A member of your group has dysentery. Stop & rest or continue ahead?

The Oregon Trail computer game is my only knowledge of dysentery. All I know is the person always died if it was decided to move ahead.

Today really tested my cajones. I started the day totally motivated – ready to take on the frustrations of Ghana. I am woman, hear me roar! I went for a nice run, did some squats, and ventured out with a plan. First on the list – registration: ask around for the registration office; find it, no one there (top floor, no elevators, legs cramping). Everyone goes on break 12:00-2:00. Thanks for the heads up (after waiting 45 minutes). Also find that the most important course I need is full. I’ll find a way around that, but frustrating since we were told to wait to register until after attending a lecture (which the professor didn’t show up for this week). Motivation meter: still strong.

Decide to head to the public health clinic to make sure I’m not dying. As I walked up I could tell the clinic was in poor condition, but I was proud of myself for having the independence and courage to handle all of this on my own. The clinic was packed with people – some in shocking condition, sprawled across the floor waiting for help; a young girl with a high fever, struggling to stand and in a state of confusion. I understood why some students brought their own needle kits. I started to cry.
No signs, no friendly faces, just stares from a dark, blurred mass.
“Hello? Please Madam, where do I check in?” I asked the first nurse I saw. She was rushed, overwhelmed, and didn’t have the time. A grunt directed me to a small window.
“ID,” the woman at the window demanded, “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t say the words. Just tears came out. Instead I rubbed my stomach. She seemed amused. “Room 6.”

Outside of room 6 was chaos. I knocked on the door, hoping the receptionist had taken pity and I would be seen soon.
“You put your form in the box,” a young woman directed me. I looked down and let my sheet fall to the overflowing box, along with my motivation, independence, and courage. The line snaked around the corner, undistinguishable from the many other doors and lines. A nurse came out of room 6.
“Excuse me, Madam. Hello, I’ve placed my form in the box. Where should I go now?” I asked calmly and politely.
“PUT YOUR FORM THERE AND WAIT! I SAID WE HAVE MANY PEOPLE TO SEE!” she barked, and started ranting in Twi.
“I’m sorry, Madam. I just don’t know the process…” my voice trailed as I choked. She paused as a tear rolled out from under my sunglasses, and walked away.
I waited three hours, wavering through emotions. The line had not moved. Rather, I had not moved, but the people around me did. No process seemed to be in order – Room 6 opened, someone exited, and someone from the line sprinted in and closed the door. Groans from the group made me believe people were simply cutting the line, but nothing was said.
“Oh my God,” I thought, “I can’t hack this. I can’t do it. I cannot do this,” and started hoping for a sickness worthy of ‘forcing’ me back home.
In need of air I walked outside and away from the clinic. I can’t do it.

On my way back to campus the program director called – she heard I had been directed to the public clinic. “I waited awhile and had to leave,” was all I could muster. She told me she would have her driver pick me up and take me to the private hospital.
I was relieved, but also frustrated with myself. I’m not the soldier I hoped was inside.

As I waited for the driver I wrote in my journal.
‘The best worst experience of my life’ was the header.

“Every day is a life changing experience. Why is each day making me feel like a weaker person? I yearn for the cafes on the shaded sidewalks of luxurious Buenos Aires and comforts of home. I’m here in search of where I want to go after. It sickens me that I’m moving in the direction of extravagance…”

Since writing this my health condition has improved, along with my perspective. I don’t want to give a sullen impression. Please don’t worry about my mental state. I have been stopped in my tracks at the friendliness and welcoming from many Ghanaians, and paused breathless in wonder at the beauty surrounding me in sight and sound. I’ve looked around and said, “This is where I need to be.”
Speaking with other students, they’ve had many of the same ups & downs. It has a lot to do with getting used to the pace. While time moves quickly, everything is done slowly. Used to the busy agenda at home, it feels like vacation. I’m sure that sounds nice, but it’s not relaxing because we feel we should be accomplishing something.

It’s fantastic to wake up and think, “What do I want to do today?” The possibilities are endless when I think about it: I need to stretch my legs, maybe upload some photos, play the harmonica, maybe I’ll start Arabic today…