So I'm gonna start telling some stories (sorry if you've heard them), and hopefully keep this trend going. Here's one from training last year.


The Clinic in Bababe

During training, we were visiting a local dispensary in my village and we were evaluating the facilities. I remember there was what looked like—but I hope wasn’t—dried blood splattered on the wall of the dentist’s closet of an office, which was occupied by no less than 10 people that were shuffled out when we said we’d like to ask him a few questions. This was a typical encounter, walking in on Mauritanians pretending to work, inefficiency flourishing, being treated like American royalty, and don’t forget the interrupting tea guy (a guy whose sole job is making tea) who is the only other one allowed to come in, and everyone else gets to pry their way through the door. Then there was a box of medication of some sort that caught my attention, and it hinted at why Mauritania’s health standard is so low. The box said “IMPORTANT: STORE AT ROOM TEMPERATURE.” First it was in English, which is great because maybe 10 people in this country can speak a coherent sentence. And room temperature? I’m pretty sure whoever wrote that wasn’t thinking “room temperature” would be a blistering 120 degrees, as was the case in this lovely open-air clinic pressure cooker.