baby is actually not thin but swollen. His body is full of oedemas and the skin is bursting. He basically looks like a burn victim. One of the babies in the clinic is suffering from that probably painful condition but with proper treatment he'll be ok. The worst form of malnutrition is a combination of both: a tiny body with oedemas on the feet. Again, the clinic has one patient : she's 1 year old. Looks about 6 months. The doctor says she'll probably be alright.
The last patient of the day is the worst. He is 7 months and according to the MUAC (a device that able you to measure the degree of malnutrition) he's in the red. He is dangerously malnourished. His eyes are convulsing, he suffers from acute diarrhoea and I honestly think for one moment he's going to die in front of me. He doesn't. The doctor suspects a TB infection as well and wants to start the TB treatment immediately. The next three days will be critical. I just hope that he'll be there tomorrow.
Wednesday 2 May 2007
Decadent week
Last week was crazy week... So crazy that I didn’t really have any time to write anything on this blog. And now all the sensations, jokes and funny things I wanted to write have disappeared from my mind. So bear with me...
Last Wednesday I went to the Chine Collection runway. I am fortunate enough to count journalists among my friends and therefore I was able to attend the fashion highlight of the month. It was very interesting to see how a fashion show works and to see how the ‘high society’ lives in Belgium. I spent the first few hours backstage amongst the models. First: they are gorgeous, thin but not anorexic and worst: they eat! They live on tiny sandwiches and diet coke. Didn’t see any (real) coke or champagne. Their faces all look the same (but then they were chosen for those particular features), their figure is extremely boyish but not frightenly thin. Simple reason for that: they were 14 to 16-year-old. After the show (price ticket: about twice the price of my apartment just for 45 minutes and that’s only for a ‘small’ Belgian fashion designer so imagine the Chanel shows ), there was a huge buffet or walking dinner has they call it. Kilo’s of foie gras, tuffels, salmon, red tuna, asparagus, champagne etc to ease the appetite of the rich.
Thursday I went to the UNFPA launch of the “end the fistula campaign’. Obstetric fistula is a hole in the birth canal caused by prolonged labour without prompt medical intervention, usually a Caesarean section. The woman is left with chronic incontinence and, in most cases, a stillborn baby. For more info check the website: www.endfistula.org.
The spokesperson for this campaign is Natalie Imbruglia. She was very moving and spoke really well about this very difficult and stigmatising issue. Their campaign is really good and normally you should have seen some posters in the metro, tram, busses and Eurostar. And for those interested, Natalie Imbruglia is as stunning in real life as on picture. Not good for us common mortals.
My London flatmate Mike came over this weekend so it was so good to see him after nearly two years! Obviously he had to taste all the Belgian beers (don’t think he managed them all) and taste our great food I missed so much when I lived with him in London.
Work is the same as usual except my boss is leaving for another position and that means that I will probably have to do his job as well as mine during the summer....
The good news is that I am leaving for Liberia and Sierra Leone on Sunday. Well hopefully cos I will only believe it went my plane leaves on Sunday morning. We have problems with visas and stuff so keeping my fingers crossed. So normally next time I’ll write from Liberia if the internet connection is working :-) If not you’ll hear from me after the 21th!
Wish me luck!
Last Wednesday I went to the Chine Collection runway. I am fortunate enough to count journalists among my friends and therefore I was able to attend the fashion highlight of the month. It was very interesting to see how a fashion show works and to see how the ‘high society’ lives in Belgium. I spent the first few hours backstage amongst the models. First: they are gorgeous, thin but not anorexic and worst: they eat! They live on tiny sandwiches and diet coke. Didn’t see any (real) coke or champagne. Their faces all look the same (but then they were chosen for those particular features), their figure is extremely boyish but not frightenly thin. Simple reason for that: they were 14 to 16-year-old. After the show (price ticket: about twice the price of my apartment just for 45 minutes and that’s only for a ‘small’ Belgian fashion designer so imagine the Chanel shows ), there was a huge buffet or walking dinner has they call it. Kilo’s of foie gras, tuffels, salmon, red tuna, asparagus, champagne etc to ease the appetite of the rich.
