Teach by Example

Post 3

As a child, I remember my parents saying to me, “Clean your plate. There are starving children in the world.” But I didn’t know any starving children. And although I know the point they were trying to make, it really was never going to provide any real impact to a middle class American kid. But Africa was teaching me lessons on every visit.

It was 2004. I was preparing for my third trip to Africa. I was invited to speak at the surgical society meeting again. But this trip was going to be different. My 13 year old son desperately wanted to join me. It would be a once in a lifetime opportunity. I would have to changes my plans a bit. Speak at the meeting, then maybe forgo the bush and take him on a mini vacation to Victoria Falls. Now that sounded like a great idea. Educational, yet fun. Not too far out of the comforts of home. Little did I realize that he would be bitten by the same bug and return again years later.

I encouraged him to bring his Discman and Gameboy console and some cds and games. I took plenty of batteries. My thought was that it is a long flight. 7 hours to London, a 12 hour layover and another 11 hours to Zambia and I thought it would give him something to do on the plane. Maybe the best idea ever. And not for the reasons I thought.

 When we arrived in Lusaka, we prepared to leave with Doc and his wife for the surgical conference. I asked my son to be patient. “When the conference is over, we’ll go to Victoria Falls.” His response was far from what I expected. Matt said, “I don’t want to go to the Falls. I want to go to the bush. I want to see how they live. I want to school with the kids.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Luampa was no place for a teenage American kid. He would be bored to tears.  I tried to push the idea of the Falls….safaris, adventure. But he was having none of it. He wanted to go to Luampa. Without electricity, without running water.

But before we could head to Luampa, I had a conference to speak at. The Surgical Society of Zambia’s annual meeting in combination with the Association of Surgeons of East Africa. The meeting was being held at the Ibis Gardens Conference Center in Chisamba, Zambia. North of Lusaka toward the copperbelt region on the country. I spoke at the meeting, again being treated like a VIP.

                       

Following the meeting we stopped at the Protea Hotel Safari Lodge for a quick lunch and an afternoon game drive. It was a beautiful little resort. We had lunch on the veranda while the tsessebe grazed along side the swimming pool. Tsessebe are one of the lesser known members of the antelope family, a type of hartebeest. They were so used to people, Matt followed them around like they were pets.

After lunch we jumped in an open air jeep and took a drive through the small preserve. It was fun. Small. Protected. No predators like lion or leopard. We drove through fields and saw species that were new to us. We saw eland, very large members of the antelope family. We saw warthog, impala, zebra. And a young elephant. There wasn’t a herd of elephant within the preserve but an orphaned baby elephant had been rescued and now called Protea’s little game preserve its home. Like the tsessebe, the baby elephant had grown accustomed to human contact. The young elephant approached the jeep and we sat and watched. The closer he moved and the more social he became, the more confidence we had that he was willing to play. The driver asked Matt if he wanted to get out of the jeep and climb on the elephant’s shoulders.

 The danger in finding so much ease and comfort with these animas is how quickly you forget that they truly are wild. And I was becoming ever more drawn to the wildlife in Africa.

And so the time in central Zambia had come to an end. We headed back to Lusaka for a few days before embarking on our trip out to the bush. We had traditional meals in the homes of Zambian friends. Matt attended school In Lusaka. It was a far cry from school in the States. Zambians put a high priority on education. Education, even primary school, isn’t free. There are school fees, mandatory uniforms and student must provide their own supplies. Education is a privilege. And Africans know, an education is a family’s only chance of getting ahead, breaking the cycle of severe poverty. Families will sacrifice everything just to put one child through school and he or she will become the hopes and dreams of the entire family. And the child takes school very seriously. I was proud of my son. He was experiencing a life that many American kids would never know. Of course, we learn about other cultures in school, but you never really appreciate or understand it until you experience it first hand.

