Farewell Kenya...for now

Jan 1st 2014 Diary entry on flight to Kenya: "Previously I have just been thinking about how to get my luggage there and get organised etc and haven't really though about it all much. But I tell you what, right now it hurts, a year feels like forever and my eyes keep welling up!"

I have lived in Kenya for a year.

I have been called madam, I have been called mum, I have had my phone stolen, my passport stolen, my wallet stolen, I have had students ask me to leave the classroom because I am laughing too loud, I have had a completely sleepless night, I have ran a half marathon, I have carried buckets of water from the well on my head, I have held the hand of a dying girl as we race to hospital, I have seen a fatal hit and run, I have been rammed by a cow, attacked by a chicken, bitten by a dog, I have been guest of honour at many events, I have danced for hours with the kids, I have milked a cow, I have cleaned the inside of rainwater tanks, I have had policemen attempt to arrest me, I have driven a car with no brakes, I have won a running race, I have smeared a whole house floor with cow dung, I have taken minutes in meetings that last an entire day, I have coached a football team, ran a library, taught an unfamiliar curriculum, I have treated over 1400 first aid cases, I have been to hospitals, I have been to funerals, I have eaten roasted maize, boiled maize, maize flour, maize porridge, I have seen children be beaten, I have first aided children who have been beaten, I have made nutrition drink for malnourished children, I have danced with widows, I have been kissed by a giraffe, I have swung off a vine, swum in a waterfall, climbed a mountain, come within two metres of a lion, I have played football, I have dug trenches, I have visited hot springs, I have cried, I have laughed until I cried, I have repaired countless desks, filled countless drinkbottles, issued countless textbooks, said 'I am fine' countless times, I have had malaria, I have had kids throw up on me, I have had bugs make a home in my feet...

But I havn't had enough.

Kenya....Nitarudi! (I will return!)

 

Technology

Despite many Kenyans having phones and most being aware of TV and the internet even if they don't have it personally many 'everyday' appliances from back home are simply unheard of here. The house I have lived in all year is well equipped for Westerners with toaster, kettles and fridge, however items like these are very rare in other homes. 
One particularly chilly night I went out to night time bible studies with my hot water bottle under my jacket. I pulled it out to show one of my students when he asked what I was holding. I gave it to him to feel and as soon as he touched it he recoiled 'Madam! Did you put fire inside?'

A forty minute drive away is Kitale town, which has very recently been equipped with a two story supermarket with an escalator, I went there with one of my 20 year old students and knowing he would have never experienced one before I pretended I needed to go upstairs so he could have a ride. I could see the apprehension on his face but he tried to maintain calm, whispering to me 'do I walk or stand still'. I assured him he could do either but it didn't prevent the lurch and almost falling flat on his backside as he stepped on. 

On a quiet Saturday in the holidays I rounded up some of the boys to give them a driving lesson around the sports field- they had been asking for a long time and considering there wasn't many people around I figured they could give it a shot. One lad in particular was intent on maintaining eye contact with me while I was instructing, even when my instructions consisted of 'Andrew- you need to look where you are driving!' completely oblivious to where he was heading and giggling away in nervous excitement the whole time.

Sometimes, however the students surprise me with their knowledge of technology. When I had my computer and external hard drive in the library one day a student came in and pointed at it quizzically  'madam what is that?' I tried to think of a good way to explain it simply, considering most students know about USBs I decide on that 'it's like a flash drive, except a big one' I explain. My student has another look.. 'oh really?, it looks like an external hard drive!' 

Imagine being a celebrity

When I was younger I used to imagine what it would be like to be a celebrity. Imagine having more money than anyone around you. Imagine everywhere you go people recognising you and greeting you. Imagine everyone wanting to be your friend and spend time with you. Imagine people wanting your photo. Wanting to touch you. Wanting to hear you say hello to them. Crowds gathering around you just looking at you.

In Kenya I have more money than anyone around me. Everywhere I go around here people recognise me and greet me. People want to be my friend and spend time with me. People want to take my photo. Want to touch me, want me to say hello to them, want me to give them things. When in a new place, crowds gather around and stare.

What as a child sounds like the most amazing thing in the world is actually something that is really difficult to deal with in everyday life. 
Sure the hellos and the smiles and friendliness I wouldn't change for the world.  But there are other aspects that aren't so great.

Seeing so much need and being asked for things so often and yet in reality I can't always give. I want to but I know that giving can actually create more problems then it solves. Once you start randomly giving it is very difficult to stop, or to explain why you gave to some and not others. I will never have enough money to give to all the needs I see. 

For people in Kenya, muzungu = money. Muzungus carry bags, they have nice clothes, they drink out of bottles and they have cars and phones. There is constantly a niggle in the back of the mind reminding that this is one of the main reasons why I get so much attention. Even for people who I am genuinely good friends with there is an obvious difference between us.  

