Ska bli sjuksyster jag, tra la la, syster är säkert tjusigt att va.
Den 18 maj var det en oförglömlig kväll. Eller i vissa fall en extremt glömd. I alla fall in mot små timmarna.
Men vad som ska sägas är att tre års studier verkligen lider mot sitt slut. Examen är nästan bara på en armlängdsavstånd (om någon undrar kan det översättas till ca 1,5v i tid) och framtiden knackar på våra dörrar. Men innan vi glämtar på vad som finns därborta på andra sidan så hade vi en examenssittning. Och en examenssittning utan dess like.
Vi var ett gäng som tog tag i planeringen ganska tidigt i våras, eller om det kanske var sent i höstas. Jag var en av de engagerade få som tyckte att examenssittningen är ju det viktigaste med hela sista terminen. Med facit i typ min hand kanske jag ska erkänna att det finns en del milstolpar som ändå känts större. Typ som dagen man klarade NKSE teori och praktik. Eller kanske dagen då vi har själva ceremonin. Skit samma, vi planerade i alla fall sittningen. Och vilken sittning det blev! Prisutdelning, quiz och hälsningar från forna lärare samt gamla generaler och andra ssk-figurer man mött under sin tid. Helt fantastiskt! Kvällen till ära hade även borden pyntats lite extra med murgröna och vår allas allra första namnskylt med namn och "leg. Sjuksköterska", något vi tackar Skyltcentralen ödmjukast för att de ville sponsra för alla som kom på sittningen. #coolt
Som vanligt agerade Jenny, aka Lillspättan, aka Rödspättan, bästa fotograf.
Nu kanske det ser ut som alla skyltarna var spegelvända. Det var de såklart inte.
Nu ni är det inte lång tid kvar tills Sjuksköterske avgångsklassen VT18 vid Uppsala Universitet snart tar examen! Är det något ni kan lita på så är det att det är en hel jävla drös med fantastiska och kompetena människor som kommer ut i arbetslivet, redo att rädda liv!
Ni kan också lita på att det kommer dröja myyyyyyyyyyyyyycket längre tid innan jag bloggar igen.
Jack, get back, come on before we crack. Lose your boots, everybody cut footloose.
Monday means a new week and a new ward for me, the Dealer, the Bodyguard and Lillspättan. This time is also means the very last week. The last week at Mumhimbili Hospital and the last week in Dar Es Salaam. This last days will be spent at the Emergency for me and Frida, while Jenny and Anton will follow our footsteps in Main Theatre and ICU. And I know for a 100 procent that at least two of us are happy about the switch.
Anton and Jenny had a though week at the Emergency Department. (I feel really stupid writing about it since I wasn't there, but I tried to make them guest-blog here without success...) For the really first time they felt neglected as soon as they said they were nursing students, not doctors. Which sucks. And they also experienced their first death. A death that in a Swedish hospital could have been avoided. It had been wrong from beginning until end. They also got to go home earlier one day cause one of the patients in a room had active TBC. Which was information that they got after they had already been inside the room. A room that the patient also shared with three burn victims, that had burns on 60% of their body surface. Upset at the whole organisation is one word describing their feelings.
I and Frida on the other hand quite enjoyed Main Theatre. It was the first place where one didn't get any supervisor at all. We were out on our own. And it actually worked out really well. We could walk around a little bit of everywhere and see the operations we found interesting. There was also no need to stay for a full operation but could come in after they started and go before they had closed up. We could do a little as we pleased. And we took our chances to observe as many operations as possible.
It was mostly tumour extractions of different kinds. One on the esophagus, one on the lower jaw bone (mandibular), one gastric or intestines, one lung cancer on a 1 year old child and, the one that was most disturbing to watch, a malignt melanoma.
A lady came in and sat on the operationtable. We thought that meant that they would remove a birth mark from her back or so. Not really anything superinteresting to watch, and we were about to head out, when we realised that they gave her spinal anaesthesia. So it wasn´t a birth mark. It was actually on her right heel. And it was a biggie. Underneath the whole heel was just a cancer wound. Covering the sole of her heel. And to take it away they basically peeled the heel off. All of it. Deep. Into the heel bone. That they after had to file down so it wasn't all pointy under there. And once the whole heel was off, they just put bandages on. Done. I dont understand how that will be able to heal ever again.
