Your Robinson Crusoe Getaway / October 23, 2017 by Sarah Rawlins

Robinson Crusoe. Tropical island. Jules Verne. Attack of the killer crabs (aka Coconut Crabs). ‘Lost’. Ancient lighthouse. Fruit bats. Quirky German family dedicated to capturing the underwater life of Chumbe. Baracuda-moonlit-torch dinner on the beach. LED anenomes. Biggest bed I have ever slept on. Eating twice my weight in food. 4th Phd German Chemistry student I have met in the past 3 days…? Sunburn on Day #1. Fail Zanzibarian sunscreen. Smart life decisions. Do I have to leave?

How to make the most of 48hrs in the UNESCO Heritage site of Stone Town / August 4, 2017 by Sarah Rawlins

I’ve spoken with many fellow travelers who have been rather blunt in their dislike for this ‘dirty city’, however as you know, travel is subjective and our experiences of it are affected and influenced by a host of events. While it is no secret that the island of Zanzibar is not my favorite place on earth, I found Stone Town to be fascinating and even beautiful in its grittiness. Stone Town is a Swahili coastal trading town, which used to be the old part of Zanzibar city. It is a bustling, living, breathing urban center which has succeeded in keeping its indigenous elements intact. It is a place where African, Arab, Indian and European cultures melt together in a messy and unrefined patchwork of colors, shapes, architecture and people. As you explore the snaking streets, suggestive of a Moroccan Medina, you will find that the majority of the buildings are made in coralline ragstone and mangrove timber, with a plaster and lime-wash finish. The typical Zanzibarian home is a two storied structure with long, narrow rooms which open up to a central courtyard reached through narrow corridors and flanked by the famous, Zanzibar-carved double doors. Teak and rosewood carved balconies, reminiscent of the Indian elite can be seen adorning many of the buildings in the old town center. According to one of my favorite local guides, balconies were later forbidden on many buildings, as they were attributed to Princess Salme’s (infamous princess of Zanzibar and Oman) downfall. Rumor has it that the proximity of her neighbor’s balcony lent itself well to the princess becoming perhaps a bit too acquainted with the German merchant living next door. After becoming pregnant with his child, she later fled to Britain on a cargo ship, married the merchant and converted to Christianity. Regardless of what one believes concerning the balconies, they are in their own right deserving of our admiration.

Stay: Zanzibar Coffee House

If you’re looking for a place to stay in Stone Town, I would highly recommend the Zanzibar Coffee House http://www.riftvalley-zanzibar.com/. The coffee house is located in one of the oldest buildings in Zanzibar, constructed by the Wazir to Sultan Said Bargash in 1885. The home is charming and magical, filled with unique and tasteful antique furnishings and Arabic motifs. Vintage coffee making gadgets and accessories can be found sprinkled throughout the premise and during the day, the scent of freshly roasted coffee beans permeates the warm air. It is pure bliss. Downstairs is home to the Zanzibar Coffee House Café, which serves up tasty cakes and small plates. I’m partial to their spiced coffee which is perfectly seasoned with just the right amount of cardamom and cinnamon. All of the coffee is grown by the hotel’s owners on farms in Zanzibar and in the Southern highlands of Tanzania. The café is a great hiding place if you want to get away from the craziness of the streets outside. Wi-Fi is good and the staff are incredibly friendly.

The best part about this place, in my opinion at least, is the rooftop terrace where complimentary breakfast is served every morning. Think freshly made mango-cardamom juice, crepes with cinnamon-orange butter spread, omelettes with locally grown veggies and herbs and of course fresh fruit. While it can get quite windy on the island, there is both outdoor and sheltered seating, thus regardless of the weather one can still enjoy the sweeping views of the historic town, a city full of color and grit. Here time stops. As I sat on the Moroccan-motif pillows, cradling a warm espresso between my hands, I remember gazing out upon the minarets and the clothes hanging to dry, taking in the sounds of the city below and pausing to breathe in the sweet yet pungent ketoacidotic aroma of a city in motion.

View from the Coffee House rooftop terrace.

