Saturday I began my first official day as a volunteer at a clinic called IDF. Before writing any further I should add that everything in the arab peninsula is pretty much vice versa. Not only is reading and writing done from right to left, but the weekends are thursday and friday, with saturday and sunday being normal working days. Enough to cause a national riot in Australia no doubt, but its the way it has always been here and when I tell people Sunday I usually sleep all day I get looked at as an alien . Well...I get looked as an an alien anyhow, but once again I think its because Im 3 foot taller than anyone else.
Anyhow, back to IDF. I dont think anything Ive done prior to this in my life could have ever prepared me for Saturday.I woke up saturday morning bright and early, feeling a little like a kid on his first day at school. A tad nervous , a little excited, but mostly confused because I didnt exactly know how to get to the place and the new part of Sana'a where I am staying ( refer to facebook pics),is a maze.
Picture a labyrinth of streets littered with rubble, rubbish and chewed up cud ( cud is the local leaves consumed by all that has a narcotic property to it ).
All the narrow streets look the same, they all lack signs and even if there are some they are in arab so no help there. Im given directions by my cousin Lex, finish my powdered coffee and head out the door ready to face the day. Half way to my destination I notice the streets are deserted which is very unlikely for Sana'a as the streets are the heart and soul of the Yemeni's social life. A constant bustle of horns, merchants and basically chaos define the average Yemen road. All of a sudden the abnormal tranquility is broken by shouting and what sounds like cursing. I turn to see an old man in traditional arab clothing waving his dagger frantically and spitting curses in my direction. I seem to make out the words "Get out!!! Get out!!"... At first I think..wow..the guy speaks english, but I then remember he's waving his dagger and heading towards me so I decide that to keep on walking would be my best option. I figure the guy is probably insane. There is a lot of mental illness amongst the elder Yemeni population as most of them have spent a lifetime of sleepless days and nights chewing Cud which eventually catches up with you and renders your brain to mush.
I walk another Km and finally find the bridge my cousin told me to turn right on. As a sidenote, Iv'e never walked so much in my life as I have here in Sana'a. The buses, which are actually rusty vans, are incredibly hard to catch because (A) their destination is marked in arab and (B), they are always full to the brim with people.
I spot the IDF sign by pure miracle. As I head towards the entrance I meet my friend Salah. He is from Canada and is also doing an internship but is due to finish this coming friday, after which, Im on my own.
IDF is a clinic which acts as a branch of the UNHCR. Its exhistence is to provide medical aid to refugees only, but as I quickly find out, it is so understaffed and so ill equipped that the amount of assistance a refugee can get is very minimal. As I walk past the guard into the courtyard I am met by at least thirty to fourty Somalian women holding their children on their laps or sitting down with a desperate look on their face. Tears are shed, frustration is evident and there is a general feeling of unease in the air. Im approached almost instantly by an elderly Somalian woman. She cries tears of despair, and explains to me in broken english that she needs to get urgent assistance for her sick husband who has been rejected from the three major hospitals and is suffering from cancer of the bladder. Or at least I so understood. I guess the fact that I am white, and Im saying this without a hint of racism, makes me a doctor automatically in her eyes. My heart breaks, and I wish with every fibre in my body that I could personally say " Dont worry, just give me your husband's name and I will personally make sure he is attended to".... but truth is, I have no power or connections around here. I am just a volunteer, and at that I cant even seem to find the person in charge of the place to explain that I have arrived and If all I can do to help is clean the toilets then that's what Im there for. I ask around for Dr samir, the guy Im supposed to meet. Nobody speaks english. Im met by puzzled looks as I try to communicate my reason for being there. Finally a gentle mannered Somali asks me if he can help me. His english is scarce but at least there seems to be some kind of understanding. He introduces me to Dr Lina, a Yemen born lady with kind eyes wearing an "Abaya", the traditional black veiled dress worn by women in Yemen.
Her english is on par with the Somalian guy who introduced me, so communicating around here is going to be interesting. I sit with her, and I begin interviewing her, trying to understand what the main needs around the clinic are, and what I can do to help. I can tell she is a woman with a big heart, but can read the same frustration in her eyes as I saw In the eyes of the Somalian women. As we speak I jot down some notes, and after thanking her for her time I leave her office to go sit in the courtyard. Reading through the notes what stands out are a few main factors.
(1) There is a complete lack of communication between staff and patients.
(2) Animosity is high as refugees feel rejected and pushed aside, this I put down to the broken line of communication between the two parties.
(3) There are no leaflets, brochures, banners or information boards available to refugees to inform them of available services and procedures.
(4) There is no creche or playing toys for the many children attending the clinic.
(5) The C.O.W team (community outreach workers) employed by IDF, comprised of ten somali youths who's job is to go visit patients who are too sick to make it to the clinic and report on their conditions are firstly, completely unaware of how to conduct their job, and secondly dont have any report forms with which to take down the patients details and conditions to report back to the clinic. On this note I've been told that the last time a C.O.W worker brought back a report was on the back of a scrunched up piece of newspaper unto which he wrote " the patient's house is dirty".
I figured the best way for me to help Is to create brochures, ads, and posters for the notice board which is missing half its wooden backing. Then I will put together a report form for the C.O.W workers, and hopefully, with a little assistance from the Australian side, get some money together to get a creche and some toys happening for the children. In relations to the animosity built, I would like to put together a survey for the refugees, where with the help of a translator I would like to get their feedback on what they would like to see improved around the clinic, and what type of information and assiatance they would like to be made available to them. I think this would help them psychologically to know that they are valued, and though the clinic is ill equipped and under staffed their opinion is valued, and changes are in the horizon. Another major problem amongst the Somali community Is F.G.M , more commonly known as female genitalia mutilation. This is a long standing tradition carried out by the mothers and fathers where the daughter's clitoris and labia are cut off, and the opening to their vagina stitched to leave a tiny opening which allows them to pretty much barely pass Urine. The reason behind F.G.M is that the mother believes that by doing so the daughter will be pure and clean and able to find a good husband. However, nowhere in the Koran does it state for this practice to be carried out, and although its origins of introductions are unknown as it is such a taboo topic amongst the somali community, it is an extremely dangerous practice which aside from making sexual intercourse extremely painful for the girl it has also left behind countless deaths due to infection and loss of blood. The only way to beat ignorance, is through information and education, and luckily the U.N websites has a vast variety of information on the topic, from which I would like to get inspirations to create a series of posters using a mix of shock tactics laced with perhaps a passage from the Koran which promotes life and discourages unnecessary suffering.
All of the above will have to be created in English, to be then translated into arab, and Somali. As a very large portion of the refugees community are illiterate, the wording will need to be extremely simple and visual ads powerful enough to get the message across. Its a huge task, not only due to its volume of work, but also because I cannot speak or write either arab or somali, so Im hoping that the connections Ive made with my Somali friend A.K and another arab youth who are bilingual will come in handy when translation is required. Bureocracy in the U.N is also a stumbling block as all documents, brochures and banners will need to also be checked and approve by three different offices, which is a lenghty process due to the general disorganization that runs rampant around here, and also because it is the month of Ramadan, where normal work hours are completely altered and offices remain closed for a large part of the day.
It is now 1 am, my eyes are burning as it has been an extremely long day. Im on my third day at IDF. and though the task seems huge, I notice that where there is a will and patience, there is a way, and that in itself motivates me to keep on.
Over and out for now:).
