Adventure of a Lifetime

If there is anything I've learned in all my travels to Africa, it is keep your expectations low and an open mind. Almost nothing will be what you expect. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, but always unexpected. When in Africa, I typically refer to the movie "Blood Diamond". They say repeatedly, TIA. This is AFRICA...with it's own set of rules. Beauty you can only imagine but not without a very dark side. Undoubtedly one of my favorite places on the planet. I remember landing in Lusaka, Zambia, many years ago. I stepped off the plane, took a deep breath and said to myself "I'm home." To be honest, I have no idea where that feeling came from but it was as real and moving as any emotion I'd ever felt. And I have returned almost every year since, sometimes several times a year and still can't get enough.

So let's begin the story...

It was 6 months post 9/11 and I was getting ready for my first trip to Zambia. Africa really. And my first trip traveling alone. Friends at home thought I was crazy. I was living in Reading, PA, a mere few hours drive to each of the 9/11 locations. Yet my friends seemed to think this departure to Zambia was in some way dangerous. I remember saying as if it were yesterday, “You are a few hours from NYC and Washington DC. I will be in the middle of some poverty stricken country that many don’t even know about and even fewer care about. I’m probably safer than you.”

I was visiting an old doctor that I had worked with in the past. I didn’t know he or his wife well at all. But I was drawn to Africa. And he was being kind. I don’t think he ever believed I would actually show up. He and his wife had retired more than 10 years before and headed to Africa to do full time medical mission work. I always admired him. And I’d always had a longing to go to Africa. I have no idea why. I ran into Doc at the customer service desk of the local Kmart. He was home for a visit. I begged him to let me come. His response, “Everyone wants to come. No one actually does it. We don’t even know where we will be living upon our return.” I kept pleading.  The final resolution was this. “Buy a plane ticket,” he said. “I’ll give you our email. Internet doesn’t always work though. You let us know when your coming.” And I honestly think he thought that was the end of it. But it was only the beginning of more than a decade of trips. And so the African adventure begins.

 I’ve always wanted to put it in writing, as I suppose someday my memories will fade. I have random journal entries I will go back to but much is from memory, as if it were yesterday, etched in my brain forever. This promises to be an ongoing story that I continue to add to as I have time and as stories re-emerge in my memory. I hope you will check back often, keep reading, as some of the stories are fascinating, humorous and some slightly terrifying. Some stories have a medical basis, but not all to be sure. Some are about adventures in the bush, still others about humanity. I will add pictures throughout.

I bought my plane ticket, as Doc had instructed, flying to Lusaka, Zambia. My routing was on British Airways, connecting in London. I had sent him the details. I heard nothing. Not until 3 days before departure, when I got an email with the following request. “We will be holding the Surgical Society of Zambia annual meeting during your time here and we thought it would be great if you could give a lecture, maybe ‘changes in basic and advanced life care support in the US’ during your time here. You will be the guest of honor. Bring gauze, tape, gloves, syringes, any medical supplies you can get. See you at the airport.  Jim and Eleanor”  “Are you kidding me?” I thought. I was leaving in 3 days. I was managing an intensive care unit at the time, busy tying up loose ends to leave, had to pack for a trip I was completely unprepared for, gather up medical supplies, and now write and deliver a lecture to a group of surgeons in Africa? But what could I say? No? That was not an option.

We were ready to land in Lusaka. The international airport was tiny. I felt like I was flying into a Caribbean island. I could see cattle in the grass right off the runway. We walked down the steps and disembarked the big 747 aircraft. Inside the terminal was hot, it smelled and there were armed officers. Armed with large guns.

As I exited the arrivals area, there was Jim and Eleanor, a site for sore eyes.

We made our way to the parking lot and old pick up truck. But the truck wouldn’t start. At least not without a push. And so I quickly realized that push starts are a common occurrence. It was one of many. Eleanor and I got stuck in the middle of an intersection. I got out and pushed. Taxis frequently require you to get out and give a push. Or prepay the fare so the driver has money to stop for gas. It was certainly culture shock.