Eat:-Lukmaan Restaurant:

Located near the former slave market, this local favorite serves cafeteria-style dishes. The portions are large and the prices can't be beat! My favorites were the flat bread, pilau and octopus coconut curry. Go expecting to make friends as the seating is family style and the staff super friendly.

Swahili House:

http://www.theswahilihousezanzibar.com/rooftop-terrace/

I include the Swahili House as it is just around the corner from the Coffee House and has a beautiful rooftop dining terrace where one can listen to the call of prayer as it resounds over the sun saturated city. The cuisine is Pan-African-international. All ingredients are locally sourced, plus this is one of the few places where I found decent happy hour drink specials.

Emerson on Hurumzi:

http://www.emersononhurumzi.com/

Although I did not have the time to visit this Zanzibar legend, I have it on good record that this is the place to go for outstanding sunset cocktails and gourmet, Swahili and Persian-inspired seafood dishes. Located just across the street from the Zanizibar Coffee House, the restaurant makes its home in a beautifully restored merchant's mansion. The rooftop terrace and tea house was also one of the pit stops in this season's Amazing Race.

House of Spices:

http://www.houseofspiceszanzibar.com/

Conveniently located around the corner from the Coffee House, this restaurant occupies one of the terraces of a three-story 18th century mansion, which once served as the packaging and distribution center for the island's spice trade. The cuisine is international with a mediteranean flair. Best of all is their homeade spice-infused apertif. When I asked my waiter for the recipe he gave me a mischevious smile and told me that it was classified. It took a great deal of restraint to drink only one.

And don't forget the Zanzibar Coffee House and Forhodoni Gardens, previously mentioned.

The historic center is quite small and most of the major sites can easily be covered in one day. If you are lucky to have longer however, there is much more that the city can offer.

Here are my top picks for how to spend 48 hours in this coastal trading city:

1. Get lost (free)

If you’re into photography and like to walk, I recommend aimlessly wandering through the maze like streets either very early in the am or just as the sun is setting. For females traveling alone, be aware that creepers, connivers and ‘let’s make a dealers’ are lurking behind every corner. My walks during the early morning hours were my only times free of constant harassment and thus I grew to cherish them.

2. Forhodoni Gardens Sea Wall (free)

Spend an evening hanging out along the pier just beside Forhodoni gardens. Here, as the sun sets behind the crystal blue water, boys and men; young and old, wearing nothing but their swim trunks form a line and when they’re good and ready, one by one make a mad dash straight for the old stone retaining wall, pausing just long enough to lithely jump onto the top of the wall before making their plunge into the trash-littered water below. There is an unspoken rhythm between them, as they cannonball, flail, swan dive, or backflip one after the other into the waiting ocean. While I regretfully did not have my camera with me to capture the sea wall dives, here are some photos taken alongside the waterfront.

3. Eat dinner at the Forhodoni Gardens night market ($3-$10)

Make sure to bring cash, finely-tuned bargaining skills, a poker face and an adventurous palette. I recommend a slice of Zanzibar pizza (see my last blog), fried sea urchin on a stick, urojo (soup with potato balls), pilau (spiced rice) and chipsi mayai (omelette with French fries). This should all be washed down with a glass of fresh-pressed, lime-infused sugarcane juice.

Forhodoni prepares for the night market.

*Tip #1:

Find the market stalls with the longest lines as the rumor from many a local is that much of the seafood is not nearly as fresh as the vendors tout it to be and speaking from personal experience, coming down with Typhoid in Zanzibar is less than ideal.

*Tip #2:

Be alert to scams, particularly if you are approached by a ‘vendor’ offering to bring a beer and food right to where you are sitting. Not only is it illegal to sell and drink alcohol in the park, but your beer, not so covertly disguised in a paper bag will also come with a $10 price tag.

4. Venture into the old Fort (free, until one of the local vendors lures you in)

The oldest building in Zanzibar, built around 1700 is the Old Fort. The site served not only as a defense against the Portuguese but was also a church and later a prison with executions on site. The area now hosts a lively market comprised of artist galleries and workshops, a quaint café, an open air theatre and a smattering of local vendors trying to make a living. Be warned, these vendors can be aggressive. One woman actually came up to me on the street insisting to show me around the town with her ulterior motive of course being to lead me somewhat indirectly to her shop in the old fort. Sometimes you just have to roll with it.