Last week we finished our placements at the Pediatrics and Maternity wards. On our last day we gave the teddybears, that Jenny brought, away to the children at the oncology ward and burn unit (and to two of the staff... It was all kind of strange). That it the first time I ever experienced a smile that gave me goosebumps. And we all felt the same.
Okey, so we saw some terrifying stuff the last day at the burn unit. Burn injuries on babies is quite common here since the kids have no place to play except from where the family cook dinner. Where it often is a fire on the ground. According to Swedish guidlines a burn injury that is over 10% of the total body surface need to be taken care of at a hospital, a burn on more than 20% of the body is severe. In all of Sweden it is about 250 people (in all ages) that have burn injuries that counts as severe and need to be sent to a specialisation unit, that we only have in Linköping and Uppsala. Here there were at least 30 kids on the ward and the most of them hade over 30% of the body surface sculled. And there were new patients coming everyday to this ward that was a burn unit, though other than the name, nothing was specialised for the patients.
We went with the doctors on the rounds and got to here some incredibly sad stories. All of them started with children playing and having fun and ended with severe burns, pain, in some cases, even amputation. We were also allowed inside the dressing room where they dressed the wounds. Some got new dressing daily and some every third day or so. But all of them were screaming and crying loud. No wonders. We only saw one of the patients getting analgesia. And that was orally, right before the dressing started, meaning that there is no way that it would have kicked in. In Sweden they sometime even anaesthetize the patients before dressing cause no painkiller is enough. None of us could stay in the room for long.
But now it is a new week, with new possibilites and new experiences to take in on Emergency and Main Theatre Departments.
Sugar man, wont you hurry, cause I'm tired of these scenes.
Monday. New week, new opportunities and, here in Dar Es Salaam, it means a new ward on our internships. This week we have switched. Frida and Anton will enjoy a week at Kangaroo Mother Care while me and Jenny will try our wings in Pediatrics.
We started at the intensive care ward where we arrived at 08:40. At 08 the doctors were supposed to be there, but when we came they still hadn't showed up. And until the doctors had visited and checked the children none of the nurses could do anything. So for about two hours we sat there, looking through journals and waiting. What's interesting is that even though people are not fluent in English, the work-language is English. Everything is written in English. Everything has to be documented in English. All their education is also in English. Our English skills, that we Swedes usually are so proud of, is hardly enough when it comes to all this medical language. But still we are the only ones really speaking.
After two hours of not really doing anything at all we went for walk in the building. Greeting everyone we met with a Mambo or Jambo. There was not really anything at all going on. It looked like the whole 2nd floor was only waiting for the doctors to arrive. The biggest happening was when a cleaning lady opened the door on me while peeing on the squatting toilets. When the door flung wide open all I cried out was "Nooo" while my desperate eyes met with a mother to a patient 10 metres away. She probably saw everything. Everything of me. At least the incident made it possible for me to use the one swahilian phrase I feel comfortable with but never get to use. When the cleaning lady met me outside later she said "sorry, sorry", and I: "Hakuna matata".
After two hours of flipping through papers a nurse took us to the basement and practially threw us in in a renal ward, where there were rows of patients recieving heamodialysis. Not Jenny nor I had seen this treatment before which made the time until lunch truly fly. (And for once we timed our lunch with the others!) When we got back from lunch one of the doctors was there, but when we left he still hadn't written the plan for the day.
It's hard to remember that we are not here on holiday. We didn't travel to Tanzania for it's wide beaches and blue sea and staying under an umbrella all day. Nope.
We are here on our internships. We go to the hospital, we go to our different wards and we see what we can see and maybe do what we are asked to do. It can be when a nurse-in-training (here they apparently study nursing for 4 years and then have like 1 year working/doing internship-ish) just hands you the gear and says "I want to see if you can do this". And you prove him that you actually do know how to administer intravenous drip. Or it can be a nurse who worked with premature babies for three years, who puts peripheral venous catheter in their hardly visible veins like nothing, and asks "You want to try?". And you look at the baby next to her, with a weight on barely 1090 grams, and you feel just, naaaaaaah. Maybe not.
It's been a week now. A internship-week at the hospital and seven days in Tanzania. And it's our first weekend off. And it's been a Saturday well spent.
