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.

More from Muizenberg

This weekend was incredible. We made it to Boulders Beach and saw South African penguins, hiked out to Cape Point, met some friendly baboons, and even caught a few waves on Sunday. Enjoy the pictures.

The infamous Boulders Beach.

A jackass penguin. (No, really, that's what they are called. They sound like, well, jackasses.)

Cape Point.

Just like Karen.


Luckily we didn't get attacked by this guy.

See? We look pretty good on shore.


And even better in the water. Sarah is the one surfing, on the right.

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

It’s strange—being here, away from home, seems to make the highs higher and the lows lower. The past days have been filled with frustration. At the risk of sounding like a whiner, these are some of the things that have added to my stress level recently: my camera broke. The rental car broke. We didn't make it to Cape Point over the weekend. I spent half of my day on Monday in a cubicle gluing together foam rubber sandwiches which will one day be made into neck splints. I got ripped off and ended up spending around $50 on a 20 minute cab ride. I hate feeling that I am always engaged in an uphill battle.

But, on the flip side, being in a foreign country makes me look at the world with new eyes. Even the most everyday, mundane details are fascinating. Have you ever heard anyone speak Xhosa? It’s beautiful. People make there great half-chirp-half-clicks with their tongues on top of the syllables of the words. Also, last week, Sarah and I were eating lunch in the café, and we looked out the window and there was one of the kitchen-staff people, standing outside of the building making deep fried dough to sell in the café.

And like I’ve mentioned before, I am learning quite a bit about healthcare and therapy as well. This morning Sarah and I observed burn surgery. It was quite the experience. I can’t say that it made me want to be a surgeon, but was fascinating to be on the other side of the knife. The operation we saw was pretty grotesque, but then again I hear that most burn surgeries are pretty gruesome. For most of the procedure, the doctors used a long razor blade to debride (aka shave off the dead skin) the third degree burn wounds that the woman had over the front and back of both of her legs. After witnessing the surgery, I have a new appreciation for the pain the people on the burn unit have to live with everyday.

The end of this week marks the half-way point of my rotation in the hospital. I’ve only got two more days to sew pressure garments—Monday will bring new adventures in rheumatology. But until then, I’ll try to find a camera to post a few pictures of some of the great spandex burn suits I’ve made.

Surf's Up, Dude!

Saturday morning called for some spontaneous surfing. So, we hopped into a VW Chico with the three guys from Liverpool who live down the hall from us, drove to Muizenberg, and hit up a surf shop for some very stylish wetsuits and surfboards. (I've got pictures, but my camera is currently under the weather. Hopefully, I'll get it fixed this weekend.)

Seeing as I'm from the Midwest, and can probably count the number of times I've been to the ocean on once hand, I decided that it would probably be a good idea to start off my surfing career with a lesson from a real live surfer. This ended up being a fabulous decision. Donovan, our surfing instructor, had all sorts of pearls of wisdom to share with us like: if you fall off, just put your hands over your head like this. (Sorry, if the camera was working Figure 1 would be here.) Donovan started us out on the beach and had us lay on our surfboards and then jump up really fast and assume a surfer pose. It was hilarious and wonderful and I think it actually helped my surfing.

But, my favorite part was after we actually got into the ocean. Donovan had us lay on our boards and would push us when a wave would come so that we could "catch it" and try to get up. (Note: emphasis on "try." I probably made it to standing every third wave. ) I can't say that I'm a surfing prodigy, but overall it went better than I had hoped. And it was AMAZINGLY fun!!Maybe I'll move to the coast when I get back to the States.

Good Day, Sunshine

Today was a great day. Nothing particularly special happened, but a lot of little things made everything seem, well, good.

It was warm and sunny here today. This may not seem like a big deal, but it is! The building I am living in (as well as the majority of the hospital) is not heated, and when the temperature drops, it gets really cold and damp. During the past cold spell, it got so cold that the buildings never really warmed up during the day. And night was even more uncomfortable; two blankets, a sweatshirt, socks and a hat and I still felt chilled. Waking up to a room that is 45 degrees Farenheight is not pleasant.