I think the celebrity fantasy is exactly that. It brings a great deal of responsibility and unsurity. It makes you wonder regularly if you are doing the right thing and continually ask the question 'why me',  'why not them!?'

Humans are selfish and we don't do the fundamental things that God asks of us. These problems, this unfairness that I see is not something that can be fully resolved in todays world. 
We can and we should take as many steps as we can to help out and to give. We can provide some solutions to many of the problems here.

But in reality the real lasting solution to these problems, to this unfairness will be the return of Jesus.

Rev 21:4 ' He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the former things have passed away". 

African Braids

I have always admired the long African braids I have seen so many girls with. It wasn't until this year that I realised that they are actually fake extensions that are plaited in.
Right from early on the kids have loved playing with my hair and are always asking me if they can plait it- I have spent the majority of the year with my hair in plaits of some description.

Quite frequently I am asked why I don't plait extensions in and so finally I succumbed to it and commissioned one of my students mothers to plait in some 'real' african braids. A number of hours later it was finally done...however my lack of appropriate care (swimming down at the coast, getting sprayed with mud and filling my hair with ceiling dust putting up mosquito nets) necessitated removal after less than a month.

I headed over to a group of girls on the weekend and asked if they wanted to help remove them. They were quick to oblige and started working straight away. Once one had finished removing a piece of the fake hair she asked me what I wanted to do with it. I didn't care about it in the slightest and said 'if you want to keep it you can keep any that you remove'.... next minute, my hair is being pulled from every direction as the girls scramble to remove it all, folding it carefully and packing it away to save for Dec 24th so they can re-use it to plait into their hair and be 'very beautiful' for Christmas.
Brand new a entire head piece costs a total of 90 cents but for a student that is pretty unachievable so they jump at the chance to take, wash and re-use my second hand ones.

Being a student...

I think the best way to really understand something is to experience it personally.

Although as a teacher I have a fair bit of insight into schooling in Kenya there are doubtless things I miss...so I decided to go to school for a day!

I chose a day in the holidays when all other classes were away except form 4 which I didn't have to teach, got myself a school uniform, loaned myself the necessary textbooks and much to the delight of the students I headed along to the form 4 class just to see what it was actually like.

Nine hours later my stomach is grumbling after only having a cup of tea and some maize and beans all day, my head is a whirl of translating skew lines to be on the same plane, the failings of King Saul, the structure
of the DNA molecule, electrolysis of copper 11 sulphate, endangered animals in Kenya and a confused headache from experiencing an hour of Kiswahili grammar (of which I understood 29 words the entire lesson- yes I kept a tally).

I am aware of the anxious rapid heartbeat you instantly get when the Chemistry teacher directs a question at you and you haven't got a clue what he is talking about. The feeling of not completely understanding the Maths teachers geometry diagram but noticing everyone else is nodding and copying it down so you feel like you are the only stupid one who doesn't get it.
The utter confusion when you don't actually understand the language the teacher is speaking in. These are feelings that the students here would experience often!

The education system here requires a lot of hard yards. Eleven subjects for two years and then narrowed down to eight for the next two years followed by 21 examinations at the end of it all. The students here are required to do a lot of memory work and have a lot of motivation to study for something they won't be assessed on officially until four years time.

I don't know how well I'd go in this education system for four years and I'm thankful that I don't have to find out.

After this day I certainly have a new found understanding and respect for all my students.

Challenges of teaching PE!

Unfortunately PE (physical education) is marginalised in Kenyan secondary schools. The focus on academics, coupled with lack of space and resources means that PE often gets neglected. 

Having studied human movement for four years I was super keen to get PE happening in this school, and had brought with me a large amount of sports supplies. Initially I was told I would have to do it during lunchtime but after a bit of negotiating and persuasion I finally managed to wangle one lesson per class per week to do Lifeskills or PE on an alternate basis.

The kids absolutely love it and get super excited when it is time for our lessons and they get a chance to get outside and do something physical. I love teaching them sports like Ultimate Frisbee, Oztag, badminton and Australian Rules rather than the traditional soccer, netball and volleyball as they have never even seen many of these sports and love learning new games.

Teaching a class of form 3s Australian Rules Football last week took an unexpected turn... As usual the kids were getting super involved, the unique and unfamiliar nature of the game was a cause of great hilarity and noise levels and excitement were high. What I hadn't factored in was the fact that form 4s were in the middle of their National Kenyan Examinations (a very big deal). I am racing around refereeing when suddenly I notice a man brandishing a large rifle on the side of the field!

Security for examinations is tight and armed guards come to ensure there is no cheating or adverse examination conditions for the candidates.

It appears my PE lesson is causing the latter.

