tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77010429123507974402024-03-13T05:01:39.688+00:00The Weary TravellerThe Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-90255416992688211722012-06-05T16:27:00.000+00:002012-06-05T16:36:36.690+00:00Let Me Not Die Before My Time<br />
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Today I went to the official launching ceremony in Lofa
County for an IRC report that was done on Domestic Violence in West Africa
called “Let Me Not Die Before My Time”. It was held at a Baptist church in town
with attendees from IRC, other international NGO’s, religious leaders, women’s
and girl’s groups, and government representatives.</div>
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The IRC report is worth reading. Even if you don’t read the
full text, just skim through and read the quotes of the women that
participated. Here is one of the quotes “If I’m doing a business and I have
pain, I need to go for treatment so I won’t run my business for a few days.
Some of us sell perishable goods, and if he beats me at a time when I have
perishable goods, I lose everything. And sometimes that’s just the end; I won’t
continue with the business.” Here is a link to the report: <a href="http://www.rescue.org/sites/default/files/resource-file/IRC_Report_DomVioWAfrica.pdf">http://www.rescue.org/sites/default/files/resource-file/IRC_Report_DomVioWAfrica.pdf</a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3CkUipGFH84wgS0J75kGxU4Pp_S89Sf16IApguElerftVwoVRsVvSReY0Mrjl7PTbq9wvYm-vL5Ub0ybsOr_tR7o1wHbEI3Fg-VT0408KCn1QfI_EqkWc8o4W_Zw5kL1oFSKx05iYTTjN/s1600/Beating.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3CkUipGFH84wgS0J75kGxU4Pp_S89Sf16IApguElerftVwoVRsVvSReY0Mrjl7PTbq9wvYm-vL5Ub0ybsOr_tR7o1wHbEI3Fg-VT0408KCn1QfI_EqkWc8o4W_Zw5kL1oFSKx05iYTTjN/s640/Beating.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is one of the photos included in the report</td></tr>
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Domestic violence is a global problem and occurs in even the
most developed countries, but there is something particularly harrowing about
domestic violence in societies where women already have little opportunities,
undervalued voices in the community and are culturally treated as second class.
I have no doubt that women are the most oppressed group of people on this
Earth. And Liberia does not have any formal laws against domestic violence. I’m
sure there are many countries that don’t.</div>
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I heard some really sad stories today. One woman was beaten
badly by her husband and then he wrapped her in a sheet and put her under the
bed. She managed to get some paper and wrote a note to her daughter that if she
died, it was the father who did it. The daughter found her mother dead and had
the courage to speak out against her father in court. Then the girl was
murdered. I also heard about the wife of an IRC staff member in Monrovia who
was attacked by a man on a motorbike on a busy street. The man grabbed at her
jewelry and beat her. No one intervened and when one witness was asked why he
didn’t do anything he said “I thought it was her boyfriend”…as if that makes it
okay. Domestic violence here is generally considered a private matter.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The men in the audience today stood up and took the IRC pledge for women "I pledge to stand with women and girls, to spread the word about the challenges they face, the potential they hold and the simple solutions that help them survive and thrive."</td></tr>
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During the ceremony there were a number of songs that made
me tear up. The Voinjama Girls for Hope group sang a song that essentially when
like this “it is not good, it is not correct, to not send the child you have
born to school. Support girl’s education o, send your girl child to school.”
They also sang about what they wanted to be when they grow up. “Hey all you people,
I am a Voinjama Girl of Hope and I want to be a medical doctor.” Or “I want to
be a minister”. I was totally trying not to cry because the odds are against
these girls and it is very unlikely that they will ever be doctors or ministers
or government representatives or any of the other things they sang about. One of the women's group members sang a song too about domestic violence. She sang "wife beating we don't want it o, wife beating we don't it o, Liberian women don't want it o, wife beating women don't want it o. Abandonment we don't want it o, Liberian women don't want it o, abandonment we don't want it o, abandonment women don't want it."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Voinjama Girls for Hope group singing about what they want to be when they grow up</td></tr>
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The girls also did a dramatization of domestic violence in
the home. One girl acted as the father who yelled at the mother and refused her
money to buy food. The mother managed to get some food for the children and
when the father saw it, he beat the mother. Then he abandoned her. So she was
forced to send her children out to the market to try and sell water and
charcoal. Then the mother died of malaria. It was really sad.</div>
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The IRC report highlights the type of domestic violence that
women experience here…some is direct physical abuse. IRC has dealt with beatings (including
beatings of pregnant women), rapes, hacking the women with machetes and even
locking them in a house and setting it on fire. Men also create dependence and
withhold resources, like not giving the women money to get food or medicine. Then
there is psychological and emotional abuse. The below picture is of a slide
that was part of a presentation made today about the gender-based violence cases that IRC dealt with from 2008-2010</div>
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I feel so lucky to have been born in the USA at the
particular moment in history that I was. I had the opportunity to become
whatever I wanted to become, there are laws to protect me from domestic
violence and there are resources and organizations to help women who need
protection from abusers. Too bad all women aren’t so lucky.</div>The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-21905711629500477732012-05-31T22:14:00.001+00:002012-05-31T22:21:55.622+00:00Foya-Borma HospitalI went on another hospital visit yesterday and I spent the afternoon training the Hospital Administrator on logistics and warehouse topics. It was very interesting. This hospital serves more than 70,000 people in the Foya District as well as people from nearby Guinea and Sierra Leone who come for the free medical care. It has about 103 staff including 1 full time doctor, 10 nurses and 6 midwives. It has 120 beds and an ambulance. In my last post I said a couple of times that anything was better than nothing. But it turns out that is not a universal sentiment. Even though the services are free, there are a complexity of issues that result in many Liberians not taking advantage of them. There is a general distrust and misunderstanding of "Western" medicine and a cultural dismissal of going to the hospital. My mother and grandmother never went to a hospital, why should I go? Organizations like mine do community outreach to try and educate the public on the services that are available and the need to seek treatment, but many people only come to the hospital when their condition is unbearable and they are often past the point of being treatable...or they never come at all and needlessly die. Sad.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foya-Borma Hospital grounds</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View over Foya town from the nurses' living quarters</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here they give children their vaccinations</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patients have their vital signs taken as they get in the queue to be screened</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxaQEZhz6iNATOYJ2r5SkwXHA5rSY732ThpzvbZjnsjCKRcS6TkC1x-MBYHRFWbVFmXxPXBf6P5mgUdIYZ4_LamJeUScBuzMPjGJ57k7HmKtDREBco9qSy9Tck9cAJVJydaRhpl4Ed76y0/s1600/Liberia+100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxaQEZhz6iNATOYJ2r5SkwXHA5rSY732ThpzvbZjnsjCKRcS6TkC1x-MBYHRFWbVFmXxPXBf6P5mgUdIYZ4_LamJeUScBuzMPjGJ57k7HmKtDREBco9qSy9Tck9cAJVJydaRhpl4Ed76y0/s640/Liberia+100.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "waiting room" for outpatient care</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A woman in an exam room being screened by a nurse</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Records Room</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Laboratory</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pharmacy</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjrk4_BNlP21rjepRvKMolaaghWUkCdUehdlE1F1rf2qV5W3JpEn218xdMt2yqtCVupEqwRdTb1WJRJBbC5jm5guGi4V1U9ymA__72aqEJRa7_nmsJkSzR0RqjVqSZSAWge_e6ThYXWln/s1600/Liberia+105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjrk4_BNlP21rjepRvKMolaaghWUkCdUehdlE1F1rf2qV5W3JpEn218xdMt2yqtCVupEqwRdTb1WJRJBbC5jm5guGi4V1U9ymA__72aqEJRa7_nmsJkSzR0RqjVqSZSAWge_e6ThYXWln/s640/Liberia+105.