Pole - Swahili lessons from Ryan Fabrizius, MP4 in Tanzania

Posted on behalf of Ryan Fabrizius, Medicine Pediatrics Resident in Tanzania

Jambo from Arusha. 

Since last writing, I have been rounding on the medicine ward, which has been quite a different experience compared with pediatrics. While malnutrition and respiratory infections malign the infants and children, HIV devastates the adult population. Surprisingly, non-communicable diseases are just as common, if not more so, than HIV and its complications. Diabetes, hypertension, and chronic obstructive lung disease (emphysema) are much more common than I expected, and unfortunately, with the transition of local populations to urban lifestyles, will likely become the major burden of disease in developing countries like Tanzania. Just as it is in the US, chronic disease is difficult for patients to understand and providers to feel like they can make a difference, but I have been impressed by the knowledge and compassion of the local doctors to not just treat but to educate their patients on how to manage chronic diseases. For example, in outpatient clinic this week, I sat with Christopher, the internal medicine registrar, as he took about 30 minutes of a busy clinic day to explain diabetes type 2 to a patient. The concept of disease occurring without symptoms and not having a onetime solution is a difficult one to grasp, but Christopher patiently reached for common ground in understanding. Despite the myth that doctors in developing countries are "paternalistic", I have found that in this case and many others, doctors like Christopher strive to educate and empower patients and families to understand their condition and proactively participate in their own care.

For today's Swahili lesson, I wanted to introduce the word "pole". Just like "karibu", pole is a common and versatile word that enters into interaction several times per day. It is usually used here for "sorry", like when you bump into someone or walk on a clean floor with dirty shoes (I seem to leave a trail wherever I go). "Pole" also has some unique uses that we have observed. It is considerate to express "pole" when you see someone carrying a heavy load (we get a a lot of "pole"s when we carry groceries home up the hill). Many people will say "pole la kazi" when they see people at work, whether working at the hospital, harvesting roadside crops, constructing/digging, etc... It means, literally, sorry about the work. It feels similar to the feeling of sympathy medical residents give each other during a busy night shift or after a difficult series of events. To me, it seems to be expressing, "I have been there and I feel your struggle, hope you get to finish work and rest soon".

 

The most interesting use of "pole" for me has been with patients. When most local medical staff approach a patient on rounds or clinic, they usually begin with "pole bibi/babu/mama" (sorry grandma/grandpa/mother), which acknowledges the fact the patient is having a struggle. The usual response is "asante" (thank you), which feels like an expression of gratitude for recognizing the burden on the patient and family. As medical workers in the US, I think we do recognize the value of this sort of sympathy. Some useful expressions that I have learned from my teachers are "this seems like a difficult time for you" or "i'm sorry you have to go through this", but usually this comes up after a display of emotion from the patient or family that beckons validation. In clinical practice here, I find it most interesting that this validation and sympathy is the greeting, rather a phrase reserved for certain situations. It seems rooted in the community values here, that one person's burden is shared amongst others, not just friends and family, but all people that interact with them. Here in Tanzania, there are so many burdens that people carry, even in daily struggles for basic needs. It is frustrating for me, as someone that takes for granted that my daily needs are easily met, to see the barriers that people have to providing for themselves and their children. On top of that, the burden that HIV, chronic disease, and other medical conditions place on an already struggling people seem absolutely insurmountable. This, for me, stirs up feelings of injustice and unfairness, questions of why? and how?, and often results in frustration and fatalism. But for the people here, they bear with each other in these circumstances, supporting one another and carrying one another's burdens. Linguistically, I do not know if these words have a common root, but "pole pole" is another common expression that means "slowly" or "gradually". It is the unofficial mantra of climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro: gradually, one foot in front of the other. And such is seems with bearing one another's burdens. Sorry for your troubles, but slowly, together, we will carry it together.

Hamna shida. Hamna shida (no problem) and other reflections from the Global Health Chief

Posted on behalf of Medicine Global Health Chief, Hope Pogemiller

Greetings once again from A-town! 

The past few weeks have flown by, and it feels like a whirlwind.  Days are filled to the brim, and I quickly slip into sleep each evening under the comforting canopy of mosquito netting. I gaze at the 1 inch hole to my right, reminding myself that is not large enough to permit entrance of the resident African Hedgehog or the domestic mouse/gecko who leaves gifts in my sink every evening.  Hamna shida. Hamna shida (no problem). 