But, back to the good: I spent this afternoon following one of the therapists on the inpatient burn ward. I helped out here and there—did a little passive mobilization of some peoples’ bandaged hands and a few range stretches with a couple of very sweet, grandmotherly African women. I still can’t do a ton on my own, and I spent the majority of my afternoon watching the therapist. Even though I’ve spent quite a bit of time with this OT, for some reason, I was struck by how skilled he seemed. Everything he did was right. (Maybe this hit me today because most things I do these days seem only partially right or downright wrong.)

Those of you who know me well know that I’ve spent many days wondering weather or not I’m really cut out to do the OT gig. Worries about getting stuck in a boring job and doing “unskilled” work have run through my head on more than one occasion. It’s just that I’ve seen a lot of therapists that don’t seem to be doing much for the person he or she is supposed to be helping. I could go into a few specific examples about games of “Name that Tune” and the use of sock aids, but I’ll spare you. I get depressed when I think that I am going to turn into one of those people one day.

I think one of the reasons I really like it here is because even though the hospital is far from beautiful and working conditions are often pretty bad, I’ve seen that the services the therapists offer here fill a definite need. Their work matters. This afternoon I saw with new eyes that all of the little things the therapist did made a big difference for the people he treated.

There were also some hilarious (and totally inappropriate) moments when this one guy kept hitting on one of the PTs and threatened “don’t make me get up and hurt you!” even though he had burns on over 60% of his body and could barely bend his legs. (This may not sound funny, but it was, I promise.) I love these moments of humor and light-heartedness—they remind me that real people exist under all of the bandages and wound rot. Sometimes this is easy for me to forget; burns can be a very de-humanizing injury. Something about all of the gore can be horrifying.

And other things that made the day good: I talked to one of my best friends on the phone for an hour, I went to the gym and lifted weights, and Sarah and I split a 65% cacao chocolate bar after dinner. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Happy Fourth

The following is a real conversation that occurred at 7AM this morning:

Sarah: Karen, happy fourth of July.
Karen: Happy fourth of July, to you. Are you feeling very patriotic today?
Sarah: I'd be feeling more patriotic if work was cancelled and I was heading to a barbecue.

Sadly, Sarah and I (and everyone else in South Africa) spent Independence Day at work. But, I think this is a good time to write about some of the funny things that people associate with the States.

Last week, as Sarah and I were sitting down for lunch, someone at the hospital referred to us as George Bush’s daughters. Yikes. Even scarier, this launched us into an entire conversation about American politics and left Sarah and I to explaining the geography of the state of Mississippi. (That was interesting.)

Today, after I had introduced myself to one of the med student interns, he asked me if I had ever been to the hospital that’s on ER. Then he wanted to know if the weather is really as bad as it is on the show. He didn’t believe it when I told him yes.

Another friend wanted to know if everyone is really a size 0? And followed that question up with, is it true that everyone eats at McDonalds all of the time?

But, the most common question people ask me when they find out I’m from the States, and Chicago, especially: “Have you ever seen Oprah or been to her show?”

So, there you have it: Oprah, Bush, and Micky D’s. Happy Fourth, everyone.

In Response...

The blog I wrote last week about the guy from Angola has had some interesting responses, and I'd like to clarify a few thoughts and throw out a few more ideas. (If you haven't read the comments, you may want to take a minute to do a little perusing now.)

In response to the anonymous commenter: I think, for the most part, I agree with you. On one hand, I realize that I am from the United States, and because of my background I possess more wealth and opportunity than many in the world. However, I am by no means saying, "Yeah it's not my fault, I didn't choose to be born in the US" and leaving it at that. That is the last thing I want to say.

Secondly, there's no question the Lord calls different people to different vocations in all walks of life. Some are called to be engineers and teachers and lawyers. As the anonymous commenter pointed out, some, like Solomon are born with silver spoons in their mouth.

