In Windhoek for Two Weeks
6-17 November 2003
"Obierika was a man who thought about
things. When the will of the goddess had been done, he sat down in his obi
and mourned his friend's calamity. Why should a man suffer so grievously
for an offence he had committed inadvertently? But although he thought for
a long time he found no answer."
--Things Fall Apart by Chinua
Achebe
Thursday 6 November
This morning, I left Ondangwa on a small plane (maybe 10 passengers). I sat
right behind the pilots and had a good 180 degree view. It was fascinating
to see Ondangwa and the vicinity from the sky. Homestead compounds were a
patchwork of enclosed fields with the house off-center. My first thought was,
wow, there are really no trees here! We were heading south and to the
west was just sand. To the east, the scattering of trees seemed to increase in density towards the
horizon, but maybe it was an optical illusion. Flying over the Etosha Pan was
beautiful. The salt pan is a vast sea of sand in the heart of the north. It is a
swirl of colors-yellows, browns, greens, blues, whites. I really enjoyed being in the small plane
because it
had a greater "feel" of flying and we stayed at a low altitude so I
had a good view the whole time. I was surprised at how small Windhoek
looked--just a little town tucked
between all the mountains.
At the airport, a Peace Corps driver picked me up and promptly delivered me
to the medical office. Here, I met with Clara and Dr. B. First, Dr. B asked
me to tell him what happened "this time" (as opposed to all those
other non-disclosed times). I told him what happened, trying to emphasize that
"this time" was far different from all others. Again he recommended
that I needed reconstructive surgery. This then brought us to the real issue. He
informed me again that he was going to fax D.C. informing them of my
non-disclosed medical condition. He then explained all the different options and
scenarios.
I wish I could say I kept my cool, but the truth was that I was crying.
Now, I don't claim to be a saint, but I do believe in honesty
and integrity and all those sorts of things. I like to believe I uphold them. It
hurt to be called a liar. I filled out all those medical forms over two years ago, so I didn't remember
them very well. I asked if I could see my medical file,
thinking maybe I wrote something about loose ligaments--some sort of defense.
They gave me my file and I leafed
through it, looking for anything that could save me, or at least the question
that had incriminated me. And then I found it.
Question #51: "Have you ever been medically treated more than once
for:" and then it lists several things, one of which is "Dislocated
shoulder." I had said no. The key words were MEDICALLY TREATED. I had never
gone to a doctor for my dislocated shoulder. I always put it in myself. So I
hadn't lied! I had told the truth! Hope surged back into my life and dried my
tears (it really was this melodramatic--I think the background music even
changed). I was innocent after all! Dr. B was mistaken. I called him back into
the room and asked if #51 was the problem (I thought there might be a question
somewhere else that I had overlooked). "Yeah, that's the big one!" he
said, almost smugly, like 'how are you going to get out of that?'
"But," I said, with renewed confidence, "I never went to a doctor
with my shoulder dislocated. I've never been medically treated." He gave me
a withering look, like 'good try, liar.' He said, "You told me yourself you
went to a sports medicine doctor." "Yes," I countered, "but
even then it was only once! And it was afterwards, just for advice on what to do…"
Another withering look from Dr. B. I was now convinced he worked for the
insurance companies. He said something
like I was trying to get off on a technicality. Which may be true-but even then
it's a technicality in my favor, not his. "Besides," he said,
"you're arguing with the wrong person." So I let it go. But it seemed
like he was the right person since he was the one accusing me.
Clara, bless her heart, was very happy to discover I hadn't lied. She really
was concerned about my health, not who was going to be responsible for paying
for this. In a conspiratorial whisper she said, "Don't worry. He leaves
tomorrow."
Friday 7 November
I'm staying in the "sick bay" at the Peace Corps medical office.
It's a good place with a small kitchen and bathroom, also a TV/VCR and CD
player. While I was eating breakfast, Philomena (the other medical officer) came to tell me that a driver would take me
to the orthopedic center to get fitted for a better sling. We went there and I
got a great sling right away. It has all sorts of Velcro straps that can be
adjusted and it is nicely padded and doesn't hurt my neck. My arm feels great
now. I'm still worried though because although it doesn't hurt, I really can't
move it very well. It's like the muscles just aren't there or something.