I've grown close to 2 registrars (doctors who have graduated medical school and 1 yr of residency "intern year") and a few interns.  A few of our sicker patients' families wave and greet me with big smiles around the hospital campus.  These patients and their families speak Maasai, and it is always a little search to find a nursing student or aid who speaks both Maasai and Kiswahili to help communicate at the bedside. Thankfully, greetings and warm feelings have never necessitated a common language.  I feel particularly fond of my older patients.  I've been rounding with the Internal Medicine team for the past 2 wks, and we have had a very low census.  We have a few people in their 30s-40s with gastritis or malaria, and then we have people in their 50s-60s with HIV who are on or off of anti-retrovirals and present with clinical pictures consistent with TB or PCP.  The group of patients that I particularly enjoy are those > 65 years old.  The women often have COPD from years of cooking in an enclosed home with smoke. This often leads to cor pulmonale, and they present with heart failure and/or COPD exacerbation.  One patient in her mid 70s was quite ill, but she greeted me each day with the most beautiful, relaxed smile. Each day she would report to me about her status in Maasai, and then we would begin the search for someone who spoke Maasai and Kiswahili.  My patient and her family recognized quickly that speaking to me in Maasai led to perseverance until we interpreted her message all the way to English and addressed her concern.  It is not an expectation that the medical staff update the family/patient each day as in the States with bedside rounds, but the internal medicine registrar with whom I work is particularly devoted. I watch him including the family in conversation and educating the patient whenever possible.  I often watch the family members during rounds and report to him when they seem frustrated or confused. He immediately takes them aside and explains in more detail or asks them what's on their mind.  He has this calm, quiet, comfortably-paced speech that looks to be greatly appreciated by the patients.  This past week I have learned much about the Tanzanian healthcare system and perspectives from this registrar and a few interns.  Motivations for choosing a career in healthcare vary, as in the States.  The unreliable timing and amount of paychecks for doctors is accepted, while steps are taken for improvement in the future.  In the meantime, the majority the doctors and students with whom I'm working have this thirst for knowledge and need to help those around them have an improvement in their lives.  This core desire combined with an intense community spirit is something incredible to witness.  When I am able to contribute in my part, I am instantly enveloped in this community.  It's hard not to feel very grateful for the opportunity to live here for a few months, making the world just a little bit smaller.

We had 20 international expats visiting for a field trip during a class last week, and it was interesting to hear their thoughts and impressions of Selian Hospital.  One doctor noted that it would be easy to know what to do if we only had the resources here.  Discussion with other expats from Minnesota and the graduate of MN residency who began the 2 hospitals in Arusha has covered this territory.  Loads of supplies have arrived at the hospitals in the past, yet they are not found when needed in the process of medical care.  It would be silly to think they would be used exactly in the same manner as in their country of origin. The key is to creatively think through the pathophysiology of the illness at hand and apply resources in unique ways.  It is not too uncommon to hear expats complaining that Tanzanians often have an external locus of control or learned helplessness... not looking to improve situations when barriers to advancement or success are encountered.  I suppose I am am growing more and more certain that human nature is universal.  Culture just wraps up the variety of personalities in any group with different colors, papers, and ribbons.  We had a diabetic patient who took 1 mo of metformin and then did not have access to a refill of her medication (or maybe didn't prioritize it as highly as healthcare providers might).  It is difficult to adhere to a diabetic diet anywhere in the world, but more so in her community.  We were injecting subcutaneous insulin to cover her high blood glucoses, and she was requiring much lower doses after when it was difficult to find food at the hospital.  We found a way to be sure she has food (not all carbs), and we checked her blood glucose three times daily.  One morning she had no blood glucose reading in the chart, and the nurses had not given her her injectable insulin as they had no glucose reading to doublecheck.  We had finished our supply of glucose monitoring strips. The registrar and intern and nurses immediately shook their heads, explaining to me the problem and adding that this is unacceptable.  There are shortages of medicines and supplies at all times, but certain essential supplies and medicines were simply necessary.  The administration of the hospital has a very open door policy, and the intern and registrar walked over to explain the situation. Calls were made, and by the end of the day we had a box of glucose monitoring strips.  Where was the Tanzanian inertia-- the inability of Tanzanians to identify a problem and find a solution?  Experiences like these give hope.  This is the way to future improvements in the system, and the intervention was wholly Tanzanian.  We have nicknamed the exceptional pediatric registrar at Selian Daktari Hamna Shida (Dr. No Problem), as it is his most common phrase.  Instead of panicking and making a ruckus everytime he notes an "opportunity for improvement," he calmly voices his mantra. Hamna Shida. Hamna Shida.  You can see him beginning to brainstorm, and later he can be found in the cafeteria or under a tree with hospital administration discussing the situation and working on a sustainable solution.  Although it might appear at first glance that he is simply dismissing medication and supply shortages, he is carefully working toward improvement with an eye toward sustainability.  People recognize his value, and he is given much respect.  As others follow suite, it is possible to see improvement on the horizon.  Cautious optimism shared among hospital staff.  Cautious optimism allows for perseverance in the face of adversity-- even if the adversity is deeply engrained corruption to the core of the country.  

