The Long Journey Up and the Long Journey Home… Kenya Week 35: May 30- June 5

There’s something magical about watching the morning sun tiptoe its way over the horizon from the top of a 15,000 foot mountain. It had taken us three days of grueling climbing to reach the summit of Mt. Kenya. Despite the fact that Van and I started the climb in less than perfect health and despite the fact that there’s pretty much ZERO oxygen over 14,000 feet above sea level, and despite the fact that freezing winds nearly knocked my hiking boots right off, I’ve never felt more alive standing on top of the second tallest mountain in Africa at sunrise.

In a powerful way, climbing Mt. Kenya is a perfect metaphor for my eight months in this crazy country. I’d heard climbing the second tallest mountain in Africa was an experience of a lifetime. Something not to be missed. A challenge worth the struggle. An adventure few could claim. So I read everything there was to read. I made sure I had all the right equipment and supplies. I found a guide to show the way, a porter to carry the heavy stuff, and a much more experienced mountain climbing friend to accompany me.

Coming to Africa was nearly identical. An experience of a lifetime. A world full of challenges waiting to be discovered. An adventure. Something not to be missed. So I read everything I could about Kenyan culture, politics, and health care. I found a great NGO to set everything up. I found sponsors, friends, and donors to make it possible. And I had a few other Americans to go with to help along the way.

But just like coming to Kenya, I started climbing Mt. Kenya not really having any idea what I was getting into. Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning before we started the climb, the mountain was covered in clouds. So when Joseph our guide pointed in the general direction of the mountain, I could only imagine what exactly the monster I was hoping to conquer really looked like. Just like any movie or book or map of Africa can try to point out what exactly Africa is all about, I only had a cloudy, vague idea of what that really meant.

Ready for the adventure despite the lingering cough and looming clouds, we started hiking. By Tuesday at sunrise, we reached Point Lenana- exhausted, freezing, and wheezing. Suddenly the hours of hiking, the sore legs, the cold nights were totally worth it. We’d signed up to climb a mountain. This is what we were looking for. This is what we got. And so much more.

As I looked out over what seemed like all of East Africa from my heavenly view point, I realized that I had done much more than climb a mountain. I had done much more than survived a four day hike. I had survived eight months in Africa. I had built wonderful relationships that gave me new view points. I’d overcome challenges that lifted me to new heights. I’d seen things few others in my world back home had ever seen. And just when I thought I couldn’t go another step, I did. And another. And another. And before I knew it, I’d reached the summit.

While I can claim that I conquered Mount Kenya, I know that in no way can I claim that I conquered Kenya. But I conquered myself in Kenya. I proved to myself that I could take another step. That I could overcome the lack of oxygen, the absence of creature comforts, the familiarity of the known.

As we hiked back to basecamp Wednesday morning, I constantly turned around to look back at the clear blue sky and enormous mountain we had just climbed. “You mean to tell me I just came from THERE?” “I walked all that way?”

The saying is true- ignorance really is bliss. Because honestly, had I seen the mountain Sunday morning, I don’t know if I would have made it all the way to the top. Looking back at the mass of rock I had just ascended and descended, I wondered why I ever thought it was a good idea to climb that mountain and how the heck I managed to make it to the top.

And maybe that’s the greatest metaphor. Had I really known what the heck I was getting myself into when I signed up to come to Kenya, I don’t know if I could have made it. Looking back now, I am amazed at where I started and where I reached. “I really came all that way?”

So just like climbing Mt. Kenya and just like my eight months in Kenya, I started and ended in the exact same place. The base of the mountain. And the airport. But the places I ventured between here and there defy explanation. Incredibly difficult. Surprisingly painful. But worth every moment.

And just like climbing Mt. Kenya and just like my eight months in Kenya, I can’t wait to do it again. Not right away. I need some time to recover. But someday I’ll be back. Maybe not in the exact same place or with the exact same route. But I’ll climb another mountain. And I’ll come back to Africa. It’s too good to miss out.

Adventures of a Lifetime …Kenya (and Uganda) Week 34: May 23-May 29

After spending eight months in tiny little Karungu, I wanted to travel a bit through East Africa before heading home. There’s too much beauty in this part of the world to miss! So Van and I spent the week heading from one adventure to the next on wonderful Kenyan and Ugandan public transportation. Below are my High’s and Low’s for Week 34- my second to last week in Kenya. The High’s were super high and the Low’s were a bit too low. But that’s Africa right? What a great way to end my time in Kenya!

