You've been Mango'ed

The days are perishingly hot and the evenings close and humid. Heavy rain showers periodically provide relief from the steaming stickiness of the after-dark, and with it comes a gusty breeze up the Nile River, sweeping through the camp swirling dust and leaves in its wake, and toppling the umbrellas that stand over the teak tables standing out by the river. It was to the wonderful whistle and rush of this refreshing breeze that Heidi and I tucked ourselves in our tin cabin and settled down for the night. It was in the early hours of the morning that we were awakened by the sounds of ordinances striking the hut and those around us. It came in echoing clatters, striking the roof, the door, the walls with a relentless frequency. We both awoke with a start; there had been no warnings of attacks on the city, in fact even the border towns have had an element of quiet for the last few weeks.

We cautiously opened the doors with the wind howling and the rain relentlessly pouring down and stared into the night. Another strike came as we stared through the soaked air... and a soft yellow orb landed at our feet; a mango, ripe for the eating.

Gazing around we could see the sandy floor was covered with them and through the sheets of water we could see the security guards charging around the site collecting them in bags and standing in the shelter of a tree tucking into the ripe orange flesh. We joined in with our piece of fallen fruit.

The fact that the battering of our hut was not the result of a guerrilla assault was a great relief. However, with the coming of the rains so too has arrived the risk of death by mango; or at least a fairly substantial bruise for those of you less inclined to accept the drama of the situation. Granted, the risk of injury is far less than if, say, it was raining coconuts (or military ordinance for that matter), and many would agree that the resulting treat with a coconut is less inspiring than that of a mango but please accept that the situation is not risk free and the gauntlet run from cabin to breakfast has taken on a new excitement.

Work has continued in the same vein with peaks and troughs as in any work. People are still ill and we are trying to make them a bit better. We had a great turn out to teaching on Friday, which I had asked one of the junior doctors who works in a private clinic to prepare for us: he has been attending the teaching sessions just because he is interested even though he doesn’t work at the hospital which is great. He did an excellent presentation and we had one of our best turnouts, including some of the clinical medical students who have returned from Khartoum (but more of them later). Heidi and I have a lecture to the other consultants on Thursday which will be fun.

Leisure time has been spent generally relaxing around the camp, chatting to the other people here and heading out to listen to live music. We saw a Congolese band in a bar round the corner last week and had a chance to greet the lead singer, who is something of a big name in Congo music circles and sings in French rather than the local Congolese language Lingala. Last night we were out sinking a beer in the ‘Queen of Sheba’ Ethiopian bar and serenaded by an Abyssinian siren.

The Congolese band

The front of Juba Football Stadium

One of the many referendum signs in Juba

The upturned cans that line the hospital paths

More to come. Stay glued to your computer