Thursday I went to the UNFPA launch of the “end the fistula campaign’. Obstetric fistula is a hole in the birth canal caused by prolonged labour without prompt medical intervention, usually a Caesarean section. The woman is left with chronic incontinence and, in most cases, a stillborn baby. For more info check the website: www.endfistula.org.
The spokesperson for this campaign is Natalie Imbruglia. She was very moving and spoke really well about this very difficult and stigmatising issue. Their campaign is really good and normally you should have seen some posters in the metro, tram, busses and Eurostar. And for those interested, Natalie Imbruglia is as stunning in real life as on picture. Not good for us common mortals.
My London flatmate Mike came over this weekend so it was so good to see him after nearly two years! Obviously he had to taste all the Belgian beers (don’t think he managed them all) and taste our great food I missed so much when I lived with him in London.
Work is the same as usual except my boss is leaving for another position and that means that I will probably have to do his job as well as mine during the summer....
The good news is that I am leaving for Liberia and Sierra Leone on Sunday. Well hopefully cos I will only believe it went my plane leaves on Sunday morning. We have problems with visas and stuff so keeping my fingers crossed. So normally next time I’ll write from Liberia if the internet connection is working :-) If not you’ll hear from me after the 21th!
Wish me luck!
Thursday 19 April 2007
Don’t put your insecurities down on me
Is something a wise friend said a couple of weeks ago. Not to me but in general about people basically putting their insecurities on other people. But somehow I feel related. I do that. I am a girl, full of insecurities. Too fat, too short, not intelligent enough, not a good job, just plain no good enough. That is what I have been thinking for years. Since August and a somehow messy break-up (not messy in the way that it was a horrible break-up but messy for my little heart), I’ve done some thinking. I have been living my life through other people’s expectations. I guess loads of us are doing that but I was the queen in it. And that’s just no good. It messes your mind, makes people around you unhappy and leaving you. So I decided to do something about it. Pull myself together. What did I want? What are my expectations of myself? What will make me happy?
I made a list of things I wasn’t happy about. I was not happy about my weight, about the fact that I didn’t do any sports, about the fact that I was probably to clingy to my ex-boyfriend and relying on him way too much, wasn’t happy with my job. I joined a running group in September, changed job in October, lost weight in February, and have been managing good on my own, realising that you should feel ok about yourself before plunging into a new relationship.
Now 6 months later, I can say that I am on the road to happiness. One thing I have understood is that I will never be happy every day. But I am fortunate. I have, finally – and it took a while – a great job. I have always had very good friends that I can count on (and over the years they’ve been there), probably more than most and more importantly I am nearly happy about the way I look.
Will I ever fulfil the expectations that I have set for myself? No… I wanted to be a doctor, a journalist, I am a press officer. But you know what, I am a good press officer and that’s what is most important. I would probably have been a lousy doctor, scared of cutting in people, too sensitive for everything. A journalist? Hum don’t know… maybe I’ll try again. But I’m not a shark, nor a brilliant writer.
Will I ever be happy about how I look? No way, I’m a girl but as good wine I’ll get better.
I’m an only child. What are we known for? Being selfish, bossy, brats… Probably true. But what I find the hardest of being an only child is being alone. My parent’s expectations are entirely falling on me. If I screw up, then they’ll be devasted. They just want to be proud but sometimes it’s just a bit suffocating. I have often wondered what would happen if I couldn’t live up to their expectations… What would they think? I try not to think about that anymore. In the end it’s my life and I’ll live it how I want… But don’t we all live life through other people’s expectations?
I made a list of things I wasn’t happy about. I was not happy about my weight, about the fact that I didn’t do any sports, about the fact that I was probably to clingy to my ex-boyfriend and relying on him way too much, wasn’t happy with my job. I joined a running group in September, changed job in October, lost weight in February, and have been managing good on my own, realising that you should feel ok about yourself before plunging into a new relationship.
