Life Must Go On

London, England

I know that you personally do not fear to give your own life in exchange for taking others [that is why you are so dangerous] ... but I know you do fear you may fail in your long-term objective to destroy our free society ... in the days that follow, look at our airports, look at our seaports and look at our railway stations ... you will see that people from the rest of Britain, people from around the world, will arrive in London to become Londoners, to fulfill their dreams and achieve their potential ... whatever you do, however many you kill, you will fail.

-London Mayor Ken Livingstone

You can't destroy London because it is all of us; the city is diversity at its most extreme. Livingstone also mentions earlier in his speech, concerning the future of the city after the attacks, that one television commentator even called London the world's first "post-national city." Every creed, color, and stripe of man is a resident, and it is a beautiful thing. Striking the community strikes every community.

Dropping Pounds, Adding Weight. When I arrived in London it was bright and beautiful, and my brother and Clara welcomed me with overwhelming hospitality. They also set out on a mission to fatten my belly, saying I looked skinny. We strolled through their neighborhood, conveniently sandwiched between Regent's and Hyde Park, and even took a row boat out with ice cream and the works. I was repeatedly stuffed with homemade meals and desserts: lamb chops, green chicken curry, mom's chicken soup, banana bread. Not to mention the fantastic Asian foods around the city that followed.

Marc and Clara have a wonderful apartment in central London from where I could stroll through the city, chasing and retracing the footsteps of four years before...I even sat on the same bench under the London Eye where once upon a time, on another sunny morning after a different sleepless flight, at age 19, I had collapsed to survey my summer surroundings. Who would believe that Portcullis House just across the Thames was once my stomping grounds!?
So we ate well, maybe too well, and while they worked at their fabulous jobs I wandered and just took it easy. I tried to concentrate on seeing some of the things I had missed before: a good Frida Kahlo exhibit at the Tate Modern, Camden Market, and a bit of Soho nightlife. I also met up with another old friend, Ben, for a steak and guiness business lunch near his office on Liverpool Street. I was able to catch up on what came of everyone I remembered from my London days. In short: new jobs, marriages, and even babies.

Conversation with Marc and Clara was always exciting, and I found out a lot more about what they actually do and how much they enjoy being in London. We talked a lot about their lives and touched briefly on my own future, not exactly my favorite topic while traveling. Aside from the craziness of the bomb scares and one shooting on the tube, it was the perfect week.

If this London visit began perfectly - sleeping in, walking the city streets, spending quality time with bra and Clara and even our family friend Alexa on the weekend and after work - then Paris even took things up a notch. I spent a few days in Paris midweek with an old friend, Magali, and she showed me her beautiful city. Nevermind the sprinkling sunshower that became a downpour as we toured the city bridges on a fly-boat, we two the only fools not to bring an umbrella or jacket. We had a fantastic few nights out to dinner, wandering the Latin Quarter, sitting by the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathedral, or the Sacre Coeur, or battling eachother to cover the bill in lounges and bars around the city. Magali is now working on the equivalent of a Phd., and it was great to see her doing so well.

Purgatory. If there is such a place, it is on the outskirts of London. Namely, it is terminal 2 of Heathrow airport, where the masses crowd interminably under a 7 foot ceiling to endure claustrophobia together while they wait 2-3 hours just to check in luggage. In contrast, Zurich's airport in an exercise in modern art and the value of negative space. Relief only came when I was upgraded to business class for the short flight from London to Zurich with no explanation. It wouldn't be so comfortable on Swiss Air to Africa...

It was awkward to return to London from Paris on the same day as the second wave of bomb scares. You can't imagine how long the taxi queues became. But Londoners continued to ride the tube, simply adjusting to the latest closures and detours and carrying on with their tabloid gossip and strange slang - "You cheeky bastards!" There were even impromptu dance parties reported in the streets in an area where local residents had been temporarily evacuated from their homes. The papers referred to them as "Beat the Bombers" parties. The only awkward part for me was leaving the city for Heathrow on my last day - I had to carry my backpack through the tube system while passengers scrutinized me as a potential danger.

On this latest flight to Jo'berg I was kept awake by a first year Oxford student - politics, economics, philosophy - from Canterbury, England. We argued about philosophy between political and educational debates. Does Knowledge equal Justified True Belief? The answer, according to Frank, lies in a thoughtful tale about two men, each with ten coins in their pockets.

Arriving in Durban, SA, I hardly knew what to expect. I was greeted immediately by my best friend Anand, who graciously showed up to the airport with his car to pick me up! First impressions: from the airplane, the coast was beautiful and hilly, dry yet also very green; everyone I met on the plane [filled with rich white people] were very kind, especially two teachers who gave me tips on where to travel along the coast and to wild animal parks; the airport bathroom hand-dryers are state-of-the-art and should be imported.

Anand and I went to McDonalds after a brief drive through the city. Sitting there with our chicken nuggets and big mac's, we could feel many eyes upon us. There is still a general reaction of surprise here when two individuals of different race are seen together laughing and talking and generally just so comfortable. Within the city center there are few whites anyhow. Durban is unique however for its nearly 33% Indian population. As we looked around, he explained to me that 25% of the population here is HIV positive. I let it marinade...

