Farewell, My Fair Lubwe

At 6:00 a.m., the alarm clock wakes me up. The sound of rain hitting the roof and the gray skies make me want to stay in bed longer. But I have to get up; I have a bus to catch. With my backpack in tow, I walk to the convent where the hospital vehicle waits. I will be taken to Musaila and wait for the Mansa-Lusaka bus.

And so my stay in Lubwe comes to an end. I have come to feel very much at home at the guesthouse, the hospital, and the village. It has been a great experience, both as part of my medical education and as personal adventure.

At the hospital, I got to see and do so much, I felt like I was very much part of the team. I had a real taste of what it is like to work as a doctor – I ran OPD clinics, ART clinics, and doctor’s clinics; I admitted and discharged patients and did ward rounds; I reduced fractures, debrided wounds, and assisted in surgery. I have seen first hand how much the doctors and nurses can do with so few resources. The nurses and other hospital staff called me “doctor” with so much sincerity and respect it almost made me blush. It is something I am still not used to; normally when nurses in Australian hospitals call me “doctor,” it is drenched in a heavy dose of sarcasm.

I have gotten used to the daily power cuts; candlelight dinner was a guarantee every evening. I have gotten used to taking cold showers in the morning when there was running water and scoop water from a tub to wash when the tap dried up. I have gotten used to the slow pace of life in the village. I spent many evenings hanging out with the nurses at the bar, sitting in the dark, chatting and sipping on a couple of Mosi or Castle. During quieter evenings, my laptop became my movie theater, my stereo, my library, and my entertainment system.

Having made friends with some of the hospital staff, I hardly ever got bored. If I was tired of reading or listening to music, I could just take a walk to the market. Children would always wave to me, yell hello to me, and follow me along. Whenever I went for a run, a group of them would always end up running next to me. “Musungu!” became the constant chorus the children sang as I walked past them.

I have been spoiled by Alice, the cook at the guesthouse. Three times a day, I would always walk into the dining room with my meals on the table waiting for me. She has given me a great introduction to the local cuisine – nshima made from maize meal and cassava meal, accompanied by cassava leaves, pumpkin leaves, sweet potato leaves, rape, impwa, cabbage, sausages, chicken, fish, and even caterpillars. While the cooking here lacks the sophistication of other world cuisines, it is “back to basics” in its purest sense. And Alice has made my stay that much more enjoyable.

These two months were a sink-or-swim experience. I had no idea what to expect when I stepped off the plane in Lusaka. I threw myself into the deep end head first and, not only did I manage to keep my head above water, I was able to swim to the other end without running too out of breath. I came to Zambia to experience the unknown and the unfamiliar; I looked for adventure and a life outside of my comfort zone – and I found that I was very comfortable in it.