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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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!

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?

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 !

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 !