I feel my Kenyan Christmas experience is best expressed in rhyme**... Enjoy!
Twas the day before Christmas, and all through St. Camillus, The mzungus spread Christmas joy even if it would kill us. The decorations were hung by Kayla and Lauren with care, In hopes that visitors would leave them right there.
The patients were nestled all snug in their beds, While Christy placed dextrose and painkillers over their heads. And Dr. Jimmy monitored patients with his smile and stethoscope Checking vitals and breath sound for signs of hope.
When out on the staff compound there arose such a clatter, I sprang up from my nap to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew with glee, To see little Alan stuck up in a tree!
The moon on the breast of the beautiful lake Gave the luster of a postcard or something else fake. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, A tall Italian priest, talking loud for all to hear.
With a tank top and shorts, his cigarette aglow, I knew in a moment it must be Fr. Emilio. More rapid than eagles his orders they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called us by name!
"Now Kayla! Now, Jimmy! Now, Lauren and Christine! Fr. Mario! Fr. Julius! All the novices get in!! Climb into the cars! Be careful don’t fall! Its time for Christmas Mass! Now dash away all!"
The Duluo Christmas songs they were a-singing, While the English Noel in my ears was a-ringing. After Mass we drank wine and ate Panattone, All together in the house so we didn’t feel quite so alone.
On Christmas Day we gave the patients some sweets, And sang them Christmas Carols. Oh what a treat! We each had a few packages we opened with joy. The chocolates and cards much better than any trinket or toy.
My Kenyan friends and neighbors did little to celebrate. For them having rice makes their small feast just great. Poverty keeps them from buying gifts and such. But at least they can take off work and not do much.
I hope you all enjoyed my little Christmas rhyme. And I pray that it finds you warm, happy, and fine. A poet I’m not, but I wish you with all of my might, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
**The characters and events of this poem are based on fact...to the greatest extent possible when attempting to rhyme. Any resemblance to classical American Christmas poems is purely coincidental.
As part of my new job working with the HIV/AIDS Prevention program AWAKE, I helped facilitate a five day volunteer training for the Catholic Diocese. 24 volunteers came from each parish in the diocese to learn the basics of HIV/AIDS, Life skills, and Peer Education so they can in turn train the youth in their parishes and local schools. The basic idea: teach adults how to teach kids life skills and the basics of HIV/AIDS Prevention. Being the local “Public Health Officer” AND the token American, the volunteers came to me with any question concerning health, HIV/AIDS, STIs, and of course, the state of being in our beloved United States.
Many of the questions were incredibly relevant and insightful: o How has the HIV/AIDS epidemic affected food security? o How long can the HIV virus survive outside the body? o If a baby is born with both male and female parts, is it a male or a female? o Why do many of the symptoms for STIs only affect women and not men?
Others made me realize we have a big job to do concerning health and sexual health education: o Can you get HIV by kissing? o Why do women stay longer with the virus than men? (Translation: Why do HIV+ men died sooner than HIV+ women?) o Do people with the HIV virus go to heaven?
Others just made me laugh. Here is a sample of the more noteworthy inquiries regarding Obama-land: o Do you have potatoes in America? o Do old people get taken care of in America? o Do you have grass in America? o If you don’t have ugali or sukuma wiki in America, what do you eat? o Is it true that men are only allowed to have one wife in America?
And of course, they all wanted to know: o Do you have a husband? o How many children do you have? o Which team are you for? (Translation: Are you a Manchester United or Chelsea fan? Translation: Do you watch European Football?) o Do you know how to dance?
It was an exhausting, intense four days of training. My brain was tired mostly from having to explain what Americans eat other than ugali and sukuma wiki. But we managed to have fun and ended Thursday evening with a dance party! And not to brag or anything, but apparently I’m a good dancer according to Kenyan standards.
From Rongo we headed to Homa Bay, the headquarters for our Catholic Diocese. The diocesan employees close out their year with Staffmass, a four day (yes, a full four days!) party. We only attended the last afternoon of festivities which included speeches (a Kenyan staple for ANY social gathering), giving out gifts, and of course, a dance party!! Encouraged by the “You really know how to dance like a Kenyan” comments I’d received the night before, Nancy and I had a great time dancing into the night! And again as the token mzungu, I must have danced with over half the males currently employed by the Homa Bay Catholic Diocese!!
And just in case I hadn’t had enough Christmas celebrations or dancing, we made it back to Karungu just in time for the much anticipated St. Camillus Hospital Staff Christmas Party. Luckily this time I wasn’t the only mzungu and actually knew most of the people. Lauren, Christy, Jimmy, and I still managed to be the highlight of the dance party. I’ve figured out that Kenyans just want to know how us white people dance.
So as it turns out, the answer to your question is: YES, I do know how to dance. YES, America does have potatoes. YES, men in America are only allowed to have one wife.
What happens when your schedule includes an Ordination in Nairobi on December 12, a Volunteer Training in Rongo December 13-18th, a Christmas Party in Homa Bay on the 18th, followed by another Christmas Party in Karungu on the 19th? Ten days of intense traveling, talking, sitting, eating, and not sleeping. I’ve barely seen a computer in the past 10 days! But I’m happily back on the porch overlooking the endless Lake Victoria in the dry Karungu heat. Let me fill you in on the highlights of my life in Kenya the past two weeks!!