It was time to leave for Luampa. We prepared for the very long drive through the western province.  We were crammed in the small vehicle, packed full of supplies for the village. Matt was tired and all but asleep in the backseat. We were approaching the town of Mumbwa and Doc blurted, “Matt, my boy, I think I see McDonald’s!” My son jumped up with excitement. And we pulled into the Wayside Cafe. It wasn’t exactly McDonald’s but at that point, for a 13 year old kid, it was close enough!

It was a much needed break. We got a cold Coke and French fries. A cold Coke never tasted so good. Matt and Doc played a game of pool on an old pool table under a thatched roof.

We jumped back in the vehicle and continued the very long drive. I was worried about Matt. What would he do in the bush? How would he stay occupied while I was at the hospital? I thought for sure this was a mistake. We arrived in Luampa and settled in for the evening. Matt and I shared a room with two very small beds and mosquito netting (which to this day, I never use…it makes me feel claustrophobic, though I always take malaria prophylaxis). Matt stared at the wall, seeing spiders everyway. I tried to tell him they were “friendly.” I told him when he was tired enough, he would fall asleep regardless of the bugs. But he was not happy. He walked into the living room, where Doc was sitting alone. His face collapsed in his hands, he bent forward and very dramatically said, “this is going to be the longest night of my whole life!” Doc laughed. He assured him that there would certainly be tougher times in life than a few little spiders. Matt just sat there quietly. And eventually, he came back to bed and fell sound asleep.

The next day, Matt was introduced to a boy named Gift. Gift was a small African boy about Matt’s age. And the two would become fast friends. I came home from the hospital to find Matt playing volleyball with his new African friends, with a make shift volleyball court consisting of the net, a few trees and bright red ball.

The kids were having a great time. Matt rode an old tractor. He met Mary. Mary and her husband had a motorbike. And so Matt kept more than occupied with his new friends in the village and I spent my days at the hospital, caring for patients,
many of whom would not survive. I also started working with Gift’s mother Harriet, at the nutrition clinic. The nutrition clinic was part of the orphanage. A makeshift village of tiny grass huts where orphaned infants would be taken care of by elderly family members and could receive formula. Pediatric hospital patients with malnutrition would also be referred to the nutrition clinical for nutritional support, counseling and weigh ins. African children with malnutrition typically have large, distended bellies. Their hair becomes almost blond. They call it blond baby syndrome. It is because the hair is depleted of any nutrients and is so brittle and dried out that even the color is gone. Many of the children had parasite infections. Parasites like schistosomiasis, a worm that infests the intestine and leads to liver failure. Schistosomiasis is second only to malaria in terms of parasitic infections that lead to death in sub-Saharan Africa. I fed babies and small children and recorded their nutritional intake and weights. But despite the efforts, it was obvious that many of these children would never survive. A harsh reality that you learn to accept but never quite reconcile in your head or your heart.

At the end of our week in Luampa, Matt asked me, “Mom, can I leave my Gameboy and Discman here?” I asked him why. He said, “they can get batteries.” I told him they cant get games or cds. He told me he would leave those behind as well. My heart swelled. I was so proud. He ‘got it’.

We boarded the plane and started the long trek home and it was at that point, I realized, no matter how much he loved it, no matter how much Matt ‘got it’, he was still a 13 year old American kid. On the plane, he said, “you will get me another Gameboy, right?” The point was he had given it up without asking. The offer to his new friend was genuine and whether or not he would get another wasn’t the point. Certainly, in time, I would get him another video game system. But I was proud nonetheless. Even more proud, a few months after our return. Summer break was over and school was starting again. Matt was finishing up little league football practice and the kids were all packing up, talking about the new, overpriced, highly trendy Hollister surf shop that was opening at the local mall. Matt looked up at his friends and said, “you guys have no idea how the rest of the world lives.” As a mother, I felt I had done my job well. I didn’t need to lecture about what others don’t have, or how lucky we are. Without the experience, it would have merely been words. The lesson was learned and would never be forgotten.