Day 720: Two years (check)

Today marks the second year that I’ve been in Benin. It is pretty amazing that two years have already gone by and that in a few more months I will be getting on a plane to leave.

I’ve realized that it has been difficult to think of things to write. Partly because the novelty of living here has worn off, partly because I’ve become accustomed to things here, and partly because there just isn’t anything exciting to write about. With that said, here is a new topic that I had the misfortune of experiencing during our Camp GLOW (the girls camp) which took place two weeks back.

After the dance party on Thursday night, Angelina (PCV who set up most of the camp) came up to me telling me that one of her girls (who had a medical condition before) was not feeling very well and that she ran out of her medicine. Apparently her whole body was hurting, but she didn’t have a fever and didn’t look too bad. Plus, such episodes were common, occurring at lease once a month. So Angelina decided to keep tabs on her girl before heading off to bed. At around midnight I get a call from Angelina telling me that she is going to have her girl sleep in her room with Laura (another volunteer). I told her to let me know if things got worse.

At 3AM I get another call from Angelina. I don’t really know what she’s talking about but I remember her saying ‘hospital’ and ‘pain’. I threw on some clothes and headed over to Angelina’s block. Her girl’s symptoms had gotten worse and she had been moaning all night. We decide to get her to a hospital, but not being from around here we don’t know where to go. We call up our Peace Corps doctor and he tells us to go to the regional hospital. I go to find the guard on duty to ask him for help in getting a vehicle or a taxi-moto to take us to the hospital. He calls up a few people and gets his moto ready to take us over one-by-one. Just then, a guy that has been sleeping in a explorer-like vehicle gets up and asks if we need help. We tell him the situation and he agrees to take us to a hospital.

The guard tells us that there is a private hospital that is much closer than the regional one. We agree to go there. It turns out to be a two story house which has been converted into a private hospital. We bring in our girl and lay her down on a cot. A guy that doesn’t look like a doctor comes out and touches the girl’s head and mumbles a few words to no one. Another man comes out and sleepily says something in local language. Our guard tells us that there is no room at this hospital. We tell them that we don’t need her to stay a night, we just need to get her meds. The guy says meds won’t really help her and that she needs an IV. We go to the regional hospital.

Once there I tell the driver to let us off at the ‘emergency’ entrance. The guard and I get off to check it out. For some reason it looks like the building has been bombed. When we get to the main hallway and look inside it looks exactly the same, crumbled walls and debris littering the ground. We go back to the car and tell the driver to go to the normal hospital entrance. Once there, we all get out and I pick up the girl. We walk past people sleeping on the floor, outside and inside. Once inside the pediatric ward there is a smell. I can’t put my finger on it, but it doesn’t smell like hospitals back at home, it smells like something much more… serious. We eventually find the room where kids like our girl come to in emergencies. The guy behind the counter is working on another child when we come in. He doesn’t acknowledge us until after he is done. Our guard does most of the talking. The guy doesn’t want to know much about the circumstances around what happened to our girl. He just wants her name and age. As we give him the information they get some people off a bed so we can put our girl down on it. As I walk past the other beds I realize what that strange smell was. Death.

The kids that are in this room are infants (approximately two months) to children around the age of 3. Beds are no more than three feet apart and there are approximately seven beds. Each bed has at least one child on it and usually a parent draped over the kid, holding their hand. The infant next to our girl’s bed was the two month old. He/She looked possibly like a premature birth, or at least a baby without the proper ability to breathe correctly. He/She was attached to an oxygen tank. Another child looked totally emaciated and no longer aware of her surroundings.

The guy at the counter calls me over to take me out of my trance. The guard tells me to come with him to pay our hospital bill and do some other stuff. I ask if we really pay for the hospital bill right now. He assures me that this is the standard procedure. I tell Angelina I will be back. We head over to the cashier’s office and on our way the guard points out the blood bank and tells me that eventually we will need to go there. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I agree. Once at the cashier’s office we pay for two things and then are given a receipt and told to go to another office. The next office is the on-site pharmacy. You go here to buy the meds your patient will be using while in the hospital. We pick up most of the meds we need (IV, tubes, etc) but are told we need to buy some more at a local pharmacy. We take all the things and go over to the laboratory where we need to receive some paperwork. We get over to the laboratory and the lady reluctantly gives us some paperwork and two vials for blood. We go back to the pediatric ward.