Monday, December 6, 2009 We found a young boy, Rocky, with jiggers in his feet last week during the Mobile Maternal and Child Health Clinic at a nearby village called Otati. I removed the jiggers but knew we needed to spray their home to kill those still living in the dirt floor. I organized to bring disinfectant and a sprayer to spray any homes in Otati with jiggers. Frank (the nurse that help us so much with removing Mary, Michael, and Gaston’s jiggers) graciously agreed take me on his day off to spray the homes. We rode out on his motorbike and disinfected Rocky’s home and one other home. The older couple living in the home had a serious case and we agreed that I would return on Thursday to remove their jiggers at the dispensary. Tuesday and Wednesday, December 7 and 8, 2009 I helped facilitate another Life-skills training with AWAKE. The trainng was just down the road at B.L. Tezza, the primary and secondary school for orphans run by St. Camillus. The kids were a joy to teach and seemed to enjoy the training.
Thursday, December 10, 2009 I traveled with the ART Clinic (Anti-Retroviral Therapy for HIV/AIDS patients) to Otati to remove the jiggers from the husband and wife we met on Moday. We also brought a bed and mattress for Rocky’s family. They’d been sleeping on a mat on the ground, one of the common problems causing jiggers infections. Between bringing the bed to the home and rumors of a mzungu removing jiggers at the dispensary, a crowd of mothers and their barefooted children, all infected with jiggers quickly gathered. Before we knew it, we had over 35 different families reporting at least one child with a jiggers infection! a.k.a. Jiggers Outbreak in Otati!! Now I’m coordinating with the local nurse, village chief and government public health officer to arrange a community wide day for disinfection and removal of jiggers. Hopefully these sweet kids will be jigger free by Christmas (or at least the New Year!).
This is Rocky's little brother David. The family was so excited to finally have a bed and mattress.
Despite the unexpected outbreak discovery, I still managed to be back to Sori to catch the “night bus” with Lauren and Christy to travel to Nairobi. The night bus leaves Sori at 4:30 pm and inches its way towards the capital city, picking up passengers, sugar cane, corn, goats, chickens, and anything else that may be traveling to the booming metropolis. Lauren tells the story better than I possibly can. Check out her latest blog: http://laurenmeisman.blogspot.com/
Friday, December 11, 2009 After a fitful night’s sleep constantly interrupted by crying baby, a gawking chicken, and constant stop and go on the half paved highways, we arrived in Nairobi at 3:30 am. We stayed on the bus till the driver kicked us off in the pre-dawn haze of the city-center. The three blonde, young, and sleepy mzungus broke through the crowds of vendors, bicycles, push carts, taxis, and buses till we managed to escape the markets and arrive at the Kenyan Embassy to renew our visas. I won’t go into details of renewing my visa, but lets just say in a notoriously corrupt country, sometimes its helpful being blonde, young, and from America! Apparently my feminine charms exempt me from the hassles of the entire visa renewal process and no, Mr. Embassy Worker, you cannot have my phone number (but thanks for making this whole ordeal quite easy!) We spent the afternoon finding a hotel and a decent place to eat lunch then shopping for beautiful Kenyan fabric. Kangas, kitanges, and kikoyos are literally the fabrics holding Kenyan life together. These versatile materials are a day to day necessity for a Kenyan woman: they become everything from the tablecloth to baby sling to travel bath towel. They’re sewn into exquisite Sunday dresses, men’s shirts, and grocery bags. The unbelievable diversity of materials, patterns, colors, and written messages on the fabrics made the afternoon an explosion of color and battering. Not exactly like shopping in the sterile and set-price atmosphere of an American mall and the three Mzungus had a blast! We bought fresh baked bread, peanut butter, and apples (all of which are priceless in Karungu!)at the grocery store and ate dinner in our hotel room before falling asleep at 8 pm!
Kenyan kangas, kitanges, and kikoyos in one of the many shops on our shopping spree!
Saturday, December 12, 2009 We really came all the way to Nairobi to attend the Camillian Ordinations and Final Professions. Richard was ordained a priest while Elphas, Thomas, and Joseph took their final vows as brothers. We’ve become friends with almost all the Camillians in Kenya, especially the younger brothers and seminarians and we were happy to be there for their big day. The celebration was beautiful and lasted all day!! In the evening we managed to enjoy a bit of Nairobi nightlife, which was a treat after being “in the bush” of Karungu!!
“What is a friend?” Daniel asked the group of middle school children.
“Someone you like.” “Someone who gives you his things.” “Someone who is your neighbor.” “Someone you trust.” “Someone who helps you.”
The idea that a friend is simply someone who gives you his things or helps you surprised me initially. Is it because these kids have so little that a friend is anyone that gives them something? All of the children, aged 10 to 17, are partial or total orphans and are sponsored by the Mercy Orphans Group, a large organization within the Catholic Relief Services. Mercy Orphans sponsors 75% of their school fees, provides support for their caretakers, and trains teachers and volunteers to assist these needy youth. As a part of their school sponsorship they must attend a 4-day “Life skills Training” course. Sitting in a circle in a dilapidated schoolroom on incredibly uncomfortable desks, these children learn about everything from Communication, Being Assertive, Self Esteem, and Setting Goals to HIV/AIDS, Rape, Sex, and Abstinence. I was blessed to spend two days learning and laughing alongside these beautiful kids.
After two months of working in the Maternal and Child Health Clinic, I have decided I want to utilize my skills as a “Public Health Officer” and spend more time in the community. While I’ve had incredibly valuable experiences working in the Clinic and helping in the Wards, I’m hoping to learn more about life, health, and poverty outside the gates of St. Camillus. After coordinating with Father Emilio, nurses, social workers, and volunteers at the hospital, I’ll be volunteering with AWAKE. AWAKE is a youth HIV/AIDS Prevention Program that reaches kids in the classroom to teach them about HIV/AIDS and how to avoid becoming infected. Starting in January, (when the kids go back to school) I’ll help give talks and facilitate discussions along with the other AWAKE workers. The AWAKE Coordinators, Angela, Daniel, and Mary, are excited to have me on board: hopefully the mzungu (white person) will make the kids pay more attention rather than distract them. And I am looking forward to the opportunity to “be in the field” and to impact, in some small way, the lives of the students we reach with the AWAKE Program.