I repeat my mantra. I'm not here on holiday. We didn't travel to Tanzania for it's wide beaches and blue sea and staying under an umbrella all day. Nope.
I'll take your part when darkness comes and pain is all around.
It was our first evening when we stayed out a bit a longer. It wasnt even that late. We had been to Tanzanias biggest market and looked for a restaurant on our way home. Here no restaurants open before 18:30 and we had to sit and wait on some stairs before a buffet we had walked by opened. Then, when it was time we were the first ones to devour it.
Full of food, happy and pleased we walked home. The one kilometre left felt easy peasy and with jokes like "wooo we never been up this late" and, when entering our neighbourhood Upanga "we made it! We are safe!". All statements followed up with supportive laughter. Little did we know.
We had just walked by a few guards that greeted us and asked "How are youuuu?". We were just about to cross the street. We were just about to enter the street we live on. We were about 50 metres away from home. When suddenly all we see is a car.
Or, from my point, all I saw was a car driving sooooo close I thought it was about to run over Anton and Frida, who had to jump away. The next thing I hear is a scream from Jenny. The next thing I see is how a man, halfway out through the car window, grabbing something and how Jenny's somehow almost following with the movement of the car. Next thing I see is Jenny standing free with only the strap of her bag in her hands.
The car steps on the gas, takes a turn and races out of sight. In the same moment the guards, that only seconds ago greeted us, understands a piece of what is happening and starts running after the car. One with his baton out and ready. Though they soon saw that the battle was already over and lost.
The whole scenario was over in under a minute. It all happened so fast. And the four of us just stood there, on the side of the road, completely frozen. Not comprehending what had just happened. People started coming up to us, asking about what had happened and what we had lost. Saying that it was a shame but also something that occurs pretty often. And we just stood there.
When we got home we started blocking her phone, the bank ID and the logistics. We also realised that Jenny was the one carrying the keys to our room. Where we really have all our stuff. So, after a way too adrenalinpumped night Frida made the couches into beds for me and Jenny. And with a pill from our dealers secret stash we soon fell asleep, despite the heat, the nerves and the squeaking leather of the couches.
The next day we were supposed to have our second day on our internship at the hospital. Instead Jenny and I had to stay home. Waiting for a locksmith that our host had arranged to come and fix the door at 10.
We waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Until, finally, a man named Mustafa (aka "the locksmith") came. He arrived around noon. Came inside the apartment. Wondered if we had tried all the spare keys. Felt the door. Then said he would be back with a carpenter since they would have to break the door in nicely, without destroying it. The carpenter were currently at the hospital but will come around 14:00.
So we continued to wait. And realised how little one can do when you can't leave the apartment and have nothing cause all is locked up in your room. When Anton and Frida finally came home it was to a bored and somewhat bitter company. Though we had made a dance. When they got home we switched so Jenny and I could go out for some lunch. And with food and a drink/beer later- life seemed a bit easier.
When we got back to the apartment life was even better. We arranged with a movie, coffee, chocolate and Ahlgrens bilar while waiting for the carpenter. And waiting isn't too bad sometimes.
Finally help came. Theý broke the door in. And we could finally reach our stuff, brush our teeth and change our clothes. Which is a welcoming thing to do when it's at least 30 degrees outside, and same or more indoors.
So in the end, all is well. Jenny has some warrior-bruises and I believe we all are a bit traumatized over the happening. The worst part is that our photographer lost her camera.
It means no worries, for the rest of our days, it's a problem-free philosophy, hakuna matata.
Five days in Tanzania somehow feels like weeks in Sweden. So warm, so sweaty, so many new impressions, so much people and so much Swahili. On the streets we can't go anywhere without hearing a "Mambo!", "Jambo!", "Rafiki!", "Mzungo!" or *insert any swahilian word that I don't know*. In rare occasions we also get a "Hello". Or, if you're Anton, you get a "Oh Big man".
We have begun our internships at Muhimbili National Hospital (MNH). First day was all administration and paper work and pay for our stay. Second day was a whole lot of waiting. Waiting for out contact person to show up. Waiting for him to finish his work to show us around. Waiting for him to talk to the people in charge on the wards to let us be there. Waiting for someone to talk to us. To let us know where to go or what to do.
