Recounting the best and worst moments from the Health facilities survey, that is going on in the Khomas Region.
Yesterday, we were at Private clinic called Paramount health, where the healthcare of the client of paramount importance to the clinic,according to the notices up in the reception. The receptionist spoke English like someone who went to varsity in South Africa,a superb accent that is at once Namibian and South African. What does her race matter here?
So the best moment there was when I finally gained access to the doctor, a tall lady, Dr Erasmus and I was going to complete the HIV Out Patient Department Questionnaire. Though I had played the private doctor many times during our practise sessions, I was unprepared for the fact Dr Erasmus was somewhat in hurry, though she appeared congenial at times.An interesting moment was when she asked to read the list of guidlines and protocols I was asking for, about HIV/AIDS, directly from the questionnaire and I declined to give to her, saying, without much thought that it was "research". I did not bear in mind the person I was speaking to, that is the education and personal experiences that she probably undwerwent as medical student. Her reply was "that's bullshit, I've done research before". Later on, in the car, on the way back, Miss Ngatangue told me that is a penchant of the Afrikaaner, to say "dai is kak"
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Prisons
I found out this week that there are clinics attached to prisons. However, not all over them are equipped to test or treat HIV. The prisoners clinic in Hardap region, attached to Mariental prison has no counselling or testing or Anti-retroviral treatment offered.
So what are the consequences of this inadequacy? No treatment for people? Perhaps there is an outreach policy, whereby doctors from another facility come to treat.
But as I read in "Struggle to Survive", treatment is dependent on the whims prison wardens, who can barr a prisoner from treatment at their discresion.
So what are the consequences of this inadequacy? No treatment for people? Perhaps there is an outreach policy, whereby doctors from another facility come to treat.
But as I read in "Struggle to Survive", treatment is dependent on the whims prison wardens, who can barr a prisoner from treatment at their discresion.
Ok, Ok
Now I realize I have alot of things going on. So I went to the St Pauls Church today for the first meeting of our youth group. There was only one girl who came and she even came earlier than me, as I was leaving a poltical rally of SWAPO, whose history is sowed onto the fabric of our national identity.
I want to start a great youth group, with volunteer opportunities ect.
My mom is now complaining that I put the salad too down in the fridge on the bottom fridge such that she did not see it and now it is kind of wilted. I did not add cirene (our bulgarian cheese) to it, must of been so hungry when I walked from the church, from the youth group followed by the charismatic movement.
I guess there is much to do, but I can only do so much. So then, let me just then do a fellowship kind of thing. Whereby , I go to the charismatic group at 3 -4 and then from 4-5 with the youth. The Catholic Charismatic movement is about reading the BIBLE and "laypeople" explicating it, preaching it. It will be good. I think as a start
Cause I also want for this month of September to learn probability.
I think we need a community first before we can reach out!
It will be a good thing though.
Another +, I received news about the area in our neighborhood. It will become a park, eventually. The City of Windhoek just can't develop into an that right now. I had dreams of it being a private park for our residents and outsiders pay a small levy of about 20c for the use of the space, so could have security guards to prevent crime and grass.
However, now I think I will leave this park issue alone.
I need to learn more about probabiliy and really prepare fully for the THE GRE.
One of the ways to prepare is to write essays.
Recently one of them was actually published in a local paper!
WWW.NAMIBIAN.COM.NA under "reader's letters", my paper"sex and the youth" my first public health letter was published!
Hurray
Now I know I can research more on the prisons, my big paper comming up after the GRE
I want to start a great youth group, with volunteer opportunities ect.
My mom is now complaining that I put the salad too down in the fridge on the bottom fridge such that she did not see it and now it is kind of wilted. I did not add cirene (our bulgarian cheese) to it, must of been so hungry when I walked from the church, from the youth group followed by the charismatic movement.
I guess there is much to do, but I can only do so much. So then, let me just then do a fellowship kind of thing. Whereby , I go to the charismatic group at 3 -4 and then from 4-5 with the youth. The Catholic Charismatic movement is about reading the BIBLE and "laypeople" explicating it, preaching it. It will be good. I think as a start
Cause I also want for this month of September to learn probability.
I think we need a community first before we can reach out!
It will be a good thing though.
