Lwala Diaries

Report on 2007 OACS Service Trip to Lwala Kenya

2007-08-01T08:00:00.000-07:00

From June 25th- July 19th, I had the privilege of accompanying four Vanderbilt undergraduates to Lwala, Kenya. From day one, Kat, Natalie, Dani and Ben blended seamlessly into the rural, African village life that Lwala encompasses (except, of course, for the occasional mosquito bite annoyances). The first night I remember watching Kat play peek-a-boo with a little girl in the kitchen hut while the girls’ mother cooked dinner over an open fire, and thought, “We’re going to have an amazing month.”

Aside from integrating ourselves culturally into Lwala (think fetching water in buckets from the well, walking miles every day, doing laundry outside by hand, living in mud huts, and eating things like chicken feet and fish eyes), we accomplished four main projects in the village: we facilitated the building of a protected spring, raised money for malaria-preventing bed nets to be sold (at a minimal price) in the clinic, started pen pal programs at the Lwala Primary School for sixth and seventh graders, and continued working with the Nyarego Women’s Group microfinance enterprise.

I was both moved and inspired by the students’ energy, drive and passion to complete our service projects. I’ve included descriptions of each service project, and some general advice for next year’s Lwala group. If you’d like to read more stories from our adventures, please go to www.lwaladiaries.blogspot.com.

Water Protection Project

Ben Murphy, a Vandy engineering student who graduated in May 2007, was the driving force behind this project.

Currently in Lwala there is no running water, which makes finding potable drinking sources very difficult. Villagers drink rainwater when available, and use dirty well or spring water for laundry, cooking and bathing. During the dry season, villagers must boil their water to drink, a time-consuming and lengthy process (when you not only have to build a fire, but you also have to chop the wood). Often times, both children and adults can be seen drinking out of non-potable springs and wells. Drinking of water contaminated by human or animal feces, which contains pathogenic microorganisms, causes water borne diseases, a serious health risk to the village.

Before arriving to Lwala, Ben fundraised and collected water-testing supplies, so we could test water sources for bacteria and microorganisms once in Lwala. Ben tested various springs and wells around Lwala, finding that most were contaminated.

We also collaborated with local leaders in the village to determine whether a protected spring would be beneficial to the community. A soko (“spring” in Dholuo) about five minutes from the Ochieng’ homestead was found to be perfect for such a project. In addition to discussing the project with the Village Chief and getting permission from the owner of the land where the spring was located, we asked community leaders their opinion of the project (which they wholeheartedly endorsed), and worked with a Ministry of Water consultant, who ultimately saw the project through.

before picture of the spring...

spring before we protected it

the stagnant water was a breeding ground for bacteria and pathogens.

The construction of the protected spring was a village effort. Women hauled rocks to the spring that would act as a sediment filter and men dug trenches and wheel-barrowed mud away from the site. The Vanderbilt group participated in the construction efforts as well, but the majority (if not all) the work should be credited to the men and women of Lwala.

On July 13th, we had the grand opening of the new spring. The water now constantly flows through two pipes into a concrete trench. The turbidity (amount of particles suspended in the water) is significantly decreased. The water appears clear and clean, whereas before the water was murky and at a standstill (it was a breeding ground for pathogens and bacteria). The workers built a barbed-wire fence around the spring to decrease the number of cattle in the area, which ultimately protects the spring from further contamination.

The group in front of the new spring.

On July 14th, a day after the spring was opened, we did our laundry in the newly clear water. We were not alone. Many, many people had already begun to use the new spring. It was great- each person who filled up a bucket of clear water looked at us and said a big, “erokomano,” which means “thank you” in dholuo. We hope that this new spring will bring clean, running water to Lwala for years to come.

opening day of the new spring

clear water!

new flowing, clean water

Malaria Bed Net Distribution

(Daniela Buscariollo, past president for Vanderbilt group “Students for Kenya” and current first year medical student at Vanderbilt, headed up this project).

Malaria is a serious problem in Lwala. In the clinic, it is the most common ailment with hundreds of patients diagnosed every week. If not treated, malaria can be fatal. Prevention of malaria is key, since the parasite is spread via mosquito bites. Using bed nets at night to protect against mosquito bites is a highly effective preventative measure, but because of limited availability and high cost, most families in Lwala do not own a bed net.

While in the US, Daniela fundraised for the project. Once in Lwala, we consulted Lwala Clinic Manager, Omondi Ochieng’ about the best way to distribute the bed nets. We hoped that this project would be self-sustainable, so that the clinic could continue to distribute bed nets in the future. Omondi suggested that we follow the government’s suggestions for dispensing bed nets to assure consistency and reliability when it came to pricing. The government sells bed nets for 50 Kenya shillings, the equivalent of about 75 cents. Omondi told us that this amount would be affordable for villagers. We donated the fundraised money to the clinic, specified that the money should go toward purchasing bed nets, and coordinated with the clinic nurse, Rose, and the clinical manager to begin selling nets as soon as possible.

Now, thanks to Vanderbilt’s efforts, the Lwala Clinic now has the funding and coordination to sell bed nets to patients at an affordable price.

Kat and Joy under a bed net

Pen Pal Program at Lwala Primary School

The Vanderbilt group did a lot of volunteering at the Lwala Primary School during our month in Kenya. Natalie taught 8th grade math, Kat taught English, and Dani and Ben taught science. Someone from the Vanderbilt group was working in the school every day, and we became good friends with both the Headmistress and teachers in the school.

Toward the end of our month-stay, we decided to continue the pen pal program that I started in summer 2006. Connecting students from the US and Lwala is a great way to promote education and understanding- plus, the kids love it and were so excited to receive their own pen pal.

seventh grade class that wrote pen pal letters

The Lwala kids happily wrote their letters, we took pictures of each class, and brought the letters back with us to the States. Both Daniela and I will give presentations at the schools in the US that will receive the letters. We’re looking forward to connecting kids from Denver and St. Louis to children in Lwala.

sixth graders writing their letters

Women’s Group Baskets

The Nyarego Women’s Group of Lwala, Kenya is a community-started group composed of about 30 women in a region of Kenya where HIV rates for women are 40%, and where women’s rights and education are often ignored.

All of the women in the Nyarego Group rely on subsistence farming for survival, which means that families only farm enough to eat: they don’t generate an income. The resulting poverty means it is very difficult for a family to send their children to school or to pay for healthcare.

In summer 2006, I spent time with the Nyarego Women’s Group in Lwala and noticed how beautifully crafted the women’s hand-made, colorful baskets were. Caitlin Reiner (another student in Lwala at the time) and I brought ten baskets back to the US to sell, and over $400 was generated for the Nyarego Women’s Group.

The Vanderbilt crew with the Nyarego Women's Group and the baskets.

With the money, the Women’s Group decided to construct a chicken house to raise and sell both chickens and eggs. This would generate a sustainable profit for the women of the group, empower the women to provide for their families, and increase the amount of protein in Lwala (which is important for malnourished individuals).
However, the chicken house is not yet finished. The women still need to build doors, finish painting, and purchase both chickens and chicken feed.

This year in Lwala, the females from the Vanderbilt team (Daniela, Natalie, Kat and I) met with the Women’s Group often. We danced and sang with the women (one of my favorite memories of Lwala), and figured out a way to sell more baskets so they can finish their chicken house. We discussed business with the women, and they decided to meet with an agricultural consultant who will advise them in their chicken house enterprise.

We brought back 30 baskets to sell in the US. All of the proceeds (we’re projecting around $1,200) will be sent to the women’s group account in Lwala. The hope is that eventually, we will connect the women with a buyer in the US (and find a way to ship the baskets from Kenya) so the selling of baskets will be less dependent on American students and more self-sustainable. If everything goes well with the chicken house, the selling of chickens and eggs should be self-sustainable within the year.

me with Yuca, the leader of the Women's Group.

Initial Suggestions for next year…
1. Limit group size to three undergraduates.
2. Any US bills brought into Kenya should be year 2000 or higher (they don’t accept earlier bills).
3. Participate actively in chores. We would wake up at 6:30 most mornings, do the dishes, clean the main house, fetch water for the day, etc. Helping out with the chores is an important and necessary part of living in Lwala.
4. Bring a wind-up flashlight.
5. Buy a converter and a transformer so you can charge camera batteries in the clinic!
6. Contact the Kenyan organization “I Choose Life,” an HIV/AIDS peer mentoring program, and bring them into Lwala. Participate in their activities and learn from them (they know what they’re doing!).
7. Definitely go on a safari at the end of the trip, but arrange payment beforehand.

Vanderbilt group in front of thousands of flamingos at Lake Nakuru

All in all, this trip was highly successful. The students gained invaluable international experience living and working in a rural, African village. We debated and discussed international development issues on a regular basis. We made friendships that will forever change us. We met the face of HIV/AIDS and were immersed in the social, cultural and health consequences of the disease. We were challenged to live without electricity, running water, a refrigerator and other daily conveniences we often take for granted in the US. We laughed and sang and danced and cried and played the African drums with villagers, and fell in love with several families. We walked 10 miles to use the internet once a week, took public transportation (which was often crowded and uncomfortable), and we built some serious arm muscles hoisting huge buckets of water on our head every day. I’m confident that our time in Lwala changed the way the Vanderbilt students view their world, and that they’ve been inspired to continue offering their talents, resources, energy and education to serve needy communities across the globe.

**A special thanks to Omondi, Fred, Grace, and Milton Ochieng’ for allowing us to live in your beautiful home. Also, Dr. Young, we thank you for your support and guidance during the trip and wonder, are you missing chapatti as much as we are?**

Home

2007-07-23T10:42:00.000-07:00

After saying goodbyes in Lwala, a 4 day safari, and 39 hours of sitting in airplanes and airports, I’ve finally arrived home to Denver. Jet-lagged and missing Kenya, I’ve thought multiple times, “I should’ve just stayed in Lwala,” but then I fill up a glass of water using a faucet, or switch on a light to read by at night, or stand under a constant stream of hot water in the shower, and I’m reminded at how truly easy (and wonderful) life in the US is.