The question I'm posing is not: How do I get rid of my silver spoon? But rather, since I happen to have this spoon, how am I using it? Am I using it for my own edfication, or am I feeding others with it, too? To speak less metaphorically: How am I using my calling to serve God and others? Am I a good steward of the resources the Lord has given me?

Personally, I would like to think the answer to this question is yes, but meeting people like the man from Angola reminds me that it's good do do a little self evaluation every once in a while. The way I use my resources affects others in a very real sense. (And by the way, when I use the word "resources" I'm not just talking about money--opportunity and influence play a big part, as well.)




On a slightly different topic: I'm a little wary about the comment, "We are not to be advocates, but rather continue the advocacy Christ did (continue the ministry of reconciliation)." Maybe I don't fully get the gist of this statement, but if anonymous means that Christians only need to worry about saving souls and reconciling the "unsaved" to the the Lord, I disagree.

Yes, being a faithful person and knowing the Lord is important. Very important. But how can you care about a person's soul without caring about the rest of them? People aren't just souls--they are physical beings who live in a physical world and experience physical pain. I love the fact that when I read the gospels and look at Christ's ministry, I find that Jesus didn't just preach salvation. He healed sick people and fed hungry crowds. He cared for people's bodies and their souls. I can't think about this topic without the words of Matthew 25 coming to mind:

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my
Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation
of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty
and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I
needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in
prison and you came to visit me.'

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever
you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

I have a hard time accepting ministry that is without advocacy. If Christians are not the ones to advocate for those who need it most, who will? Not to mention, advocacy for those who can't care for themselves is probably one of the greatest testimonies a person can give.

And one more thing, on the topic of people with wealth choosing to live in voluntary poverty: As Becrowe pointed out, "even such ways of living brings us no understanding of what it is like to live in a cycle of povery." It's true, voluntary poverty isn't quite the real deal. People who choose poverty almost never end up in intractable poverty--in other words, the person choosing to be poor doesn't get stuck in the cycle of poverty themselves. However, I don't think we should knock voluntary poverty as a bad idea. The church has a long history of supporting communities of people who choose to live in solidarity with the poor. Recently, I read a book by Scott Bessenecker entitled "The New Friars." The book details movements of Christians who choose to give up their wealth and commit their lives to others. It's a fascinating and unsettling read. I highly recommend it.

Thanks to all for their thoughts and encouragement.

Anonymous, I'm intrigued. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

It's About Time

Hey friends, sorry I haven't posted for a while. The Internet was out over the weekend and since Monday life in OT world has been nuts. So, it's time for some blogging.

(By the way, thanks to all of the comments on the last post. I've got a response in the works. Stay tuned...)

First of all: Fieldwork. Like I mentioned earlier, life in OT has really picked up. Now that I've been around for two weeks, the therapists I've been working with have been giving me more and more opportunities to participate in treatment. Overall, I appreciate these opportunities and I am learning A TON, but I have to admit, I spend a lot of time feeling incompetent. I haven't seriously injured or killed anyone yet, but I keep messing up little things. On Tuesday my supervisor in the burns outpatient clinic let me "be the therapist" and I kept getting stuck. Grrr. I hate feeling like I don't know what I am doing.

To make life even more stressful, the head of the academic department at the university has decided that Sarah and I need to abide by university requirements and do some pretty extensive weekly assignments. And, on top of everything else, these assignments have unearthed a longstanding rift between the university and the hospital staff. I absolutely hate drama like this. This morning, though, I had a good meeting with a couple of hospital and university people and I think I finally got things worked out. Cross your fingers for me.

But, enough with the bad. Some really great things have been going on, too. Like I said, I'm learning a ton! I've had the chance to do some pretty cool things like splint clients in the ICU and do my own documentation. (Yeah, I know, that part doesn't sound too exciting--but it is!) Last night we had pancake night at the international student hostel. I like to think that we had our own international house of pancakes. (Insert laugh here.) Sarah and I cooked up the hotcakes and everyone else brought toppings. It was soo good. We had ice cream and strawberries and whipping cream and walnuts and other delectable toppings. It makes me salivate just thinking about it.