Another +, I received news about the area in our neighborhood. It will become a park, eventually. The City of Windhoek just can't develop into an that right now. I had dreams of it being a private park for our residents and outsiders pay a small levy of about 20c for the use of the space, so could have security guards to prevent crime and grass.
However, now I think I will leave this park issue alone.
I need to learn more about probabiliy and really prepare fully for the THE GRE.
One of the ways to prepare is to write essays.
Recently one of them was actually published in a local paper!
WWW.NAMIBIAN.COM.NA under "reader's letters", my paper"sex and the youth" my first public health letter was published!
Hurray
Now I know I can research more on the prisons, my big paper comming up after the GRE
September
So it is nearly the 8th of September, when my brothers school will start again, for the third term.Had I still been at college, it would also be the start of a new year at Princeton. However, I know I am no longer there, so it is some other new year for me.
Year of change. My horoscope says that in november, irreversible changes will happen in my life. The idea of the irreversible, is there such a thing?I think I have somewhat come to terms with the fact I do not want to be a professional artist, choreographer.My life is now going to be about achieving the goal of a public health epidemiology career.
I have changed to a new youth group, since I am no longer at Princeton, where I used to be part of manna. I am still linked to individual manna members,but my link to the group as a whole, I guess no longer holds. The concept of belonging though in a Christian group transcends physical separation and graduation from an institution of higher learning.We could say we are in the Manna diaspora, post Princeton, where we are all over, but we keep the spirit of manna found on campus alive through prayer and sharing.The new group is great too. It is this Church called Highlands Assemblies of God. We are going to have a 70s dance night.I am in a duet with another member Petrine. She is a law student at the University of Namibia. She is challenging, she challenged me to keep on going with my idea for the dance, just as I thought we should end it, she told me on Thursday "You have the idea of alcohol but now you need to expand on it."After work I went to our dance rehearsal at the Highlands Church near my house, where I did the warm up for the group, I led it that is. Then we rehearsed our group peice over and over again, which left me tired and famished.It was as if I almost did not want to rehearse anymore. It was then that Petrine asked as to go over our duet and we did. Our realization was that we need more.So we have more. At this point, I could describe our dance. I guess it has staggering ( as I am typing this my mom is telling me about how I should scare my dad into coming home at a normal time every night by threatening to sue him for emotional abuse)
So let me leave that point. I prayed to God that the right opportunity would arise to speak with my father. The time I got was today, sitting next to him at the SWAPO launch of the 2009 election manifesto.I told him IN BULGARIAN, "Dad listen, please do not come home late anymore, your name, Mulongeni, means teach him, but you are not around to teach Picky, he needs you"His answer was typical, predictable, the "ok fine", which I was expecting. He was MCing the launch of the SWAPO manifesto, (if you don't know what SWAPO is, google it)
Hopefully he will come home soon.
Year of change. My horoscope says that in november, irreversible changes will happen in my life. The idea of the irreversible, is there such a thing?I think I have somewhat come to terms with the fact I do not want to be a professional artist, choreographer.My life is now going to be about achieving the goal of a public health epidemiology career.
I have changed to a new youth group, since I am no longer at Princeton, where I used to be part of manna. I am still linked to individual manna members,but my link to the group as a whole, I guess no longer holds. The concept of belonging though in a Christian group transcends physical separation and graduation from an institution of higher learning.We could say we are in the Manna diaspora, post Princeton, where we are all over, but we keep the spirit of manna found on campus alive through prayer and sharing.The new group is great too. It is this Church called Highlands Assemblies of God. We are going to have a 70s dance night.I am in a duet with another member Petrine. She is a law student at the University of Namibia. She is challenging, she challenged me to keep on going with my idea for the dance, just as I thought we should end it, she told me on Thursday "You have the idea of alcohol but now you need to expand on it."After work I went to our dance rehearsal at the Highlands Church near my house, where I did the warm up for the group, I led it that is. Then we rehearsed our group peice over and over again, which left me tired and famished.It was as if I almost did not want to rehearse anymore. It was then that Petrine asked as to go over our duet and we did. Our realization was that we need more.So we have more. At this point, I could describe our dance. I guess it has staggering ( as I am typing this my mom is telling me about how I should scare my dad into coming home at a normal time every night by threatening to sue him for emotional abuse)
So let me leave that point. I prayed to God that the right opportunity would arise to speak with my father. The time I got was today, sitting next to him at the SWAPO launch of the 2009 election manifesto.I told him IN BULGARIAN, "Dad listen, please do not come home late anymore, your name, Mulongeni, means teach him, but you are not around to teach Picky, he needs you"His answer was typical, predictable, the "ok fine", which I was expecting. He was MCing the launch of the SWAPO manifesto, (if you don't know what SWAPO is, google it)
Hopefully he will come home soon.
