I’m listening to a group of eight girls singing and laughing outside. They must be around 8-12 years old, and they even have choreographed steps to the different songs they’re singing. The sun is setting and everything is so peaceful, simple, beautiful.

When you move to a different place, at first it’s all so new, so different, even overwhelming at times. After some time, this foreign place begins to feel like home. You begin to dread all those adjustments you’ll have to make when you move back, and things that used to shock you and amaze you are more normal. You look around at the people beside you and you realize you’ve become part of a community, part of a family, and you love these people. This place and these people have made a bigger difference on you than you could have imagined, and as you think about all these things and look back to where you were even 6 months ago, you realize that you’ve changed. You’re still the same person essentially, but you’ve become shaped by everything around you, and you look at the world in a whole new way. It’s quite the thing.

I walked into the classroom to the group of 50 first year nursing students, notes in one hand, projector and laptop in the other, and readied myself for the exhilarating fluid therapy lecture I was about to give. As I organized myself and my notes, I heard quite a bit of shuffling from behind me. A great way to start, I thought, they’re already distracted. As I turned around to greet them and start the class, I realized that every single one of them was standing, now quiet as I face them. Surprised, I ask why everyone is standing. “To show you respect, madam” came the reply from one of the girls in the front. A bit embarrassed now, trying to hide my blush, I quickly tell them to sit down and we begin the class.

After another class, as I tidy up my demo equipment, a student comes up to me, apologizing for the giggle she let out during the class. She explained herself and that she was rude to do that, it won’t happen again. I’m again surprised, and can’t even remember the event; it certainly was not disruptive by any means. I laugh and tell her it’s not a problem, but thank you. I think about how often I would daydream in class and not pay attention, or doze off during a boring lecture, and I look at the concentration in these faces, pens on paper, busily scribbling down any bit of information I throw at them. Here is a chance to get an education and a proper job to make a proper living, and these students aren’t wasting a single second.

Students are becoming more relaxed around me, taking me up on my offer to come see me if they have questions or just want to talk. One afternoon, I escape to my small lime green office after a particularly difficult morning on the wards. I bury myself in the pile of papers to mark on my desk to busy my mind. A few students are gathered outside, and soon make their way in and sit down to chat with me. I ask one why he decided to go into nursing. I’ve asked this before, and the main response is “to save lives” or because it’s a decent-paying steady job and they can provide for their family. This one was different. He told me that he grew up with his aunt and uncle, who was chronically sick and constantly in and out of hospital. He would do basic care for his uncle – bathing, feeding, even toileting. He described how he could see the difference it made to his uncle, and the relief it provided his aunt. He felt satisfaction and joy in helping out as much as he could, and he started thinking about how he could do this for more people, bring this comfort and relief to more families in their difficult times. He was so sincere as he told me this and, after the morning I had just had, I was fighting to hold back tears. It gave me a burst of hope and renewal to hear such a real, well-thought, from-the-heart answer.

A woman I know was in the female medical ward, looking after her younger sister. She was there all the time – when I left in the late afternoon she was there, and when I arrived early the next morning, she was still there. She looked tired - she had slept there, on the floor, but was up all night with here breathless sister. I commended her on her dedication, told her she was a good sister. She just shook her head and said it’s just what she should do. “I’m the older sister, so if she falls sick, who should care for her? If she can’t walk, who will help her? If she soils the bed, it is me that is embarrassed, not her.”
Often it is easier to just walk by, or throw a rope down, or tell someone else to do it, than to get down in the mud yourself to help someone else up.