Market Day :)

Piles of colourful school uniforms, rechargeable torches, second hand clothes from overseas, coils of rope and mountains of mismatched shoes are spread on dirty tarps across the dusty ground. Upon close inspection it can be seen that most 'stalls' have someone perched atop or amidst one of their mounds of goods- or else they will be seated nearby and soon be at the elbow of any prospective customers. The usual mountains of cabbages and tomatoes are also present, as well as the obligatory English Premier League jerseys which are sold just about everywhere.

The sound of bawling cattle is drowned out by a loud crackling speaker through which a storeholder is announcing again and again in Swahili the prices of his goods- that is until he notices the muzungus approaching... he quickly stops the repetitive dribble and perks up, I pick out a few Swahili words from his excited spill 'welcome... here... muzungu... buy..' The shout-out over the loudspeaker alerts many other store-holders to our presence and we are requested and welcomed by every seller in the immediate vicinity. Yes, it is market day in Kamukuywa!

The market system in this region works on a rotational basis with sellers going to a different village each day of the week with their goods to sell. For us, it is Tuesday that we have the influx into our market area. If you can be bothered to search through it can actually be a good place for 2nd hand bargains as most of the clothing is imported/donated from charities in the West and is of reasonable quality. However, it can be a bit of a headache as muzungus = money and therefore we get constantly pestered and overcharged. It is advisable to go with a local and get them to negotiate prices- otherwise face the flack from the students when returning to school. 'Madam, how much did that cost?... EH! that is muzungu price, very expensive! Next time you must take me with you!'.

Personal Health- Madam Jiggers!

Seeing so many people with complicated and terrible health conditions I have realised how blessed I am to be healthy, fit and strong. However, the first seven months of this year hasn't been without its little health hiccups, early in the year a case of malaria saw me confined to my bed for almost a week, and shortly after a chest infection caused me to leave many of my classes mid coughing fit, however most of the time I have found my bouts of 'sickness' to be more humorous than upsetting.

I had been treating Brian and Julie for a number of days before I ventured to their house. The first time I went there I was in a hurry and foolishly didn't change into covered shoes. Imagine my shock the next day when I notice an itchy swelling on the base of my foot, further exploration resulting in the finding of no less than nine jiggers that have made their home in my feet and under my toenails. Early detection meant I could simply cut them (and their eggs) out rather than needing to soak repeatedly, however, cutting burrowed-in fleas from under ones toenails is definitely not the most pleasant experience. Jiggers have a bit of a stigma in society as it is generally only the poorest and dirtiest that are affected. My students thought my condition and bandaged feet were a great lark and a number took to calling me 'madam jiggers!'.

After a hectic busy day in which I had arrived at school early and then taught nine lessons straight after each other I found I had a thumping headache, I could tell a migraine was coming on as I was dizzy and my vision was starting to cloud.  A couple of girls came to me as I was leaving school and asked me what was wrong. I explained I had a headache and everything looked black, 'but madam!' one of them replied 'we are always black!'.

Meeting Esther!

We are standing outside a small run down primary school in a town called Chwele, approximately 20 km from the Academy. It is a Sunday in mid-June and most of the students are on half term break yet there are still over 50 children all flocking around me, I scan their faces, searching for the one I recognise, but amidst the many excited greetings, movement and confusion I can't tell. Stepping back from the crowd I climb onto a nearby step and hold up the photo I have with me asking, 'Esther, ico wapi? (where is Esther?). A shaven headed girl in her simple primary school dress is shyly pushed to the front and I instantly recognise her face... 'Esther! Woohoo I found you! I am your sponsor!"

I first heard about Agape in Action at a Wednesday night bible class special presentation. I don’t remember who the presenters were or what their particular message was. I just remember going away from the talk and thinking ‘I want to sponsor a child'.  Considering I was a high school student with minimal income from a newspaper round I knew this really wasn’t something feasible for the near future. However, this was something I knew I wanted to do and I knew would eventually happen if I set my mind to it. I knew my dream of sponsoring a child would happen one day; I just had no idea how far that dream would actually take me.

