Playing the line between tourist and professional has been much more of a challenge than I originally anticipated. I am torn constantly between my professional responsibilities here in Zambia and my desire to explore each and every day. But a tourist and a professional can both take a moment without shame or too much thought to enjoy the beauty of this county.
The first few days here in Zambia I became immediately and intensely aware of my whiteness. This had a lot of contributing factors I am still working out. My ease to travel, purchase groceries, receive genuine greetings and beautiful accommodation, among other things, can be attributed at least in part to my skin colour. The mumbling of adult conversations and giggles and shy awestruck look of the children around the town made sure I knew I was white.
The very first Silozi word (the language spoken here in Western Province) I learned was 'Makuwa' - it means white person. From the time that we left the bus station in Lusaka and finished off our gruelling (although it could have been worse) 10 hour bumpy bus ride and arriving in Mongu, I had heard bits of conversations with the word Makuwa strung throughout them. Not yet realizing that it was just the start of how most of the people in Mongu will refer to me. Because of where I had the privilege of growing up this was my first experience being identified primarily by the colour of my skin. It caught me off guard initially but I have grown quickly to get used to it because most of the context is genuine, friendly, and most likely out of innocent curiosity. We often go for walks down the street that we live on and you can't walk 15 metres without hearing, sometimes from a distance, Makuwa, Makuwa! How are you? How are you? Makuwa! coming from these jumping, waving, ecstatic little bundles. You seriously can't help but beam from ear to ear at the site of them. The other side of this is the stares you receive and the children who sometimes run away from you when you approach. This side of constantly being reminded of being a Makuwa does not feel as friendly. It was a bit of a reality check that I can't escape some of the oppressive a'nd historical connotations of my whiteness. It was also a reality check in that I can by no means doubt that this is a similar experience that some Canadians will have in Canada.
After a whirlwind week full of learning to navigate absolutely everything, we finally started clinical. I put on my scrubs and felt my professional responsibilities take over the fear and tourism. Day 1 I was in the Out Patient Department (OPD) which is a mix between our Canadian emergency room and five different walk-in clinics happening all at once in the same space. The Zambian nursing team had me sit out front at the triage table to be the first point of contact with the patients in the waiting room, take vital signs and triage to the appropriate clinic. Hello being totally out of my comfort zone. As I sat there with a blood pressure cuff, thermometer, and over 50 strangers eager to be processed through, I needed to give myself a little pep talk and remind myself that I could totally do vital signs, and Lozi can't be that hard, right? Wrong. I can thankfully say that after 4 years of nursing school I can definitely do a set of vital signs but what an experience it was triaging patients who you can barely communicate with, let alone with conditions and complaints you are largely unfamiliar with. I put my brave face on and picked up the patient files (the patient is responsible for keeping them most of the time - not a record keeping system I am used to). As I called the patients names to come up to the table, giggles could easily be heard all around the room. Lozi is not an easy language. Expecting the hesitancy and unfamiliarity I experienced with my 'Makuwa' status in the community, I was pleasantly surprised to have this experience of separation completely evaporate. The second the patient sat down at my table, and we greeted each other, we were simply a nurse and a patient. No complications. I was there to help them and they were eager and ready to let me, regardless of where I was from or what I looked like. They were exhaustingly patient with me as I struggled with intertwining English and the 'Silozi for Medical Professionals' reference sheet provided to us. The smiles on their faces as I tried to pronounce words and phrases and then my intent to decipher a response made it worth while. The Lozi and Zambian people are incredibly kind.
My role as a nurse seemed to neutralize any differences between us and for that I am incredibly grateful. Our interactions are human to human, not colour to colour. My practice as a growing RN has me striving to make sure that I continue to allow people to simply be human, with no constraints in any circumstance regarding who we are and the opportunities we are given.
Zambia has stolen a piece of my heart and I expect that the remaining few weeks will have amazing things in store!
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