squeaky clean

The president came to visit today. It is, perhaps, a measure of how long I've been here when I realize that I've just written that without a second thought. I have to admit, though, that however blasé I may be about saying that, I was a little less laid-back this morning. Presidents don't drop by every day.

We weren't sure whether he'd make it all the way up the hall to B Ward on his hospital tour; one never really knows with heads of state. But regardless of how far he chose to go, we were going to be ready. At least that was my plan.

My plan, unfortunately, involved a lot of cleaning, because at any given moment, B Ward generally looks like a bomb went off in it. The combination of small children in casts, all their mamas and papas and several extra babies running around means that toys lie scattered all over the floor, odd banana peels and cups of tea thrown in for good measure.

This morning, we needed to get everything cleaned up, all the extra beds made in pristine order, and everything put in its place. Unfortunately, we had to get all this done before nine o'clock, rounds notwithstanding.

My methodology was simple. In between trips running back and forth to A Ward to sort things out over there, I would burst into B Ward to find all our translators sitting around, not cleaning. I would shout something unintelligible, something to the tune of, The President Is Coming To Your House! Start Cleaning! STAT! And they would laugh and start making beds and I would head back to A Ward. It was all going according to plan.

Until, each time, I would fly back into B Ward to find those same translators, sitting on their same chairs, not cleaning anymore. Lather, rinse repeat. Five or six times this happened, and I couldn't figure out if they weren't understanding me, didn't care or just didn't feel like working today. I wasn't asking anything out of the ordinary; their daily assignments include the very jobs I was handing out, but it just didn't seem to be happening.

I was starting to feel a very slight sense of panic as I head the overhead announcement that the president was on the ship while all around me the ward looked like an absolute mess.

My consternation was soon to dissolve into laughter as one of our translators, (the one I had already asked three or four times to sweep and mop) approached me timidly. Please, Afi, I know the president is coming and we cannot go into the hallway, but would it be okay if we started cleaning? The schedule says it is time.


It would seem that they know their jobs a little too well. I know better than to complain, so instead I just nodded and agreed that, yes, with the president on his way up the hall, it was probably a good time to start cleaning.

And after all that, he never made it to B Ward. But at least that place looks good.