We have our aid worker hats on again, this time working with, Dr D, a Kiwi doctor who runs a medical clinic on Tello Island, a tiny island off western Sumatra. The journey to Tello consists of a two boat trips, one in a large passenger and car ferry and the second in a small cargo boat. Once here you really do feel like you are at the end of the world. Consultations take place on a picnic table out the back of a chap called Ben Hong’s place. Much of the medical stuff we are seeing is similar to in Zambia, paracetamol continues to be the most
distributed drug but the level of seriously ill people is far greater here, simply because the island is so isolated.
Mr Ben Hong is a totally wheeler dealer who has all sorts of dodgy, mainly illegal, money making schemes going on. Cock fighting is his current money maker, which judging by the state of his roosters isn’t going terribly well for him. He was also responsible for the giant turtle which was hacked up and sold on the black market much to our horror and disgust. We later found out that he probably got little over ten dollars for it, if only we had known sooner and we would have just paid to have it released. It is hard not to judge him but I try to remember that life is pretty cruel out here and maybe I would do the same thing to survive in his position. That said from my high horse I mainly want to punch him.
distributed drug but the level of seriously ill people is far greater here, simply because the island is so isolated.
Mr Ben Hong is a totally wheeler dealer who has all sorts of dodgy, mainly illegal, money making schemes going on. Cock fighting is his current money maker, which judging by the state of his roosters isn’t going terribly well for him. He was also responsible for the giant turtle which was hacked up and sold on the black market much to our horror and disgust. We later found out that he probably got little over ten dollars for it, if only we had known sooner and we would have just paid to have it released. It is hard not to judge him but I try to remember that life is pretty cruel out here and maybe I would do the same thing to survive in his position. That said from my high horse I mainly want to punch him.
We are staying with a very sweet local family in the wealthy part of town (at least we think they are very sweet however due to a large language barrier we have never actually had a conversation and this is just a presumption!!!) at just under three pounds a night we decided we could afford to have a fan in our room and so there we are living it up We also get pillow slips included.. Our new family consists of Dad, Mum, Grandma and two girls, Nella and Sasa. Sasa is around three years old and leaves our two year old, delicious but part time terrorist, nephew looking like an angel with her antics. Grandma, with no teeth, is besotted with Doctor Hamish who pampers her with antacids and generally we all have a jolly time.
Our second day of clinic saw me clutching the hand of a kind missionary as I watched Hamish try, in vain, to resuscitate a four year old boy whose poor little body had given up the fight. Three hours earlier we were called to his family home because he had been having trouble breathing, on arrival we were greeted by the entire Muslim community and a variety of other onlookers in the tiny front room who were there just because. With about 15 words in Bahasa Indonesia under our belt communication was beyond difficult but what we did know was that there was no way on earth they would let us inject the little boy. To make matters worse Dad, who needed to give us permission to treat or transfer the wee boy, couldn’t be located for a couple of hours by which time the wee chap was too tired to continue the battle. The scene and sounds as Hamish announced that he was dead was beyond haunting and the memory still makes me feel sick. I had no idea how sick the wee chap was or how quickly life could slip away. It has since been explained to us that the Muslims here believe injections let the devil under the skin so in one way I am thankful that we didn’t get the chance to be held responsible for the eternal damnation of their son, but on the other hand I wish we had been able to do more. On a lighter note, because we all need a lighter now now, the first patient I saw the next day was a 15 year old boy with a grazed knuckle. Still a bit numb from the previous evening I bathed this time waster in alcohol solution to make it really sting and sent him off with a plaster. That was very satisfying.
Language is a huge challenge for us here. We had presumed there would be a translator for clinics and stupidly didn't invest in a phrase book before we arrived which has led to some pretty amusing encounters. To make matters worse the small phrase book we do have is in Bahasa Indonesia which is the official language but here most people speak a local dialect ,Bahasa Nias. The younger children often speak both so we sometimes have to ask the child the question in Indonesian, they then ask the patient in Nias and then translate the answer back to us in Indonesian which we then have to translate back into English before we have a clue what's going on. I would be very suprised if even half the patients are getting the medication they need and even more surprised if they understand the instructions for taking the medication. Randomly some words can be understood in English if you add 'she' to the end of them, Injectshee and infectshe and top favourites. And aside from the Muslims everyone else is keen as mustard to get their hands on an injectshe no matter how trivial the ailment!