My usual default is to do whatever men with guns tell me to do, but on the other hand I really don't want to abandon the only PE lesson with this class for the fortnight... so I decide to negotiate with gun-toting-grumpy.

He finally agrees that if we make no noise at all we can continue.

Anyone who has ever played or watched Aussie Rules with a group of novices will know this is next to impossible, however an absolute credit to my students as they are able to play the rest of the lesson in complete silence- a testimony to how keen they are for PE lessons! 

Lost

I see him standing silently at the door and I know instantly that something is up. His face looks worried and his eyes are dewey. I walk over to him and offer a hand. His voice catches as he whispers 'I'm so sorry madam'...

I instantly guess what has happened as the electrical items for the school that I sent him to the market to collect are nowhere to be seen. 

'Did you loose the money?' I gently ask. 

He doesn't seem to comprehend that I have figured it out and starts to explain... 'I ran to the market and once I had collected everything at the counter I put my hand in my pocket and...' His voice trails off and he turns away and gulps. 

He tries again 'madam, I ran back as fast as I could and I have been searching...' 

'It's okay!' I try to reassure him, 'it is ok, it was an accident, I understand'.

I find my wallet and produce the required amount again. 'Here, you can take this and quickly go back before the shop shuts' 

He stands like a statute.

'It's not ok madam! 1000 shillings is a LOT of money'

He is physically shaking and I can tell this is a really big deal. 

I sit him down and decide to explain it out, I talk about how things happen for a reason, how we can learn from this that it is important to be careful, I get him to think about whoever finds the money and how happy they will be, maybe God knew they needed the money more than we did. 

He stops shaking but is still visibly upset. 

'Madam, when you struggle and struggle to get even 50 shillings... 1000 shillings is SO much money. I have never lost anything like that amount of money before!' 

Finally after much discussion he softly says 'it is okay madam' and gets up to return for the items. 

Later on I hear him at the door again. He comes in, puts the receipt on the counter. Looks at me with sad eyes and says again 'I'm so sorry madam'.

I feel like crying. 

Not because I care about the money. 

This upsetting event, this huge loss that he, an educated, hardworking 20 year old is grappling with, that has made him not want to eat, that has caused him to run kilometers in panic and that has shaken him so badly... is $12.60.

Twelve dollars sixty. In the scheme of things it is nothing. And yet here it is SO much. 

I can't wait. Cannot wait for the time where there is no more poverty.

"Even so, Come Lord Jesus". 

Health 'not so' professionals...

I am just sitting down to dinner when a girl pokes her head in the door- 'Tabby, can I see you for a minute?' 

I am a little surprised because I am visiting an area down at the coast and hence the kids here don't know me as well (or usually have many requests). I jump up immediately and as I reach the door I hear sobbing. Instinct kicks in and I race over to the young teenager -Mwongeli- who is clearly distressed, her entire hand is completely red with blood and it is pouring down her arm. 'I'm coming back' I call out and race to grab some first aid gear. 

The story soon comes out- she fell in the dark and landed on a glass bottle and there is still a large amount of glass inside her hand. By now the muscle has seized up around the glass and try as I might I can't get it out. I bandage it quickly to stop the blood and we decide to go to the nearest health centre that has night shift doctors. 

Myself, Jeremy (a local friend) and the two girls speed along the dirt road- fortunately Jeremy is an excellent driver and despite the dodgy roads and pitch blackness we arrive safely at the centre in less than 15 minutes. 

A 'doctor' approaches us and asks what's wrong, upon hearing he turns and walks away. We decide to take a seat, Mwongeli is still sobbing softly and recalling past waits and dramas with hospital experiences I fish around in my purse and find some painkillers for her. 

The doctor returns and is behaving so erratic it is soon apparent that he (and his two colleagues) are completely drunk. 

Initially he sees the bandage and says she has already been treated and hence we have no need for him. Jeremy explains the concept of first aid and finally he takes us through to a treatment room. I try to enter with her but the doctors refuse. Screaming and yelling ensues from the room and then the door bangs open and the doctors ask me to come in to 'console' her. 

The drunk doctor is holding a wad of bloody gauze and the hole in Mwongeli's hand is gaping open as he roughly wipes it out. I quickly put my arms around her head and arm, directing her not to look, telling her she is brave and that it will hurt less if she is still. 

The doctors are now more interested in my arrival than the wound and start asking my name, where I am from, my marital status and contact details. I try to direct attention back to the injury and ask if they have removed the glass. He says they have but decides to dig around a little more regardless. Mwongeli screams and writhes. 

I ask if they are going to use anaesthetic as it is obviously agonising... they seem to see the merit in this idea and a needle is produced and rammed into her hand so hard it snaps.