Ryan and I have been able to try to understand together the current status and future of healthcare at Selian during the beautiful walks to and from Selian each day.  We alternate between learning kiswahili numbers and body parts, greeting fellow Tanzanians sharing the path, and interacting with schoolchildren learning English.  We vary our greetings, trying not to miss anyone...with the responses we receive sounding something like this... "poa, mambo, poa, mambo, jambo, jambo, poa, GIVE ME MY PENCIL!, jambo, jambo... " The spontaneous humor from our neighborhood children never fails to send us chuckling. Creative responses are very appreciated, and we now shout back requests for anything from a book to a bag. Our colleagues from New Zealand have even inquired about the price of a large cow being herded by us on the path.  Some days are more frustrating than inspiring, but one thing we can always count on joyfully unpredictable conversation en route to the hospital each day.

I hope this message finds everyone healthy and in good spirits-- hope

Greenery on the walk to the hospital

The path for walking to the hospital

Mt Meru in the distance

Arusha Lutheran Medical Center Hospital Complex

Hope checking out an x-ray outside the male IM ward

Learning the nuances of the Tanzanian Greeting Hamna Sheda

Posted on behalf of MedPeds 4th Yr Resident, Ryan Fabrizius

Hamna Sheda Jambo from Arusha!

This week, I did my last week of pediatric wards with the all-star team led by Joseph (the registrar - a role like our senior residents) and Dr. Steve Swanson (a pediatrician from Hennepin County Medical Center, now serving at ALMC and Selian full time) and comprising Kahema (the intern), Sasita and Baraka (the two Assitant Medical Officer students- a role like physician assistant students). It has been a great experience working with this team, and I have been so impressed by their eagerness to learn, compassion for patients, and their cheerful attitudes.

Joesph, as I have mentioned earlier, is one of the best assets at Selian Hospital. The registrar is a position given to an MD upon finishing the one year rotating internship and can be an indefinite position, or often one taken while seeking out a residency spot in a specialty. Their role is to attend on the wards and to supervise the interns, though there are many duties they fulfill behind the scenes such as teaching the AMO students, participating in hospital administration, and seeing patients in OPD (outpatient clinic). There are 4 registrars currently at Selian, all of whom are excellent, but Joseph stands above the rest in his medical knowledge, enthusiasm, ambition, and compassion for the community he serves. He actively pursues solutions to "upstream" problems that lead to the sad conditions that we often see: malnutrition, difficulty with accessing care early in the disease course, and recurrent respiratory infections. He often purchases essential supplies with his own money and stays late awaiting tests that return hours and hours after they were requested. He hopes to gain a residency spot in pediatrics this next fall, though this is a difficult task in Tanzania, since there is not a steady source of funding for these positions. Either a trainee has to pay their own way, which is thousands of dollars per year, or they must obtain a sponsorship from the government, church, or pursue an international training program. It would be a loss for Selian when Joseph leaves, but we truly hope for his success as a pediatrician, a field that is greatly under-resourced in a country with greater than 50% of the population younger than 15 years old and two pediatric residency programs.

Though learning Swahili has been quite slow for me, certain phrases seem to be preferred by different people. I have already discussed "Karibu" and the greeting ritual, but we noticed fairly quickly the phrase most preferred by Joseph. "Hamna sheda" (no problem) is mentioned in almost every interaction with Joseph. For Lion King fans, this phrase is a close cousin to "Hakuna matata", though for some reason wasn't chosen for musical glory; perhaps because matata is more fun to say. Examples of it's uses include responses to: 

• "Joseph we don't have any oral rehydration solution and we don't think we'll be getting it anytime soon",
• "the family cannot afford the antibiotics you recommended", or 
• "all of the thermometers have disappeared". 