Living in the hostel has been great. We don't have a television, (or much of anything else!) so every night a bunch of us cook dinner and then sit around and talk until bed. And seeing as people are from all over the world and have many different perspectives, we've had some great conversations.

That's all I got for now. But don't worry, there's more to come!

Injustice on a Thursday Morning

I talked to so many people today. It was great. I love having opportunities to hear other people talk about their lives. It's like the grown up version of story time.

This morning, I found myself chatting with a youngish guy from Angola. He had come to South Africa to work a couple of years ago and landed in OT after a bad burn injury. As he was telling me about his life in Angola, he stopped and said, "For people like you--foreigners from the United States, you would have no problem in my country. You would be able to get a job and make good money. But for people like me, living is hard. I can't find work and I can't just let other people put food on my table. "

I didn't know how to respond, and honestly, I don't quite remember what I said. My gut reaction was to come back and say something like, "I didn't choose to be born in the United States. I didn't have any say in the family I got or the neighborhood I grew up in...it just sort of worked out that way." Now, I know that my Angolan friend wasn't holding my background against me, or trying to be offensive, but I was very uncomfortable.

I've been in a couple of similar situations over the past few years and every time I've come away feeling exceptionally guilty about the life I have. Injustice is not an easy thing to live with and I often forget that I am a privileged person; most of the time I don't think twice about the opportunities I take for granted every day. I probably shouldn't feel guilty about factors I can't control, but I think it's good to take a hard look at how I'm using the resources I possess. How do I personally address injustice in my everyday life?

More than anything, this morning reminded me that with privilege comes responsibility. And it's hard to live responsibly.

There's no good ending to this post. I don't have any answers; this is a topic I will probably think about and wrestle with for the rest of my life. But, if you have any ideas, post a comment and send them this way. It would be good to hear what you have to say.

A Great High Mountain

This weekend called for a little adventure. So, I grabbed some of my closest friends and we headed toward Table Mountain for some hiking.

But after we started, we decided that it would be better to check the map, first.

We hiked up a lot of steps and rocks. And more steps and rocks. But, the hardest part of the hike was when we had to climb up part of a waterfall. I was soaked.

But it was a beautiful sunny day, so it was easy to keep smiling.

We took lots of pictures...

...and met some friends from Canada and Texas along the way.

It was all worth it for the breathtaking view at the top.

It was a good adventure.

Strike!

So, remember that comment I made earlier about wanting to experience "real" South Africa? Well, it turns out I may doing just that, in a strange sort of way.

Sarah and I did not go to work today because of the national labor strike that is going on here. For those of you who aren't up on your South African current events, government workers have been on strike for about the last 10 days because they want a pay increase of 10%--while the government is only offering them 6%. Today Willie Madisha, president of the Congress of South African Trade Unions (Cosatu), is predicting that a total of two million workers are going to take part in the strike.

The therapists we are working with at the hospital aren't directly involved in the strike, although many nurses have stopped coming into work. Yesterday I heard that infants who are being admitted into the ICU are dying because there is no one around to feed and change them.

Don't worry, though. We're not in any serious danger, they just wanted to be on the safe side and make sure the American exchange students don't get into any bad situations.

Day One

Sarah and I successfully completed our first day day of fieldwork. Yes!

Even though it's only been one day, I think coming here for fieldwork may have been one of the best decisions I've made in a long time. I have a feeling that the experience I will have here is different than anything I would have had in the states.

The hospital we are at is a state run facility. The layout of the building kind of looks like an "H" made of two separate buildings connected by walkways. During apartheid, white folks were in one building and everyone else was in the other. I still can't quite wrap my mind around this.

I learned that I'm going to be working in burns for six weeks and then rehumatology. This is very exciting. (Right now you are probably thinking: burns?...BURNS! Karen, you are one sick puppy...) It's true, burns are one of the most painful and disfiguring injuries that a person can have, but I've always been intrigued by burn injuries because even though the injury is nasty, people who are burned often have great recoveries and go back to living normal lives.