After the first day of my “new job”, I couldn’t help but reflect on Daniel’s talk about friendship. I realized the children’s response that a friend is someone who gives you his things is not simply a result of their poverty or need. It is not a way of seeing a friend as someone to take advantage of. Rather, it is acknowledging that a true friend will give till it hurts. They’ll share from their own poverty to help someone they care about. This is universal: my friends give me not only their things, but also their time, patience, support, love, and joy. Good answer kids.
Even more surprising than the students’ response to Daniel’s question about friends was his next question to the students:
“How many children do you think Kayla has?”
Wait, WHAT!?!
Some kids giggled. Others quickly guessed the number of my offspring: “2!” “3!”
WHAT, I’m only 22?!?!!?!
I quickly clarified: “ONGE!!” (“NONE!!”)
“Kayla doesn’t have any children because she wants to complete her education and accomplish her goals.”
Where are you going with this Daniel?
“And so Kayla chooses friends that will help her accomplish these goals. Her friends also work hard and want to accomplish their goals and dreams.”
Ok Daniel, nice recovery. I guess the fact that most Kenyan girls have at least 2 children by the age of 22 makes me a good role model for these girls. I’m glad my fertility could help you clarify what it means to be a good friend.
All in all, it was a wonderful training. The kids seem to pay attention and even managed to have some fun. I can only hope something sunk in and they’ll keep themselves and their friends virus-free. Who knows? Maybe they even learned a life skill or two.
o Do four Americans, five Italians, eight Kenyans, and one Tanzanian sit down together to share a Thanksgiving Dinner.
o Does someone taste stuffing, chicken gravy, and apple pie for the first time in their life and love them!!
o Is World AIDS Day the biggest event of the year.
o Do children’s nursery rhymes ask, “AIDS, AIDS, do you have no mercy?”
o Do World AIDS Day Weekend festivities include a football tournament, a net ball tournament, an eating contest, and hours upon hours of skits, songs and dances.
o Is the highlight of the World AIDS Day festivities a dance off for young boys.
o Does the winner of the dance off win $6 because he hip-thrusts and gyrates better than the other boys.
o Only in Africa will the answers to the question, “Why is HIV/AIDS such a problem in this community?” include Wife Inheritance, Polygamy, and Boredom.
o Is an eight year old girl HIV positive while her mother is HIV negative.
o Does a 60 year old woman get admitted to the hospital for Malaria when she actually has an ear infection.
o Does an 8 year old boy get sent home from the outpatient clinic with a broken femur.
o Does a woman’s dead body get carried home on a motorbike.
o Does one country have 42 different tribes with their separate languages, cultures, believes, and traditions.
o Does the man building your home not show up for three weeks to finish cementing the floors and walls.
o Do lake flies attack a hospital in such numbers that you can hardly see through the cloud on your way home from work.
o Does a white girl get proposed to at least once a week by hospital patients, motorbike drivers, shop owners and strangers on the street.
o Am I constantly mistaken as an Italian and a nurse because I’m white.
Sitting in my room at the St. Camillus Seminary in Nairobi, I caught myself off guard when the thought, “I want to go home!” popped into my head on Monday evening. But the “home” I imagined was not Lee’s Summit, Missouri or New Orleans, Louisiana. Suddenly “home” meant Karungu, Kenya. In seven short yet powerful weeks, my paradigm shifted once again: I live in Africa. I work at a hospital in the bush. My friends are Italian volunteers, Kenyan seminarians, and Luo nurses. For fun I play with my beautiful neighbor children, run on muddy cattle trails, write letters, and read books. And one week away from home was too much. I wanted to be back. I wanted to give vaccines to babies, to speak broken Duluo, to laugh with the seminarians and priests at dinner, to constantly scrape mud from my shoes, and to watch the sunset over the lake.
This unexpected Karungu-homesickness nestled down right next down to my America-homesickness. Undeniably, while in Africa I’ve yearned for the comforts and security of my America-home more than ever before. I miss the paved roads, warm showers, and the luxurious beauty of the developed world. I miss grocery shopping, cooking dinner for my family, going to the movies, and leaving the house after the sunset. I miss the Streetcar bumbling down St. Charles Ave in New Orleans and the parasite-free lakes in Kansas City. I miss the instant and reliable communication with my loved ones. I miss feeling safe enough to travel alone and I miss blending in.
Yet when I look around me, I realize most of the people in Karungu can barely fathom what it means to miss such extravagant homes. Gaston, Michael, and Mary were thrilled to return to their new jigger-free, concrete-slab, one-room home. Mary the Nurse Aid wishes her home had running water so she wouldn’t have to fetch it from the lake every morning. Emma the Cleaner wishes she had her own home so she and her children wouldn’t be at the mercy of her landlord when she can’t afford to pay the month’s rent. The children at Dala Kiye have a beautiful home, loving caretakers, three meals a day, and school fees so they can graduate high school. Although they’re HIV+ and orphaned, they may be the most blessed kids in all of Karungu. Meanwhile the other 5,000 orphans and vulnerable children around Karungu have no home to miss. Day in and day out they struggle to find a roof to sleep under, a decent meal to eat, and a relative to pay their school fees.
Back at home in Karungu, I still miss home. And since I miss Amanda while she’s at home in New York recovering from surgery, I wrote her a letter telling her to come home soon.
My home is Lee’s Summit, New Orleans, Karungu. My family and friends send me precious letters from California, Arizona, Texas, Louisiana, Missouri, Belgium, Swaziland, Chile, and Iraq. How blessed I am to have so many homes and so many loved ones. If “Home is where the Heart Is”, then my heart is scattered across the globe in countless pieces.
