It is past 1am and it is rare for me to be up this late in Brunei. The reason? Bed bugs. I am at the mercy of these creatures that have ravaged my arms, legs and back.
I CANNOT believe this. After two nights in the jungle and successfully evading the mosquitoes, I have now been defied by bed bugs!!!!! I'm itching as I type this managing a mere sentence before I hurriedly stop to itch a foot/thigh/arm/hand. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I don't want to dedicate this entire blog to my affliction though; I ought to write briefly about my week, which has been so busy and varied. Monday started a little slowly as I spent the morning in the dispensary doing very little apart from watching the overworked pharmacy technician doing his job and trying desperately not to stand in his way. I didn't succeed, every 5 mins I apologised profusely and tried to move to a better spot. At 1130, I was told that 7 flight were expecting me for a helicopter flight into the jungle and a winch down into the 'trees'. 'Ma'am' the messenger announced, 'would you like me to drive you over there?!?'. Need you ask I thought, and skipped (not really, it was more an assertive and timely march to the ambulance, yep, the Green Land Rover Battlefield ones, with the red cross emblazoned on the sides!) Encountering some difficulty climbing on board, I clambered in and excitedly went!. Unfortunately, the helicopters were proving temperamental that day so a flight and winch was no longer possible and I returned, deflated to an afternoon of clinics.
Monday was also when I finally gave in to my over exuberant immune system. Since arriving in Brunei, my eyes have been itching, my nose running and generally hayfeverish. Normally, I would ride the wave but the perpetual grass cutting that goes on in the country makes it inescapable. Feeling pathetic but nonetheless relieved about my newly prescribed anti-histamines, I returned to the mess with instructions to take one at night before bed and oh my goodness! Just as well I took it before bed, I'd managed to read about 2 lines in before my lids felt heavy and not sure what happened after. I woke up the next day with the lights still on, books around me, and pretty much in the same position I was in when I got into bed.....talking of which....I need to go and do a little fumigation......
Thursday, 12 February 2009
Wednesday, 11 February 2009
All that glitters...is actually gold!!!!!
Am sorry for the apparent lack of posts. It is not, as I feared when setting up this blog, for lack of things to write. Oh no, far from it. My last week here in Brunei has been a whirlwind of business, which is the antithesis of anything Bruneian actually. So relaxed are the natives, that in my short stay I've been very tempted to pull out my hair and stamp on the ground in pent up frustration.
The jungle expedition had well and truly worn me out. So tired and grateful was I to be lying in a warm, dry bed that I decided to extend my sleep by another 3 hours, rising at a ridiculous time on Saturday morning-ish.
Though Saturday was not particularly exciting (in fact, far from it...was dragged kicking & screaming to a pantomine at the Shell leisure club, where I sat for 2 hours, disgruntled and refusing to join in with the clearly delirious audience.) Not wanting to offend anyone, I have to ask this, who goes to pantomines in the age of cinema? I mean, seriously!?!?
To make matters worse, the cast congregated in the mess for their 'after party', another excuse for unbridled drunken behaviour that went on till 7am the next morning. This is what weekends consist of here; drunkeness and more drunkeness. Apparently the average army (and ex-pat) liver is incredibly tenacious in the face of continuous assault from alcohol.
Luckily, common sense prevailed (a rarity for me) and I went to bed before the 'cocktail' of spirits being mixed in what I'm pretty sure is an important and historical silver bowl began to be apportioned.
Needless to say, the mess was not a happening place on Sunday morning and by noon, those who had crawled out of bed looked like wounded soldiers, pitifully eating their unusually large breakfasts and not sold on the idea of doing a spot of sight-seeing.
In an effort to spend my last weekend in Brunei doing something worthwhile, I ventured on a trip to Bandar with a fellow officer. The plan was to drive into the capital and prepare to be bowled over with what the heart of this little country had to offer. I was hoping for some culture, some vibrancy and certainly, some impressive architecture.
The hour & half journey started badly. Ten minutes into the drive, my companion, (I ought to point out that said companion is an Oxford graduate, fresh out of Sandhurst and attached to the Intelligence Corps) informs me, much in the same way one would mention forecasted weather for that afternoon, that we have very little fuel in the car. Hoping that he is just making conversation, I ask if we are on our way to the petrol station to fill up? It turns out that my companion didn't know where the nearest petrol station was, nor did he know if we were going in the right direction but was just hoping that at some point on our drive we would come across a sign for Bandar. There was no contingency plan either; we had no mobile phones between us to call someone who may know better, nor did we have a map (there are no maps in Brunei.....I know!).
So we drove on for 20 miles at a moderate speed being overtaken by cars of every size, shape, and age, celebrating only slightly when we came across a sign assuring us that we were going in the right direction for the capital, but not coming across a single petrol station, ludicrous in a country rich in oil!!
5 miles on and we spy the yellow shell of what later appeared to be, the yellow shell sign of a Shell petrol station!!!!Hurraaaaaaaaah!! Never have I been more glad to have seen a petrol station, and I was even more pleased when I saw that one litre of petrol cost 25p. Yes, less than a quarter of what it costs back in the UK.
So, confidence restored, car refueled and now more relaxed, we ventured forward. First stop: The Empire Hotel for high afternoon tea.
This hotel is so talked about in Brunei but for so many different reasons. It boasts a 162 hectares of 'lush palatial gardens' and is described as 'state of the art hotel.....located on a magnificent stretch of Brunei’s pristine coastline, caressed by the South China Sea.....[which] evokes an opulent yet tranquil ambience.' Not quite. This is without a doubt an impressive sight, and it is indeed massive BUT it is the most overstated hotel that tries so hard to be impressive and fails so miserably. The Empire was a product of Prince Jeffri's (the deviant brother of the current Sultan) who overspent millions (actually rumoured to have cost $1billion dollars) on an opulent, excessive and mismatched construct that is so overtly aspirational.
The entire crockery and cutlery is custom-designed by Asprey's of London, with the initials JP (Jeffri's Palace) embossed on the crockery.
The bannisters in the main lobby for instance are apparently finished with 21 karat gold (I thought it was gilt). In fact, anything that looks like gold (and that is pretty much everything) is actually gold!
The whole thing is utterly ridiculous and there clearly was no business plan in mind when this was built; the hotel has never been fully booked up (or even half) and it is said that it would need to be fully booked up for 15 years in order to make a profit. The executive suite apparently measures 675 sq metres, has a private indoor swimming pool and a full size cinema screen. Really?!?!? As enormous and opulent as it all is, there is an eeriness about it, largely because it so empty and cavernous. Interestingly, the afternoon tea, though lovely, was not quite what I imagined. I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that afternoon tea does not include dim sum, even in Asia.
Nex stop; Bandar, the heart of this sleepy little country. I was preparing to be bowled over by some urban jungle. It didn't happen. We arrived in what the sign suggested was Bandar Seri Begawan to a sleepy 'town' with far too much neon for my liking. Needless to say, I was severely disappointed. This was it?!?!?! I wasn't expecting London, but surely, SURELY, there had to be more to it than more buildings, and less greenery? Apparently not.
