I have spent the last six weeks half in charge of a field school and set of osteological training programs in Cyprus. It has been a massive effort, particularly since I’ve had bronchitis for the past four weeks. Needless to say, I am completely burned out.
On the plus side, I have a job for this year – I’ll be a Visiting Lecturer at Glyndwr University, which is coordinating a distance MRes in Forensic Anthropology and Bioarchaeology. The program starts in January, and I’ll be coordinating classes, teaching, and supervising masters’ dissertations. Some of my students this summer will be my supervisees, so I’ll get to guide their projects.
The first week and a half were the Human Remains Training Certificate. I taught a bunch of undergrad and masters students, mostly American, about bioarchaeology and osteology, and was joined in the second week by Elzbieta, a Polish lecturer who specializes in cremains (cremated human remains). She was absolutely great, and gave me pdfs of all her cracked editions of osteology books and lectures to re-appropriate for my own teaching. She also taught me the Polish word “prowizorka”,which refers to things that shouldn’t last a long time but do, like my $2.50 flip flops that I’ve used since 2009.
The next three weeks were the field school, in which we excavated a commingled pit in Limassol’s historic cemetery. In this culture, family tombs are rented long-term. When a family leaves the area or doesn’t pay, the residents of the tomb were evicted and put in a secondary mass grave. The pit is enclosed on all sides by concrete walls and unshaded, so we had to work in shifts and take frequent breaks. Aside from the Jackson Park project in Chicago (2009), this is the closest I’ve ever worked to toilets and cafes. We woke up at 5 and took a local bus in to site, arriving by 6:30. We’d take levels, then dig with haste until 8:30, at which time the students would go to Coffee Island for snacks and air conditioning while I’d start off a map. We’d then work again until around 11, or whenever it got too hot. Napping students were frequently seen lazing over graves, often covered in cats.
We had an abundance of cats on site. Cyprus holds cats to be sacred, apparently, and there’s a legend that Constantine’s mother Helena sent a delegation of cats to conquer Cyrpus’ snake problem. There’s even a monastery dedicated to cats. The cemetery has a huge population, and people come by with kittens they’ve found (or want to abandon). A few locals feed them and provide veterinary care occasionally. We named a few – Dreamsicle the orange and white kitten, Mama the pregnant one, and Skitty the shy one. One morning, a student heard mewling and went to investigate. She found two dead kittens, less than a week old, in a flower pot and their sibling clinging to life a few feet away. She and the other students took it to the vet and got some kitten formula and a box and took it home to feed in shifts. We named it Bean. Unfortunately Bean was just too young to survive without its mother and died after two days between feeds, and we buried him in a park. I buried three kittens this summer.
It took us a week and a half to get down about 50cm, when we started seeing bones. After that, it was all bones all the time, which meant we had to proceed carefully. Fortunately, the bones were in no particular order, and seemed to be random collections of long bones and skulls. This is really exciting for the students, and also quite easy to lift compared to complete primary burials. By the end of the season we’d excavated so deep that stepping into the trench required three points of contact, and getting to the other side to work in the test pit was a mission. We developed some great bucket chains to get the dirt out. This was the first time I’d been completely in charge of a site as opposed to a grunt or a specialist, which was slightly nerve-wracking at first. I tried to balance wanting to be in control of everything to make sure it’s right, teaching techniques, and managing everyone being hot and tired. Some days scorched over 90, and the humidity made us feel sticky even in the shade. There was no breeze on site.
At noon, we’d have lunch delivered by a lady from the local church, usually a pasta or veggie stew, which we’d eat voraciously with the addition of lemon juice and salt. On days when there were bean dishes, I’d go to a cafeteria-like restaurant around the corner that offered a weird mix of Cypriot foods like bamia and lamb kleftiko alongside Asian fried noodles. In the second week, we discovered our closest bakery. Bakeries here smell completely different than French or British bakeries. Greek bread isn’t very fluffy, and for whatever reason, the baking doesn’t produce the hearthy bread smell. The bakeries are also “zacharopoleios”, or sugarworks, meaning they make cookies. These cookies were some of the more amazing I’ve had. I mostly had jam-filled biscuits or the local homemade Oreo, which I used to bribe students to complete unpleasant tasks. The bakery also had selections of hors d’oeuvres-size spanakopita and tiropita and other savory delights, a few of which would make a decent lunch.
Unfortunately, in the second week I started to cough. It started as a reaction to the dust. It got worse with the humidity, particularly at night. We didn’t have air conditioning in the flat; really, we had AC units but no remotes for them, for no particular reason. We were still waking up at 5 and digging as fast as we could before we were hit by direct sunlight, but we (I) began to get progressively more tired and grumpy. I did find that I coughed less in the café and the gym, both air conditioned spaces.