Our safari was incredible. We saw giraffes, elephants, a pride of lions, hippos, thousands of flamingos, a rhino, a migration of zebras and wildebeests, and monkeys galore. Our guide pointed out a cool bird called the “Secretary Bird” and asked us if we knew why it was named this. When we didn’t know, he replied in his thick Kenyan accent, “It’s called the Secretary Bird for two reasons. One, it walks like a secretary. Two, it looks like it has black leggings.” We should have known.

One of the highlights for me of the safari was when we saw a group of 10 elephants- two of which were babies- literally fifteen feet from our vehicle. One baby elephant crossed right in front of us, stopped to face us, and waved his trunk like he was saying “Hey! What’s up!” It was pretty great.

Looking back, the trip to Lwala was very successful. I’m left with amazing memories of both people and moments in Lwala- I’ll never forget the baby who came to the clinic with blistered, peeling burns over both legs, the man with late stage malaria (sweating, shaking, with a fever of 105), the pregnant women who heard their babies’ heartbeats for the first time in the clinic, the man who came to the Ochieng’ house with a bad snake bite, dancing with the women’s group, listening to the choir, playing the huge African drum, walking miles every day, and the kids at the school eagerly writing their pen pal letters.

I included some pictures of the village. If you want to see more, just click on the links below.

Thanks for the support during my travels, and if you’re interested in making a donation to the Lwala clinic, just let me know!

Ortiti,
Abbie Atoti

Album 1:
vanderbilt.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2069689&l=22d41&id=4700947

Album 2:
vanderbilt.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2069683&l=631ec&id=4700947

July 13, 2007

2007-07-23T10:09:00.000-07:00

Talking Kenyan Goats?

There are goats all over Lwala. Big goats, baby goats, pregnant goats, skinny goats (you get the idea) are everywhere chewing on grass. So a common noise to hear walking down the dirt paths is the familiar (and constant), nasal goat sound, "beeeehhhh." One evening, over a kerosene-lamp-lit dinner of sukuma and kwon (kale and millet bread), Fred tells this story of Flo, his younger sister (who sadly couldn't come to Lwala this summer… she's in nursing school in the US). Apparently, when Flo was a little girl, she'd always walk around the village saying "ber ahinya!" ("hello") even when no one was in site. People were confused at tiny little Flo who would say "hello" to air- and then one day, she went up to her mom and said, "Mom, the goats talk to me!" Her mom, probably trying to hide her amusement, said "Really, what do they say to you?" Flo said, "When I pass them on the road, they always greet me, 'Ber!' And so I say, 'Ber ahinya' back to them!" ("Ber" means something like "good day" and when goats make their "baaaaaahh" noise, it really does sound like they're saying "Ber.") So now, every time a goat goes baaaaaah when we walk past it, we all say in return, "Ber ahinya!"

It's our last Friday in Lwala. We (Dani, Ben, Natalie, Kat and I) leave for a four day safari in Masai Mara on Monday, and although we're so excited about the famous "game drives," we're all incredibly sad to leave Lwala, the clinic, our friends and of course, the chapatti.

Today, Friday July 13th, is a big day in Lwala. Not only is it Friday the 13th (a cool day in general), today we (1) had an opening ceremony for the brand-new protected well that our Vanderbilt group facilitated building, (2) started selling malaria-preventing- bed nets in the clinic that our group raised funds for, (3) met with Yucca, the chairman of the Lwala Women's Group, to discuss future plans for the chicken house the women have built with funds we raised selling their hand-made baskets in the US, (4) collected letters written by grades 6 and 7 at the Primary School for their pen pals in the US, and (5) will be swimming in the river and cooking chapatti and leso (mmm) for my 23rd birthday dinner. It's been a good day.

My time in Lwala this year has been very different from last summer, due in great part to the open clinic. Rather than trying to treat patients in the Ochieng' home (and encountering patient after patient who had really no option in healthcare), this year sick villagers have had access to a fully-functioning clinic, free medication, and excellent medical supervision.

Last summer, I went with Fred and Milton on several house calls to patients who desperately needed medical care; a woman gored by a bull, a severe case of tuberculosis, a man who overdosed, a severely malnourished baby, a women with horrible stomach pain, case after case of malaria, a baby with burns all over her body, and the list goes on. Fred and Milton would do the best they could to help the patients, but they aren't doctors yet…. and the feeling of helplessness we experienced not being able to help these people was overwhelming. Now, we can send sick villagers to the clinic- the one that Fred and Milton and so many others have worked so hard to start.

But even though the clinic is open, I still see sign of poverty and disease in the village.

Onyango, the little 5-year-old who lives next door, runs around with ringworm on his scalp; it's a fungus infection that causes loss of hair, and produces round, white patches on the skin.

There's a one-year-old baby who lives a few huts away from ours named Ouma. This sweet, quiet baby (like so many in Lwala) is so tiny… and who I expect has kwashiorkor- severe malnutrition. His little face is swollen, and his belly is inflamed, but his arms and legs are shockingly skinny… this is caused by not getting enough proteins (or food in general) in his diet.

85% of the school children (tested so far by Johanna, a med student here in Lwala doing research), have some form of worms or parasites in their intestines.

HIV/AIDS is rampant in Lwala with something like 40% of the women infected and 30% of the men. So many women in the women's group I work with here are HIV positive. About 8 of 20 of these strong, beautiful women who stand so tall and proud and graceful- and who have endured so much in their lifetimes- are infected. My friend in the women's group, I'll call her Faith, told me with sad eyes that "I won't be here to see you as a doctor in Lwala, I have HIV and will be gone by then." I try to spend as much time as I can with the women; they sing and dance and laugh and play with my hair (all while holding their babies in cloth on their backs). They've made my time here so memorable, and it breaks my heart to know that almost half are suffering with HIV.

Five children who I've grown incredibly close with during the past two summers live with their HIV positive father and his two HIV positive wives (polygamy is practiced in the Luo tribe). The youngest child breast-fed from his HIV positive mother so we're not sure if he's infected, and one of the wives is pregnant again (and HIV is passed soeasily from mother to child during birth)…

In one of the letters written by a sixth grader in Lwala (for the pen pal program we're starting), she says, "I am 11 years old. I like to run and play football (soccer). When my mother and father were living, they were very loving of me because I was [the] only girl. But they passed away a long time ago with my baby brother and now it is just my older brother and I." This was most likely due to HIV. Dani and I found this while going through the stacks and stacks of letters this morning- and were silent for a really long time after reading it… it's hard to know what to say or do when there's such tragedy in the life of a child.

So clearly, work is just getting started in Lwala. In the next few
years, the Lwala Clinic Committee will develop an extensive HIV/AIDS program, providing testing, treatment, counseling, support, and medication for HIV. The clinic is also starting a maternal-child health program, focusing on pre and postnatal care for mothers and their babies. Education is paramount in changing the health of a community, so we also hope to partner with leaders in Lwala to improve health education (prevention, caring for the sick, etc.) in the community.

It's been an incredible 3 weeks in the village- to say our time here
has flown by is an understatement. Our last few days will be spent doing one last load of laundry (hand-washing everything takes forever, by the way), hanging out with Fred, Grace, Dada, Harrison, Apiyo, Onyango, Rastus, Toby and Joy, dancing and singing with the women's group (on Saturday night… I can't wait), and learning to cook a few last meals over an open fire.

And of course, I'm excited to write about our upcoming safari (it will be my first one!).

(Oh, and Owen… happy 1st birthday, buddy! Can't wait to see you in a few days)

Matek,

Abbie

2007-07-07T01:16:00.000-07:00

“Mama Africa”

… is the name of a song we often hear while traveling in crowded matatus (mini-buses that serve as public transportation). They’re supposed to fit 14 people, but just today we squished ourselves in one that held, get this, 34 adults. I had two babies sitting on my lap, and was pressed against an elderly man wearing a tattered top-hat. Practically sitting on his lap, I apologized to the elderly man for cramping his space. He laughed and said “Don’t worry mah sweet child. Welcome to Africa.”

I’m rounding week 2 here in Kenya. I spend my mornings waking up to roosters, washing dishes outside in buckets (usually using rain water), walking to the well to fetch water (either to shower or for cooking), and drinking chai tea (with fresh ground ginger, masala, and milk from the cow outside our door). The sky opens, the hot African sun rises from the horizon, and I leave to go spend my day in the clinic, or at the Lwala primary school, or to visit friends in their mud huts with thatched roofs.

I love going on afternoon jogs around the village. I imagine it must be quite a site to see this white woman with long, red hair running down the dirt paths. Children always run up to the road to greet me (they want to shake my hand- and afterwards, run away looking at their palms to see if any of my whiteness has rubbed off like paint…hahaha).

It’s kind of hard to get very far on my run before someone stops me to chat. Not many people in Lwala jog just to jog, so there’s always confusion when people ask what I’m doing. Here’s how a typical mid-jog conversation goes (Milty and Fred, sorry for all the spelling errors- I’m still learning how to write in Dholuo):

Villager: “Ber ahinya!” (“hello!”)
Me: “Ber ahinya!” (“hello!”… trying to wave and just keep running without being rude)
Villager: “Idhi nade?” (“how are you doing?”)
Me: “Adhi ma ber” (“I’m doing well” … slowing down a little)
Villager: “Intie?” (“are you here?” … a typical greeting)
Me: “Antie!” (“I am here!” … slowing the jog)
Villager: “Idecanye?” (“where are you going?”… walking toward me, reaching out to shake my hand)
Me: (I have to stop jogging to shake hands) “Onge, ringo” (“nothing, to run” –and this is where my grammar declines rapidly)
Villager: “An’go? Idecanye?” (“what? But, where are you going?”- as in “you must be going somewhere… nobody just runs without a destination”)

And this is where I get stuck. I don’t want to try to explain in my broken Dholuo that I’m just running for exercise, and that chances are I’ll just be running in a big circle, because that will take lots of time and probably cause lots of confusion (since I sound like a 2-year-old when I speak Dholuo). So I end up just saying,

Me: “Ade dala!” (which means, “I’m going home!” I feel badly because this isn’t totally true, but it’s the only thing I can think of that I know is grammatically correct- and I’ll eventually be going home, right?)
Villager: “Eeeee (pronounced like the letter ‘a’), erokamano” (“ah, yes. Ok. Thank you.”)
Me: “erokamano ahinya. oriti!” (“thank you very much! Goodbye!”)

