Eavesdropping

Have you ever overheard someone talking about you? It happens to us all the time. People in general are intrigued by tubabus (white people) and discuss us at great length. If they talk about us in French, English, or Krio, we can often understand them –though many times they don’t realize that – especially if they are not used to being around us. They talk about our kids and they talk about what we eat and what we wear. When I am in town, learning how to cook like a Yalunka woman, they stop by and talk among themselves about what I am learning – usually very pleased that I am trying.

On the porch, with my medical work, I hear lots of things. Sometimes it makes me crazy. The rule (laid down by the health care worker who is over this area) is that I am not allowed to see adults unless they have been seen somewhere else first. The goal is to NOT hand out free medical treatment to EVERYONE– in an effort to encourage people to finish the clinic built here in the village that is almost done. This clinic will, in turn, benefit lots of people – whether we are here or away.

People seem to understand that I can’t treat adults – and are not offended by it, until it applies to their family. Then they think that I should make an exception – just this once. And they promise to not tell a soul that they received treatment with me. Shhhhh….. Of course, I say no, I am so sorry, I can’t help you. But if you go to a hospital and get treatment and are not better, then please feel free to come back with your papers and I will see what I can do.

That starts the talking…… She won’t help people, they say. Only kids, they mutter. We don’t understand why she won’t help…. they exclaim. Her medicine is good and she won’t give it to us… they complain. They are usually talking among themselves, but loud enough for me to hear. It is always hard for me. I spend so many hours treating patients, and yet, they fuss when I have to say no. I know that none of the hundreds of other people I have treated that month means anything to them when they have a desperately sick relative who needs help. So I do get it. But I still hate it when they talk like that.

Sometimes I don’t understand what they are saying. A while back, I heard them talking about me. They said, Gulunga’s hinnana is BIG. Everyone was agreeing – yes, they said, it is really big. Okay, I admit I was a little self-conscious. I had NO idea what a hinnana was – but I wasn’t sure it was a compliment. I finally got the courage to ask a more experienced missionary.

So, I said, I have this friend with a big hinnana – what do you think about that? Okay, actually, I didn’t. I said, So, I heard a new word the other day and I don’t know what it means. Then I confessed that people had been using it in reference to me. I waited in fear….. Turns out it is okay. Hinnana is compassion – so it is okay to have a big one. :^)

Yesterday, my eavesdropping netted me a huge smile. I was seeing a patient from another village – a girl who is around 10 years old and has been sick for several weeks. As I questioned the mom, I asked why she had waited so long to seek treatment. She informed me that she had bought medicine from the market but that it didn’t help. My friend was sitting beside her and looked at me as soon as the mom said that – knowing what was coming……. I took a deep breath and started in on my speech… here is the gist of it:

You know, those people who sell medicine in the market are SUCH nice people and they have good hearts, but they are NOT doctors (here I jump over the fact that I am also not a doctor – a fact that seems lost on everyone here….). Many of them can’t read and when you get medicine from them, you will probably just waste your money and your child won’t get better, or worse, your child could die because they gave the wrong medicine or too much of it. So, the next time your child is sick, please save your money and go to a clinic or come here to see me.

I finished my speech and continued assessing the little girl. I headed inside to get the medicine she needed. And I heard my friend on the porch start in on the mom. What Gulunga (me) said was true. You should never go to the market to get medicine for your child. It is a waste of money. All of the moms here in this village know that now. Even if you have an adult and you go and get medicine at the hospital, you should bring the medicine here to Gulunga to look at for you.

At this point, another lady jumped in – Yes, what Sayon (my friend) said about Gulunga is true. And we do bring our medicine here. Why, just last week the chief got sick and went to the hospital and got medicine and then he brought it here to Gulunga and she even took some of it away from him. (She was telling the truth about that. The chief had returned from the hospital with about 15 different medicines, most of which he was not taking properly. So I helped him sort it all out and took a few duplicate medicines away from him until he finished the first round. Apparently word was spreading about that.)

Later, at the end of my work day, I had already said I was done seeing patients when a family drove up from about an hour away. Sayon, one of our believers who often helps me on the porch, BEGGED me to see the kid. I was exhausted and on the verge of getting fussy (okay, perhaps I was a little past being on the verge). Finally I consented, though I was NOT happy about it. I saw the baby, asked all about symptoms, weighed him, and went inside to get medicine.

It sounded like a simple case of malaria – Fever at night with no other major symptoms. I could hear them talking on the porch, and Sayon didn’t seem happy. He was giving the dad a lecture about something he had said or done and I had the feeling I was about to get involved. I went back out to give dad the medicine and explain how to take it. I got finished and the dad spoke up. By the way, I forgot to tell you that the baby also has breasts coming out of his ears. (This is people’s way of explaining that the baby has an ear infection – because most kids are nursing when they get them, they have the idea that breast milk or some part of the breast has fallen into the baby’s ear – and then leaks out – because often there is pus draining from the ear.)

Sayon was looking at me. I was getting fussier. I asked why he didn’t say that at the beginning. He didn’t have an answer. Sayon said, I told him, when you go to the doctor, tell them everything all at once – don’t hide things. At least someone was listening to me. That happens to me all the time. I will dress a wound, and get all finished and then the patient will say Oh, I have another place where pus is coming out too. Or I will put a Band-Aid on a kid’s leg and then the mom will say, did I mentioned that he has been vomiting for 3 days? It makes me insane sometimes – something that the guys well know.

Some days, I tell Jim that I would like to be a fly on the wall and hear what people think about us. Actually, I probably wouldn’t. For now, I shall just content myself with being thankful when I hear my medical instructions being repeated over and over, knowing that those seeds have taken root. And try not to take it to heart when people say less than pleasant things – knowing that they are probably not trying to be mean, just trying to understand the confusing ways of the tubabus.