By now I am loosing patience and Mwongeli is beside herself in pain. Becoming frustrated I ask if they are even real doctors and the one about to stitch gets so offended he stops working. 

After a bit of placating towards the doctors and consoling towards Mwongeli finally we get it stitched up. The doctor remarks to me 'you are so good at consoling!' I feel like saying 'wish I could say the same about your doctor skills!' but I figure it is in everyone's best interests for me to bite my tongue. 

Painkillers are arbitrarily shaken into a bag and we are out of there. 

The relief of the pain and drama being over washes over us and we are fortunately all able to see some humour in the whole situation and have a good stress releasing giggle about the whole experience. 

Sometimes the Kenyan health system is surprisingly good, but other times I am vividly reminded that I am living in a developing country. This occasion is definitely the latter! 

Kalalani

One of the sponsored children.

The car is filled with the overpowering stench of goat- from the two in the back which we have been generously gifted with by the locals. The 'road' is so muddy we are constantly getting stuck or else sliding into the bushes- one of our tires has burst but we have pumped it up again with a bike pump and so far it is holding out. 

We pull up beside a Masai dressed in a traditional blanket, riding a motorbike- he explains that the 'road' is worse up ahead. The three local men in the car who are assisting with directions attempt to get out to assess which way we should go...I smile as they yoyo the electric window and tug on the cup-holder. I show them for the 7th time the lever to open the door and they quickly exit and start beating down bushes to make a way for us to pass through. 

Kalalani is remote. In the coastal region of Kenya but over a 2 hour drive from any reasonable sized town. We had decided to visit to meet with the people there and bring some food relief for sponsored families. We are told that this tribe are not as blessed as other tribes in Kenya. This region struggles for water. There are no rivers or water sources nearby. Now it is the rainy season so the roads are muddy but even so, most people don't have much water storage capacity so are required to walk long distances every day to collect. 

Hungry dogs watching on as kids eat rice with their hands.

The houses are mud and sticks and there are no toilets. Apparently it is traditional to just go in the bush. Despite the abject poverty the people are so generous. They are so excited to have a visit and prepare us a feast of rice and chicken, we are even given the privilege of spoons- everyone else makes do with their hands.

We had to borrow a local church to meet in as we don't have a meeting hall here yet. The children from this area used to walk from Friday to Sunday in order to come to church and for sponsorship relief, now that has changed and someone comes to visit their area fortnightly, meeting in a local school or a borrowed church. 

The 'church' we met with the families in.

So often in Kenya I am struck by the contrasts. The extreme poverty and hardship these people face is equally matched by their determination and generosity. The thought of children walking for two days to reach somewhere every week is mind-blowing. The love that is shown by the volunteers making the trek out here to provide relief every fortnight is equally inspiring. 

This is certainly a place where sponsorship is needed, well utilised and appreciated. 

The Funeral

Even though we are quite tired and more than ready for bed we decide the right thing to do is to go. Three of us climb into the car and I manoeuvre  down the dirt road. We drive for a couple of kilometres before the road turns into something resembling a goat track. I push on but after a while decide it is too much and we get out to cover the remaining couple of kms by foot. It is pitch back and we only have one small torch, lighting our path through the maize fields, over the hills, across a river and in the direction of the music. A clearing to the right of the road opens up into space where a crowd are seated in a semicircle facing a group of rhythmical dancers. The grieving family are surrounded by friends, neighbours and family, and selected people speak about how he was such a good dancer and singer and such an integral part of the church choir. A church member gives some encouraging words, bible passages are read and prayers are said. We stay until after midnight before bidding farewell and heading home to return in the morning.
 
Festus was only in his 20s, his family are extremely poor. He had decided to go to college to study masonry and was blessed enough to be sponsored to do so, however he complained of sickness which continued to worsen until he had to be hospitalised and then tragically last week he could fight no longer and cancer took him. 

There is a resounding thud as the first spadeful of dirt hits the tin covering the coffin at the bottom of the hole. My eyes well up as I watch the muscly lad in his 20s feverishly shovelling spadeful after spadeful of dirt into the hole, covering the body of his friend. He is working hard and fast as if the physical labour will provide a distraction from the pain inside. Earlier on in the funeral he spoke about how much he loved and will miss his friend... People in their 20s shouldn't be burying their friends! 

Why? Why? Why? I look around at the crowd of people gathered for his burial. His mentally disabled uncle, his shattered mother, stoic brothers and weeping classmates. Why would God take someone when they are so young and seemingly full of life!?! 

A wise king once said it is better to go to a funeral than a feast (Ecclesiastes 7:12). Today I feel I understand a little about what he meant. Funerals are a graphic reminder to us that our life now is short and every day we live is a gift from God. It really puts life into perspective and makes you motivated to act while you can. 