Update
Well for some clarification on my last post: Kudzai who I met at the office actually went to the United World College in Hong Kong, Li Po Chung.
I guess I was soo in the stream of it that I wrote Adriatic where I went.
Now I will write Papso, the guy on our national committe that letter,
Above are some posts from some time ago, that I should have posted.
I guess I was soo in the stream of it that I wrote Adriatic where I went.
Now I will write Papso, the guy on our national committe that letter,
Above are some posts from some time ago, that I should have posted.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Working
tHERE i WAS IN THE DARK MOVING UNDERNEATH THE LEMOM branches, rumaging, searching for just one more Lemon. I never took Toni Morrison's atelier class, but I sure do love her writing, from Beloved. I want to use "rutting" but then I realized I meant rumaging.
The scent of lemon was about the leaves, there I was looking for one mroe lemon for more lemon juice for the chocolate tart I was making for my mother, her birthday is tomorrow.
There was no more lemon, but perhaps there was, but the dark concealed it, the small amount of white light bathing the area was not enough, not enough for me to see.
Though I can only be grateful for today. I won 1000 NAD (let's see how fast I am at division about U$125). Cool. Yes I apparently sent an sms message in the Bank Windhoek Competition, where they asked whether their patronage of the arts in Namibia was contributing to development, i.e. is this a good thing? Yes, a resounding yes.
I met a colleage of mine, in the room. In the room where we have tea, I offered some of my oatmeal raisin cookies, the cookies I baked against all odds last night, in spite of temptation to stray into the world of internet porn. I stuck to the recipe.
And she asked" Cookies, don't you call it a biscuit?"
"They are from the US, I learnt about them in US" and from one word to the next, as we say in Bulgarian, she found about me, she is Kudzai. She went to te United World College of the Adriatic. She knows basically my whole story, about how my dad went to Bulgaria , during the struggle as a commie...
Ok enough of this time to plan:
What do I want to do? Now!
1) I must study probability
2) New GRE words need to be learnt
3) Write to Pabso about my idea for a UWC national committee that selects students from civil society organisations.
K
The scent of lemon was about the leaves, there I was looking for one mroe lemon for more lemon juice for the chocolate tart I was making for my mother, her birthday is tomorrow.
There was no more lemon, but perhaps there was, but the dark concealed it, the small amount of white light bathing the area was not enough, not enough for me to see.
Though I can only be grateful for today. I won 1000 NAD (let's see how fast I am at division about U$125). Cool. Yes I apparently sent an sms message in the Bank Windhoek Competition, where they asked whether their patronage of the arts in Namibia was contributing to development, i.e. is this a good thing? Yes, a resounding yes.
I met a colleage of mine, in the room. In the room where we have tea, I offered some of my oatmeal raisin cookies, the cookies I baked against all odds last night, in spite of temptation to stray into the world of internet porn. I stuck to the recipe.
And she asked" Cookies, don't you call it a biscuit?"
"They are from the US, I learnt about them in US" and from one word to the next, as we say in Bulgarian, she found about me, she is Kudzai. She went to te United World College of the Adriatic. She knows basically my whole story, about how my dad went to Bulgaria , during the struggle as a commie...
Ok enough of this time to plan:
What do I want to do? Now!
1) I must study probability
2) New GRE words need to be learnt
3) Write to Pabso about my idea for a UWC national committee that selects students from civil society organisations.
K
Monday, August 17, 2009
The Blue Suitcase
"What's the code to the blue suitcase?" My brother asked from outside the toilet door. Sitting and passing stools (a very medical term for it). "797" I said automatically, because I knew that code. I had used that suitcase for my journey, when I first went to Princeton, and probably before that when I went on holiday to Paris at age 16, the trip that paved the way for my eventual acceptance to Princeton UniversitY. Now my brother was on his own journey, a journey to the land of his ancestors, where his mother was born. The journey will probably force him to grapple with his competence in bulgarian and drive him to become more conversant, while dusting off the cobwebs on this part of his identity. The code to the blue suitcase, the way of transition, my transition from one place to another, one school to another since grade 1. I am in transition whether or not I am sedentary or not, I envision myself as moving from one place to another and the blue suitcase symbolizes this.