We have wished for the wards we will be having internship at. During our weeks we will be visiting Maternity Kangaroo Mother Care Ward (KMC), Pediatrics, Emergency Department and Main Theatre/ICU. Jenny and I have started at the KMC and Anton and Frida at the Pediatrics ward. We both spent about two hours at the wards one the first day. And, I can only speak for myself, but after two hours at KMC we felt as if we had seen it all. The moms spent their days laying in bed with their small children in the chest. Only feeding every third hour. And not really doing anything else. BUT we have more days to come so maybe we will be proven wrong. Anyway it is interesting and fascinating to see these small children, weighing no more than 1kg.
Frida and Anton seems a bit more pleased at the Pediatrics ward where they get to see different diseases. Though they don't get any explanations of how they treat them or really what they do with the sick children. Other than that almost a third of them dies.
Today was supposed to be the second day for the four of us at MNH. But instead two of us had to stay home all day waiting for a locksmith. Which is another story.
I bless the rains down in Africa, gonna take some time to do the things we never had.
Couldn´t have said it better myself, thank you Toto for finding words with a rhythm. And folks, suddenly it happens. Not only am I (once again) doing a new attempt to blog but I (once again) have left Sweden and my comfort zone. This time for Tanzania and four weeks at a hospital in Dar Es Salaam. And not any hospital but the hospital that travel books and the locals recommend anyone who is sick to avoid. To not go to. To not seek help there. That’s where I, Jenny, Frida and Anton decided to spend our second to last internships during our studies. Another party of friends are currently in the same country but at another destination. They are in Moshi, which I have no clue how to spell or pronounce, but somewhere close to Kilimanjaro. The eight of us will later meet up on Zanzibar to discuss and exchange experiences, catch up on sun, swimming and, if wi-fi allows, Game of Thrones.
It’s been a few years since last time I wrote but I will, once again, do an honest attempt to share mine and my fellow travelers experiences. So that anyone of you back home that are interested and way too curious to wait for the powerpoint-show can be up to date. And some of you may question why I write in English. I could say it´s all about how English is a much more creative language where one can really paint a picture with words compared to Swedish. It could be that reason. Or, it could be that I bought this mini-pc in a small store in Bolivia and therefore the keyboard is missing some of the swedish letters.
Anyway, let me present the crew I am sharing this experience with. We have Frida, a happy girl from Stockholm who has been up to a little bit of everything before she started nursing studies. She has been traveling through Russia, Mongolia, India and more on her own. Also she’s studied some criminology. And much more. She is one of those friends that keeps on dropping new facts about herself all the time. In Dar Es Salaam she has currently taking the part of our personal yoga teacher. And our dealer. For this trip she got a whole bunch of pills against anything and everything from her doctor parents and gladly shares them.
Jenny, also brought stuffs to share. She brought 15 stuffed animals in her luggage that we will be able to give to children. A few of them also served us quite well as neck pillows on the airplanes and uncomfortable chairs in Addis Abeba. She has been backpacking through Australia, New Zealand and fallen off her motorbike in Thailand. Also she knows almost all the names of different yoga poses and eagerly learns the unknown. On our trip she has so far taken the only place as photographer. After only two days here she is by far the person with the most pictures taken. It probably will be a few of her pictures shown later on in this blog.
Anton is the one who probably get the most attention down here. He is blonde, almost 2 meters tall and looks like our bodyguard. At least if you should ask the man who fixed us ID-cards at the hospital. He has been backpacking through Asia, interrailing in Europe and eaten noodles for almost every day when he was in Austrailia. He is not a big fan of selfie-sticks and completely froze when I in January put on my safari-hat and said I got the whole trip figured out.
We live in an AirBnb-apartment owned by an Abdul. It is close to the hospital and today we also found a nearby pool where one can go and cool down after internship-hours. Today was our first day at MUHAS, Muhimbili University of Health and Allied Sciences, where we arrived one hour late but still earlier than our contact person and fixed all paper work. Tomorrow the real adventures begin when we will put on our scrubs and do our first day at the Muhimbili National Hospital.
So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs Wagners pie and walked off to look for America.
When we arrive at the border crossing between Serbia and Bulgaria it is just before eight o'clock in the morning but it feels as it has hardly passed two am. It has been a long and strange train ride. It is the second night train on this trip and we thought it couldn't get any worse after the first one, but oh, how wrong were we.
