Week 4 Blog: Trust in Jesus (21/2/16)

It was not a good start to the week. My computer had been unhappy for the last ten days and finally blew up taking all my work for a two-day training course for Sentebale care partners with it. Manyanye takes it to be hospitalised while I tried to keep my stress levels in check by focusing on physiotherapy with the children. 

Monday afternoon's session was rocking along quite nicely until Itu somehow slipped on the floor and banged her mouth producing copious amounts of blood and lots of screaming. It was then I remembered the huge first aid kit supplied by the ILO which I had stored in a cupboard for such an occasion. As I struggled to put on a pair on medical gloves I realised I had never been on a first aid course which told you anything useful about putting on surgical gloves in a hot climate, while a child is screaming in your ear and you are concerned about their HIV status.

I managed to put on half a glove before giving up and using a wet wipe to stem the blood and muffle the screams. This bought me enough time to put on another half a glove and find something a bit more absorbent in the first aid kit, which was unfortunately wrapped tightly in a plastic wrapper. After a minor operation to surgically remove the contents I was finally able to stop the blood flow. By now the physiotherapy room resembled something from ER after a major disaster, rolls of bandages, blood, scissors and wrappers lay everywhere. Only George Clooney was missing. ‘Could do better’ was my conclusion to my less than slick performance and the only blessing was I didn't have to fill in a dreaded NHS incident form.

The following day was spent with Doctor John from Kenya, who had come to give all the children a medical check. Sister has gone away for the week taking with her the keys to the medical records, toiletries and first aid. As I stared at the annoying poster with the caption "Trust in Jesus" I wonder if this is what you would say to a girl who might need a sanitary towel. Fortunately, I am able to help Dr John as I now have my own medical records for the children. He doesn't speak Sesotho and I give him useful details like which ones have HIV, epilepsy etc. while we take their basic measurements.

Dr John tells me that the children are responsible for taking their own daily anti-retroviral drugs, which seems a big responsibility considering their age and that some have learning difficulties. Mind you, I'm beginning to think it might be better than trusting an adult.

The children's viral loading is supposed to be tested every six months to show if their immune systems are coping and they are taking their medication consistently. The amount of infections they are picking up is also a useful indicator and on examination several of the children have nasty ear infections. The children are tough here and self-reliant. They don't complain about the rough deal life has dealt them and just get on with things. I see them helping each other a lot, but as yet have not seen see any adults helping them. 

Nearly all the children do their own washing out by the water butt, crouching over in their wheelchairs scrubbing away, before hanging their clothes on the fence to dry. There is a brand new washing machine but it doesn't get switched on because the electricity is too expensive. Outside the window I can hear the Irish are in full "happy hour" mode as their last day at St Angela's draws to a close with sweets and cuddly toys. I will miss their joyful presence.

There is still no sign of my laptop by Wednesday and Justice kindly lends me his as I try to desperately recall what I have written for staff training. After several hours I have a basic outline. Justice comes into the office and I triumphantly tell him I am printing off a hard copy. He shakes his head sadly and says that is not possible. Even as I am pressing the print button the South African photocopier SWAT team, have arrived and are ripping the plug out and loading the printer onto the back of a truck. I watch it disappearing down the road leaving only its huge debt behind.

When I arrive at St Angela's on Thursday something very strange is happening, even for St Angela's. A grounds man is pruning a tree, another is cutting down weeds and there is a tractor waiting to plough the ground. When I go into the office there is uproar. Justice has insisted they tidy it up and resurrect the old printer to its former glory. One of the admin staff is complaining of chest pains, but I think it is only trapped wind. There is the sweet scent of revolution in the air. At this rate the brand new, but redundant, bakery will be operational by the end of the week and Saint Angela's will be self-sufficient by the end of the month.

Hoping the week will end on a high, on Friday morning I wait for Manyanye to bring my laptop back to me. I switch it on and it opens, but it appears to be having an identity crisis. It’s gone all South African on me and the key board won't work. Manyanye takes it away again leaving me with the hard drive with my data on it. I go to St Angela's and download my data onto Justice's laptop and continuing to try and cobble together my course for Monday. Outside I can hear a child screaming and crying, which is unusual, but I assume she has fallen over and carry on working. Unfortunately, the incident was far more unpleasant than a child falling over and casts a shadow over the rest of the day.

I get home depressed, but at least Manyanye has returned my laptop. Bob spends several hours sorting out its identity crisis and loads anti-virus software onto it to try and get it to behave normally. It is such a relief to have it back and I gird my loins to try again and manage to secure the wheelchair cushions on Saturday morning. These are an interim measure, until the glorious day comes when the children get new wheelchairs.

I go into a busy workshop to see a man called Anil. The cushions are all different sizes and he tells me I can match them by the red canvas strips he has cut for the bottom of the wheelchairs, which I haven't ordered. Also the price I was told they would cost didn't actually include VAT. However, it has been such an epic task to get twelve cushions that I just pay for them and take them back to St Angela's.

I lay them on the ground to find that the red canvas bases don't match the cushions. The children arrive and it’s bedlam. It becomes just a case of trying to squash cushions into wheelchairs and fit them as best as possible. They don't work as well as I’d hoped and two of the children don't have cushions that fit at all. The best thing would have been to take the wheelchairs to the workshop, but the children don't have anything else to use and would have had to stay in bed until they were repaired.

I should have checked that the price included VAT. I should have measured the cushions at the workshop and checked he gave me the sizes I asked for and not handed over the money on the assumption it was all correct. I'm not a business person but I feel naïve. I have to run this course on Monday and Tuesday so won't be able to do anything about it until Wednesday and somehow don't think Anil will be willing to sort it out. I finish the week feeling hot, frustrated and defeated. Maybe it would be a lot easier to just “Trust in Jesus”.