Läs Jamilas dagbok från hennes vistelse i Sverige och på Akademiska sjukhuset

What do I need to pack? I don't know. It's Saturday and hours to my flight, and Google is my packing assistant. My daughter is upset; why hasn't she travelled to the snow yet? She wants to see snow. Two and a half hours to the flight, we set off to the airport singing and happy, then there was screaming and tight holds like a baby koala bear with separation anxiety.

 From day one, the cold made it very clear that I was not at home. My nose was constantly wet, my hands questioned my life choices, and I quickly remembered that layering is a survival skill, not a fashion choice.

Also, on day one, I fell on thin ice. Yes, thin ice. My left wrist was bandaged for the first few days of the externship, which felt like a dramatic way to introduce myself to winter. Thankfully, nothing serious, just my dignity bruised and my confidence in walking on frozen ground permanently shaken.

Once I got past the shock of the weather (and learned to walk with my eyes glued to the ground, looking down to avoid thin, slippery ice), the real work began – and honestly, it was so worth it. I spent my days observing and participating in cleft palate clinics, seeing children at different stages of repair and speech development. Some were just post-palate repair, others were older and still working through those stubborn compensatory articulation patterns that refuse to go quietly. Lots of /p/, /b/, and airflow conversations happened. Lots.

And apparently, the assessments followed us home too, because on the walk back to our apartments, the Ear, Nose and Throat (ENT) surgeon from my team would sing “pi pi pi” from the cleft speech assessments the entire way. Every. Single. Day. By the end of the week, I thought I might actually go insane … or start responding with therapy cues in public.

And because the adventure clearly wanted to continue, I also got lost taking the wrong number 8 bus to “Sunnersta” instead of ”Ärna”. I was eventually saved by Karin, who had wisely told me what landmarks to look out for at the various stops. In the middle of all this, the bus actually broke down, which I took as a sign from the universe to finally ask the driver if I was even on the right bus. Don’t worry, I found my way! It was fun though; I got to see some really beautiful areas while unknowingly going in the completely wrong direction.

One thing that really stood out was how calm and intentional therapy was. No rushing. No pressure. Just careful listening, targeted cues, and so much patience. I watched SLPs break down speech in the most thoughtful way: airflow first, placement next, then slowly building toward clearer speech. It reminded me that cleft palate therapy really is a long game, and every tiny improvement deserves a celebration.

The multidisciplinary teamwork was also impressive. Surgeons, SLPs, ENT; everyone actually talked to each other (imagine that!). Decisions weren’t made in isolation, and it felt like the clients were truly at the centre of care. As an SLP, it was refreshing and motivating to be in an environment where speech outcomes really mattered and were respected.

Joining the surgical team  on surgery days was no hustle. And I was allowed to scrub into surgery after I contaminated a surgeon by stretching so hard to see a pharyngeal flap being done (sorry Dr Boham). And to hear a surgeon say “I have to do it this way because of later development of speech.” … “The speech therapist will not be happy with our outcome if we do not do that.” That was wholesome for me. A patient for the team, not a patient for a specialty.

Outside the clinic, life was… cold. Walking to placements in heavy boots, watching my breath fog the air, and dealing with sunsets that felt way too early became part of the routine. But there was something peaceful about it too. The cold slowed everything down, including me. It gave me space to reflect on my practice, my goals, and how much I have grown in this field.

By the end of the two weeks, I left with more than just frozen fingers and a deeper love for hot drinks and “fika”. I gained beautiful friends and colleagues, confidence in cleft palate assessment, a better understanding of navigating as an SLP in cleft management care, and a renewed appreciation for evidence-based, family-centred care. Most importantly, I left inspired – reminded of why I chose to be an SLP in the first place.

Would I do it again? Absolutely. Just with better balance and more pictures.

P.S.

To Malin: You showed me that I didn't have to doubt myself, two speech surgery missions ago. When others told me my patient was too old and didn't need a flap, I decided to bring his folder to you and you said you could hear the VPI too. Today he has a flap and is doing well for himself. Then to see and hear you do everything with the speech outcomes as your priority and the work of the speech pathologist in mind –thank you!

To Karin: I am grateful. For treating me as your colleague. For the pat on the back that I am good at this passion I have followed, and for always making sure I am okay.

To Sara: Thank you for all the case discussions, our random lunch talks, and opening your sessions' doors whenever I was around.

Foto: Nana Kissi

OM JAMILA ABDULAI

• Arbetar som logoped i Accra, Ghana.
• Växte upp med sex syskon i ett hem präglat av disciplin, höga ambitioner och en stark känsla av ansvarstagande.
• Tillhör den första gruppen logopeder som utbildades i Ghana och hon handleder i dag också nya logopeder vid University of Ghana.
• Intresset för logopedi väcktes när hon arbetade med en psykolog och mötte patienter som saknade tillgång till vård. Hon förstod då logopedens viktiga roll i vårdteamet. I samma veva drog hennes syster med henne i arbetet med att samla in pengar för att ge barn kostnadsfria gomspaltsoperationer.
• Drivs av en stark tro på att kommunikation kan förändra människors liv och hon brinner för att ge människor en starkare röst.