Repeat that exact conversation about 15 times, and that’s what my jogs are like in Lwala. It’s pretty funny.

Just yesterday I was shadowing Nurse Rose in the clinic (or “hop-si-tal” as they say in the village), and our last patient of the day walked in. The mother wore a dress of bright orange splashed with a lively pattern of green and brown mangoes. Her baby lay on his stomach, weak and skinny with tiny arms and legs. The child looked no more than a year old, and so I was shocked to hear that he was in fact, three and a half years. The mother unwrapped the child from his blanket and lay him on the examining table, face down. Excuse the graphic description, but coming from his skinny little bottom was this huge, swollen, red mass of tissue- the baby had a rectal prolapse, which means his rectum had bulged out from his thin body. Apparently this condition is a result of severe diarrhea, which is extremely grave for children because it causes serious dehydration and malnutrition (which explained his shockingly small size).

Rose said the prolapse was the largest she’d ever seen- that she wouldn’t be able to treat the child in the clinic by herself. So it was 5:00 on a Friday, and Omondi (the clinic manager) agreed to take the boy (who I’ll call “Samuel”) and his mother to the nearest private hospital (2 hours away). Bill Young (who is here working on clinic stuff), Samuel, his mother, Sam’s 9-month-old sister and I piled into Omondi’s car. Sam, who couldn’t sit or lay on his back due to the prolapse, lay his head on my lap and fell asleep, despite the bumpy ride down the rocky, dirt road.

We arrived at the hospital (nice by Kenyan standards). It was dark and POURING rain. I’m talking sheets of rain, so torrential it feels like the sky is falling down; rain so loud you can’t hear your own voice, or cars on the road, or the babies crying (no, screaming) in the injection room.

Two hours later, after several attempts to insert an IV into his hand (and lots of whimpering on his part), Samuel was sleeping soundly from some Valium. His prolapse had been fixed thanks to a kind Clinical Officer (who’d never preformed the procedure before, but managed anyway).

I felt for Samuel’s mother, who’d never been in a hospital like this in her life. Coming from Lwala, from cows and maize fields and mud walls, to this huge hospital with electricity and multiple floors and plastic everywhere- it must have been a huge culture shock. Eyes wide, looking out of place in their Lwala-style clothing, the mother with her two young children agreed to spend a night at the hospital in the wards (sharing one bed, of course). We plan on returning today to visit them in the hospital. And already, Omondi (Lwala clinical manager) is looking into getting an ambulance for hospital referrals from Lwala.

In the past 6 days I’ve also seen in the clinic: a man with a serious snake bite, several babies with kwashiorkor (extreme malnutrition), a severe case of malaria that required IV, pregnant women galore, a older man with the biggest open leg wound I’ve ever seen, two cases of shingles, and tons of kids with bellies full of intestinal worms. They’ve all received excellent medical care, and most are doing much better after taking their prescribed medication. It’s incredible the difference this clinic is making in the community.

So now it’s Saturday and we’re off to walk the five miles back to Lwala (after, of course, purchasing some rabolo, sweet, small bananas that women sell on the side of the road).

Hope all is well wherever you are reading this.
And just in case anyone was curious, if you need to use the restroom here, you say “lach oh ewa” which literally translates to “the urine is defeating me.”

I love Lwala.

Matek,

abbie

July 2, 2007

2007-07-02T01:39:00.000-07:00

I walk down the dirt paths of this peaceful village and my heart
tumbles with a love I can't answer or explain as two little kids in
their school uniforms run toward me giggling and yelling "Atoti!
Oyaore! Edenade?" -which translates roughly to "Atoti (my nickname in
the village), good morning (literally, 'oyaore' means, 'the sky is
opening'), how are you?"

I'm back in Lwala, Kenya: home of the Luo tribe, where there is no
running water or electricity, where you must greet every single person
you pass on the road with a handshake, where children play in trees
and walk cows, and women can balance practically anything on their
heads.

Coming home to Lwala, I've been overwhelmed with feelings of
familiarity and comfort. I didn't realize how much I missed the Kenyan
accent, the nights we spend cooking over an open fire in the kitchen
hut, carrying buckets of water on our head from the well before we
bathe, the home-grown food (kale, beans, rice, tomatoes, onions,
lentils, peanuts, etc.) and the dear Ochieng' family who so graciously
hosts us in their home. It's amazing to see Onyango, Apiyo, Rastus,
Harrison, Dada, Toby and baby Abbie after a year- they're all so much
taller! It's amazing how quickly these kids have grown. When I arrived
in the village after a long 3 days of traveling, tears literally
streamed down my face as Apiyo and Yuka and the rest gave me the
typical hand-slap greeting followed by a hug (first to the right side,
then to the left side).

And the clinic is now open. Nestled in corn fields, tall grass, and
banana trees, the clinic has already seen more than 1,000 patients in
the 3 months it has been operating. Every day, all day, lines of men,
women and children wait outside for hours to see Rose, the nurse in
the clinic. Rose is beautiful, with kind eyes, a warm smile and a
gentle Kenyan accent that reminds me of fresh linens drying on a sunny
day. I get to shadow her in the clinic. She is an excellent teacher,
always encouraging me to do as much as I can with the patients (blood
pressure, weight, etc.) and to "check heh tempehture please."

The other day a pregnant woman came into the clinic for a check-up
(something that never happened before the clinic opened- before, women
had no pre-natal care and would just give birth in their huts,
sometimes all alone). The woman, tall and elegant, dressed in a
bright, thick African print, laid down on the examining table. Rose
brought out a metal fetoscope (looks like a short silver trumpet) and
pressed it up against the woman's pregnant belly. Rose said to me,
"listen heaaa, Atoti." I put my ear up to the fetoscope and faintly, I
could here the baby's heartbeat! It was amazing. And then the baby
kicked me, literally. The pregnant woman laughed and said in dholuo
(the tribal language that is spoken in Lwala), "there's a person
inside!"

The four Vanderbilt undergraduates that are with me in Lwala this year
are integrating themselves beautifully into the culture. Dressed in
their skirts and head scarves, Dani, Kat and Natalie are perfecting
their carry-a-bucket-full-of-water skills. Ben, wearing the long pants
typical of Luo men, can be seen sitting under the large tree next to
grandma's hut talking to other elders of the village. While we're
here, our group will facilitate the construction of a protected spring
(where the village can get cleaner water), and will sell hundreds of
bed-nets for about 10 cents each (so everyone in the village can sleep
under a bed net to protect themselves from malaria).

We're also working on becoming conversational in Dholuo. So far, our
favorite phrases are:

- "kiki wondre" which means, "don't cheat yourself." You say
this jokingly to someone at meal time when they're too full for a
second helping.

- "nang'o" which means, "whaddup"

- "owimore" which means, "the sky is closing (goodnight)"

- "lik lik mamit" which means, "sweet dreams"

- "awacho Dholuo matin" which means "I only speak a little Dholuo!"

- and finally, "akia" which means, "I don't know" (its really useful).

In other news…

Last night, the Lwala choir came to our ot (house) to sing. There was
only one kerosene lamp in the room, giving the performance a magical
feel. The women in the choir wore beautiful headscarves and kangas (a
colored fabric) wrapped around their long, lean bodies. Their voices,
rich and deep and melodic, sent chills down my back. At one point the
choir began to dance rhythmically around the room, making me have one
of those "Wow, I really am in Africa" moments. The other night I
made chapatti in the ktichen hut with Dada and Grace (Kenyan sweet
bread that is on my "top 10 foods of life" list). Oh, and in the past
two days we've walked twenty miles… yes, twenty miles. (That's what
happens when you're in the middle of nowhere and you don't have any
means of transportation except your own feet).

Hope all is well in the US (or Nicaragua, or Spain, or Taiwan, or
China, or France…or anywhere else you may be reading this). Wa biro
nenore bang'e.

Oriti (goodbye) for now!

Matek ("in a strong way"),

Atoti

Hope For Lwala Trailer

2007-06-19T15:54:00.001-07:00

here's Milton and Freds' story about Lwala- filming done by Barry Simmons. In the video, you can see Lwala, the house where I'll live (the Ochieng's home), the living room where I'll eat all my meals, and Olga (a good friend) carrying water on her head from the stream.

This was filmed my first night in Lwala last year

2007-06-19T15:50:00.001-07:00

I hadn't been in Lwala for more than a few hours when Fred and Omondi (with the help of a few of their cousins) had to carry this sick woman to the nearest health care facility. Fred and Omondi are speaking in the video.

Back to Kenya, June 25th 2007

2007-06-17T16:40:00.000-07:00

On June 25th (in about a week), I'm headed back to Lwala. It's been a year since I was last there and I can't wait to see all my friends in the village. The clinic opened in early April this year, and I can't even begin to describe how elated I am to see all the progress the village has made because of it. I already know that it will be one of the most moving experiences of my life to walk in the newly-opened clinic- a clinic that as I learned last summer, was so desperately needed.

I just finished up a 9 month stay in Managua, Nicaragua working for Manna Project International. In Nicaragua, we had an international phone that we used for work. I guess I'd given that phone number to friends in Kenya, because several times my co-workers in Nicaragua would pick up the phone, not recognize Japollo or Kevohs' Kenyan accent, start talking to them in Spanish, get a really confused look on their face, and just hand the phone over to me. Japollo and Kevoh would laugh about people trying to talk to them in spanish and then briefly catch me up on Lwala-happenings before their phone cards cut out (usually 2 or 3 minutes later). And one of my favorite parts of the conversations would be when they called me by my Lwala nickname, Atoti. Hearing that name brings back floods of memories of cooking over an open fire in the kitchen hut, showering outside with a cup and bucket, carrying water from the spring in a bucket on my head, hand washing clothes, singing at night over the light of kerosene lamps, and hugging Apiyo, Onyango, Toby, Olga and Dada.

