Kamuzu Central Hospital (KCH)

Before my arrival in Malawi, I was not sure where I would volunteer my time. I knew that I wanted to work with children but I did not know in what capacity. During my search for a suitable volunteer placement I met a woman employed with UNICEF. She informed me of some connections to a doctor who was working in the main hospital of Lilongwe, if I was interested in volunteering at the hospital, she would talk to some people for me, I said I was. Within a few weeks the arrangements were made, and I was to start volunteering at KCH in the children’s ward.

The morning that I was to start at the hospital I made my way towards the mini bus station. I finally found a bus that was headed in the direction I thought I needed to go. At this point I still had no idea where the hospital was located, I was just hoping that I would be able to find it with some help from the locals. A man on the mini bus turned to me and said, “I work with prosthetics at the KCH. Do you know what a prosthetic is?” His name was Alex and I started talking to him about prosthetics and when we got off the mini bus he escorted me all the way to the children’s ward so that I could meet with my contact, Dr. Masambo. To enter the hospital you have to pass through a guarded gate, where they are selective of who gets through. I have not figured out who is qualified to pass the gate, but I cannot help but think that being “white” is a qualification. Passing through the gate was definitely one of the many moments when I realized that while in Malawi, the colour of my skin would give me privileges which I, as a young Canadian female, was not prepared to be given. As we walked through the hospital I immediately noticed how dark most of the hallways were. There were light fixtures in the ceilings, but none were turned on. I haven’t figured out if they were trying to conserve power, or if the bulbs were burnt out. The floors were all concrete and there were people sitting or standing in long lines all throughout the hospital. It definitely wasn’t as bright and comfortable as our hospitals back home. Before we got to the children’s ward we turned down a hallway that had a lot of windows in it. I looked outside and saw about 100+ men, women and children all sitting on the lawn. Some of them were sleeping, others talking, but most of them were just sitting there. Alex told me that it was the waiting area for families. Some families even sleep there overnight to be near to their loved ones while undergoing treatment.

We turned a corner and we were in the Children’s ward. I met Dr. Masambo’s secretary, who is also the paediatric librarian, named Royce. I was an hour early for my appointment so I sat and talked with Royce. We had a great conversation and for some reason Royce was laughing at everything I was saying. To make a long story very short, I told her about a friend of mine who had been looking for a house with a room mate, and now my friend lives with Royce. (I was on my way to Royce’s house when I drove the minibus).

Dr. Masambo eventually came to his office and then he took me directly to the children’s ward to meet with the head volunteer, Theresa. Theresa is a Malawian woman in her 50’s. She was pleased to have me there and started showing me around the hospital right away. We first went to the volunteer office. It was a broom closet with random books, toys, and some chalk. I wasn’t completely surprised at the lack of supplies, but for some reason I was still a little upset that they didn’t have more and I had nothing to give them. Theresa showed me to the children’s play area. It was a decent sized courtyard with some grassy spots, swings and a covered patio area that had a black board. It was a pleasant area for the children to play. I started playing with the children that were outside and we were having a lot of fun. I couldn’t help but wonder why these children where outside if they were sick. Why were they in the hospital? Should I even care why they were there, or should I just try to make them happy and forget everything else?

Theresa came over and introduced me to Irene, another volunteer. Irene was my age and we hit it off immediately. Shortly after we began talking, I was told that it was lunch and that I should come back in an hour and a half. I asked Irene where to get food. She escorted me behind the hospital to a dirt road that led away from the grounds. Once I reached the street, there were street vendors selling fried bread, nsima, pop, donuts and other random high deep fried carb’s. We made our way back to the hospital and I noticed about 200 women and children cooking behind a brick wall. Irene explained to me that this was the place reserved for families of the patients to come cook their meals. All of the women had their own tiny fire going with pots of nsima cooking. I was amazed at all of these women cooking the same thing so that they could feed their families. We Westerners really take convenience food for granted. Could you imagine going to the hospital to be with your sick family or friend, and when you are hungry you have to bring your own bricks to put your pot on, firewood, nsima ingredients, spoon, plates and everything that you are going to make your relish with. Clean it all up when you are finished and then get it all out again for supper. It's hard to imagine life without establishments such as cafeterias, mmm McDonald's, Wendy's, and Tim Horton's.

I started talking to some of the women and asked if I could try cooking nsima. They were pleasantly surprised by my interest and passed me the spoon so that I could begin stirring. I had no idea of the technique and that it could be so complicated. I started stirring and the next thing I know I knocked the pot off the bricks it was cooking on. The pot had no handle, so you had to hold the edge of the hot pot while stirring at the same time. As I was trying to get the pot back over the fire I looked up to see, what seemed like all of the 200 women gathering around in a circle to see the Mzungu cooking nsima. I could not hold onto the pot much longer and soon gave up. The women did not seem to mind that I didn’t finish. They were just happy that I had tried. I stood up and started walking around again and then some women asked me to join them for lunch. I sat down on their bamboo mat and started eating nsima with them. They were so happy and just smiled and watched me eat the entire time. No one else was eating until I made motions for them to start eating. After I finished eating lunch I headed back to the hospital to start playing with the children again.

As we were walking back I noticed something that I hadn’t noticed on our way to lunch, rows and rows of laundry hanging up on lines. The laundry was all the linen from the hospital, linen, which is brought and washed by the patients and their family.

Within the children's ward there are different sections where children who have similar illnesses are kept. I mainly stayed with children who had varying types of fractures but were healthy enough to move around a little Some of the children were cancer patients, but they rarely came out to play. I could not bring myself to enter the burn unit as I did not want to have an unpleasant reaction which would upset the patients. The interaction I had with the kids was not forced but it was awkward. The children wanted to talk and play with me, but because of a huge language barrier it was very frustrating. I did my best to visit with as many children as I could each day. I would read them stories, teaching them how to read some basic English. We would try to match pictures and colours, count, learn the alphabet, and sing songs. The children loved singing head shoulders knees and toes and then teaching me the same song in Chichewa.

Many patients were only at the hospital for 2 days and then they were discharged without my ever knowing what happened to them. The children would disappear from my life without me being able to find out if they had simply gone home, or if they had passed away. Developing a real relationship was therefore very difficult due to the short nature of many of the children's stay's, I only hope I brought some joy to their time at the KCH. I spent about 3 weeks volunteering at the KCH but since I was going to be moving to Kawale, I was not going to be able to travel back everyday. I had to tell both the staff and kids that I would not be able to come and visit everyday, but I would try to visit once in a while. I said my goodbye’s and went to find someplace else where I would be able to volunteer in the next year of my life, not knowing exactly where that would be.