For a good time, not a long time...

I can't believe that two months has gone by already! Friday was my last day working at the hospital and today (Saturday) I'm heading into Nairobi, with all my luggage and a sprained ankle, to start my safari tomorrow.

Friday started off average enough, I was working partly in pharmacy and partly in the pre-natal clinic (the nurses all wanted to work with me since it was my last day, don't I feel special?) But of course there had to be some excitement to see me off, so at about 10:30 we got a call to come up to Lillian's office (Lillian is one of the c.o.'s which are basically like doctors). When Halima and I entered the room, we found Lillian busy suturing a guy's head while a lady, clearly in labour, was lying on the floor in the corner moaning. Lillian informed us that the lady came in complaining of "a stomach ache" and was adamantly refusing that she was pregnant. She refused to have a vaginal exam done and even as her water broke on the floor, she repeated that she was NOT pregnant. To complicate matters, she had a c-section less than one year ago! Halima called for the Mathena (who is a certified midwife) and she came in with a rather tough love approach - hitting the lady until she allowed Mathena to do a vaginal exam. The exam of course revealed that she was in the second stage of labour and pretty much about to deliver right then and there. Being the youngest in the room they all decided that I should be the one to run to the maternity ward (down two long ramps) to fetch supplies. So I bust out of the room, past the hallway full of waiting patients and sprint down to the maternity ward. Minutes later I am sprinting past the same shocked client, my arms full of surgical drapes, a deliver pack, heaps of gauze and sterile gloves. I barely make it into the room in time to open the delivery pack as Mathena is delivering the baby. I take the baby in one of the surgical drapes , dry it off, do a quick assessment, wrap it up and head out to take it down to the maternity ward which has an infant warmer. So ten minutes after I last came sprinting past the eager audience, I emerge once more from the room, this time with a baby in my arms; an excited whisper goes through the crowd, of which I catch the word "mtoto" or baby. The baby and mother did very well and by the end of it, she even thanked us all for doing such a good job.

With that excitement out of the way we took out tea and my mum came round to take pictures. I brought chocolates for the staff as a thank you gift which were a huge hit. At first I set them out and nobody wanted to take them, then once they had tried them, all the nurses were scrambling to take three or four. They also all wanted to "book" the container that the ferrero roches came on (those little plastic boxes with the lid) as they thought they were "very smart" containers. The picture above is all the staff that were there on Friday; it took me about twenty minutes to round them all up, and for all that work, still most of them aren't smiling. Grace, my host mum, is sitting in the front, third from left. The other white lady is Barbette, another volunteer who was here for the last two weeks.

The long rains finally started in the evening and the rain pelting on the tin roof created quite a racket at home. But that didn't stop us from dancing up a storm in the kitchen - I had Grace and Bobo involved in a mid-dinner-cooking dance party extraordinary, with Footloose blasting. Bobo thought the whole thing was pretty hilarious, and Grace thought dancing was very good exercise. The evening also consisted of a good tick burning on the porch (we picked them off the cat) and a discussion about what insults kids use in Kenya to tease eachother. Moshela (from Sidai orpahange) had told us that when he was a child, the kids used to call him a "pregnant mosquito" and that made him cry. Bobo said the kids in her class go better, the reigning insult is to be told "you're married to a black, uncircumcised, pregnant mosquito". Ouch!

The evening finished with nyama choma for dinner: a special treat from Grace and Stanley for my last night. It was honestly the biggest rack of goat ribs I have ever seen! The meal was quite the feast with the nyama choma being complimented by salad and cabbages, chapati and soup that mum made. Honestly, Grace and Stanley have been so welcoming and such wonderful host parents; in a hundred ways they have really made my experience here in Kenya.

Today mum and I spent the morning playing in the field with the older kids from Sidai. Mum had brought skipping ropes, a frisbee, hackie-sacks and skip-its; all of which were a huge hit with the kids who had never seen such toys before. The girls especially figured out the skipping ropes right away. Of course the biggest hit was when I showed the kids how I can pull my finger off! You could see all their little minds working away: how does she do it? This little play time was of course how I ended up with a sprained ankle, but it was so worth it. When we went to leave the kids sang me a beautiful little song "goodbye Kelsey, goodbye"; it was adorable.