I stayed at a government based hostel, Longacres Lodge. I was assured this was top quality accommodations. The staff was friendly but a guard, armed with a machine gun had me just a little less than comfortable. The beds were hard as a rock and there were bugs, lots of bugs. The bathroom only had a tub. The tub had two separate faucets, one hot, one cold. And so to wash my hair, I was left to lean over the tub with the choice of ice-cold water, or scalding.  I later found an oasis. Down the road was the Intercontinental Lusaka, and I begged to stay there from then on, regardless of cost.

My exposure in Zambia was limited that first year. I spent a lot of time at the hospital, teaching nurses how to read an ECG.

And they taught me too. Like what to do for tetanus. I got shots. Tetanus was a little out of my realm of expertise. I learned lessons. Life lessons.

There was a woman on a ventilator, a tube down her throat and the machine doing the breathing. The nurses prepared to remove the tube. This was a procedure I was completely comfortable with and did daily back in the US. I thought, in this situation, I could certainly be of assistance. I asked to see the patients weaning parameters. The staff asked, “What are weaning parameters?” I explained that this is what we call the tests that demonstrate that the patient is able to breathe of their own. Blood gases that measure the concentration of oxygen and CO2. Lung capacity. Things like that. They looked at me a bit confused as if I were from outer space. The nurse said calmly, “She is awake, her tongue is pink, she follows commands and breathes less than 30 times a minute.” So she does. I had become so reliant on tests and technology. But it was back to basics. The first thing I learned in nursing school, look at the patient. So we removed the long plastic tube and the nurse laid it on the blankets that kept the woman warm. I thought I was helping. I put on a pair of gloves (after all, the HIV rate in Zambia at the time was close to 30%, one of the highest rates in the world), and I proceeded to throw the endotracheal tube in the trash. Chaos started to ensue. People were yelling and very upset with me. I didn’t understand what I did wrong. A physician pulled me aside in the utility room and showed me a bucket of bleach. He said something to me that will stay with me forever. “I know that you don’t understand. You come from a country where you have everything you could ever need. But that’s not the way life is here. We have no choice but to soak this in bleach and it will be reused for the next patient.” I questioned him about concerns of infection and contamination. His reply, “We know the risk. But this is reality. We cannot always get supplies. We have a choice. If we decontaminate this and it’s needed for another patient, yes, it is a risk. But the patient still has a chance. But if we have none, then it is a certainty, the patient will die.” It was an eye opener. And I have never looked at medicine the same. Africa changed me. For the better. It gave me a new appreciation for almost everything and a new perspective.  I was told by a friend, who had been to Africa many times, “when you get to Africa, you will be bitten by a bug and you will have no choice but to return.” He was right. More than a decade ago.

That first trip consisted of  little more than time helping, and learning, at University Teaching Hospital in Lusaka and St John’s Clinic, a private hospital run by my now dear friend, Dr. Fastone Goma. I did attend the surgical society meeting, gave my lecture and was treated like princess, truly the guest of honor at a meeting filled with education, fellowship, food and traditional dance.

The remainder of the trip was a treat that I had never imagined. We drove from Lusaka first to Lake Kariba on the border of Zambia and Zimbabwe.

Lake Kariba

While much of Africa has been exposed to modern day religions, many locals still place a high importance on traditional medicine and the legends of the Gods. One of the most revered Gods for both the Zambian and Zimbabwean people is the Nyami Nyami, or the Zambezi River God and his wife, who occupies Lake Kariba. Legend has it, that as the dam between the Zambezi River and Lake Kariba was being built (circa 1940s), there were massive floods, destroying much of the progress and killing many workers, including white foreigners who had come to build the dam. Many of the white workers were not to be found. Logic would tell us that the workers were washed away. The Tonga people attributed the death and devastation to the Nyami Nyami, who was upset that he was cut off from his wife. While many outsiders disregarded the legends of river Gods, the Tonga elders felt that a sacrifice for the Gods was the only answer. A black calf was sacrificed at the river. Then next day, the calf was gone. (No great surprise when applying logic, as the Zambezi River is infested with crocodile). The calf disappeared. And the bodies of the missing white workers appeared in its place, just in time for the arrival of family members who had flown in. The dam was eventually finished in the 1960’s. In its day, I’m told Lake Kariba was a thriving resort destination and it’s no wonder, as the area is beautiful, but at the time of my visit, it was all but a ghost town.