Call it bad luck or just bad timing, but turns out that last week’s blog titled “Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones…” would have been a more appropriate title for this week’s blog. Let me tell you a little story…
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon in rural Karungu Kenya. Men, women and children walked along the side of the road to and from the booming Sori Market to buy dried fish, corn, second hand clothes and an assortment of other Kenyan goods . Cars, buses and motorbikes sped up and down the dirt road, narrowly missing each other and those walking along the muddy roadside. Among those innocently heading to the market were three American volunteers named Kayla, Amanda, and Lauren. The lovely young ladies wanted to buy clothes and shoes for a poor family they are helping at the hospital.
Suddenly a motorbike driver with a large wooden door attached to the back of his tiny bike swerved dangerously close to the jolly group. The girls jumped to the side just in time, all except for poor Amanda’s left forearm. Perhaps unaware of how large his door actually was or perhaps simply just a bad driver, this young man rudely cut their good hearted trip short.
Amanda bravely held back tears and while grasping her arm informed the merry group that the Sori Market would have to wait; she needed to head back to St. Camillus. Now Lauren conveniently happened to be the St. Camillus X-ray technician, so the girls went straight to the X-ray room. Sadly, X-rays don’t lie: Amanda’s arm had a minimally displaced mid-shaft radial fracture. In other words, her left radius was broken in two. The moral of the story: My mom was right…sticks really do break bones. THE END
After Dr. Jimmy splinted Amanda’s arm and she got some pain killers, everyone decided the best option would be for Amanda to come to Nairobi so an orthopedic surgeon could set the bone and properly cast it. We contacted all the necessary folks back in the States (Mom and Dad Ailleo, Richard from CMMB, etc.) and Fr. Emilio made some calls to find the best orthopedic in Nairobi. We decided I would travel to Nairobi with Amanda to continue playing the role of roommate, friend, nurse, and surrogate mother. So on Tuesday morning Father Julius, Amanda, and I made the eight hour trek to the capital.
Unfortunately after taking one look at the X-ray, Dr. Krishnan told Amanda that if it was his arm, he’d opt for surgery. Casting her arm won’t guarantee that the bone will realign and heal properly because of the location and type of break. It will heal much better and much faster with a plate and screws holding the bones in place. So instead of getting a cast and returning to Nairobi like we originally hoped, Amanda boarded a plane back to New York for surgery.
While poor Amanda is back home awaiting surgery, I’ve been relaxing at the St. Camillus Seminary and exploring Nairobi with Fr. Julius. Instead of playing nurse and roommate, I’ve had a unplanned vacation!! In the morning I read, drink coffee, and fully appreciate the excellent internet by uploading photos onto Facebook. In the afternoons Father and I run errands throughout Nairobi with wonderful side trips to see some of the city’s highlights. The Catholic University of East Africa, the Bomas of Kenya (a park and cultural center), the beautiful Benedictine Monastery, Togoni District Hospital, the August 7th Memorial Park (for the 1998 U.S. Embassy Bombing) the Kenyatta International Conference Center (with an rooftop view of Nairobi), the Westlands Market, and many of the neighborhoods in and around the city (the Kibiera Slums, Langatta, Westlands, Parklands, City Center…). I pass the hours stuck in traffic practicing Kiswahili and listening to Father Julius’s funny priesthood stories.
It’s been an unexpected yet pleasant vacation, sadly at the expense of Amanda’s arm (for those of you from the Gulf Coast, the closest thing I can compare this to is a Hurrication!!). But after five days in the city, I’m more than ready to return to the bush of Karungu!! I need to get back to work (that’s why I’m in Kenya after all!) and I miss the clean air and beautiful sunsets over the lake. Till then, I’ll continue enjoying the bustling city life of Nairobi!
I remember being a little girl and crying to my mother after being teased by my sisters or neighborhood friend. Attempting to comfort me, she taught me the age old adage, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me”. After five weeks in Kenya, I’m sad to say that for once, my mother was wrong. Turns out that “Sticks and stones (and motor bikes and machetes and alcohol and all sorts of dangerous objects) can break your bones, but words can actually kill you”.
Being from a country where everyone speaks the same language and little patience is awarded those who don’t, the language barrier faced by Kenyans within their own country seems particularly debilitating. The cycle of poverty and illiteracy perpetuates itself as young girls drop out of school because they can’t pay their fees and suddenly find themselves married with 4 children.
I’ve seen it over and over. Kenyans grow up speaking their Mother tongue, be it Duluo, Kisii, Kimeru, Kiswahili, or any of the 42 tribal languages in Kenya. Children only learn English (the Official Language of Kenya) and Kiswahili (the National Language of Kenya) in school. That is, if they go to school: with a national average High School enrollment of only 25% in the best regions, very few Kenyans actually speak English or Kiswahili. When almost all official documents, reports, etc. are written in English, working as anything other than a substance farmer or fisherman becomes nearly impossible. People are limited to working and living among their own tribe which limits their ability to trade goods, travel, or improve their quality of life.
Accessing quality medical care falls into the exact same category. The Maternal and Child Health Clinic’s walls are plastered with colorful and informational posters on everything from protecting your child from Malaria, to knowing your HIV status, to proper nutrition for infants. Unfortunately all the posters are in English or Kiswahili which means few of our clients can actually read them. The handy little Immunization Cards and Tuberculosis Medication Charts given to each client serve as little more than reminders of when to return to the clinic. At least the clients understand the dates written in the “To Come Again” column.
