Sticky Paws
February 24, 2015
Literally every time I go to wash my hands, I think to myself, I must make sure that there is running water at this moment, before I put soap on my hands. I always think this, just as I am squirting soap into my palms. This seems like a stupid thing to even mention, but it’s a weird behavioral reflex to wash your hands with soap (albeit a super fantastic habit). I feel like I’m always a bit surprised when I have soap covered hands and no water to wash it off, and kick myself because I do this all the time.
Don’t Worry, I don’t have Ebola
February 23, 2015
I’m making an effort to go out more, because spending all of your time in a pool laden compound leads to a sort of detachment from “real life.” I’m sitting at a bar/restaurant/night club Saturday night, listening to some Phil Collins then All About that Bass music, people are coming and going, a sex worker is giving a chair quite the dance (just the chair, there is no one else around) and it feels vaguely like a normal evening. People are shaking hands, hugging, even some cheek kisses.
This guy comes up to me, sticks out his hand with a huge grin and says “Don’t worry, I don’t have Ebola” so I shake the hand because everyone is looking at me and I’m nervously laughing like hahaha oh right, deadly virus, hilarious, I’m a cool kid too.
We’ve reached this weird moment that is impossible to navigate with grace, where human contact pressures are meeting public health pressures, and the result is frankly awkward. If I refuse the hand, I am a rude, judgmental, pariah. If I take the hand, then I am in direct contradiction of public health messages that I am trying to support.
Thus, Dear Ebola, can you just be done now? I feel like it’s enough already, come on.
This guy comes up to me, sticks out his hand with a huge grin and says “Don’t worry, I don’t have Ebola” so I shake the hand because everyone is looking at me and I’m nervously laughing like hahaha oh right, deadly virus, hilarious, I’m a cool kid too.
We’ve reached this weird moment that is impossible to navigate with grace, where human contact pressures are meeting public health pressures, and the result is frankly awkward. If I refuse the hand, I am a rude, judgmental, pariah. If I take the hand, then I am in direct contradiction of public health messages that I am trying to support.
Thus, Dear Ebola, can you just be done now? I feel like it’s enough already, come on.
Day trip to africa
January 30, 2015
Everyone keeps asking me, “how do you like Liberia?” I can tell you, I have a lovely apartment. There is a pool. It’s right on the ocean. I work 10 blocks from my home. So that’s more or less my grasp of “Liberia.” Two weekends ago, I took a day trip to Careysburg! Just outside of Monrovia proper, visiting Careysburg felt like a day trip to Africa.
You’re thinking, ummmmmm Rose? You’re in Africa all the time. But no, I am in an air conditioned, white walled box filled with generators which bring near constant electricity, running water, and internet – at least on my phone, almost always. Don’t get me wrong, I like those things, but it still feels removed from the people for whom we work.
Careysburg was a cool place, complete with a hill top turquoise church and a large "farm" with a swimming pool, crocodiles, ostriches, horses, and donkeys. It was a weird mash up of dirt roads and buildings being built by sticks, contrasted to blasting Phil Collins music and vegetable pizza at the Fancy Farm.
I’m always torn when I travel to “the bush” because on the one hand, it’s interesting, and mind expanding, and important to know your target audience. But you also feel like a complete jerk rolling up to a tiny community dotted with chickens and crying babies (newsflash: the babies are crying because of you) in a fancy white SUV. I probably spent more in gas to get there than most of the community member’s monthly salaries. In any event, it was great to get out for a day.
You’re thinking, ummmmmm Rose? You’re in Africa all the time. But no, I am in an air conditioned, white walled box filled with generators which bring near constant electricity, running water, and internet – at least on my phone, almost always. Don’t get me wrong, I like those things, but it still feels removed from the people for whom we work.
Careysburg was a cool place, complete with a hill top turquoise church and a large "farm" with a swimming pool, crocodiles, ostriches, horses, and donkeys. It was a weird mash up of dirt roads and buildings being built by sticks, contrasted to blasting Phil Collins music and vegetable pizza at the Fancy Farm.
I’m always torn when I travel to “the bush” because on the one hand, it’s interesting, and mind expanding, and important to know your target audience. But you also feel like a complete jerk rolling up to a tiny community dotted with chickens and crying babies (newsflash: the babies are crying because of you) in a fancy white SUV. I probably spent more in gas to get there than most of the community member’s monthly salaries. In any event, it was great to get out for a day.
Stamping
December 12, 2014
Stamping (think ink and a big rubber stamp) things is a phenomenon that seems to bring people in Liberia (and Guinea) much joy. There is a stamp for everything – did you get a quote? Got to get that stamped. Did you buy something? The person that sold it to you is going to stamp it, but don’t worry, you can stamp it too. Oh someone else is going to review those? Yeah better stamp it some more. Can you see the original document? No, that was all covered up with stamps. But that’s fine, because stamps make things official.
touching people
December 11, 2014
I’m a tactile person. I enjoy things like shaking hands, hugging, and holding hands while skipping down the lane. Ebola is putting a huge cramp on this. When you meet someone for the first time, you give an awkward wave to say “hello, normally I would shake your hand or try to kiss your check 1 to 5 times, depending on the occasion, but you might have Ebola and I chose life so this time you just get a wave.” It’s weird and isolating. People even take care not to accidentally brush up against you because EBOLA. Like Ebola is going to jump out at meetings, in conference rooms, in the market and the hallway.
Dear everyone: I get it. Ebola is scary. But we just need to avoid touching dead and sick people, yes? So we can shake hands and hug, yes? Of course not. I get that too, because then at every interaction, you would have each person making the “do I think you have Ebola or not” call. Which would be awkward, and lead to one person trying to move in for the check kiss and the other person jumping back squirting hand sanitizer everywhere. So fine, no touching people. But I don’t like it.