We
walked back to the Peace Corps medical office since the driver was dropping Dr. B at the
airport and we would have to wait for an hour. It was a beautiful day and
it felt good to finally be able to walk around without fear of my arm falling
off. As we were walking, Philomena was telling me, "This street is not safe
at all. I even witnessed a robbery here." We turn onto another street.
"This street is not safe. I never walk here alone." Another street.
"I am always afraid when I walk in this area." But, by the grace of
God, we made it back alive. (The area seemed perfectly safe to me.)
Saturday 8 November
It is ironic, I suppose, that, for all my cynicism and pessimism, when things
go wrong my optimism emerges. I have the belief that, somehow, things will be ok
in the end. It is also ironic, or maybe some form of karmatic poetic justice
that, for all my whining about ice cream, now that I can have it here in
Windhoek, I don't want it. It seems that inevitably I will be in the states
soon, so I want to relish my suffering a bit longer. I mean, I do
want to come home, at the end of my 2 years. But not now, and not in this way.
I feel like I need to enjoy Namibia as much as possible now, but it's hard to
do in Windhoek. As the capital city, Windhoek is a reminder of what I'm going to
be sent back to--SUV's with just one person in them (instead of a small Corolla
with 7 people in it like the taxis in the north), big malls and shopping
centers, fast food that is actually edible, movies, ice cream, air
conditioning...I haven't seen a single goat, chicken, cow, donkey or pig since
I've been here. I wish I were back at the school so I could at least be spending
time with my learners--helping them prepare for their exams, discussing issues
in palaver club, watching the goats and cattle go by...
Anyway, there's not much new here--I'm just preparing my defense to be sent
on Monday. Some of you have suggested trying to tell them how important my job
is here--both to me and the learners (before I left both the learners and the
principal vowed to write letters to prevent my leaving.). That was also my idea
in the beginning, but I see now that that approach won't work. Both Clara and
Dr. B said that nobody was interested in that. All that mattered at this point
is whether or not this is a case of non-disclosure.
Now, that just leaves you with a warm fuzzy feeling inside, doesn't it?
Tuesday 11 November
I'm still in Windhoek just waiting. I find it quite humorous that as a volunteer, I'm not
supposed to leave my site even on weekends, and yet they can keep me here in
Windhoek on "medical hold" for a week and a half right before my
learners write exams.
Clara said my orthopedic evaluation was so they could decide if I really
needed surgery, and, if I do, do I need it now or can it wait a year? She also
said they would take an x-ray to make sure my shoulder was reduced (not
dislocated anymore). No offense to the respected medical profession, but are
they insane? Do they really think I've been walking around for the past 11 days
with my shoulder still dislocated? See, this is exactly why I fix it myself and
never see doctors about it.
As far as the whole non-disclosure thing is concerned, she said that it would
take a while. Your guess is as good as mine as to the exact duration of "a
while."
Friday 14 November
I spent Wednesday with a volunteer from my group, Mara, who was down here for
dental surgery. We made an interesting pair. She hates The Peace Corps and living in
the north, and wants to have a medical excuse to go home. Although technically
she can quit at any time, she doesn't want to resign. Then there's me, and I
have a medical excuse to go home and I'm fighting to stay. I offered to
dislocate her shoulder for her, but she wasn't too keen on the idea.
When we walked to the movie theater last night, I had my first experience of
harassment--men calling out "Hello beautiful ladies" and such things.
So I figure it is because
A) My navy blue sling makes me sexier or
B) Two
blondes wearing sunglasses walking together improved our overall appearance or
C) Zac is normally such an intimidating figure that people stay away or
D) They're not used to seeing white
people walking.
At any rate, it was really annoying and I'm glad I don't
normally have to deal with it. I think a lot of the other female volunteers
experience it on a daily basis.
Monday 17 November
Just got back from the doctor. Good news. He said my shoulder is not still dislocated. Also, he recommended physiotherapy,
not surgery. He did say if I dislocated it again, he'd have to send me home for
surgery. But for now, we're going to try therapy. I have appointments this week, and
hopefully I will be able to go back up north by the weekend. The therapist will
teach me exercises to do, and then I will do them on my own forever and ever and
my arm will never dislocate again. Let's hope. So that's the good news on this
end. No news on the non-disclosure part. It's taking a while. Maybe it will just get
lost. Hopefully it's not such a big deal now that I don't need surgery.
They're closing the office now, so that's all I have to report.
Love, Sera