Sunday, May 23

High: Spending the afternoon with Emma and Calmax. Calmax is attending Nursing School in Kendu Bay thanks to a wonderful donation from friends back home. Van and I got to see his school, meet his teachers and roommates, and visit the hospital where Calmax is learning the wonderful art of nursing. What a blessing to be a part of that experience!

Low: Leaving Karungu. Enough said.

Monday, May 24

High: Crossing the border into Uganda. Uganda is clean, organized, and well paved (the roads that is!).

Low: Watching Van turn white, then green, after our delicious Indian food lunch. For some reason it didn’t sit well with him. Poor guy.

Tuesday, May 25

High: Flipping the raft TWICE while white water rafting down the Nile on some of the wildest Class 5 rapids in the world. There’s no feeling like being swept down a raging river hoping the safety kayaks are nearby to come pick you up. Don’t worry Mom, it was all perfectly safe!!

Low: Inhaling half the Nile the second time we flipped the raft. The racking cough the rest of the afternoon was a bit annoying, but it was totally worth it.

Wednesday, May 26

High: Eating dinner at Carnivore, the world famous unlimited grilled meat restaurant in Nairobi after getting off the bus after the ten hour trip from Jinja, Uganda to Nairobi, Kenya.

Low: The sinking “you’re getting sick” feeling I got halfway between Jinja and Nairobi. It didn’t help that Van was feeling nauseous again sitting next to me.

Thursday, May 27

Low 1: Spending the whole day in bed after being diagnosed with a bacterial respiratory infection. Turns out it’s not a good idea to inhale half the Nile. You will get sick. So my 100 degree fever and earthshaking coughing made for a long, painful, “this really sucks” day.

Low 2: Realizing that starting to climb Mount Kenya tomorrow with this fever and infection might not be a good idea. So Van and I decided to push back the climb two days so I could recover. Unfortunately that means we only have 4 days instead of 5 days on the mountain.

Friday, May 28

Low: Despite all the Coartem (Malaria medication- just in case I have malaria), Amoxicillin, Ibuprofen, and anti-histamines prescribed by the doctor in Nairobi, my fever still didn’t break and my coughing hadn’t subsided. So again, I spent the whole day in bed.

High: Having Van and the priests at the St. Camillus Seminary take good care of me. And feeling my fever break late in the evening.

Saturday, May 29

High: Waking up and knowing that the worst of the infection was over and that we could start our Mount Kenya climb tomorrow as we’d planned. We met up with Joseph the mountain guide and his younger brother Paul the porter in Nanyuki, the small town at the base of Mt. Kenya, to prepare everything so we could start the 4 day adventure first thing the next morning!

Low: Although I was finally feeling much better, poor Van had yet another bout of…something. So between my coughing and his barfing, we made for a well prepared, super-healthy, mountain climbing duo!

It’s Not Goodbye, It’s See You Soon… Kenya Week 33: May 16-22

"Wait, you’re going home? America home?”

“You mean you aren’t coming back to Karungu?”

“How long will you be in America before coming back to Kenya?”

Question after question flooded me this week as I wrapped up my work here in Karungu. The week was packed with home visits, follow ups, and sneaking in two more school cementing projects with the remaining budget. Meanwhile, head teachers and community health volunteers from around Karungu called, visited, and pleaded that I not leave yet. “There’s still so much work to be done…how can you go now?”

I heartbreakingly responded to each of my new friends and co-workers with more or less the same answer…

“I’m going home for more schooling. But the Jiggers Project is still going on. I won’t be here in person, but I’ll be in America raising money and working with the volunteers here in Kenya. And don’t worry, I’ll come back to Kenya as soon as I can.”

Although I realize the difficulty of that promise -to continue raising money and working with the project while a medical student and promising to come back to Kenya as soon as I can- I know that I’ve worked too hard, invested too much, and began something too great to let it end when I leave Karungu.