Now 6 months later, I can say that I am on the road to happiness. One thing I have understood is that I will never be happy every day. But I am fortunate. I have, finally – and it took a while – a great job. I have always had very good friends that I can count on (and over the years they’ve been there), probably more than most and more importantly I am nearly happy about the way I look.
Will I ever fulfil the expectations that I have set for myself? No… I wanted to be a doctor, a journalist, I am a press officer. But you know what, I am a good press officer and that’s what is most important. I would probably have been a lousy doctor, scared of cutting in people, too sensitive for everything. A journalist? Hum don’t know… maybe I’ll try again. But I’m not a shark, nor a brilliant writer.
Will I ever be happy about how I look? No way, I’m a girl but as good wine I’ll get better.
I’m an only child. What are we known for? Being selfish, bossy, brats… Probably true. But what I find the hardest of being an only child is being alone. My parent’s expectations are entirely falling on me. If I screw up, then they’ll be devasted. They just want to be proud but sometimes it’s just a bit suffocating. I have often wondered what would happen if I couldn’t live up to their expectations… What would they think? I try not to think about that anymore. In the end it’s my life and I’ll live it how I want… But don’t we all live life through other people’s expectations?
Monday 16 April 2007
Soleil et sport ne font pas bon ménage
28 degrés hier, même 30 à certains endroits et nous ne sommes qu’en avril. Je vais pas trop me plaindre comme la majorité aiment le soleil. Moi à partir de 22 degrés, je souffre donc soit. Par contre pour aller courir c’est impossible. J’ai fait 4 tours du Cinquantenaire samedi matin et j’étais morte. Je ne sais pas ce que ça va être le 27 mai, mais maintenant j’espère franchement de la pluie, de la grisaille et des températures avoisinants les 12 degrés. Bref, on continue mais suis très sceptique quant à ma réussite. Et puis le marathon de Rotterdam a été annulé en plein milieu de la course, preuve que courir sous des températures pareilles c’est pas top pour la santé !
Tuesday 3 April 2007
Adulte....
Ca y est, j’appartiens au monde des grands. J’ai signé mon compromis de vente hier et l’offre d’hypothèque de la banque la semaine passée. Rien logiquement ne peut plus m’empêcher de devenir propriétaire d’un magnifique appartement en juillet. Rien non plus ne me sauvera de l’endettement énorme jusqu’à 58 ans :-)
Enfin là j’exagère. Je ne paie pas plus que ma location habituelle mais acheter a son lot de frais que je ne connais pas encore et pire, que je ne réalise pas encore. Donc pour l’instant l’objectif c’est de mettre des sous de côté. Moi qui n’ai jamais été un vrai Picsou, va falloir apprendre à utiliser ce carnet vert de façon tout à fait différente.
Sinon je fantasme déjà sur les couleurs que je vais mettre aux murs, les cadres que je vais enfin pouvoir pendre, les rideaux, l’agencement de mes nombreux meubles.
Et puis le plus important : la pendaison de crémaillère en septembre !
Enfin là j’exagère. Je ne paie pas plus que ma location habituelle mais acheter a son lot de frais que je ne connais pas encore et pire, que je ne réalise pas encore. Donc pour l’instant l’objectif c’est de mettre des sous de côté. Moi qui n’ai jamais été un vrai Picsou, va falloir apprendre à utiliser ce carnet vert de façon tout à fait différente.
Sinon je fantasme déjà sur les couleurs que je vais mettre aux murs, les cadres que je vais enfin pouvoir pendre, les rideaux, l’agencement de mes nombreux meubles.
Et puis le plus important : la pendaison de crémaillère en septembre !
Friday 30 March 2007
Enfin quelques nouvelles...
Voilà quelques semaines que je n’ai plus écrit une ligne. C’est pas comme si rien ne s’était passé mais j’ai plus vraiment eu le temps. Il y a eu de grands chamboulements dans ma vie.