The jungle expedition had well and truly worn me out. So tired and grateful was I to be lying in a warm, dry bed that I decided to extend my sleep by another 3 hours, rising at a ridiculous time on Saturday morning-ish.
Though Saturday was not particularly exciting (in fact, far from it...was dragged kicking & screaming to a pantomine at the Shell leisure club, where I sat for 2 hours, disgruntled and refusing to join in with the clearly delirious audience.) Not wanting to offend anyone, I have to ask this, who goes to pantomines in the age of cinema? I mean, seriously!?!?
To make matters worse, the cast congregated in the mess for their 'after party', another excuse for unbridled drunken behaviour that went on till 7am the next morning. This is what weekends consist of here; drunkeness and more drunkeness. Apparently the average army (and ex-pat) liver is incredibly tenacious in the face of continuous assault from alcohol.
Luckily, common sense prevailed (a rarity for me) and I went to bed before the 'cocktail' of spirits being mixed in what I'm pretty sure is an important and historical silver bowl began to be apportioned.
Needless to say, the mess was not a happening place on Sunday morning and by noon, those who had crawled out of bed looked like wounded soldiers, pitifully eating their unusually large breakfasts and not sold on the idea of doing a spot of sight-seeing.
In an effort to spend my last weekend in Brunei doing something worthwhile, I ventured on a trip to Bandar with a fellow officer. The plan was to drive into the capital and prepare to be bowled over with what the heart of this little country had to offer. I was hoping for some culture, some vibrancy and certainly, some impressive architecture.
The hour & half journey started badly. Ten minutes into the drive, my companion, (I ought to point out that said companion is an Oxford graduate, fresh out of Sandhurst and attached to the Intelligence Corps) informs me, much in the same way one would mention forecasted weather for that afternoon, that we have very little fuel in the car. Hoping that he is just making conversation, I ask if we are on our way to the petrol station to fill up? It turns out that my companion didn't know where the nearest petrol station was, nor did he know if we were going in the right direction but was just hoping that at some point on our drive we would come across a sign for Bandar. There was no contingency plan either; we had no mobile phones between us to call someone who may know better, nor did we have a map (there are no maps in Brunei.....I know!).
So we drove on for 20 miles at a moderate speed being overtaken by cars of every size, shape, and age, celebrating only slightly when we came across a sign assuring us that we were going in the right direction for the capital, but not coming across a single petrol station, ludicrous in a country rich in oil!!
5 miles on and we spy the yellow shell of what later appeared to be, the yellow shell sign of a Shell petrol station!!!!Hurraaaaaaaaah!! Never have I been more glad to have seen a petrol station, and I was even more pleased when I saw that one litre of petrol cost 25p. Yes, less than a quarter of what it costs back in the UK.
So, confidence restored, car refueled and now more relaxed, we ventured forward. First stop: The Empire Hotel for high afternoon tea.
This hotel is so talked about in Brunei but for so many different reasons. It boasts a 162 hectares of 'lush palatial gardens' and is described as 'state of the art hotel.....located on a magnificent stretch of Brunei’s pristine coastline, caressed by the South China Sea.....[which] evokes an opulent yet tranquil ambience.' Not quite. This is without a doubt an impressive sight, and it is indeed massive BUT it is the most overstated hotel that tries so hard to be impressive and fails so miserably. The Empire was a product of Prince Jeffri's (the deviant brother of the current Sultan) who overspent millions (actually rumoured to have cost $1billion dollars) on an opulent, excessive and mismatched construct that is so overtly aspirational.
The entire crockery and cutlery is custom-designed by Asprey's of London, with the initials JP (Jeffri's Palace) embossed on the crockery.
The bannisters in the main lobby for instance are apparently finished with 21 karat gold (I thought it was gilt). In fact, anything that looks like gold (and that is pretty much everything) is actually gold!
The whole thing is utterly ridiculous and there clearly was no business plan in mind when this was built; the hotel has never been fully booked up (or even half) and it is said that it would need to be fully booked up for 15 years in order to make a profit. The executive suite apparently measures 675 sq metres, has a private indoor swimming pool and a full size cinema screen. Really?!?!? As enormous and opulent as it all is, there is an eeriness about it, largely because it so empty and cavernous. Interestingly, the afternoon tea, though lovely, was not quite what I imagined. I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that afternoon tea does not include dim sum, even in Asia.
Nex stop; Bandar, the heart of this sleepy little country. I was preparing to be bowled over by some urban jungle. It didn't happen. We arrived in what the sign suggested was Bandar Seri Begawan to a sleepy 'town' with far too much neon for my liking. Needless to say, I was severely disappointed. This was it?!?!?! I wasn't expecting London, but surely, SURELY, there had to be more to it than more buildings, and less greenery? Apparently not.
Friday, 6 February 2009
War.
In the two weeks since I've been here, I've listened to many conversations on war. War is not something that I have, fortunately, witnessed. Nor have I heard many people talking about it in the first person, until, that is, two weeks ago. It is easy to forget, despite the media overload, that Britain is engaged in two major conflicts, and that the casualties, British and non-British have been phenomenal, but somehow, until I arrived in Brunei, I had, I'm ashamed to say, become sensitised to this, the coverage of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars no longer having the same effect on me as they once did, a result of several years of listening or seeing or reading about the conflicts. However, the conversations that I'm privvy to at dinner, or in a bar, or even in the clinics now have a very different effect.
I hear, first hand, the experiences of these men and women who speak about it with a uniform starkness, hardened not just by what they see and do, but by the loss of friends and colleagues.
At medical school, we are taught how to take consultations with those who are grieving with the loss of something or someone, but none of those skills are applicable here. I cannot borrow something from these skills and apply them when I hear the stories of IEDs claiming limbs and lives.
I am, so often simply silenced.
I hear, first hand, the experiences of these men and women who speak about it with a uniform starkness, hardened not just by what they see and do, but by the loss of friends and colleagues.
At medical school, we are taught how to take consultations with those who are grieving with the loss of something or someone, but none of those skills are applicable here. I cannot borrow something from these skills and apply them when I hear the stories of IEDs claiming limbs and lives.
I am, so often simply silenced.
Welcome to the Jungle
Several logistical impediments have arisen that meant I have been unable to post for a few days.
One such impediment is the lack of laptop or internet connection in the jungle.
Yes, I was in the jungle. For two nights, ladies & gentlemen, I roughed it with the best of them. Joining an exercise for new Gurkhas, three new officers were driven into the periphery of the jungle kitted out with our bergen bags full of jungle necessary kit; hammock - check, mess tin - check, mosquito net - check, and so on.
