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.