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is where the doctor and nurses scrub in for the Operating Room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21DjtGvSG-B-UT1UkIiXrBWjFXTDWLWg0Rj9tj_DUPfwRgxoILqz80Hq8b4HG1oKVON2fAvYVZeOWiHZpEorAZg25Lk159USRGshuxmavkrD0QuUZZyn_8wh_oBP99-Se9e2wjCcJ3ui_/s1600/Liberia+106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21DjtGvSG-B-UT1UkIiXrBWjFXTDWLWg0Rj9tj_DUPfwRgxoILqz80Hq8b4HG1oKVON2fAvYVZeOWiHZpEorAZg25Lk159USRGshuxmavkrD0QuUZZyn_8wh_oBP99-Se9e2wjCcJ3ui_/s640/Liberia+106.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the OR. Maybe this is all you need to conduct a surgery...but this room makes me shudder<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQG4tUlOUM2yaz85LYXh_sK8WnbFR_ko4uEiT1YN6MpEUaVkYuHfA75dUUnK83LiESZtR32h2n4dGortJZBT2cOIkv66wdx3XYUEh6exGOT4lLBHutP-7qFS0CpNcEi2JNcEfnUZyBlTN/s1600/Liberia+107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEQG4tUlOUM2yaz85LYXh_sK8WnbFR_ko4uEiT1YN6MpEUaVkYuHfA75dUUnK83LiESZtR32h2n4dGortJZBT2cOIkv66wdx3XYUEh6exGOT4lLBHutP-7qFS0CpNcEi2JNcEfnUZyBlTN/s640/Liberia+107.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the inpatient rooms in the Women's Ward</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORbYPHuXlF0nNCnrVHh04axtnrmnj6YRQj4fSWUFWO5NKvdbSXTbO06D3mNEzFOoArDp942RxWagSzNjNXnudfm_DxEcCeJKfsi0je_yQuKHYSCCoPbI_Vq2Hh4Icbkb7Ct6NYF4LDHoz/s1600/Liberia+108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORbYPHuXlF0nNCnrVHh04axtnrmnj6YRQj4fSWUFWO5NKvdbSXTbO06D3mNEzFOoArDp942RxWagSzNjNXnudfm_DxEcCeJKfsi0je_yQuKHYSCCoPbI_Vq2Hh4Icbkb7Ct6NYF4LDHoz/s640/Liberia+108.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pre-Natal Ward</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQF876LaseAt4giJjriOwtf_h0ADoevfna_NIfhiwkVkEkyNwO-eofWxuo0HqRSeh-cgi9EUJkds4x-kaANzEr-xCc8alVJaclHR-pPABXsRjN76N0PMxPnX43Od0OazoGIvXfXETVFPhz/s1600/Liberia+109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQF876LaseAt4giJjriOwtf_h0ADoevfna_NIfhiwkVkEkyNwO-eofWxuo0HqRSeh-cgi9EUJkds4x-kaANzEr-xCc8alVJaclHR-pPABXsRjN76N0PMxPnX43Od0OazoGIvXfXETVFPhz/s640/Liberia+109.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the rooms in the Pediatrics Ward</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQbscmp35xakEDjie_lFCt_Q134SDELX8GyI73OhnFV3E9zFECqWDGpwF-9axDaEkGazZyhHkjcfTVeKD_3Zx8-ekeWqIaTcwQDWogTXbZrokgzWXkpNJq-95JDKQkoLMTIqwvHP8Kceum/s1600/Liberia+110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQbscmp35xakEDjie_lFCt_Q134SDELX8GyI73OhnFV3E9zFECqWDGpwF-9axDaEkGazZyhHkjcfTVeKD_3Zx8-ekeWqIaTcwQDWogTXbZrokgzWXkpNJq-95JDKQkoLMTIqwvHP8Kceum/s640/Liberia+110.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ER</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKn_fNOBSx0FK7X97JqHhFzwDuL87P7vRRiD3n8bHx78Dq4Vh8AMUqokY4T-toqaNWiiAsjOQ-9tc3hITdJ0LkNKGOMm9lhA08iR_K9ccaW77NnAxy7mpwURXujYDAiARy8kjMv2h7OE4/s1600/Liberia+111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKn_fNOBSx0FK7X97JqHhFzwDuL87P7vRRiD3n8bHx78Dq4Vh8AMUqokY4T-toqaNWiiAsjOQ-9tc3hITdJ0LkNKGOMm9lhA08iR_K9ccaW77NnAxy7mpwURXujYDAiARy8kjMv2h7OE4/s640/Liberia+111.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is an example of a good intention gone bad. This ambulance was donated by the Liberian Vice President who received it from some European donors. But it is a Mercedes and can't really run over the rough terrain here. Plus, they can't easily get spare parts and mechanics don't really know how to work on them. So apparently this was only used a couple times and has now just been sitting there for like 3 years.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOXNoUX6gkrmQ1gV0BkCAG36q10w2hmRPFHJ-pPtZ3Is1dy47TjcE-kwscGi2kPCqLk6OlzzqF4JF2920XgCiaKxKy4rjzst9b2Pq35CKKNBOHnwt6K-aa3NdfO3OXmGnslVU3LSzk29O/s1600/Liberia+113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOXNoUX6gkrmQ1gV0BkCAG36q10w2hmRPFHJ-pPtZ3Is1dy47TjcE-kwscGi2kPCqLk6OlzzqF4JF2920XgCiaKxKy4rjzst9b2Pq35CKKNBOHnwt6K-aa3NdfO3OXmGnslVU3LSzk29O/s640/Liberia+113.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the kind of vehicle that can actually work as an ambulance. I'm telling you, Toyota Landcruisers are awesome.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-16420872195575496112012-05-29T09:51:00.000+00:002012-09-28T04:41:41.040+00:00Medical Care in Africa<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many people in the USA agree that our healthcare system is
messed up. But, regardless of its negative aspects, give me an American
hospital any day of the week, even if I have to pay my life savings for care.
Rather your life savings than your life.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the last year I have had the opportunity to visit
hospitals and primary health care facilities in Kenya, South Sudan, and now
Liberia. Most of them have consisted of concrete rooms stuffed with beds and
benches outside where people sit or lie or sleep as they wait to be treated.
Pharmacies are disordered and drugs have likely not been stored in the proper
manner or temperature. Often there are no actual doctors (maybe a couple if it
is a hospital) and there are just Nurses, Midwives and Clinical Officers.
Overall they seemed like pretty miserable places to be in, let alone be sick in.
But they are still a bazillion times better than having nowhere to go and no
one to help you if you need help. Sometimes people have to walk or travel for
days to even get to a clinic, that’s how few and far between they are. And
there are rarely emergency services to come to your rescue if you are hurt.
Sometimes there might be 1 ambulance in an entire district for 60,000 people.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgge-UxHpyTaiI9TzleKRtRGb845L88E0HHXFWZcG8pMbB5Hb5U75y0WqGJOwJD0lvOCWycbCFprppwUPYUWy9VtIR8UaLtZfl9HzJIa6aOF4MxGVMw_ORHgXeSWdMtBom4mfP-BgT5nY5K/s1600/Liberian+Ambulance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="547" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgge-UxHpyTaiI9TzleKRtRGb845L88E0HHXFWZcG8pMbB5Hb5U75y0WqGJOwJD0lvOCWycbCFprppwUPYUWy9VtIR8UaLtZfl9HzJIa6aOF4MxGVMw_ORHgXeSWdMtBom4mfP-BgT5nY5K/s640/Liberian+Ambulance.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An ambulance I saw in Liberia. Might not be so great...but anything is better than nothing at all.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The maternity ward at the hospital at the refugee camp in
Dadaab, Kenya had some delivery rooms and then one large recovery room with
maybe 50 beds in it with women and their babies lying around, most under some
sort of mosquito net. It was about as different as you could possibly get from
the nice, private delivery and recovery rooms you’d find in the USA. But it is also a huge step up from having no
hospital at all and giving birth in your small hut or UN provided tent in the
camp. Sadly I don’t have pictures of it as I didn’t think it was appropriate to
take photos while I was there. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the primary health care centers in Aweil Town in
South Sudan was going to start doing deliveries instead of referring them to
the nearest hospital. Below is a picture of the “delivery room”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6vHM79STmdHH7N67M4DurSjj8l6zG8HmQjEMs0LF1ltyIo7LThXDLJGOjtoKOsu68KxnylJBmhjZCvm1_QXcU1w7QnI6uB6KqdQXjT_qRtCtuB_rnTtz5d7OOTwOnAWiwXCCWp1Ry6Ro/s1600/South+Sudan+-+Malualkon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6vHM79STmdHH7N67M4DurSjj8l6zG8HmQjEMs0LF1ltyIo7LThXDLJGOjtoKOsu68KxnylJBmhjZCvm1_QXcU1w7QnI6uB6KqdQXjT_qRtCtuB_rnTtz5d7OOTwOnAWiwXCCWp1Ry6Ro/s640/South+Sudan+-+Malualkon.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exam room...soon to be delivery room.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I visited the “pediatrics ward” at a Primary Health Care
Center in Panthou, South Sudan. It consisted of a concrete structure full of
beds pushed up against each other and lots of mammas and their kids lying
about. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwOnBpcGp2hCi9NNPya3MtO7mcWgPFMSsj37fLReIQhffjfpp4_VrJfPcHweYeQBwyjGFFj_M6VCf7lPmsSoij2sHK0pyFblRMchheNuIeNL8DNy6xYT5jC_pAE4kLSbFAzqyd9KvAjHZ/s1600/Pediatrics+Unit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwOnBpcGp2hCi9NNPya3MtO7mcWgPFMSsj37fLReIQhffjfpp4_VrJfPcHweYeQBwyjGFFj_M6VCf7lPmsSoij2sHK0pyFblRMchheNuIeNL8DNy6xYT5jC_pAE4kLSbFAzqyd9KvAjHZ/s640/Pediatrics+Unit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pediatrics Unit in South Sudan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In Liberia, the official figures state that there are 51
trained Liberian doctors…in a country of 3.5 million people! We help run some
hospitals and health care centers in conjunction with the Ministry of Health.
We provide capacity building (training for the MOH administration staff),
supplies for the hospital, some ambulances and sometimes doctors and midwives.
I visited one hospital and it had some nicer, newer buildings that we built. Goats
were running all about and goat droppings littered the ground. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwvI1_23wZyj7mGWPUwenzZGR3YLyZJsHLV_4A0umYfLASIG-7ffHXMd3AmeTmqzAK3kR1ONc6a-_M0JsT9EzC3CwXYESGmyKMzK5VNWWuQVzP3BFT_iF0EkhHzzl9kW2TBhin2_sIJByZ/s1600/Waiting+Room+at+Panthou.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwvI1_23wZyj7mGWPUwenzZGR3YLyZJsHLV_4A0umYfLASIG-7ffHXMd3AmeTmqzAK3kR1ONc6a-_M0JsT9EzC3CwXYESGmyKMzK5VNWWuQVzP3BFT_iF0EkhHzzl9kW2TBhin2_sIJByZ/s640/Waiting+Room+at+Panthou.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Waiting Room" at a Primary Health Care Center in Panthou, South Sudan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Yesterday I heard about a guy in the town I’m in who was recently
pronounced dead and as they were preparing to bury him they realized he was
breathing and still alive! I’ve actually heard of this happening once before!