5. Take a trip to the Old Slave Market (˜7000 TSh/$3)

One of the world’s last open slave markets, the site was closed by the British only in 1873. Slaves were shipped by the thousands from the mainland in handmade Dhows. Visitors can still see sections of the original slave quarters, which give you an almost immediate sense of claustophobia. It is hard to imagine that these quarters once held hundreds of slaves; an undeniably dark and sinister part of our history.

Today, the Anglican Cathedral Church of Christ stands at the same location as the original 'whipping tree'. Today the area is marked at the altar by a white marble circle surrounded by red to symbolize the blood of the slaves.

Inside the church is a tribute to David Livingstone who stayed in Zanzibar before his final expedition. Upon the alter is a small cross made from the wood of the tree in Zambia under which his heart is buried. Outside, an artist has constructed life-size statues of slaves bearing their original chains. Like many historical sites around the world having been marred by death and destruction, the slave quarters are now eclipsed by the massive Anglican church. While on one level, I understand the symbolism, a large part of me wishes that we could just leave things alone, unmolested by religion and time, a memory left for future humans to witness in its unadorned brokenness.

6. Scavenger hunt for doors-

I LOVE doors, so this for me was one of my Stone Town favorites! The doors found here are more than just doors. They are massive and ornate, Burmese and later East African teak-carved masterpieces which tell the stories of the families who once lived behind them. They speak to the social status, religion and profession of their inhabitants. The Indian doors are marked by beautiful brass studs, which were originally placed to protect against Elephants. Many of these doors are divided up into smaller sections and often have shutters and an arched top frame. The Arab doors are rectangular with intricately delicate frames and Arabic inscriptions often citing the Quran. The Swahili doors are the most modest of the bunch, solid wood structures free of much adornment.

7. Daranjani Market (free)-

You may know this market from the leg of this last season’s amazing race where ‘contestants’ in their ignorance were wheeled and dealed into paying exorbitant prices for everyday items like bananas and matches. Navigating these market stalls requires some business savvy and an ability to stand your ground. If you’re sensitive to smells, this may not be the place for you, however, if you’re like me and thrive on these bedlam-like convergences of humanity, this place is not to be missed.

8. Palace Museum ($5-$7)-

This can be visited on your own or as part of a guided historical walking tour. Be warned that depending upon your tour guide, you may be forced to stop at literally every painting and plaque. By the time I had finished the tour I had seen 40+ paintings of the princess and of the various sultans, which had ruled the area. Unfortunately, the displays are in in need of desperate renovation and repair. It sadly seems that very little money has been put into the upkeep of many of the historical sites in Stone Town. Despite these shortcomings, I recommend a visit to this place for the full package, which includes an opportunity to learn about the characters and historical importance of the area in addition to an upper balcony with sweeping views of the harbor and ocean.

9. Please go to the Mrembo Spa…

especially if you are in need of something to do on a rainy day! http://mrembospa.com/

I cannot say enough good things about this place. This is your go to place for massages, scrubs, facials, mani/pedis, henna treatments and local, organic beauty products. All of the ingredients are locally sourced, the women who run the place are fabulous and the spa supports a livelihoods project for 10+ Zanzibari families. If spa treatments are not your thing, they also offer a number of workshops, including spice blending, batik fabric painting, Zanzibari cooking, soap and scrub making, incense workshops and music, dance and Tingatinga painting lessons. Sadly, I did not have my camera on hand when I ventured into this beautiful place, so you will have to take me at my word. This local business deserves a visit, or two, or three.

10. Share a hookah and a beer with a friend or make a new friend on the balcony of the Africa House Hotel, outdated and funky but a Stone Town legend with beautiful views.

http://www.africahousehotel.com/

Don’t:

1. House of Wonders-

Don’t be confused as I was. You cannot actually visit this place. Much of the interior has caved in and the building is currently off limits. The biggest and tallest building in Zanzibar, a former palace, is historically significant for being the first house in Zanzibar to have electricity and the first house in East Africa to have an elevator. Today visitors may admire the decaying structure from the surrounding fence but be warned that if you linger too long you will be plucked up by a local ‘entrepreneur’.