Beneath the surface

In front of me is a class of fresh faced smiling students, neatly dressed in school uniform, pen in hand, textbook open. My eyes scan across the room- if you didn't know it, they seem on the surface to be just like a school class in Australia; there are the smart kids, the helpful kids, the class clowns, the hard workers...
Yet these students have so much going on beneath the surface.

David is sitting in the front row, he is a super quiet kid but one of the cleverest in the school, he ALWAYS gets top mark for his year level and he will often giggle at puns or jokes I make that may go over the heads of the other students.... His mother has died and his stepmother doesn't like him. She doesn't allow him to live at home. When the other kids go home to their families in the holidays, he remains here at school.

Next to David is Nana, very friendly and welcoming she will always come and say hello and see me a few times a day... she returned to school late this term as one of her good friends, a 17 year old orphan, died from AIDs and she had to help organise the funeral. 

I see Brenda's wide grin in the second to back row, she is so hardworking and often asks me for extra help or information on the topics we cover... Although it doesn't show on her face, she is in pain.
Her holidays were very busy working in the fields and her only shoes are her school ones which she didn't want to ruin, hence she ploughed the field barefoot and sent a hoe right through her foot. As her family had no money for medical help she waited until she returned to school and I could treat it- unfortunately this meant that is had become infected and one of the most nasty cuts I have seen to date- it is going to take a while and a bit of treatment before it will fully recover.

Next to Brenda is an empty chair. Faith is not sponsored, her family couldn't afford school fees and she had to go home.

Godfrey on the far left has his books out ready, his homework completed. But he looks a little tired.... I would be tired if I had walked 7 km to school with an empty stomach. His only reliable meal is lunch at school. His father died many years ago and he has told me that he is now the responsible male figure in the family- despite being only 15 years of age. 


Geoffrey is absent today, his classmates said he is unwell. Yesterday I found him collapsed behind the tuition block. I immediately took him to the library/first aid area and did some tests- his family can't afford mosquito nets and he has contracted malaria. I gave him medication and told him to rest for a few days.

Yes on the surface these students seem to be just like any students anywhere, but its only once you get to know them and what goes on beneath the surface that you realise how difficult their lives are.
When they come and ask me for a band-aid its not just because they don't have any with them or they can't be bothered to wait until they get home. Its because they have no other means of getting one. When they ask to borrow a calculator for their exam it is because they can't afford one and without it they will likely fail.

The reason why these kids, with so much going on in their lives, are fresh faced and smiling is because unlike many others, they are at high school. They have the opportunity to become educated, find employment and potentially break of the cycle of poverty that their family has always been ensnared in.
Their hope for a bright future is what keeps them motivated and hard working.

Diary of a Day-Sunday 21st Sept

I am hurtling at 80 km per hour along a bone-shaking road, looking at the surface I think it would be fair to say there are more potholes than actual road. It is hot and sticky with the manky smell of wet carpet in the car I have borrowed. The air-con doesn't work and considering the truck in front of me is kicking up a storm of dust I figure it would be a disaster to open the windows. I glance over my shoulder at the student in the back seat, she is sitting silently, occasionally wiping blood from the gaping hole in her knee her friend also silent beside her...

Today started like any Sunday, slightly more of a sleep-in than a school day, brekky, a few students coming with various requests, then the 1km walk for Sunday service.
The speaker was a visitor from another region and he made several mentions of the 'visitors from without' (myself and the other Westerner) which considering I have lived here for 9 months I found slightly amusing. Walking back home down the dusty dirt road I found two little hands in mine and some gorgeous little girls skipping alongside me. I asked where they were from and was told their dad was going to pick them up from school later on that day. After  popping home for a quick lunch I headed over to school, the little girls were still hanging around so I played with them and gave them some sweets. I decided I may as well stay at the school library for a bit and do a few odd jobs before I kicked into my Sunday arvo plans.

I was just heading back to the house to pick up a few odds and ends when I was called back by a student 'madam, you are needed, someone is about to collapse'... unsure as to how serious this 'issue' is I quickly turned and headed back.
I found 16 year old Valery sitting outside the library, her leg covered in blood. She explained that a when running back to school a stick had tripped her and then flicked up and pierced her leg and it was very painful- it looked awful and I quickly grabbed gloves, water and gauze and set about cleaning it up. Once it was cleaned I could see more clearly- a large gaping hole.. by now a sizeable crowd of kids had gathered and were watching me closely. I asked Valery a few questions and she said it felt like there was still something inside. I got some tweezers and set about gingerly poking the hole, looking at the raw meatiness of it I felt so nauseous I quickly sat on the ground to avoid passing out or throwing up.
My efforts were fruitful as I soon pulled out a large splinter, but I still wasn't convinced...the wound looked bigger than just a splinter. I asked around but the students all said the other adults living onsite were not around... no second opinions available.

