Bitten.

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......

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.

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.

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.

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!