PNG Journal 2014 / Day Two
15:36
Day 2 – Tuesday Janaruary 21, Itokama
Woke up to the sound of screeching
roosters. We tuck into a breakfast of mountain bread with a generous smear of
peanut butter, nicknamed “diabetes in a crepe”. We would work our way through
countless jars of peanut butter over the next few days.
Packed and prepped for our trek to Tahama.
Due to a change in plan, instead of staying a night in the village of Kokoro
and later visiting Gajot, we would stay an extra night in Tahama then return to
Itokama. Patients from surrounding villages would be walking on foot to come to
their nearest clinic.
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| Mum and I modelling mosquito nets. |
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| From left to right: Harry, Paul, Liz in Itokama before the trek to Tahama |
A large crowd gathered in Itokama to help
us carry our supplies to Tahama. We began to weave our way through the dense
greenery in single file. Often there would be a young child carrying something
like a box of Maggie noodles who would dart past us barefoot while we trudged
and sweated.
The path was narrow, with slippery patches
of mud and long grasses that would slap against your legs as you passed. As we
got deeper and deeper into the forest, the outside world slipped away and we
were immersed in one of the most remote rainforests in the world. The endless
hum and buzz of insects, the feeling of litres of sweat drenched through our
clothes, layers of mud caked into our shoes, were by no means a comfortable
sensation. It did, however, mean that even a refreshingly cool breeze every
once in a while became something appreciated and precious. Every now and then
someone would point out to the side an area that was somebody’s garden plot,
though honestly to me it looked just like another part of the rainforest.
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| Mum bush-bashing |
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| Jodee: "Magoe!" |
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| Paul channeling the Steve Irwin vibe |
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| Sharing the load |
Part of the walk involved crossing rivers.
The locals had prepared the path for us in advance, placing logs across the
waters they would usually just wade across. As we balanced carefully across the
log, they would take our hand, themselves getting wet to grant us steady and
dry crossing. It was a thoughtful and incredible touching act.
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| Newton helping Sarah, carrying a walking stick taller than herself. |
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| Safe and dry passage across the river |
We made it to the little village called
Kokoro. The wooden huts had little gardens partitioned by wooden fences made of
sticks that had been replanted in the ground. Amazingly, they continued to
grow, so the fences were like living shrubs.
We walked through the cool shadows of the trees
towards an open clearing. WE heard it before we saw it – the gentle strumming
of acoustic guitar, the voices of children singing praise to God. As we turned
the corner, we were welcomed by a choir of children dressed in traditional
headdresses and costume standing behind a wooden archway.
The Kokoro community had prepared a
generous welcome meal of fresh, juicy pineapple, watermelon and corn cobs. We
knew that these gifts were a stretch on their resources, as they are
subsistence farmers. Yet again, the Barai people would give as much as they
could, despite not having much themselves. As in all the official gatherings,
speeches were given and translated. Flies swarmed around in the heat and a
couple mangy dogs trotted around before parking themselves around the grass
area.
The speeches reiterated the strength of the
Barai people in a way that I did not previously understand. The leaders
described their situation as the neglected “rejects” of their provincial
government. They had serious needs which were left virtually unaddressed.
After the meal, the kids shyly gathered for
a kick of a soccer ball with Liz and Elayne. They lined up together, facing Liz
as she returned their kicks, and slowly the barriers of age, culture, language
and unfamiliarity became to melt away.
I took up the ball to sub Liz and Elayne
when they went to examine a patient, and had a blast dribbling, kicking and
losing the ball. The kids finally broke free of the line, and we ran around the
grass together playing, laughing and occasionally shouting “Mare!” (Good!). It
was one of those moments I knew I wouldn’t forget – raw connection with people
that overbounds differences of culture, language, age or even wealth.
Besides, it’s not every day you see a kid
running around playing soccer wielding a knife in his hands.
Back to the trek to Tahama. The second part
of the journey was more difficult, involving trudging up and down a series of
steep hills. I found it extremely challenging, and struggled to enjoy the
beautiful scenery whilst focusing on not slipping through the mud.
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| Hills - the bane of my existence |
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| Immersed in the rainforest |
Somewhere along the way I recognized that I
was beginning to understand the meaning of “physical exhaustion” as referred to
by the July 2013 team.
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| Sarah looking happy |
I struggled. I felt the sweat drip down my
face and neck and drench two layers of shirts, cringing at the thought that I
would be wearing them for the rest of the day, and probably the next, maybe
even the next after that.
On the other hand, mum remained as cheery as
ever, cracking stupid jokes and lifting the spirits of those around her, and I
grew in admiration of her truly unfailing optimism. She would excitedly point
out a butterfly fluttering in the bush, or exhalt over how wonderful it was to
be trekking through the jungle.
The most incredible part of the journey was
the efforts that the locals had gone to carve stairs and construct handrails
around the muddiest, steepest parts of the trail. Normally they can walk up and
down the steep hills without even shoes on. They went to all that effort just
for the one day we would be trekking. We also crossed multiple creeks with
freshly made log bridges.
