weekdays and wheelchairs...

It’s been a few days since I’ve written. The power has been up and down, and, honestly, there hasn’t been heaps about which to write. Not that a lot hasn’t gone on, but it’s funny how quickly life, no matter how extraordinary, becomes routine, and you never think to write about the routine.

My research study is well underway. I started on Monday, pulling things together and doing some research online, mostly from the WHO database. Then late Monday afternoon, I was told that two of the women waiting to see the doctors after the surgical day was done were returning for follow up after having gone home. Absolutely perfect! Then there were two more again today, plus one woman already on the ward. I’m so happy for the ease with which it has all begun, but I have to say I’m a bit wary about how long it will be able to go before I’ve exhausted the realm of my reach.

Today was really a day for realizing things taken for granted.

I’ve never felt more the frustration of being a single, young, white girl. I was talking about it today with Stefani, an OT from Tyler, and it’s so true. Where you can go and what you can do is delicately contained within the balance of daylight and company. At home or at school, there are always the dodgy places which are best to avoid if you’re out and about alone, but the limitation is only a thin line just below your field of view. Occasionally you see it, but for the most part it’s out of sight and out of mind. Here, though, it’s rather difficult to just blend into a crowd. People watch you, even if you are just walking down the street. Growing up in Central America, it was the same, but then I was a young girl, I never had any inclination to go out and about on my own, and I thought it was all rather funny. Now, a bit older, I realize a bit more of reality, perhaps.

The other thing I have taken for granted is my education. Today, I worked for a bit with some of the literate girls, reading a children’s book and checking for comprehension. There were about five of us gathered about. After the story was done, everyone dispersed except for one, Jinneh – the one that captured my heart last week.

She was sitting, staring at the ground, and I could tell that something was wrong. Thinking of her recent surgery, I asked her if she was in pain. No, she said. After a few moments of silence, she turned her face toward mine and asked me if I go to school. Yes, I said, I go to university in the United States to become a nurse. When do you leave, she asked. Middle of August, I replied. Oh, she said. Silence. Do you have a camera, she suddenly asked. Yes, I answered. Can you take a picture of us for me to have so that I can remember you when you have gone? was her request. I ran to the office where my bag and camera were waiting, and returned to “snap” her. Then we got Helen to “snap” us together. We sat together for a long time, in our sisterly embrace. She’s my age, after all. Then, in a small, small voice she said, “I would like to go back to school. More than anything else.” She left shortly after that. I went to the bathroom and cried.

Another of the girls, Seray, told me her story. She lost her father, probably during the war, and her mother had to care for all of the other children in her family, and could no longer pay her school fees. So she married a man who promised to pay. Then she became pregnant. Now she has a fistula, no husband, and definitely no money for school. How much is school? 35,000 Leones. At the current exchange rate, that adds up to a little under $12.

So Tuesday was a hard day, another one to add to the pile. But the hardest thing is, that when I look into their eyes, I see only my own face ridden with guilt. I am going home on 10 August. I can leave.

One time, as a kid, we visited a hands-on science museum. One of the exhibits was on wheelchairs, and you could get in one and had to try your way around an obstacle course of household things – chairs, tables, books on the floor. It was really fun, and I told my teacher that I really liked being in a wheelchair, and I wished I had another go. Yes, she said, you like it because you can get out when you are done...