When I was in Uganda, we had a vehicle accident at our base in South Sudan. We
choppered the injured parties to Kampala for medical care. One guy was severely injured and later pronounced dead at the hospital. We were preparing to write our condolences and I asked one of his colleagues for the proper way to address
the letter. That’s when I was told that as they were preparing to bury him,
they discovered he was actually alive! I have no idea if he ultimately
survived his injuries, but I like to think that he did. Otherwise I have nightmares.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitk0YYMQ8w0HNeq-VNpj4pO-Mo5v8pvh2JI-c3Li2EoNHDqiMyP0XHgNt9NlnTSpSKoViZvYRERTIAURMPdGPG33FV05mlCVtQHq9Ukew6sauqrv229cdEjRAOiXuZwrRaR2_QZDhZPkW0/s1600/Dispensing+medicine+to+a+sick+child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitk0YYMQ8w0HNeq-VNpj4pO-Mo5v8pvh2JI-c3Li2EoNHDqiMyP0XHgNt9NlnTSpSKoViZvYRERTIAURMPdGPG33FV05mlCVtQHq9Ukew6sauqrv229cdEjRAOiXuZwrRaR2_QZDhZPkW0/s640/Dispensing+medicine+to+a+sick+child.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dispensing medicine to a sick child in South Sudan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
It is sad to see the state of healthcare in developing
countries and I feel proud to work for an organization that does such good work
providing care to some of the world’s most vulnerable people in some of
the world’s most austere places. Our medical systems in the West might not be
perfect, but I’m thankful for them and feel lucky and really grateful that if I get
sick, I don’t have to walk for days to get treated.</div>
The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-55068801119231683392012-05-24T09:00:00.002+00:002012-05-24T09:44:01.705+00:00My Top 3 Exotic Desserts<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the last few years I have eaten a variety of exotic and
weird food. In order to block from my
mind the totally gross stuff I have tried, I am going to recommend to you the
BEST stuff I have tried. Below are the three awesomest (and two weirdest)
desserts that I have ever had and that I think everyone should eat at some
point in their existence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1) Tub Tim Krob – Thailand</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLE4d5i9fSn3kkPm0rKQWHc3Imw3Xu3wjv-ucsnLbAWypuPEgVLomlHO1k4S3EKYv5b1zZZrUt3lTASaqCll3V1XNZIhfjek7jID3sScZMxeTb1cJoXaZVjZcO2YP1ok4qFaKTmkTYdW4k/s1600/Tim+Tub+Krob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLE4d5i9fSn3kkPm0rKQWHc3Imw3Xu3wjv-ucsnLbAWypuPEgVLomlHO1k4S3EKYv5b1zZZrUt3lTASaqCll3V1XNZIhfjek7jID3sScZMxeTb1cJoXaZVjZcO2YP1ok4qFaKTmkTYdW4k/s400/Tim+Tub+Krob.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
I discovered Tub Tim Krob at the
buffet in the Radisson Hotel in Bangkok. Okay, not the most exciting place in
all of Bangkok to eat, but hey…it was a work thing, and free, so I’m not
complaining. After having it on the 2<sup>nd</sup> night of my trip, I purposely
sought it out for just about every meal after that for the next 6 days.</div>
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Tub Tim Krob, or Red Rubies, is
jellied water chestnuts in coconut milk. You add shaved or cubed ice to the
milk to make it really cold. Sounds totally weird right? Well, it totally is.
But it is also the most amazing dessert in the world (like totally <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>).</div>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">2) Um Ali (or Om Ali?) – Egypt by way of United
Arab Emirates</span></div>
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I first tried Um Ali on a dinner boat cruise down the Dubai
Creek. It was part of the dinner buffet and I remember wishing I hadn’t eaten
any of the dinner cause then I probably would have had like 10 helpings. I think I still had 3 anyway.</div>
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Um Ali (or Yum Ali as I like to call it) is a Middle Eastern
bread pudding-ish sort of dessert, though I would say it’s a million times
better than any bread pudding I’ve ever had. From what I’ve read about the
dish, it originated in Egypt. I’ve seen some recipes that include raisins and
others that have pistachios, pecans or hazelnuts, but in general it is puff
pastry covered in cream, sweetened milk, almonds and coconut and baked to
ooey-gooey perfection. This one doesn’t make the list of weird cause it’s not
actually weird. But it does make the list of the best things you will ever put
in your mouth. </div>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">3)<span style="font-size: 9px;"> </span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Gajar Halwa – Pakistan by way of Liberia</span></div>
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I have never been to Pakistan, but I am now a huge fan of
Pakistani food. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I’ve been eating dinner at
the UN Pakistani Battalion in Voinjama, Liberia for the past few weeks and this
is where I first encountered Gajar Halwa. </div>
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Gajar in Urdu means carrot and Halwa means sweet confection
or dessert. Grated carrots are boiled in whole milk until the carrots are
cooked and the milk forms little carrot colored curds (say that 5 times fast!)
Throw in a little cardamom and a tiny bit of sugar and Bob’s your uncle. It takes a couple bites to get used to the
texture and to wrap your mind around the fact that the tasty treat you’re
eating is made of carrots and milk curds, but once you do that…well, it is
delish. Maybe it doesn’t win the prize for the best dessert ever, but it’s both
weird and tasty and something I actually get to have here, so it’s definitely
on my list of favorites. Plus, how can you feel guilty about eating carrots for
dessert?</div>The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-68635782525325435382012-05-20T14:30:00.000+00:002012-05-20T15:25:03.732+00:00The Long and Winding Road<br />
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Ah, ye mighty Landcruiser! You indomitable driving machine. Your
name is just not fitting. It is too calm and serene. You should be called the
Road Warrior...for you firmly the kick the ass of any pothole, washboard, divet,
ditch, protruding rock, river bed, trench, crater, sinkhole, or silly goat or
chicken that happens to get in your way. </div>
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Over the past 13 months I have spent countless hours in a Landcruiser. Sometimes packed in the back on a bench seat while my internal
organs play bumper cars as we bounce along the dirt roads and sometimes, like
last Friday, crammed in the middle front “seat” with my arms all pins and
needles as I try to steady myself with my hand against the roof and my legs all
twisted up to avoid my thigh from impeding the gear shift.</div>
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Every Friday in Liberia is our STS (Staff Transport System)
where vehicles from each of the main regions set out in the morning to converge
on a central-ish meeting spot to swap passengers and cargo. The meeting point
is a town called Gbarnga (pronounced Bonga) which is 4 hours away from where I
am living in Voinjama. I am working on some initiatives with our suppliers and two of our main ones happen to be in Gbarnga, so, I thought it might be worthwhile
to ride on the STS and meet with them. Turns out these businesses are Lebanese
owned (like many of the good restaurants and shops in Liberia) and the owners
were pretty astute businessmen. My meetings lasted about 5 minutes each. So, 8
hours of driving through the crazy, bumpy jungle roads for 10 minutes of work. </div>
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But driving in Liberia is always an interesting adventure. I
never feel bored as there are endless things to see along the way. Whether
marveling at the solid walls of jungle that sometimes line either side of the
road, or staring off in wonder at the sweeping vistas of rolling jungle hills,
or waving back at all the little children who smile and call to you as you pass
by, or wondering how that lady can carry such a huge bundle of firewood on her
head, with a baby on her back and a bucket in one hand and a machete in the
other. Watching the other cars and motorbikes is interesting as well because
they cram as much cargo and as many people on board as they physically can. The
only thing that is not so fun about these long road trips is having to make a
pit stop. No matter how hard you try, jostling over the potholes and washboards
makes it impossible to just hold it. So, we pulled over by the side of the road
and a few of the men went about their business and I proceeded to make my way
down a tiny little path I found through the tall grass into the jungle. I was
pretty freaked about the possibility of a Bush Viper biting me in the ass as I…ahem…”checked
the tire” as my coworkers laughingly put it. But you’re not a real African
explorer until you’ve peed in the jungle, in the grasslands, in the desert and
in a cockroach and fly infested squat latrine…done, done, done and done. You
may now call me Dora. (How sad is it that the only female explorer's name that
calls to mind right now is Dora the Exlporer?
And it’s not like she ever has to go to the bathroom when she’s hiking through the Spooky Forest. You never hear her call for backpack, map AND
latrine. But she should. It would make the show much more authentic. LOL. What
the hell am I even talking about?)</div>
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(Sorry about the large HF radio antenna in the shots above. Funny thing is, the vehicle doesn’t even have an HF radio in it…don’t ask me. I have long since learned that in Africa there is no sense in trying to make sense out of things that just don’t make sense.)</div>
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Despite how awesome Landcruisers are, they are not
impervious to flat tires and you have to change their filters and stuff to keep
them purring smoothly. Our fuel filter was way passed its useful life so we
wound up stopping at a little mechanics hut on the outskirts of a tiny town
called Konia so they could try and wash it out again, or something to that effect. My Canadian colleague, Darius, and I walked up the hill into the town
center to get some tea and find something to eat. Friday is market day there so
the town was bustling. We found a little tea shop that had some bread and
coffee and tea and sat and watched all the market action while we waited for
the car. When the vehicle finally pulled up to collect us, we noticed we had a
flat tire, so we waited some more while they changed it (that was the first
flat tire of two we had that day). All in all it was a pretty fun day at work, if a little exhausting.