Anand works at McCord Hospital near Morningside, a wealthier area in the hills around Durban's center not unlike San Francisco with its georgeous vistas and sunsets. He has come here to study HIV and tuberculosis at the Sinikithemba clinic for a year or more, and to help out generally in the community. Anand stays with a warm and wonderful family in a beautiful home in the hills. They are two doctors with adorable little girls and a passion for science, history, politics, and just hanging out with crazy twenty-somethings. They are the best thing that could have happened for Anand in this city. Unfortunately, everyone's homes here are necessarily protected by gates and barbed wire and emergency armed responders. South Africans seem to be as paranoid as a common visitor about their general safety, which is evidenced by such things as car guards on regular streets and around bars and restaurants, segregated neighborhoods, and a general avoidance of the city center by whites at nightfall. Almost everyone gives you the "be careful" remark when you part ways. Perhaps it is just a part of the scene, but certain bars are entirely white which feels a bit strange. Yesterday I actually had my shoes stolen at the georgeous North Beach while reading quietly and watching the local surfers. I got them back 100 meters down the promenade after I motioned helplessly to the probable thieves around me and one man pointed toward the sand. It was almost comical. Most days I've spent here touring the city center museums (Apartheid, Natural History, African Art), markets and beaches or just hanging around the hospital, learning or observing the goings-on.

Under the Knife
The other day at McCord Hospital I went with Hillary, another med student from Bethesda (Stone Ridge), to observe surgery for the morning. We had hoped to sit in on a C-section, but instead I watched a woman have her big toe amputated, and next a hysterectomy in which a different woman had both ovaries and her uterus removed. The doctor was very kind and skilled - Dr. Candace Roberts - and dissected the uterus for us to show us exactly where we had "come from." The surgical theatre is no nonsense and quite a surreal experience. After I had changed into the proper light-green hospital gear and been equipped with a hairnet, shoenet, and surgical mask, we scrubbed in and were escorted into the thick of it. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Mannie, had a lot of trouble piercing the spine of the obese woman having her toe removed (diabetic), and the process took a painful 5-10 minutes of repeated insertions. After she lay still, chief surgeon Dr. Stanley went to work quickly scalping open her toe at its base and removing it with little trouble. The blood did flow, and run onto the floor in a puddle, and squirt all over the doctor and up at us a meter away. The trouble came when he needed to use a crude electric saw to take off more bone, but before long she was sutured and stitched up, toeless.

In theatre #3 we encountered two surgeons almost elbow-deep into the belly of a 38 year old woman who had grown a large cyst that needed to be removed. Latched onto to her ovary, it had filled with a chocolate mousse-like substance. The internal organs had shifted such that the doctors had to be careful not to cut the wrong pieces out. As the doctor commented, "her anatomy is all over the place."

The amazing thing about surgery is how rough and crude it all is, despite the numerous technological advancements we all assume make things clean and easy. As in all things on this trip, my assumptions were shattered. Yet I was 20 times better than I thought in there personally, at dealing with what I was watching. I even leaned in close with the surgeons most of the time, fascinated by the procedures and not bothered by the blood and gore. If I could do it all over again, and if I had steadier hands, I'd have looked into this field.

"Africa Must Be Saved" - Sinikithemba Choir
The other night we attended a cocktail party arranged by Dr. Bruce Walker, an American HIV researcher and Harvard Prof who is largely responsible for the funding that makes much of what is being done in and around Sinikithemba (McCord Hospital's HIV clinic) possible. The party was at a fancy mansion with a pool, and I wandered amongst common hospital workers, friends, interns, and even a private investor, Mark Schwartz, who probably made millions at his former Goldman Sachs position in Japan and working for George Soros. But the highlight of the night was the Sinikithemba Choir, a group of 15-20 HIV positive community members and co-workers who sing traditional African songs and hymns, and dance and smile while taking solos. The choir recently retured from a trip to Elton John's house in London. They have begun travelling the world with their newfound fame. Truly they were phenomenal in their passion and energy, and lit up the night.

It is strange how deeply affected the community is by HIV. Still, it never ceases to surprise me that the latest friend or co-worker of Anand's that I meet at the hospital or a cocktail party or just socially, is infected with the virus. I hang out with them all day, and then when I am told they are positive I am still shocked. I suppose this is because at home it would be startling; here it is disturbingly normal. No wonder the people are so deeply religious, even the hospital itself. I could not understand until now how intertwined faith and medicine could become, regardless of my distaste for faith-based medicine. Even at a fiscal meeting of the hospital yesterday evening the attendees were serenaded with the songs of the hospital choir before, during, and after, almost as if it were a religious event. By the way, did you know the South African national anthem is an amalgamation of 9 languages in one song?! Beautiful, yet if you look around some of the older white males were not actively mouthing the words...

This entry has been a bit rushed and was written piecemeal. I'm having difficulty collecting my thoughts here, but having a wonderful time attempting. Tomorrow we may be off to a wild animal park. But first, Anand and I are sitting in on a C-section this evening! Ever seen a one-second old baby??? I guess the theme of this entry is just the extremes of life I am experiencing - everything from the fear of death on highly advanced transportation systems to the miracle of life on the operating table. HALLELUJAH!

Hope all is well with everyone, and Happy Birthday to Scott in a couple days! Sorry I couldn't be there buddy.

If you can talk, you can sing.
If you can walk, you can dance.