Christmas in the Field, part 2

Still no response on the turkey, and we are two days away. It really doesn't feel like Christmas, since we are ramping up our closing activities. Tents will start coming down, the stock will be emptied out, and donations will be made.

We get the cargo list today for the plane that arrives tomorrow. We should be receiving our Christmas good order, that included chocolate, butter, wine, carrots, potatoes, lemons, cheese. The luxury items we can't find here.

There is a sheep screaming every minute or so outside of our compound, tied on a tether and awaiting Christmas. I guess lamb is plan B if the turkeys don't come through. The sheep is very unhappy with the idea, and lets us know, all day long. He's got grass and water, but he seems to want friends. Demanding sucker, he is. We'll eat him soon.

I'm off to give the plane briefing to the four people flying home to Lubumbashi tomorrow. Our team is slowly reducing from 30, until in a week and a half we will be 0.

Merry Christmas, Kapanga.

Christmas in the Field, Part 1

I'm searching for a turkey. Two, to be exact.

I've gone the 8km into the administrative center of the district, because, believe it or not, I've seen two turkeys there. I guide the driver with vague hand gestures. Were they there, or down by the river... The need to scrape my memory disolves as two huge turkeys appear in the road in front of us.

Found em.

Gla gla la la la!

They call a greeting as we show up, searching for their owners. We ask a few policemen who are lounging around. Can we buy these turkeys?

I explain that in the culter where I come from, we eat turkeys for special occasions. Christmas is coming! We want a turkey dinner!

The owner is apparently the district administrator, and he has returned to Lubumbashi for the holidays. We cannot buy these turkeys. We ask if they know of any other turkeys in the area. They point us to the Sisters at Ntita.

Off we go.

5 kilometers later, we pull up to a sprawling campus with huge brick buildings soaring over graceful arcades. The gate us opened by enthusiastic children as we approach, and we walk into a quiet, clean courtyard with the sounds of a student choir echoing out of a nearby building. We walk into the nearest occupied room and state our mission. They point us to the headmistress's office.

We shuffle in, not wanting to interrupt, but everything stops when I enter. Oops. Chairs are brought and we ask after turkeys. She laughs and wracks her memory. No turkeys here, and there haven't been any for a long time. Are there any turkeys for sale in the area? She thinks and calls to her colleagues. We are encouraged to buy a cow instead, but after insisting in turkeys, they recommend a place in town.

5 more kilometers later, just a few hundred meters from our front door, we ask the trucking agent for turkeys. He knows two people with turkeys, and he'll get in contact with them today. We can come back in the evening and check if they are willing to sell.

A lukewarm lead, but better than nothing.

We head to the market and ask if anyone has heard of turkeys for sale. We get pointed to a place around the corner and ask there. Dead end. We head back via a restaurant with a very nice owner and ask her. No luck either.

Content that we have gotten the word out sufficiently, its time to wait.

Our wild turkey chase has turned up nothing so far, but we shall see what Monday brings.

Heart of Darkness

I'm in Kapanga, which is a zone in the Democratic Republic of Congo's southern Katanga region. It's my first time in Congo, and it's living up to the stories. I've heard it is beautiful with friendly, proud people. I'm not in the deep jungle, but it is hillier and greener than anywhere else I've been in Africa.

We are closing our project after investigating the epidemic status of the measles outbreak.  We opened here in early November, with the intention of closing on December 31st.  With a few weeks to go, we will meet this goal.  These last few weeks are filled with meetings, finalizing plannings and schedules, back-and-forth emails with the coordination team, and lots of questioning why we are leaving.

It feels bad to be closing our doors on a pediatric unit that is just starting to become flooded with patients, but it is the end of our mission, the measles epidemic is over, and our long-foreseen depart is almost upon us.  That doesn't make us feel much better as we brief the teams and prepare the final trainings for a handover with the Ministry of Health.

I'm making up the packing list of unused materials that we will start to send back on the plane next week, to start the 3-week long closing process.  Staff will start leaving on Monday, first in a trickle, then in a flood.  There are many things to do, logistically.  But there is still time to enjoy the scenery.