I absolutely cannot wait to return to the tiny village in the middle of Kenya, that one year ago captured all my heart and soul.
Until Kenya. . .

SUMMER 2006, photos

2006-09-23T18:00:00.000-07:00

me, in Lwala

cleaning wounds

Toby!

at Sally Orphanage

babies at the AIDS orphanage where I stayed

with Apiyo at a soccer game

Final Kenya Email- August 1, 2006

2006-08-04T12:47:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I gave my first Kenyan swimming lesson in the riana (river) located about 15 minutes from our hut. The river is a main source of water in Lwala and people use it to bathe (I see little naked kids splashing around in the water with their moms while they get a bath all the time), "quench" the cows (walk the cows down to the river to drink) and to do laundry (but not white clothes because the water is too dirty). The water is so brown it's almost orange, has a strong current and winds around through the shade of tall, leafy trees. On my last day in Lwala, Sarah, Grace, Dada, Olga, Toby, Onyango, Apiyo and I went swimming together in a part of the river that seems more like a swimming hole. Apiyo, this sweet little 6-year-old girl who just lost both her front teeth and has this ridiculously cute grin, doesn't knowhow to swim and neither does her little 4-year old brother, Onyango. I figured they wouldn't get in the water, but after the rest of us jumped in the river, I looked up and saw Apiyo and Onyango- naked as can be- waiting to jump in and swim. So for the next 2 hours, I held each one of them in the water while they kicked around and gathered enough courage to dunk their faces under water- shivering the entire time!

So sadly this will be my last email from Kenya (for now)... I left Lwala this morning after a tearful goodbye and am currently in Nairobi awaiting a flight to the US. My last few days in Lwala couldn't have been any more perfect; the sunset last night was a brilliant orange and purple- characteristic of the breathtaking African sky. After the sun disappeared in the horizon the stars couldn't have been any brighter- it was an unusually clear night. While I was taking my routine bucket shower last night (the place where we shower is outside- kind of feels like something out of Gilligan's Island) I felt as though I could see every star in the universe. It was incredible. We had my favorite Lwala meal for dinner, leso (lentil soup) with rice and sukuma (kale) and played a final card game of "BS" with the entire family. Also, the wife of my friend Jacktone (his family donated the land for the Ochieng' clinic) had a healthy baby girl yesterday! Min Naomi delivered at a traditional birth attendant's hut and was home 5 hours afterwards. Before dinner we went over to visit the baby girl, who they named Abbie Auma.

About a week ago I spent two nights at Sally Orphanage, which was an experience I'm grateful to have had... I walk away from that orphanage a changed person- changed by the kids who would cling to me every day, desperate for love and affection, letting go only to take their ARV's in order to calm the HIV rampant in their little bodies. SallyOrphanage is located near the Tanzania border, in an area where HIV rates are actually as high as 40%. forty percent. The number is so high it takes repeating it over and over to really grasp its meaning. It means that the death rate is so high in this area that the government is running out of land in which to bury people. Molly, the woman who runs the orphanage, took me on a walk around the orphanage and I was devastated by what I saw. Parts of the village, Kokuro, were almost ghost towns. Hut after hut after hut was empty... because all their occupants were dead from AIDS. Overgrown grass, crumbling huts, boarded doors with messages written on them in white chalk such as"THIS IS THE TRUTH" and "NO ENTRY" were the only remains of entire families. The silence of the village was eerie and sent shivers down my back. Entire homesteads (with 5 or 6 huts) were empty- mother, father, grandmother, grandfather, aunts, uncles had all died of AIDS-except for one or two 17 year olds who were in charge of all thechildren left in the family. I met a 17 year old, Emily, who was the eldest of 40... yes, 40... AIDS orphans in a single homestead (it's what happens when women are in remote villages, have no access to birth control, and don't have any say in using condoms). Emily was a mother who got pregnant after sleeping with a sugar cane worker in a field who offered her 100 shillings (the equivalent of $1.50). She accepted the offer because she hadn't eaten in 3 days. About 80 children sleep at the orphanage every night, but Molly takes care of 120 kids around the area (the remaining children come during the day to eat, but sleep at home alone in their empty huts because there's no more room at the orphanage). All kids that are of age attend school.. The first morning at the orphanage I helped one of the 4 women who live and work there feed, bathe, lotion and dress 10 babies (all under 12 months). Holding, rocking and bottle feeding the babies was the best part of my day (even though I kept worrying that the only milk the babies were receiving was cow's milk.. which doesn'thave enough nutrients to adequately nourish a growing baby.. they need formula). Each baby arrived at the orphanage with their own heart-wrenching story; many of their mothers died during labor, the rest were left lying alone in their huts crying (with their dead mother or father- from AIDS) until someone discovered them and brought them to Molly's. Ugh, it makes me so sad.

The orphanage itself is very well organized, however, and the children seem to be pretty happy given their circumstances. Molly is so wonderful with the children- she loves those kids so much. The kids are well-fed, they are clean (everyone bathes in the morning- the kids all line up to get a bucket bath before school- it's pretty cute), they sleep on clean sheets, have mosquito nets, and are very respectful and well behaved (thanks to Molly's guidance). Every night after dinner the little kids crowd in to Molly's living room and watch tv together (she has a solar panel and a generator- no electricity) while the older ones do homework. Picture about 30 kids crowded into a small, bright living room with pretty curtains and doilies on the furniture, watching a small tv and giggling loudly at everything that's even remotely funny. Each night I was there I had about 5 kids cuddling with me on a couch (one on my lap, 2 on each side) while the tv was on. They'd all be asleep within 10 minutes and at bedtime, Molly and I would carry them into their beds. Molly is changing the course of these kids' lives. I was so moved and inspired by her devotion her children.

There's been a lot going on in Lwala, too. Last week some funding forHIV/AIDS testing came in from a group of college kids doing a documentary (they stayed in Lwala for 3 days and interviewed a bunchof us for this film they're making…check it out atwww.85broads.com/destinationinvest). Within 3 days, over 300 people came to get an HIV test, which is completely unheard of. The students provided enough money for counselors from a private testing center to set up shop in the Ochieng' clinic, making it so much easier for people to get tested. Normally for an HIV test, a person would have to walk for about 3 hours. We were so encouraged by the village's response- people actually wanting to get tested. The entire 8th grade at the local primary school even got tested. The rates for HIV were around 25%, which reiterates the importance of having treatment and support for people who are HIV positive in the Lwala clinic. As wonderful as all the testing is, however, it also means that several of my friends were found to be HIV positive… I was hit hard by the test results of one woman in particular who I've grown very close to this summer (whose husband is also positive). She calls me "her best friend" and is the mother of Apiyo, Onyango, Harrison, Rastus andToby…kids who feel like my little siblings. The Kenyan government recently began supplying free ARV's for people found to be HIV positive-which is great- but the nearest healthcare facility where this is available is so far away that it's extremely difficult to get treatment. I'm terrified that she won't be able to treat her HIV properly… and then what happens to those kids when she's too sick to take care of them? This is part of the reason why it was so painful for me to leave Lwala. I can't bear to see those kids become the orphans I saw in Kokuro and will be on the next flight to Kenya ifanything happens to their parents.

My friend Patty sent me this quote from a woman who has had experience living in Africa:
"we learned that to simply see is one of the hardest, most powerful gifts one human being can give to another. We were challenged daily to hold the paradox of hope and despair in delicate balance, recognizing that to favor one over the other is to stereotype a profound and compelling collection of economic, cultural, and behavioral circumstances..."

I've found that my time in Kenya has been just what this quote addresses: an incredible balance of both hope and despair. I've experienced some of the hardest moments of my life here. I've seen some of the most devastating sights (patient dying of TB, woman gored by a bull, extremely sick babies, poverty beyond belief)- followed by some of the most beautiful and inspirational (children's smiles, dancing to drums, African skies, Molly with the children, Susan building her clinic, Fred and Miltons' work in their community, graciousness abound). I have such hope for Lwala. I have seen incredibly capable, intelligent people in Lwala leading the effort to build the clinic and I know the impact the clinic will have on the community will be truly immeasurable. There is so much good that can be (and has been) done in Lwala- and when I think of Lwala's future I get really excited- and not only for Lwala- for much of rural Kenya. I leave Kenya incredibly grateful for my experience and with the hope that I can encourage others to become equally touched by what's happening in Lwala and around Africa. There's so much good that we(students, teachers, role models, friends, human beings) can collectively accomplish…

Ok I need to run, my flight leaves soon- but I plan on sending an email of pictures when I get back to the US.

Oriti!
LOVE, Abbie

July 22, 2006

2006-08-04T12:31:00.000-07:00

So the Luo tribe doesn't celebrate birthdays. Most people don't even know when their birthday is. If you ask them how old they are, they can give you a rough estimate, but age doesn't really matter in Lwala- what's more important is how good the maize crop was on a particular year, or how much rain the area received a certain spring. So when you ask someone when they were born, they may reply, "The summer the maize was bright yellow and sweet." That said, they all know that in America, we celebrate birthdays...so for my 22nd birthday on July 13th, I received the most wonderful surprise birthday party. Dada (who is now all better!) stayed up until 1 am the night before my birthday to bake me a cake (an extremely difficult task when all you have is a fire as an oven). It's so incredible to see Dada now compared to how she was when she was sick. She's smiling, playing, singing (the songs that I taught her!), and just like always, is jumping out from behind doors trying to scare me. All the time we spent trying to make her better was so worth it... and the cake she worked on for 6 hours was the best birthday present I've ever had.