Not wanting to take any chances I grabbed my phone and quickly made a call to borrow a car. Then after giving her a few pain killers I bundled Valery and a couple of friends into the car and raced off to hospital.

After the usual hospital rigmaroles we finally found ourselves in a dirty corridor which had a small bed and table- this was the theatre room. There was only one doctor in the hospital so our wait was quite long, but eventually he came in. Valery was completely silent as he injected her with anaesthetic and then started digging around inside her knee, I was mesmerised and completely grossed out both at once and I found I couldn't keep my eyes off the proceedings, the doctor didn't seem to mind me poking my head in and asking him questions and he even laughed at my shock as he finally pulled out a comparatively enormous piece of wood from her small knee. I actually couldn't believe it and asked if I could keep it- the obliging doctor and nurse seemed a little surprised but carefully wrapped it up for me so I could take it home. A tetanus injection and a bagful of medication to prevent infection and we were out of there. All throughout this whole ordeal Valery hasn't complained once or even made a single cry of pain. Such a tough girl!

By now it was past 4:30 pm and the kids still hadn't had lunch. A quick scout of the hospital cafe and hotel found that both had nothing more to offer than tea- we decided to go back to our village hotel where the kids could get chapatti and stew.

Arriving back at school I realised that my Sunday afternoon was all but over, my previous plans of playing some football, putting up new clotheslines and getting my hair braided are now completely out of the question. I spend the last few hours of the day collecting drinking water for the school tomorrow and treating a few minor first aid issues.

Today didn't go exactly how I had planned and yet sitting down at the end of it I feel so blessed. Previously (at home in Aus) I have been known to faint in medical emergencies and yet today I remained conscious the entire time. So many people here wouldn't have a phone or a friend they could ring who would be happy to lend a car, and yet I had both of these. Even if they did have a car, most wouldn't know how to drive it and yet I have had my licence for years. Many people wouldn't be able to afford the 1400 shillings hospital bill and yet just last week I received another email from a friend at home letting me know they had transferred me some cash to use for people in need. Yes, today I feel one of my favourite verses was played out before me... "And God will supply every need of yours according to his riches" Phil 4:19

The offending stick once removed- as big as the car keys!

Parents Day!

After the holidays I hear talk that this term we will be having 'parents day', this is mentioned interchangeably with 'academic day' and I find myself wondering what exactly this will entail. Students are told to inform their parents to come on Friday of week two for consultation about 'academic matters'.

I ask one of the teachers what will be happening and he says he is not sure, perhaps the parents will come around to see the subject teachers or the maybe the class teachers, one thing he is adamant about- parents will arrive by 9 and therefore we will not be undertaking any regular teaching. I tell my classes that we will not be meeting on Friday and try to cover extra work to make up for it. 

Friday arrives and I head over to school at 8. Students are all over the place, half in uniform half not. There is obvious confusion about proceedings, this is soon addressed by the teacher on duty who wields a large ruler and demands everyone goes to class. I ask what is happening and someone tells me that teachers have decided to teach this morning. I check the schedule but my lessons aren’t until later on in the day. Some students are sneaking out of class and around the back of the building I assume to try and get properly dressed. The bell rings but it isn’t time for a lesson change or break.

Marquees and chairs which arrived late last night are stacked in a pile outside the principals office, there are no parents in sight. 

I again ask what the plan is and am told things won’t start until 10.

A few students come into the library and loiter. I ask them what they are doing and they say they have been locked out of class because they were late. I tell them they can’t just hide in the library and they need to go to class and wait outside. I soon see them walking the corridors looking for a class without a teacher in which they can seek refuge until they are permitted back in class.

Around 9:30 some students wander over and start to set up chairs and the marquees. A few parents have started to arrive and sit near the gate looking a little lost.

It is getting closer to the time I am scheduled to teach but I am not sure if I should prepare a lesson or not.

Suddenly a bell rings and assembly starts. I stand on parade still a little confused as to what is really happening. Various announcements are made about collecting forms and students accompanying parents to consult with teachers.  Then I am told its time for tea break. I don't feel like I have done much work yet but am happy to sit down to tea and white bread- until a crying students comes to me, someone dropped their boiling tea all over her and now she is burnt. My tea break is taken up treating her burn.

I emerge from the library and notice that there appears to be movement over at the tuition block- I head over there to investigate and realise parent teacher interviews are in full swing. I sit at an empty desk and am soon swamped by parents and my students. Unfortunately most of the parents have little English, so our interviews are somewhat challenging to say the least.
Watching the students bustling around, proudly introducing their parents to their various teachers, I feel a tug at my elbow. One student has come around the back of my table. I look up to see one of my form three boys, Amos. He wordlessly hands me the consultation form and I see that there is a blank space next to 'parent/guardian'. He has no parents. Not wanting to stand out he has still picked up a consultation form and is just going to the teachers by himself. My heart bleeds for this lad and I feel like taking his hand and going to visit the teachers with him, playing the role of guardian and congratulating him on his efforts, encouraging him where he could do better...