2. Freddy Mercury House (Free)-

I found this to be highly overrated. It seems that much could be done to commemorate the life of this rock legend, however there is really nothing to be seen other than this sign.

3. Hamamni Persian Baths ($5-$7)-

I also found the baths to be underwhelming. If you have some extra time, you can hire a guide to take you through these ancient baths, but really there is not much to look at, especially if you have had the fortunate of exploring their counterpart say in Morocco or Turkey.

Regardless of what you have read or haven’t read about Stone town, for the right type of ‘tourist’, it is well worth the visit. As with all travel, you must bring with you a sense of adventure, an openness and genuine desire to learn from and connect with the locals. You must be able to roll with the punches and cannot take yourself too seriously, however at the same time you must be street-smart savvy and will need to put on the ‘take no nonsense’ hat. If not, you may find yourself frustrated and exhausted.

Happy Adventuring!

The Journey to Zanzibar- Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook Entry #1? / May 25, 2017 by Sarah Rawlins

Warning: Not your typical Zanzibar travel blog

A normal travel blog would simply offer up all of the highlights from this tropical destination, guiding its readers to the ‘must sees’ of this Spice Island, completely enthralling them so that they have no choice but to pay the island a visit using your recommendations.

My blog is a bit different, a bit more personal and perhaps not as enthralling, but that is life and this is my experience. I also cannot write about Zanzibar without first writing about my experience of getting to this…forgive me, island of no return.

And so begins the start of my ‘worst case scenario-series of unfortunate vacation related events’…

For starters, I arrived in Zanzibar and my contact lenses did not. Unbelievable. Maybe it was because I had two beers for dinner the night before (food options were slim) when I was packing my bag… Really, I have no idea how I forgot them, as I carefully counted them out and placed them in their own special bag. Unlike the normal, ‘hurry up and wait’ routine, we were rushed the morning of my departure. They dropped me off at the landing strip and almost instantly I realized what I had done. I bent down with my back facing the runway; rummaging through my bag, hoping that by some miracle I was wrong. As I’m squatting there in the dirt, bag wide open, focused on the task at hand, the plane comes in for a landing. As soon as those wheels make contact with the earth, a torrent of dust fills the sky, so strong is the wind from the propellers that the dust cuts through my skin. Within seconds me and my open bag are completely engulfed. Of course, everyone else had anticipated this plane-induced dust storm and had strategically repositioned themselves away from the action. Of course I was too concerned about my contacts….and so, entered the 10-seater plane completely covered in red earth. Rookie move.

The contacts would not have been such a big issue, but for the fact that my entire vacation revolved around diving and water sports, of which I had already paid for and all of which I could not do without my contacts. Super depressing. My final hope rested in the off chance that they could be brought to the island by another expat also traveling to the island for some R&R. Stay tuned.

Then there was my arrival to Juba which in itself was a harrowing experience. For starters, there was the plane ride. I actually thought that I might die. Our little plane flew right through a huge storm; lightning bolts cutting through the sky---plane jumping all around, stomach leaving my body, rain leaking into the plane….It’s never a good sign when the locals sitting next to you look at the water pouring in and start to panic. Then there’s the city of Juba, which feels unsettling in itself. After everything that went down in July when fighting broke out in the capitol and surrounding areas after the peace treaty was broken, there remains a pervasive feeling that anything can happen at any time. The atmosphere is foreboding and pregnant with the anticipation of what could come.

I wish I could write about the Juba airport, however this is a sensitive subject. Travelers be warned.

My flights from Juba to Nairobi and on to Zanzibar were fairly smooth, but then I landed in Zanzibar.