It was along the bush of Lake Kariba that I took my first safari. With a guide named Peter. As I said, the place is remote and it felt as if we were the only guests in town. It was a private drive, just Peter, Doc, Ellie and myself. And it was amazing!!!

I recall pulling up to a large herd of Cape Buffalo. I had never been so intrigued. Camera in hand, I couldn’t stop taking pictures. Then Peter asked, “Do you want to get out of the vehicle? Sit on the grass?” I immediately jumped out, crouched on the ground, staring through the lens of my camera with a giant cape buffalo staring back at me, while the rest of the herd seemed uninterested. I still remember Doc, in his great white safari hunter’s hat, yelling from above. “Get in this vehicle NOW, Robin! Those animals are WILD. They charge!” But I was too intoxicated by the experience to care. I loved every second. And never once felt a pang of fear. Not on that safari anyway.

We left Kariba and drove to Victoria Falls. I have traveled the roads in Zambia more recently and they are now at least paved, but at the time of my first visit, much of the ride was unpaved gravel and dirt roads, with potholes so deep, they almost seemed they could swallow our little Toyota sedan.

We stayed at the Maramba River Lodge in Livingstone, Zambia. My accommodations were a tent. Doc and Ellie stayed in the tent next door. It was a luxury tent, complete with electricity and an en suite bathroom. But it was still a tent. And a herd of elephant crossed right in front of our car as we pulled into camp. That thought kept me up at night.

Marimba River Lodge

The Falls were nothing short of amazing!

Victoria Falls

It was adventure I will never forget. Doc and El took me to a place called Batoka Sky. They fly microlites over the falls. Doc said it was something I just had to try. But the pilot told me winds were too high and it was too unsafe. A feeling of relief came over me. I wasn’t so sure about this. The microlite looked like a hang glider with lawnmower motor hanging off the back. But I wasn’t off the hook. We returned the next day. I was sitting behind the pilot, with nothing more than a seatbelt. I had a headset to the pilot. Holding on for dear life, I said to him, “This seatbelt doesn’t feel like it will hold me in.” He replied, “Gravity will.” As we glided over the plains, seeing elephant below, and over the falls, seeing the rush of water, the ‘smoke that thunders’, I began to relax and enjoy the ride. It was exhilarating!

Batoka Sky microlight flights over Vic Falls

 There was no shortage of adventure. I went white water rafting below the falls, descending the gorge on foot before getting into the raft. The water level was high and these were level 5 rapids, some so dangerous because of the water levels, that we literally got out and walked around several of the passes. We stopped for lunch on a beach and Mosi beer. Between the physical demands of the rafting and the sweltering heat and of course, the beer, I was thoroughly exhausted. What I didn’t know, or at least give any thought to, was at the end of the rapids, I would have to climb back out of the gorge, straight up, carrying a life jacket and paddle. They handed me yet another beer as I climbed over the top. I was so short of breathe, I couldn’t speak. But I loved every minute!

There’s a small preserve of animals on the Zambia side. Mosi-o-tunya National Park. It’s a small drive through park. Now that I’ve become quite the safari aficionado, the park seems little different from a drive through Six Flags or Busch Gardens but at the time, it was amazing. We drove in our little white Toyota past all sorts of antelope and elephants. But the real treat was as we came across three white rhino, grazing. There was a big fallen tree and Eleanor and I got out of the car and sat on the tree trunk. Just watching the rhino, only yards away.

I was hooked. This wouldn’t be my last trip to Africa. In fact, it was only the beginning.