The greatest blessing of the week was visiting many of the homes and families we’ve worked with. Almost everyone is jigger free and full of hope. Because of the heavy rains lately, many of the newly constructed homes remain unsmeared. But each of the families promised that as soon as the soil is dry enough to begin smearing, they’ll complete the work. And everyone seemed to understand how to prevent the jiggers from returning. So my unofficial evaluation of the project so far:

SUCCESS!!

While the greatest blessing was visiting all the families, the greatest heartbreak by far was saying goodbye to the neighborhood kids. As I gathered my last few things from the house, the kids drew pictures and wrote “Goodbye Kayla” notes. I managed to hold back my tears just long enough to hug them all goodbye. Of course kissing little Davis on the cheek and realizing I wasn’t going to be around to see them all grow into beautiful adults was too much. As I walked away from my little Kenyan house in the staff compound for the last time, eight months of tears poured down my suntanned cheeks.

Those tears instantly resurface when I think of the life I’ve left behind in Karungu. By far the most difficult, frustrating, overwhelming, lonely, eight months of my life. And yet simultaneously the most transformative, eye-opening, encouraging, unbelievable, indescribable eight months of my life.

So I have to keep reminding myself: Yes I’m going back to America. But it’s not goodbye, it’s see you soon.

Kenya: I’m not through with you yet.

Nying’a Kayla Adhiambo na Otati… Kenya Week 32: May 9-15

You can ask my mother: I’ve always hated goodbyes. As a child I preferred crying in bed buried under my covers rather than saying goodbye to family and friends on their way to the airport. Unfortunately such behavior is frowned upon for 22 year old Public Health Officers. But believe it or not, the long, heartbreaking ordeal of saying goodbye has begun. I’m still trying to piece together where exactly the last 8 months disappeared to. As I went to visit and say goodbye to each of the homes and families I’ve been worked with over the past months, I’m witnessing firsthand the fruits of my labor and that of all the donors and supporters of the project.

So I have to pull myself together and search for the right words to express as I hug each person goodbye. Those words usually include praise for their hard work, encouragement to continue preventing the jiggers, and finally a promise to return as soon as possible.

As I look ahead to my last week in Karungu, I can’t help but think about how much more work there is to do. Right now I’m out of time and out of money. But that doesn’t mean I intend to stop working with the Public Health Officers and Community Health Volunteers. I might not be here in person, but with modern technology and a lot of love, I’ll definitely be here in spirit. I plan on continuing to raise money to help the families that were left behind and complete the projects we placed on the “Wish List”.

Next week I’ll give the final count for the project. How many people we treated for jiggers, how many homes we cemented or smeared or roofed, how many classrooms we cemented, etc. etc. But for now, I want to focus on the people. Yeah, the numbers are nice and easy to process. But they reflect the very real struggles, hopes, joys, and dreams of the people I’ve come to know and love.

Last Friday I said a tearful goodbye to my friends in Otati (a small village in Karungu) and promised to return as soon as I find a sponsor to pay my transport. They promised to keep working hard to help those affected by jiggers.

And they once again reminded me and made me promise to never forget:
“Nying’a Kayla Adhiambo na Otati”.

My name is Kayla Adhiambo from Otati.


p.s. Speaking of names: Check it out! My blog made its way onto another blog! http://nameberry.com/blog/2010/05/05/african-names-a-report-from-kenya/

The OTHER Kenya…Kenya Week 31: May 2 - May 8

Some experiences defy description. Being surrounded by over 200 grazing elephants slowly migrating their way across East Africa is exactly one of those experiences.

This week I bid a quick goodbye to Karungu to experience the other side of Kenya: the breathtaking landscapes and abundant wildlife that most people only watch on the Discovery Channel or read about in National Geographic.

Monday was a whirlwind, two wheeled tour of Hell’s Gate National Park. I shared the sights and the soreness with Guilia Martelli, an Italian medical student who had just completed two months of research for her thesis on HIV and secondary infections (what better place that St. Camillus Hospital in Karungu?!?) We spent the day riding rented bicycles, dividing our awe between the spectacular rock formations, the magnificent gorge that gives the park its name and its eerie resemblance of many people’s imagine of the less preferred afterlife, and the countless wildlife grazing only feet away from the bike path. Don’t worry, there aren’t any predators in Hell’s Gate; the zebras, antelopes, and warthogs were much more afraid of us than we were of them.