As I learn the Duluo language Mus Mus (slowly by slowly), I am again reminded of the difficulties and depth of a language barrier. As a mzungu (a white foreigner), I at least given the benefit of the doubt and endless patience as I attempt to communicate. But for those Kenyans who were not fortunate to learn English or Kiswahili (like my beloved Jiggers Family), I simply pray for their safety and comfort. In a world where knowledge is power and the pen is mightier than the sword, the beautiful Luo Tribe on the shores of Lake Victoria fight everyday to improve their lot. What a blessing to be a small part of their battle.
I once imagined poverty as the lack of necessary resources like a decent home, enough food, or good clothing. While this image of poverty rings true, a deeper reality of poverty exists: a poverty that affects not only your physical wellbeing, but also your emotional, mental, and social wellbeing. An abject poverty that prevents an individual from truly living. I recently encountered such a poverty...
Mary became a widow only one week after the birth of her second son. Left alone in the world with two baby boys, one mentally handicapped and one epileptic, she had almost no resources and few options.
Fast forward 16 years...
Mary and her sons Michael and Gaston now live in a mud hut with a thatch roof on a small piece of land graciosly given to them by a young fisherman. When it rains, water pours into the house through the large holes in thachting. Their clothes are literally threadbare, all three suffer from malnutrition and they rely on the generosity of well wishers for food and water. Gaston does is best to gather food, water and firewood, but his occasional seizures are a huge threat to his safety in their exposed environment. Michael’s mental disability prevents him from helping at all. Neither Michael nor Gaston attended school because of their illnesses and they have little to no social interaction with other people.
If this suffering weren’t enough, all three are now seriously infected with Jiggers. These flea-like bugs live in the soil and borrow into your skin. Once nestled in, they hatch their eggs which spread to surrounding tissue and continue to multiply. Jiggers are a common problem in rural, poor Kenyan communities. But the intensity of the itching of even one tiny jigger impels a healthy person to remove the jigger as soon as possible. But because of their already weak and vulnerable state, Mary and the boys struggled to keep the jiggers at bay and they quickly spread out of control. Mary can’t sleep at night because of the itching and Michael’s feet are so extremely covered by the bugs he can no longer walk.
I heard about “The Jiggers Family” my first week in Karungu. Irene, a Community Health Worker for the Maternal and Child Health Clinic happened to find the family while searching for pregnant mothers in the hills surrounding the hospital. When I heard the story, it struck a cord in my heart and I continued to ask about the family and their situation. Irene invited me to come with her to meet the family and I jumped at the opportunity. I knew something had to be done for them and I thought perhaps I could help.
The moment I met Mary, Michael, and Gaston, something in me knew this is why I had come to Karungu. They are the widow, the orphan, the poor, the hungry, and the sick that Christ talks about in the Gospels. How could I leave them in their abject poverty and go to sleep at night calling myself a Christian? Their neighbors can only do so much as they struggle within their own poverty. But I have all the resources necessary at my disposal and now a burning desire to act.
And so began the Extreme Home Makeover Kenya Edition plan. With the help of Irene, the nurses at the MCH, and Father Mario, we developed a two part program to get “The Jiggers Family” back on their feet (literally!).
1. We'll build them a brand new home: An iron-sheet roof will keep out the rain. A cemented floor and walls will keep out any possible jiggers in the soil.
2. We’ll bring them to the hospital to remove the jiggers and provide much needed medication, nourishment, rest, and love.
I made a few phone calls and quickly received an incredibly generous donation from a dearly loved one back home (Thank You!!!). With funding for the new home, Father Mario agreed to wave any hospital fees.
Feeling a bit like Ty Pennington from Extreme Home Makeover, we began coordinating construction of their new home last week. Irene (the Community Health Worker) has been working tirelessly to coordinate between me, John and Father Mario to keep construction going. Within a few days, the frame was complete and John the Builder was ready to nail down the roof.
On Tuesday, Duncan drove Irene and I to their home to bring all three to St. Camillus. Brother Stephen admitted them to the hospital and the amazing nurses Frank and Catherine helped them settle into their beds. As you can see, many many people have gone out of their way to help this family and I feel so blessed to be a part of it!
On Wednesday, Frank began the process of meticulously removing each and every jigger. Hospital staff, other patients, and visitors come to see us slowly work on our new patients. Although jiggers are relatively common in Kenya, such severe cases are rare. Some on lookers ask questions, some provide words of comfort or encouragement. Many just stare.
Words can’t describe and pictures can’t capture the extent of this slow, painful process. After soaking in a mixture of antiseptic and hydrogen peroxide for half an hour, the skin covering each jigger must be cut away and the little bug pulled out with forceps. Because they have been infected for so long, much of the skin surrounding the jiggers grew thick and calloused before dying. So the largest jiggers under the necrotic tissue grew to the size of a pencil eraser and became filled with tiny white eggs. Pus of all colors, blood, and eggs ooze out with each cut of the blade. After removing the jigger, a small open pit remains where the jigger had burrowed deep into the skin and tissue. But little by little, their hands and feet are freed of the bugs and begin to heal.
Multiple people have removed jiggers for countless hours over the past three days and still some remain. But Mary, Michael and Gaston silently suffer as we attempt to rid them of this horrible affliction. They are becoming more animated and cheerful, especially Gaston. He can’t read or even count to ten, but he constantly smiles and jokes with me whenever I come to visit them.
We hope to finish removing the jiggers soon and give them a few more days in the hospital to heal. Before returning to their new home, we will buy them new clothes, beds, food, and anything else they need as they begin their new life. They have a long, difficult road ahead of them. But with new friends, a new home, jigger-free hands and feet, full bellies, and a renewed sense of hope, I pray they are ready to continue on their journey.
