I went for a walk around Juba this morning. Mainly because I like to get my bearings in a new place, but also because with Chris working 10-12 hour days and me currently committed to 2 mornings a week teaching in the hospital, I am at a bit of a loose end. Walking for an hour and a half in a bustling capital city I did not see a single other white person. I may have been an unusual sight, but on the whole people smiled, said hello and carried on as normal. Then I came across a man so captivated by my presence he decided to follow me closely, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched against the world. I wondered what the heck he was doing, and finally realized that he was mimicking me! And so I tried to act a bit more like this was the type of walk I take most days of the year.
I got my first impressions of Juba back in June when I visited Chris in the Tearfund compound. The first thing that hits you as you arrive in the chaos of the warehouse-style airport is the intense heat. Not the sort that makes you sigh when you arrive somewhere beautiful on holiday, but the sort that makes you grit your teeth through immigration and wonder how anyone could possibly live here. Now 6 weeks later, equipped with USB fans, a hammock, a blood pressure machine, a cafetiere, some mango chutney, a kilo of stilton, a bird book, balsamic vinegar and a bottle of gin, live in it I will.
The other initial impression of Juba is that this is not your average capital city. Up until a few years ago there were few concrete buildings in Juba. NGOs and businesses were run out of metal lorry containers and most people lived in mud/bamboo walled tin roofed housing or thatched tukuls. Although concrete buildings exist now, they are still in short supply. Consequently renting a one bed room costs as much as our 2 bed flat in Batterseeya, and metal lorry containers are still widespread – such as ‘Glory’ hotel I walked past today. I can only imagine the glory of being inside a metal box in 40 degrees heat.
Up until a few months ago there were no paved roads in Juba. Now there are a handful – proudly displaying solar powered street lights, as well as numerous signs and banners which blanket the walls and roundabouts. Some of my favourite are for the elaborately named ministries such as the ‘Ministry of Culture, Communication, Youth & Sports tourism & Hotels, Archives and Antiquities’ (that's one overworked Minister) and for national events such as ‘National Breastfeeding Week – Theme: Talk to the Breast’
South Sudan’s ‘flagship’ hospital is in Juba and people walk hundreds of miles to get there. Unfortunately, although they might get a bed in a fairly clean tiled ward, they are likely to find the doctors have already left to work in their private clinics, and there is no equipment available to do what I consider the most basic of diagnostic tests. A blood pressure machine, for example, is hard to come by, and an ECG is out of the question. Juba has not run a medical school for over a decade due to civil war and South Sudan’s aspiring doctors have been taught in Khartoum until last December when the funding for South Sudanese students in the North was abruptly stopped. Up until a week ago, most students were back in their villages wondering if they would ever be able to complete their courses, when some doctors from Harvard University arrived and started teaching a course in basic clinical medicine, hoping to negotiate the beginning of a functioning medical school once again. The response has been amazing. Almost 300 students have come out of the woodwork, signing up for every teaching session, cramming into small hot lecture theatres and hanging around through power cuts that would have provided a perfect excuse for an afternoon off back in my days as a student. I helped out at one of the bed side teaching sessions last week and was amazed at the wealth of ‘teaching material’ – weird and wonderful things wrong with people on the ward. I tried my best to keep my cool as I came across a massive spleen poking through someone's abdomen, whilst my students shrugged and casually told me that ‘it’s quite big’.
My overwhelming impression of Juba is of a sense of hope and opportunity for this new nation. With their flags and banners, building-work, business people, Americans springing from nowhere and starting medical schools within a few days, there is definitely an optimism for change and the creation of a better functioning capital city. So I’m excited to be here and hopeful that by getting involved I might be able to make a bit of difference, become a better functioning doctor, and transfer the title of ‘accompanying spouse’ to my peace-builder husband.
I got my first impressions of Juba back in June when I visited Chris in the Tearfund compound. The first thing that hits you as you arrive in the chaos of the warehouse-style airport is the intense heat. Not the sort that makes you sigh when you arrive somewhere beautiful on holiday, but the sort that makes you grit your teeth through immigration and wonder how anyone could possibly live here. Now 6 weeks later, equipped with USB fans, a hammock, a blood pressure machine, a cafetiere, some mango chutney, a kilo of stilton, a bird book, balsamic vinegar and a bottle of gin, live in it I will.
The other initial impression of Juba is that this is not your average capital city. Up until a few years ago there were few concrete buildings in Juba. NGOs and businesses were run out of metal lorry containers and most people lived in mud/bamboo walled tin roofed housing or thatched tukuls. Although concrete buildings exist now, they are still in short supply. Consequently renting a one bed room costs as much as our 2 bed flat in Batterseeya, and metal lorry containers are still widespread – such as ‘Glory’ hotel I walked past today. I can only imagine the glory of being inside a metal box in 40 degrees heat.
Up until a few months ago there were no paved roads in Juba. Now there are a handful – proudly displaying solar powered street lights, as well as numerous signs and banners which blanket the walls and roundabouts. Some of my favourite are for the elaborately named ministries such as the ‘Ministry of Culture, Communication, Youth & Sports tourism & Hotels, Archives and Antiquities’ (that's one overworked Minister) and for national events such as ‘National Breastfeeding Week – Theme: Talk to the Breast’
My overwhelming impression of Juba is of a sense of hope and opportunity for this new nation. With their flags and banners, building-work, business people, Americans springing from nowhere and starting medical schools within a few days, there is definitely an optimism for change and the creation of a better functioning capital city. So I’m excited to be here and hopeful that by getting involved I might be able to make a bit of difference, become a better functioning doctor, and transfer the title of ‘accompanying spouse’ to my peace-builder husband.
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