I'm writing this email from a health clinic called Samaria Health Center, located at a ranch in the base of Mt. Kenya. We've been here for 4 days (it's been a mini-vacation in the Kenyan mountains- so pretty here) and it’s been so inspiring to see a well functioning, respectable clinic. Susan Kaburu, a nurse midwife in Ndathi (n-DA-tee) Kenya, runs the clinic. Ndathi is a small farming community about 10 hours away from Lwala and has the feel of a small mountain town. Before Susan started the clinic, the town had little sign of medical outreach and lots of people who needed healthcare- just like the current situation in Lwala. She tells horror stories of people coming to see her at home for health advice before the clinic was open- there is one in particular that sticks in my mind. A few years ago, a young woman in labor was literally dropped off at Susan's front door, bleeding to death. Susan had to bring the woman into her home, bleeding everywhere, and find a way to get her to a hospital-otherwise the woman and baby would have died. Susan opened her clinic in January 2005 (with funds provided by a Vanderbilt nurse, Poppy Buchannan, who I met in Lwala earlier this summer). Today SamariaHealth Center is this clean, beautiful building with white walls and pretty blue doors out in the middle of nowhere, Kenya. The clinic has a labor room, a delivery room, a maternity room, a pharmacy, a waiting area, a lab, an injection room and a general consultation room. It's so great! Patients are expected to pay for the health services if they can (the most expensive visit would cost around $3… drugs included), but if they aren't able to pay they still receive treatment. Often times, patients pay in the form of vegetables, chickens and other produce. It's been so encouraging to see such a wonderful health clinic- it's certainly the first legitimate health facility I've seen since living in Kenya. Susan is hosting Fred, Omondi, Caitlin (a Dartmouth graduate who's tons of fun) and I in her home, which sits next door to the clinic. She's giving us great tips on where to find staff, drugs and supplies- Susan is certainly a mentor for all of us.

The Samaria clinic and surrounding area couldn't be any more peaceful and lovely. The brand new clinic sits in the shade of trees blossoming with bright orange flowers. The windows of the clinic (with curtains of white lace that blow in the breeze) look out onto lush, endless gardens of tomatoes, maize and banana tree orchards. The air here is much cooler than in Lwala, reminiscent of the crisp mountain air in Colorado. Everyone here wears knit hats and chunky sweaters- including the kids who are all bundled up in hand-made hats and jackets. We sip hot ginger tea regularly and curl up at night in Susan's cozy, small ranch house with light yellow walls and windows that look out onto clotheslines in the garden. There's no electricity here, but the clinic uses solar panels and a back-up generator for power. We can't go outside the ranch before sunrise or after sunset because herds ofelephants- huge, wild African elephants!- pass regularly on the dirt road entering the clinic. It's completely unreal to be in the gardens outside and hear elephants trumpeting near by! It's been a breath offresh air to see quality healthcare in Kenya. The first night we were at the clinic, Susan delivered an 8 pound baby boy. The umbilical chord was wrapped around his neck at one point during the delivery, and without Susan's expertise the baby might not have made it. Seeing Susan's clinic has given us all hope that the Lwala clinic will someday have as big an impact on the community as the Samaria clinic has had in Ndathi.

About a week ago I visited an orphanage called Sally Orphanage, where 120 AIDS orphans live ranging in age from newborn to 17 years old. Thewoman who runs the clinic is called "Mamma Molly." Molly is so incredible. She loves every single one of the 120 children as if they were her own. The moment I met Molly I was struck by her warm, accepting nature. She took me in and called me her daughter for the duration of my stay in the orphanage. Molly looks like something out of an African fairy tale. When I met her she wore a bright headscarf, a beautiful hand-made dress and was wrapped in a dark blue shawl dotted with cream-colored swirls. She's about 50 years old, speaks with a rich, clear Kenyan accent, wears 3 silver bracelets on her right arm and has these big, wise, dark eyes. I loved Molly instantly and felt calm and safe as she gave me the tour of the orphanage-holding my hand the entire time. The children of this orphanage are unbelievably beautiful. Molly knew every single one of them by name and would introduce me to each wide-eyed child with a small anecdote such as, "This is Monica Atieno. She's 3 years old and was found abandoned in a maize field 2 years ago. Her parents are both dead from AIDS." Molly explained how the area we were in was the worst hit by AIDS in all of Kenya. She described deserted huts near the orphanage that were empty because everyone who once lived in them- mom, dad, kids- all died from AIDS. The entire time I was at the orphanage I fought back tears- many of the kids were HIV positive. Molly described how at least once every few months one of the children dies of AIDS at the orphanage. I held twins for a long time while at the orphanage. A boy and a girl, the twins were so tiny and so fragile in my arms. They, like many of the tiny babies, are HIV positive. I'm going back to the orphanage on Monday to spend 2 nights and play with the kids. The website for the orphanage is http://www.sallyorphanage.org/ if you want to see pictures.

And to my brave sister Laurie who just gave birth to a healthy baby boy on July 14th (Owen William Green)- I love you and can't wait to see you, Scott and the baby! We had a birthday party for Owen in Lwala. We ate leftover cake from my birthday the day before and my friend Jappollo (his nickname, meaning “of heaven”) sang "Happy Birthday Owen" about 10 times during the party.

Oriti for now-
Love, Abbie

Hospital Stay July 10, 2006

2006-08-04T12:25:00.000-07:00

This past week has been emotionally exhausting and at times, terrifying. Beginning July 4th (happy 4th of July...) I spent 2 nights in a dirty hospital in Kisii trying to comfort Milton's cousin, Dada, who was so sick and weak I had to hold her up while going to the bathroom in the latrine. I've never seen a little girl cry so hard from the intensity of her pain. Dada, the wonderful little 14-year old who's lived with the Ochieng’ family since becoming an AIDS orphan a year ago, started having severe headaches on July 2nd. We thought it was just a really bad migraine- the poor thing was rubbing her head, crying, moaning and writhing in pain- but migraines don't last for more than 24 hours. When Dada developed a stiff neck after 48 hours of intense headaches, we decided she needed to be "rushed" to the hospital, fearing that it was meningitis (an infection of the meninges of the brain- needs to be treated ASAP because of the possibility of brain damage and death). The nearest hospital is in Kisii and takes about 2 hours (in a taxi) to get there. Taxis are incredibly expensive (about 20 times the amount a typical family spends in a day), and if this had happened to any other family (who wasn't able to afford a taxi) they would have been forced to just "wait out" the child's pain.

So we drove from Lwala to Kisii on the bumpy, dirt roads for 2 hours. Dada cried out in pain every time the car lurched on a rock or a hole in the ground. We were all silent during the taxi ride, scared to death- fearing that by the time we got to the hospital it would be too late.

We need the clinic to open.

When we finally arrived at the hospital, I was shocked that it was considered the best facility in this part of Kenya. Rather than receiving the emergency medical care that Dada needed, we waited another 30 minutes to be seen by a nurse. And then another 20 to be seen by a doctor. And by the time Dada was given any medicine whatsoever, we'd been at the hospital for about 2 hours. During the waiting period, I felt like I was going to explode- didn't they realize that this girl could be deteriorating by the second? We needed to be seen immediately- and nothing was happening.

The hospital is something out of a horror story. The dirty hallways wreak of formaldehyde, there's an injection room with bloody, open needles all over the floor (where Dada had her blood drawn), there are wards with 20 patients at a time lying in beds, many wasting away from tuberculosis and HIV- bony bodies, sunken eyes staring from their hospital beds, smelling of bed sores and urine... at one point there was human feces just sitting in the hallway outside our room. When we got there, the halls echoed with women crying and wailing; it was obvious that someone had just died. The crying women, the dark hallways filled with death and the smell of formaldehyde made me nauseous and dizzy. When we spoke to the doctor for the first time, he proudly mentioned (inappropriately) that the hospital had a full functioning morgue- just in case. Diana (the Vandy med student who came with Milton to Lwala) and I insisted that Dada have her own private room. We told Milton and his older brother Omondi that we didn't care how much it cost... we just didn't want her to be in a room with 20 other sick, coughing patients within 5 feet of her bed. It seemed like the hospital was a breeding ground for tuberculosis and various other infections. So Dada was put in a small room with an attached bathroom (Diana made us keep the door shut because every time she looked in the bathroom or smelled it she wanted to throw-up), two beds and a plastic chair.

After receiving 4 or 5 injections from nurses (who, by the way, didn't wear gloves while injecting), Dada stopped moaning. She asked if I would stay with her that night in the hospital (in her adorable, broken English)- she was so afraid and there was no way I was going to leave her alone. So for 2 nights, Dada, Sarah (Dada's 16 year old cousin.. also an AIDS orphan) and I shared a tiny hospital room together. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep. I was awaken several times by people crying in the hallways whose loved ones had passed away during the night.

To make things worse, for about 24 hours we feared that Dada might be infected with the HIV virus. She has these random sores on her legs- indicative of HIV... I always thought they were just kid scars- and often times, a specific strain of meningitis arises as a result of a compromised immune system. I cannot describe the fear and lurching heartache I felt for 24 hours while we awaited her HIV test results- I'm not sure what I would have done if her test came back positive. Honestly, I was preparing myself for the worst, anticipating that I would cancel my return flight to the US to stay in Kenya longer in order to put her on antiretrovirals (HIV meds.. really hard to get in Kenya). Thank goodness, Dada is HIV negative. When the nurse delivered the good results, I breathed for the first time all day.

The hospital care was frustrating and at times, disgraceful. We were never informed of the medication that was being injected into Dada's sore arm. We had to hunt nurses down for more pain medication every 3 hours as Dada cried "ay yawa" over and over and over again. There is one doctor for the entire hospital and he works from 9-4 everyday. Once the doc leaves, there's no contacting him. I was so ready to get out of that hospital. After 3 days of it, I felt like I was almost going crazy. I wanted to shower, I wanted to be rid of the smell of formaldehyde (they cleaned the floors with the stuff.. almost suffocating us in our small room), I wanted to eat something other than the stale bread and peanut butter we bought at the local market and most of all, I wanted Dada to feel better.

Dada was diagnosed with a severe case of cerebral malaria and typhoid. She received a lumbar puncture in the scary hospital (a huge needle poked into her spinal chord to remove cerebral spinal fluid- a very risky and difficult procedure) and it turns out that she didn't have meningitis- thank goodness.