Let me just say this about the Hell’s Gate National Park: if you only have one day to spend in Kenya, this is where to spend it.

After 8 hours of hard cycling on rough terrain my rear end slowly recovered over the next few days while I ran errands in Nairobi. Then I completed “The Other Kenya” experience with a two day Safari of the world famous Maasai Mara, accompanied by a dear friend visiting from home. Between the family of lions lounging only feet away, the awkward wildebeests scrambling to their feet to get out of the way of our vehicle, and the countless elephants encircling our comparatively tiny vehicle, I found myself constantly speechless and close to tears. It was truly an unbelievable, unforgettable, “I’m going to tell my grandchildren about this” experience.

Let me just say this about Maasai Mara: if you only have two days in Kenya, this is where to spend them.

After this week, I now see why tourists from around the world spend thousands of dollars to visit Kenya and its indescribable beauty. While I wasn’t exactly thrilled to end my safari and begin the long trek back to Karungu on public transportation, I know that I wouldn’t trade the up close and personal experiences I’ve had a REAL Kenyan life here in Karungu. The scenery and wildlife keep the tourists pouring in and the Kenyan economy stronger than many of its East African neighbors. But the Kenya that I know: the heartbreaking, breathtaking, rural Kenya is the Kenya I will always and forever consider home.

Something of a Silver Lining...Kenya Week 30: April 25- May 1

The rains throughout Kenya continue pouring. I'm continually frustrated by the dark clouds and muddy roads. I cringe everytime we have to change our plans and postpone our activities. Yet the clouds that frustrate me bring joy to most Kenyans: the farmers rejoice as their crops - the well being of their families- grow and green.

As I reflect on this past week, I realize that every dark cloud really does have something of a silver lining...

Wednesday morning, I sat comfortably in the big Land Crusier on the way to Otati for a Jigger Removal Day at the Dispensary. The few other volunteers and health workers also in the vehicle eagerly discussed the events of last night: thugs broke in and robbed one of the biggest business men in the Karungu division, stealing anywhere between $650 and $6,500 depending on which rumor you believe. As they swapped gossip, we came upon a huge crowd gathered in the road. Apparently one of the robbers had been caught and killed during a shoot out with the police in the field only a few hundered meters from the road. As the police proudly walked back to their vehicles, the crowd rushed to see the murdered body, declaring happily that justice has been served.

While I spent the day trying to hold back the nausea I felt each time I saw the image of the murdered robber in my mind, I found out that I had also been the victim of a crime. On Wednesday afternoon, not a small chunk of change of the Jigger Project money was stolen within hours of being withdrawn from the ATM.

My already nauseuos stomach swelled into my chest. My first thought was not anger towards the robbers but rather an overwhelming saddness. How can I continue helping the families plagued by these parasites? My time in Kenya along with the project budget is already running low. Now there's almost nothing left. Do I have to cancel the projects we've already begun? Will we have enough funds to buy the cement we promised for Not Primary School, after the community has worked so hard to raise the funds to prepare the floors for the cementing? And what about the families that we promised to help smear their homes? Do I have to tell them nevermind- we don't have any more money?

And what about the donors that trusted me with their money? What kind of missionary am I to allow such a thing to happen? Can I face them and tell them I used every penny of their money to the best of my ability?

Thankfully there's a silverlining in ever cloud. A sympathetic volunteer doctor at St. Camillus donated $194 to help refund some of the stolen money. And the Catholic Medical Mission Board is giving me an "emergency stipend" this month that I can apply back towards the project. Even with the extra help, I'm still "in the red" when it comes to the stolen money. But since I'm personally responsible for the project funds, I'll make up for the loss from my meager savings. At least that way I don't have to say no to the families we've already promised to help.

Despite the rather traumatic day on Wednesday, I'm still incredibly optimistic about the Project and my reminaing few weeks in Karungu. Its been such a blessing seeing the Before and Afters of each of the families we've assisted. Whether they stand in front of their newly roofed and smeared homes or admire the miraculous healing of previously jigger infested hands and feet, the look of hope and gratitude on their faces is undeniable. So yeah, I'm out a few hundred dollars. But I'm not doing any more that what I've asked my donors to do. At least I get to see the Before and After's first hand.