I arrived in Slovenia a Sunday night after a crazy and awesome weekend in Gothenburg at Way out West with a sister and a best friend. (I know I haven't told you, but well, I have hardly told you anything lately soooo.. For now let's just tell you the whole weekend was awesome in all kinds of ways, music, weather, people, food, drink. Awesome. Awesome awesome awesome.) The flight with AirSerbia was almost an hour late but even though it was closing in on midnight there was a minibus for the city centre. Soon I found myself in the arms of Isolde, and she in mine. The day after Sean arrived and my interrailing with them would finally begin!
After two days in Ljubljana, Slovenia where we went to a water park, to a castle and strolled around the very small city centre, we jumped on a night train to Belgrade, Serbia. It was a six person compartment we were three and it looked as if we would get the entire one for ourselves. Until we came to Zagreb. Three friendly British girls joined in and it was full, basically just feet and heads everywhere. Even though it was hard to find a comfortable position, this wasn't the worst. But just when you found yourself a good spot, maybe had just drifted away or were about to, someone came, knocked on your shoulder and you were asked to show your ticket. Or passport. Or ticket. Or passport. Or ticket again. When we arrived in Belgrade we were tired, hungry and grumpy.
Well, all we needed was a few more hours of sleep in the hostel, were they even gave us the beds a bit earlier, and a breakfast/lunch. Then we felt human again and took a walk around the city. For once it wasn't railning and we saw the city centre and the Belgrade fortress in just a few hours.
The day after we weren't quite as lucky with the weather. After a very relaxing morning and breakfast we got out and were about to start a 40min walk to another part of Belgrade that were supposed to be completely different because way back in time it belonged to another country, Austria-Hungary. After five minute walk the sky opened up, heavy rain started pouring down, flooding the streets along with thunder and lightning. We found shelter in a kind mans photocopy-store where we played some games waiting for the weather to ease up.
It kind of did so we went out, got extremely wet and bitter, but some chocolate and Disney songs lightened up the mood, soon also the sky. And Zemun was worth the stroll. The former city was completely different from Belgrade with low houses and small alleys that we actually appreciated even when the energy faded away. A picnic lunch outside a small church watching pigeons everyday lives on the square prepared us for the walk back where we took a short stop at a beer festival. There we could hear a Serbian cover band singing "We will, we will, SHIT YOU!" Before we moved along and finally went on our night train for Sofia.
Now, we are well aware that we have been cheap, trying to save some money and not booked a sleeping cabin on any of the night trains. And we know that there would be some hard nights, a night train is never easy. But, when we entered the train 462 to Sofia we didn't know if to laugh or cry when we saw our seats. They weren't even real seats. It was three next to each other, along one side of the train with seats that bounced back if it was no weight on them. Good seats or not, we at least got front view of the Serbians or Bulgarians that went into the space between the wagons for a smoke, or a bit of fresh air. In the middle of the ride, while the train was still in motion, they could just open up one or two of the doors out. We thought some of them were about to jumped off the train, but no. The action ended with the door, opening and closing again and again.
Finally we got a few hours of sleep, the train was fairly empty and we could split up, having two real seats each. I was pretty delirious from sleep when I gave and took my passport from the border police. Trying to be friendly I even said a thank you, but in Swedish, which led to some confusion with the police who stopped in the middle of his movement and looked at me. A girl with hair standing in all directions, so tired that she didn't understand that she was speaking in her own mother tounge, a language not many border polices in Eastern Europe master.
It was a long night, but, in the end we eventually arrived in Sofia, Bulgaria. Only to realise they have their own currency and NOT euros like Belgium, which I apparently have completely mixed Bulgaria with.. So time for the town and an ATM to get some cash.
Wave out to the crowd, take your final bow, least you stole the show.
Almost a half year ago I found myself in the kitchen of the Buonsanti brothers in Oslo. After a few wrong turns and some ice-slipping I found their apartment which I had only visited once before on another dinner. It's really fancy to have so many friends who likes to cook and don't mind to cook for you, when you self hate it. They make some dinner and I bring some drink. Usually this drink is glögg, but this time I went for wine.