It was a few years later while in my second semester at university that I noticed an advertisement on the university jobs board as a soccer coach for Seymour College –a prestigious girls day and boarding school in the Eastern Suburbs. Until this stage I had been working part time nannying and casual office assistant work with my sister. Working as a sports coach was something that was on my list of ‘101 things to do as a teenager’  and I felt this was the perfect opportunity. Carefully articulating my application letter I hit send on my email and made a promise to myself- ‘if I get this job I will sponsor a child!’.

Two weeks later heading out the door to visit my cousins I had an unfamiliar number appear on my phone, a cheery voice introduced herself as PE coordinator at Seymour and said if I was still keen they would like me to start the next week! My prayers were answered and I jumped into the car with my brother quizzing him the entire way about what his coach did at soccer trainings since I had never actually played competitively myself or seen a single training in my life!

Not having the internet at home I headed to the local library and excitedly filled out the online form, confirmation arrived shortly after

Child ID: 800. Name: Esther Makhomi. Likes: Beans and Rice, Netball. Father says “I am unable to provide for my family”

I had finally achieved one of my goals, I was sponsoring a child! To be sure that I was able to continue this always I opened a new bank account and deposited my entire first terms coaching payment into it- if I was ever to run short on money or loose my income I had enough there to continue payments for a year while I found more work. 

Little did I imagine four years ago that beginning this sponsorship would eventually lead to me actually living here and working as teacher to many sponsored high school students! 

...Esther seems very surprised at my appearance but with some prompting from her teachers she overcomes her shyness and gives me a guided tour of her little school. The students perform songs and poems in honour of the visit and I am invited by the school director to give a speech to the students, I notice Esther's face light up when I mention her by name, thanking the staff and administration for the work they do providing a safe haven at this primary school. The many students gawp at me in awe and then excitedly wave us off as we say our farewells and drive away...

Tabby vs mosquito

Nnnnnnnnghhh ngggghhhh the sound starts up again, the multiple frequencies indicating tonights invasion is large in number; this time when it starts I have had enough. I jump out of bed wielding my ipod torch and wildly brandishing a coat hanger. I feel ready to take on a lion and I kinda wish I was in a way, as at least it would be a lot easier to spot than tiny evasive mosquitos!

Although my room is relatively small with two cupboards, bunk bed and single bed taking up most of the space, come night time it seems to have room to house thousands of blood sucking menaces (ok I may be slightly exaggerating), which delight in hiding themselves in every nook and cranny.

This particular night has been especially bad. I have been awake for 3 1/2 hours listening to the constant barrage of ngggghhhh. Despite having a full length pyrethrum treated net the mozzies still find their way inside.

I have already spent a good proportion of my night swiping fruitlessly at the little beasts, it seems like they relish in flying close enough for me to bother attempting and then dancing out of reach just at the right time. I am almost beside myself... taking a deep breath I light a mozzie coil, spray some repellent and set out to kill any that are still in my room. My eyes are fixated on the tiny buzzing monster circling the light fitting as I leap from my bed to the bunk and back to the cupboard. I forget that I have just placed a lit coil on my cupboard but am brought sharply back to reality by the stabbing pain as my foot lands squarely on it. Cursing under my breath I jump back to my bed, my foot gets caught in my oh so helpful 'mosquito net' and I lose my balance toppling onto the floor and dragging my net down with me.

I am a sorry sight; tangled, burnt and frustrated but not yet ready to give up, I have squashed, sprayed and flattened 12 mosquitos so far tonight but I can still hear more...

I leap to my feet and snatching at the air I manage to catch one in my fist, slamming my open hand onto my leg I note with vicious satisfaction the squashed vermin now decorating my track pants. Justice at last.

