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!?' 

Hospital Time

With over 200 people living here and around 100 extra day scholars I get a lot of requests for medical help- from minor first aid to more serious stuff.

One student approached me the other day complaining of pain that sounded to me like a UTI. I decided that this was one case I should probably refer to a higher power and decided to take her to the district hospital (around half an hours drive away).

Myself, Des, the student and her friend for company headed off to the hospital. Despite having never been there before and not speaking much of the language, it is assumed by the student that I know exactly what to do and where to go. There is a plethora of buildings with handwritten signs stuck up with tape above various doors. Luckily Des had been there previously and pointed me in the right direction for registration.

I headed up to join the long queue to give details and pay- a tired looking worker is seated in a small box like office and serving people very slowly through a grated window. A large lady in a smart blue dress waltzes up and grins widely as she elbows in front of me in the line. I thought that perhaps she was part of admin or something but as it turned out she was just a patient like us.

Eventually it is our turn, I hand over 1000 shillings (around $12) and the lady tells me registration cost 330 but I can get my change ‘later’.

We find our way  to a ‘waiting room’- a collection of chairs gathered by a couple of doors labelled ‘consultation 1’ and ‘consultation 2’. We sit waiting for quite some minutes as I try and figure out what the process is. No staff seem to be around for us to inform of our presence and I soon realise that when a patient leaves one of the rooms whoever gets in the door first gets seen next. Our blue lady friend pushes in front again (somehow she had arrived at the waiting area after us) and I wisen up and guide my student through the door next to get seen by the nurse.

The nurse tells us that we need to go to the lab for some tests. But first we must go and pay again.

Back to our reception area and we line up- rather fruitlessly as the receptionist has gone to lunch. After a wait she returns and we tell her what we have been directed to do, she says she’ll deduct 250 from my balance-I can come for change ‘later’. I’m starting to realise why they don’t give the change at the beginning!

At the lab after a wait we are given a bottle for a urine sample and sent out of the hospital to a long drop toilet at the back of the block.

The results come back within half an hour and we get told to go back to the consultation area.

Back outside the consultation rooms a fellow patient tells us the doctor ‘is not around’ so we must wait.

A nurse comes along and tells us we are not in the right area and if returned from tests we need to sit on some different chairs. We move to the right chairs. Doctor returns. It appears it doesn’t matter what chair you sit in, its still first in best served. By now my student is looking exhausted and ready to collapse, I pull her up and we stand right at the door. Someone exits the room and just as we walk in, a tiny little wippet of a kid sneaks between us and into the consultation chair.

The grinning blue lady returns and lurks behind us as if deliberating the best means to get past us and through the open door first. I can feel the competition in the air… there are no muzungu privileges here.

As soon as the kid stands up from his chair I shove my student into the room and shut the door behind us.

The doctor gives us the diagnosis (UTI -woohoo for my diagnostics!) and tells us we need to pay again and then go to the pharmacy section.

Go back to wait and pay again. When it is my turn at the window another lady pushes in front, her face cm from mine peering in the grate and speaking rapid-fire Swahili to the receptionist. She tilts her head slightly stops her Swahili and says Hi' in my face. Considering the end is in sight I manage a courteous reply.

The receptionist has lost her stapler and is faffing about rifling through papers and stuff. I don't care that my pile of receipts has no staple and just take it from her along with my few shillings change.

A final wait at the pharmacy, we are given the necessary drugs and are out of there!

Considering we are in remote Western Kenya I am relatively impressed with the services, in total it was less than three hours and around $10 and now a week later the student is much improved :)