Take, for example, travel gear. A number of my trips have been spent lecturing, which reflects a change in the nature of international medical work. They say that in the past, in order to do medicine abroad, you'd train in a generalist specialty, take an x-ray machine, and disappear into the jungle for a couple of decades, whereas now, what you really need is a laptop and LCD projector so you can teach. So five or six years ago I bought the smallest, teeniest, tiniest laptop money could buy at the time, a Toshiba Libretto, a fully-functioning notebook computer the size of two DVD cases stacked on top of each other, with a keypad so small I could probably blame my arthritis on it, file a class-action lawsuit and live off disability.
I've also learned what not to bring, for example, what's often sold as "travel clothing"; this stuff is usually made out of techy sounding materials and festooned with all manner of zippers, velcroed vents, cords, ties, and snap-buttons. You can usually tell who spent too much time at REI when you arrive in a country and see all the locals dressed in jeans and t-shirts with one guy in their midst sporting an ill-fitting khaki-colored, vented shirt with cargo pants and hiking boots - Dr. Livingstone, I presume?
At the same time, there's stuff you should definitely be taking, no matter what the so-called experts tell you. For example, some people who advocate packing light suggest that you take only two pairs of what are advertised as high-tech quick-drying underwear, one to wear while the other one dries in your hotel room, but it takes only one trip wearing constantly damp drawers while the group edges away into a wider and wider circle around you to learn that it's probably okay to take up a little room in your bag with your preferred cotton boxers.
So I've spent my career in this peripatetic fashion, waiting for my shorts to dry and looking for some place to apply my talents to work that would result in whirled peas, wandering hither, thither and yon looking for a sense of purpose (thought I was going to say porpoise, dintcha? But that wouldn't tie into anything later, you see), but now perhaps I've found it. I'm not reaching any conclusions yet, but: after nodding over a stack of assessments and reports and development plans this morning I decided to take a furtive coffee break in the office kitchen, away from all of the decaffeinated Ramadaners. You can actually look over a broad expanse of Ramallah from the break-room, which was when I realized that I was staring out over Judea and Samaria, and in terms of world peace or the lack thereof this place was ground zero.
In medicine we like to joke that we're saving lives and stamping out disease, and in terms of world peace it's about as likely, I think the closest I'm going to get is blended chick-peas. But to turn down delicious hummus because it isn't the solution to peace in the Middle East doesn't make sense, so even though I'm probably not going to be finding the cure for plantar warts out here doesn't mean that I'm wasting my time. The emergency system here in Palestine - well, okay, there is no system, so there's a start. Emergency medicine is largely unknown here, even though it's a pretty well-established specialty in neighboring Jordan, not to mention Israel, although if there's any place that needs doctors who specialize in dealing with emergencies, it'd probably be this place. So before the coffee took effect, behind my half-closed eyelids I was able to imagine a future for Palestine, a future where health care is maybe even a little better, where the thought of being seen in one its of the emergency departments doesn't scare even the doctors who work and live here; I could imagine a Palestine that was for me a professional homeland of sorts, not because I have the answers but because I love the people. Afghanistan is in many ways my first love, right now it's being the scary girlfriend I just can't quit, but perhaps Palestine is where my mighty hammer has found its nail, and even though that sounds really, really gross and in many ways totally inappropriate, I think you know what I mean.
And if you can't imagine whirled peas, look up the story of Jawdat Ibrahim and Abu Ghosh (the good part of the story is in the text box at the bottom of p. 145).
Now that I've wised up about travel clothing I've been having my clothes cleaned by the hotel laundry and it comes up in this packaging - apparently it's done by a doctor who'll give you Asmar with that freaky iron. I see he feels as strongly about a good crease as I do...
I don't remember you wearing underwear.
ReplyDelete