Au niveau boulot, on lance bientôt une grande campagne et comme c’est la première que j’organise (enfin pas toute seule – moi je ne fais que le côté francophone) j’ai été un peu prise par le boulot. Ensuite j’ai pu « représenter » mon organisation au Sénat pour la Journée Internationale des Femmes. Grand moment où j’ai interpellé le ministère de la coopération et du développement. Même dans mes rêves les plus fous, je ne pensais pas que je ferais cela un jour. Enfin, et c’est ce dont je suis la plus fière, la Libre a publié ma carte blanche vendredi. Une grande page rien que pour mon organisation !
Au niveau perso, ça n’a pas chômé non plus. J’ai fait le grand pas et je deviens propriétaire d’un appartement à St Gilles. Enfin pas tout de suite... En août. Avant ça je vais quelques mois chez mes parents. Comme j’ai trouvé une nouvelle locataire immédiatement, ça a été un peu la course pour le déménagement. Demain donc direction mon ancienne chambre chez papa, maman... Enfin chambre depuis mon départ transformée en bibliothèque mais sont quand même gentil de m’héberger et surtout de financer une (grande) partie de mon projet ‘le petit appartement de Clio’....
:-)
Autre grand projet : les 20km de Bruxelles qui s’approchent à grand pas... Le stress monte et les entraînements sont de plus en plus espacés vu le boulot, le déménagement etc... espérons que je sois prête. Bref, j’ai délaissé mon blog ces derniers temps mais j’espère revenir en force avec de nouvelles aventures... Ça ne peut pas être New York tous les jours....
Au niveau boulot, on lance bientôt une grande campagne et comme c’est la première que j’organise (enfin pas toute seule – moi je ne fais que le côté francophone) j’ai été un peu prise par le boulot. Ensuite j’ai pu « représenter » mon organisation au Sénat pour la Journée Internationale des Femmes. Grand moment où j’ai interpellé le ministère de la coopération et du développement. Même dans mes rêves les plus fous, je ne pensais pas que je ferais cela un jour. Enfin, et c’est ce dont je suis la plus fière, la Libre a publié ma carte blanche vendredi. Une grande page rien que pour mon organisation !
Au niveau perso, ça n’a pas chômé non plus. J’ai fait le grand pas et je deviens propriétaire d’un appartement à St Gilles. Enfin pas tout de suite... En août. Avant ça je vais quelques mois chez mes parents. Comme j’ai trouvé une nouvelle locataire immédiatement, ça a été un peu la course pour le déménagement. Demain donc direction mon ancienne chambre chez papa, maman... Enfin chambre depuis mon départ transformée en bibliothèque mais sont quand même gentil de m’héberger et surtout de financer une (grande) partie de mon projet ‘le petit appartement de Clio’....
:-)
Autre grand projet : les 20km de Bruxelles qui s’approchent à grand pas... Le stress monte et les entraînements sont de plus en plus espacés vu le boulot, le déménagement etc... espérons que je sois prête. Bref, j’ai délaissé mon blog ces derniers temps mais j’espère revenir en force avec de nouvelles aventures... Ça ne peut pas être New York tous les jours....
Friday 9 March 2007
Courons sous la pluie
Décider un beau matin de décembre que j’allais faire les 20km est probablement la chose la plus débile et intelligente que j’ai décidé de faire dans ma vie. Intelligente parce que ça demande une dévotion et une discipline sans précédent : nourriture différente, faire du sport, dormir à l’heure etc... Mais les résultats sont là : moins 5kg, je dors enfin comme (presque) tout le monde et je peux enfin remettre certains de mes vêtements qui avaient été mis de côté avec l’espoir secret qu’un jour je rentrerais à nouveau dedans. Bref c’est super !