As excited as I was to be doing something military, I sat in the back of the army truck, chuggling along on the hour's drive into the 'trees' thinking to myself that maybe, just maybe it won't be all fun and games. Before we left, we'd heard that a severe weather warning was issued for the Thursday night and that some areas of the region had been closed off to transport because of landslides. Nonetheless, I reasoned, if I was going to be in the jungle at a time like this, the army would be the best organisation to be with.
So fears and butterflies aside, we were delivered to jungle area A, where the exercise was already underway. The commanding officer met us, camouflaged and drenched from the days of constant rain, to brief us on what had already happened and what was expected. All of a sudden, this 'adventure' felt real and not so fun.
Escorted deeper into the jungle, a couple of the Gurkhas helped us set up our hammocks, which is more complicated than one might expect. We were shown little tricks that would mitigate the risk of snakes coming into our hammocks, or minimising the risk of flooding from rainwater by attaching little strings that would divert the rain downwards.
The commanding officer told us that we were to serve as the enemy; the three of us would be receiving periodic instructions from him to give the soldiers, who were stationed in various observation posts under cover, something to report as we set about on patrols, planting fake mines, and hiding out in our own observation posts.
Crikey, I thought, as I sat in the sentry post, cautiously watching the HUMONGOUS caterpillar (or something akin to one, with lots of little, orange legs), this is serious. I was of course also trying to watch out for the 'enemy' but they were no where to be seen and I carried on playing soldier, imagining myself as a character from one of the many war films I'd sat through.
The first day in the jungle was curtailed by the fact that we arrived mid-afternoon and the sun set at 6.30pm, sorry, 1830. It was a surreal night as we sat by the communications tent eating out of our mess tins; an amazing meal of dried buffalo curry prepared by the Gurkha soldiers.
Following dinner, there was little to do beyond learning a few Nepalese words before blindly walking to our hammocks for bed. Not as easy as I thought. The hammocks were a mere five minutes from the communications tent, but somehow, in the pitch dark, the path to sleepdom was obstacled by trees, darkness and intimidating noises.
Having finally reached our hammocks, the challenge grew bigger as we had to get ready for sleep, which essentially involved fumbling around in the dark trying to get boots off, and somehow climbing into the hammock. Thankfully, it was a dry night, BUT, sleeping in the jungle is noisy. Every so often, I was woken with the sound of something chirping, slithing around on the ground, falling on top of the mosquito net, and so. To be honest, it was quite fun to sleep suspended between two trees, surrounded by 'nature'. I felt slightly grotty at not having brushed my teeth (it was dark, my toothbrush was at the bottom of my bergen - don't judge!), or washed my face, but I couldn't care less, I wanted to be in the safety of the hammock as soon as possible.
10 hours later, we woke to a wet morning and our first task of the day: a patrol of an area identified by the commanding officer. We walked, slightly dampened and very drowsy with sleepy, and returned within an hour to prepare a breakfast of beefburger & beans, a delightful pick-me up in our ration packs (surprisingly quite impressive with biscuits, crackers, tea, coffee & hot chocolate sachets, Yorkie bars emblazoned with an alternative catch-phrase 'it's not for civvies' and other perectly edible delights.)
Our day continued with patrols, observing at our various sentry posts, and planting the fake mines. We were worn down by the persisting rain that fell heavier and heavier the entire day and with our clothes drenched, we carried ourselves from post to post feeling weighed down by our webbings, water logged boots, and in the case of the other two, weapons.
Our final brief came at 1500, when the commanding officer told us that the dawn attack planned for Friday morning would now be taking place at 1800hrs that evening. We would serve as the enemy that would be under attack from the soldiers, and we would be hiding out near their posts. We were to keep closer observations, and then in the preceding hour, station ourselves. The two officers were given their blank magazines as I looked on in slight fascination. Seeing my curiousity, the CO asked if I wanted a brief tutorial on handling a weapon and to then have my own to use in the attack. I obliged and was given what I can only imagine is the shortest tutorial on how to handle a weapon, and at 1745, we took our positions, me with far too much adrenaline, and a weapon loaded with blanks.
As we hid in our respective hide-outs, weapons at the ready, the heavens opened and the rain fell heavier and faster than ever I'd seen it. The jungle fell a little quiet, and I'm sure my heart could be heard beating by the officer crouched beside me as we waited for what felt like a thousand hours.
Ten minutes later, we heard the unmistakeable sound of gunshot, and from then on, it remains a blur of rain, mud, firing blanks and being fired on. The scene as we got closer to the enemy and were fired on (and inevitably killed) was not far off the stereotypical scene of war as portrayed by Hollywood. My fellow officer died a noble death as I looked on helplessly, having finished my magazine in a frenzy of adrenaline.
The exercise finished at 1840 and we drew in to the communications tent drenched, slighly alarmed and with a collective feeling of wide-eyed alarm betraying our freshness.
All the soldiers that were on this exercise gathered together for another night of sitting by the fire (under a waterproof poncho) as some of the Gurkha soldiers once more created a fiery curry and rice that went down extremely well. Drenched from the downpour, muddied by the attack and slightly jaded by the whole experience, I donned my head torch as we made our way to the hammocks dreading the challenge of getting ready for sleep, made ever more difficult on this night as we had to get out of our wet clothes and into dry ones, in near darkness and constant beating by the heavy rainfall. A task that would ordinarily have taken 5 mins took in excess of 35minutes as I fumbled around, trying to find my dry clothes in my overpacked bergen. Successively dropping my headtorch (it wasn't on my head, but held strategically by my teeth) and then trying desperately to find it on the ground...a seriously scary task because of the fear that one might come across something that one doesn't care to come across. EVENTUALLY, I found something dry to wear, then came the task of removing my wet clothes, including my boots whilst trying to ensure at all times that I did not place a bootless and sockless foot on the ground. Challenging at the best of times, but when in the dark, wet, tired and with a flimsy and moving hammock to hold on to, near impossible. So, wet combats off, dry clothes on, boots placed upside down on the sticks at the bottom of the hammock, and body quickly placed on the hammock. Result???!!! Not quite. Hammock, for some reason had a small pool of water in exactly the same area where my bottom would rest. The pool gradually got larger, and I quickly became wetter. This was bad news. I lay wet, cold and shivering, as I listened to the various sounds of the jungle that had, after 3 hours lost their appeal. The rain was no longer being contained by the poncho, and the noises only grew louder and more incessant. I longed for the sound of the soldier who would come to wake us and it came only after a very long time.
Alas, the time to rise finally came, and we woke to find our only dry clothes(the very ones we slept in) drenched. We disassembled our hammock, repacked our bergens, and made tracks for the trucks that would take us back to the garrison. My fingers were positively wrinkled like I had spent 2 whole days in a bath (if only). We sat, a little weathered by our experience, but feeling ready for a hot shower, and big breakfast.
I feel lucky that the resident mosquitoes did not take a liking to me at all. Whilst my compatriots were ruthlessly bitten and displayed their bites like war wounds, I remained untouched (and a little offended as to why the damned things only hovered around me but lacked the guts to take a blood meal). So, 24 hours on, I sit in the mess following multiple hot showers and several big meals and feeling a bit more civilised again writing this blog.