We left the compound at 6:30am and got back at 7pm, just before dark. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Changing the tire in Konia town center</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tea shop where we got some drinks and ate some bread</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of the Konia market</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzIeaYKZ4zhb6c_CVsPO45EHRCdbrRn1D8X-j2Ns3JDbgBg0T2bZbEPXguB0f-xypcMIsairD-zzCH0du9SYtnBrFqFiyJrYgGoqDp5NFsHmUxFmsUq9qkw-27PWiEWaKMJcXJmm3fbHsC/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzIeaYKZ4zhb6c_CVsPO45EHRCdbrRn1D8X-j2Ns3JDbgBg0T2bZbEPXguB0f-xypcMIsairD-zzCH0du9SYtnBrFqFiyJrYgGoqDp5NFsHmUxFmsUq9qkw-27PWiEWaKMJcXJmm3fbHsC/s640/9.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How adorable are these little girls?!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqI-Ma54Yx-tAQ-k-NX2tW0SMMLGf881kO6McMV7fTefHwqPB5HybP5KDBcjhK5RF6LIB-O26dXqJZBaogoLWlwhRumUpKMps0aSIg8ZK8gqDbWmKI-EpShTItkGACV8XQx6bhTms5Wd2/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqI-Ma54Yx-tAQ-k-NX2tW0SMMLGf881kO6McMV7fTefHwqPB5HybP5KDBcjhK5RF6LIB-O26dXqJZBaogoLWlwhRumUpKMps0aSIg8ZK8gqDbWmKI-EpShTItkGACV8XQx6bhTms5Wd2/s640/7.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selling some chickens. It makes me sad to see little kids in the market selling stuff instead of being in school.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFRXxLo1Oq48npJiozP0yF5_CbqSIgzK8yLISY14Lw8MD0aE2055qDLHXCRB_4QIvRDdhVcIgma7RZmu0wraNGcx0Fe1cncuglO4luO0N8nvyE1IY4Q5mZqStxvc9gfLo3OYd_-KLyNNoc/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFRXxLo1Oq48npJiozP0yF5_CbqSIgzK8yLISY14Lw8MD0aE2055qDLHXCRB_4QIvRDdhVcIgma7RZmu0wraNGcx0Fe1cncuglO4luO0N8nvyE1IY4Q5mZqStxvc9gfLo3OYd_-KLyNNoc/s640/8.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had to take a picture with this awesome, old, broken down Mitsubishi minibus. I want to buy it and live out hippie dreams of caravanning around the world.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgoetxk3Is-lU6dYk66VLfxH6FYgZEnHrqEXQlxq0VgYflxR7CNnhqSSgRzn1W2z_29IwwTk3iM1ycpE2aIobvm7Nz5MkbGkE97mZxLrVBG_lTtD5tqyokpPLKAl4pAQ6Zt4_sygWWINlu/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgoetxk3Is-lU6dYk66VLfxH6FYgZEnHrqEXQlxq0VgYflxR7CNnhqSSgRzn1W2z_29IwwTk3iM1ycpE2aIobvm7Nz5MkbGkE97mZxLrVBG_lTtD5tqyokpPLKAl4pAQ6Zt4_sygWWINlu/s640/2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a typical Liberian gas station...those bottles of red liquid. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80ktJMC9BApxzpV7vqDIBJozNDBihLqVtYULwHNYVmDpvdY_P1hgaG-uJ_pt7nYWcMtLogd3iUDXZZqnEd59jVqXqgIjWHDToIfhSFdtjJumRrwRKPQmPoGQptos0BsWyqDE15d4CPz6G/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80ktJMC9BApxzpV7vqDIBJozNDBihLqVtYULwHNYVmDpvdY_P1hgaG-uJ_pt7nYWcMtLogd3iUDXZZqnEd59jVqXqgIjWHDToIfhSFdtjJumRrwRKPQmPoGQptos0BsWyqDE15d4CPz6G/s640/13.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loading, or I should say OVERloading, a truck in Zorzor town</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcH6rXEfbrzTaQLjzQH_DLORxAriACMbaD5P3kWgYoI-Xcn_WVPHjxTKuwNKAQxu3TS5YCL4c259mghH4a9G8m2mIIhb991pTPGjELizeES6RQ-QjWUqLabli0LrVYR5sLYB3SLSECr4S/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcH6rXEfbrzTaQLjzQH_DLORxAriACMbaD5P3kWgYoI-Xcn_WVPHjxTKuwNKAQxu3TS5YCL4c259mghH4a9G8m2mIIhb991pTPGjELizeES6RQ-QjWUqLabli0LrVYR5sLYB3SLSECr4S/s640/14.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to get where you are going is important...never mind that you might not make it there alive</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3tAdPIXvAxZ3BwpA-wjWYUJUexZ8TiXIqspApziRu0a2xdd8fHlEG3eRl_EqlQ4gfIunsSGlKbvqqx8YfHBU3E2IEY5MUSpc9xDiJIFrb3RHjHXMIn0Mp0p-os-PcI_f38oA79N43_Ee/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3tAdPIXvAxZ3BwpA-wjWYUJUexZ8TiXIqspApziRu0a2xdd8fHlEG3eRl_EqlQ4gfIunsSGlKbvqqx8YfHBU3E2IEY5MUSpc9xDiJIFrb3RHjHXMIn0Mp0p-os-PcI_f38oA79N43_Ee/s640/16.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just one of the many houses we passed along the way</td></tr>
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<br /></div>The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-84784177638024187422012-05-19T21:36:00.001+00:002012-05-19T22:05:05.805+00:00Common Sense Tips You Already Know About Keeping Fit on the Road<br />
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Today was the 5<sup>th</sup> day this week that I went for a
run in Voinjama, from my compound to the police checkpoint at the entrance of
town. It’s about 3.5 or 4 kilometers and is a pretty nice route: down a steep
hill into a little valley with a flat bit, past the Jordanian police and PakBat
compounds, across a little bridge and up a longer, shallower incline to the
checkpoint. As I was coming back up the steep hill towards my compound, two
little girls, carrying long bamboo poles in each hand, started running behind
me. As we passed other kids, they would join and run along for a few meters
before continuing their journey back down the hill. I felt like the Pied Piper
going through town with my little followers. At one point I stopped and asked
one of the girls if I could hold her bamboo. I grabbed it and was impressed
with how heavy it was. I lifted it up and down like a free weight and said “it’s
like lifting weights, you girls are strong.” Then the girl seemed a bit nervous
that I was taking her pole and said “hey sista, dat one fo me, o” so I gave it
back. Every once in a while I’d look back and see the girls lifting their poles
up and down and laughing. It was a fun moment.</div>
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I have somehow picked up the nickname Klubo from my Liberian
coworkers. Various people have told me it means: big woman, first born girl,
warrior woman and dancing woman...so I guess it must mean a little of all those
things which is cool by me. Everyone who hears it laughs and thinks it’s a
good, strong name to have. I’ve also been described as a “real” Lofa woman a
few times…they are known for being larger ladies. It’s a compliment here so I
don’t mind. They like meaty women in most places I’ve been to in Africa. But
this is likely going to be my last few months in the field for a while and I
don’t want to be a real Lofa woman in Colorado. I’ll be coming back in August
and living in the mountains in probably the best month of the year to enjoy all
the glorious outdoor activities that Summit County has to offer. I want to be
able to keep up with my brother and his extremely active family (my 6 year old
nephew is doing a triathlon in two months!).
I’ve always felt like I have an inner athlete inside of me. I love
hiking and kayaking and mountain biking. I love being outdoors and being
active. But, sadly, I’m usually the last one to the summit…by god I will always
make it to the top though…but it’s more fun when you don’t feel like you’re holding
up the group or going to die in the process.</div>
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I try to work out as much as I can when I'm in the field. Sometimes it's a really sedentary life…most days consist of sitting in a vehicle
for 5 hours or walking the 30 or 40 feet from my house to my office. Plus,
there isn’t much to do out here in the sticks. I will also admit I’d love to be able to look hot in a dress from the Title Nine catalog (check it out…awesomest clothes ever…<a href="http://www.titlenine.com/">http://www.titlenine.com</a>) And, there are no Chipotles or
Peanut M&M’s to throw me off my game. The one tempting thing is Soda. It is
my lifelong enemy and worst vice and Coke and Pepsi are the most ubiquitous products in
the world. I have never been to a field site that did not have one or other of
them available…even the most far off seeming village in South Sudan. But, I
usually manage to give it up when I’m in the field and it’s typically when I
come back to the US that I fall off the wagon. It’s been a week so far this
time so yeah for me. </div>
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So, in honor of the little girls who ran with me today, I’m
offering some tips below on working out while traveling. You may be asking
yourself “with the intro above, why would I listen to a Lofa sized woman’s
advice on working out”…well, I’m not trying to tell you how to win a marathon
or anything. Just how to get fit, stay fit and/or avoid gaining 10lbs from all
the junk you know you’re going to eat while you’re on vacation. So, introducing…The Weary Traveller’s Common
Sense Tips You Already Know About Keeping Fit on the Road:</div>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1) Walk as much as possible.</span></div>
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Many of the places I go for work are not the safest places in the world and often it is against our security policy to walk around. Which means, when I can walk, I want to walk. After spending two months in Haiti
where I never walked anywhere, I went to New York City for a week and then
London for a week and probably walked like 15 miles every day. Some cities were
made for walking and you are missing out if you take taxis or the subway all
the time. Sure you’ll do those things occasionally…I mean riding in a black cab
in London is part of the experience. But if you take the Tube between Covent
Garden, Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus, then you are a tool…offense
intended. Walking is the best way to get the feel of a city. You can people
watch and window shop and generally just smell the roses (unless you’re in
Paris and then it’s probably the dog poo since no one cleans up after their
dogs, lol). Walking your way around a city is great exercise without even
trying, it’s the best way to see the sights and it’s free transportation. Just
make sure if you’re in an unfamiliar place that you ask the concierge at your
hotel if there are any areas that aren’t safe and you should avoid walking in.</div>
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Also, if you are staying on the lower floors of a hotel,
then take the stairs. It’s a good way to scope out the emergency exits in the
event of an emergency (which I bet you have never done in a hotel but you should)
and you’ll avoid being stuffed in an elevator with 50 other people and their
luggage, especially during the morning check-out rush.</div>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">2) Use the gym or bring one with you.</span></div>
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Any hotel worth their salt these days has a fitness center.