I crawl back into my bed, it is now 12:25 and I am thoroughly exhausted. I finally settle and am just drifting off when I hear the nnnnggghhh start up again... It's too much! I ensure every possible part of my body is under my sheet to prevent bites and force myself to go to sleep.. Tonight it was definitely a win to the mosquitos... Just you wait until tomorrow though!

Brian and Julie

I noticed Brian on my first Sunday here in Kamukuywa. 

Dressed in an oversized t-shirt, some girls leggings and bare feet, he was wandering around the hall during the service and eventually sat up the front next to the translator who gave him some lollies. I was interested in who he was as he only looked about two years old and yet he seemed very independent and I couldn't see a mother anywhere.

Brian and Julie receiving treatment

Over the following weeks and months I found out that his mother Julie is disabled, she struggles to communicate and perform basic tasks, she was raped and therefore there is no father to assist with care. 

I didn't find out much more about the couple until a few months ago when one Sunday I picked up the lad and held him on my lap during the service. I noticed his feet looked very bad- infected with jiggers.
Jiggers are a flea kinda thing that enter the feet and lay their eggs inside which hatch and they effectively eat out your feet from the inside and can be very painful and extremely itchy. Once I saw them I immediately wanted to treat his feet and managed to convince both child and mother to come to the school so I could soak them in chemicals to kill the jiggers and then allow them to recover. One glance made me see his mothers feet were much worse than his and I soon realised this was going to be a longer process than I initially realised. Their feet were so badly infected they looked like a mess of black infections and neither of them could walk properly.

Drying Julie's feet after soaking.

Over the course of a month I have been treating and bandaging their hands and feet and getting to know these lovely people. I immediately began picking the brains of my nurse sister, travel doctor and other medical friends as well as the locals. Apparently the best treatment is to kill the jiggers by soaking in chemicals and then allow the body to exude the dead flea. Keeping the feet and hands clean and wearing shoes is also the best way to prevent reinfection. 

Brian enjoying splashing around.

This was easy enough as fortunately I didn't have any lessons scheduled for first up in the morning so I was able to spend the first hour of each day treating their feet and hands.

I was repeatedly told by the locals that jiggers thrive in dry dusty environments and in order to really eradicate the jiggers the mud hut they lived in needed to be 'smeared' with cow dung. 
I decided that 'when in Rome, act like the Romans' and perhaps I should just bite the bullet and take the advice of the locals. One of my students, Elizabeth, was super optimistic and helpful, explaining that her grandma had taught her how to 'smear down very well!' and she would be able to teach me no problems.
Taking gloves and some buckets we set off in search of some dung, dirt and water- the three magic ingredients. Mixing the three together we created a sloppy paste which we then literally 'smeared' all over the floor of the house. Children from all around the neighbourhood came peering in the door and windows, shocked to see a muzungu 'smearing down!'. Although it took a little bit of getting used to, by the time we finished the hut Elizabeth said I was able to do it as well as her! 

After quite a few weeks of treatment we have seen some great improvements. One particular moment sticks in my mind, after their first treatment when they both had their feet soaked, cleaned, bandaged and now in shoes and Julie stood up to walk out- to our shock she could actually walk out of the school compound with relatively little difficulty. Her slow unsteady gait which we had attributed to her disability had actually been partly caused by the pain and discomfort of her feet. 

Julie is an incredible person! Although experiencing greater hardship than anyone else I have met she always manages to find a smile, despite the fact I struggle to understand her communication she always keeps trying until the message gets across. 
Often Brian would become difficult and refuse treatment, in these cases I put on music and danced around the room to get Brian to cooperate and she would burst into loud whoops of laughter, causing him to also see the funny side. 
When giving them some bread to eat as a distraction from the treatment she would always share her piece with Brian. 
The attachment between these two is so strong, despite the hardship, disability, pain and poverty the love between a mother and her child shines bright. 

One of Brian's feet before and after treatment :)