Here I sit in my little bunkbed waiting for the night to wind down, realizing that it is time for me to write again. Internet has not been accessible for several days. It’s Saturday and many of the students went on a rafting trip. Originally, I had intended to go. After much contemplation after learning the smallest rapid was a 4-5 and even some areas a 6 (only for licensed rafters) and also learning that it was $300 per person, I opted out. If Andrew had been here, I think I would have put on my big girl panties and toughed it out knowing that someone on the trip would notice if I had fallen out of the raft. Since I was not sure that would happen, I can safely say that tonight, I am happy that I did not go. There have been a few reported deaths on this rafting excursion down the Nile. I’m all about exploring Africa, but this weekend just didn’t seem safe to me.
Amy (Andre’s wife), myself and a few others stayed behind to explore Eldoret yet another weekend. It is an understatement to say that it has been a very slow weekend. We’ve watched a few movies, talked a lot about ourselves and did a bit of reading and the like. We had planned to spend the day and weekend at the pool here at the IU house, but the weather has not been cooperative here; rain and clouds ruined our plans of tanning ourselves. We had been very excited just to relax, but maybe tomorrow following church!
The IU compound is very nice by Kenyan standards. US standards, it’s pretty nice. Think of a 1970’s type construction with those colors as well with walls that are in need of painting and floors that really should be retiled. But, Kenyans all believe we live in a mansion surrounded by a gate with guards. Not that the guards are completely unwarranted. Remember the clashes after the election just a few months ago, and then also remind yourself that we are the full group back here since them. Protection isn’t a bad idea but the Kenyans are a little right. We do have it nice here compared to the rest of the country. Very nice. I even mentioned a pool and I won’t lie – it’s a little slice of heaven in the middle of earth. It makes you think for a while that you’re on a little vacation, but once you leave the double gates, you get slapped pretty quickly with the realization that you are in a developing country.
Kenya is beautiful. There are many things here that I just love. The air is clean (when you’re not following any vehicles, since all of them burn oil) and the sky is clear at night just like Southern Indiana on a summer night. The gardens, for those wealthy enough to keep them, are breathtaking and the palate of flower colors is simply amazing. I’ve been writing a lot of my hospital experience, but there is much to enjoy here as well.
A few hospital stories for the week…
So, I’ll take you on rounds with me again. Picture the last cube of the men’s ward where (I’ll refresh your memory) there are approximately 16 beds per side multiplied by three cubes per side, multiplied by two to a bed. A man is paralyzed from the waste down. There are no nurse “call buttons” here, so if you have no family sitting at the bedside, getting a nurse’s (of sister’s as they call them here) attention is pretty farfetched. This man has to go to the bathroom, but again, he is paralyzed. He can scoot himself to the side of the bed, so that’s what he does. While our team is rounding on the bed next to him and I remind you, a person barely fits between the two beds it is so crowded, a grown man, pushes his buttocks to the edge of the bed and defecates on the floor and then proceeds to urinate – on my shoe. I gag. I try not to, but the man has a pile of feces now in the place where I quickly moved from. While I missed that, I did not miss the urine. Yuck. My experiences in the wards at home were just not this way. I have been urinated on at home before, but by an infant.
I have also spent time in the “Sally Test Pediatric Center”. Sally Test is an American who donated some monies to be used for the creation of a development center for the children in the hospital and now it is run by Sarah Ellen Mamlin (see below). It is the only happy, clean place to be found on the wards. The children can come and have books read to them, can color and play with toys (donated). This is also where the abandoned children live.
There are 6 abandoned infants currently living at the center. They were found on sides of roads, in the displaced persons camps after the clashes, in SEWERS – anywhere. The children are cleaned up, brought here to be fed and then are tested for HIV status a few months later. The negative children are usually adopted amongst Kenyans, the positives are sent to a home where they will grow. What is disturbing is that the children depend on volunteers to feed them and the 3 am feed is simply not given to them. The few day old child has to go eight hours in between feeds. I could not imagine how hungry they are when the first volunteers arrive. I’ve grown attached to one of them, Chris. He’s a beautiful little boy, about 3 weeks old, who was found in a sewer. He’s actually thriving and doing pretty well. His HIV status won’t be known for another 2 months. We therefore, don’t know if he’ll end up adopted in a family, or in an HIV+ orphanage. As I fed him on Friday, his little face starred into mine and he was fixated on my earrings, I think. I’d laugh at him and talk to him just like any other child, only I’d throw in a few “sawa, sawas” which in Swahili means okay. He’s precious. I can’t wait for Andrew to see this little guy. I hope he’ll want to spend time with these little guys and girls while I’m rounding.
I begin pediatrics on Monday. I’m thrilled. I will receive child vomit and urine much better than that from a 40 year old man.