He uses this phrase so much that Hope and I have taken to calling him Daktari Hamna Sheda. To an observer, I think this phrase could be generalized to represent the people of Tanzania as laid back, care free, no worries. The slower pace of life, simplicity of material possessions, and emphasis on relationships here fit this mantra well, but one might easily interpret this as laziness compared to the frantic lifestyle we pursue in the Western world. I have seen, though, that there is a different usage for people like Joseph. I really do not see him and others like him, resigned to be worry free in the midst of a community suffering under the weight of poverty and it's ghastly burden. "Hamna sheda" is not permission to avoid reality, but I think it is one way to accept reality but not to let it frustrate or corrupt. Though I am clearly frustrated with the lack of resources that I take for granted in the practice of medicine in the US, Joseph is able to see what is lacking but to not give in to despair. For him, it seems, "hamna sheda" is a recognition of factors beyond control and a challenge to strive for the best for his patients with the resources available.

I truly hope that places like Tanzania will someday have the infrastructure and resources that all people deserve, but I am encouraged by people like Joseph who are able to overcome these circumstances and to make Tanzania better.

Ryan Fabrizius (MP4) relfects on community in Arusha

Posted on behalf of Ryan Fabrizius, 4th Year Medicine Pediatrics Resident currently in Arusha, Tanzania

 

Mambo Jambo from Arusha, Tanzania. I hope this update finds you all well, I appreciate all of your responses, thoughts, and prayers. This week has flown by and I have been blessed that it has been filled with great experiences, coworkers, and friends. I am becoming more accustomed to work at Selian Hospital, and continue to learn new things everyday.

 

This week I have been reflecting on community. As many of you have experienced, there is nothing quite like finding yourself in another culture to make you aware of your own. Though my experience of culture here in Tanzania is doubtlessly affected by my obvious "foreignness", I have been finding the community here particularly enchanting. It has been explained to me that Tanzania is made up of over 120 different tribes, each with their own history, beliefs, and sometimes language. This is thought to be a real positive for Tanzania, since there is no one tribe that can dominate the others, as has been the unfortunate reality of many other African nations. It seems, from my naive perspective, that several tribes have maintained their way of life in a way that is so obviously different from the typical city dwelling Tanzanian. An example of this is the well known Maasai tribe, prominently donning their red and blue patterned scarves, beaded ear adornments, and patterned scarification on their cheeks. As a pastoral people, they are often seen tending to large herds of cows and goats, even in relatively urban areas around Selian hospital. It is a regular occurrence for us to run into a traffic jam of livestock being tended by a young Maasai herdsman. This contrasts to some of the other urbanized Arusha residents, many from other tribes like Chaga, who have taken to city life, working as shop keepers, taxi drivers, and other urban jobs.

 

One particularly fascinating aspect of life here that I have seen in my limited exposure, is how these different groups interact with each other and with outsiders, like myself. A prominent display of these daily interactions occur in the greeting of one another. Each day, myself and Hope, take our scenic walk to Selian hospital and are pleasantly barraged with endless greetings. The most common greeting is "mambo", which is a sort of slang term, much like "what's up?". To this greeting, we have been learning new responses in unlimited combinations. So far, we have learned "poa" (cool), "safi" (clean), "mzuri" (good), "mcima" (well), "fresh" (fresh?), and my favorite "poa kuchezi cama ndezi indana ya fridji" (cool like a banana in the refrigerator). There is also "habari" (what's the news?) and shikamoo (I respect you), which are more formal. Then there are the many school children eager to use their English phrases, like "good morning teacher" and "how are you?". Though I can barely scratch the surface to communicate in Swahili, I can sense the rich feeling of community in people greeting each other. When I watch others great one another, it is almost never a short interaction. Honestly, I have no idea what is being communicated, but I can sense the sharing of their intertwined lives. They stop to share a cup of chai, to rest in the shade, to carry their produce from the field together. 

 

In the hospital, I have seen how families rally to collect money for medicines and to search the countless "dawas" (small pharmacies) for the right medicines. I have seen how patients in neighboring beds support each other, like when a Maasai family cannot speak Swahili well and the neighbor will help fill in the details of whether they have received their medicines as ordered or have been taking the recommended refeeding formula. I have seen how the local doctors here will often buy necessary supplies with their own money, such as Oral Rehydration Solution, extra food, and even clothing for their patients. There is a sense of cooperation and support for one another that extends beyond family, tribe, and language. The people here have been gracious to greet us everyday, but I see that below this surface greeting there is such a richness of community here that amazes me. It challenges me to consider how I relate to others and how we as Americans (or whichever subgroup we find ourselves in) can look beyond ourselves to build stronger community with one another.