We discharged Dada after 3 days in the hospital and took her home to Lwala, where it's been just as (if not more) scary and worrisome caring for her. Dada was so weak that she couldn't eat or sit up on her own. Here was this sweet girl- with these great dimples- who I've become so close to the past 6 weeks (we cook together, play volleyball, sing together, tell crazy jokes, she teaches me Dholuo and I teach her English) lying in bed moaning because she felt so sick. I was so worried about her because she couldn't keep anything down- including her medication. She threw many times and I called my mom and dad in a panic more than once because Dada's vomiting had gotten so bad. A few nights ago, Milton and I stayed awake on the couches in the living room, tending to Dada all night while she threw up and had these strange convulsions in bed. We got about 2 hours of sleep that night and he left for the states the next morning at 6 am.

It's been a long week of caring for poor Dada, and just yesterday she started to walk again. I also saw her laugh this morning for the first time in a long time, so it seems as though she's getting better! We are all so relieved. Today Dada asked me to write down the words of 2 songs that I've been singing to her since she got sick. After about an hour or so, she had memorized both songs and has been singing them non-stop ever since (the songs are "Rose" – a camp song from Knighthood- and the "Chaquita Banana" song.. I sang it because it's really kind of stupid, and this one part always made her crack a smile… even when she was too weak to eat).

I'm just grateful she's okay.

Anyway, that's what my week has been like. It feels like an eternity ago that we rushed Dada to the hospital.

Oh and I just found out recently that there is now a new baby girl in Lwala whose name is… Abbie Oduko (spelled with the "ie" and everything). Her mom- my friend Anyango- had her a couple weeks ago. I met baby Abbie for the first time yesterday- she's so cute! She was wearing these awesome Halloween socks with pumpkins on them.

Also, I've had a few people ask how they can donate to the clinic. Donations are tax deductible and will go toward buying supplies and drugs for the clinic. We're also building staff housing soon. So if you were interested, here's the info:

Vanderbilt University (Lwala Community Clinic- Kenya)
Department of FinanceDept AT 403003
Atlanta, GA 31192-0303

make the check out to the "Lwala Community Clinic- Kenya"

Oriti for now-
Love, Abbie

June 29, 2006

2006-08-04T12:12:00.000-07:00

There are three greetings that I've grown used to hearing here in Kenya. The first one is "oyaore," or "good morning." The second is"ber," or "good" (as in "good to meet you"). The third is"Hello…Will you marry me?" (the men say this with a thick Kenyan accent- almost sounds Rastafarian- and always puts a smile on my face). Almost all the girls who've visited Kenya from the States have heard this last greeting... we've all experienced various marriage proposals in all their glory! Here's the story my personal favorite proposal. So I just spent 5 days in Nairobi with Rachel (who recently left for the States), Flo and Fred to meet with health officials from CHAK (Christian Health Association of Kenya). We wanted information on where/how we could get medical supplies for our clinic- unfortunately CHAK isn't going to fit our clinic model so we'll have to keep looking. Anyway, Rachel and I were walking near the park one day and passed this man who was sitting on the side of the road. As we walked by, this dear man calls out "Hello! Will you marry me?" and Rachel and I smile back, nodding our heads no. Normally, our response would have ended the conversation, but this man continued in an eager voice, "But.. I have BIG garden… and, and many COWS!" Laughing, we couldn't help but appreciate his persistency and creativity, so we accepted. So I'm happy to report that Rachel and I are now engaged to some dear man with a big smile who hangs out on Moi Ave. near the "Chicken Inn" in Nairobi. We haven't decided on a date yet.

The ride to Nairobi was almost as eventful as Nairobi itself. We rode 8 hours from Lwala to Nairobi in a crowded matatu, passing the rolling green hills of the Kenyan countryside, and various small, bustling village markets- bumping up and down the whole way on the poorly maintained roads. We drove through the Rift Valley near the base of Mt. Kenya during sunset and I saw giraffes and zebras! It was incredible. I also got the chance to experience a little bit of the Masai tribe, which for many, is the definitive symbol of "tribal" Kenya. The Masai have a reputation for being fierce warriors. The women are famous for their colorful, large, plate-like bead necklaces, while men typically wear a red checked Masai blanket and carry a distinctive ball-ended club. They often have large holes in their earlobes, from which hangs traditional jewelry- strikingly beautiful. Their diet includes blood supplemented by a drink made from milk fermented with cow's urine and ashes, which (I thought this was pretty interesting) is shown to lower cholesterol! The tribe that I'm living with, the Luo's, are somewhat different. The Luo tribe is known fortheir music, dancing and love of soccer. There are many distinctive Luo instruments including those made from gut or wire strings and their base-thumping huge drums. The Luo's love their maize, beans, kale, millet and (fortunately? unfortunately?) I have yet to be offered blood to drink.

After 5 days in Nairobi I was so happy to return to our quiet little rural village of Lwala. Nairobi is an incredibly busy city- the streets choked with buses, people, speeding taxis and small kids running around in torn clothes, begging (I gave them apples from our hotel). I found myself missing the green hills of Lwala laced with houses made of mud and sticks, groves of avocado plants, maize fields, and the paddlewide leaves of the banana trees that practically sparkle in the sunlight. I missed simple every day tasks such as walking to the spring in the early morning to fetch water (hearing the sound of roosters crowing), cooking in front of fires in our kitchen hut and sweeping outside the house with a homemade broom made of bundled twigs. It was comforting to return to the familiar language, Dholuo, and its rich, deep vowels made in the back of the mouth. I missed running on paths through the maize fields (which reach far above my head) and on narrow dirt trails winding under the shade of guava trees and bougenvia. I'm so happy to be back in Lwala- no showers, no lattes and all- and picture myself having a difficult time leaving in 5 weeks.

Milton arrived from Vandy med school a few days ago after taking his step 1 board exams to be a doctor (and an fabulous one, I might add). Since Milton is the reason I'm in Lwala, it's been incredible to be here with him, experiencing and living in his home village. Milton is certainly a leader of his community and in addition to being one of the best soccer players on the team (along with Fred), he is adored and respected by all. While he's here, Milton is the doctor of the village, and almost every morning he is greeted by a line of patients outside his hut, eagerly waiting to be seen by their beloved "Abote" (Milton's nickname). Milton lets me go with him when he sees patients and I'm constantly amazed and touched by the lives he is helping here in the village. Sometimes he walks 30-40 minutes to go visit a sick baby, or a dying woman. We've seen about 30 patients in the past 3 days, along with Diana Lemly (another Vandy med student who arrived 2 days ago). Even though the past 3 days have been exhausting (last night we were awake until 12:30 am helping a crying, sick 1-year old take some anti-malarial medication), I am relieved that Milton and Diana are here… armed with their various medications, stethoscopes, a blood-pressure cuff and medical text books, they bring hope to the people of Lwala (and to me). Before they arrived, I was so frustrated/ heart-broken/ angered by the lack of medical care. The most agonizing feeling is to not be able to help a sick, suffering person when you're the one they look to for healing. Now that Milton and Diana are acting as temporary village "doctors," people are in fact getting some health care (very basic health care, but health care nonetheless). I wish they didn't leave in a week to begin their 3rd year of medical school. There is such a great need for their services right now. Again, we need to get the clinic up and running.

The past three days I've seen babies with malaria, asthma, chickenpox, infected wounds, and severe malnutrition. Milton and Diana diagnosed a sweet 4-year-old boy with Whipworm (a parasite) and Pallagra (where the skin of the legs and arms have dark marks, peeling sores and the ankles and feet are swollen… due to malnutrition). The list goes on… I saw a woman dying of Tuberculosis, a man with reticular pain who had a shooting pain down his legs into his feet (so bad that he couldn't work in the farm and was starving b/c he didn't have money or food), an old woman in severe pain from a bad case of shingles, a darling woman (who calls me her daughter) who's had intense abdominal pain for over 2 years, and several cases of HIV/AIDS and malaria.

The most memorable was the case of my friend, I'll call her Atieno, a 28 year-old woman who is beautiful enough to be a supermodel in the US. She's tall, elegant and has these smoldering cat-like eyes that are nearly yellow. She has three small kids, the youngest a little baby girl who is one month old. I know Atieno well from the health surveys we completed a while ago. She's shy to those she doesn't know, but once she trusts you, she's playful and sarcastic; full of life in both personality and spirit. Two days ago Atieno was gored by a bull- the horns gashed a deep wound into her right upper thigh, almost ripping through her entire quad muscle. She got stitches from a local healer, and even though the wound is clean, we are very worried about infection. Before Milton could get there, the healer injected her with something after she was gored (we're not sure what), and until we figure out what she was given, we're hesitant to give her Penicillin (which Milton andDiana have). She has a high fever and swollen lymph nodes… and the saddest part…. we're pretty certain she is HIV positive so her immune system is significantly hindered. Atieno's husband died recently of AIDS and the past few months she's been losing weight rapidly, is very weak and lethargic. She hasn't been tested for HIV b/c she can'tafford it (the test costs about 50 cents), and so of course we offered to pay for an HIV test… I'm going with her for support when she gets tested in 5 days. While we were talking to Atieno, her baby started to cry in her bed. I went to the room to pick up the baby, brought her to Atieno, and my heart sank when she began to breastfeed. HIV istransmitted from mother to child through breast milk. It was the saddest sight to witness an HIV positive mother breast-feeding her newborn baby. The same milk that was nourishing the baby girl's little body (her tiny fingers, toes, her soft skin and pudgy neck) may also have been infecting her with a fatal virus…. it's an image that will haunt me forever.

