Don't Forget Us

Dr. Hanan Shabtai – Ra’anana, Israel
June 2009
When I decided to travel to Uganda, all that I knew about the country was more or less something I saw on National Geographic while eating a sandwich. And maybe something from the imagination of Stanley and Livingstone who looked for the source of the Nile there two centuries ago. In short, I had no idea that when I saw green mountains, gleaming lake waters, and above it the equator sun from the airplane, we had already arrived in Uganda. We met the local representatives that came to greet us at the airport. A bit curious. A bit worried. A bit hesitant. I did not know what was to be expected or what was exactly to come, even through we read the planned schedule in advance.

In the first two days of acclimating in Kampala, I was in a euphoria thinking that I came to save the country. In addition, the lack of basic resources that we witnessed, like water and food problems, did not really bother me and I did not pay much attention to them. We went around Kampala, and I actually grew to like the noisy city so alive and colorful. On the second morning when Henry (the GYPA Social Worker) gave us a tour of the slums of Namuwongo, I was in a dilemma. I could not have imagined the poverty and misery that we saw among the residents. The living conditions of the children in the area were really shocking. I was still under the mentality of just arriving and poured many questions on Henry: why, why, and why? He looked past me and spoke simply: We are in Africa.

We arrived in Kiboga. The hospital looked like a nice and organized building from the outside, but this was not what was happening between its walls. The place was not up to any Western standards that we know. In the beginning, I asked not to understand, and of course I did not reconcile with what I saw and felt, but my feelings changed so much and I understood along the way. We began to work in the hospital in the beginning as two residents coming for the first time to work, but very quickly, we learned that much depended on us. We decided where and how to work, and they expected us to come and help. How much desolation we discovered around us, suddenly I opened my eyes and saw around me the eyes of poor parents holding their children and babies in their arms in such bad situations and begging in silence for us to save them. Men and women lay on dirty, worn out beds burdened with their pain without calling out. In the hallways, tens of AIDS patients wait in their line. All this on the first day I was there. I worked 30 years in the sick funds in Israel, and never saw hardship like this. During the week when we began to travel to villages that we were meant to work in, I started slowly to understand the background and the reasons for the people’s feeling of desperation. I asked a lot of questions to our driver, about the way of life, about the administration, leaders and economics – in short, I tried to understand, because the whole time I was there, it was hard to reconcile these good, simple people’s sad situation that came to ask daily for our help. It’s the hardest when you feel that cessation of power. One day, I came to the hospital in the evening. A local worker approached me and asked that I go with him to the adult department. Lying there was a young man of 16 in a coma. His parents stood beside him. They looked at me desperate hope. “Here is a Mazungu (foreign) doctor, he of course will save our son.” I checked him and found him burning up (with fever) with signs of severe Meningitis. I asked to begin treatment immediately. There was no catheter and no fluids and not all the medicines were available. I asked the parents to buy what they could in the small pharmacy across from the hospital. They returned only with some of the medicine. I asked for oxygen – it was finished. In the morning, the boy died. I saw the father. He looked at me with a kind of dry smile trying to say to me thank you for trying to help, and I thought, God, his son this moment died and finds time to thank me! This is Africa. We can’t understand it, but maybe we can do our best to help in everything connected to medicine. It is not easy to be in this country whose poor sanitary conditions are under every standard known to us. The food is not what we expected and even the drinking water needs to be boiled. The potential to get sick exists and therefore, it is important to be in a good physical situation. Before the trip, I read and re-read everything related to tropical diseases and was also guided by Prof. Eli Schwartz in Tel HaShomer Hospital in Israel, but I learned the most from the locals and especially Abdul, Wilson (World Vision volunteers and graduates of our Village Health Team), and the hospital staff. From their wealth of experiences, they know how to direct us toward the right goals. As time went on, and we gained experience, we began to show them interesting points and they loved to learn from us. The medical supplies and especially the medicines that we carried with us to the villages were not always enough, or we could not find them in the medical supply store in Kampala, but we always managed to find a way with what we did have as there was no other option.

In the end, when we were leaving and saw the sadness in the people's eyes, we began to understand how important we are and Abdul told us so as well. “Doctor, we love and appreciate you because you came here and saved us and we will not forget you. But, Doctor, please tell them there in your country not to forget us.”