We made it to Tahama in one piece. As we
climbed to the top of the last hill, we saw at the entrance to the village a
choir of children traditionally painted in white mud. As we entered, young boys
lunged forward pretending to thrust their wooden spears, and we were gradually
led down into the heart of the village.
“Magoe! Magoe! Magoe!” (Victory!) hung from
a white cloth on the archway, behind which traditionally dressed men and women
sang to the rhythm of hourglass-shaped drums as we walked up towards the
clinic. A huge crowd gathered to welcome us to the village.
We ran the clinic out of an elevated hut
near the church. Inside the hut, Liz W and Elayne treated together with the
local health workers Petros and Kerry. In the other corner, Mel and Sue
vaccinated, Garry collected blood. Liz B soldiered on in the discharge area. Sarah started outside on heights and weights.
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| The clinic hut in Tahama |
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| Our outdoor "Waiting room". The people always waited patiently, no matter how long it took. |
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| Local health worker Kerry and Elayne treating patients |
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| Petros and Liz recording data |
We swapped roles a lot, Harry had a go
collecting blood, I vaccinated for the first time with Sarah.
Although I had Sarah and Mel explain the
procedure to me few times, I was still nervous and hesitant on the first boy I
vaccinated. We were giving Pentavalent vaccines for the children, HepB for the
adults.
Check the patient’s hand to see if they
have a “P” for Pentavalent or a “H” for HepB. Needle cap off and into the bin,
find a spot in the arm muscle about two finger-widths down from the shoulder,
jab the needle, press down the syringe and remove the whole shebang.
Sounds simple.
I fumbled with the needle, pierced the
needle slowly instead of quickly, wobbled a little in the skin as I pressed down
slowly, and removed. (Behind me Mel was calmly saying, “It’s good to do it a
little faster, cos it hurts like hell.”) I felt bad and embarrassed to have
stuffed up what was supposed to be a simple task, and causing a little kid more
pain than was required. I took a break from kids to watch the nurses do more,
and did some adults later.
Meanwhile, Sarah was a whiz at picking up
the local dialect, “Imut diri kunai” for “put your hand up at your hip”,
“ajuare” for “relax”, and “nijin” for “enough, that’s all”. Speak, jab, free to
go.
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| Sarah giving vaccinations |
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| Mel giving vaccinations |
During the clinic, Mum called Harry and I
down to watch her triage some patients. There was a woman suspected of TB, the
strained rising and falling of the skin around her neck indicated her
difficulty breathing. There were many people, especially children, with large,
grisly ulcers on their legs.
There was a woman with severe pain in her
left shoulder, she came with her arm in a makeshift sling and clutching a large
green leaf around her wrist as a traditional form of pain relief. Initially the
doctors suspected a dislocation, then perhaps an infection causing joint pain,
finally I heard it may be septic arthritis. She was in a great deal of pain,
and repositioning her arm to a better bandaging position for healing moved her
to tears. Jodee fashioned a new bandage sling.
This trip has deepened my respect for
nurses. They have strong medical knowledge, they treat patients with dignity
and kindness, they are incredibly resourceful and efficient. Put simply, they
know how to get the job done, and how to do it the most efficient way possible.
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| Mum using the ultrasound to obtain an image of a baby |
Sometime during the afternoon it suddenly
poured. Everyone ran for cover beneath sheets of tarpaulin that sank under the
weight of the water, or under the roof of the clinic.
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| Tropical PNG - when it rains, it rains. |
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| Left to right: Sue and Liz in their rain ponchos |
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| The Birrells: med student Harry (left) and anaesthetist Paul (right) |
I wandered around the clinic to snap photos
– vaccinations, people patiently lining up, blood collections, treating. I
prefer to maintain an open and friendly approach to photography. I saw a group
of people taking shelter under the church balcony, and felt particularly
attracted to a shot there. I walked up the hill to where they sat, pointed to
my camera and asked if I could take a photo. They agreed, I took the shot, then
turned the camera around to show them, saying “mare”. I feel this makes it
inclusive, so we both parties can be involved and enjoy the process.
I love the reaction of the kids, whether
it’s a shy smile or a squeal of delight. I love it when we mutually share the
excitement of going in for another shot, this time with more people, more
smiles. Again, it’s a way of bridging that gap without a word needing to be
said. And the photo becomes a personal momento, more meaningful, at least to
me, as I remember the interaction with the real person that lies behind the
image.
Dinner of canned spaghetti, canned chicken
curry with peas, cucumber slices, cooked banana, yams, instant noodles with a
kind of vegetable. Sipped on an after-dinner hot milo with powdered milk
(another “staple” we came to know intimately over the next few days) as we
waited to wash our dishes in the little blue wash tubs.
Mealtime. These were the times of day when
everyone would be together, we would share strange foods together, chat freely,
and put up our feet after standing for hours on end.
Typing in the dark under my mosquito net, feeling
hot, sweaty and dirty, and not really keen on climbing into a thick sleeping
bag. (Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, not the
most pleasant feeling.) Humidity, humidity.
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| Beautiful children who wear their joy on their faces. They remind us why we are here. |
Carrie
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