We had an indescribable experience on Thursday at the home of Francis and Rebecca, workers here for AMPATH (the AIDS management and prevention program started by Dr. Mamlin, the IU staff and Noble Prize nominee that we get to spend lots of time with) and the IU house. They invited 25 of us to their home for a meal. Now, keep in mind the average Kenyan makes about 2 dollars (or 120 Kenyan Schillings) a day. Francis and Rebecca are lucky. They have a great job working for AMPATH and the house. I’d approximate that they make about $2000 per year, maybe. A physician working for AMPATH makes $7000 per year (pretty darn good). We enter their gate made of aluminum sheets and are greeted by Rebecca with a beautiful smile. Her round African cheeks are glowing. She’s very excited we are there. We smell sewer. We see their shack where cooking and cleaning of dishes is done and then we are directed to their home. A two room place. The “large” room which houses the television, measures about 12×12 holding 25 chairs lining the walls. There is no furniture. The plastic patio chairs ARE the furniture. They bring in rice, meat, chipati (bread), peas, vegetables and potatoes – plenty for 25. “She must have cooked all day”, I say to myself. Francis smiles as we wash our hands in the running water (similar to an outside faucet) caught by a bucket. We all eat. Francis offers soda and bottled water. What? “How can he afford this”, I keep saying. I brought my own water in my satchel for fear of not having anything to drink. I would have felt horrible to spend their money on my drinking of their sodas (which are around $0.50 or 30 schillings). Then, they bring out fruit salad for each person. I had felt this hospitality before in Mexico when a family made all of us tacos. I was humbled and again, here I was finding myself floored that people who I had just met would sacrifice so much money to feed all of us. Francis proceeded to tell his life story.
He was one of 13 children in a family that had no money. He explained that in his tribe, your status depended on how many children to had, not how much money. So, 13 made his father look quite prestigious, even though not one child had clothing, food or an education. He became a street child at the age of 9. He was rescued from the street after two years (lucky guy) by a German man who gave him food and sent him to primary school. Francis then helped raise other street children with the man as he grew older. His face lights up – he begins the “good part” of the story. He at this point, meets Rebecca. Beautiful, wonderful, “round” Rebecca. Francis worked very hard to get her to like him. Eventually, he had to tell his childhood story and that he did not have any money. He told his story with fear, knowing that it would be difficult for her to want to marry him. She accepted him anyway. There was a problem. Francis and Rebecca are from two different tribes and Francis could not offer a dowry. He approaches her family and tells his story and then describes how he loves the beautiful girl. Rebecca’s father asks for Francis to gather some elders to speak with him, which would be customary in the first place, but would be difficult since Francis’ father had since passed and he had not been in the tribe since a small child. Francis found a few elderly men that would speak on his behalf, and eventually Rebecca and Francis married. You ask, what year was this, 1909? Try 1995. They only have TWO children, as Francis believes that you should be able to care for the children you have, and they have adopted a street boy named Moses. The amazing part of this story is that Francis was able to provide a home for his family because of Joe Mamlin. Joe offered Francis a job as a driver for AMPATH and pays him well compared to others in Kenya. A lovely story that made me smile from ear to ear and tear up. It reminded me a little of my mother and father, without the African tribal part, of course, and the 12×12 house, but rather the tale of the poor boy meets wealthier girl turning into a beautiful love story. An overall fantastic evening.
Who are the Mamlins you speak of, right? Well, Joe Mamlin is a celebrity here. He’s a white man from IU with a bit of a Southern twang (think Grandpa, mom), tall and loud with a great sense of humor. He’s very protective of the IU students, often asking us where we are going and how we are getting there; kind of a Grandpa figure. You would never treat him as such though, because we all respect him too much! He’s been here for many years (we think we’ve figured around 15 after years of work in Afganistan) and has created AMPATH from the ground up which now supplies HIV medications and treatment of opportunistic infections to many that would otherwise never afford it. Dr. Mamlin has made an incredible impact on the lives of the Kenyan people. So much so, that even Kenyans name their children after him. Andre even met a child on the pediatric wards this week named, Joe Mamlin (insert Kenyan last name such as Cheronui, Kippop, Otieno, Awino or something similar). It was quite funny. Despite Joe’s loveable nature, he’s also firm with the Kenyans and is not taken advantage of. After all, he is a Nobel Peace Prize nominee. But you’d never know it…humility is just part of the package with Joe and his wife, Sarah Ellen.
Life continues slow and steady here. I await Andrew’s arrival which is still two weeks away. I miss him more and more everyday. I never imagined I could miss another human so much, but I do. He’s my perfect partner and life here just is not right without him. I miss all of you much. Oh, and don’t worry that I’m getting thin here. Contrary to what I originally thought, I may come home a bit more plump. I enjoy African cuisine a little too much.
Kwa heri, Holly