Dear everyone: I get it. Ebola is scary. But we just need to avoid touching dead and sick people, yes? So we can shake hands and hug, yes? Of course not. I get that too, because then at every interaction, you would have each person making the “do I think you have Ebola or not” call. Which would be awkward, and lead to one person trying to move in for the check kiss and the other person jumping back squirting hand sanitizer everywhere. So fine, no touching people. But I don’t like it.
Fever
November 20, 2014
I arrived a week ago Friday, and last week when I was finishing up some work on my patio I started to feel shabby and chilly. Which is weird because Liberia it tropically hot and delightful. I put on a sweatshirt, and started getting a headache. Soon I was in bed under covers watching a B rated movie with my colleagues buzzing around, working through the steps of the “Expat has a fever omg we’re all going to die” protocol. Everyone was super nice and took great care of me, and ASSURED me that it wasn't Ebola. I spoke with a hired off-site medical team who asked me if I had eaten any monkeys or the like, buried any Ebola patients recently, etc. No, no, I responded, I know the drill, I’m not freaked out, and everything is fine. There were a few hiccups in the protocol, but it was all fine.
So great, I have a fever, 100…101….102.9. Um. Guys? I’m totally fine right now, but um, if I get sicker in the night, what’s the plan? Oh, if I vomit then I have to go to an Ebola treatment center for testing?
Of all the things that I have EVER wanted in my entire life, I’m pretty sure that the desire to NOT VOMIT was the thing I had wanted most. Did. Not. Want. The only thing worse would be a shark or jelly fish attack. “Treatment centers are fine now, you’d be fine.” This is a true statement, and it is the correct protocol. Which leads me to:
Dear actual healthcare workers who are risking your lives to work in Ebola treatment centers, you are fantastic. You’re awesome. I am 100% sure that you do great work, and I would not be at the slightest bit of risk of getting Ebola if I were to go to a center. I trust you guys. But also – do NOT want. Doesn't look fun to me. Also, if you don’t know me personally, I am 100% a wimp about medical things. I don’t like getting a flu shot, so you get the picture.
I knew that I did not have Ebola, I had not engaged in any high risk activity. However, there was that tiny voice in my head asking, but are you SUUUUURE that no one on the plane looked sick? What about all those people at baggage claim? They were sweating, did they have fevers? Did I accidentally like a door knob along the way somewhere? Which was coupled with the fact that I was surrounded by work colleagues and had to maintain the “yeah this is totally fine, it’s a thing that happens, I’m cool.” And I actually did feel 97% confident that I was fine.
But who do I tell I’m sick? If I mention on Facebook that I have a fever, Cindy is going to have a heart attack and die. My brother is going to explode. I don’t want to cause anyone to die or explode, so I keep it on the down low until I’m healthy. Then I get to be like, “oh yeah, I had a high fever, but I totally lived ‘cause I’m gangster like that.”
So great, I have a fever, 100…101….102.9. Um. Guys? I’m totally fine right now, but um, if I get sicker in the night, what’s the plan? Oh, if I vomit then I have to go to an Ebola treatment center for testing?
Of all the things that I have EVER wanted in my entire life, I’m pretty sure that the desire to NOT VOMIT was the thing I had wanted most. Did. Not. Want. The only thing worse would be a shark or jelly fish attack. “Treatment centers are fine now, you’d be fine.” This is a true statement, and it is the correct protocol. Which leads me to:
Dear actual healthcare workers who are risking your lives to work in Ebola treatment centers, you are fantastic. You’re awesome. I am 100% sure that you do great work, and I would not be at the slightest bit of risk of getting Ebola if I were to go to a center. I trust you guys. But also – do NOT want. Doesn't look fun to me. Also, if you don’t know me personally, I am 100% a wimp about medical things. I don’t like getting a flu shot, so you get the picture.
I knew that I did not have Ebola, I had not engaged in any high risk activity. However, there was that tiny voice in my head asking, but are you SUUUUURE that no one on the plane looked sick? What about all those people at baggage claim? They were sweating, did they have fevers? Did I accidentally like a door knob along the way somewhere? Which was coupled with the fact that I was surrounded by work colleagues and had to maintain the “yeah this is totally fine, it’s a thing that happens, I’m cool.” And I actually did feel 97% confident that I was fine.
But who do I tell I’m sick? If I mention on Facebook that I have a fever, Cindy is going to have a heart attack and die. My brother is going to explode. I don’t want to cause anyone to die or explode, so I keep it on the down low until I’m healthy. Then I get to be like, “oh yeah, I had a high fever, but I totally lived ‘cause I’m gangster like that.”
Chlorine
November 19, 2014
Everyone keeps asking me, what is it like? Are you scared? Is it dangerous? Since I don’t work in a clinic, the real impact on my life during Ebola is having to wash my hands, often in crazy chlorinated water, a million times a day. And I get my temperature taken before I am allowed into buildings. Whenever you go into a grocery store, restaurant, etc. there is a bucket with a spigot. You must wash your hands average of 1 million times a day. Which is great and fantastic and I’m not complaining. But it ALWAYS smells like I am getting out of a pool. And I think I may be slightly allergic to chlorine, because my hands itch. A (often illiterate) security guard is always pointing a ray gun thermometer at your forehead and turning it so you can see it, which makes you wonder if they can read it, and if they know at what magic number you get turned away. So let’s assume yes they can…… and sometimes you’re touching a lot of door handles, and you think, huh, I should hand sanitize. But then you think, oh come on I live in a chlorine bath, it’s fine.