Carmine had made us some homemade pasta with tomato sauce and we had finished the bottle of wine and started on some martini when his older brother Giuseppe came home. After the normal gossiping about the company where we worked together and about the people we knew, we started talking about us. I thought I would have something to bring to the table, with me moving, starting studies and all. But that didn't seem to matter when Giuseppe came with his. He got married. "We only had small ceremony now and then we have big wedding and party in Italy in summer, you should come! Will be in august!" What swede, or any nationality for that matters, would say no to this?
Later, after the rainy and cold spring, the summer came even though it was still rainy and cold. And somewhere in June an invitation to a wedding in the southern parts of Italy fell in through my mailbox.
I never thought that southern Italy would be a problem to reach, nor to leave, but as it turns out you need quite some time. For me it would take about 26hours to reach my final destination, and then I had travelled by train, airplane, train, bus and car. But before 8 in the morning I would arrive in Carmines car in Montescaglioso, exactly where I had been four years earlier when me and a group of friends went to visit them. It looked exactly same and what just as hot.
The wedding would take place on Saturday the 8th. This is a day I will always remember. Not only for the wedding, but for the amount of food and cakes I consumed in only one day. It started already at the breakfast in the B&B where I stayed the night from Friday to Saturday. I came down after a good nights sleep, looked forward for breakfast and had completely forgotten that breakfast in Italy isn't whole wheat bread, yoghurt with musli or porridge. It is sugar. In all its forms. I got a croissant, which isn't too bad, but then she had made a whole, huge chocolate cake, only for me. I had to take two pieces and refuse her on the third, when she came out with a new cake, with which she wouldn't take no for an answer. When later I came to the Buonsanti house it was time to take pictures, drink and eat some cake, I passed on the cake.
Now, I am no expert in Italian weddings, but there is one thing that I know that you must have. Patience. There is no such thing as time. The ceremony in the old church in the centre of the city would start at 10:30 it said on the invitation. By that time we hadn't even left the house. But with or without keeping the schedule there was things to be done and organised up until the very last minute. When there was nothing I could help with I focused on the air conditioning and keeping my sweat-rate at a minimum.
Even though the ceremony was about an hour late, crazy hot inside the church and a little confusing about when we were supposed to stand up or sit down it was beautiful. And when the lady by the or gel sang Ave Maria, I got chills.
We threw some rice, got into cars with wrapping on and went on a parade through Montescaglioso, horning, shouting all the way. Then we left, we out into the country side and to the resort where the party was to be held. There it was a big room with 13-15 round tables spread out in it, next to a band, dance floor and "welcome cocktail" areas. My seat was at the Stoccolma table (Stockholm table). It was me, a fellow swede, three Norwegians and a Russian. Neither me nor the other swede were from Stockholm.
Then, like I already told you, there was food. And food. And food. And, oh my god, food. We sat down from 15 to 23 and ate. Welcome cocktail, first starter, second starter, antipasti, second antipasti, main course, second main course ... And so on. I have never in my adult life had a dinner where I have used as many forks as I did there. It just never stopped coming. There were even two deserts! And you know the worst part of it all? It was all delicious.
When you thought the party would end it turned out to have only just begun. Before midnight the open bar opened, as well as the pool and the cigar/rum lounge. I could probably speak forever about this wedding, and I almost already have, so I will only tell you one thing more. There was even a clown for the children.
BIG congratulations to Guiseppe and Elena and huge thanks that I got to share this day with you!
But the tigers come at night, with voices soft like thunder. As they tear your hope apart, and turn your dream to shame.
Yesterday I jumped on my bike after another hard fitness session with my rubgy team, Uppsala RFC, and was contemplating with myself whether I should stop by the store on the way home to buy some food (read: chocolate). It has been like a thursday routine: kill yourself at the training (with spinning as hard as you can, run faster than never before and lift heavier than ever) and then stop by ICA and reward myself with, if I am going to be completely honest, way too much chocolate.
One time I was sticking to my routine, in the beginning of March, and I was completely destroyed after that days session. After buying my normal amount of chocolate I went out and started to unlock my bike when nothing happened. The key did not move. I started to struggle, using my finger strength (hardly exsisting) and arms (that were still shaking of exhaustion) but nothing happened. It was impossible to turn the key around. I stood there, right by the entrance of the store, struggling, for about 20 minutes without getting anywhere. People were passing by, looking at me, but once I lifted my head to ask for help their stares went straight down into the concrete of the street, pretending not to notice. I was so tired that I was close to crying, not far away from just giving it all up and walk home, when my savior came.
