The End is just the Beginning

I'm writing this post from my room which overlooks beautiful Niles, Illinois. It's 4:45 and I'm listening to the Fray and typing in my pajamas--but hey, that's the beauty of being home and not having a job.

First of all, my apologies to everyone for not posting during the past three weeks. The last two weeks in South Africa were incredibly jam packed. I spent way too much time in the computer lab finishing up the twenty-some page paper I had to write and the rest of the time went to spending time with friends from the hostel. There was a certain urgency to my last two weeks: I knew my days were limited and I wanted to make the most of every minute I had. So, blogging took a back seat. Sorry.

But, let me tell you, we had some great times during the last two weeks in South Africa. I think Sarah and I hosted a record number of group dinners for all sorts of people during the last two weeks. One night we made Chicago-style pizza for some of our South African and Norwegian friends. The funny part was that we had to cook the pizza in a frying pan because we didn't have any pie-plates or cake pans or casserole dishes. And it worked!!! Sometimes I think I like having limited resources because if brings about all sorts of creative thinking.

Another night we had a second pancake party. The pancakes were amazing, but the party was phenomenal because Marco, the man crazy enough to jump in the pool with me, brought over his extensive CD collection and we danced in the F unit kitchen for about four hours after we had finished devouring the pancakes. I will not forget this night any time soon. As we were laying in bed that night Sarah summed it up when she said, "Karen, that had to be one of the five most fun nights of my life." I would agree. Who would have thought you could have such a great time with medical students? I only wish I had taken pictures so you all could enjoy all of the silly goodness.

On a more serious note, Sarah and I met up with Frank Kronenberg one Saturday afternoon before we left and chatted about occupational therapy and South Africa and life. I heard Frank speak during my first year of OT school and ever since then I have followed his work. Frank is one of the founders of Occupational Therapists without Boarders and an all around wonderful person. It was so good to chat with Frank right before we left for home; he helped us process our experience and challenged us to share the knowledge and insights we had gained during our time in South Africa. I couldn't think of a better way to end fieldwork.

Sarah and I left Cape Town on September 4 and had an 11 hour flight to Frankfurt. Jake, one of my good buddies from the Crave, (my church family in St. Louis) graciously put Sarah and I up for the night and fed us amazingly wonderful crusty German bread with mustard that came out of a container akin to a toothpaste tube. Jake, you are great. I only hope one day I can share my mustard with you.

I arrived in sunny Chicago on Wednesday morning. It was hot and humid; it was the kind of summer day that requires you use about three times the normal effort to breathe because of the humidity. Things were okay until my dad started talking about how important it will be for me to find a job with good health insurance on car ride home from the airport. It was just too much too soon. I remember during my first couple of days in South Africa I was overwhelmed by how strange everything seemed. During my first few days home I was overwhelmed by how normal everything was.

The first thing I did when I walked into my parents house was finish a peach pie in the fridge and have a beer. I can't say that I was really hungry, but I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself and eating the pie seemed like the right thing to do. I probably wouldn't have chosen to have a beer with the pie, but there wasn't really anything else to drink in the fridge. Anyway, the meal was soothing and familiar and made me feel ready to tackle the next chapter of life.

So what's the next chapter?

Well, that's a good question. I start a second fieldwork on October 1 at a suburban-Chicago pediatric clinic. This clinical will be three months long, just like my stint in South Africa; I will finish right before Christmas.

Right now I'm enjoying not having to go to work every day, but I've been spending quite a bit of time trying to put the pieces of my new life together. I need to start applying for jobs. I need to find a place to live. I need to find a church to attend. And, I really want to find an ultimate Frisbee team to join. Even though I'm finally home, I feel like I am starting from square one. I haven't lived in Chicago for the past five years. In many ways Chicago doesn't feel like home, and I don't really have any friends here anymore. But, that's okay. Doing fieldwork in South Africa was a good confidence-builder for me. I keep thinking to myself, "Hey, if I can make it as an OT in Africa, I can probably make it just about anywhere." (For all you grammer buffs, am I supposed to use quotes to demarcate thoughts I have with myself? I've always wondered about the proper grammatical structure of these sentiments.)

So, here ends the travel blog. But, I think I'm going to keep blogging, at least for the next couple of weeks. I think I may have a few more thoughts. We'll see how it goes. Thanks for reading and thanks for all of your comments.