Any visitor to Karungu will quickly notices the incredible number of children running through the streets, walking home from school, carrying water on their head, or herding cows, donkeys and goats through the streets. Any visitor to St. Camillus Mission Hospital will quickly notice the unbelievable number of children in the pediatric ward suffering from malaria, anemia, horrible burns or any number of childhood diseases. Don’t forget the newborns in the Maternity Ward blessed enough to be born in the hospital as opposed to the mud huts on their homestead. Likewise, an endless number of children shuffle through the Maternal and Child Health Clinic each week for vaccinations and weighing.
This week I witnessed everything from the tragic and unnecessary death of an infant to the miraculous birth of beautiful newborn and nearly everything in between. It began at lunch on Tuesday, when we heard about two more babies admitted to the pediatric ward with horrible burns. They were placed in the unofficial burn section of the pediatric ward next to the three babies that have already been there over a month, two of which have endured brutal amputations to save their lives. I went to visit the pediatric ward in the afternoon to find the nurses gathered together with somber looks shadowing their usually joyful smiles. They pointed to Bed 1 and told me one of the burned babies had passed away moments before. I watched the mother stoically wrap the small child in a blanket, cover his head and carry him out of the ward towards the morgue. Never before had I seen a dead child with my own eyes. There are some things you simply can’t prepare yourself for.
Thankfully Thursday morning offered me a slightly more hopeful outlook for the perilously young of Karungu. Every few months HIV Positive mothers bring their exposed children to the clinic to make sure the children haven’t become infected with the virus. So this Thursday morning consisted of 34 mothers holding their 34 crying babies as Irene and Helen pricked their tiny fingers and dripped their blood onto filter paper. Despite the risks, most of these babies are negative and I thank God the mothers are doing their best to make sure their children stay protected. And once again I thank God for St. Camillus and the priceless services it provides to the community.
The week of babies concluded Friday morning with a double whammy. First, I went on Rounds in the Pediatric Ward with Dr. Jimmy, Dr. David, and Medical School student Tony. Rounds consist of visiting each patient, checking their progress and deciding the next course of action. The lucky kids are patted on the back and told they’re ready to be discharged. The less lucky kids get comforting smiles and continue with their Malaria medication, antibiotics, fluids intake, etc. The unlucky ones get concerned looks between the doctors and lengthy discussions about what to do next. After two and a half hours, twenty something sick kids, and a mix of heartbreaks and smiles, I was ready to head back to the Maternal and Child Health Clinic. I decided to stop by the Theater (the Operating Room in American English) to say hello to the nurses. As good (or bad) timing would have it, nurse Christy rolled a pregnant woman into the Theater for an emergency C-section. With a low fetal heart beat they decided to get the baby out before it was too late. I asked the doctors if I could stay to watch and they happily agreed. After helping the nurses set up then eagerly/anxiously watching the incredible procedure, I was blessed to witness my first birth. Despite all expectations of the nurses and doctors, the baby boy came out kicking and screaming. The tension in the operating room quickly transformed into a huge sigh of relief as the healthy baby took in its first lung full of air. I couldn’t stop the tears welling up in my eyes and allowed myself to fully appreciate the beauty of the moment. I find it hard to comprehend that the miracle of birth happens thousands of times every single day.
With the entire world stacked against them, it’s truly a miracle to see any baby survive to the age of five unscathed by the harsh realties of poverty. Sadly not all make it through. In my small way, I think I’m helping. By making sure babies get their vaccines on time or weigh enough according to their age, maybe I can help just one baby avoid a fatal disease or waste away from malnutrition. In the meantime, holding three year old John in my lap during Mass and spinning Reagan through the air as he squeals with joy reminds me that I’m not here to save the world. I’m here to love those around me with all my being and praise God for the incredible blessings He has lavished upon me.
I honestly believe I’ve seen, experienced, and learned more in the past two weeks than any other period of my life. Kenya is the real life version of the classes I’ve taken, the books I’ve read, and the prayers I’ve prayed. I’m seeing the devastation behind the data of HIV and AIDS I wrote about in essays. I’m administering the vaccinations and handing out the tuberculosis drugs I read about in medical and public health textbooks. I’m recording the very same monitoring and evaluation statistics I learned about in class. I’m holding in my arms the malnourished babies I saw on American television. I’m witnessing the power and immediacy of the prayer, “give us this day our daily bread” that I prayed a thousand times before. And I’m seeing the Beatitudes come alive every day in those that come to the clinics, the nurses, and all the Kenyans I meet.
This is no longer academic, artificial, or distant. This is Real Life.
Sunday morning I was blessed to attend my first Mass at St. Camillus Mission Hospital. Hundreds of kids, men, and women packed into the lobby between the Maternity Ward and the Surgical Ward for a beautiful celebration of the Eucharist. Complete with women singing, men drumming, and girls from Dala Kiye (the Orphanage next door) dancing in the aisles, I didn’t want Mass to end. Fr. Julius gave a powerful homily about the Gospel, which was about the rich man who went away sad when Jesus told him to sell all he owned and give the money away to the poor. In the context of the poverty surrounding us, this Gospel takes on a completely different meaning. I thank God for the opportunity to pray and grow in my faith in a completely different way.
In the afternoon Jimmy, Amanda and I visited Sori, the “town” 3 kilometers down the road. “Professor” Emma, the hilarious woman that cleans the MCH Clinic, invited us over to her house to show us “real Kenyan life”. She bought us sodas (a sacrifice for her and her family) and we sat in her tiny home discussing the various struggles and obstacles faced by Kenyans every single day. Just to mention a few: no running water which means fetching water from the lake every morning. No electricity or gas which means cooking all your food on a charcoal “giko” or a fire outside if you can’t afford the charcoal. No good paying jobs which means eating ugali and sukuma wiki every single day, if you can even afford that. No real “free” education which often means deciding between feeding your children and sending them to school. Needless to say, this is poverty at its worst. After an insightful and sobering discussion, Emma took us to the market to help us buy a few more odds and ends we need/want for our apartment. Sori’s market is the place to see and be seen on Sunday afternoons and another great “Kenyan” experience.