One such impediment is the lack of laptop or internet connection in the jungle.
Yes, I was in the jungle. For two nights, ladies & gentlemen, I roughed it with the best of them. Joining an exercise for new Gurkhas, three new officers were driven into the periphery of the jungle kitted out with our bergen bags full of jungle necessary kit; hammock - check, mess tin - check, mosquito net - check, and so on.
As excited as I was to be doing something military, I sat in the back of the army truck, chuggling along on the hour's drive into the 'trees' thinking to myself that maybe, just maybe it won't be all fun and games. Before we left, we'd heard that a severe weather warning was issued for the Thursday night and that some areas of the region had been closed off to transport because of landslides. Nonetheless, I reasoned, if I was going to be in the jungle at a time like this, the army would be the best organisation to be with.
So fears and butterflies aside, we were delivered to jungle area A, where the exercise was already underway. The commanding officer met us, camouflaged and drenched from the days of constant rain, to brief us on what had already happened and what was expected. All of a sudden, this 'adventure' felt real and not so fun.
Escorted deeper into the jungle, a couple of the Gurkhas helped us set up our hammocks, which is more complicated than one might expect. We were shown little tricks that would mitigate the risk of snakes coming into our hammocks, or minimising the risk of flooding from rainwater by attaching little strings that would divert the rain downwards.
The commanding officer told us that we were to serve as the enemy; the three of us would be receiving periodic instructions from him to give the soldiers, who were stationed in various observation posts under cover, something to report as we set about on patrols, planting fake mines, and hiding out in our own observation posts.
Crikey, I thought, as I sat in the sentry post, cautiously watching the HUMONGOUS caterpillar (or something akin to one, with lots of little, orange legs), this is serious. I was of course also trying to watch out for the 'enemy' but they were no where to be seen and I carried on playing soldier, imagining myself as a character from one of the many war films I'd sat through.
The first day in the jungle was curtailed by the fact that we arrived mid-afternoon and the sun set at 6.30pm, sorry, 1830. It was a surreal night as we sat by the communications tent eating out of our mess tins; an amazing meal of dried buffalo curry prepared by the Gurkha soldiers.
Following dinner, there was little to do beyond learning a few Nepalese words before blindly walking to our hammocks for bed. Not as easy as I thought. The hammocks were a mere five minutes from the communications tent, but somehow, in the pitch dark, the path to sleepdom was obstacled by trees, darkness and intimidating noises.
Having finally reached our hammocks, the challenge grew bigger as we had to get ready for sleep, which essentially involved fumbling around in the dark trying to get boots off, and somehow climbing into the hammock. Thankfully, it was a dry night, BUT, sleeping in the jungle is noisy. Every so often, I was woken with the sound of something chirping, slithing around on the ground, falling on top of the mosquito net, and so. To be honest, it was quite fun to sleep suspended between two trees, surrounded by 'nature'. I felt slightly grotty at not having brushed my teeth (it was dark, my toothbrush was at the bottom of my bergen - don't judge!), or washed my face, but I couldn't care less, I wanted to be in the safety of the hammock as soon as possible.
10 hours later, we woke to a wet morning and our first task of the day: a patrol of an area identified by the commanding officer. We walked, slightly dampened and very drowsy with sleepy, and returned within an hour to prepare a breakfast of beefburger & beans, a delightful pick-me up in our ration packs (surprisingly quite impressive with biscuits, crackers, tea, coffee & hot chocolate sachets, Yorkie bars emblazoned with an alternative catch-phrase 'it's not for civvies' and other perectly edible delights.)
Our day continued with patrols, observing at our various sentry posts, and planting the fake mines. We were worn down by the persisting rain that fell heavier and heavier the entire day and with our clothes drenched, we carried ourselves from post to post feeling weighed down by our webbings, water logged boots, and in the case of the other two, weapons.
Our final brief came at 1500, when the commanding officer told us that the dawn attack planned for Friday morning would now be taking place at 1800hrs that evening. We would serve as the enemy that would be under attack from the soldiers, and we would be hiding out near their posts. We were to keep closer observations, and then in the preceding hour, station ourselves. The two officers were given their blank magazines as I looked on in slight fascination. Seeing my curiousity, the CO asked if I wanted a brief tutorial on handling a weapon and to then have my own to use in the attack. I obliged and was given what I can only imagine is the shortest tutorial on how to handle a weapon, and at 1745, we took our positions, me with far too much adrenaline, and a weapon loaded with blanks.
As we hid in our respective hide-outs, weapons at the ready, the heavens opened and the rain fell heavier and faster than ever I'd seen it. The jungle fell a little quiet, and I'm sure my heart could be heard beating by the officer crouched beside me as we waited for what felt like a thousand hours.
Ten minutes later, we heard the unmistakeable sound of gunshot, and from then on, it remains a blur of rain, mud, firing blanks and being fired on. The scene as we got closer to the enemy and were fired on (and inevitably killed) was not far off the stereotypical scene of war as portrayed by Hollywood. My fellow officer died a noble death as I looked on helplessly, having finished my magazine in a frenzy of adrenaline.
The exercise finished at 1840 and we drew in to the communications tent drenched, slighly alarmed and with a collective feeling of wide-eyed alarm betraying our freshness.
All the soldiers that were on this exercise gathered together for another night of sitting by the fire (under a waterproof poncho) as some of the Gurkha soldiers once more created a fiery curry and rice that went down extremely well. Drenched from the downpour, muddied by the attack and slightly jaded by the whole experience, I donned my head torch as we made our way to the hammocks dreading the challenge of getting ready for sleep, made ever more difficult on this night as we had to get out of our wet clothes and into dry ones, in near darkness and constant beating by the heavy rainfall. A task that would ordinarily have taken 5 mins took in excess of 35minutes as I fumbled around, trying to find my dry clothes in my overpacked bergen. Successively dropping my headtorch (it wasn't on my head, but held strategically by my teeth) and then trying desperately to find it on the ground...a seriously scary task because of the fear that one might come across something that one doesn't care to come across. EVENTUALLY, I found something dry to wear, then came the task of removing my wet clothes, including my boots whilst trying to ensure at all times that I did not place a bootless and sockless foot on the ground. Challenging at the best of times, but when in the dark, wet, tired and with a flimsy and moving hammock to hold on to, near impossible. So, wet combats off, dry clothes on, boots placed upside down on the sticks at the bottom of the hammock, and body quickly placed on the hammock. Result???!!! Not quite. Hammock, for some reason had a small pool of water in exactly the same area where my bottom would rest. The pool gradually got larger, and I quickly became wetter. This was bad news. I lay wet, cold and shivering, as I listened to the various sounds of the jungle that had, after 3 hours lost their appeal. The rain was no longer being contained by the poncho, and the noises only grew louder and more incessant. I longed for the sound of the soldier who would come to wake us and it came only after a very long time.