And, as always, if you feel inspired, send me an email. I'd love to hear from you.

-k

Seize The Day!

Today started at 4:45 AM with a knock at the door. Marco, my best (and only) friend from Chile was there holding his towel.

Yesterday, Marco and I had both agreed that we needed to go swimming in our pool, but I don't think that he realized that I was serious when I told him that I would jump in the pool with him at 5AM the next day.

At this point you are probably thinking, "Why, Karen?" Why bother to get up in the dark and swim in a freezing cold pool with a Chilean man?

Well, why not? The pool's there--why not go swim in it? Will this same opportunity ever arise again?

In a nutshell, this has been my philosophy on life, these days. My time in Africa is quickly coming to a close, and I'm beginning to feel a little pressured. I want to make the most of the time I have left.

On one hand, I'm ready to be done with fieldwork here. Hands just isn't my thing, and the days can be brutally long when we aren't seeing patients. Last week, I found a copy of "The Arthritis Handbook" and read it to keep myself occupied in the afternoons. But, on the flip side, I love living here. I could easily stay in Cape Town for another few months or year... I'm still awed by the beauty of this place, everything is so magnificent. This afternoon, Sarah and I drove to Camps Bay and sat on the beach and ate lunch. It was incredible--the mountains on one side, the ocean on the other, incredibly beautiful people walking around everywhere. I would have been content to just sit and take it all in until the sun went down.

But the sun hasn't gone down on our time in Africa, just yet...

Happy (Belated) Women's Day!

Happy Women's Day, everyone!

(Well, Women's day was actually last week Thursday, but I haven't been able to post for a week.) For all of you South Africa history buffs: Women's Day commemorates August 9, 1956 when some 20,000 women marched to the Union [government] Buildings in Pretoria to protest against a law requiring black women to carry passes. Today, the day is celebrated as a reminder of the contribution women have made to society, for women's rights, and to acknowledge the difficulties and prejudices many women still face. Isn't that great?! It makes me proud to be a woman. Last week I had lots of fun wishing everyone I ran into a happy women's day.

To celebrate Women's Day (and to take advantage of the long weekend...) Sarah and I traveled up to Johannesburg and Pretoria to catch up with some good friends. And, we actually made it to the Union Buildings in Pretoria.




The long weekend was fabulous and a much-needed change of pace. We visited the Apartheid Museum, saw the University of Pretoria, did a little shopping, and on Sunday our very gracious hosts made a braai for us. (A braai, rhymes with dry, is the South African version of a barbecue.) Although it was great to travel a little and spend some time with some time with friends, I was glad to leave Johannesburg on Sunday night.


I know I was only in Johannesburg/Pretoria for 4 days, but during my short stay I think I got a taste of what it must be like to live in fear. Almost everyone we talked to brought up the subject of violent crime. In fact, I'd say we probably spent at least an hour each day hearing stories of people getting attacked. This did not make me feel very good. And then there was the incident at the shopping mall. Sarah and I were pooped from walking around, but our friends wanted to do a little shopping, so we grabbed a bench and chilled out next to a giant cow statue.

While we were sitting next to "Moodonna" (Yes, that's what the thing was called...) a man missing multiple teeth came up to us and asked us if we were from Germany. We told him that in fact we weren't from Germany, but were Americans. This was a mistake. He mumbled for a while, made a few derogatory comments about George Bush, motioned slitting his throat, and walked away. The incident was more than a little creepy. The entire way home we looked over our shoulders to make sure that we weren't being followed.

Sunday dinner also ended up being an interesting experience. The people we we visited on Sunday were relatively well-off South Africans who lived in a nice neighborhood, had a beautiful house and graciously served us an incredible meal, complete with four different kinds of meat. (Yeah, I ate the avocado salad...) After the food was cleared from the table, we sat and chatted about all sorts of things. It felt so good to be in a house enjoying wonderful food with wonderful people. But, as the conversation went on, I was a little shocked when I heard our host use the n-word to refer a well-known African American politician. I think our host picked up on my discomfort and launched into a diatribe, telling me that he is a self proclaimed bigot who hates black (and colored) South Africans.

Now I was really shocked. A big part of me wanted to jump out of my chair over the table and attack the man, but I didn't. I felt helpless. I knew that there was no changing this man's mind. So, for about 30 minutes I listened to some of the most hateful words I had ever heard. It was unreal. Every muscle in my body was tensed as I tried (somewhat unsuccessfully) to ask this man thought-provoking questions and get him to defend his opinions.