My work week was poignantly marked by one heartbreak after another. Irene, Helen, and Mary in the clinic constantly chuckle and shake their heads at me as I’m appalled by the stories we hear and suffering we see. They’ve seen this all their life. They know these realities. They cope by telling me calmly, “Well, this is Africa”. Meanwhile, I weep inside that children are born with HIV just because this is Africa. That mothers can’t afford to deliver their babies in a hospital just because this is Africa. That nurses draw blood of known HIV patients without gloves just because this is Africa. That orphaned children work to survive as maids, nannies, and farm hands instead of going to school just because this is Africa. I know this is real life. But we don’t have to resign ourselves to this suffering just because this is Africa.
To end on a slightly more positive note: With most of the horrible stories come heroic, compassionate, and loving action on behalf of the nurses, doctors, public health officials, and community members. I’ve seen people go above and beyond every single day to help this orphan, that pregnant mother, this sick old man. I’m honored and humbled to work with these incredible people. I pray that I can continue to learn from them and to serve with the same sacrificial love.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words.In the case of Africa, no picture can capture what I’ve seen and experienced in just one week.And no words can describe the beauty, joy, suffering and pain any picture would attempt to capture.But nonetheless, I’ll do my best to share the Kenya I have experienced in the past 7 days:
Doctor Jimmy, Nurse Amanda, and I landed in Nairobi Saturday evening.After passing through customs and gathering all our luggage, we found Boniface, the tall skinny, Kenyan driver for St. Camillus. He eagerly greeted us with a hug and huge “Karibu!!” (“Welcome” in Kiswahili).We spent the night under our mosquito nets at the St. Camillus Seminary in Karen, the wealthier, safer area of Nairobi.
After Mass Sunday morning, we began the 8 hour journey to Karungu.Like I said, no pictures or words can describe the beautiful landscape and people of the Rift Valley.We saw Massai men herding their cattle, women carrying any variety of heavy objects on their heads, and children smiling and waving wildly as the “Mazungus” (White people in Kiswahili) drove by.We stopped in Kisii to buy cell phones and calling cards and were greeted by a huge and desperately needed thunderstorm.We drove the rest of the way to Karungu on unpaved roads through the storm while Boniface joyfully exclaimed that we were bringing Karungu the blessing of rain!The sun set majestically just beyond the cloud line and the perfectly arched rainbow welcomed us to our new home.
Lauren and Christy (the CMMB volunteers that have been here since February) helped Amanda and I move into our apartment when arrived in the darkness of the storm.They are both so excited to have more Americans here and have been incredibly helpful welcoming and orientating us.Dinner in the dining hall (a 3 course Italian/Kenyan cuisine!) was a multi-lingual meet and greet.Father Mario, Angela, and three other short-term volunteers (Andrew, Julia, and Christina) are all from Italy and speak varying degrees of English.Father Julius and Brother Stephen are Kenyan and both speak English quite well.Mix in a bit of Kiswahili and Duluo and you’ve got yourself four languages and 3 overwhelmed and exhausted new American volunteers!!
I spent the week getting a feel for St. Camillus and exploring the surrounding village of Karungu.Here are some highs and lows:
- Amanda and I got “stuck” in our new apartment Monday morning until a merciful neighbor came and unlocked the door for us.No worries now; we’ve figured it out now!You just have to pull hard!
-Started work at the Maternal and Child Health Clinic/Tuberculosis Clinic Tuesday.
- Wednesday afternoon Brother Stephen took Julia, Christina, Amanda, and I to climb Tigra.This huge hill overlooks all of Karungu and provides a perfect panorama of the villages, homesteads, and lake.The hike ended up becoming a five hour epic journey with multiple “I can’t believe I’m experiencing this right now” moments.Watch the video below for a glimpse of what I saw from the summit!
- Every evening when I come home from work, the children in the Staff Compound come running and smiling towards me. I through them each into the air and give them big hugs. They constantly yell, “Ciao!”, “Hello!”, or “OBAMA!” as I walk by!
I’m working at the Maternal and Child Health Clinic (a.k.a. MCH)/ Tuberculosis (a.k.a. TB) Clinic.My co-workers Irene, Helen, and Mary, have been incredibly patient, helpful, and thoughtful.I’ve learned so much in such a short time and I know I’m going to enjoy my work very much.
Highlights and Lowlights of working at MCH/TB:
- Yes, it is both a pregnant mothers and infant clinic AND a tuberculosis clinic.Everyone is well aware of the danger and stupidity of the situation, but there are honestly few other options right now.They are dong the best they can with the little they have.And it’s better than nothing.
-I saw a pregnant mother find out she was HIV Positive on my first day.Talk about a wake up call.I’m in Africa.The HIV prevalence surrounding Karungu is anywhere from 15% to 30%, depending on who you ask.This is serious.This is everyday life.
-I’ve seen more TB patients, HIV patients, pregnant mothers, and newborn infants in 4 days than I’ve seen in my entire life.It’s incredible.
- I’ve learned how to give vaccinations, take blood pressure, find a fetal heart beat, and find the fundal height and presentation of the baby.I’m getting pretty good at estimating the gestation period and I’m learning about all the possible complications of a pregnancy.The ultrasound technician loves Americans, which means I get a detailed explanation for any ultrasound (which are actually very few since they are only referred if there are possible complications)
- When there are no patients, I started organizing and consolidating their out of date filing/record keeping system The nurses are very appreciative and I enjoy/abhor seeing the extent of the data collection the nurses must do for the unending number of sponsors/donors (A short list includes CMMB, PEPFAR, The Kenyan Ministry of Health, MYAE (and Italian Mothers to Mothers NGO) and many more).