Alas, the time to rise finally came, and we woke to find our only dry clothes(the very ones we slept in) drenched. We disassembled our hammock, repacked our bergens, and made tracks for the trucks that would take us back to the garrison. My fingers were positively wrinkled like I had spent 2 whole days in a bath (if only). We sat, a little weathered by our experience, but feeling ready for a hot shower, and big breakfast.
I feel lucky that the resident mosquitoes did not take a liking to me at all. Whilst my compatriots were ruthlessly bitten and displayed their bites like war wounds, I remained untouched (and a little offended as to why the damned things only hovered around me but lacked the guts to take a blood meal). So, 24 hours on, I sit in the mess following multiple hot showers and several big meals and feeling a bit more civilised again writing this blog.
Monday, 2 February 2009
That's not my name, that's not my name, that's not my naaaaame!
It transpires that my name is universally difficult to pronounce. It beggers belief why this is so. It really is very simple. The first name has three syllables: Yez-e-nash. That's all there is to it folks. There is nothing difficult about it. The surname, yes, I can understand why it may appear slightly bewildering, but seriously, how does one get Awalya or Walyu from Ayalew (A-ya-lew)? The last week has seen me being introduced as 2Lt Awalu, 2Lt uhhhhh Yaz, Jaz, 2Lt Aa, ay, au, ow....
I've endured this for such a long time, but as I get older it, it just gets worse. What stops me from crying out loud like a wounded animal everytime my birth name is mispronounced, is the comedy value it holds. The absolute confusion it engenders on the caller, the way grown adults, esteemed professors, consultants, the most hardened midwife, contort their face with perplexity or in some cases absolute fear, so much so that one doctor uttered Yellow in his efforts to get the name Yezenash (remember, Yez-e-nash) out. It does amuse me so!
But here, I expected more. I really did. Perhaps I have overly high estimations of the military. I thought that they would exercise a high level of precision for just about everything, but unfortunately not when it comes to pronouncing my name. I feel cheated.
Today has not been particularly eventful. In fact, the only thing worth reporting is that it hasn't rained AT ALL, not a drop, and so, my head remains dry! There was even a clear blue sky for the WHOLE of the morning and much of the afternoon!! But my day consisted of being shuttled from one personnel to another, getting a belated tour and a briefing about this and the other, with terminology that I have absolutely no idea about.
It's actually a very strange place where I'm based. The medical centre is called a Medical Reception Station (MRS) so called because it has beds and therefore capacity for inpatients (otherwise it would just be a medical centre). So anyhow, the MRS has four doctors, a few nurses, midwives, health visitors, and child nurse as well as a dentist and his team of dental assistants. They also have a dispensary but no pharmacist...which is a little worrying. I find it strange because it all seems somewhat rudimentary. Physicians who work at the MRS do not follow guidelines as close as those in the UK (who follow it by the book in primary care). Also, they have finite (even more so than in the NHS) resources even though this is a base that is not in a war zone. So this translates to management plans that are not always obvious to me. For instance, the physicians follow a tri-service forumulary, which I gather is somewhat limited. Thus, if a patient develops hypertension (usually a dependent) then the anti-hypertensive prescribed is not something that is informed by clinical evidence, but rather availability. This sense of making do with limited resources extends to rudimentary practices such as hygeine; there are no alcohol gels strategically placed around the practice here. Yes, there is a sink in each consultation room, and handwash (usually a branded one from the supermarket) but they rarely use it, and happily examine successive patients without washing in between. Whereas I stealthily move to the sink when the doctor takes over the consultation to send the prescription to the desk and quickly wash and dry my hands before the next patient. Am sure the patients appreciate it.
Beyond that, I have very little to report from today, but rest assured, I have just received my timetable (finally!) and there are some goodies in here which will hopefully provide plenty of fodder!
I must now dash to get ready for dinner. Hope the cold doesn't bite too hard in the UK and the snow melts soon!
I've endured this for such a long time, but as I get older it, it just gets worse. What stops me from crying out loud like a wounded animal everytime my birth name is mispronounced, is the comedy value it holds. The absolute confusion it engenders on the caller, the way grown adults, esteemed professors, consultants, the most hardened midwife, contort their face with perplexity or in some cases absolute fear, so much so that one doctor uttered Yellow in his efforts to get the name Yezenash (remember, Yez-e-nash) out. It does amuse me so!
But here, I expected more. I really did. Perhaps I have overly high estimations of the military. I thought that they would exercise a high level of precision for just about everything, but unfortunately not when it comes to pronouncing my name. I feel cheated.
Today has not been particularly eventful. In fact, the only thing worth reporting is that it hasn't rained AT ALL, not a drop, and so, my head remains dry! There was even a clear blue sky for the WHOLE of the morning and much of the afternoon!! But my day consisted of being shuttled from one personnel to another, getting a belated tour and a briefing about this and the other, with terminology that I have absolutely no idea about.
It's actually a very strange place where I'm based. The medical centre is called a Medical Reception Station (MRS) so called because it has beds and therefore capacity for inpatients (otherwise it would just be a medical centre). So anyhow, the MRS has four doctors, a few nurses, midwives, health visitors, and child nurse as well as a dentist and his team of dental assistants. They also have a dispensary but no pharmacist...which is a little worrying. I find it strange because it all seems somewhat rudimentary. Physicians who work at the MRS do not follow guidelines as close as those in the UK (who follow it by the book in primary care). Also, they have finite (even more so than in the NHS) resources even though this is a base that is not in a war zone. So this translates to management plans that are not always obvious to me. For instance, the physicians follow a tri-service forumulary, which I gather is somewhat limited. Thus, if a patient develops hypertension (usually a dependent) then the anti-hypertensive prescribed is not something that is informed by clinical evidence, but rather availability. This sense of making do with limited resources extends to rudimentary practices such as hygeine; there are no alcohol gels strategically placed around the practice here. Yes, there is a sink in each consultation room, and handwash (usually a branded one from the supermarket) but they rarely use it, and happily examine successive patients without washing in between. Whereas I stealthily move to the sink when the doctor takes over the consultation to send the prescription to the desk and quickly wash and dry my hands before the next patient. Am sure the patients appreciate it.
Beyond that, I have very little to report from today, but rest assured, I have just received my timetable (finally!) and there are some goodies in here which will hopefully provide plenty of fodder!
I must now dash to get ready for dinner. Hope the cold doesn't bite too hard in the UK and the snow melts soon!
Thursday, 29 January 2009
Raindrops keep falling on my head...
