"I'm Not A Doctor, But I Play One in East Africa..."

Okay, things REALLY got nutty yesterday morning, when I was standing by the elevator at Nation Centre and this polite young woman approached me and asked, "Dr. Jones? Do you remember me?"

And you best believe me when I say that things over here have been seriously out of control ever since August 12th, when I received an email from the UK worth about $45,000. And no, it wasn't from some Nigerian scammer sitting in a smoky London cyber cafe. That email came from the Wellcome Trust, an international medical/science/research charity with a strong focus on improving public access to health and science information.

That August email informed me that the funding application I'd submitted back in April, to create a brand new journalism training and mentoring organization in Kenya, had been approved. I'm telling ya, peeps, it was a classic case of "OMG, now what am I supposed to do??" Okay, I've been working in East Africa almost 3 years, which makes me more than qualified to assess the skills of local journalists, and to propose strategies to improve those skills. That insight shaped the proposal I wrote, to establish a series of regional journalist briefings around health and science topics, and quarterly training workshops at the Kenya Medical Research Institute/Wellcome Trust Research Programmes in Nairobi and Kilifi.

Basically, after all these years, I know what the heck I'm doing over here. I'm actually extremely good at what I do, and I say that without a hint of reservation or ego. It's just the way it is. But when somebody hands you a pot of money to actually put up or shut up, that's when the rubber meets the road (which is the polite way of saying that's when you wake up in the middle of the night grinding your teeth with a fine sheen of sweat on your forehead and your stomach in knots and you go, "Oh, shit!!")

Actually, 5 days out of 7, I'm pretty cool about this new juncture in my career. I've pretty much been on autopilot since that August day, just plowing through what I have to do to get this project started without allowing myself too much time to whine about how much I have to do, and how unfair it is that I have to do it mostly by myself, and how in GAWD's name could anybody do it in the first place??? The good news is that I now have an assistant named Sarah who's an environment reporter and who also has lots of great administrative experience. She started on Monday of this week, and my gut tells me she's going to be really good.

But back to the main point of this posting, the whole "doctor" angle. You see, that August email from the Wellcome Trust addressed me as follows,

"Dear Dr. Jones," blah, blah, blah. Seriously, at first I thought it was clearly the right letter sent to the wrong person! I've referred to myself as a PhD in the past, but I claimed it stood for "Pretty Hot Diva," and THAT was mostly because of my hot flashes. When I finally absorbed the reality that they were actually awarding me a grant, I realized the mistake must have been because most people who apply for these kinds of grants are PhD researchers and scientists. So the person who formatted my letter must have assumed I was a PhD, too.

And then the girl by the elevator yesterday goes and plunges me right back into the "nutty zone" with her formal introduction!! I was, like, "What the...why are you calling me 'Dr.' ??? And how do you even know who I am???" Turns out she had seen me speak at one of the local universities, and once again assumed that I must be some outrageously learned-type person.

Sheesh, when are people gonna accept that I am merely Princess Rachella, the small and meek girl from Cairo, trying to make a difference in this crazy world before my weary bones settle that one last time--about 40 or so years from now.

But hang on...'alf a mo'....come to think of it, " 'Doctor Jones' does have a certain ring to it..." Oh, heck!!! It all reminds me of that wacky 70's comedian with his "Mr. Johnson" shtick..

"Now, you can call me Rach, or you can call me Rachel. Or you can call me Jones, or you can call me Jonesy. Or you can call me Miss Rachel, or you can call me Ms. Jones. Or you can call me RJ, or you can call me RLJ...."

"But you dasn't have to call me Dr. Jones!"