Happy New Year 2016.... 2015 Done and Dusted....

"South Carolina" Martin and the Temple of Doom

Happy New Year! 2015 was another crazy year of travel for me. I feel rather exhausted and my body reminded me that I"m human on December 30th as I shivered and shook with a fever on the Mekong Delta and coughed so violently I bruised my ribs. So the year in stats: 17 countries (including new ones like Israel and old favorites like South Africa) and 161, 200 miles (according to Tripit.com). I apologize to the planet for the global warming and to my body for the economy class seating. Some highlights of the year follow: 

In January, I took some time to work on my different consultancies from Qatar and to be aunty to my college roommate Ann-Michelle's little boy Alexander and try on the life of an expat Mom living in a gated compound. Not so much for me although the parties are pretty fun. I have so much more respect now for working moms. The guilt! The inability to do anything as well as you would like! Wow... but hanging out with Alexander was wonderful. He's such a sweet and funny little guy and kept me on my toes with his disciplinary ways. 

Me and Alexander

In February, I taught a course at the Red Crescent in Saudi Arabia to 30 Saudi men and 1 woman on gender in humanitarian response. This was my second, and (inshallah) last trip to the "Kingdom". I saw nothing except Subway and McDonald's as I was not allowed to wander freely. Its amazing how free and liberated Qatar feels after a week in Saudi. To rebel against the draconian clothing laws for women in Saudi, I wore as little as possible under my abbaya and delighted in going to the breakfast buffet in my skivvies. You can make me wear an abbaya but you can't make me be a decent woman!

Saudi Men and Me

In March, I had a fantastic fun trip to Luang Prabang where I learned all about German efficiency with vacation planning in the slowest country in SE Asia: Lao PDR (which stands for please don't rush). Four German men and me. Luang Prabang is probably one of my favorite places in SE Asia. So beautiful and with such great food. From Laos, I rushed off to work in Brindisi, Italy where I managed to bring back about 15 kg of Italian products in my suitcase including five bottles of wine. I'm so happy the Thai immigration usually ignores me. Focus on the ivory smugglers and men with turtles and frogs strapped to their bodies, guys! I need decently priced wine! I also went to see the Golden Triangle in Chiang Rai, Thailand on the border with Myanmar and Laos. It was nice but a bit of a let down. I expected something other than a tacky photo opp on the Mekong river.  I don't know what I expected - opium dens, pith helmets, and poppies I guess. 

Four Fabulous Germans plus me and some other guy

From April through September, I took a 3 month assignment in Jordan to work with Syrian refugees (that turned into a six month assignment).  It was a great opportunity to explore the Middle East where I had only briefly visited in 2006 during the Israel-Lebanon conflict. I also had been wanting to work on the world's largest Refugee crisis in some way so I got the opportunity to be the Senior Gender Advisor to the Syrian Refugee Crisis in Jordan where I was hosted by UNHCR. I met some fantastic people at work and also took almost every weekend to see the sights and see friends working in the region.

Zatari Camp, Jordan

Azraq Camp, Jordan

Syrian child playing near latrines in Azraq Camp, Jordan.

Jordan is a traveler's delight. I went to the Dead Sea and Petra almost immediately but as well as these spectacular natural wonders there are also crusader castles (and defense against crusaders castles), Roman ruins like Jerash and Philadelphia (Amman's previous name), and the spectacular nature including waterfalls and thermal baths, caverns, mountain ranges, olive trees, and so many religious spots! Even though its a small country, I didn't even get to make it to Wadi Rum to live out my Lawrence of Arabia fantasy or to the Red Sea. So I want to go back.

At Artemis' temple in Jerash!