I can't believe my two months are over! Did I say that already? I am so excited to go on safari and see new countries and new people, but at the same time I'm sad to be leaving. I have told a bunch of people that I thought my path would lead me back to Kenya eventually, and I hope that truly it will.

Sidai Outreach Day

Mama Kelsey is working at an orphanage called Sidai; it is located in the Mathare slum in Ngong. There are 25 children who live at the orphanage but there are up to 100 that take meals there, come for classes or generally hang about. Yesterday myself and two other volunteer nurses spent the afternoon at Sidai doing health assessments on the kids; Grace called it our "outreach day".

The whole idea was actually my mum's, she wondered if the kids should be checked for lice and other health ailments. From there we planned the afternoon and ended up getting the hospital to supply us with some supplements and equipment and such. The orphanage staff were really keen and thought it was a great idea. They were there the whole time helping us keep the kids under control and filling us in on whatever health history they knew for the children.

Casey and Barbette were my partners in crime; they are both nurses from the US who arrived to volunteer at the same time as my mum. After working for the morning at the hospital we packed up out things and headed down to the slum. Sidai itself is located in two small aluminum shacks, with dirt floors and no electricity. The larger room has a couch and desks for the children to take lessons at. We entered and began setting up under 15 pairs of watchful eyes. The children were all very excited to see what we were doing (and when they found out they would get a cookie at the end, they were even more thrilled).

So the children lined up and passed by each of us in turn. Barbette gave them Vitamin A supplements and Albuzol to treat intestinal parasites (Grace tells me they should be treated every three months regardless of a diagnosis, but this often doesn't happen). I'm pretty sure the tablets (which have to be chewed) don't taste good but the kids loved them; they just wanted to suck on them despite all our efforts to get them to chew.

Next they came to me and I did a quick little health assessment - listened to their lungs, felt their bellies, checked for lice, jaundice, rashes and scratches etc. Many of them looked completely perplexed by my stethoscope and watched me with great interest. They loved the part where I looked through their hair and got them to stick out their tongue. Of course there were a few who looked shy or didn't want to look anywhere but the ground... and the odd one that was downright frightened of the scary white girl.

Finally they finished up by seeing Casey and having their height and weight taken. Then of course the promised cookie - cheap cookies from Nakumatt could never bring such delight to children in Canada as they seemed to here! There were even a few kids who tried to sneak back in the line and go again, I think they liked the attention as much as the cookie!

We saw 64 children in total and overall I was surprised that most of the kids were in pretty good health. I expected to hear more rattly chests or even wheezes (the classrooms are very smoky and I can't understand how more of the kids don't have asthma), but heard nothing but clear breath sounds. I found no head lice (but mum gave them some Nix anyway and we explained how and when to use it). There were a few kids with scratches and cuts that we put some polysporin on. I did notice that many of them seemed pale and I wonder about their iron levels - the biggest source of iron in the diet here is from green leafy vegetables, which these kids don't get. I'm going to have to look into this.

I noticed two children who I highly suspect of having Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, which wouldn't be uncommon given the population the children are coming from. However when my mum described it to the teachers later, they had never even heard of it (even Grace, a nutritionist, had never heard of it). The teachers though felt it explained a lot about these children when we said FAS can make learning very difficult for the children. Even though these kids will never get the kind of education resources that might be available to them in Canada, the teachers seemed very conscientious and I think this knowledge may help them to have more understanding and maybe more patience with these little ones.

Finally HIV; I knew it would come up. There are two little boys who the staff know are HIV +, but both looked remarkably healthy (other than being thin and small for their age). The one little boy was especially cute and playful with me and mum says he is very bright. His mother is refusing all Western medicine for him as she believes Masaai medicine is better. I'm not quite sure but it sounds like the staff may have been taking him to the hospital for treatment at some point without her knowing. For now he is happy and active. Then there was one boy who, even from across the room, I could tell that he was sick. When he finally came up to me, very shy but very polite, I could see all the signs of full blown AIDS. The staff said his mother takes him to the AIDS clinic at Kenyatta hospital but hasn't been going lately (they're not entirely sure why but finances could be the issue, although treatment is free, the matatu fare to get there could easily be 100/= which the mother can't afford). I am pretty sure the boy can be treated in Ngong Hospital, which, being a government hospital, will provide all care as well as medications free of charge. We are working out the details so we can hopefully get him seen pretty soon and started on some treatment.