It was the beggar, who always sat with a blanket around himself outside the entrance of the store. He came up to me, without knowing hardly one word of english, and started to struggle with the lock himself. After a few minutes, and curses in a, to me, unknown language he finally got the lock up. I was free. Not having any cash on me, nor a cigarette which he asked for, we went inside and he could choose whatever food he preferred while I paid. Now, on my thursday routines, after training and buying massive amounts of chocolate (yes, the amount is growing everytime I mention it) I always make sure I have some change, more than just a few crowns, to spare this man. I dont even think he recongizes me, but I truly am forever grateful. Even if it was just for a lock on a bicycle.
I do love to live in Sweden, and feel priviliged that I were so lucky to be born in a nation with free education, health care and all, but sometimes I am just ashamed of the swedish mentaliy. I have been travelling some as you might know, and everywhere I have gone people have been friendly, not hesitating to help you. Last week I was in New York with my wonderful old friends and Frida, one of them and whom I have known since we were six, was amazed of how friendly the new yorkers/americans were. Cause in Sweden, if you accidentaly bump into a person a sorry is not obligated (while it still is polite) and you avoid in everyway talking to strangers. I know we live in the northern hemisphere with a pretty cold climate but does that mean that we have to be cold people too?
Cause all my life is wrapped up in today, no past nor future here.
A costumer comes up to me and orders a single caffe latte. - That will be 29 please, I say with a (what I believe to be) a friendly smile. - Do you take Danish coins? he then asks. - Haha, weell, it would be better since their currency is stronger at the moment but I dont know how my boss would see on it. I say and laugh. Thinking that he is joking I try to do the same. Keep the spirit in a good mood. - Sooo.. You dont take Danish currency? he repeats. - Oh ehhh. No sorry, I simply answer, a little bit embarressed. - Okej, what about Swedish coins?
They have taught me Italian expressions, that crows are birds that are one of a kind and if you are nice to them they remember you, the importance of waffles on a friday afternoon, about diets and language differences and carnivals in other parts of the world. We have been discussing travels, what is really tipical norwegian, the situation in Ukranie, babies, music, why you would put a jumping guy on a packet of cultured milk and, of course, coffee. Working alone sucks and without colleagues you easily feel lonely. But I have my costumers, some of them regulares, that takes me through each day. I might only be a human coffee supplier for them but they are so much more to me. Even the really annoying ones.
- Sarah, what would you rather be? A racist, communist or blind?
I have got no need for open roads, cause all I own fits on my back. I see the world from rusty trains, and always know I wont be back.
A small summary of what have happened the last 30 days.
I and Ida got visit from our north-of-sweden-halves and we spent the weekend eating, gossiping, turning down offers of afterparties and laughing.
I went a weekend to Gothenburg for late night talking with red wine, trying out the life as a student, buying a cinnamonbun bigger than my head and, most important, hanging out with my wonderful partner in crime Klara.
After that there was a big party with work, celebrating the year of 2013, that I had no trouble celebrating even though I only worked for one month of that year.
We had entered Febuary and with February comes Valentines day. Staying thankful for not working in a flower shop, like my roommates, I jumped on a night bus to Sweden and got my most expensive Valentines gift ever. I got my examination, that I was supposed to get for almost free, then it was quite expensive since I live in Norway but in the end I got it all for free. As a Valentines gift. (Even though, being honest, it was probably most a pity-gift since I had a break-down in the midwifes office. When I am lacking a few hours of sleep I get very emotional indeed.) This weekend was also spent with another First-time-in-my-life-moment. When me and my family arrived too late at a concert and the band had already started playing. And this was a sit-down concert where we had tickets on the third row.
All of sudden we are up to the last weekend, this weekend that have just passed. It included a decent amount of beer, a lot of dancing, one long distance phonecall, awesome tacos with an awesome friend, some afterparties and finally rugby. And everything I have done with this song in my mind. It is stuck in my head, repeat on my iPhone and in my cafe, PO lunsjbar.