But I am a teacher and I am swamped by parents so I can't do any more than write an encouraging comment on his form and hand it back, then turn to deal with the parent in front of me who wants an explanation of why her daughter is failing physics (the fact I don't teach physics- or even her daughter in any subject seems to be a little difficult to communicate). 

After a hectic whirlwind of meetings we head to the marquees for introductions and some speeches. Being Kenya, this lasts for many hours and is mostly in Swahili. The principal introduces me and informs the sea of parents that I speak good Swahili and also run very fast, I find this slightly amusing that these are my outstanding features but then I guess I'm not completely sure thats what he said anyway (my Swahili really isn't all that good). 

I had thought I was just a passive participant and was enjoying watching a toddler blow raspberries on the side of the marquee until I was sharply brought back to reality by the MC announcing 'swahiliwordsidon'tunderstand MADAM TABBYmoreswahiliwords' and I realise I am being requested to give a speech about the library and computing matters! I decide to go against the flow and keep my speech down to around 5 minutes (not difficult seeing I had nothing prepared and suspect most don't really understand what I am saying anyways).

After several years the speeches finally finish and I breathe a sigh of relief- I can go and get some lunch! It is past 5 pm... However I am soon stopped by a random man I have never seen before. He throws tinsel around my neck and starts snapping photos. A few students run to join in and stick their heads through the tinsel wreathes as well. I am slightly confused- until the man starts asking for money so he can print the photos and bring to me- this is a common thing at events like this and I try to explain as best I can that I really don't need photos of myself as a human Christmas tree, return the tinsel and escape. 

I am stopped again by several students who want me to meet more parents and guardians. Some of the 'guardian's are barely older than the students themselves and I find out many are actually older siblings or relatives. 

I walk past the staff room and realise another meeting is taking place with the form four parents- however I don't have any energy left for more meetings so I excuse myself on the basis of needing to attend to students- a genuine excuse as considering I haven't been around all afternoon the crowd at the library door is quite large.

The day finally ends and as I watch the motley collection of grandpas, siblings, relatives and parents leave the school I feel a rush of affection to these people, it was a confusing day for them as well, many haven't had an opportunity to be educated themselves, but they recognise the importance of it for their children. They have put in the effort, scraped together what fees they can, walked the long distance to the school and shown these kids that they care about their future. 

Orphan

The word orphan is one that is associated with great need, it is a word that instantly pulls the heartstrings, that indicates someone who has no-one to care for them or provide for them.

As a child growing up in Australia I knew of only one person who was an orphan, and despite him being around 17 years of age and almost independent anyways I felt so sorry for him. Imagine having no one to look after and care for you!

Here in Kenya, orphans are many.

One of my students returned from holidays a few days late this term and I asked her why. She explained that one of her close friends had died so she had to bury her. She explained how her friend was an orphan, left with only a stepmother to care for her- who disliked her and mistreated her often. Her parents had died from AIDS and this girl was found to be HIV positive; as my student explained, she hated life because no one cared for her so she stopped getting treatment and she died. 'You see madam, when you lose your parents and have no one to care for you, your life is very bad...'
This is sadly such a common tale, parents passing away, no one to care for them, they feel like a burden, they have to fend for themselves.

Sometimes however, there are people who care. People who show these kids and young people that life is worth living, that others are out there who will look after them, cook their meals, share their laughter, sympathise with their sadness, wipe their tears.

There are some amazing people I have met here, who both work at Lela orphanage or else live in the community and have taken orphans into their houses. One such lady I was talking to at church about a small child she had recently taken in, her reasoning and reply was simple 'we share what little we have'.

When doing visits for sponsorship candidates, not a single one of the needy families we visited had only their biological children. Their needs are great because their generosity is great. Taking in many fatherless and sharing what little they have.
If we were to think of a good solution to the problem of so many orphans, surely we would brainstorm and come up with various strategies and finally one of the ideals would be that rather than abandoned or institutionalised they are cared for within homes by being accepted into existing family units.... and yet this is the default that is happening!
The only problem is enough money for these 'family units' to continue functioning.

The need is there. The solution is in place. All it needs is a bit more support.

http://www.agapeinaction.com/sponsor_now.html

Orphaned by AIDS, baby Davis is now cared for by a grandmother and sponsored through Agape in Action. 

Maureen

Maureen is one of those students you get to know pretty quickly. Super happy and friendly, always saying hello and making me welcome right from the start. I remember early on, I bumped into her on a Sunday night and she insisted I share her mondazi with her- despite it being only one of two they get per week. 