Overall the health day went really well - the children were thoroughly entertained by it all, the staff were very appreciate and we all left feeling like we had accomplished something. The orphanage is hot and sweaty and cramped and dark but I didn't mind - in fact I felt no nostalgia at all for my air conditioned, pristinely sanitized Western hospitals.

A Day in the Life

"Never have a picture of a well adjusted African on the cover of your book. An AK-47, prominent ribs, naked breasts: use these. Ordinary domestic scenes, love between Africans, references to African writers or intellectuals, mention of school-going children who are not suffering from yaws or Ebola: these are all taboo subjects."
Binyavanga Wainaina (Kenyan Author)

The above is an obviously scathing appraisal of how Africa has been written about by Westerners for decades. I don't want to add to the deluge of cliche, overly simplifies, stereotype-laden writings; I hope I have not thus far. I know I have often pointed out the differences between Canada and Kenya, perhaps I should spend some time looking for more similarities. So here, is my account of my day - nothing exciting or extraordinary, just an average day with a cast of characters going about their daily lives.

I wake up early, about 6:16am to the sounds of Stanley, my host father, bathing in the bathroom next to my room. Stanley will be off to work at the Nairobi court house long before I manage to drag myself out of bed. Outside I can hear other sounds of the night, crickets and roosters, and in the distance the cars and trucks rumbling along the highway.

When I finally stumble out of be, I get some water from the outside tank and put it on the stove to heat up so I can take a shower. We bathe with a basin of water and a bucket to pour it over yourself. I used to fall over all the time and get soap in my eyes, but I'm getting pretty good at it not - and bucket showering is a huge water saver!

After our morning rituals we are off to work. We technically start work at 8:00am but we rarely leave the house before 8:30am. It doesn't seem to be a big deal, most of the clinics at the hospital don't open till 9:00 anyways. We spend the first half an hour preparing for the clinics, cleaning and filling the vaccine containers, packaging medications etc... with plenty of gossip to keep the tasks interesting. Of course I don't understand most of the gossip because it is in Swahili, but every so often someone feels inclined to fill me in on the latest news.

I work mostly downstairs with Halima in the pre-natal and family planning clinics. She cracks me up with jokes and is always thrilled by my attempts at Swahili (which usually makes the patients giggle also). Halima is Somali by tribe and she likes to fill me in on the differences between Somalis and Kenyans, she is also my wealth of knowledge on all things Muslim in Kenya. She says she wants to go back to school one day and become a certified midwife. She loves working in the pre-natal and labour and delivery areas. She has four kids and a husband and says one day she will visit me in Canada. She is astounded by the fact that I tell her she could wear her head scarf in Canada and nobody would look twice at her on the street. She also loves my lip balm and thinks all Canadians are obsessed with cosmetics.

My host mother Grace, works upstairs as the head nutritionist, which means she plans all dietary needs for inpatients as well as counsels people on nutrition on an outpatient basis. Many of her clients need special nutritional counseling for disease conditions such as HIV, TB and diabetes. She is also a trained HIV/AIDS counselor and often works in the VCT center. She has her bachelors degree in nutrition and is going back to school in the fall to take a Masters in HIV/AIDS community education. It is quite obvious to me that she is really a pillar of the community; as we walk down the street she greats almost every second person we meet; she is well connected to community agencies especially related to health and HIV/AIDS; she knows all the neighbors and is constantly visiting someone who has a sick relative or a new baby; and she is active in her church. All last week she wasn't at the hospital because she was teaching an HIV/AIDS home based care course which will equip 20 lay people to become community health workers for People Living With HIV/AIDS. I went for a morning to her class; she is a very good teacher, very engaging. She is really quite an amazing person.

