When I signed on to work with JBFC, I knew my job would include “other duties as assigned.” And while sometimes that little phrase can mean “occupational DOOM,” I enjoy the fluidity of my work here. However, it does mean things can get a little hectic at times.
I frequently think, “well, that’s another one for the resume!” For just the first six weeks alone, I can add livestock saleswoman, lifeguard, chef, farm worker, boss, substitute teacher, bus route supervisor, banker, insurance adjuster, and many more to the list of “job skills.”
I’m hoping to list “Physical Education,” “Drama Teacher” and “Hairstylist” soon, but that’s news for another day.
The job I’ve been unexpectedly thrown into more times than I’d like recently is…medic. My friend, Shannon, recently spent two weeks on campus here at JBFC. Shannon finishes PA school next month, and she gave all the girls check-ups. It was great.
THE DAY SHE LEFT, I spent the evening tending to three separate medical dramas—a wasp sting near a girls’ eye that left it swollen for four days, a terrible bite on a child’s shoulder that is still healing, and a “broken arm.” Oh, Shannon, why did you leave me??
The next night, one of our Masai fell off a piki-piki (motorcycle) and his index finger was bleeding profusely. Dr. Julia, to the rescue!
I’ve attended to various scrapes and sore fill-in-the-blanks since then, but I still get the panic-y “I don’t know what I’m doing!!” feeling every time I see a group of children herding an injured compatriot toward me. Mostly because I really don’t know what I’m doing, and partly because attending to these problems an hour from our hospital and with limited resources and knowledge is just a bit terrifying. For example…
Today, Danny sprained his ankle, and we scrambled to make him comfortable. Except, the best thing for a sprained ankle is ice. We live in the bush. There is one fridge-slash-sort-of-a-freezer on our whole campus. So, after assessing the contents of the fridge for the “most cold item that won’t be ruined by sitting on Danny’s ankle” (ruling out our half-frozen chicken breasts), we tried a jar of jam from the fridge. This was rejected within minutes as “not cold.”
But, I am victorious! I find medical “instant-cold” packs in our supply room. Sadly, after trying two packs, they are also rejected.
Back in the fridge/freezer, we had a Tupperware of mostly-frozen rice. Why store rice in the freezer when, at minimum, we cook 10 kilos of it every day in our main kitchen? Don’t ask. Stephanie’s moment of brilliance was to use this in a Ziploc, and it has served its purpose as “ice-pack, Kitongo style” well.
In the meantime, I have cut up a spare piece of fabric to sew it (on a manual sewing machine—again, for another post) into a bandage to wrap the ankle. Danny will be very hip with his brown bandage featuring zebras.
Currently, our little invalid is sitting on the couch with the still-cold rice on his ankle, 20 minutes after application. He’s practicing his “Tarzan” yell and coloring, so I’m thinking he’s on the road to recovery.
So, at least for today, we have been triumphant…injury attended, and with a little flair of fashion besides.
