The first 12 hours!

12 hours after I got off of the plane in Botswana, I was walking down a dusty road in a major slum settlement, headed to church with a toddler on my hip.

I suppose I should back up for a second and explain.

We arrived late last night, exhausted from over 24 hours of transit. There was some confusion over rooms and room keys, but finally most of us got settled in. We were lucky to meet some fellow international students who were living in the dorms as well; they did an amazing job helping us get oriented to the area - they even invited us out for the night. Despite being unshowered and road-weary, a few of us decided to venture out with them, and miraculously made it until about 4am.

A few of the our new friends were telling us about the children they had been working with in a settlement called Old Naledi. The settlement is the poorest and largest in Gaborone, and we heard reports that the HIV rate is over 90% there. Our fellow students invited us to come visit - to attend a church service with them the following morning.

So we got up with just a few hours of sleep, put on our Sunday best - something I haven't done in ages - and hopped the crowded combi busses for the edge of town. When we got to Old Naledi, our student friends took us to visit some of the homes of the kids they have been working with. Little by litte, young children started to gather around us. A little girl walked over to me, looked up at me with her big brown eyes, and gave the international symbol for "please pick me up."

After we gathered a number of kids, holding our hands and riding on our shoulders and hips, we headed to the church - a tiny, double-wide trailor on a large empty lot.

I sat with that little girl on my lap during the entire church service. Without a stethoscope, I could hear that she had an intense respiratory infection - the wheezing was just that loud. I hugged her tightly as we listened to the sermon and I could actually feel the crepitus from her lungs. I wondered about the type of medical care that was available to children like her. How could she get the help she needed? Are there antibiotics? Could her mother afford them for her? I spent half of the service patting the little girl on the back with my cupped hands, respiratory-PT style, while these questions were brewing in my mind.

I'd love to come back and work with some of the families in Old Naledi. The great news is I think I may be able to - one of our clinical sites, the Holy Cross Hospice, is located in this settlement. I won't know until later in the week at the earliest about my placement, so for now I'm left with a lot of questions... and a vague understanding that there is work to be done here, if we can find a way to do it.