We drop off all the supplies to the guy at the counter and he asks us for a third vial. Third vial? Yes, the laboratory needs to give us a third vial so that we can take it to the blood bank. Oh. So we go back to the laboratory and get a third vial. While there, we head over to the blood bank to pay for the blood work we will need to get done. We eventually get the door open and we give the guy money for the blood work. We head back to the ward to drop off the third vial and tell the girls that we will be going to the pharmacy to buy the additional meds. We head out to look for a pharmacy that might be open. On our second try we find one and we buy the necessary meds. We go back to the ward and find out that the girl’s blood has been drawn. The guard tells me that he will leave now because he has to get back to university (where the camp is) and do his job. I thank him and the driver for all their help.

So I take the blood samples and go to the laboratory to drop them off. I give the two to the lady behind the desk and take one to the blood bank. The guy isn’t there. I wait with two other ladies. I get eaten alive by mosquitoes. The guy comes out. He takes the vial and says the girl’s name at least five times for no apparent reason. He tells me to take my money and this receipt to the cashier’s office and then I can come back for the results on our girl’s blood. I go to pay at the cashier’s office (again) and go back to the blood bank. The guy isn’t there but he eventually comes out and gives me the results. Oh. It is blood type test. O+. Nice.

I head back to the ward with this information and realize that the gate to the entrance is closed. Huh? I try to pull on it a few times and realize that it won’t open. I wait there with two other people to see if they’ll open the gate again. A cleaning lady comes out, she looks sour. She sweeps out all the water that’s been collecting in the foyer all night, not really caring if she’s sweeping it on us. I ask her if I can get in. She says no. I ask if there is another entrance. She tells me to wait. Laura randomly pops out and says hello. I ask her if she can take the blood type paper to the guy at the counter. She says okay, takes it, and tries to go back into the hallway. The cleaning lady is furious! She tells Laura she’s not allowed to go back in. Laura says she’s just dropping off this paper. The lady yells at her again and starts mumbling to herself. Laura eventually asks if the lady can open the door then so she can get out. She does.

Laura and I sit there for awhile trying to figure out how to get into the building. We go down a hallway and realize that it leads to another building across the way, not helpful. We decide to take a side route that smells like urine and shit all mixed up in one. We walk down a path and we see women peeing off the sides of it and, hey! Here are four latrines. That’s where the smell is coming from. Other women are making food and washing clothes (this is all very close to the main hospital buildings). We make our way down the path and find the other entrance to the pediatric ward. The cleaning lady has been duped! We go into the room and I give the guy the blood type paper. He glances at it and puts it aside. I wait with Angelina and Laura and then tell them I need to go to the laboratory to get the blood results there. Laura goes with me. We wait for twenty mins and get the results. We take ‘em back to the guy and he again doesn’t really seem to care.

After standing there for another 10 minutes, looking at our girl I decide I am going to crap my pants if I don’t get back to the center for our camp. I tell Angelina I am getting replacements for her and Laura (since we didn’t know how long we’d be here for) and head out.

As I walk out of the pediatric ward, pass the latrines and pissing ladies, I see a large women dressed up in a surgery gown. She greets me by telling me what I am, Yovo, and continues on her way. The difference in this picture is that on her head she has a huge bassine (large bowl) which is filled with surgical supplies. Weird.

Eventually our girl ended up coming back to our camp in the early afternoon. Three groups of people were with her at different times, we spent approximately 25,000 CFA for the whole ordeal (50 USD), and realized how not fun hospitals in the third world are. Remember, this hospital is the regional hospital in the capital of Benin. It made me sad.