It’s a free amenity and you should take advantage of it, especially if you don’t
have access to a gym at home. Why pass up a free chance to lift some weights or
use a medicine ball? Plus, sometimes the gyms are in great locations. The
fitness center at the Westin Resort in Maui overlooks parts of the pool and
ocean. I don’t know about you, but the sight of tanned muscled dudes and hot
bodied surfer chicks mixed with fat, pasty-white tourists motivates me to keep
going and run that little bit harder…oh and the palm trees and sunshine and
ocean views are nice to look at too, lol. If you’re just not a fan of going to
the gym or working out in front of others, then consider bringing some workout
gear with you for your hotel room. I always travel to the field with a
resistance band and travel yoga mat. You can also use water bottles filled with
water for weights (though I personally don’t like to do this because I find it
hard to grip them once I start to sweat). You can buy and download workout videos from
Exercise TV online. They also have some free videos you can stream if you’ll
have good internet connection where you’re going (which I never seem to do, so I buy them).</div>
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<span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">3) </span><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Go for a run.</span></div>
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Running, like walking, is also a great way to get out and
about at your destination. If you’re at the ocean, go for a run along the
beach. If you’re in London, go for a run along the Thames. If you’re in Seattle, go
for a run at Alki Beach Park. There is always going to be a cool trail,
park or neighborhood to go for a run in. <br />
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When running in an unfamiliar place, make sure you do so
safely. When possible, tell someone where you’re going. I always tell the
guards at my compound or a housemate what my route is going to be and that if I’m not back
in an hour to come find me. I also run with my cell phone in case something
happens I can call for help. You never know when you might fall and twist your
ankle or get kidnapped by some rebels in the jungle…just kidding mom and dad…(but seriously
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>). Also, it’s great to
have music, but don’t use both earbuds and crank it up full volume…only use one earbud so you can hear if a person or car or bike is coming up behind you. And make
sure to pay attention to the weather. In South Sudan my colleague and I would
go running at dusk when it was a bit cooler. You don’t want to run at noon when
it’s 115 degrees. And you don’t want to be caught out on the beach in a huge
electrical storm either.</div>
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So, there you have it. All things you probably already knew
but now you are reminded of.</div>The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-87832407861815777812012-05-15T22:36:00.000+00:002012-05-15T22:48:23.516+00:00The Twilight Zone<br />
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I tend to be behind the times when it comes to music. I’d
like to say that is the result of me being off in the bush in Africa most of
time, but really it’s true even when I’m at home. Typically I’ll come back to
the US on R&R and hear a few new tunes on the radio that I like which
inevitably make it onto the workout playlist on my iPod. This past April that
song was “Somebody I Used to Know” by Gotye. I love it and it makes me burst
into song, especially when I'm out running, as my nephew can attest to since I
ran a 5k race with him a couple weeks ago and purposely started singing it just
to embarrass him. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyway, in April my best friend and I went to Seattle with
her 4 year old daughter to attend her little brother’s wedding. We spent a good
few hours in the car each day, driving around the city, out to Snoqualmie falls
and back and forth between downtown and the wedding venue in Tacoma. While
listening to Seattle radio, I swear we heard that song play a million times…Each
station seemed to play it multiple times each hour. One time the station went
to commercial or some such and I said something to the effect of “let’s see if
our song is on” and I hit the button and low and behold it was playing. Now,
when I hear that song, I always think of my friend and the amazing trip we had.
When I was laying over in Brussels on my way to Liberia, the video came on in the café
I was walking past in the airport and I felt compelled to stop and watch it and
I immediately Facebooked my friend about it. </div>
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So, what does this have to do with anything you ask? Well,
as I mentioned in my last post, we go to the UN Pakistani Battalion every night
for dinner. We usually show up around 20 past 8, go straight to the buffet
line, get our food and try to be out by 8:45, before the Battalion Commander
and the rest of the Officers show up to eat. Once they arrive, it is polite to
remain until they are done, which can drag dinner out until 9:30 or later.</div>
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Tonight we show up around 8:30 and find that they are
preparing for an outdoor banquet as they are hosting the commander from the
Pakistani Battalion in another County. There are tables outside and some barbecues and a big buffet table and a movie screen set up at the side (we later find out they intend to
show a movie after dinner). We aren’t quite sure what to do because this is
obviously a more formal affair and it’s not clear if we can join in the dinner
or not. Thankfully my colleague is Pakistani and he finds out we are able to
join them. </div>
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We wait around and more and more officers come into the
courtyard, and then the Commanders show up. As we are all shaking hands and
being introduced to the Commanders, they start to play music. And…guess what
they play…that’s right “Somebody I Used to Know” by Gotye. But, they don’t just
play it…they project the words up on the big movie screen and hit repeat. It
played while we stood around and chatted, it played while we took our seats for the first
course and it played while we ate the soup. After it played maybe 15 times in a
row, the Commander whispered to someone and they changed the music to some
traditional Pakistani folk music which then morphed into some English language,
but clearly foreign, techno dance music. </div>
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Maybe this is my own stereotypes coming into play, or maybe
I am just not plugged into the fact that this is obviously a seriously popular
song internationally, but I have to say that I felt like I was in the Twilight
Zone when I was standing in rural Liberia, in the courtyard of a UN military
compound, the only female surrounded by Pakistani military officers, many in
their traditional Pakistani clothing, listening to Gotye on repeat, thinking of
my best friend and wishing more than anything that I had
an iPhone in my pocket so I could capture it all on video.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Here is a link to the song on YouTube in case there exist
any people out there in the world who have not heard this song yet. Clearly you
are not as hip on popular music as the Lofa County PakBatt.<br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UVNT4wvIGY">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UVNT4wvIGY</a></div>The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-33421048232249431942012-05-15T16:06:00.001+00:002012-05-15T16:22:31.281+00:00Living in Voinjama<br />
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I know I said I would write often,
but the past week has been a bit hectic. Sorry for the long delay. I am now
firmly settled in Voinjama in Lofa County, up near the border of Guinea. Below
is a map showing the location. And by firmly settled I just mean that I have
managed to unpack some clothes and get a quick feel for the place…that’s pretty
much my definition for settled these days.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jcuS-TWwEBMUsKPUv808dgb16ZhnjU17H9ACtz-8jdjavpHGze52_P-_WK33-UqX3CaJFZ_fu_pfWTjpiz35xnYmakSPdO0B8i8bX33I0HPN0atbhyI8iwx6-QIEwEQ2dSmiQyKlj9h5/s1600/map-of-liberia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jcuS-TWwEBMUsKPUv808dgb16ZhnjU17H9ACtz-8jdjavpHGze52_P-_WK33-UqX3CaJFZ_fu_pfWTjpiz35xnYmakSPdO0B8i8bX33I0HPN0atbhyI8iwx6-QIEwEQ2dSmiQyKlj9h5/s400/map-of-liberia.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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Voinjama is a pretty big town in
terms of rural communities. There is more than one main road in the town center
and there are a couple of nightclubs and a few shops where you can buy some
foodstuffs…so by my standards, that’s pretty big. Wikipedia says the population
as of 2008 was a little more than 28,000. I guess I can believe that if you
take into account people living in some of the outlying areas.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I live in a house inside our
office compound. There are two other expat staff who have houses here too, a
doctor from Pakistan and a Public Health Administrator from Bhutan. The house
I’m in is for visitors and this past weekend a Canadian colleague, who was
actually born and partially raised in Poland, came to stay for a week. One of
the amazing things about my job is that I get to meet people from all over the
world. I often get to learn as much about their cultures as I do about the ones
I’m living in. One of the best times I've had in the field was having dinner in
Lubumbashi, Democratic Republic of Congo with 18 people from all over the
world including the USA, Canada, Belgium, France, Denmark, The Netherlands,
Lithuania, Serbia, DRC, Uganda, Tanzania, Guinea, Cote D’Ivoire, and Jamaica.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Aside from the nearby Pakistani UN
Battalion (PakBat) and the Jordanian UN Police Unit, there aren’t many other
foreigners in town. I’ve heard there are a couple of other NGOs with some
expats and I’ve heard there are two Peace Corps teachers, but so far I haven’t
seen anyone.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span> Thank god
PakBat is here though. They open up their Officer’s Mess to the public, so, for
$3 a meal< I can have lunch and/or dinner. The food is amazing. I’ve really
only had Indian food before, and Pakistani food is similar but there are
definitely subtle differences. I’m not a huge dessert person, in the US I would
rarely order dessert at a restaurant, but it comes standard with the PakBat
dinner and they are so good. So far my favorites are this rice pudding-like
concoction that has milk, rice (I guess), sugar (or maybe honey) and some
spices, cardamom I think. There is also this concoction made of carrots that
basically tastes the same as the rice pudding but has a little bit different
consistency. I need to find out their names so I can Google the recipes. I bet
the carrot dish would be a great way to get kids to eat carrots. The dish isn’t
too sweet, but just enough to make it appealing. Not that I have kids, I guess
I’m just thinking of my little 2 year old niece who basically will only eat
rice. Actually, she would fit right in here. Rice is definitely a staple of
every meal whether eating at PakBat or a local restaurant...and by restaurant I
typically mean a stand on the side of the road with a woman, a bowl of rice and
some "soup" cooking over a charcoal stove...the soup could actually
be fried okra sauce or ground nut sauce or the dreaded water soup. I’ve eaten a
few local meals so far which were okay. The main problem for me is that they
are so spicy I can’t take it. I just don’t understand eating spicy hot food. If
it hurts to eat, why eat it?<o:p></o:p></div>
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On Sunday evening, my Canadian
colleague and I went into town to grab some Clubs, the local Liberian beer. The
two “bars” we went to weren’t open so we found ourselves sitting in a tiny
little alcohol shop with some locals. It was really fun and not something I
often get to do since I’m usually by myself and don’t often venture into local
establishments alone.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span> Anyway,
hanging out with some good company, in a local place, having a couple beers at
the magic sunset hour was amazing. Every assignment I’ve had there has been at
least one moment where I have felt like “Yes, this is it. This is what life is
about. Right now I am exactly where I am supposed to be, doing exactly what I
am supposed to be doing, feeling perfectly contented.” <span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>That’s how I felt flying in the
helicopter last week and that’s how I felt again sitting in the local watering
hole.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Let’s see, what else can I tell
you now…there are some goats that live in our compound. One was given to our
doctor by the local community and she had some babies so now there are 4. They
are all black except for one guy who has some white spots and a white tuft of
hair on his head. Naturally I immediately thought of Stripe from
Gremlins (that's natural, right?)…so I have officially named them…Mogwai, Billy, Gizmo and Stripe. I
like having the goats around. They are cute to look at and do a good job of
eating all the mangoes that fall off our mango trees…and not just fall off but
slam against the tin roof of the buildings making a huge racket and startling
the bejeebus out of me every single time. The only bad thing about the goats is
having to dodge their goat pellets which seem to be littered over every single
walking surface. Yet another reason why one must always, always wear flip flops
inside the house. Who knows what your shoes really track in.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_X5yHkTROH1_4gQfTp6rC5JIhn7B7XAmWybyu8KEq890jAy8M_1bQnOUbagmRZxBNTSSVNlNgGh4epz_EYv-xZR9hKr28UdVCFZIcEe82rfptJ8Vx-UQclsPO0f77YWxFZgEXRqALBU4X/s1600/IMG-20120508-00390.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_X5yHkTROH1_4gQfTp6rC5JIhn7B7XAmWybyu8KEq890jAy8M_1bQnOUbagmRZxBNTSSVNlNgGh4epz_EYv-xZR9hKr28UdVCFZIcEe82rfptJ8Vx-UQclsPO0f77YWxFZgEXRqALBU4X/s400/IMG-20120508-00390.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My goat friends - Stripe in the middle, surrounded by Mogwai on the right, Billy on the left and little Gizmo in the back</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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There’s no running water in the
house right now. Apparently the water table drops so low in the dry season that
there is not enough water in the well for the water pump to work effectively.