I also traveled to Lebanon, Turkey, and Israel several times. It was my first time in Israel and I was really amazed. I highly recommend doing the land crossing between Israel and Jordan so you can experience the prejudice against Palestinians up close.  Otherwise, its easy to get lost in the gorgeous mediterranean, the fantastic food (oh the food... I am in love with the food), and the good looking surfers (the food may be even better than the surfers). Luckily, I had my friends who devote their time to working in Gaza and the West Bank to keep it balanced by reminding me of what happens there and also to be friends with Israelis who could share what its like to live in a region where everyone seems hellbent on killing you (I'm sure I've offended someone with this sentence - I've given up trying not to... such is Israel and the politics around it). Israel is such a land of contrasts. For me,  on my US passport with my white skin - I was treated well. For other American friends with dark skin or those not on US passports- the experience is quite different. Its an extremely polarized and militarized society. But on the other hand, it was a huge relief to be free from the non-stop sexual harassment and stares from the men in Jordan. Jaffa, where I spent my holiday, is like a little California beach town with flea markets, great food, hip youngsters, and cute hippies and surfers all together. The only time it felt like the Middle East to me was on Eid when the Palestinian families came down to relax on the beach. Shishas and abbayas galore (along with the requisite sexual harassment too, sadly). 

Byblos, Lebanon

Enjoying Vacation in Beirut, Lebanon

Returning to my hippie roots in Jaffa, Israel

In September, my sister Alyson came out to visit me for her birthday. We went straight from the airport to Petra for a full day of Indiana Jones and shouting at rude Bedouin donkey salesmen. We relaxed for the remaining two days at a luxury resort on the Dead Sea, and she spent the next two weeks exploring Jordan while I worked.  It was great to have her with me. Then we went off to Cairo, Egypt for the tours of the pyramids. It was wonderful to see Egypt's wonders in relative solitude but also sad to see Egypt's tourism in tatters due to the violence in the region. It did make for an undisturbed visit as we didn't have to deal with huge crowds or aggressive salesmen. Alyson officially became the fourth person in our family to go to Egypt but unlike Dad and I, she was not ripped off by camel owners behind the pyramid. My hard lesson learned in 2005 saw to that. We tried to support everyone by buying the standard camel rides, perfume, papyrus, bric-a-brac and drinking as much mint tea as humanly possible. 

Martin Sisters in Petra

What you look like after a day at Petra

More Martin Sisters and Camels

Me and my new Egyptian boyfriend

Alyson and I overlooking Cairo

My graceful Camel riding in Egypt

Alyson and I looking quite adventuresome

After my assignment with UNHCR ended, I returned to Thailand via Stellenbosch, the premier wine town near Cape Town, South Africa to present some papers at the Sexual Violence Research Initiative and to see some friends. Its an amazing opportunity to be with some of the smartest and most dedicated researchers on this topic and to catch up with old friends who I've worked with. For an experienced traveler, I made a serious error in going back with all my luggage leaving me unable to bring but ONE bottle of fantastic South African wine back with me to Thailand. I then spent about 3 days at home in Bangkok and then went to Kyoto, Japan for the fantastic wedding of dear friends. Autumn in Japan is spectacular.  We ate like kings (or rather samarui) at the wedding and spent long laughter filled nights in Kyoto's pleasure quarters drinking sake, eating gyoza and okonomiyaki (famous pancakes) and making friends and singing. 

Presenting at SVRI

Good Food with Rebecca in Singapore

Photobombed by Kathy in Kyoto, Japan

Human Rights Ladies and our Token Man at Onsen in Japan

In October, a dear friend- Gus Osorio- died. He and I worked as "office neighbors" at JSI from 2000-2003 in DC. We were in a book club together and he came to visit me in Amsterdam and we went to London together. Our last conversation was about a month before he died when I was trying to entice him to come to Asia. I'll miss his big heart, beautiful blue eyes, and warm and funny ways. On the night he died, I was sitting at a bar on the Mekong in Vientiane Laos and saw a meteorite which lit up the whole sky in green. I'm sure it was Gus telling me he was hanging out with MCA from the Beastie Boys in heaven and kicking the jams out. RIP dear friend. 