A few weeks into term one she came and asked me about a rash she had developed. I gave her a few different creams to try, unfortunately they yielded no result and I remember giving her a leave out form to go to the clinic for treatment. With so many students and so much going on her case was soon in the back of my mind. 

However, at the beginning of term two she didn't report back with the other students. In fact she didn't come back for  over a month. 

Walking out the library one morning I felt like I was in a nightmare. I could see a student crossing the yard who looked like Maureen but then I thought it simply couldn't possibly be. 

Her legs were swollen like balloons, her face twice the size. Her skin was all flaky and falling off. She was walking so so incredible slow, each step obviously causing a great amount of pain. I felt scared to talk to her. 

I had to know what was going on though so I immediately went over and greeted her, I sat her on a nearby bench and asked for the full story.

She said her condition had gotten worse and worse until she couldn't move. She had been to the clinic and the district hospital but she said after doing tests they could find nothing and actually told her she would just have to go home and die. 

Hearing a positive and friendly 18 yr old talking about death like this was something that really shook me. 

I heard more about how her family was 'cursed' by grandmother and four of her siblings had previously died, the only suggestion that was offered to Maureen was that she seek out some witchcraft to attempt to cure her.

Yet despite the situation Maureen was so positive. She told me she believed God loved her and she was getting better. 

The next few days told a different story about her health though. I visited her room regularly and found her trying to disguise her tears and tell me the pain wasn't so bad. I felt so helpless and wished I knew what was wrong. I took photos of her and sent them to two doctor friends in Australia and Wales for advice, but not being here it was difficult for them to know the best way forward. 

At the local clinic...

I took her to the clinic a few times for symptom treatment and painkiller injections. But none of it made any real difference. The 'clinic' is of dubious quality. The 'doctor' said maybe she was allergic to protein and should not eat any beans anymore and also that she had malaria (a common diagnosis for just about any kind of sickness). He poured some green liquid into a second hand bottle and told her to drink it 2x a day. When he went out the room I checked the container of the green liquid and saw it was simply an anti- histamine, recommended for 'running noses'. With due respect to the clinician (I guess you can only work with what knowledge and resources you have) I decided to research other options- I had seen a medical centre in new shopping mall in town and so I looked them up and organised a time for Maureen to leave school and come for treatment. 

The medical centre was clean, well equipped and clinical. The doctor was clearly intelligent and spoke good English. He asked many questions, did a blood test and spoke on the phone to colleagues in other areas of Kenya. Finally he explained that it was a severe form of dermatitis that affects the flexor surfaces and had been untreated for so long hence the severe reaction. He was very optimistic about her situation, administered an injection and prescribed further drugs to take home.

Last week Maureen came bouncing into the library giggling and asked me to watch as she jumped in the air 'look how well I am now madam!'.

I have since taken her back again for further treatment and although it is not a condition that can be completely cured, she is now back to normal and not experiencing any nasty symptoms anymore.

Certainly not an experience I want to repeat but so glad it has had the outcome it had! 

So much maize...

Maize is the staple food in Kenya. 

It is eaten as a porridge for breakfast, cooked together with beans for lunch, ground into a flour to make ugali for supper, or eaten roasted straight off the fire. Although nowhere near as tasty as sweet corn, when it is freshly roasted it isn't a bad snack- despite having practically zero nutritional value besides a bit of energy. 

Everyone who has land grows maize.  Not having much of a farming background I have found it so awesome watching fields get ploughed, neighbours and friends working in teams and helping each other to plant seed and then witnessing the crops grow out the ground, almost visibly changing on a daily basis until they are towering above me as I walk past (or on occasion- through!).

At this time of year- just coming into harvest- there are fields of maize absolutely everywhere. 

Initially I wondered about theft- if people are hungry why don't they just nick it from unprotected fields? What could the owners do to stop it? 

As it turns out, people do just nick it. It's a common problem that unless you were happy to keep watch over your field  24:7 doesn't really have a solution. The school principal banned students from bringing maize to school to roast and supplement their meals as he said he didn't want to encourage theft and there is no way of knowing if it is stolen or not. 

I have been generously presented with much fresh maize from kind students and neighbours. Initially I was unsure what to do with it as I truly can't eat it in the same quantities that the locals do. However I have found if I take it to the kitchen and roast it I will soon be joined by many willing students keen to help me finish it up. 

The locals really struggle to understand our lack of it at home. 

When discussing with the school staff about the fact I had never eaten ugali before I came here they were shocked. Some declaring they could never visit Australia because they would starve from lack of ugali. 

One was clearly struggling with the concept of no ugali and I could see the bewilderment on his face as tried to come to terms with it... ' but madam, if you don't have ugali... What do you do with all your maize!?'