week 3- June 19, 2006
Football games (soccer games) are quickly becoming some of my favorite events here in Lwala. The Lwala team consists of about 20 guys from the village who are about as lean and athletic as anyone I've ever seen… and incredibly skilled at soccer. I've started to practice/ train with the team (run with them, kick the ball around, etc.) but haven't yet graduated to real games. That said, I'm the team's biggest fan and try to make it to every one of their matches. About 15 minutes into every football game, no matter where we are, I look around and see dozens of children sitting in a circle around me... staring at me, waving and a few (the brave) come up to slap my hand and braid my hair. The other day i was at a football game, watching Fred and Omondi (Omondi was the ref b/c he tore his meniscus recently-isn't having surgery b/c it's expensive and slightly dangerous here in Kenya) and I was admiring all the kids sitting in front of me. There was this one shy little boy who was directly to my right, probably 6 years old, and when he turned around to smile/ look at me I saw this shirt he was wearing. It was white with a picture of an American on the front and had the sentence "I SURVIVED GABRIEL'S BAR MITZVAH" in bold letters. It's amazing what kinds of apparel make it over to this country.
Anyway, I'm rounding my third week in Kenya and it has certainly been a busy one. We finished the health surveys last week, and are now in the process of analyzing and reviewing the data we collected (that means entering the responses into a laptop computer while sitting outside in the hot sunshine, having children hang all over us and fall into our laps while we try to go through the responses of 210 women... needless to say it's going to take a while). I still can't wrap my mind around all the images and people I was able to see during the survey... it's difficult to try to convey in words how powerful the experience was for me- I am forever affected by moments such as holding little African babies who hadn't received any of their immunizations, seeing a 2 month old (in pain) with something that looked like measles all over her small body, talking to countless women who gave birth by themselves, having many mothers nurse their babies in front of me (such an intimate experience, one that made me feel as if they trusted me), and being offered food and gifts by women who couldn't even feed their own children. There are so many AIDS orphans here. so many. In fact I live with six of them (Fred, Omondi, Flo, Grace, Sarah and Dada… sarah and dada are cousins who now live with Fred’s family b/c they have no where else to go). I've seen so many children with what I now recognize as kwashiorkor, characterized by bloated bellies on tiny bodies and hair that is slightly orange. It's a result of a protein deficiency... kids not getting enough nourishment. The last two days of the survey I met a mother whose husband died of AIDS five years ago. She has five children, is 20 years old and is most likely also infected. When we entered her hut for the interview, I was immediately taken aback by the lack of furniture in the one-roomed shelter. Rays of sunlight shown through the holes in the thatched roof and the dirt floor was eroded in places where rain had hit during strong thunderstorms. She told us she had to sell her furniture to feed her family... and apologized that we had to sit on the floor- never mind that she sleeps there every night with all her kids and only a single blanket. I wanted to cry for her... and still do. I left vitamins for the kids (Flinstones vitamins that i brought for myself and handed out during the survey- they taste like candy so the kids love them). The saddest part is that her story is not abnormal... this kind of thing happens all the time. The hardest thing in the world is to walk away from a hut such as that one, hearing these happy-sounding, vibrant-appearing children (who are essentially starving) giggle and say 'thank you! thank you! bye-bye!'
Now that the survey is done, we have more free time on our hands to do things like read under banyan trees, play soccer with the kids of the homestead, walk down to the riana (river), hang out and drink Nyoyo (Lwalan equivalent of a smoothie but made of flower, sugar, and other grains) with Fred's Granny (she’s great, tons of character), learn how to cook Lwalan food every night, learn the songs the kids sing here, and other simple tasks like... build an African hut. A few days ago the entire community came to our homestead to help build Fred's hut (a right of passage here in Lwala). I spent about 6 hours building a house out of mud (mud that is supported by a wooden frame) and am so sore right now that I can't really move without wincing- of course everyone else is perfectly fine and laughs at me every time I attempt to sit down. The house has a tin roof (to collect rain), three rooms and three windows. It's very sturdy and is so nice and cool on the inside since the mud is still drying. Building the house was more of a celebration than actual work- I'm learning that even though people of Lwala are some of the hardest workers ever, they don't really "work" (in the stressful, boring sense of the word), they find joy and humor in almost everything and don't take life too seriously. No one is ever too busy to enjoy the company and laughter of others. The men and women of the village definitely got in mud fights during the construction of the hut and I came out of there COVERED in dirt. They thought it was so funny to get the little white girl nice and muddy- Fred later told me that covering someone in dirt is actually a blessing. The more mud the better. So I'm officially very blessed, I guess. After the house was finished, the women danced and sang/chanted while we all sat under the shade of a huge tree... it was such an accomplishment and Fred is so happy to have his own place.
