Week 03: Sickness & Slowing Down

Reflections on end-of-life care and the quiet dignity of Tanzanian families

This week was less easy for me as I was sick for the majority of it. In my free time, I laid low, resting and taking advantage of the flexibility of this life. Adjusting to the slower attitudes here in Tanzania is no easy task and there is nothing like a small illness to halt you in your tracks, forcing you to put yourself first. Due to my sickness, I was really tired and each day we came back after lunch to take it easy. 

This week was also the week that our emotions began to get overwhelmed. In our first two weeks, we spent our days avidly observing every interaction we could. We knew that with patience, we could build relationships and gain trust in a true ethnographer fashion, so we abstained from immediately interviewing people. As we entered this third week we knew we would start interviews soon to be able to meet our projected quotas. With an optimistic mindset entering the week we were soon shut down, our optimism replaced with melancholy from the first deaths we saw. Upon reflection, this week was chalk full of death. We witnessed or interacted with half a dozen deaths after not seeing any in the first quarter of our total time.

Despite the sorrows and passage of souls, we saw that hope exists. As in many other places in the world, death is a taboo topic and the conversation regarding mortality is danced around. There is no hospice here, but there is hope until the end. 

I return back to the poem titled “Hope” by Lisel Mueller, which I read back in high school.  The poem begins with “it hovers in dark corners before the lights are turned on” and that rings true here. Family members stay here around the clock, feeding, dressing, bathing their patients. There is never a moment that a patient is left without a loved one within ear shot. Family dynamics here differ from the States in that families are melded in a different way, creating a complex family tapestry that makes the nuclear family look like a plain white handkerchief in comparison. 

1) Kibuyu, the compound dog, laying under the laundry 2) Erick playing pool 3) Our view from the hostel 4) Laundry with Kibuyu 5) Edson's 25th birthday at Sunset Hotel 6 & 7) Kibuyu

Another example of the difference in community and family structures here lies in the bajaji accident we got into this week. On a seemingly normal ride to work, we were hit from behind by another bajaji, causing other motorcycles and bajajis to swerve off road to avoid the collision. One of those bajajis ended up in the ditch on the side of the road, stuck with wheels spinning midair. In this moment, we were not hurt, but we were startled; fully woken up from our tranquil ride. Our driver, Tito, immediately left the bajaji to assess the damage and help lift the other from the culvert. As we peered around the edge of the fabric siding, we saw a collection of people, dropping everything to help that marooned bajaji. Later, when the shock had worn off, I reflected on that moment of pure community. From my experience in the States, if there is a crash, people do their best to get around it as soon as possible, to avoid delays or disruptions in their days. In other cases, “rubber-necking” or becoming distracted by the scene of the collision can also lead to more accidents, furthering the disruption. All of this to say, I was amazed and impressed to see so many people drop everything to help another human. I think that his example is demonstrative of the attitudes towards life and other people here and I would hope that humans in the US would drop everything for one another, but I fear that our society has become too individualistic and self-concerned. 

To further the poem from Mueller, here are some of my observations of hope here. Hope resides in the kitenge fabric drying outside the pediatric ward and the playful banter of the intern doctors. Hope is the uniformed school children’s bashful “good afternoon”, practicing their best English, softly spoken as we stroll by. Hope lies in the warm hug from Dr Tabitha, our research mentor, no matter how long it’s been since we’ve seen her. Hope is everywhere, hiding in corners and culverts all over the world, you just have to put on your hope glasses and look for it.

"Hope" by Lisel Mueller