Big, fat raindrops. Honestly, it has rained every single day since I've been here. I can hear the smiles spreading across the faces of my good friends back in the UK, but fear not, even though it is raining here, it is still rather hot. The type of hot that requires constant air conditioning. No, but in all seriousness, this is some heavy duty rain that is going on. It's actually quite scary when it is beating on the windows, or when the windscreen wipers of the car are desperately swinging from side to side. The good thing about wearing military uniform is that it makes little difference if it is raining or not; the outfit is camouflaged and the heavy boots, which are oh so flattering, do a grand job of protecting feet from seeping rainfall. Military uniform, combats in particularly, means there is no fear of ruining little suede pumps, or getting splashes on dry-clean only trousers. I'm even beginning to feel quite comfortable in my combats, despite the fact they are ridiculously big, and I feel like I just borrowed a giant's uniform whilst mine are having to be specially made.
On the plus side, the weather is set to get better here in the next two weeks, unlike in Great Britain, which is set to receive a lovely icy blast sent with love, from Russia!
Apart from the rainfall, little else to report. Jet lag is gradually becoming a thing of the past, and I'd like to think that I have acclimatised after a run on the beach, which didn't feel too dissimilar to running in an over-sized sauna. My fear of potential snakes hiding in shallow puddles is subsiding too, as I ran straight into a puddle in the grounds, turning up my music loudly so that I could drown out the fear.
Now might be a good time to write about the country actually.
Apparently, Brunei is the size of Dorset, run by a dictatorial monarchy who has asked for British Military presence to deter any internal coups that might evolve.
The good Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah also pays for the British Army to be here, though the sum was not disclosed to me.
The most obvious thing about being in Brunei is the incredible presence of Shell. They own alot of the land here, and almost everywhere we go, there are these 'nodding donkeys', which are pumpjacks that provide an up/down motion necessary for powering a submersible pump in a borehole. These nodding donkeys are EVERYWHERE. You could be driving along, admiring the lovely, manicured lawn of the (Shell) Golf club, only to see this nodding donkey right bang in the middle. Or, on a tour of the garrison, and looking out to see the helipad, and a safe distance away will be, yep, a nodding donkey.
Brunei is rich in oil and gas, and it is this commodity, which allows the sultanate to provide the population with good living standards that includes free health care, schooling, scholarships abroad, subsidised living and very cheap fuel. In fact, 1 litre of fuel in Brunei is half the price of 1 litre of water.
It's also a sober country in more ways than one. Respectful of their religion, there is no alcohol in the country apart from in the military and Shell compounds. No clubs, bars, discotheques or beauty contests in the country exist either and if there are more than 10 people meeting in one place, a special permission is required for this, although this may in part be an effort to prevent collusions that might result in a coup.
There is however one Bruneian that marked himself out; Prince Jeffri, brother of the Sultan, is now exiled, after allegedly spending £3billion on luxuries such as yachts, (strangely named after women's breasts), gold toothbrushes, hotels, etc. Described as a playboy, the Prince, who was once the finance minster, was said to have struggled on an annual allowance of £500,000 when living in London! Alright for some huh?
To be fair to him though, I think he had in excess of 30 children and 10 wives to support.
There is quite a bit more to write about Brunei, but not done that much research, so shall save it for another time.
My first week is coming to a close, and to be honest, it's all gone so quickly. It's been quite the whirlwind and the surrealism of being amidst the army in a foreign garrison has not quite set in. I've been with a range of GPs, some civilian and one military. Their practice is so varied that sometimes it's a little confusing to work out what is idiosyncratic and what is not.
One thing that I am struggling with is the plethora of abbreviations and acronyms. Whilst I feel like I'm just beginning to understand the language that is medicine, along comes a new language that is altogether impossible to decipher. It's not just the language that is a challenge, it's knowing signs and insignias, and understanding ranks, and companies, and uniform, etc. I suspect it's a matter of time and experience (something that has been said to me time and time again in medicine) but the truth of the matter is, this does not appear to have much logic, nor is their a key text that I can use for reference. Or is there, and have I just not found out about it yet?
Well, the weekend starts early here, to be precise at exactly 1200 hours. I suppose I ought to go away and start thinking about my ssc objectives, perhaps sit on the veranda back at the mess and occasionally look out to the sea.......
On the plus side, the weather is set to get better here in the next two weeks, unlike in Great Britain, which is set to receive a lovely icy blast sent with love, from Russia!
Apart from the rainfall, little else to report. Jet lag is gradually becoming a thing of the past, and I'd like to think that I have acclimatised after a run on the beach, which didn't feel too dissimilar to running in an over-sized sauna. My fear of potential snakes hiding in shallow puddles is subsiding too, as I ran straight into a puddle in the grounds, turning up my music loudly so that I could drown out the fear.
Now might be a good time to write about the country actually.
Apparently, Brunei is the size of Dorset, run by a dictatorial monarchy who has asked for British Military presence to deter any internal coups that might evolve.
The good Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah also pays for the British Army to be here, though the sum was not disclosed to me.
The most obvious thing about being in Brunei is the incredible presence of Shell. They own alot of the land here, and almost everywhere we go, there are these 'nodding donkeys', which are pumpjacks that provide an up/down motion necessary for powering a submersible pump in a borehole. These nodding donkeys are EVERYWHERE. You could be driving along, admiring the lovely, manicured lawn of the (Shell) Golf club, only to see this nodding donkey right bang in the middle. Or, on a tour of the garrison, and looking out to see the helipad, and a safe distance away will be, yep, a nodding donkey.
Brunei is rich in oil and gas, and it is this commodity, which allows the sultanate to provide the population with good living standards that includes free health care, schooling, scholarships abroad, subsidised living and very cheap fuel. In fact, 1 litre of fuel in Brunei is half the price of 1 litre of water.
It's also a sober country in more ways than one. Respectful of their religion, there is no alcohol in the country apart from in the military and Shell compounds. No clubs, bars, discotheques or beauty contests in the country exist either and if there are more than 10 people meeting in one place, a special permission is required for this, although this may in part be an effort to prevent collusions that might result in a coup.
There is however one Bruneian that marked himself out; Prince Jeffri, brother of the Sultan, is now exiled, after allegedly spending £3billion on luxuries such as yachts, (strangely named after women's breasts), gold toothbrushes, hotels, etc. Described as a playboy, the Prince, who was once the finance minster, was said to have struggled on an annual allowance of £500,000 when living in London! Alright for some huh?
To be fair to him though, I think he had in excess of 30 children and 10 wives to support.
There is quite a bit more to write about Brunei, but not done that much research, so shall save it for another time.
My first week is coming to a close, and to be honest, it's all gone so quickly. It's been quite the whirlwind and the surrealism of being amidst the army in a foreign garrison has not quite set in. I've been with a range of GPs, some civilian and one military. Their practice is so varied that sometimes it's a little confusing to work out what is idiosyncratic and what is not.
One thing that I am struggling with is the plethora of abbreviations and acronyms. Whilst I feel like I'm just beginning to understand the language that is medicine, along comes a new language that is altogether impossible to decipher. It's not just the language that is a challenge, it's knowing signs and insignias, and understanding ranks, and companies, and uniform, etc. I suspect it's a matter of time and experience (something that has been said to me time and time again in medicine) but the truth of the matter is, this does not appear to have much logic, nor is their a key text that I can use for reference. Or is there, and have I just not found out about it yet?