I decided to carry on my luggage as I didn’t want to risk my bag not arriving but then the plane was so small that my bag wouldn’t fit in the overhead compartment. And, as luck would have it, my seat was right next to another MSF guy who was also working in South Sudan. He was there with his fiancé and together, they helped me stuff the bag under a seat. Once we got to the airport, chaos ensued. It was already quite late at night but the airport was packed. It took over two hours for me to get my visa! Because of this delay and because I had no way of contacting the hotel, the transport that I had arranged had come and gone. My new friends had also encountered some hiccups. The airline had overbooked the plane; probably trying to make some extra cash and this overbooking meant that the weight limit had been reached, thus, all of the luggage was left behind! At that point, I had nothing to rush for, so decided to wait with the couple so we could share a taxi into Stone Town. We found a nearby bar as we waited for the line to go down and I had my first Tanzanian beer. The couple were great. She turned out to be a pediatrician working in West Africa and he was an MD working in an MSF run refugee camp in Yida. We talked about what it’s like to work in Haiti and now in South Sudan; reflecting upon both the struggles and the joys. By the time we loaded into the taxi it was already past midnight. By now we were starving. We asked the driver to stop on the side of the road as soon as we spotted an open food stand. I grabbed a big octopus tentacle, some fried shrimp and a piece of ‘Zanzibar pizza’ (a popular, spicy street food filled with beef, veggies and eggs, no cheese!), stuffed them into a paper bag and we were again on our way. I did not realize, but you cannot drive in the historic center of Stone town. The roads, if you can call them that, are narrow and windy—the area must be explored on foot. As it turns out, the couple is literally staying right next door to me. Life never ceases to amaze me.

Forodhani Market prepares for the Night Market-a favorite spot to buy Zanzibar Pizza.

Stay posted for my next blog where I'll give recommendations on Stone Town.

Reflections from Tumultuous Times. / May 24, 2017 by Sarah Rawlins

*The views expressed in this blog do not represent the views of MSF*

It is amazing how quickly and also how slowly 9 months can pass. Working with MSF (Médecins sans Frontières/Doctors without Borders) can feel like living in a time warp. By the time that I left South Sudan, it felt like I had been there for years. At the time of my departure, there was only one other colleague who I knew since the first day I arrived and this was because he had extended his contract. By the end of my 9-month assignment, I had both introduced myself and said my goodbyes to more people than I could remember and yet still I remained. On the other hand, where did the 9 months go? Wasn't it just yesterday that I arrived on that dusty landing strip with all of the children frantically darting off of the runway so as to not be swept away in the overpowering cloud of dust as the power of the plane's engine made contact with the parched earth? It is amazing what can transpire in 9 months.

During the past 9 months I had the privilege of meeting and working with some of the most incredible people. I ran what I would like to think of as a 'successful' training program for the national staff at a large field hospital and more importantly, I had a lot of fun doing it. I had no idea that I would LOVE teaching! I contracted Typhoid or maybe its ugly cousin and thought I was going to die. Being jet lagged and sleep deprived, I tripped and fell at a hot spring in Tanzania and managed to tear my meniscus and three ligaments...and then I proceeded to go on a safari where my friend and I were ambushed by baboons and where I had a close encounter with a hyena. I spent a month in Kenya trying to navigate physical therapy at Nairobi Hospital. I learned some pretty great Dinka dance moves and also picked up some useful Dinka, Arabic and Swahili. I went swimming in a water drum, provided training for over 800 people, almost got attacked by a swarm of locusts and lived in a tukul (typical South Sudanese hut) that was also visited by frogs, goats, cats, hedgehogs and scorpions. I missed 3 flights, traveled to 9 countries, spent an afternoon at a local Italian police station and did I mention that my car was stolen (I could have done without that one).

I would be lying if I said that few tears had been shed this past year. I would also be lying if I said that there were never times of great loneliness and despair. However, I would also be lying if I said that it wasn’t all worth it.

My story of the past year is a bit uncharacteristic. Unlike normal people, my holidays, which were meant to be times of refilling and rest proved to be times of deep pain; filled with unrelenting troubles and trials. On the contrary, my time in the field, although incredibly difficult, was a beautiful gift that filled me with great joy. I do not know why I had to experience such pain during the times which were set aside to be times of rest, but I do know that a piece of my heart has been left in South Sudan.