Le côté un peu plus désagréable est dû à la Belgique. Je cours trois fois par semaine : une fois le dimanche et deux fois à midi au boulot. Le dimanche, souvent il fait beau ou du moins sec. Mais ces deux dernières semaines, à midi, c’est le déluge. J’ai été courir mardi midi (le jour le plus mauvais de la semaine) et ce midi (un peu moins tempête mais j’étais quand même trempée). La pluie a ses avantages : on n’a jamais l’impression de crever de chaud et après 5km on n’a pas vraiment froid non plus, on sent moins qu’on transpire comme un bœuf et last but not least on respire mieux. Mais que se passe-t-il ? Je deviens d’un optimisme débordant :-)
Pas entièrement, j’ai tout de même un coup de gueule à passer. Les trottoirs étant dans un état lamentable à Bruxelles, je cours en « forêt ». Seulement voilà, en forêt, il y a des promeneurs avec leurs chiens. J’ai toujours eu une peur bleue des chiens mais cet été j’ai fait la rencontre d’un chien, pourtant d’aspect impressionnant, très bien élevé. Elle ne bougeait que si on lui donnait un ordre précis, ne sautait pas sur les gens et en liberté, elle réagissait à la seconde aux ordres de sa maîtresse. Bref un chien tellement sympathique que même moi j’ai été promener avec elle. Pourquoi je raconte ça ? Parce que j’en ai ras le bol de ces maîtres qui promènent leurs chiens sans laisse dans un parc/forêt bondé de joggeurs et qui n’arrivent pas à les maîtriser. Ce midi, en faisant mon petit footing, deux labradors (donc en théorie pas les chiens les plus dangereux) m’ont sauté dessus en aboyant, le maître avait beau beuglé sur ces bêtes chiens, rien n’y faisait. Pour une personne normale, ceci est un petit incident ridicule et les chiens qui te sautent dessus ne vont pas te manger directement. Je sais cela aussi et ma raison me dit aussi que c’était juste pour jouer. Mais moi ça m’a remis 6 mois en arrière.
J’ai deux grosses peurs : les araignées et les chiens. Pour les premières, j’ai été à Londres suivre un cours au zoo de Londres et ça va bcp mieux. Pour les chiens, c’est la chienne de Catherine qui m’a un peu réconcilié avec ces bêtes. Alors pour tous les propriétaires de chiens, ou futurs propriétaires, gardez vos chiens en laisse, maîtrisez les ou alors prenez un chat !
Le côté un peu plus désagréable est dû à la Belgique. Je cours trois fois par semaine : une fois le dimanche et deux fois à midi au boulot. Le dimanche, souvent il fait beau ou du moins sec. Mais ces deux dernières semaines, à midi, c’est le déluge. J’ai été courir mardi midi (le jour le plus mauvais de la semaine) et ce midi (un peu moins tempête mais j’étais quand même trempée). La pluie a ses avantages : on n’a jamais l’impression de crever de chaud et après 5km on n’a pas vraiment froid non plus, on sent moins qu’on transpire comme un bœuf et last but not least on respire mieux. Mais que se passe-t-il ? Je deviens d’un optimisme débordant :-)
Pas entièrement, j’ai tout de même un coup de gueule à passer. Les trottoirs étant dans un état lamentable à Bruxelles, je cours en « forêt ». Seulement voilà, en forêt, il y a des promeneurs avec leurs chiens. J’ai toujours eu une peur bleue des chiens mais cet été j’ai fait la rencontre d’un chien, pourtant d’aspect impressionnant, très bien élevé. Elle ne bougeait que si on lui donnait un ordre précis, ne sautait pas sur les gens et en liberté, elle réagissait à la seconde aux ordres de sa maîtresse. Bref un chien tellement sympathique que même moi j’ai été promener avec elle. Pourquoi je raconte ça ? Parce que j’en ai ras le bol de ces maîtres qui promènent leurs chiens sans laisse dans un parc/forêt bondé de joggeurs et qui n’arrivent pas à les maîtriser. Ce midi, en faisant mon petit footing, deux labradors (donc en théorie pas les chiens les plus dangereux) m’ont sauté dessus en aboyant, le maître avait beau beuglé sur ces bêtes chiens, rien n’y faisait. Pour une personne normale, ceci est un petit incident ridicule et les chiens qui te sautent dessus ne vont pas te manger directement. Je sais cela aussi et ma raison me dit aussi que c’était juste pour jouer. Mais moi ça m’a remis 6 mois en arrière.