October 27, 2015 was also a big day as this is the day I became a British Citizen as well (I am retaining my US citizenship - its dual nationality for me now!). My mother was born and raised in Wiltshire in the United Kingdom and when I was born, British women weren't allowed to pass on their citizenship to their children (not until 1981... the whole citizenship game is super sexist world-wide). After years of randomly asking whether or not I qualified for citizenship, I got a definitive answer in 2014 from an immigration lawyer and applied. I was granted and sworn in at a lovely private ceremony in the UK embassy in Bangkok with two of my close British friends, Ross and Vanessa Self in attendance. They wanted to take me out to the pub for a beer but it was a Thai Buddhist holiday so none of the sketchy pubs that cater to British sexpats would serve us beer. So in despair we headed to the Harrod's in the fancy mall for a cup of tea. Vanessa decided to ask for a glass of bubbly and they either didn't realize or didn't care about the alcohol ban so we celebrated with a luncheon of roasts and some pints and bubbles and Victoria sponge. Ross and Vanessa told me that "This is your new British super power, the ability to drink in any place in the world." In all seriousness, I was surprised at how emotional I felt and I really missed my mother but felt she was there with me.  

In November, I accepted a new job as Regional Emergency GBV Advisor for the global Gender-based violence in emergencies working group. I'm trying on the job as they have only offered me a contract through February and I"m not sure if I want to stay in Asia that long or commit to a job (consultant life gets under your skin even if I did complain about it the whole time). I'm working in SouthEast Asia and the Pacific helping build capacity to respond to gender-based violence in emergencies. This region is mostly natural disasters and after working in Syria, I feel anxious to go back to working on conflict and displacements. I hope to do some good though while i"m in the position. I had to go to Geneva for meetings and to pick up a visa so I got to spend most of the first two weeks on the job in Europe.

 

Me and Simon

It was good to be back in Europe and I saw lots of familiar faces and packed in a trip to Hamburg and Berlin in Germany. In Berlin, I got to have Thanksgiving dinner with my bestie from Sumter, Mike Dumiak. He opened up his home to me (even though in the middle of writing a book!) and we invited a Syrian refugee, O, to join us. O and I met in Amman on a blind date and became friends after I realized that as a humanitarian aid worker I am not allowed to date refugees! O was working as a logistics officer in freight forwarded in Damascus for several years after his mandatory army service. He loves politics and hates Assad so got heavily involved in the political uprising in 2011. He was arrested and kept in prison and fled to Jordan when he was released in 2012. He stayed in Jordan for three years trying to work legally or illegally (its illegal for Syrian refugees to work in Jordan). He was a registered refugee living with three other young single men and waiting to be resettled in a third country. His family had escaped later to Egypt but the borders were closed so he couldn't join them. They were a middle class family but money was running out for them. He found out that his claim to be resettled was rejected so he had to take the extreme step of going to Europe with the traffickers in August of this year. I followed him as he texted me from Turkey where he flew on his Syrian passport to Greece where he went on one of those boats you see on the news, up through Macedonia where they were beaten by border guards, to Serbia on to Austria and finally to Germany. He's now living in a refugee settlement sharing a house with about 9 other Syrian men about a hour outside of Berlin where he's enrolled in some free college courses for refugees, is learning German, and trying to settle in. Its not easy. While I was in Germany, the attack in Paris happened and the attitude towards Syrians has hardened. It's maddening to listen to the news of Donald Trump and others in the US and listen to the idiots on the internet go on about how Syrian men should be "fighting for their country" (on what side? Against who? And with what training? That war is so complex... I've asked him to explain it to me several times and get confused each time). O says he'll never return to the Middle East as Europe has opened its arms to him and he wants to repay it. He's a hardworking and smart guy (who does a great Michael Jackson impersonation) so I'm hoping the new year will bring him more peace and stability. It was good to be reminded of the traditions of America in Mike's little German apartment as I made turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce for the two of them. 