After a while my anger melted into sadness. What could make this man hate another group of people so deeply? Fear, maybe? This man was terrified of the society in which he lived. His daughter had had her windshield smashed at a stoplight during the past year. His house had been broken into, and I'm sure there are many more incidences from over the years that I don't know about. The more he talked, the more it became apparent that he hated living in fear of violence, and in his mind, he equated violence with the black and colored segment of the population.

All of the sudden, I pitied the man. Years of living afraid of violence had made him incapable of seeing the hatred he fostered. Obviously, I don't agree at all with the racist views of my host, but the afternoon, as uncomfortable as it was, helped me understand in a new way that fear is the driving force behind hatred.

But, to my mom, and all of you who are still worrying about safety: don't worry, on Sunday night Sarah and I arrived safely back in Cape Town. And I was glad to be home.

Tidbits of Wonderfulness

Man oh man, the past few days have been delightfully random and very enjoyable.



This past week there was a week long missions conference here, on campus. I was privileged to sit in on a few of the sessions. Wow! I met some wonderful people and heard some pretty incredible stories. Tuesday, I head Carl Maderias (that's probably not spelled right, sorry Carl.) give a wonderfully reflective and bitingly humours address on why missions have nothing to do with religion. He had some great points and just kept bring it back to Jesus. If you want to hear more about it send me a comment--it was great. And even if you don't want to hear more, send me a comment anyway. The blog has been really dead recently. Is anybody other than my dad still reading?


Tidbit of wonderful randomness numero dos: Last night Sarah and I ran out of food. (Well, to be honest we didn't completely run out, we still had feta cheese and some peanut butter.) So, we decided to order a pizza. But because someone had stolen the refrigerator magnet with the number to our trusty local pizza delivery chain restaurant, I went hunting around the hostel for the number. I never found the pizza delivery number, but I found something even better: a great guy who gave me a small catalog and told me about Mr. Delivery. Whoa Man!! Life at the hostel will never be the same. Mr. Delivery will bring almost any restaurant-type food straight to your door. (Or mine, rather!) So, Friday night at 10:00 Sarah and I feasted on a delicious dinner of Chinese take out and Chocolate ice cream. Incredible. It is probably good that we didn't discover this amazing public service until now...

Also, it was sunny this weekend! This was especially wonderful because it was rainy and cold and damp all week. For the first time since I've been here, I went and sat out the pool with some good friends and got some reading in along with my daily allotment of vitamin D. (I still can't get over the fact that I live next door to a pool. How cool is that?!) The sunshine felt absolutely delicious on my very pale skin.

I've been re-reading a book I first picked up last summer, God has a Dream, by Desmond Tutu. This is an incredible little book. It's about a lot of things; Tutu talks about his work as the former Archbishop of South Africa and reflects on peace, reconciliation, and living justly. This time around I was particularly struck by the message of hope in the book. Over and over Tutu comes out and says South Africa's history is a testimony that there are no hopeless situations; peace can happen and love can--love will, win.

As I was getting sunburned, I came across a passage that reminded me of something I had previously posted on the blog which someone (anonymously) questioned. A while ago I wrote something to the effect of, "I have a hard time accepting ministry that is without advocacy...."

What I meant by this is that I have a hard time buying into a ministry (especially institutional ministries) when there is no outward focus--no action toward making very real hope a very real reality for people who may not have any connection with the Church. But I think Mr. Tutu says it better than myself:

"What is also interesting is how many times the prophets say that if your
religion does not affect the way you live your life, it is a religion God
rejects...What God wants is that we refrain from cruelty and oppression. What He
wants is that you loose the fetters of injustice and set free those who have
been crushed, that you share your food with the hungry, take the homeless poor
into your house, and clothe the naked. And when the people offer Him
sacrifice and a cacophony music and prayers, He rejects these in
words that must have shocked the worshipers..."

And on a completely different note, I'm in the middle of a small crisis: my pants keep shrinking in the wash. I guess this isn't that big of a deal, but I only have four pairs of pants and two are quickly becoming, well, let's just say I look like I'm waiting for a flood. Is there any way to prevent shrinkage other than cold water and no drying? Help! I guess I could just stop washing them, but then I might have bigger problems...

An Update from Hands

Happy August, everyone!!

I hope the eighth month of the year is finding you well.

