So I’m in class now. Our current project is to create a poster for Malaria patients in South Sudan from the Dinka tribe.
During our critique, someone voiced their concern over dosages of medication for people. “Is it the same for everyone? Is it different for women, men, children? What if we put the wrong information on there?” Now this is a legitimate concern. Luckily someone will be reviewing our work before actually being used in clinics in South Sudan. But when lives are at risk, it makes sense to be worried about this.
Our instructor jokes “Yeah, don’t kill a Dinka.” And half the class laughs. Now I understand his sick humor, sometimes. But it frustrated me that people found this funny.
We, in our western world, are so lucky to not have to deal with Malaria or language barriers when it comes to doctor visits. I found it more mocking the situation than joking. And although he might not have meant it this way, I was offended.
I think I know why. I am so lucky to have grown up in the US. And even then my genes and skin color say I’m foreign or “exotic,” like most people like to describe me, there are people in my motherland starving and dying of disease. Not even that, there are people here in the US starving and dying of disease. We just don’t see it, especially in our bubble of academia. And the reality doesn’t hit someone until they are there experiencing it, or know of someone who has or is.
My instructor? White, middle-aged male with the world at his fingertips. His roots are from the UK. Need I say more?
Current mood: frustrated.