So now its the new year and I'm tired!  What an exhausting but fulfilling year. New and old friends, being with family, travel, meaningful work, new countries, and exciting new food (Israel was a revelation!). What more could anyone wish for? Thanks to all the friends - old and new- that I saw or chatted with in 2015. You are the best! 2016 will have a hard time topping it but I sense positive change is in the air. Stay tuned for news. I enclose some photos and a great recipe for my favorite hot sauce of the year.  

Me by the end of 2015 - feeling a little tired and worn out.

Wishing you all a lovely and exciting New Year! May 2016 bring you adventure and passion!

Love, 

Sarah

4th of July: Bangkok Style

I think I've always celebrated the 4th of July (or Independence Day), no matter where I am. Now for most of my life that meant living on a US Military base (where of course you celebrate), living in South Carolina, or Washington DC (where how can you NOT celebrate? Its the nation's capitol!)

I know I sponsored a barbecue one year in Amsterdam at the Vondelpark where I made potato salad. One memorable year, I went with my sister to Iowa where I managed to offend my cousins by writing about the pie auction. 

Last year at this time, I was in Bangkok and knew about 20 people (mostly Americans) and I invited them all over to my friend Carol's house for the 4th of July. We celebrated it, as you do overseas, on the following weekend. Last year we called it the "Ambivalent Americans and the Coalition of the Willing" and we served Oscar Myers hotdogs (or weiners as my dad called them), hamburgers, my dad's famous potato salad, and jello. We had lots of beer and wine and partied out on the front porch with Bruce Springsteen and other "American" tunes playing from my iPod. It was a rousing success as it continued on throughout the massive rain storm and all the neighbors came to play and there were kids and drinking and dancing.

This year, I know only 2 people still in Bangkok - one American. The 4th of July was a Wednesday and I met two more on Independence Day at a wine bar where we ate tapas and got to know each other. So, in order to make sure my American citizenship was not taken away from me for forgetting to show sufficient patriotism, I went to the American Chamber of Commerce Fourth of July picnic at the KIT school with 3 of my American friends in Bangkok. In some ways, this celebration was more American than any of my previous 4th of July parties! Below are some of the snapshots I took. 

There were four or five different bands that played- mostly roots rock and classic rock (including Jump! by Van Halen and It's my life by Bon Jovi) but also some great bluesy rock. The bands were inevitably filled with middle aged to straight on OLD men with young 20s looking drummers. It was hot and humid and since its rainy season here - overcast but still hot. Nothing says 4th of July like sweating your ass off sitting outside in the sun. 

One of my favorite parts was the ability to take your photos with Barack Obama and Michelle Obama which I took advantage of...

Many different corporations had bought or sponsored games and boothes. Considering how many old men were there, it was heartening to see that many of the international hospitals were sponsoring activities.

There was a chili cook off and you could purchase Singha beer or Thai wine or coca-cola. 

There was a children's section with face painting and popcorn and clowns making balloon animals. There was a bouncy castle, a bucking bronco, and a climbing wall. There was tug-of-war, egg toss, a pie eating contest, and other classic American picnic games. 

There was even Apple Pie!

Old Man sang the American Anthem and Little Girl sang the Thai anthem.

It was a great mix of Americans and Thais. Lots of bi-racial kids running around with very very old white fathers and young-ish mothers. But also some young American teens who got very drunk and ruined the pie eating contest.  Just like America! 

They played the Star Spangled Banner, our national anthem, and the US Ambassador was there. Speeches were made, we all got a bit teary during the national anthem and I marveled at just how young the marine color guard was. I thought about how happy I was that they were stationed in Bangkok and not Afghanistan but how they probably felt a bit annoyed about it and consoled themselves with the bar girls. 