I haven't written much about OT life recently, so this one goes out to all of you Wash-Uers who want to hear about things like dynamic wrist extension splints.

Last week, I started my second chunk of fieldwork in the outpatient hands clinic here. Technically, I'm supposed to have a rheumatology placement, but the majority of the people who come in have hand issues, so I'm pretty much immersed in hand therapy all day.

I definitely feel a lot more comfortable this time around. I understand the hospital culture and I know how to write notes and fill out paperwork. These two skills have helped me immensely! I like the therapists I am working with; they are very kind people and have been intentional about speaking English when I am around. (I can't tell you how thankful I am for people who speak English. It is so frustrating to be around people who can speak English but still choose Afrikaans, even when they know that I only speak English. Grrrr!)

While I have had many opportunities to do splinting (and let me tell you, I make one mean resting hand splint) and other treatments, I am finding that work in hands is either feast of famine. I hate the fact that I often have down time in the afternoons and have to occupy myself by reading the hand therapy protocol manual or cutting Velcro.

Even though I am working in outpatient, clients don't really have appointments--the hand clinic just has "clinic days." This means that people come on a certain day and wait to see a therapist. As a student, this set-up is slightly frustrating. I never know who is going to come in and I can't prepare by reading clients' medical charts ahead of time. (But hey, even if I had the chart I probably wouldn't be able to read it anyway because most of them are in Afrikaans...) The thing is, outpatient kind of has to work this way, though, because the majority of the people we see don't have reliable transportation or the means to come in at a set time. Also, being "on time" isn't a really a priority for a lot of people here. Things are just generally more laid back. It's quite a switch from the productivity-focused therapy departments back home.

The clientele in hands is also different from burn. The hand clinic sees a much broader variety of people and there are also more people who speak English. This too is good. When I can independently communicate with someone, I find I have a much higher probability of being able to independently treat him or her. I like the variety of hands. It is interesting to see people with different diagnoses and treatments; it's like a new puzzle every time someone walks in the door.

Even though hands is interesting, I don't see myself becoming a hand therapist anytime soon. As hard as I try, I still don't get very excited about flexor tendon repairs or Duran splints. But hey, I've only got four more weeks.

Gawking at Poverty

Sarah and I have a to-do list taped to our wall in F4 .

Early on, we added "Township Tour" to the list--friends from the hostel said that we had to do one; they all had gone and had amazing experiences.

Well, this morning we finally did it, and I'm still not quite sure what to think. But I can tell you the term "amazing" isn't the first word that I would use to describe the experience. But first, a little background info...

For those of you who don't know, as early as 1901 the government of South Africa began forcibly moving certain racial groups out of specific areas of South Africa. The majority of forced migrations took place under the Group Areas Act of 1950, a piece of legislation which essentially excluded any non-white person from from being allowed to live or work in established towns or economically viable areas. People were displaced to townships, urban residential areas away from cities. Today, many of South Africa's townships are essentially slum communities of government built housing and shack settlements that stretch out for miles.

Here's how a township tour works: Basically, people (mostly foreigners) pay about $40 (US) to ride around in a VW mini bus with a tour guide who talks about different aspects of South African history, government, and society. Periodically, the tour guide stops and lets everyone get out, take pictures, and wander around different community buildings. This morning we stopped at a pub, community pottery center, community medicine-center, hostel, kindergarten, and church.

Overall, the tour wasn't bad. We had a great guide. He was very informative and professional and at times I felt like I was listening to a lecture in a sociology class. Also, seeing township life and culture first-hand gave me valuable insight into the lives of the people I've been treating at the hospital.

But, I couldn't (and still can't) get over the feeling that the entire purpose of the township tour was to gawk at poverty. The whole time I felt like I was on one of those trams at the zoo, looking out the windows and taking in the sites--except here I was looking into the lives of real people and not just zebra and monkey cages. The more I think about it, the more I feel horrified at how de-humanizing it was.

When the time came for us to actually get out and walk around I felt even more awkward. I mean, I how do you even begin to talk to someone you meet on the street who knows that you are a rich white person visiting the community as some type of tourist attraction? It was so strange.

Throughout the tour, I kept holding out hope for the church visit at the end. I mean, attending a church service with other Christians seemed slightly less pretentious than snapping photos of "the natives" through the window of the tour bus. But, it wasn't. In some ways, the church service was the most surreal and bizarre experience of the entire trip. We filed into the back of a church, already in session, and listened as the preacher told us that, "They were gonna show us how they Praise the Lord in South Africa." All of the sudden church had become a show, too, complete with drum set and back-up singers.

