Breathe

Bare with me, I am about to have a rant.
This week I started off lonely, it had developed into anxiety by midweek and by the weekend I had peaked at angry, really bloody angry. Sunday night was a cocktail of all three. The previous week was by far, my best week yet. Doing some actual nursing was a real breath of fresh air and I didn’t realise how much I missed it. Was this the reason I had such a terrible week? I don’t think so. Maybe I’m sinking into the three month pit of despair we were all warned about.
So, now it is Tuesday and I am going to let this all spill out to you and then hopefully I can move on to a better, calmer week.

Breathe.

I’ll start with work. My to-do list is a mile long, which is great. I am constantly asked about writing policies, competencies, nursing standards and completing audits. We want to be just like Australia, they say. This is great and, I never thought I would hear myself saying this, but they need it and I’m happy to help. I work hard creating programmes which are engaging and interesting. At least I try to, let’s be honest, it is the part of nursing that we all find boring and tedious, the part that takes us away from the work we trained to do. But I try. What I am beginning to realise though is that they don’t want to learn how to do it. They want me to do it for them. I don’t blame them, I would be the same. But that is not what I am here for. I am here to build capacity, to teach them how they can better improve their nursing care.
If I were to do it for them then what would they learn? What will happen when I leave? I can tell you what, nothing. Then in 5 years time they’ll ask for another volunteer who will arrive to the same tale I did: We started to do that, but we don’t do that anymore. Back to square one again. 

Breathe.

My Pijin is improving. I think, after three months I am doing pretty damn good. I can listen to a whole training programme and understand and I’ll happily chat with anyone who passes me by in the street or greets me at the market. I still have to think about what I need to say and in the work context I still find this difficult and exhausting, but I try. Every day I feel I get a little better, gaining a little more confidence and yet I am constantly asked: Why nao u no spikim pijin? Give me a break, I’m trying. 

Breathe

On Friday, I was walking to catch the bus and a man threw a rock at me. He was angry and I’m pretty sure he was drunk, on kwaso (the illegal liquor), betel nut or something. This I can handle, it’s not personal, it’s fine. It was the man who found it so hilarious he had to go and tell all his friends who also found it so hilarious. Not one person tried to help or defend me. I wanted to confront them. I wanted to ask: Why is this so funny? Do you think I deserve to have a rock thrown at me? But I didn’t. I stood there and took it, like a wimp. Then I got on the bus and cried all the way to work. I’m not sure who I am madder at, them or me. 

Breathe

That night we had a fundraiser event at the local “night club”. Having spent my “yoof” earning money working in various pubs and clubs, I offered to run the bar.

I was not prepared for the night that followed. Thankfully my friend Jess stayed with me as I could not have managed without her. It started off as fun but after 9 hours of drunken abuse, thick cigarette smoke and sexual remarks; we had both more than had enough. It was the accusations of short changing, the stealing, the slurred comments, the aggressive behaviour, the arms and hands everywhere trying to grab and touch and feel and the licking of fingers, which was, I think, was the last straw (another story). We were glad to be taken safely home and at 4.30am wearily made our way to bed. I thought I was made of pretty strong stuff but this was a different world. 

 Breathe

Maybe it was a mix of these but I have started to feel angry about everything:
I feel angry that I can’t go for a walk in my shorts, a run in my tights or a swim in my bathers as I will be judged. I feel angry that yes, we raised a lot of money on Friday but were we taking the food from children’s mouths as their dads drunkenly tried to pick up girls? I feel angry that I have to sit through a public service lecture on alcohol and betel nut at work whilst everyone else is outside chewing the stuff. I feel angry that I am first in the office and last out, yet I am constantly asked to do more. I am surrounded by corruption, theft, adultery, drugs, alcohol and abuse, yet I am judged for not going to church. I feel angry that I am a good person, I don’t steal, I don’t hate, I care and I love and I work hard but I enjoy a cold beer on a Friday night, yet I am judged. 

 Breathe.

I understand it is culture and I respect that. I am happy to live by their rules, I want to. I just feel angry that nobody else seems to, yet it is me that is judged. I feel like I’m giving so much of myself that I have forgotten who I am and yet they still demand more. 

Breathe

I want to be remembered for the work that I do, for the little positive changes I make, not for the skirt that I wear.

Just Breathe.