Leaving South Sudan was an incredibly emotional experience. As the wheels lifted off of the Sudanese soil, I looked out of my window over the community of Agok. My eyes said goodbye to the hospital, to the market, to the tukuls and to the airstrip. It was with a deep sadness in my heart that I left, knowing that out of all of the times that I had left Agok in the past 9 months, this time was different.

I began my time in Agok with feelings of trepidation, unsure of what to expect, especially after receiving some not so encouraging information…. What I found however, was a community full of incredible people with arms and hearts wide open, and minds so hungry to learn that I couldn’t keep up with the training requests. I was continually overwhelmed by the support and encouragement I received, from nursing supervisors who would come in on their days off for training or to help me administer tests, to the anaesthetist who offered to translate 50+ exams from Arabic into English during his free time. I remember offering a training for the Watsan (water sanitation) team on the basics of Tuberculosis after reports surfaced that the team were neglecting to clean the wards as they feared that they would contract TB. I will never forget teaching this group of 30+ as they sat rapt in their seats, completely attentive-hanging onto every word I said and offering up questions at every opportunity. Mid-way through my teaching, and elderly man stood up and began to cry, thanking me for seeing them as people worthy to receive training. He said, “we are the very least, we clean the latrines, people see us as nothing. Never before has anyone taken the time to give us education. We will forever be grateful”. I wanted to melt right there and what I really wanted to say was that according to Jesus, the ‘least of these’ are in fact the greatest. As a few tears dripped down my face, I took his hand in mine, looked him in the eyes and did my very best to tell him that he was valued.

My friend Nyandeng, one of the  water & sanitation crew members. — My friend Nyandeng, one of the water & sanitation crew members.

Life was not easy. On the day that I left, temperatures had reached almost 48 degrees Celsius (118 Fahrenheit). With the heat came the sandstorms. The wind was constantly stirring up sheets of dust, which clogged every pore and covered every surface. It was impossible to keep anything clean. I was always dirty. My mattress had become a hole in which I slept. It was no wonder that more than half of us suffered from back problems. At night I would cover myself with a wet sheet, then position my fan so that it blew directly on me. Even this did little to help reduce the suffocating temperatures. During this time, we were also visited by hundreds of birds of prey. They descended upon our compound overnight. If you decided to carry your food outside of the dining tukul chances were that you would be attacked by a massive hawk nose-diving straight for your plate. During the rainy season the insects descended in overwhelming numbers and with them come the flash floods. Several of our tukuls were prone to flooding, bringing in snakes and frogs and sometimes black rainwater would collect in the thatched roofs and pour down on us while we were sleeping. When it rained, I had very little time to grab my rain boots and jacket and run to the training room to try to move all of the supplies to the center of the room so that they wouldn’t get rained on and destroyed. I especially loved exiting the shower at night where you had no option but to step directly into the floodlight and be instantly covered in bugs as they slithered down your wet body. The humidity was at times so high that my clothes would mold in my room in a matter of hours. From June-August the bees were relentless. It was almost impossible to eat as you had to continuously spoon them out of your food. At night, the hedgehogs would come out and if you were lucky they might come visit you in your tukul. The food could have been so much worse, but it was not great, especially if you are a vegetarian and many days I would get to the kitchen too late and would find absolutely nothing when I lifted the heavy metal lids. If we had received a fresh food delivery, then I could grab an apple or an orange but if it was the end of the week, my lunch or dinner would be whatever I could find in the pantry (wheatabix, instant noodles, bread with peanut butter). Everyone worked long hours. The work was exhausting and we saw far too many children die. Despite all of this, Agok was a beautiful place. It is also a place where lives are saved, where Dinka and Nuer come together in peace, as patients and as staff. It is full of passionate, intelligent and caring expats who also know how to be creative in order to make compound life enjoyable. And of course it is home to all of the incredible staff who are there before and after all of the expats arrive and depart. The hospital is staffed not only by National staff but also by many people who have either been relocated from other parts of the country or from neighbouring countries. These people make the hospital run. They are the heartbeat.

Maybe you’re reading this and thinking, ‘why the heck would anyone willingly choose this way of life?' I’ve even had people go so far as to insinuate that I must be slightly ‘off’, not quite mentally right.