J’ai deux grosses peurs : les araignées et les chiens. Pour les premières, j’ai été à Londres suivre un cours au zoo de Londres et ça va bcp mieux. Pour les chiens, c’est la chienne de Catherine qui m’a un peu réconcilié avec ces bêtes. Alors pour tous les propriétaires de chiens, ou futurs propriétaires, gardez vos chiens en laisse, maîtrisez les ou alors prenez un chat !
Saturday 3 March 2007
Chiante moi?
Pour ceux qui me connaisse en personne, ils savent que je manie parfaitement l'art de la chiantise... Je suis têtue, bornée et j'ai du mal à être contrariée. Toutefois je me suis calmée. Ca fait des années que je n'ai plus gueulé sur quelqu'un dans un magasin (tu te souviens Frédéric, la médiathèque) ou à m'énerver parce qu'un c.... me chipe ma place de parking au GB (oui j'aime encore appeler ça ainsi). La vie est trop courte pour s'énerver pour rien et souvent je me sens coupable pendant des années (à nouveau la médiathèque).
Seulement voilà, parfois il faut insister un chouia afin de recevoir ce qu'e l'on veut. Je m'explique: avant de partir à New York, ma connection internet ne fonctionnait plus. J'ai gentiment (si si j'insiste j'étais adorable) appelé un charmant jeune homme du service des perturbations de Belgacom. Aucun problème, la déconnection était un problème lié à Belgacom et il allait envoyer un technicien. Comme je partais c'est mon gentil proprio qui s'est chargé de tout. Il y a deux semaines je reçois une facture Belgacom de près de 120€. Comme je suis inscrite à Happy time et que je ne rentre jamais avant 18h30-19h, je me pose de sérieuses questions. Il s'agit en fait de la réparation et des honoraires du technicien.
J'aurais compris cette facture si Belgacom avait remarqué des anomalités chez moi, mais il n'y avait rien. Leurs cables fontionnaient pas et ils ont dû me remplacer mon modem... Aucunement ma faute. J'appelle donc le service facture pour rouspéter (gentiment j'insiste) et le type lance ce que Belgacom appelle une "enquête". J'explique que je veux bien payer si il y a eu un problème chez moi mais qu'alors je souhaiterais bien savoir lequel vu que je n'ai jamais eu aucune info de la réparation.
Jeudi donc oh surprise, une lettre de Belgacom qui dit texto:" Nous avons examiné votre demande et aucune faute de notre part n'a été découverte. Veuillez payer la somme demandée avant le 5 mars et sachez qu'il s'agit là d'un geste commercial de vous donner un délai supplémentaire". Bref ils sont pas gonflés. Aucune explication, et un geste commercial afin de payer ma facture le plus rapidement possible.
J'ai donc rappelé hier, tjs sans m'énerver! Et là aucune explication, juste de la musique. Après 5 minutes, la dame à qui j'avais exprimé mon mécontentement, me dit que tout est en ordre et que je ne dois plus payer. Comme quoi faut parfois un peu insister!
Seulement voilà, parfois il faut insister un chouia afin de recevoir ce qu'e l'on veut. Je m'explique: avant de partir à New York, ma connection internet ne fonctionnait plus. J'ai gentiment (si si j'insiste j'étais adorable) appelé un charmant jeune homme du service des perturbations de Belgacom. Aucun problème, la déconnection était un problème lié à Belgacom et il allait envoyer un technicien. Comme je partais c'est mon gentil proprio qui s'est chargé de tout. Il y a deux semaines je reçois une facture Belgacom de près de 120€. Comme je suis inscrite à Happy time et que je ne rentre jamais avant 18h30-19h, je me pose de sérieuses questions. Il s'agit en fait de la réparation et des honoraires du technicien.
J'aurais compris cette facture si Belgacom avait remarqué des anomalités chez moi, mais il n'y avait rien. Leurs cables fontionnaient pas et ils ont dû me remplacer mon modem... Aucunement ma faute. J'appelle donc le service facture pour rouspéter (gentiment j'insiste) et le type lance ce que Belgacom appelle une "enquête". J'explique que je veux bien payer si il y a eu un problème chez moi mais qu'alors je souhaiterais bien savoir lequel vu que je n'ai jamais eu aucune info de la réparation.
