So here we are, coming to the end of the midwifery portion of our trip. We do go on and have several other adventures, such as waking up beside the Nile and seeing monkeys eating old room service, or staying in the absolutely creepiest hotel in the world and surviving, but those are stories of life and its times, not specifically midwifery, so they will stay untold here, unless I get thousands of private messages, filled with Really Good Bribes.
Our last day in Kasana was just so typically Kasana-ish, that it fills me with a certain masochistic joy. Anna and her new friend Rachel the sophomore UNC volunteer, were planning on making friendship bracelets and doing relay races with the Teen Girls group. As it turned out, Anna and I ended up leaving a little before the group was scheduled to start, so we didn’t wind up actually doing that. But we didn’t know that then. We girded up our loins and walked up to the main road where all the shops live, to gather needed supplies. We knew this was going to be an exercise in frustration, but we were up for the challenge. Africa was not going to win today, my friends.
First, we needed string. We went to five different “stores,” which are really little shack type things, sometimes with a living area behind them, but always full of things you absolutely do not need. Certainly, no string. In each store, we were told that we would probably have to go to Kampala. Really? Nobody has ever bought string here before? Finally we ended up getting embroidery thread from a tailor, and that was only after Rachel shared her street bought popcorn with the proprietor. Then, of course, we needed beads. Luckily, there has been a donation full of them fairly recently, if we could find anyone at the center who knew where they had been stored, so we felt pretty confident about that. It was on to the relay race supplies.
Rachel wanted to do three legged races, so we needed some rope. Of course rope, the elder sister of string, was also not available, even at hardware “stores,” so we ended up buying a mop and disassembling it, and then tying the pieces of mop together to make a rope. It was a riot, and I think McGyver would have been proud. We also needed some eggs for the egg and spoon race, so we headed to Hespa’s little roadside stall, next to our house.
Now, I know where eggs come from. And I know that the place they come from is pretty close to a chicken’s butt. However, even with all that poultry knowledge, I am still surprised whenever I buy an egg here, and it has chicken s#$& all over it. I guess maybe all eggs do, but that our American ones are washed before they are sold? Or maybe Ugandan chickens are really messy? Or that maybe I should move on, and not spend quite so much time thinking about chickens, their eggs, and their butts? Ok. Moving on.
We headed down to Shanti with our booty, and I was actually quite sad, thinking this was the last time I was going to travel this road. I had come to know the people along my route, the old women sweeping, the children screaming “Mzungu!”, and the eternally formal old men, who stopped their hoeing to wave, and ask me how I was. We laughed, thinking of how out-of-place any or all of those things would be in Seattle, the land of the aggressive passivity. If someone called a greeting to stranger from their porch in Seattle either their mental health or their safety would quickly be called into question. It is the exact opposite here.
It was hot that afternoon, and soon into the walk we began to sweat, the ever-present red dust sticking to our legs and feet. I resolved to sweat more at home, to actually get outside and interact with my environment, and not hide in my office or behind a keyboard. I felt alive, dare I say, at peace, with myself and my place in the world. And I realized, that this leaving had come at exactly the right time. I love Uganda. I will come back. But for now, I was ready to go home.
We got to Shanti, dropped the supplies off in the prenatal clinic, and said our goodbyes. We took tons of photographs of the grounds, and of the staff, which I promise I will get up on facebook soon. (If you are not my friend, and are interested in seeing them, just drop me a friend request. My internet privacy polices are so low as to be non-existent.) We shed a few tears, exchanged a few email addresses, and then our ride was there, and our time at Shanti was over. All that anticipation, all the build-up, all the angst, and it was over. I felt like the bride after a wedding, sort of empty and confused. Now what would I think about? What would I spend my time doing, if I couldn’t chase after string or solve waterbirth logistics? I’m sure I will think of something.
So now I am home. Our book needs writing, my clients need midwifing, and my husband needs loving. My days are indeed full again. But I left a little piece of myself in Kasana, somewhere on that red dirt road. And I can’t wait to go back and see what it will have done in my absence.