So on this 4th of July as I feel a bit blue and wondering where I am going with my life, I thought about my "traditional" 4th of July growing up. Often one of the families that we were friends with would have a picnic. I grew up in a two culture household although it was British and American rather than Thai and American. But me and the other bi-cultural kids would run around in the heat, playing games, getting into fights, and sometimes swimming in a pool while the parents got drunk, cooked hotdogs, and hung out. And because I grew up in a military family, we always got out the flag and sang the national anthem. And I was taught to stand very straight and tall and put my hand over my heart. 

So when I stood there alone during the national anthem and sang, I felt like I was going back in time to all those summers in South Carolina and then in Washington DC where we celebrated our life in the "Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave". And I got a bit nostalgic and felt a little bit of love and pride in my country (which is an unusual occurence). For all its problems, I still love the USA.

Small World: Colombia, South America

I am currently near the border with Panama and Colombia which requires flying from Medellin into Apartado – a true “banana republic” that is a flat hot area completely covered in banana plantations. From the air it is a very strange site – completely covered in the tall banana plants with the fruit covered in blue bags to protect it from insects. After a day of meetings with the team here, we headed out to Rio Sucio – a project with the Afro Colombian population. This required a 45-minute drive up the highway passing ranchers on horseback and military checkpoints to a town called Turbo. Turbo has a thriving fishing industry and we drove up to the riverside that was strangely reminiscent of Ghana – African men selling and haggling over fish with small boats made out of hollowed logs and big old tramp steamers cruising in while women cook fried fish and serve fruit juices to everyone. The organization's boat is high powered and seats about 12 in bench seats and we all wear our logo branded life jackets and climbed in under the flag and headed out. We crossed the Gulf of Uraba past a Colombian navy ship looming large and gray out of the middle of the brackish water and turned into the river. It was a three-hour boat ride down the long river past small communities to Rio Sucio where we run a medical clinic. At one point we passed two Afro-Colombian men carrying three horses in their canoe as they headed across the river to the big city.

Rio Sucio is a city that is at crucial geographic area in Colombia – near the proposed Pan-American Highway and on the main rivers that narco traffickers use to move “product” up to the Americas. The Government of Colombia and the FARC guerrillas also fight for control of this area and people are repeatedly forced off their lands. Small “Peace Communities” of collectively-owned land have been established here but there are few government services and the presence of narco traffickers, Para militaries who regularly threaten society’s “unwanted”, the guerrilla and the army means that people are often forced to flee their land and few government workers are willing to move to these areas. Rio Sucio is a small town right on the river that is regularly flooded every winter. It reminded me of both Haiti and West Africa. The population is mostly Afro Colombian and the loud reggaeton music blaring out of the discos in the “Zona Rosa” made it feel like the Caribbean. I was there to advice the clinic on how to improve their services that they offer to women who have been raped and beaten (a pretty common phenomenon if the nuns who came to our clinics are to be believed.)

The living conditions in the house were not too bad. The ground floor is the clinic with two modern toilets and showers for the eight or so staff that live there. The upper floor has a porch that overlooks the river (and the little toilet houses that other houses have built right out on the river) five bedrooms and a big communal kitchen with a small gallery porch overlooking the town’s main street. One of the boat drivers cooked us coconut rice and red beans with pork that were divine! Just down the street was a small market that sold beer and coca cola and there was a small TV down in the clinic. It was hot but there was electricity and fans – a big improvement over many of the places I’ve stayed in Africa.