I learned that the majority of the people who get admitted to the burn unit here are lower-income folks who live in the surrounding townships. The number one reason people are burned: cooking injuries from explosions of paraffin stoves. Paraffin stoves are really cheap and not regulated, but many people are forced to use them because they can't afford a safer alternative.

The second reason people are admitted is because of domestic violence. Ouch. And the burns they see here are pretty intense, people don't get admitted unless over 20% of their body area is burned.

So, in any case, it should be a good learning experience, provided I don't pass out.

Half the World Away

Just a few tidbits for OT (or arbeitdsterapie) friends:

We had a chance to wander around the OT department here and check out the library. Things didn't seem as different as you may think--in fact, many things were surprisingly similar. Including...

Class pictures on the wall,

and the obligatory OT quilt wall-hanging.

Welcome to Bootcamp

Fieldwork doesn't start until Monday, and Sarah and I have been taking advantage of our mini-vacation by sleeping in, reading, and doing some exploring here and there.

This morning, while we were still in bed, we got a knock on the door, "You need to get up, now!!" And so we jumped out of bed, swung open the door, and met Francis, our very enthusiastic cleaning lady. She gave us clean sheets which we put on our beds. I guess we didn't do a great job, because upon examining our work, she asked us if we still lived with our parents and proceeded to re-make the beds. Sarah and I sheepishly watched as she man-handled the mattresses.

So, maybe I'll learn how to make beds in South Africa, too.

On the Waterfront

Getting off campus can be a little tricky, seeing as Sarah and I don’t have a car here. (Note: This may change shortly, and there’s a good chance you’ll have the opportunity to read about me learning to drive a manual on the left side of the road.) But yesterday, we called a cab and ventured off campus to the Waterfront area of Cape Town. We had a pleasant afternoon people watching and sea-lion watching. Another highlight was the tasty pancakes we ate for lunch.

Although wandering around the Waterfront made for a relaxing Sunday afternoon, all in all, I think this part of the city can be characterized as a tourist trap. The highly commercial, artificial atmosphere made me feel like I was in Disneyland or something. I think it is going to be hard to get a true taste of South African culture, not just the Euro-centric touristy brand I keep finding myself in. I hope that my placement in the hospital here (which starts next Monday) will change that.

Look, you can see Table Mountain in the background!

Sarah and her feta-tomat0-spinach pancake.

These guys put on a pretty good show.

Two Countries, One Mountain, One Day

Hello everyone!

Warm greetings from beautiful Cape Town. I'm excited to finally sit down and write and let you all in on what has happened during our short time in South Africa.

Sarah and I safely arrived In Cape Town on Friday morning after a 9 hour flight to London, a day spent snoozing on the leather couches at Heathrow, and a second 12 hour flight to Cape Town. All in all our travel was uneventful and included lots of sleep and some really good Belgian chocolate, but once we actually made it to the university things became very eventful.

We met up with the international student coordinator (Jeanenne, we finally met the infamous Mariska!) and she helped us get settled and showed us around the university.

Sarah and I are staying in the international student lodge, it's comparable to a hostel. The thing that's kind of funny about the international student lodge is that it isn't very international: the majority of the students who live there are German or Dutch, although there is one other American and a couple from Norway. Last night when we were hanging out with a few of our dutch lodge-mates felt strangely similar to my Calvin days.

Anyway, after we moved into our new home Sarah and I traveled to Lion's head, one of the mountains that the city of Cape Town is built around, with some of our new Dutch friends. Lion's head is part of Table Mountain National Park, a huge nature preserve minutes from the city. We half climbed, half rock-climbed to the top and watched the sun set over the Atlantic ocean. Gorgeous!

And climbing down the mountain in the dark was especially fun.

And then we ate pistachio nuts.

I could say more, but I'll save it for another day. I hope to write more about my experiences here as well as reflections on fieldwork. So, keep the comments and emails coming and we'll stay in touch.

PS Jeanenne, Sarah says that she is interested in doing some cage diving here. At first I didn't think this was a good idea, but it might give you a good reason to come visit us here...