The reality of not having a doctor or qualified nurse really set in the other night around 10 pm when a man of Lwala came to our homestead begging for help- his son had overdosed on some medication prescribed by a nurse to treat a stomach parasite (doxycycline and metraniozole… i think that's what they're called). Currently, there are two guys staying at the Ochieng's (Joel and Griff) who are traveling around Africa working on various projects. Griff has worked with Paul Farmer's organization, Partners in Health, and Joel is a second year MD/MPH student. Joel is the most medically educated person here in Lwala right now... so Fred, Joel and I put on our headlamps and walked/ran 10 minutes to see what we could do about this unconscious man. Walking into the hut where the man had overdosed, my heart was pounding a mile a minute and I was so scared- I thought I was going to see somebody die that night. We entered the dimly lit hut, which was full of worried looking family all surrounding this 26 year old, athletically-built man. There was reggae music playing in the background from a battery-powered radio- it was so eerie because of how out of place it was for the current situation. The man (Omdo) was passed out in a chair shirtless, head back, eyes closed, with drool running down his body. He was breathing very slowly and there were open pill packets on the table next to a single kerosene lamp. I got really quiet and reached over to the woman standing next to me (his mom) and grabbed her hand. Joel checked his pulse, breathing, reflexes, shined a light in his eyes to watch his pupils and other things, while Fred translated what happened as told by Omdo's wife. At one point I bent down to Omdo and remained there, carefully watching his breathing. Drool was pooling at his stomach. There was such tension and fear in the room- really, there was nothing we could do for this man. None of us are medically qualified. And the nearest doctor (about 2 hours away) wouldn't be open until the morning. I really did think that Omdo was going to die. After hearing the full story Joel decided that the only thing we could really do was place the man in a position so that if Omdo did vomit, he wouldn't aspirate any of the throw-up. Lifting the unconscious man and seeing his limp, heavy body flop around made one of the women wail. I couldn't believe we couldn't get him to a doctor. They were literally waiting to see if he would die, praying that he would recover. I called my mom and dad for advice- having a doctor and nurse thousands and thousands of miles away is better than nothing. The only thing mom could do over the phone was tell us about the drugs... so that was it. We just had to wait. It was unbelievable. This man had zero options when it came to health care. Joel would later articulate how unreal and stressful it feels to be considered the current 'doctor' of the village. We need to open this clinic that we're working on and soon. Omdo ended up being okay. After a sleepless night for his family (and me), he regained consciousness the next morning. Fred and Joel are planning to go check on him soon, just to make sure everything is okay.
We're currently in town (we walked 5.5 miles to get here) buying food, beds, water and other things for an upcoming visit by a pretty well known Christian band called "Jars of Clay.” They're visiting the 14th-17th and the entire village is preparing for them to come... it's going to be three days of singing, dancing, drums, food, celebration and discussion about HIV/AIDS. They're going to donate money to build a well in the village and you wouldn't believe the itinerary Fred has made for them... these people are going to fall in love with Lwala (just like we all do) and in a very short amount of time.
So that's it for now! I wanted to give a shout out to my little bro Taylor (who just graduated from Colorado Academy and gave, from what I hear, the most stellar graduation speech ever) and say happy birthday to my big brother and sister! Laurie, one more month to go with the pregnancy, I can't wait to see the newest little addition to our family.
Take care and oriti!
Love,
Abbie
Anyway, I'm rounding my third week in Kenya and it has certainly been a busy one. We finished the health surveys last week, and are now in the process of analyzing and reviewing the data we collected (that means entering the responses into a laptop computer while sitting outside in the hot sunshine, having children hang all over us and fall into our laps while we try to go through the responses of 210 women... needless to say it's going to take a while). I still can't wrap my mind around all the images and people I was able to see during the survey... it's difficult to try to convey in words how powerful the experience was for me- I am forever affected by moments such as holding little African babies who hadn't received any of their immunizations, seeing a 2 month old (in pain) with something that looked like measles all over her small body, talking to countless women who gave birth by themselves, having many mothers nurse their babies in front of me (such an intimate experience, one that made me feel as if they trusted me), and being offered food and gifts by women who couldn't even feed their own children. There are so many AIDS orphans here. so many. In fact I live with six of them (Fred, Omondi, Flo, Grace, Sarah and Dada… sarah and dada are cousins who now live with Fred’s family b/c they have no where else to go). I've seen so many children with what I now recognize as kwashiorkor, characterized by bloated bellies on tiny bodies and hair that is slightly orange. It's a result of a protein deficiency... kids not getting enough nourishment. The last two days of the survey I met a mother whose husband died of AIDS five years ago. She has five children, is 20 years old and is most likely also infected. When we entered her hut for the interview, I was immediately taken aback by the lack of furniture in the one-roomed shelter. Rays of sunlight shown through the holes in the thatched roof and the dirt floor was eroded in places where rain had hit during strong thunderstorms. She told us she had to sell her furniture to feed her family... and apologized that we had to sit on the floor- never mind that she sleeps there every night with all her kids and only a single blanket. I wanted to cry for her... and still do. I left vitamins for the kids (Flinstones vitamins that i brought for myself and handed out during the survey- they taste like candy so the kids love them). The saddest part is that her story is not abnormal... this kind of thing happens all the time. The hardest thing in the world is to walk away from a hut such as that one, hearing these happy-sounding, vibrant-appearing children (who are essentially starving) giggle and say 'thank you! thank you! bye-bye!'