"What's wrong with this one?" Picky, my brother asks, as I implore him to not unpack the clothes from the suitcase they are already in, the large grey black one that Amanda Howard gave to me not so long ago, softmore year. "It's a good suitcase" I say, pointing to the grey one, since it did save me after I missed my plane softmore year. But my brother was bent on transfering his possession to the blue suitcase. Transfer possessions or funds from one country to another, my sister wiring money to my account, me asking for my photos back from the carrel in Lewis Library. International flows of people, money and knowledge, across the world wide web are intertwined with the person I am today. Now why is he obssessed with transfering, like I was when I left Princeton, moving stuff from one suitcase to other, so late at night (or early in the morning), because I would not have those suitcases be heavy, not like when I first came and they weighed 25 kg (55 lb) each. The suitcases where light at the airport when I left, easy on the hands, not extoling much energy. There I was happy, though I left so much behind.
I wanted him to study, that's what I wanted, so then he would do well and go to a good college and live happily ever after in this construction of a sucessfull human being that now reigns in the developed world. But no, he had to unpack and repack.
Is it because I regret not having studied, enough. Not having eaten, enough. Not having travelled enough, no that I is no regret of mine. Though, travelling from this place to that, United World College to Princeton, back to Namibia, what for? Is there a purpose or it perpetual, meaningless transit. I do love transit, make no mistake. That is why I wondered up and down the moving floors, made of escalator material, in Frankfurt airport and JFK.
The Blue suitcase is my way out, an escape from the infidelity of my father that stinks up our home, from the initial lack of oppportunity to study what I want, from the fear of having to explain why I don't have a girlfriend, up to now.
The color blue is the color of salvation, apparently, I watched long ago, about how the Blue light was seen by those facing imminent death during Holocaust. Blue Star of David, the blue dress of the Virgin. Rays of blue light emmanate from the sky for my eyes to perceive.
There is the blue suitcase and I hope it breaks. Spero che si rompa. So that I may live for the now and not for the then or when.
Amen
"What's wrong with this one?" Picky, my brother asks, as I implore him to not unpack the clothes from the suitcase they are already in, the large grey black one that Amanda Howard gave to me not so long ago, softmore year. "It's a good suitcase" I say, pointing to the grey one, since it did save me after I missed my plane softmore year. But my brother was bent on transfering his possession to the blue suitcase. Transfer possessions or funds from one country to another, my sister wiring money to my account, me asking for my photos back from the carrel in Lewis Library. International flows of people, money and knowledge, across the world wide web are intertwined with the person I am today. Now why is he obssessed with transfering, like I was when I left Princeton, moving stuff from one suitcase to other, so late at night (or early in the morning), because I would not have those suitcases be heavy, not like when I first came and they weighed 25 kg (55 lb) each. The suitcases where light at the airport when I left, easy on the hands, not extoling much energy. There I was happy, though I left so much behind.
I wanted him to study, that's what I wanted, so then he would do well and go to a good college and live happily ever after in this construction of a sucessfull human being that now reigns in the developed world. But no, he had to unpack and repack.
Is it because I regret not having studied, enough. Not having eaten, enough. Not having travelled enough, no that I is no regret of mine. Though, travelling from this place to that, United World College to Princeton, back to Namibia, what for? Is there a purpose or it perpetual, meaningless transit. I do love transit, make no mistake. That is why I wondered up and down the moving floors, made of escalator material, in Frankfurt airport and JFK.
The Blue suitcase is my way out, an escape from the infidelity of my father that stinks up our home, from the initial lack of oppportunity to study what I want, from the fear of having to explain why I don't have a girlfriend, up to now.
The color blue is the color of salvation, apparently, I watched long ago, about how the Blue light was seen by those facing imminent death during Holocaust. Blue Star of David, the blue dress of the Virgin. Rays of blue light emmanate from the sky for my eyes to perceive.
There is the blue suitcase and I hope it breaks. Spero che si rompa. So that I may live for the now and not for the then or when.
Amen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)