One thing that isn’t so satisfying is the food. Breakfast and lunch consist of the following options: doughnuts, piklets, fried two minute noodles, fried rice, fried banana fritters (despite the fact that fresh banana’s are almost impossible to buy fried bananas are available in the hundreds all day every day!), fried cabbage balls
with chilly sauce and if we are really lucky a slice or two of fresh cucumber or tomato. Every morning as we sit at a roadside stall eating something fried we watch an endless stream of school children trundle pass filling their lunch box's with doughnuts. This is no exaggeration, there is literally nothing healthy to eat on the island, it’s unreal. The evening meal offers a non fried option which is made slightly less appealing due to the fact it sits tepid in glass cabinets for hours before we get to it. Warmish rice with a luke warm fish curry is as good as it gets and after a day of fried food we are generally quite glad to eat the fly blown feast which will no doubt lead to a serious case of Indobelly before the month is out. The only thing, food wise, that Tello has going for itself is that some genius has opened a small ice cream shop which serves some of the nicest ice creams we have had anywhere. At just under 20 pence I find it hard to limit myself to one a day, plus the calcium is good for me...
Our second day of clinic saw me clutching the hand of a kind missionary as I watched Hamish try, in vain, to resuscitate a four year old boy whose poor little body had given up the fight. Three hours earlier we were called to his family home because he had been having trouble breathing, on arrival we were greeted by the entire Muslim community and a variety of other onlookers in the tiny front room who were there just because. With about 15 words in Bahasa Indonesia under our belt communication was beyond difficult but what we did know was that there was no way on earth they would let us inject the little boy. To make matters worse Dad, who needed to give us permission to treat or transfer the wee boy, couldn’t be located for a couple of hours by which time the wee chap was too tired to continue the battle. The scene and sounds as Hamish announced that he was dead was beyond haunting and the memory still makes me feel sick. I had no idea how sick the wee chap was or how quickly life could slip away. It has since been explained to us that the Muslims here believe injections let the devil under the skin so in one way I am thankful that we didn’t get the chance to be held responsible for the eternal damnation of their son, but on the other hand I wish we had been able to do more. On a lighter note, because we all need a lighter now now, the first patient I saw the next day was a 15 year old boy with a grazed knuckle. Still a bit numb from the previous evening I bathed this time waster in alcohol solution to make it really sting and sent him off with a plaster. That was very satisfying.
Language is a huge challenge for us here. We had presumed there would be a translator for clinics and stupidly didn't invest in a phrase book before we arrived which has led to some pretty amusing encounters. To make matters worse the small phrase book we do have is in Bahasa Indonesia which is the official language but here most people speak a local dialect ,Bahasa Nias. The younger children often speak both so we sometimes have to ask the child the question in Indonesian, they then ask the patient in Nias and then translate the answer back to us in Indonesian which we then have to translate back into English before we have a clue what's going on. I would be very suprised if even half the patients are getting the medication they need and even more surprised if they understand the instructions for taking the medication. Randomly some words can be understood in English if you add 'she' to the end of them, Injectshee and infectshe and top favourites. And aside from the Muslims everyone else is keen as mustard to get their hands on an injectshe no matter how trivial the ailment!
One thing that isn’t so satisfying is the food. Breakfast and lunch consist of the following options: doughnuts, piklets, fried two minute noodles, fried rice, fried banana fritters (despite the fact that fresh banana’s are almost impossible to buy fried bananas are available in the hundreds all day every day!), fried cabbage balls
with chilly sauce and if we are really lucky a slice or two of fresh cucumber or tomato. Every morning as we sit at a roadside stall eating something fried we watch an endless stream of school children trundle pass filling their lunch box's with doughnuts. This is no exaggeration, there is literally nothing healthy to eat on the island, it’s unreal. The evening meal offers a non fried option which is made slightly less appealing due to the fact it sits tepid in glass cabinets for hours before we get to it. Warmish rice with a luke warm fish curry is as good as it gets and after a day of fried food we are generally quite glad to eat the fly blown feast which will no doubt lead to a serious case of Indobelly before the month is out. The only thing, food wise, that Tello has going for itself is that some genius has opened a small ice cream shop which serves some of the nicest ice creams we have had anywhere. At just under 20 pence I find it hard to limit myself to one a day, plus the calcium is good for me...
There is so much more to report but already this blog has gotten out of hand. Tello is by far the most challenging place I have ever visited. Life here is tough and I have found out that sunshine alone can't always make you happy. Despite Christianity being the dominant religion it is culturally very conservative here so we spend every waking hour covered up and sweating. Hamish sweating abilities continue to baffle me! Everyone is so enthusiastic to see you and to practise there three lines on English on you to the point that if we want a quiet moment we have to sit in our room. Reading a book in public is an impossibility, even writing this blog I have had a variety of people come and stand by me watching what I am doing. Personal space doesn't exist and as foreigners we are public property. Everyone wants to know 'where are we going' but no one understands our response in English so we have started replying things like 'to the moon, paradise and the Spice Girls house' to amuse ourselves and feel that we somehow take a small victory, ahh the small things!
Bye for now. Just in case you were wondering I am off to the ice cream shop...
Wow, sounds tough!
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