I still have sympathy for the robbers. They would probably choose to work and earn a living if they had the option. But in a country with almost no jobs and staggering poverty, many people feel forced into theft for survival. Meanwhile, I pray for the family of the murdered man. I hope that someday a reliable justice system will be in place to negate the need for Mob Justice. And I hope that the men that stolen our money use it well.

May they all find some small silver lining in their dark clouds, especially during this Kenyan rainy season.

My name is Kayla Bronder and I have Jiggers...Kenya Week 29: April 18-April 24

At first I thought it was Poison Ivy. The red, swollen, itchy skin reminded me of my almost yearly encounters with that cursed plant back home. But how could I get Poison Ivy only on the tip of my left big toe and my right second toe? That’s weird. But it really itches. And the skin is pretty red. Hmmm...well whatever it is, I’m sure it will go away in a few days.

A few days later I noticed the tale tell quarter inch wide white halo with a black dot in the center. Right on the end of my toe nail.

No.

Absolutely not.

It can’t be.

I ALWAYS wear closed shoes when I’m out in the community. My house has a nicely tiled floor. And I shower everyday, which always includes a thorough scrubbing of my feet.

That CANNOT actually be a jigger. I would have notice before it got that big!

Turns out I was wrong. It was not only one jigger. But four. Two big ones along my toe nails and two small jiggers attempting to sneak their way into the sides of my toes.

My initial reaction was embarrassment. How could I not have noticed bugs digging into my feet? And why did I convince myself for three full days that it was some strain of Africa poison ivy rather than actually taking a closer look? Maybe I shouldn’t wear my flip flops when I go down for dinner. I don’t want the other volunteers or priests to notice!

Right alongside embarrassment was disgust. Those are living, breathing parasites burrowed inside my toes! THAT IS DISGUSTING. That white halo with the black dot in the center suddenly takes on a whole new meaning when it’s inside your own toe rather than that of a 7 year old boy running around without shoes.

So my toes itch, I’m feeling a bit queasy at the thought of the living insects inside my skin, and I’m totally ashamed that I’ve allowed the very parasites I’m working to eradicate dig into my feet.

Now what do I do?

The first step to overcoming a difficulty is acknowledging your problerm. I’ll break through the social stigma and admit that I have a problem. Here goes...

My name is Kayla Bronder and I have jiggers.

Thankfully in the past seven months I’ve become something of an expert jigger remover. Cutting out the little buggers was quite easy although not entirely painless. While digging away at my feet, I thought to myself how different it is to remove your own jiggers rather than someone else’s. The sharp pain as the razor digs too deep instantly tells me to stop. Whereas the poor children can only cry and pray I don’t do that again. And I realized that the removal of the jiggers is only the beginning. The swelling and itching actually worsens for a few days after the flea is removed as the body heals itself. Rather than being relieved to finally have the jiggers out of their hands and feet, our poor patients go home in even more pain than before.

The good news is that I’m three days post operation and I’m healing well. And as I overcome my embarrassment and disgust, the swelling and itching slowly fade.

The small circular scabs ground me in the humanity behind the parasites I’ve been working to eradicate. Tungiasis is no longer a disease that affects only the poorest of the poor living in mud huts. As the saying goes: If you play with fire, you’ll get burned. Or in my case: If you fight jiggers, they’ll eat your toes.

In a way, I’m thankful for the experience. Before I came to Kenya, I told my mother that I hoped I would get just one, mild case of some tropical disease I had studied in my social work class. Of course that comforted any fears she had about her daughter living half way around the world. But I was thinking maybe a bought of malaria or some general diarrheal disease. Nothing serious, just something to make my whole experience in Africa complete. I’ve been here almost 7 months and I’ve never felt healthier in my life. No malarial fevers, not even occasional nausea. A few jiggers qualify as that mild tropical disease I’d hoped for and I’ve escaped relatively unscathed. So don’t worry Mom.

More importantly, the experience has forced me to reflect on the very real dangers that people face everyday in Africa. My white skin or my American passport does not make me immune to those dangers.
Is it worth it? Absolutely.
Would I do it over again? Without a doubt.
Am I looking forward to returning as soon as possible? Definitely.

But next time I’ll pay closer attention to any mysterious, poison ivy-like itching.