Well, the weekend starts early here, to be precise at exactly 1200 hours. I suppose I ought to go away and start thinking about my ssc objectives, perhaps sit on the veranda back at the mess and occasionally look out to the sea.......
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
Thwarted plans
Well, when I found out that I was going to be spending three weeks in Brunei with the Army, I had images of me training hard with the officers and Gurkas, early morning physical training (PT) sessions in the seriously hot climate and maybe, just maybe, an afternoon workout after a labourious clinic with one of the regimental/senior medical officers.
No, it hasn't happened. I'm not allowed to do PT sessions till the THIRD week because that is how long it takes to acclimatise. Yes, acclimatise. I initially wanted to 'pah' this guy away when he told me this, then I remembered where I was and who I was talking to and decided against it (though I have a sneaky suspicion that my face may have betrayed my emotions). My pleading to the senior medical officer (who also happens to be my assessor) went unheard. Apparently, it's physiology! Pah!!!!!
In all honesty, I think it might be a good idea, even though I feel seriously left out. I want to do PT, and yes, I want to wake up at 6am to do a birkin march for 4 miles carrying 15kg wearing combats.
Alas, just as the jetlag is leaving, the acclimatisation (or lack of) is setting in. Today was my first full, proper day. I was beyond the confines of the medical centre and taking part in a health fair. This had me nervous because it involved travelling beyond a safe environment where I'm doing clinical work, and in the midst of this enormous event, open not just to the entire garrison, but also, a Director General who was visiting. This meant wearing my uniform without fault, including my beret, and saluting when being saluted to. Bear in my mind that I've had no formal training in any matters military, and the big fuss about the Director General's visit to the Brunei garrison has created (I was banished to my room on Monday night because there was a dinner for him in the Officer's mess) had me literally shaking in my boots. Talking of which, these boots are INCREDIBLY heavy. My legs today feel like I've been carrying 5kg load on each, so perhaps that can be compensation for the lack of PT.....
In case any body was wondering, I was saluted to, and I saluted back. It was done as quickly as possible in the hope that any mistakes were too quick to be visualised by the human eye - I think I fooled them!
So the health fair - I was apparently in charge of the sun protection and alcohol stall, which involved me informing anyone that came by about the 'importance of suitable sun protection' (only the Gurka wives were interested - the Gurkas and other officers/soldiers seemingly too hard to take an interest) whilst the alcohol stall involved me quizzing everyone that walked past eyeing up the plethora of bottles that were used as props, about their drinking habits....apparently the 21 units/week is a new concept to 90% of all the soldiers. Rest assured, I was happy to impart the necessary information relating to 'excessive' alcohol consumption. I was particularly pleased to hear the words 'yes ma'am' when I told them to 'keep within the 21 units'. Joy!!!
Talking of alcohol, they like it here, ALOT. Whether it is the weekend or the weekday, there's alcohol of any type. You name it, they have it. My response of 'I'm not a big drinker, especially on a school night (yes, I actually said on a school night) was met by momentary, collective deadly silence, that left me slightly uneasy and darting my eyes from officer to officer in the vain hope that I would come across a pair of understanding eyes. There were none that I could see....
OK, so on to some important stuff. Today was the first day when I got a real taste of Brunei. The weather was inescapably hot. Usually working in air conditioned environment, today's fair was ridiculously humid and stifling and no amount of water helped. It was also the first time that I saw so many Gurkas and their families and it was insightful to see how little of the public health message that we are saturated with in the UK is available to them here.
Another interesting thing about healthcare here is the style of the consultations. When my tutor initially suggested that I look at the different consultations styles employed in the medical centre here for my SSC, I scoffed at the idea, writing back with a declaration that as a student of the Hull York Medical School, I felt quite well versed in the various consultation styles and would rather do some 'real' clinical work. Hmmm. I hate to say this, but I feel like a little humble pie is in order. It is really interesting to see the different ways the GPs here approach consultations. Yesterday, I saw a consultation with a Gurka, a wife of a British soldier, and a British officer. The difference was incredibly overt. The consultation with the Gurka was something akin to that between a school nurse and a notoriously delinquent 14yr old boy, whilst that with the wife was more similar to what we're (usually) accustomed to at HYMS/UK and with the officer, well, it was like me taking a consultation with a friend, very jovial and laid back. When I asked the doctor about it (don't worry, he was a civilian doctor), he said he was completely unaware of it all but subsequently changed his approach to the next Gurka that came in....and turned to ask me if that was better.....Huh? Well, I suppose so.
Another new aspect to the consultations here is the language barrier. The Gurkas are fairly fluent in English (though this wasn't always the case. Up until about 10 years ago, the selection for Gurkas was purely reliant on physical and medical criteria, now, they have to sit a GCSE maths paper and on passing that, a GCSE English paper. If they pass both, they are selected for the physical followed by the medical.) Often, if not exclusively, the Gurkas are selected from rural Nepal, and their wives almost invariably come from the same region where they are not very fluent in English. This makes consultations tricky. The medical centre has two translators, but they are not always available, so the consultations go in one of several ways. The patient uses painfully broken English and the doctor tries to decipher what's wrong...it's not always clear that they have it right until the examination. Or the patient brings her husband, which is not terribly comfortable, because the doctor is usually male and when asking questions directs them to the husband as opposed to the wife. Often the husband answers without asking the wife (and the doctor feels this is acceptable). Rarely, the patient is a child who comes in with their mother and it is the child who translates. Incredibly (and luckily) the children have an excellent command of English, are very good historians and feedback to the mothers about the plan that the doctor has just devised in an impressively mature way. As you can guess, there is no agreement on the management plan; the doctor decides,the patient accepts, whilst I'm sat in the corner shaking my head ever so slightly.
Today was an excellent day, apart from the heat and exhaustion and the piercing headache that resulted from 3 hours sleep and lack of caffeine (stupid mistake on my part) at breakfast. I was so excited about coming back to the Mess to freshen up and what not, when the doctor who was driving me back thought it would be an excellent idea to drive me around 'town'. Please bear in mind that 'town' is the garrison. A very homogenous area of barracks, some new, some old, but nonetheless homogenous. There is also the Shell compound, which looks very similar to the military garrison. This 'tour guide' was not a quick whizz, this was a protracted 45 minute drive, over bumps and potholes, which did nothing but exarcerbate my headache, not only because of the physical commotion, but also because of the intense effort it took to be polite and responsive to the obligatory narrative as we drove around.
On the flip side, I got back before sunset, which meant that I could finish the day off by walking along the beach, with the water lapping my feet as the sun set over the South China sea. Impressive, very impressive. As always, there's a bit of mishap with me. I underestimated the rapidity at which the sun sets in this part of the world. Before I could make it back to the mess, it was almost pitch black, and the mesmirising waves that were initially enticing me, were now very threatening and everytime the waves hit my feet, a little part of me screamed inside. Even worse, as I got back to the grounds and tried to navigate my way through the pitch black, my feet squelched in little puddles that I was told could potentially contain snakes. I did not feel worthy of wearing an army uniform; the scream that was once inside was now an audible whimper. Oh the shame.What would Her Majesty say!