Jeudi donc oh surprise, une lettre de Belgacom qui dit texto:" Nous avons examiné votre demande et aucune faute de notre part n'a été découverte. Veuillez payer la somme demandée avant le 5 mars et sachez qu'il s'agit là d'un geste commercial de vous donner un délai supplémentaire". Bref ils sont pas gonflés. Aucune explication, et un geste commercial afin de payer ma facture le plus rapidement possible.
J'ai donc rappelé hier, tjs sans m'énerver! Et là aucune explication, juste de la musique. Après 5 minutes, la dame à qui j'avais exprimé mon mécontentement, me dit que tout est en ordre et que je ne dois plus payer. Comme quoi faut parfois un peu insister!
Friday 2 March 2007
Nouveau code de la route
Depuis hier, la priorité de droite est absolue en Belgique. Une nouvelle règle que j’applaudis très fort. Maintenant en cas d’accident, plus question de discuter pendant des heures, d’appeler la police. Bref plus aucun litige quant à la priorité de droite. De plus, ça fera des vacances pour les pauvres touristes qui n’y comprenaient rien à notre système. Là où j’applaudis moins c’est en pratique. Ce matin ; en prenant ma voiture pour me rendre à un rendez-vous professionnel, je suis restée coincée 20 minutes à un carrefour parce que personne ne voulait me laisser passer. Priorité absolue de droite est apparemment synonyme d’incivilité sur la route. Plus question de te laisser passer, tu avais qu’à venir de droite. Bref un gros bordel. Je ne remets pas du tout en question la nouvelle règle mais un peu de politesse et de bon sens ne feraient pas de tord à la majorité des conducteurs. En Flandre on emploie le terme de « ritsen » quand on parle de file ou de priorité. Un peu comme une fermeture éclair, une voiture de la file A passe et la suivante laisse passer la voiture de la file B.
Mais non ce matin, c’est à coup de klaxons, d’insultes et j’en passe que j’ai traversé mon carrefour !
Mais non ce matin, c’est à coup de klaxons, d’insultes et j’en passe que j’ai traversé mon carrefour !
Wednesday 28 February 2007
La vie spartiate des sportifs...
Ou du moins de ceux qui se sont mis comme objectif les 20 km.... Et je suis dans le cas. Mais bordel c’est dur. N’ayant pas la santé physique (ni mentale) de Kim Gevaert, toute cette aventure est très très difficile et demande une discipline de fer ; discipline que je n’ai pas du tout. Pourtant je m’étonne, je tiens le coup. Avec le temps vient le plaisir il parait, ce n’est pas encore le cas sauf quand j’ai été courir 40 minutes. Là effectivement je me sens bien mais avant, rien que l’idée d’aller courir dans le froid (ok c’est relatif cet hiver), dans la pluie (là c’est une réalité par contre), dans le noir ne me motive pas outre mesure. C’est un peu comme la piscine en hiver : y aller pour moi c’est surhumain. Il fait froid, humide, faut se déshabiller, rentrer dans l’eau, faire au moins 2 longueurs avant de ne plus être frigorifiée dans cette eau. Bref pas la joie. Mais après 5 minutes c’est assez gai et quand c’est fini, on se sent bien et fier de ne pas juste être rentrer se vautrer devant la télé pour regarder « Plus belle la vie ». Le seul sport qui ne m’a jamais dérangée c’est le tennis mais c’est plus difficile à pratiquer toute seule :-)
Enfin voilà donc je me prépare pour les 20km et je n’y coupe plus depuis ma « super » performance sur TV Brussel. J’encourage effectivement les gens à courir pour mon organisation... Un grand moment télé qui, si un jour je passe aux Enfants de la télé, va me mortifier et me suivre jusqu’à la fin de mes jours.
Enfin voilà donc je me prépare pour les 20km et je n’y coupe plus depuis ma « super » performance sur TV Brussel. J’encourage effectivement les gens à courir pour mon organisation... Un grand moment télé qui, si un jour je passe aux Enfants de la télé, va me mortifier et me suivre jusqu’à la fin de mes jours.
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