But what about the millions of people who have no choice? For them, this is the reality every day and at the end they cannot go back home to a life of luxury and ease full of supermarkets with endless aisles of cereal options. The least that I can do is offer up what little I have to learn from and to serve these incredible people.

Goofing around in Triage with one of our nurses.

It’s not hard to understand why so many struggle with ‘re-entering ‘normal life and returning to their normal jobs. When you are out in the field, you experience these crazy low-lows but you also experience these incredibly high-highs, which are only made possible by the low-lows. After teaching people who are so eager to learn anything you can give to them because they have lived their entire lives in a country with no education system how can I possibly teach people back in the U.S who sit in class more interested in their smart phones than in what I am saying, because after all, they are the entitled ones, they are the customer, the consumer. How can one go from resuscitating babies every day to a hospital back home where if one baby dies, the parents file a lawsuit, even though you and your team did everything you could to save that child’s life?....to go from a country where death is unfortunately an accepted fact of life, to a country that cannot accept death in any of its forms. How can you return to a system where medical supplies worth thousands of dollars are thrown in the garbage after being touched, even if they remain enclosed in their original packing, meanwhile, in the country from where you just came, you are cutting maternity gloves down to use them for wound care, are rationing out isolation masks and cleaning supplies and praying that the next shipment of supplies comes in soon? What about going from working in a country where pain medications are a rare gift and where people accept their pain with an astonishing stoicism to a country where you are screamed at if you are 3 minutes late delivering a dose of oxycodone; a country that gives out narcotics like they are candy. These are just a few examples, so yes, I can completely understand why it is so difficult for aid workers to cease being aid workers. Normal life can be unbearable in comparison.

As I re-enter ‘normal’ life, or whatever ‘normal’ life is supposed to be, I reflect on this past year and see it for the amazing gift that it was. Returning to work in the U.S health care system, especially given the current political climate, will not be easy but it is my hope that the experiences of this past year can serve to fortify my work back in my home community of Seattle rather than to weaken it.

The 1st International Agok Dance Competition! / January 19, 2017 by Sarah Rawlins

*The views expressed in this blog do not represent the views of MSF*

They say that burn out is high here. They say that you must really take care to ensure that you don’t become another ‘casualty ‘of the environment. One thing that has made Agok special, at least during my time in the field, are the events and activities my teammates have conjured up specifically to combat this emotional, mental and physical lethargy that so many experience during their time here. To be honest however, when I first heard word about the ‘dance competition’, my initial reaction was to feel even more exhaustion. I could not remember the last time that I had a free weekend, let alone even one free evening to myself. Planning for the competition was underway; posters were hung, draped and plastered onto every surface, announcing when the first round of auditions would be held, when the second round of auditions would be held and then finally when the actual competition would be held. I heard murmurs of costumes, of props of music selection and my response was… “when will I possibly have the time to partake in this!?” ‘And costumes!??’ I think if I hadn’t felt so exhausted, my response would have been one of pure elation as I LOVE to dance. So normally, this would be MY event.

As things started to come together however, I realized that this was actually therapeutic and beautiful. As the sun began to set, crowds started to gather into a large circle. Before we knew it, the competition was well underway. Together we watched in awe and amusement as first the maternity department ‘took the stage’. Dancers dressed in tennis shoes with knee-high socks, dyed red layered skirts, white T-shirts and red and black poker style top hats flew into the arena shouting, singing and dancing. The leader entered first, weaving in and out of the crowds carrying a huge shield and a leopard print loin cloth.

When the log team was announced, probably forty, shirtless, 7-foot-tall midnight sky black South Sudanese men came running into the center of the circle. Some had MSF masking tape-bracelets around their arms, others sported belts, from which hung empty Dettol bottles, keys, water bottles and other ‘log paraphernalia’. They danced, ran, jumped, kicked up an excessive amount of dust and discharged waves of testosterone into the heavy South Sudanese night air.

Then there was the ‘Western Dance Group’, a mixture of hip hop and modern dance to raise the energy even further.