Now that the survey is done, we have more free time on our hands to do things like read under banyan trees, play soccer with the kids of the homestead, walk down to the riana (river), hang out and drink Nyoyo (Lwalan equivalent of a smoothie but made of flower, sugar, and other grains) with Fred's Granny (she’s great, tons of character), learn how to cook Lwalan food every night, learn the songs the kids sing here, and other simple tasks like... build an African hut. A few days ago the entire community came to our homestead to help build Fred's hut (a right of passage here in Lwala). I spent about 6 hours building a house out of mud (mud that is supported by a wooden frame) and am so sore right now that I can't really move without wincing- of course everyone else is perfectly fine and laughs at me every time I attempt to sit down. The house has a tin roof (to collect rain), three rooms and three windows. It's very sturdy and is so nice and cool on the inside since the mud is still drying. Building the house was more of a celebration than actual work- I'm learning that even though people of Lwala are some of the hardest workers ever, they don't really "work" (in the stressful, boring sense of the word), they find joy and humor in almost everything and don't take life too seriously. No one is ever too busy to enjoy the company and laughter of others. The men and women of the village definitely got in mud fights during the construction of the hut and I came out of there COVERED in dirt. They thought it was so funny to get the little white girl nice and muddy- Fred later told me that covering someone in dirt is actually a blessing. The more mud the better. So I'm officially very blessed, I guess. After the house was finished, the women danced and sang/chanted while we all sat under the shade of a huge tree... it was such an accomplishment and Fred is so happy to have his own place.
The reality of not having a doctor or qualified nurse really set in the other night around 10 pm when a man of Lwala came to our homestead begging for help- his son had overdosed on some medication prescribed by a nurse to treat a stomach parasite (doxycycline and metraniozole… i think that's what they're called). Currently, there are two guys staying at the Ochieng's (Joel and Griff) who are traveling around Africa working on various projects. Griff has worked with Paul Farmer's organization, Partners in Health, and Joel is a second year MD/MPH student. Joel is the most medically educated person here in Lwala right now... so Fred, Joel and I put on our headlamps and walked/ran 10 minutes to see what we could do about this unconscious man. Walking into the hut where the man had overdosed, my heart was pounding a mile a minute and I was so scared- I thought I was going to see somebody die that night. We entered the dimly lit hut, which was full of worried looking family all surrounding this 26 year old, athletically-built man. There was reggae music playing in the background from a battery-powered radio- it was so eerie because of how out of place it was for the current situation. The man (Omdo) was passed out in a chair shirtless, head back, eyes closed, with drool running down his body. He was breathing very slowly and there were open pill packets on the table next to a single kerosene lamp. I got really quiet and reached over to the woman standing next to me (his mom) and grabbed her hand. Joel checked his pulse, breathing, reflexes, shined a light in his eyes to watch his pupils and other things, while Fred translated what happened as told by Omdo's wife. At one point I bent down to Omdo and remained there, carefully watching his breathing. Drool was pooling at his stomach. There was such tension and fear in the room- really, there was nothing we could do for this man. None of us are medically qualified. And the nearest doctor (about 2 hours away) wouldn't be open until the morning. I really did think that Omdo was going to die. After hearing the full story Joel decided that the only thing we could really do was place the man in a position so that if Omdo did vomit, he wouldn't aspirate any of the throw-up. Lifting the unconscious man and seeing his limp, heavy body flop around made one of the women wail. I couldn't believe we couldn't get him to a doctor. They were literally waiting to see if he would die, praying that he would recover. I called my mom and dad for advice- having a doctor and nurse thousands and thousands of miles away is better than nothing. The only thing mom could do over the phone was tell us about the drugs... so that was it. We just had to wait. It was unbelievable. This man had zero options when it came to health care. Joel would later articulate how unreal and stressful it feels to be considered the current 'doctor' of the village. We need to open this clinic that we're working on and soon. Omdo ended up being okay. After a sleepless night for his family (and me), he regained consciousness the next morning. Fred and Joel are planning to go check on him soon, just to make sure everything is okay.
We're currently in town (we walked 5.5 miles to get here) buying food, beds, water and other things for an upcoming visit by a pretty well known Christian band called "Jars of Clay.” They're visiting the 14th-17th and the entire village is preparing for them to come... it's going to be three days of singing, dancing, drums, food, celebration and discussion about HIV/AIDS. They're going to donate money to build a well in the village and you wouldn't believe the itinerary Fred has made for them... these people are going to fall in love with Lwala (just like we all do) and in a very short amount of time.
So that's it for now! I wanted to give a shout out to my little bro Taylor (who just graduated from Colorado Academy and gave, from what I hear, the most stellar graduation speech ever) and say happy birthday to my big brother and sister! Laurie, one more month to go with the pregnancy, I can't wait to see the newest little addition to our family.
Take care and oriti!
Love,
Abbie
posted by abbie at 11:31 AM
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