After work, as everyone is returning home, Grace and I sit on the porch "basking" in the gentle evening sun. Grace is washing laundry and I am sifting through the lentils. Victoria comes to bring us milk, she is the house girl for a family down the road. She used to blush whenever I said hello to her, but since I introduced myself she usually comes into the yard practically singing my name and she looks delighted when I great her with "habari?"

Grace tells Victoria to send the children over to say hello. Bobo and David come over, with Bobo's friend. David is 13 and just started Form 1 (Grade 9) at boarding school in Nairobi, but he is home for half-term break. Bobo is 9 so still in day school here in Ngong. David speaks politely with Grace about school and friends, while Bobo and her friend play a game that involves pinching each other. Then they start singing a song that starts with "Glory Hallelujah, the teacher hit me with a ruler" then a line in Swahili, then who knows because they are both doubled over giggling hysterically. Grace shakes her head and gives me a knowing smile, I laugh with the girls. The children scamper home and now that it is too dark to continue sorting outside, Grace and I head in to start dinner. I make chai (which I have become expert at, as Stanley says). Other than that Grace only delegates limited tasks like chopping vegetable to me as I have previously demonstrated my complete lack of domestic skills. Grace however whips up a delicious meal almost effortlessly (I feel pretty spoiled compared to all the other volunteers who have had not so lovely encounters with Kenyan cuisine, it's pretty sweet to live with a nutritionist).

While eating dinner we watch the Kenyan news and catch up on all the day's events. Lately they have mostly centered around the political crisis, but now that things are calming down, there are a few more varied stories. The other day there was a story about how an elephant was terrorizing the residents of a small town in central province. The KWS (Kenya Wildlife Service) came out and shot the elephant and the townsfolk all came out to hack up the body and take it home to eat. There was a clip of one guy, grinning from ear to ear, carting off a massive leg, saying "the government should come out here more often and kill things for us".

So that is my average day and some of the people I have come to know. I actually wrote this over a week ago but haven't had the time/dedication to get to the internet and post it. Hence many things have changed; now that my mum is here she is totally interrupting my schedule :) We have been up to all sorts of little adventures with more in the works. I'm going to have to get better at coming to the internet cafe again... I have been lagging for a little while. Today is T- 1 week to my departure from Ngong - I can't believe I have been here almost two months already. I am looking forward to doing some traveling, and especially to seeing some elephants, but I don't know if I will feel like I'm quite ready to leave Ngong and the hospital yet.

Just a time filler...

After walking past the neighbors chickens for about the millionth time, I have finally realized that the genius of the joke, "why did the chicken cross the road?" likes in the fact that they really do just cross it to get to the other side. Seriously, as I approach all six of the chickens, looking wild with delight or fear, flap frantically across the road. Then as I walk past two of them, looking dejected or relieved, saunter casually back to the original side. On my next pass, the three on one side are reversing with the three on the other side, all of them looking like they're just meeting eachother for the first time. Next pass, one is looking perfectly happy pecking along her side of the road, then for no reason she darts, wide eyed and crazy looking to the other side. There is really no method to their madness... they cross the road, just to get to the other side.

We have chickens too at my house, but ours stay in their coop, they don't get to wander about willy-nilly, crossing roads. One had chicks the other day and I found one of them, escaped from the coop, running frantically around on the lawn with the cat in hot pursuit. I picked the little guy up and put him in a box until my family came home, because I wasn't sure which side of the coop he belonged in. They were so thankful and relieved that I had "saved his life", they couldn't stop commenting on how lucky it was that I came home in time to save the chick. I really didn't think it was that big of a deal, but I guess it was. I guess each little chick is valuable.

Sorry this was so random today... I'm having a bad day. I really just want to sit and not be noticed or looked at or pointed at or shouted at and the only place I can really do that is at the internet cafe. So here I sit, wasting shillings writing about chickens to a bunch of people in Canada who are going to be wondering, what happened? Where are the clever tales of cross-cultural misunderstandings? Where are the intriguing stories of the life of a hospital volunteer? Where did all the insight and crafty writings go? What is this obsession with chickens?

Oh well.