Leaving Heathrow at ridiculous o´clock in the morning on Thursday with my stethoscope in my bag, I sleepily contemplated what I was flying off to Guatemala to achieve. I am excited and intrigued to be exploring a new country and learning about a new culture, but I couldn´t escape the medical side of things either. The Panamerican newspaper I attempted to read on the flight had an expose on the growing problem of C.diff in Honduras and Costa Rica. The Costa Rican couple next to me were intrigued that I´d chosen to work in Central America, and pleaded with me to return one day and fix Dengue Fever in their country, a little researched and poorly treated disease because it doesn´t make enough money for the pharmaceutical companies and none of the indigenous people can afford the drugs anyway. It scared me, the way they looked at me with pleading, hopeful eyes. They truly believed that one person, just an average medic from England, held the power to improve the health situation in their country. That brought home to me how healthcare has changed so much at home in the UK, with the reduction of paternalism and contantly increasing choice available to the patient. Out here, they cannot afford the luxury of choice, they cannot afford any form of treatment at all, and so someone, anyone, coming to provide such treatment becomes instantly respected and needed. In all honestly it was a gratifying feeling, to realise that we can do things in this life which are useful and appreciated, but at the same time a feeling of guilt and fear combined to form an irrepressible feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling of the unfairness of it all.
But instantly on arriving in Guatemala, the feeling shifted. The Guatemalans are a happy, friendly people who will go out of their way to help you or just to be nice. At the airport, a man lent me his phone for free and a young boy led me to exactly where I needed to go with no expectation of a tip, simply a ´gracias´. I was introduced to Guatemalan food by my hostel owner, who cooked me a fresh meal from scratch at 9pm, and made me feel so welcome, playing with her baby son and chatting around the long kitchen table until I could not keep my heavy eyelids open any more.
The locals seem to go about their days on ´Guatemalan time´, a term I was introduced to by an American I met who had been travelling here for three months, and explained that the sweltering days can seem to stretch on for infinity when you are moving at their relaxed pace. They wander the streets, wearing traditional brightly coloured embroidered dresses, with wares to sell balanced precipitously on their glossly black plaits. Many of these are young children, especially girls, boredom shown in their frowning expressions as they ambivalently swat away flies in the stifling heat.
At the hostel, the owners were explaining to us why indigenous Guatemalans will not go to school. They said an education here will not benefit you unless your skin is white. They cannot afford to put children through school if there are no longterm prospects for them.
My skin is very white. And I feel so very privileged here, privileged not only at home, in the opportunities I have had in life so far, of studying medicine in a beautiful University town, but in being able to come here and
learn and grow as both a person and a medic.
Incidentally, the first thing I saw on arriving at the airport was a huge sign requesting that all passengers ensure they did not have any symptoms of cough, sore throat or fever. And so it begins...
But instantly on arriving in Guatemala, the feeling shifted. The Guatemalans are a happy, friendly people who will go out of their way to help you or just to be nice. At the airport, a man lent me his phone for free and a young boy led me to exactly where I needed to go with no expectation of a tip, simply a ´gracias´. I was introduced to Guatemalan food by my hostel owner, who cooked me a fresh meal from scratch at 9pm, and made me feel so welcome, playing with her baby son and chatting around the long kitchen table until I could not keep my heavy eyelids open any more.
The locals seem to go about their days on ´Guatemalan time´, a term I was introduced to by an American I met who had been travelling here for three months, and explained that the sweltering days can seem to stretch on for infinity when you are moving at their relaxed pace. They wander the streets, wearing traditional brightly coloured embroidered dresses, with wares to sell balanced precipitously on their glossly black plaits. Many of these are young children, especially girls, boredom shown in their frowning expressions as they ambivalently swat away flies in the stifling heat.
At the hostel, the owners were explaining to us why indigenous Guatemalans will not go to school. They said an education here will not benefit you unless your skin is white. They cannot afford to put children through school if there are no longterm prospects for them.
My skin is very white. And I feel so very privileged here, privileged not only at home, in the opportunities I have had in life so far, of studying medicine in a beautiful University town, but in being able to come here and
learn and grow as both a person and a medic.Incidentally, the first thing I saw on arriving at the airport was a huge sign requesting that all passengers ensure they did not have any symptoms of cough, sore throat or fever. And so it begins...
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