Next door to the clinic was a small NGO that supported community health promoters. I was very interested in them because when I worked for Witness for Peace in graduate school, I learned about a book called “Where there are no doctors” which promoted the grassroots type theory that communities should not wait for the state or international organizations to come to provide healthcare for them but instead should take care of it themselves by training community members to provide basic healthcare. The organization that I work for had just signed a contract with this group to extend their services. I had always been very impressed and inspired by the “Where there is no doctor” model (I’ve got all the books in the series and have used parts of “where there is no doctor for women” for myself). In 1997 after my mother died, I spent about three months working for a group called the National Coordinating Office for Refugees and Displaced People of Guatemala (NCOORD) keeping their office running until their new executive director came to town. The previous director, a man named Curt W., was a super nice guy who discussed with me the ideology of the Christian Left, taught me about the concept of “solidarity” and “accompaniment” that characterized the Christian Left ‘s resistance to the Ronald Reagan sponsored Contra Wars in Nicaragua in the 1980s.

He was a kind and funny man and we talked for hours about where to go in life. At the time, right before my mother died, I was planning on joining Witness for Peace in Guatemala to work with maquiladoras (female sweatshop workers). He had decided that this sort of human rights work was good but he wanted to contribute more so he went back to school to become a physician’s assistant so he could actually deliver healthcare to the population. He was off to Quintana Roo in Mexico to start implementing the “Where there is no Doctor” approach. I was very inspired by him and a bit frustrated with the economic advocacy that Witness for Peace was doing. I ended up taking a job with Family Health International on the Women’s Studies Project where I worked on clandestine contraceptive use in Mali, the impact of being infertile in Egypt, and domestic violence in Bolivia. While I didn’t like the USAID funded approach of Family Health International, I never forgot Curt and the work he was doing and eventually when my contract ended I went to Guatemala to study Spanish. I hooked up with a small NGO providing healthcare there and met a woman who was also studying Spanish. We spent long hours arguing about approaches. (She eventually ended up in Liberia working for CRS and I saw her five years later there!) Although I ended up working in a USAID funded health organization for four more years after Guatemala, I was always inspired by the work of NCOORD, Witness for Peace, and other Latin American Ngos that practiced real proximity with the people – living amongst them in a humble manner and helping them meet their own needs.

I eventually joined MSF looking for a type of experience as promised by MSF’s credo of temoignage and commitment to speaking out about injustice suffered by their patients.

Fast Forward back to Colombia. After two days of meetings with the team and walking around the town, I met the famous Dr. Alan who ran the NGO. He looked familiar to me – a smiling red haired man with a beard. We said hello in the street and I said to the German doctor I was walking with, “he looks familiar. I bet I’ve met him before.“ The next morning early at 6am, we got up and loaded up the boat to return to Apartado. Dr. Alan was coming along for the ride. I introduced myself to him. We started talking and he told me that he knew Witness for Peace and had been on their board of directors. We started talking about people that we knew in common and eventually it came up that he had worked at NCOORD. I asked him if he was in the DC office and he said no, he was normally in Chicago. I said I had worked there in the DC office for a few months and knew a man named Curt there. He looked at me funny. “Curt W.?” I said – yes I think that was his name. He started laughing, “I’m Curt W.! I go by Alan here in Colombia because it’s easier for everyone to pronounce!” It turns out he’s been living in Rio Sucio for six years working as a coordinator for the health promoters program. He left about four months ago to return to the US to write the new “Where there is No Doctor” with his wife and child. He had just returned for his first trip back to Rio Sucio. We talked for three hours catching up on our lives and talking. I never thought I would run into him again but I got the chance to tell him how much he had inspired me and put my life on a different course.

What a small world.

Nostalgia

Nostalgia: a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life, to one's home or homeland, or to one's family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time.

Alyson and I spent the day today in our house in Sumter, trying to make sure anything valuable is put away or brought to Columbia. It was in the 90s and it was hot and dusty. I came across some boxes of photos that I haven't seen in ages. I sat through and thumbed through them tonight and I am going to try to scan some of them electronically in the next few days and post them here. Our beautiful house in Sumter was the setting for so many of them and so many fabulous memories.