The water table is starting to rise now that it’s the start of the rainy
season, but the running water probably won’t be back up until August. I don’t
mind not having running water. The only thing I wish was running was the
toilet, but it’s manageable by pouring a basin of water into the bowl to
“flush” it out. Taking a shower from a bucket is no big deal. In fact, I’ve
always kinda liked it. The only downside is that the water is freezing cold but
I’m too impatient to wait for water to heat up on the stove (I’d rather sleep
15 more minutes). So, I fill the cup with water from the bucket, hold my breath
and let it pour…any delay and you start to psyche yourself out. I can easily
take a shower and feel totally clean and refreshed with less than half a bucket
of water. I always feel guilty when I come home and have to wait for ages with
the water running while it heats up and then the nice water sort of lulls you
into taking a much longer shower than is really necessary. I think when I move
back home I will start collecting the running water while the temperature heats
up and using that water to make tea or wash dishes or water plants. Why let it
go to waste? If there is anything I have learned from the past few years, it is
that water is a precious commodity and we in the West take it for granted. When
you have to pump it out of a well, carry it one bucket at a time into the
house, boil and filter it to drink and boil it to make it warm, you appreciate
the fact that in the US all you have to do is turn a knob and you have all the
water you want, ready to drink and at whatever temperature you desire. That is
the luxury of all luxuries.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well, lunch is over now so I
better return to work. Since I ended with water, I’ll leave you with a couple
of water related links:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here’s an awesome website with 100
ways to conserve water:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.wateruseitwisely.com/100-ways-to-conserve/index.php">http://www.wateruseitwisely.com/100-ways-to-conserve/index.php</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The SteriPEN is a cool product
that uses UV light to kill waterborne microbes and sterilize drinking water…me
wants one!<o:p></o:p><br />
<a href="http://www.steripen.com/">www.steripen.com</a><br />
<br /></div>
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<br />The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-51724161645142603882012-05-08T15:33:00.000+00:002012-05-08T15:46:23.755+00:00Not your average commute to work<br />
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Today. Has. Been. Awesome. I left my house this morning at 6:30am,
bummed that I would have to sit at the airport for 3 hours waiting for the UN
flight to Voinjama. Then, around 9:30, they started handing out earplugs to the
passengers waiting in the holding area. I was told that sometimes the flight
between Monrovia and Voinjama is a Dash-7 plane and sometimes it’s a helicopter.
Since we were leaving from the international airport, my colleague (our
Liberian Field Coordinator) and I were resigned to taking the plane. But when I
got the earplugs I knew…it was chopper time! </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzWi0qMQcJ1ozKk8orUa3BxoL8AHRNuGJNotyBKw9tY9g2w12YNccCZqdf0OQ_0YMLPK5IRLEc57YAfuI-iwKD1dHlAZyjBfGVNfdTQEDnj-K2hY6RxzU_ARNmQzZtl1bK4-47rRI-t_O/s1600/IMG-20120508-00369.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzWi0qMQcJ1ozKk8orUa3BxoL8AHRNuGJNotyBKw9tY9g2w12YNccCZqdf0OQ_0YMLPK5IRLEc57YAfuI-iwKD1dHlAZyjBfGVNfdTQEDnj-K2hY6RxzU_ARNmQzZtl1bK4-47rRI-t_O/s640/IMG-20120508-00369.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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When I was working in Uganda in 2010 I was overseeing Mi-8 flight hours
for the Ugandan military flying from a base in South Sudan to the Central
African Republic and the Democratic Republic of Congo as part of their mission
against the LRA rebels. I was also overseeing C-130 cargo flights from Kampala
to Mogadishu for the African Union Mission in Somalia. I got to spend some time
in the presence of these cool aircraft but I never got to actually fly in them
and I have always wanted to. So when the chopper came in sight of the minibus
that was taking me and the 15 other passengers to the flight, I got super
excited. I wanted to bounce up and down on my seat and squeal and clap my hands
like a little schoolgirl, but I refrained. Since all of the other passengers
were male, mostly African, Yemeni, Jordanian and Pakistani, and most were in UN
military or police uniforms, I figured they wouldn’t appreciate my naïve excitement.
Also, they all seemed to be a bit bummed because the plane is faster and more
comfortable than the chopper. </div>
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<br /></div>
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My excitement only grew as I walked up the three little steps into the
cabin. There were two benches running down each side of the chopper and our
luggage and cargo was strapped down the middle. We all boarded and took a seat
on one of the benches. One of the crew asked the guy next to me to move down
further, but there was a bag hanging from a hook in the wall that was blocking
the seat. “Sir, you can take down that parachute and put it on the floor at the
end of the bench next to you” said the crewman with his Ukrainian accent. “So
this one’s for me I guess” the man said with a cheeky grin to those of us
sitting next to him. There was another parachute hanging across the aisle and I
made a mental note that that one was gonna be mine, lol.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDQb3M8B5XrNqGP0Z2FEtJ_PE1kObEmVdZYHUOTp6xvjqTXQXSdLKZWXcgNYZ5rhAciKo2bcRa7KXC6Eczld_kgLm_hqnIBNJIdb1tdlpWGTVmoolRtWFlK-AA1_cP5RtKXtrebdz1cbWB/s1600/IMG-20120508-00362.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDQb3M8B5XrNqGP0Z2FEtJ_PE1kObEmVdZYHUOTp6xvjqTXQXSdLKZWXcgNYZ5rhAciKo2bcRa7KXC6Eczld_kgLm_hqnIBNJIdb1tdlpWGTVmoolRtWFlK-AA1_cP5RtKXtrebdz1cbWB/s640/IMG-20120508-00362.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the cabin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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The Ukrainian crewman gave us a safety briefing. “Thank you for flying
with us today. Please buckle your seatbelt. There are three exits…here, here
and one in the back compartment behind that green curtain. The windows open
like this” (open) “ and close like this” (close) “Please wait until we park in
Voinjama to stand up. Using your earplugs will make you more comfortable”. Do I
totally have a crush on the blond haired, blue eyed, tanned and muscley Ukrainian
crewman in his combat fatigues with his chopper headphones on? Ohhh da!
(actually, yes in Ukrainian is apparently tak, but that joke is much better in
Russian <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>).