- I went on one of the MCH Mobile Clinics.So much to tell.
I think that’s enough for now.In short, this has been one of the most beautiful, heartbreaking, discouraging, inspiring, and thrilling weeks of my life. I constantly find myself completely overwhelmed.I’m doing my best to be patient with myself:I can only do small things with great love.It’s only been one week and I have many more to go.I can only imagine what is in store.
Please continue to keep me in your prayers. More importantly, pray for the mothers, children, and sick patients that come to St. Camillus.Pray that we can offer them the comfort and care they need and that Christ will bring them healing of body and spirit.
Feel free to send me mail at the address on the right.According to the other volunteers, it is best to send things in padded envelopes rather than boxes or packages.So if you can shove it in an envelope, send it my way!! Any music, movies, games, or treats will be much appreciated by all the volunteers and neighbors!!
Also feel free to call my Kenyan cell phone.Simply dial: +254714798157.It is free for me to receive incoming calls, so get an international calling card or Skype and call away!! Nobelcom.com has rates to call from the States to Kenya for as low as 11 cents a minute!
Sitting in Heathrow's International Terminal as travelers from around the world hustle about to their various departure gates, the enormity of this globe and the experience I'm just beginning slowly sinks in. In a few short hours, Amanda, Jimmy, and I will board a plane to Nairobi. My emotions alternate between amazement, unbelief, shock, exhilaration, calm, and giddiness when I think about the journey I've begun. One of my life dreams is literally unfolding before my eyes.
I spent this past week at CMMB Orientation at the beautiful Stella Maris retreat house in Long Branch, New Jersey. The CMMB Volunteer Coordinators Richard and Lizzie organized an excellent 3 days where fellow volunteers heard discussions on essential topics ranging from travel safety, medical professional safety precautions, tropical health, maintaining communications, and the history, structure, and vision of CMMB. Most importantly, we met our fellow missionaries, both new missionaries like myself and veterans. Hearing their stories, seeing their passion, and feeding off their excitement only energized me more. We even spent a day in New York City at the CMMB Headquarters! We had a few free hours in the evening to explore the city. As a first timer, I soaked it all in. We walked from the CMMB Headquarters on 17th St. to Times Square, ate delicious NY pizza at John's Pizzeria, and took the train back to New Jersey. The short visit only made me want to return and explore the rest of the Big Apple.
On our last morning of Orientation, Lisette, Lisa, Liz and I woke up early to say Morning Prayers while the sun crawled its way over the Atlantic horizon. Cuddled under blankets in the picturesque gazebo, I couldn't help be thank God for the incredible blessings He has poured out upon me. My entire life has been one incredible grace after another. Leaving my family, friends, home, and first world way of life only reminds me the depth of God's blessings in my life. Saying goodbye proved much harder than I anticipated and the uncertainty of communication while in Kenya only make it harder. But I know my time away will only strength my love and appreciation for those at home who have shaped me and supported me through it all.
I'm half way to Kenya. In limbo between home and what will soon be my new home. Caught in the middle of the known and the unknown, the safe and the unsure, the comfortable and the challenging. At this point, all I have to live on is prayer. I repeated over and over during Orientation, "If God brings you to it, He'll bring you through it". With this thought, I lay my life in His hands. I pray that He uses me as His humble servant to heal the sick, bring comfort to the afflicted, visit the lonely, and feed the hungry.
My next post will come from St. Camillus Hospital in the tiny Karungu, Kenya. Bless the Lord, oh my soul!!
The past few days have been a flurry of excitement as the details are all falling into place.
I've officially met my fundraising goal. Thank you to all of you who so generously donated. Words cannot describe my gratitude.
I bought my plane ticket for training in Newark, New Jersey. I arrive in Newark at 2:20 pm on September 28, 2009.
CMMB sent us our official flight itinerary!! We fly out of Newark on October 2, change planes in London (Heathrow), then arrive in Nairobi, Kenya on October 3! Father Emilio will pick Amanda, James (my fellow volunteers) and I up from the airport and we should arrive in Karunga the next day!
I sent my Visa application, passport photos (which turned out surprisingly not bad!), and actual passport to Lizuara (the CMMB volunteer coordinator). In her unending kindness, she's taking care of the rest of the Visa process for us!!
I've started my preparations for Kenya by ordering a travel guide (Rough Guide, which I'd highly recommend) and two books on Kenyan culture etc. I also watched The Constant Gardener, which takes place in Kenya. Its a great film and I'd recommend it to anyone, especially if you want to see the natural beauty of the Kenyan landscape and people. It's not exactly a feel good movie, but rest assured that I won't get myself into any trouble like Tessa!
As my departure date approaches, I slowly realize the gravity and beauty of the next nine months of my life. Honestly, I'm quite sure I have no idea what I'm getting myself into. I pray that I stop looking at my time in Kenya as an adventure (which it will undoubtedly be), and more as an opportunity to live humbly and serve selflessly. I know I will take home much more than I could ever offer, yet I pray that God will use me to do some amount of good. I also pray for patience, courage, and prudence; all of which will surely prove more necessary than I can imagine. Wow, this is going to rock my world.
• I'll be in Karunga, Kenya. Its a rural fishing town on the eastern shore of Lake Victoria in the Southwest corner of Kenya (very near the Tanzanian border) • I'll be working at the St. Camillus Hospital with a group of Italian and Kenyan priests, a Hungarian surgeon, and other international volunteers. I'll also be with other Catholic Medical Mission Board volunteers (see below).
Thanks to all of you for being so supportive and excited for me. Now that I know where I'm going, it’s slowly becoming all the more real. Please continue to pray for me and the people I will be working for/with. God bless!