By week 3, we’d found a large number of bones and opened a subsidiary trench. We then connected that to the main trench, forming a Tetris T-shaped hole. Mapping was slow going, as there were many elements to place, and I wanted every student to get mapping experience. I continued to cough throughout. Later in the week, I approached our building manager to ask why we didn’t have AC. “It wasn’t included in your program rental agreement,” he said. “But you can pay for it separately.” At last! We had a beautifully cold night, waking up fresh and rested. We were positively glowing. My cough seemed to abate. We closed the site and backfilled Wednesday of the final week, but didn’t have enough time to process and catalog the bones, so they’ll have to wait for next year.
The final two weeks were the Advanced Paleopathology course, with a new influx of students. Our Canadian undergraduates left and were replaced by mostly British postgrads and more advanced researchers seeking professional development. I was able to teach on some of my favorite topics (epidemiology, untangling sex and gender and the interplay of socialization and biology, the history infectious disease), and gave quite a long lecture on tuberculosis while coughing. My cough continued to get worse as I had no time to rest and recover, and the students told me I needed to see a doctor. Our director told me there was basically no way to do that besides going to the hospital, so that’s what I did.
Of course, I do enjoy being a participant-observer in a medical anthropology experience. I arrived at 11:30 and struggled to figure out what to do. I followed some other people who had just entered to a triage station, where the nurse explained I should have gone to the local clinic, and I explained why I couldn’t (no local referral). I then went to the registrar, who didn’t care that I forgot my passport, and had me write down my name and address and pay 10€. It was all a bit run-down, but I’ve been in worse. Then I sat and waited. The wait was ok, as I’d brought lunch, snacks, tea, and my laptop, and there was even WiFi. Occasionally a name was called. Sometimes people would get up and go in without their name being called. At 4, I was called in. The doctor took me behind a curtain on the triage room, where other people were being seen to, and listened to my lungs. She asked if I smoke. When I said I didn’t, she made a face of grave concern, handed me a pink form, and said “go to x-ray.” I followed the signs and found the radiology department completely abandoned and shuttered. There wasn’t even anyone to ask if the radiologists were on break. I sat down and texted my supervisor, Xenia, who at that point had finished teaching, and she said she’d come see what was going on. When she arrived, it turns out there was another queue for regular x-rays and I had been in the wrong place. The radiologist took me and another woman into the x-ray room together and then sent us into individual changing rooms. I came out first, so I got the first x-ray. The radiologist asked if I was pregnant, I nodded no, and he took the shot. Five minutes later we walked into the treatment area, where the doctor looked at the chest x-ray and sent me into a cubicle to get a steroid inhaler. The trainee nurse chatted with Xenia in Greek, and we got to peek out at other people’s x-rays in a hugely HIPA-violating but fascinating glimpse into Friday’s set of injuries: a broken hip, a broken finger, a chest mass. After about 20 minutes, Xenia went out to find what was going on and called me over to the desk. The doctor wrote declared “bronchitis” and me a prescription for amoxicillin, which I filled at a local pharmacy. This was probably the easiest experience I’ve had at a foreign hospital despite not knowing what to do – in fact, I’ve had more difficult times in the UK. [However, it’s now 3 weeks later and I’m still coughing.]
The final few days both Xenia and I were totally overworked and alternated taking days off. This was the first year the Advanced course had run, so we were still figuring things out. Her lecture on medical implants was really fascinating, as my experience with human remains stops in a period long before surgery for hip replacements was possible. The final day was the exam, consisting of a multiple-choice portion and a bone portion, where students had to identify a diagnostic category for bones with pathological formations. I also got to stretch my exam-writing skills; I hate trick questions and lack of clarity, but I fear I often go overboard on this and make them too easy. One student pointed out a typo (the shame!), but to be fair the editing process was rather brief. I flew out the evening after the exam with the worst sinus pain of my life. While clutching my ears during the descent, the pilot announced over the intercom “There is a state of emergency…” and everyone looked up in panic and I struggled to clear my ears to hear more. I feared we were going to be flying into a new war zone or terrorist incident. We were already over Britain! “Excuse me, a state of emergency has been declared in Greece due to the wildfires, and the flight attendants will be collecting donations.” We all breathed a collective sigh of relief and the usual British silence between seatmates was broken as we all agreed the pilot’s phrasing was particularly poor.
I’m going back next year to teach the field school again, but hoping to not get sick again!