Kwanokuthula

2/23/12

Today was my first day at work in the township of Kwanokuthula. The township is almost entirely Xhosa. My caretaker, Margaret is also Xhosa, but she can speak English AND Afrikaans as well. Margaret is amazing. When she’s done seeing ten patients a day and earning less than a cleaner, she’s running a non-profit crech (preschool) out of her house, trying to get funding to open a nursing home, and raising two children. Plus she has awesome Whoopi Goldberg dreads. Although her English is excellent, I sometimes have trouble understanding her because she speaks so low. And by “low” I do not mean quietly, but in an octave I could never dream of reaching. But I absolutely love it when she speaks Xhosa. It’s so interesting to hear the different types of clicks. I don’t think my mouth even moves that way. She’s already started teaching me basic greetings. Now I can add Xhosa to my odd list of languages (that I really can’t speak to save my life.) Along with Gujarati, Safiki, and Mandarin (with a heavy Kunming accent) it’s getting to be quite a long list.

Margaret’s cool at the same time as being very affectionate and motherly. A ridiculous white person (not me of course) might hope she would play the August (of The Secret Lives of Bees) role in my life. God I’ve only known her for four hours. Actually three hours and ten minutes because she showed up 50 minutes late. Not a great first impression, but shit happens in her line of work.

When she finally picked me up, we drove to a patient named Simon’s house, and brought him back to the clinic. The clinic is amazing. It’s huge, brightly painted, and immaculate. It’s much nicer than the dinky little one-room ones in the other townships I’ve seen. However nice it was though, I was not prepared to spend two hours waiting there. Margaret said our days aren’t usually going to be like this, but if that’s not true I’m going to become the most patient person on the face of the planet. Except for the caretakers of course. And hopefully I’ll become immune to that clinic smell. You know, mostly sterile but with something salty, sweet, and sinister lurking beneath it? I don’t really want to know what that something sinister is.

When we finally left the clinic we started visiting patients. Our first patient wasn’t home, and our second was entertaining. This bothered me at first. Margaret works so hard to provide people with home care, and they can’t even bother to be home for it? Then I remembered that Margaret runs seriously late. Her patients shouldn’t have to be on house arrest waiting for her. But the patient whose blood pressure she just had to take, who sent her away because she had guests? I don’t know…

I didn’t get to see many patients or much work today. Hopefully Monday will be better. From what it seems. Margaret’s patients’ diagnoses range from hypertension to TB, asthma to AIDs. We’ve been told to just assume that everyone we meet has AIDS. That’s such a different way of thinking from in the States. I can’t quite wrap my head around it.

And TB just freaks me out. There are signs all over the clinic giving warnings about the symptoms of TB. Doors have “keep this open: Fresh Air Fights TB,” written on them. And several times today I followed Margaret into the Infectious Diseases ward. Well it is romantic to die of consumption. Regardless, as soon as I got back to town I invested in some vitamin pills and Purel.

I think I’m going to like it here. I think it’s so cute that the Xhosa people (and now I too) address all their elders as “mama” or “dada.” Margaret says it’s a sign or respect. And everyone on the street seemed so friendly. When I told my hostmother I was going to Kwanokuthula she gasped, but at least in the daylight it didn’t seem so scary. Then again, you’re always safest when traveling with a native.