Before I go I wanted to update you all on 2 patients that I saw early on in my stay in Lwala (a patient I met during the health surveys). I wrote about the 14 year-old mother who had major complications during her labor, and who's newborn appeared yellow and lifeless in my arms. The mother was moaning outside on a straw mat, and her family mistook me for a doctor when I visited… anyway, both the young mother and her baby died about a week ago at home. I wasn't able to attend the funerals because I was in Nairobi. Hearing about their deaths really, really upset me and I'm still trying to grasp what happened, but I think it's so representative of the current situation in Lwala. Young mother, in poverty, doesn't receive proper pre-natal, obstetric or post-natal care either because she can't afford it or because there aren't qualified doctors or nurses in the area…. and both she and her baby die as a result. I can only hope that these emails are expressing how deeply needed the Lwala clinic is and how desperately people here need help. As not to end on a sad note, during the survey we weighed a baby whose name is… get this… BillClinton Odongo. Incredible.

Hope all is well in the US-
Oriti for now,
Love Abbie

June 19, 2006

2006-08-04T11:45:00.000-07:00

I have a wrap that I wear here all the time. It's bright aqua blue with hints of green and small shells dangling from one side. When I wear it, so many kids come up to me, put there ears down by the shells hanging near my feet, and listen in the shells- they're trying to hear the ocean (nam in dholuo). They laugh and yell for their friends to come over and listen too; they're convinced they hear waves and it's such a treat to them! It's so sweet considering most- if not all- of the kids have never seen (and will never see) an ocean in their lifetimes.

So the past week in Lwala has been incredibly busy! Jars of Clay (a well known Christian band) just left a few days ago, and they were certainly given the star treatment in Lwala. The band was very nice (and stylish, I might add)- they loved meeting the people of the village, who, by the way were incredibly gracious and welcoming to the band members, as always. The four days they were in our village consisted of a full itinerary including lavish meals prepared by the hardworking hands of Flo, Dada and Olga, concerts for Lwala primary school, fetching water from the river (carrying it on their heads like the women do every morning), dancing and drumming, football (soccer) games, walking hours each day, playing with kids and meeting very sick patients... they were often moved to tears. They would share their experience with me each night, often echoing the same sentiments I feel every day in the incredible village. Jars of Clay is interested in forming relationships with the Lwala community and is considering sponsoring our clinic... which is so desperately needed at this moment.

While the band was here, we had the privilege of speaking to a woman who is openly HIV positive- something that is very rare in Lwala (even though 30-50% of the population is affected with HIV, people are incredibly secretive about it. There is a bad stigma associated with having the virus- one of immorality. This makes it very difficult to talk about the virus and address its effect on the community, something we realized during the health surveys). We actually had to cross the river to find someone who would be willing to talk about living with HIV- about a 35-minute walk away from Lwala. We arrived at this woman's house around dusk. The sun was setting and we spoke with her in her tiny hut, all of us surrounding a single kerosene lamp. This experience was one of the harder ones I've had since I've been in Lwala- I was so deeply moved by this woman's story. She began by saying that she didn't have much longer to live- she knew she was dying. This woman, an AIDS widow, had 7 children, 5 of her own and 2 that she took in from her sister and brother in law who both died with AIDS a year ago. She struggled every day to feed her children because she was too weak to work in the farm (just like the rest of the community, she lives on subsidence farming). Often, she relies on neighbors to give her family food. There was a single bed in the hut and no mosquito net- I had trouble imagining how so many children and their mother could fit in this small, bug-infested bed... Her children were so beautiful. Big eyes, big smiles, chocolate skin that glowed in the light of the kerosene lamp. One of the little girls (around 9 years old) carried the baby on her back, wrapped in a cloth and tied around her chest. The woman articulated how she worries every day what will happen to her children once she's gone. After saying goodbye to the family, the group departed and I stayed behind with Fred. I went over to the 2-year old boy of the family, who had a clubbed foot and couldn't walk very well, and scooped him up in my arms and hugged him. I was surprised at how tightly he hugged back- I wasn't expecting such a response on his part. He hugged my neck and held onto my hair and nuzzled his face into mine. I tried to set the little boy down, sensing that it was time for us to leave, but he wouldn't let go. He wrapped his legs tightly around my waist and hugged harder- and that's when the tears came for both of us. Usually I'm really good about composing myself in situations like this, but something about this little boy and his mother and their courage in this unbelievably tough time touched me in a way I can't explain. When the little boy finally let go, the mother came over and thanked me (holding my hand and touching my cheek- which didn't help the whole tear factor). I'm still slightly embarrassed that she was the one consoling me... Walking away from the house, Fred told me "it never gets any easier, no matter how many times you see something like that." I plan on visiting the house again as soon as possible to play with the kids while the mom rests.

I'm not quite sure how to phrase what I'm about to say, but since I've been in Africa I've been taken aback by how often people have to deal with mortality and death. Death is shockingly common here- I've heard the drums of funerals four times since I've been here (that' s one funeral each week), and that only includes areas within earshot. I was sitting in a room the other night (with about 25 other people, all surrounding a tiny tv hooked up to a generator and watching the World Cup- SUCH a big deal here and so fun to be involved in all the excitement) and I realized that 7 of the people, my friends, sitting near me had all lost their mothers to either AIDS or tuberculosis. 5 of them were orphans. It was a heartbreaking realization. Although death may be common in Lwala, it doesn't mean losing a friend or family member gets any easier.

I actually attended my first funeral the other day for a man who was extremely sick with HIV. He's the man in the pictures I sent out in the first email- the one Milton is treating (he was only 30 in the picture but appeared much older). He passed away 2 days after Fred gave him money to go to the hospital. When someone dies in Lwala, the women of the village go to the house of the deceased and wail... and when I say wail, I mean loudly- we can hear them at our homestead from far distances. The wailing rips at my chest and is like no other sound I've heard before. The wail is an uninhibited expression of raw human grief, coming from the gut, penetrating the ears and souls of everyone it reaches. I went to this man's house with Fred for the funeral and encountered many women of the village surrounding the hut wailing, some inside consoling the family. To me, a wailing woman seemed so exposed, so vulnerable that I avoided watching. It was such a personal act, like dressing or bathing, and I did my best to be respectful and give these grieving women their privacy. Fred's grandmother was also at the funeral dancing and chanting in the midst of the wailing women. She sang in a deep voice, the lines of her face etching a picture of her empathy. I'm not sure I took a deep breath during that entire funeral... I unconsciously held my breath so as to not disturb, intrude or interrupt the scene that was unfolding before my eyes.. I guess I didn't want my presence to be known, I felt so humbled to be a part of this difficult yet paradoxically beautiful experience with the family and tried my best to be a fly on the wall.

A few nights ago I had my first up close encounter with ndoo, these huge drums that only a few people of the village know how to play. To celebrate the visit from Jars of Clay, the entire village gathered for traditional singing and dancing- it was so amazing!! That night the stars and the moon were so bright, lighting the sky so that no lamps were necessary. People gathered together in our homestead, in the middle of all the Ochieng’ huts. The women all dressed in brightly colored headscarves and wraps. Everyone came ready to move. When the drums started to play, people erupted in dance... the drums were so big I could feel the vibrations in my heart... each beat pulsed throughout my body. It was incredible to watch: everyone around me, even the kids, danced with these rhythmic, guttural (is that a word?) movements. It was so fun and I did my best to dance with them. There was singing and chanting and yelling... something that sounded like a high-pitched "yayayayayayyaeoooooow!" that lasted for hours. I danced with Fred and his family (Flo in particular) all night long and woke up sore the next morning!

Ok so really briefly I'm going to try to describe a typical day... since a lot of people have told me that it's hard to visualize where I am and what I am doing exactly.
7-8:00 am I wake up under my mosquito net to the sound of roosters crowing. The sun shines in my window in the morning and a lot of the time there's this perfect breeze that makes the morning so enjoyable. Everyone wakes up early here- there's work to be done! People are milking their cows, boiling water for coffee in the "kitchen huts," and sometimes the women have started laundry in buckets (bent over all the way scrubbing and scrubbing!).

We have breakfast around 9 (after I wash my face and brush my teeth outside, using well water for my face and bottled water for my teeth), which usually consists of tea, bread and jam, and occasionally potatoes or chapatti (fried bread, kind of like a tortilla). We always eat meals together, and I rarely snack… so the meals are pretty big. Our bathrooms are basically out houses (ventilated rooms with holes in the ground, which are actually very clean and civilized). I have to walk about 2 minutes to get to the bathrooms.

After breakfast our daily schedule varies. Sometimes we go into Kisii, a bustling but small town with open markets (an hour and a half walk followed by a 25 minute matatu- a crowded van- ride) to buy vegetables, beans, eggs, bread, etc. During the health surveys we would walk around to villages interviewing mothers until about 2. Some days I just play with kids all morning, read under trees, or work on our data from the survey.

2:00 lunch (usually potatoes, eggs, cabbage, sometimes chicken, rice... it varies... followed by fresh pineapple or mango)

After lunch I sometimes go tutor/ teach at the primary school, or meet with people regarding the clinic. It varies. There's always playing with the kids, or going to the river, or going to play football.

7:00 it's sunset. We sit outside while kids play soccer, and the girls (Olga and Dada, both 13) begin to make dinner (which is usually a 2 hour process.. or more). I've learned to cook the cabbage, chapatti, mandazi (fried sweet Kenya bread), and kale... so i often help make dinner. I like to sit with the girls while they cook because they teach me Kenyan songs. I'll also shower around this time- which means I have to go fetch water from the well, carry the water about 100 yards to the "shower" and manage to get clean using one bucket of water.

9:00 dinner. I'm usually starving by this point and the food always tastes sooooo good.
After dinner we do homework with the kids (using kerosene lamps for light), play cards (we recently taught them the game "BS"), play chess, hang out and drink tea, and then go to bed around 10:30 or 11.

This is by no means an extensive list because every day is pretty much packed with activity...It's great. I love it here.

Ok this is a long email... I hope all is well in the states. It was so fun to cheer for USA playing Italy in the World Cup the other night. It's so strange to watch tv here- the generator is so loud we have to crank up the tv really loud just to hear the game. They don't use it all the time because fuel is pretty expensive (and because only 1 family has one). Rachel (the other Vandy student who has been here for 2 weeks- who I haven't talked about much, but she's great) and I sang the national anthem and laughed at how proud we were to be American.