Eventually they started the engines and the seat started vibrating and the rotors
starting whirring causing a mini strobe-light shadow effect in the cabin. We
briefly lifted off the ground and hovered for a few seconds and then set back
down and started driving down the runway. Next thing I knew, we were in the
air. We flew the 1 hour journey at about 2,000 ft. It definitely was not a
comfortable ride. My back was up against the wall and half of a window, so I
mostly leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees and my teeth chattered
from the vibration the whole time. Some of the guys managed to sleep which I
thought was impressive despite the guy next to me occasionally nodding over
into me.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzD9Z4RmMvf2m1Vdcf2sXCs0l7ss1E94G9lMM0Hp4ZhspNTXGS2QuOs41IQzFj3b1kEo_df7eeKfsjfmKAkXBJACZQPTBNW0MJ3FB-uQGpWROWfwTlmTek6a4Rr2EaySPgLaIa8yc9Om-o/s1600/IMG-20120508-00364.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzD9Z4RmMvf2m1Vdcf2sXCs0l7ss1E94G9lMM0Hp4ZhspNTXGS2QuOs41IQzFj3b1kEo_df7eeKfsjfmKAkXBJACZQPTBNW0MJ3FB-uQGpWROWfwTlmTek6a4Rr2EaySPgLaIa8yc9Om-o/s640/IMG-20120508-00364.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View out the window I was leaning against</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<o:p>Watching the lush jungle passing below out the window, the parachute hanging from the wall and all the cargo strapped down with cargo nets…I definitely felt like I was in a movie…maybe some Nam film and this was my platoon and we were heading for the drop point. I had a few seconds of envisioning myself going through basic training. Then we started landing and I snapped out of lala land. I am definitely Tropic Thunder not Semper Fi. </o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Days like this remind me why I love my job. Who needs rush hour traffic
and a tiny cubicle with florescent lighting when you can be in a helicopter flying
out into the African bush?</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ12ZKvlKmfbb_57WxVvkhiG6YbqwrEPb6gD6GozNOWS_b3qyIrUg-C4SuwzoQx4fz3tl0LkasuCPUjsFqzzi8ec7lDEzJLvTRPN9i2mxNelgrX6w6-Z66g2iZWUAAS6esMIgALg9enKie/s1600/IMG-20120508-00374.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ12ZKvlKmfbb_57WxVvkhiG6YbqwrEPb6gD6GozNOWS_b3qyIrUg-C4SuwzoQx4fz3tl0LkasuCPUjsFqzzi8ec7lDEzJLvTRPN9i2mxNelgrX6w6-Z66g2iZWUAAS6esMIgALg9enKie/s640/IMG-20120508-00374.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Voinjama airfield</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-10150335934526275942012-05-07T16:58:00.000+00:002012-05-07T17:08:24.567+00:00Nom nom nom<br />
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It’s official. I have an eating disorder. No matter where I am in the
world, whether a street cart in Thailand or a 5-star restaurant in New York
City...I drop food in my lap or down the front of my shirt. I am like a 2 year
old child learning to eat with a fork apparently. It drives me bonkers. I need
to start packing a bib or some overalls in my suitcase. The super annoying
thing is that doing laundry in the field can often be a pain. Sometimes my
schedule is such that if I’m moving around a lot and if I don’t time it just
right, I can miss the window of opportunity to do laundry and find myself
without clean clothes for a few days. Most things can usually be worn again but
not when there is a big blob of grease or dried spinach down the front. Today a
piece of lettuce covered in sauce fell from my sandwich and cascaded down the
front of my shirt before elegantly plopping in my lap. Lovely.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Last year at this time I was also in Liberia. I spent two months out in
the countryside near the Cote D’Ivoire border and I remember pretty clearly
what the local shops had to offer…biscuits, spaghetti, canned tomatoes, canned
beans and, weirdly, lots of jars of mayonnaise. Typically all the shops have
the same random things that come off the same supply trucks. When we stay in
shared housing at field sites, my organization usually provides a cook, though
we all chip in for the food. Normally for breakfast you get some sort of omelet
and/or bread or these pretty awesome crepe-like things. Then for lunch you get
rice and beans, cassava or potato greens and sometimes fish or chicken. There
is also typically plenty of fresh (and amazing) pineapple and avocado. For
dinner you usually have left over lunch. I remember last year I really enjoyed
the food the cook made. I never really felt deprived of anything and I like to
use field assignments as an opportunity to try and drop a few pounds (or 10 or
15). The only problem was the weekend. That’s when we had to fend for ourselves
which meant that I ate spaghetti or rice with tomatoes and kidney beans every
single weekend for every single meal. Once we found some nice eggplant at the
Saturday market and threw those into the mix. There is generally nowhere to eat
out in the villages either. I tried it twice last year and both times wound up
with water soup, which was rancid bush meat in pond scum. Okay, okay, that is
probably not the actual ingredient list…I’m sure there was some salt and oil in
there too.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Last year in Liberia the cook put Maggie cubes (crawfish bullion) in
just about every single dish. I could tell I was eating a lot of salt so my
first R&R I bought some low-sodium, all natural, organic, vegan,
gluten-free, cholesterol-free, MSG-free, nut-free, what-ever else free Whole
Foods vegetable cubes. I carried about 30 of those suckers around with me
for like 6 months and to like 5 different countries. But not once did I find
myself in a situation where I had a cook that was using stock cubes. After
awhile they started getting kinda gross and once I even had ants in my bag so I
wound up leaving them behind in Haiti. This time around I brought a couple bags
of freeze dried fruit and a couple bags of granola.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Since I’m heading to the field early tomorrow morning for a couple months, I just made a
trip to the supermarket with the hope of buying some items to break up the
weekend monotony. I have a rather strong aversion to the prepackaged,
Frankenstein, soy/corn science experiments that we Americans like to call food.
The problem is that I also don’t have much imagination in the kitchen. This
means that I really dislike going to the grocery store. I’m not exaggerating
when I say that I had a minor panic attack the first time I went into a grocery
store in the US on my last leave in April. I wandered around, almost in tears,
totally overwhelmed by the variety of choices while knowing at the same time
that everything was really just made of the same 2 ingredients anyway. So,
let’s just say that grocery shopping in developing countries is also not one of my favorite
activities. In some places, like Lubumbashi in the Democratic Republic of Congo,
the supermarket shelves are pretty bare. In Haiti they are just like American
supermarkets but with a bit more stuff from South America. In Liberia the
supermarkets have tons of American products at 3 times the American prices. What
I wound up getting today is pretty ridiculous. Here is what I managed to buy
for $41 USD. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Box of Earl Grey tea</div>
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Box of green tea</div>
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Tin of pistachio nuts</div>
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Box of apple & cinnamon instant oatmeal</div>
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Small tub of dried banana chips</div>
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Container of Mott’s applesauce</div>
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3 Velveeta cheese and broccoli cup-a-soup-like Frankenstein, everything I hate about processed foods mac n’
cheese pots (but damnit I'm sure they taste good)</div>
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2 cans of sauerkraut</div>
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</div>
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Don’t even ask me what the sauerkraut is about. I haven’t got a clue.
My hands just reached up and grabbed them all by themselves. After that I gave up and decided
that I’ll just go hungry on the weekends. And at least I know if worse comes to
worse I won’t starve…I can always eat off my laundry :) ewww :(</div>The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-7982909188510769262012-05-06T20:28:00.001+00:002012-05-06T22:11:36.057+00:00Life out of a suitcase<div class="MsoNormal">
I think the Weary Traveller is a bit of a misnomer. It makes
it seem like I am tired of traveling and want to come home, which is not really
the case. I think I’m going to have to rename this blog the <i>Un</i>weary Traveller. But there is one
thing that I <i>am</i> weary of: packing…and
unpacking…and repacking, then unpacking again, then repacking once more, and so
on and so forth, ad infinitum. I’m at the point of losing my mind over it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I have to pat myself on the back and say that I have the art
of packing down to a science. I’m able to pack everything I need (and a few
things I don’t) into my rather small luggage (see the pic below), all under the
airline weight limits. I can handle all of my bags at the same time and rarely
use an airport cart. Who needs a cart? Carts are for sissies. I am an expert
maneuverer of rolling luggage and can deftly switch pulling hands mid-stride
with a quick and fancy body twirl. But right now I feel like picking up my
rolling duffle and emptying the contents over the side of my first floor
balcony. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikfYg9M1PJEmJSBfI_deItWjnRRnLt_ZLGmRZrONNFuqOgufv_iTb5Y5K9eslnlihyphenhyphenZt4EKvGANUxeAYW4wWerRc7_iuKUP6I-y9SfAiJDvAzO_UAs329pSrqJdN8HwDG3KCo9yGl1Wlh7/s1600/Luggage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikfYg9M1PJEmJSBfI_deItWjnRRnLt_ZLGmRZrONNFuqOgufv_iTb5Y5K9eslnlihyphenhyphenZt4EKvGANUxeAYW4wWerRc7_iuKUP6I-y9SfAiJDvAzO_UAs329pSrqJdN8HwDG3KCo9yGl1Wlh7/s320/Luggage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I am longing for the opportunity to actually put my stuff away. Oh the
joy of a cupboard where I can hang up my perpetually wrinkled clothes or a
shelf where I can set out my toiletries. Oh the torture of constantly leaking
bottles and having to pull out everything I own just to get to that one thing
that rests at the bottom of my suitcase. It is my life’s mission to find a tube
that does not leak. I have tried them all and I think I am just going to have
to invent my own. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I haven’t unpacked at the apartment I’m in because I’m
leaving soon. The problem I’m facing now is that I have probably 40kgs worth of
stuff that I have to sort through and reduce to 15kg. See, early Tuesday morning
I am flying to my first field site, a town in the far north of the country near
the Guinea border called Voinjama. The UN flight limit for luggage is 15kgs. We
have a vehicle convoy that will be driving out to Voinjama on Friday, so the
rest of my luggage will come then. So, what’s the problem you ask? Just pack
what you will need from Tuesday night through Friday afternoon and you’re all
set, right? Oh, I wish it were that easy. I’m going to a pretty remote
location. I’ve been told to stock up on food because there is nothing really to
be found in the town for the weekend when I’ll have to fend for myself (at
least nothing that my sad Westerner self will be able to identify and cook). If
there is no food to be found, there is probably little else that I might need.