If I had to pick a word to describe my township tour experience, I think I would pick some form of the word lament. I lament the fact that in 2007 there are still thousands and thousands (and globally, millions...) of people living in shacks. I lament the realities of domestic violence, and alcoholism, and unemployment that are all a very real part of life for people who live in a Township. And, I lament the gap that racism and classism and township-living has created in South Africa. At the end of the tour I stumbled out of the VW mini bus emotionally exhausted; it was more than I could take in. I felt like I had just attended a funeral.

To be fair, I should say that the tour guide told us that people who live in townships actually appreciate the tours because they feel tours are bringing awareness of township life. This is definitely a good thing. But, the very realistic part of my brain keeps reminding me that awareness alone doesn't do much.

Well, there are lot of things I could venture out on, now. But, I need to stop and attend to the schoolwork that is calling my name, even though I know the wheels in my head will keep turning.

As always, send your thoughts this way.

Awkward Forks and Church Attendance

Reflecting back on the past two months, coming to South Africa for fieldwork was a great decision. Everyday I learn new and different things, meet wonderful people, and am challenged to think about the world and my perceptions of it. But, there is one thing that has been less than great: church.

Sarah and I have been attending Sunday worship services with the congregation that meets on the campus of this university. Logistically, this works great—we don't have a car most weekends, so leaving campus is tricky. But, we can easily manage the trek across the parking lot without the help of a VW Chico.

I don’t want to turn into a worship snob. I really want to like the services and I want to like the people. Every Sunday I go in with an open mind, but somehow walk out more upset than when I started. I've attended five services, so far. Out of those five, four have had some exceptionally mediocre teaching. Last week, in the sermon, the pastor stumbled upon on the issue of tolerance, ranting and raving how Christians are not to be tolerant. They are the moral voice of society and need to be intolerant of society and have their voices heard.

I don't totally disagree with I think the pastor was trying to say, but the way he haphazardly started talking about this very important topic, giving it about 20 seconds time in a 70+ minute sermon left me full of questions: How do Christians remain intolerant of sin yet reach out to the people who need to hear a message of grace? What about groups of people who have been historically turned away from the church because of intolerance? How do Christians hold to their morals, yet remain a relevant voice in the culture as a whole? I still feel slightly unnerved when I think about it.

But the thing that really bothers me about the worship? The people. Every time I have attended Sunday worship I've walked away feeling completely unwelcome. No one (other than the usher standing at the door) says anything. I kind of feel like an extra fork at a fancy dinner: no one really knows what it’s for and doesn’t dare pick it up and use it or even move it off the table.

Even when I pep-talk myself into being assertive and approach people (Styrofoam coffee cup in one hand and Bible in the other) I haven't been well-received. I just kind of want to scream. It shouldn’t be this hard. It's been over two months since I left my church home in St. Louis, and the lack of Christian community in my life is beginning to wear on me.

Maybe this is a good realization. Even though I am constantly surrounded by people at the hostel and people at the hospital, I recognize that just being around people isn't enough. I need to be around people who love God and remind me that God's love is real. I need to hear someone else read scripture and feel the words sink into my soul. I need to hear the confession recited in unison and be convicted of my sin. I need to pray with other people.

I think, one of the reasons I’m so upset about this is because in the past, I’ve had some incredibly rich experiences worshipping with Christians from different parts of the world. A couple of years ago I traveled to Eastern Europe with my college band and we played concerts and worship services in churches all across Transylvania. It was amazing to worship with people we couldn’t even understand because we spoke different languages and feel so connected. My good friend Erin would describe it as encountering the “glue of the Holy Spirit.”

I haven’t quite given up hope on having a positive church-going experience, but honestly, even if things don’t get better, I’ll be okay and eventually find some type of Christian community when I get back to the States. But, I think my dilemma brings to light an important issue, mainly, how do communities (be it churches or neighborhoods, or co-ops, etc.) of Christian people practice hospitality well?

Once again, I don’t have all of the answers. But it seems that before communities can reach out to others, they need to cultivate strong bonds among existing members. And after that, who knows? Maybe all it will take is going up to the tall girl with the cup of coffee and extending a hand.