Being on the expat team, our dances and costumes were of course thrown together and improvised and paled in comparison to what the others presented, however the entertainment factor was high. The air was filled with laughter as probably over a hundred people watched us dance la Bomba to a G-string wearing sumo wrestling hippopotamus who was projected onto a screen in front of us. We all had leopard printed bandanas around our heads, except for our fearless leader, who had also made himself a leopard print G-string (over his pants of course). We saved our ‘performance for the end’, so as to not set any precedence and so as to merely end the evening with some lighthearted entertainment. We knew that we had no chance of winning the competition.

The real stars of the night however, were the Acholi group. They danced their way into the open, the women coming first and then the men. They had fashioned headpieces out of feathers, wire coiling and metal washers. The women all wore, full pleated skirts which served to accentuate even the slightest hip or buttock shake. The dance was beautiful. It was a song. A story. Ultimately, it was a dance of Peace.

The Acholi head-piece making its rounds.

Here, in the middle of war-ravaged South Sudan, we were dancing for peace, choosing to celebrate one another’s differences rather than let them divide us. For a moment, I contemplated how to bottle this spirit of peace and spread it freely outside Agok, until it had permeated all 28 states with its sweet aroma. If only it were that simple. For now, we will continue to dance, to celebrate what it means to be alive, to love one another, to honor and respect one another and to cherish our differences, because our differences are beautiful.

You know you're aid worker on holiday when... / December 25, 2016 by Sarah Rawlins

You arrive in Juba to be greeted by a freshly minted fleet of Chinese UN peacekeeping troops who are surrounding and lounging in the airport, which is nothing but several tents duct-taped to each other with cardboard signs stating things like, ‘immigration here’.

You leave the airport only to still be surrounded by men touting camo and weapons…this time it is thousands of SPLA troops who have been brought in to help keep peace around the holidays….or so you are told.

You climb to the rooftop of your aid worker guest house, are hit by 38-degree heat, then look as the aid worker sitting next to you on the couch lets out an aerosolized spray of fake snow into the muggy air. White drops liquefy in the heat before settling onto the concrete floor beneath you. In the distance you hear the drum of helicopters.

Someone brings out good wine, chocolate and cheese and you feel as if it’s the best thing that could possibly happen to you. In fact, such a rare moment that you feel an overwhelming need to eat everything in front of you; all at once and as fast as possible.

You find yourself fashioning a Christmas tree out of toilet paper rolls, used beer cans and bottles of liquor.

You can’t help but laugh and notice the irony of being in a war torn country and seeing cars driving down the streets that are wrapped like Christmas presents.

Corny Christmas music and airport Christmas carolers are actually a welcome reprieve from what otherwise feels nothing like Christmas.

The ‘Christmas’ movies chosen by your fellow aid workers include titles such as ‘Deepwater Horizon', the movie documenting the BP oil crisis.

Giving Thanks. / November 10, 2016 by Sarah Rawlins

As we left people kept calling out words of thanks. It felt strange and awkward. Why were these people thanking me?’, I asked one of my colleagues. ‘They are thanking you for coming, for your presence, for sharing this time with them.

May We Continue to Pursue Peace. / July 17, 2016 by Sarah Rawlins

Together, we celebrate what it means to be alive, to be living and working together; one team made up of many nations. Although our backgrounds are very different, we are-brought together by our shared experience of living in Agok and of caring for and serving our patients. Together, we celebrate the newest country in the world. It is an atmosphere pregnant with hopes, longings and anticipation; all finely balanced upon a fragility, which speaks of defeat, loss and the exhaustion that comes with being resigned to a life of war.

Everyone has Stories / July 1, 2016 by Sarah Rawlins

Even when we live together, we segregate ourselves. We form our little groups, find our place of comfort and all too often forget that there is much to be learned from the very people who we find ourselves judging. We miss out on this deep well of great beauty when we fail to take the time to hear people’s stories. I don’t say this as an admonishment. These words are for me as much as they are for you.

First Impressions. / June 25, 2016 by Sarah Rawlins

After 7 flights and almost 6 days of travel, I have finally arrived in Agok. I took a small, 8-10 seater World Food Program plane to get here and arrived on a dirt landing strip covered with children who barely made it out of the way before the wheels made contact with the earth.

Sarah Marie Rawlins

Fine Art & Photography