* Prom photos from 1982 (Mike), 1983 (Kenny), and 1984 (Mortie) - Mostly posed by the stairs in the living room. My hair stayed remarkably small considering it was the 80s but I have a dress copied from Princess Diana's wedding dress that my mother labored over and sewed for me. Usually she sewed in the sunroom and there was nothing she couldn't make - EXCEPT a bathing suit. We tried that several times and it never quite worked out right. I wish I had paid more attention to the sewing. I can cut out the pattern (my job) but could never thread the bobbin.

* Band uniform photos. I think these should be burned. Posed by the sunroom in the living room. At least I didn't wear braces like Alyson but I do see some monster zits on my face. Alyson also has piano recital photos. I played flute and piccolo - don't see any photos from symphonic band - just marching band.

* Photos of me and my friends from high school and college - rugby shirts, t shirts with sayings, dropped waist dresses, lots of teal. Playing cards, playing scrabble, playing drinking games in the den, draping ourselves across cars in the driveway, and posing in front of the front door in Sumter.

* The house after Hurricane Hugo - my favorite dogwood tree ripped up by the roots, the roof in shambles. Photos of Alyson and I playing in that tree. I remember pretending I was a gymnast in the Olympics.

* Gatherings with Grandma Sis and British relatives when they came to visit in the back yard (before its renovation into a Charleston gated garden) and on the side sunporch patio before we realized it was way too hot to ever sit there in the sun in the summer.

* Dinner with the Winsteads, the British Wives' Club, and other friends of my parents. Usually in the dining room. Often, Alyson and I were banned from the grownup parties and sent upstairs. We would try to wheedle ice cream out of our parents by sending notes down tied to the cat's collar.

* Christmas presents opened and displayed - usually done in the living room with a tree in the sunroom or living room and all of us in bathrobes in front of the fireplace in the living room.

SICKO: the South Carolina version

On Tuesday night, the air conditioning at the hospital in Columbia where my father is currently went out for 12 hours. The temperature was over 96 degrees (36 degrees for you non Farenheit speakers)and it rose to almost 90 inside the hospital (34). I brought a fan from home and we stripped him down and kept cold wet face cloths on him and put him under the fan. The nurses told me that there used to be fans in the hospital but they were nowhere to be found nowadays.

While I was surprised that there was no back up system for the a/c dying in the middle of the brutally hot July-August months, I wasn't that perturbed until I read the news media spin where the spokesperson from the hospital said it was uncomfortable but nothing to worry about and praised the staff for bringing fans to the patients. I was in that hospital with frantic families from all over the city bringing fans in. The CVS next to the hospital was selling out. In the hospitals that I routinely visit in Africa and Asia, there are usually no air conditioning for anyone. There aren't even fans usually. But there are open windows to catch breezes. In the hermetically sealed highrises that are the modern US hospital, there's no opportunity to open the windows and cool yourself down. It was a good 20 degrees warmer in the hospital than it was when I went outside. Some patients had families take them out into the cool evening air. Since my dad was on an IV and oxygen, we weren't able to do that. To my sister's undying embarrassment (you are such a radical! she says), I decided to write a letter to the editor in the local newspaper in response to this article.

Regarding Dr. Caughman Taylor's statement about the air conditioning breakdown at Palmetto Health Richland that "It was not a safety issue; it was an inconvenience", I beg to differ. My 80 year old father was hospitalized when the air conditioning went out on Tuesday night. For the elderly, extreme heat is a serious life threatening condition. They are often the first to die when there is no air conditioning as we saw in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina and in heat waves in the mid West. It was family members that brought in fans and window units for their loved ones, not the staff. Staff complained that they were unable to access or find fans that used to be plentiful and spoke about equipment malfunctioning in the emergency room due to the excessive heat. While they were also suffering from the extreme heat in the hospital, they did the best that they could to provide care. CEO Singerling said that "practice makes perfect" so I hope the Palmetto Health Richland has found those fans and are prepared to have emergency plans for seniors and others with respiratory problems in case of another unexpected air conditioning malfunction during the hottest months of the year.