No, it hasn't happened. I'm not allowed to do PT sessions till the THIRD week because that is how long it takes to acclimatise. Yes, acclimatise. I initially wanted to 'pah' this guy away when he told me this, then I remembered where I was and who I was talking to and decided against it (though I have a sneaky suspicion that my face may have betrayed my emotions). My pleading to the senior medical officer (who also happens to be my assessor) went unheard. Apparently, it's physiology! Pah!!!!!
In all honesty, I think it might be a good idea, even though I feel seriously left out. I want to do PT, and yes, I want to wake up at 6am to do a birkin march for 4 miles carrying 15kg wearing combats.
Alas, just as the jetlag is leaving, the acclimatisation (or lack of) is setting in. Today was my first full, proper day. I was beyond the confines of the medical centre and taking part in a health fair. This had me nervous because it involved travelling beyond a safe environment where I'm doing clinical work, and in the midst of this enormous event, open not just to the entire garrison, but also, a Director General who was visiting. This meant wearing my uniform without fault, including my beret, and saluting when being saluted to. Bear in my mind that I've had no formal training in any matters military, and the big fuss about the Director General's visit to the Brunei garrison has created (I was banished to my room on Monday night because there was a dinner for him in the Officer's mess) had me literally shaking in my boots. Talking of which, these boots are INCREDIBLY heavy. My legs today feel like I've been carrying 5kg load on each, so perhaps that can be compensation for the lack of PT.....
In case any body was wondering, I was saluted to, and I saluted back. It was done as quickly as possible in the hope that any mistakes were too quick to be visualised by the human eye - I think I fooled them!
So the health fair - I was apparently in charge of the sun protection and alcohol stall, which involved me informing anyone that came by about the 'importance of suitable sun protection' (only the Gurka wives were interested - the Gurkas and other officers/soldiers seemingly too hard to take an interest) whilst the alcohol stall involved me quizzing everyone that walked past eyeing up the plethora of bottles that were used as props, about their drinking habits....apparently the 21 units/week is a new concept to 90% of all the soldiers. Rest assured, I was happy to impart the necessary information relating to 'excessive' alcohol consumption. I was particularly pleased to hear the words 'yes ma'am' when I told them to 'keep within the 21 units'. Joy!!!
Talking of alcohol, they like it here, ALOT. Whether it is the weekend or the weekday, there's alcohol of any type. You name it, they have it. My response of 'I'm not a big drinker, especially on a school night (yes, I actually said on a school night) was met by momentary, collective deadly silence, that left me slightly uneasy and darting my eyes from officer to officer in the vain hope that I would come across a pair of understanding eyes. There were none that I could see....
OK, so on to some important stuff. Today was the first day when I got a real taste of Brunei. The weather was inescapably hot. Usually working in air conditioned environment, today's fair was ridiculously humid and stifling and no amount of water helped. It was also the first time that I saw so many Gurkas and their families and it was insightful to see how little of the public health message that we are saturated with in the UK is available to them here.
Another interesting thing about healthcare here is the style of the consultations. When my tutor initially suggested that I look at the different consultations styles employed in the medical centre here for my SSC, I scoffed at the idea, writing back with a declaration that as a student of the Hull York Medical School, I felt quite well versed in the various consultation styles and would rather do some 'real' clinical work. Hmmm. I hate to say this, but I feel like a little humble pie is in order. It is really interesting to see the different ways the GPs here approach consultations. Yesterday, I saw a consultation with a Gurka, a wife of a British soldier, and a British officer. The difference was incredibly overt. The consultation with the Gurka was something akin to that between a school nurse and a notoriously delinquent 14yr old boy, whilst that with the wife was more similar to what we're (usually) accustomed to at HYMS/UK and with the officer, well, it was like me taking a consultation with a friend, very jovial and laid back. When I asked the doctor about it (don't worry, he was a civilian doctor), he said he was completely unaware of it all but subsequently changed his approach to the next Gurka that came in....and turned to ask me if that was better.....Huh? Well, I suppose so.
Another new aspect to the consultations here is the language barrier. The Gurkas are fairly fluent in English (though this wasn't always the case. Up until about 10 years ago, the selection for Gurkas was purely reliant on physical and medical criteria, now, they have to sit a GCSE maths paper and on passing that, a GCSE English paper. If they pass both, they are selected for the physical followed by the medical.) Often, if not exclusively, the Gurkas are selected from rural Nepal, and their wives almost invariably come from the same region where they are not very fluent in English. This makes consultations tricky. The medical centre has two translators, but they are not always available, so the consultations go in one of several ways. The patient uses painfully broken English and the doctor tries to decipher what's wrong...it's not always clear that they have it right until the examination. Or the patient brings her husband, which is not terribly comfortable, because the doctor is usually male and when asking questions directs them to the husband as opposed to the wife. Often the husband answers without asking the wife (and the doctor feels this is acceptable). Rarely, the patient is a child who comes in with their mother and it is the child who translates. Incredibly (and luckily) the children have an excellent command of English, are very good historians and feedback to the mothers about the plan that the doctor has just devised in an impressively mature way. As you can guess, there is no agreement on the management plan; the doctor decides,the patient accepts, whilst I'm sat in the corner shaking my head ever so slightly.
Today was an excellent day, apart from the heat and exhaustion and the piercing headache that resulted from 3 hours sleep and lack of caffeine (stupid mistake on my part) at breakfast. I was so excited about coming back to the Mess to freshen up and what not, when the doctor who was driving me back thought it would be an excellent idea to drive me around 'town'. Please bear in mind that 'town' is the garrison. A very homogenous area of barracks, some new, some old, but nonetheless homogenous. There is also the Shell compound, which looks very similar to the military garrison. This 'tour guide' was not a quick whizz, this was a protracted 45 minute drive, over bumps and potholes, which did nothing but exarcerbate my headache, not only because of the physical commotion, but also because of the intense effort it took to be polite and responsive to the obligatory narrative as we drove around.
On the flip side, I got back before sunset, which meant that I could finish the day off by walking along the beach, with the water lapping my feet as the sun set over the South China sea. Impressive, very impressive. As always, there's a bit of mishap with me. I underestimated the rapidity at which the sun sets in this part of the world. Before I could make it back to the mess, it was almost pitch black, and the mesmirising waves that were initially enticing me, were now very threatening and everytime the waves hit my feet, a little part of me screamed inside. Even worse, as I got back to the grounds and tried to navigate my way through the pitch black, my feet squelched in little puddles that I was told could potentially contain snakes. I did not feel worthy of wearing an army uniform; the scream that was once inside was now an audible whimper. Oh the shame.What would Her Majesty say!
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