Until next time!
Abbie

week 3- June 19, 2006

2006-08-04T11:31:00.000-07:00

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

Kenya week 2 -June 12, 2006

2006-08-04T11:30:00.000-07:00

Misawa (hi) again!

So a true sign of being accepted into a village is having the youngest baby at our homestead fall asleep in my arms. Even the baby has gotten used to a strange, white, redheaded person in his village! Erastus (called 'Rastus)-who initially cried when he first saw me 7 days ago- fell asleep on my shoulder this morning while I was carrying him around, looking at the cows and chickens. It was so sweet and I now have 2-month-old drool all over my last clean t-shirt....

Lwala is quickly becoming my second home and I have to keep telling myself "you're in Africa!!" because everything is becoming normal and "not so new and different" to me. I am now used to showering with one bucket of water and a cup. I am used to having beans at every meal. I am used to the Lwalan greetings (these great hand slaps that even the 2 year olds partake in) and have even learned how to make chapati- a bread cooked in a circle, kind of like a delicious tortilla. I am even becoming accustomed to the extreme poverty that is prevalent in this community- poverty that can be seen in the distended bellies of children, the lack of books and chairs in the local primary school, and in the rotting teeth of elderly women who have lived 75 years without a toothbrush or toothpaste. I guess I'm learning to live with it- this strange sort of habituation that humans tend to do. It doesn't make me any less sad and angry every time I see it, though. The poverty in Lwala and the surrounding areas is unreal and has made me cry -after having seen a woman with 3 small children sitting on the street, blind and thin as a rail, children covered in flies, I will never be the same. There's this strange juxtaposition in Kenya of an unbelievably beautiful countryside, gorgeous smiling faces, bright fabrics wrapped around lean, tall bodies... and then this rampant disease and poverty that exists within it all.

I am comforted by the family and children I have grown to love… their positive, cheerful, humble and life-loving outlook on life is incredibly inspiring. The kids near the homestead (Harrison, my buddy, Toby, Apiyo, Onyango, Olga, Dada) have grown surprisingly protective of me. At night when we're walking down the streets of the village, random children will run up to me, call me by my name and hold my hands so I don't trip on rocks or mud in the dark.. in fact I hardly walk anywhere in the village with at least 2 children holding my hands and chatting with me, trying to teach me Dholuo (the name of their language). Harrison asked me for a hair tie the other day- not because he wanted to fix his hair (he doesn't have any), but because he wanted to wear one on his right wrist like I do. how cute??

We started the health surveys on Wednesday and it has been great! Each day 7 surveyors walk around a village (one village each day… some days we walk over 2 hours to get to a certain village) and go from hut to hut, searching for babies under 2 years old. Our survey is looking at child health and immunization records, nutrition, sanitation practices, water issues, and HIV/AIDS attitudes. We interview the mothers, some of which are as young as 14. It has been so interesting to go into the homes of these women, weigh their tiny babies (my favorite part), and literally ask them questions like "how can a person protect themselves from HIV/AIDS?" and "during the past two weeks, has your baby experienced any of the following: vomiting, high fever, diarrhea, shortness of breath, malaria, blood in the stool, and convulsions?" You'd be surprised how many mothers say their kids have had convulsions and blood in their stool- both of which are NOT good. I am also learning how many of the children are not vaccinated in this area. It is so sad, little babies are not getting the health care they need- my heart goes out to them and it makes me want so badly to get our clinic running so we can vaccinate and treat these kids. (something that I don't feel like I'm lacking in Kenya is purpose...it's great)

The most wrenching moment I've had this past week was during one of our interviews for the survey. We went to the home of this tiny, TINY baby, who I thought was a few days old (maybe a week). His skin was a lot lighter than other people here and appeared kind of yellow, and when I learned he was 7 weeks old I couldn't believe it. He was almost 2 months old and should have been a lot bigger. Apparently this baby's mother was 14 when she gave birth to him (she wasn't married... probably raped) and had serious complications during labor. She was moaning outside, laying on the ground and had been like this for the past 2 months. The baby had been drinking cow's milk since birth because the mom was too sick to nurse him- probably why he appeared so incredibly malnourished. The mother/ grandmother began to cry when I walked in the door of their hut because they thought I was a doctor, there to help them and give them medicine. They handed me this almost lifeless baby who didn't weigh more than 10 pounds, praying for me and thanking me over and over. I rocked the baby for about forty minutes while the translator interviewed the grandmother of the family, and explained to them that we could not give them medicine right now, but we would try to get them a doctor soon. The baby will not live for another month. the family doesn't have the money to get the proper health care needed for the child.. and the mother... a pattern I am seeing all too often. After the interview, I went outside the hut to the moaning, young mother, who was laying on a straw mat, head covered by a bright purple and yellow cloth. I kneeled at her side and she grabbed my hand, looking in my eyes for some sort of relief. I stroked her forehead, trying to calm her. We got a wet cloth and I sat with her for a few minutes. I felt so helpless when I left.... we're going to try to find help for her but I haven't met a single doctor or qualified nurse since I've been here.

On the brighter side, I really love it here. The countryside is so beautiful, very tropical and I love all the fresh fruit that we buy in the market and pick from trees (don't worry mom, I wash everything before I eat it!) I'm loving the mangoes, pineapples, guava, bananas, oranges, papayas, and avocados! The other night I was standing outside brushing my teeth, and Iooked up at this endless sky of stars... more stars than I've ever seen in my entire life, spanning from one horizon to the other. There were African drums in the distance and I could hear chanting and singing. It was one of those moments were I was like, WOW, I really am in Africa and this kind of stuff really does happen. I also love seeing the women here carry these huge loads on their heads- buckets of water, bushels of bananas, sugar cane; you name it, they can balance it on their heads. They walk so gracefully when they do this, necks so straight and long, so poised, kind of like they're floating. The little kids can do it too which simply amazes me- aren't children supposed to be clumsy??

We're off to the market now...

Talk to you soon!

Oriti,
Love,
Abbie

Kenya week 1- May 27, 2006

2006-08-04T11:04:00.000-07:00

Oyaore (good morning)!

This will be my first email from Kenya, and I can't believe I've only been here 3 days. This place is amazingly inspiring, beautiful and heart breaking at the same time and I don't know where to begin....

I'll start with the village. Lwala, the village I'm living in, is a lot smaller and more rural than I was anticipating (there are chickens and cows wandering around outside our door), but I'm getting to know the people of the village very well and they already call me by my African nicknames, Atoti and Buga. Also, my hair has already been braided and played with by more Lwalan children than I can count. There is no electricity (no light at night minus a few oil lamps, no refrigerator) and no running water. I can only drink bottled water... the rest of the village drinks rainwater. The water from the well is too dirty to drink, but still manages to get clothes clean! I am staying in the home of the Ochiengs, a well-respected and highly educated family in the village, whom I have grown incredibly fond of and close to in just 3 days. I have my own room (it's a pale yellow with a bright blue door, a window that looks out onto endless green hills and a blue mosquito net, which i love sleeping under!) and we eat in the kitchen/living room that is outside my door. The homes are made of mud and most are only one room (our house is 4 rooms, 3 of which are small bedrooms). Most homes have straw roofs and a few have glass windows. The women of the village are always sitting outside their huts on straw mats with their gorgeous babies strapped on their backs. One of my favorite things to do is sit with them and play with their kids- most families have 5-6 children under the age of 13. The Ocheing’ homestead consists of 4 huts; one is the kitchen (all stone on the inside with a fire pit and a few logs to sit on), one is Milton's hut (while he's in med school his 21 year old sister sleeps there and two 13 year old girls, Olga and Dada), one is Omondi's hut (the eldest brother), and the main house (where I sleep, along with other guests and Fred- the second youngest brother). The mother and father of the family passed away of AIDS very recently- the mother in 2004 and the father in 2005. They managed to take out loans before their deaths to educate their children- now their 2 oldest sons are in medical school in the US, Flo (21) will be attending nursing school in the US, Grace (17) is in boarding school in the US and Solomon (11) is in Kenyan boarding school.

Quick run down of the past few days...
- the first day I got here, Fred took me to a very sick woman in the village who was vomiting and weak. I wish so badly I could have made her better. The clinic we're building isn't running yet, so there was nothing we could do except massage her back/ feet and keep her company. This would never happen in the US. Later that night, before they'd eaten anything for dinner, the Ocheing’ brothers carried her two hours (they walked in the dark) to the nearest healthcare facility.

-the first night I helped a 7th grader with his math homework after dinner. Harrison, who you'll hear about many times, has the biggest smile and most adorable dimples i've ever seen. he's my buddy and we hang out all the time! He's so smart- he had to remind me how to do square roots by hand. We did math for 2 hours, by light of a single kerosene lamp- there is no electricity.

- I watched the boys play "football" (American soccer) at the local school and was soon surrounded by about 20 curious children. Before I knew it they were sitting with me in a circle singing songs and playing games. I taught them the song "head, shoulders, knees and toes." Most of the children were wearing clothes with holes in them, but seem so happy, so resilient and are obsessed with my camera and counting 1-10 in English. some of them had big bellies- the kind you see in mal-nourished children, but all of the kids have huge smiles and infectious laughs

- every single person in the village greets me and shakes my hand when they see me. it takes forever to get places and i hear "erokamano, erokamano" (thank you, thank you) all the time. they are so grateful for someone to be here helping the village.

- Flo, the 21 year old, is my new best friend and we hang out all day. I helped her do laundry (go fetch water from the well, carry it to the house, wash the clothes by hand in a basin, hang the clothes on a line to dry). She's great- such a character- and the first night i was there we ate a chicken that she actually killed, de-feathered, and cooked. it took 4 hours to prepare. Flo speaks fluent English and we are constantly laughing together- she has the greatest sense of humor and she cracks me up.

We're getting started on the health surveys on Wednesday... today we bough all the supplies we need with money that KD donated.

Ok this is getting long and I have to walk an hour and a half back to Lwala now before it gets dark, but I love it here. I don't have a phone yet but am working on it.
Take care!

Oriti (goodbye)!
Love,
Abbie