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.
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