And what if my bag goes missing while en route by road? What if there is a
vehicle accident or hijacking or theft? What if they forget to put the bag in
the vehicle and I have to wait another week to get it? I seriously shudder to
think what I would do if my bag is lost. It is essentially everything I have in
the world that I actually need. Sure I have a small storage unit in DC with a
few yearbooks and some artwork and the like, but that’s not as necessary to my
survival as my supply of contact lenses or my shoes.</div>
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After an hour of fretting and weighing and reweighing my
stuff (travel luggage scale, never leave home without it) I think I have finally
gotten it sorted out. So, below are the contents of my red carry-on bag and
backpack…things I’ll need for a few days and some things I’ll wish I had if my
suitcase never makes it to me.</div>
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4 polo shirts</div>
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1 t-shirt</div>
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4 cargo capris</div>
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1 pair of yoga capris </div>
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1 pair of sneakers</div>
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1 pair of flip flops</div>
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5 pairs of knickers</div>
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3 bras</div>
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Towel</div>
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1 toiletry kit with tiny (like 1.5oz) travel size shampoo, facewash, lotion,
body wash, and curly hair gel</div>
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Razor</div>
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Toothbrush</div>
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Full sized toothpaste </div>
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Full sized contact lens solution</div>
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Contacts case and a handful of extra contact lenses</div>
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Various barrettes and hair ties</div>
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Face powder and eyeliner </div>
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Small travel mirror</div>
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Travel size bug spray</div>
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Travel size bug bite anti-itch spray</div>
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Travel size sunscreen</div>
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Sunglasses</div>
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Eyeglasses</div>
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Emergency first-aid and survival kit</div>
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Leatherman tool</div>
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Headlamp flashlight</div>
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Winding flashlight (no batteries needed)</div>
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BPA-free water bottle</div>
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Laptop computer, charger and plug adapter</div>
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Nook e-reader and charger</div>
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Cell phone and charger</div>
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iPod and charger</div>
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Notebook and pens</div>
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External hard drive</div>The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-15951899382083519602012-05-05T16:41:00.001+00:002012-05-07T17:15:35.037+00:00"In the end, all a man ever really owns is his story"<br />
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People often tell me they wish they could travel more. I
usually think “so do it” but I understand that I have no children or responsibilities…heck,
I don’t even have furniture or a place to live. Traveling for me is pretty easy…when
you have no home, you are always traveling. But I think everyone should make
traveling a priority. There are two main benefits to traveling. First, you get
to step out of your normal routines. You don’t have to worry about commuting to
work or doing laundry or going to the grocery store to pick up the eggs you forgot
to buy the day before. I’m not saying there are no hassles to traveling…god
knows that waiting in line at airport security or standing on the curb for an
hour waiting for the rental car shuttle bus can be annoying steps in the
process of getting where you’re going. But those little hassles are worth it
and make up part of the overall experience. I think
too much routine is bad for the soul. Not everyone needs to live like I do,
totally routine-less. Often (especially last month on vacation), I wake up in
the morning in one place and then go to sleep that night in a different place.
But it’s good to step out of your routines for a little bit. It gives you a
break from the mundane and helps you to evaluate what is really important in
your life. It gives you some time to unwind and de-stress and not worry about
errands or chores or work.</div>
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The second benefit to traveling is experiencing new and
unfamiliar things. The title of this post is one of my favorite quotes of all
time (said by the Drover in the movie Australia). I think traveling injects
some of the most interesting chapters into our stories. I’m mean, let’s face
it, our day-to-day chapters are kinda the boring parts…wake up, go to work, go
to the gym (ha!), go home, cook dinner, watch tv, go to bed, rinse, repeat. No one besides your husband or wife is really
interested in those parts (and even then they are faking it half the time). But
I think the book of our lives gets interesting in the chapters about that crazy
road trip to the Grand Canyon or that amazing sunset you watched from the beach
in Jamaica or that time you got pick-pocketed on the train in Rome. Even the
time your flight was cancelled and you spent 8 hours in the airport and your
luggage was lost and you had to walk a mile in the rain to get to a hotel…it
may have sucked at the time but I bet you look back on it with a chuckle and it
makes for an interesting story to tell. </div>
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Having new and unfamiliar experiences keeps us sharp, keeps
us learning. It stimulates our curiosity and keeps that fire of exploration
alive. It injects a bit of adventure. It helps us to see how other people live
and to reflect on how we live our own lives. For me, the best trips are those
that take me outside my comfort zone…you learn what you’re made of, what you’re
capable of dealing with and what is really important to you. I consider myself
to be a very confident person, perhaps to a fault (I definitely think I am
totally rad <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>).
That confidence grew from my travels. I’m
pretty certain that I can handle most anything life throws at me…not just while
on the road but in day-to-day life as well. As a result, I don’t really worry
about things. I’ve learned there is no point in worrying about what you can’t
control and, if it is within my control, well, then, I know I can work it out
or deal with it. Anyway, enough about how awesome and capable I am, lol. I seem
to have gotten myself on a tangent. This post was originally going to be about cool
places to find travel contests and sweepstakes. Guess I’ll save that for
another time.</div>
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I’ll just conclude by saying that I think you should take a
trip. Make traveling a priority. It doesn’t have to be expensive or take all
your vacation hours at work, if that’s what you’re worried about (but keep in
mind you should definitely use all those vacation days…that’s what they’re
there for!). You can do something little to break your routine and experience
something new...even if it’s just packing a picnic and driving two hours to the
nearest waterfall or Indian dwellings or whatnot. Find your inner explorer, put
down that vacuum and hit the road. </div>
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If you need some inspiration, check out Intrepid Travel (<a href="http://www.intrepidtravel.com/">www.intrepidtravel.com</a>). I have never
taken any of their tours, but I adore their website and search through it
often. They have some amazing trips at affordable prices and whenever I go to
their site I dream of running off to cycle around Asia or go sailing in New
Zealand or learn to tango in Buenos Aires.</div>
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Happy trails!</div>The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-42947606469661880312012-05-03T19:17:00.001+00:002012-05-03T19:21:42.959+00:00"I haven't been everywhere, but it's on my list"<br />
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I made it back to Liberia last night. This is my fourth time here.
Who would have thought Liberia would become one of my most frequented
countries? So far I have encountered two things that tug at my heartstrings and
make me feel happy to be back...the accent and the handshake. It's a bit hard
to describe the accent...perhaps imagine some Caribbean sounds mixed
with dropping a few letters from each word and then add an "o" sound
at the end of each sentence. The handshake is a bit easier to describe...you
start by grabbing hands, shake like normal and then slide your fingers to the
ends of each other’s hands and snap off each other’s fingers. It is totally
rockin'. I love it when you can get a really good snapping sound. It makes you
feel super cool...unlike the clumsy, awkward, how many kisses am I actually
supposed to give, European style cheek smack (no offense to any of you
Europeans out there...but really...how many kisses are you supposed to give?)<o:p></o:p></div>
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It feels good to be back in the field after a month off. It’s almost
like a break from my break. I feel super lucky to have a job where I can have a
month off at a time, but I sure crammed a lot of traveling into that month. I
decided, for my own entertainment, to create a map. I shall formally dub this my
April of Airplanes. Here’s a rundown of all the places that I spent the night which
I had to either fly to or drive at least 1 hour to get to…South Sudan to Reston,
VA to Southern Pines, NC to Denver, CO to Buena Vista, CO to Vero Beach, Fl, to
Denver, CO to Seattle, WA to Denver, CO to Silverthorne, CO, to Denver, CO to
Reston, VA to Monrovia, Liberia. I think the longest day of all was when I woke
up in Buena Vista, CO at 8am then drove an hour to Silverthorne, CO for brunch
then drove another hour to Denver to pack then flew 4 hours to Orlando then
drove 2 hours to Vero Beach, FL. I finally arrived at my destination at 2am. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mGbxpUiEZb4agD8047uiZc_8_RMBwixZwCyTsFZ8prPIM-NguDmSUUKf20MJlKibSupkci7mTGPjiEVWfg3FtGqVOuY5-yUKjNo7EwmV6_qNe-LwJNgy5eSHLc3vFsFNZDdZv7DGdsN5/s1600/April.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mGbxpUiEZb4agD8047uiZc_8_RMBwixZwCyTsFZ8prPIM-NguDmSUUKf20MJlKibSupkci7mTGPjiEVWfg3FtGqVOuY5-yUKjNo7EwmV6_qNe-LwJNgy5eSHLc3vFsFNZDdZv7DGdsN5/s640/April.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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My April of Airplanes resulted in some amazing times though. I
hiked in the mountains, I walked on the beach, I saw Mt. Rainier on a crystal
clear day, I visited two beautiful waterfalls, I soaked in some hot springs, I
went to an all-American wedding with a groom in full Army uniform, I saw all of
my immediate family, I saw many of my best friends, I had two massages, I ran a
5k race, and I saw every movie I wanted to watch including the Hunger Games
twice and Zac Effron with his shirt off (yeah, I said it). Most importantly
(sorry friends and family) I got to eat Mexican food. I also got to visit and
say goodbye to my dying grandma. It was heartbreaking, but I feel thankful that
I got to say goodbye.<o:p></o:p></div>
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All in all, it was a month I’ll never forget.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well, time for me to sign off. I’ll leave you with another one of
my favorite travel quotes:<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list” – Susan Sontag<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7701042912350797440.post-21911220929247096572012-05-03T16:32:00.000+00:002012-09-28T04:08:58.952+00:00Finally...what you've all been waiting for!I have finally decided to join the digital age and become socially networked and whatnot and start a blog. Normally when I travel I send ridiculously long and rambling e-mails home to friends and family, but that has gotten hard to keep up with. I'm thinking that bite-sized blog posts will be easier and more fun to manage than super-sized e-mails.<br />
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So...check back often for updates on my travels and tips, products, and stories that I discover on my adventures. I promise you will be entertained, enlightened and made just that little bit smarter by my amazing wit and keen observation skills ;). I'll try to update as often as possible but I'll be spending the next 3 months in rather remote field sites and internet connection will sometimes be limited.<br />
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Since this blog will mostly be about travel and adventure, I will leave you with one of my favorite travel quotes:<br />
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"All travel has its advantages. If the passenger visits better countries, he may learn to improve his own. And if fortune carries him to worse, he may learn to enjoy it." - Samuel Johnson<br />
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I'm definitely of the "learn to enjoy it" persuasion. One thing I've gained from traveling is an appreciation of the fact that a happy, fulfilled life can take many forms.<br />
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Here are a couple links to some other travel quotes that might inspire your own adventures:<br />
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<a href="http://exploreforayear.com/inspiration/55-quotes-travel">http://exploreforayear.com/inspiration/55-quotes-travel</a>
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<a href="http://matadornetwork.com/bnt/50-most-inspiring-travel-quotes-of-all-time/">http://matadornetwork.com/bnt/50-most-inspiring-travel-quotes-of-all-time/</a>The Weary Travellerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07381185726825230944noreply@blogger.com0