| Volume: 1 | Issue: 5 | September 28, 2008 |
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From: Kenya, East Africa...
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... The past week was one of birth and rebirth. Kisumu is still the same, but never the same from minute to minute. The mamas still walk the streets carrying their produce on their heads greeting their friends with true joy. The small children are still abundant and energetic (some clothed and some partially clothed). The short rains seem to be slowing, and it’s warm enough at night to sleep without my heavy quilt. Last week I boarded the matatu to St. Monica’s hospital for my weekly hospital rounds. The hospital sits on the top of a hill overlooking the town of Kisumu. The whole valley opens up in front of you from the walkways connecting the wards. Everything there is spotless, the air is cooler and lighter than Kisumu, and the food looks great. People come and stay for weeks. The nurses there are the only ones I’ve seen who actually care about the patients. (Customer service usually has no meaning in Kenya.) I waited in the stuffy matatu for about a half hour as it filled slower than usual in the mid morning sun. We couldn’t leave until the van was full or overfull, and I was entertained by the conductor who struck me as being overly wired. Finally we were able to leave and all the passengers breathed a sigh of relief. Our joy was cut short a few blocks later by the sight of a large gang of youths standing defiantly in front of Kibuya market. A police vehicle with about six police was facing them off. Okay, no big deal, we were at the cutoff for the back road so we diverted to go around them. Then we were told there was also trouble in that direction so we went back to the police vehicle for further directions. Now you have to realize that I am one of very few whites who actually enjoy traveling in a matatu. And I was in the front seat next to the driver. The driver was getting all kinds of information, but all of it seemed useless. We all just wanted to get to our destinations and the morning was growing hot and late. So we started down the road past the youths only to find ourselves the only matatu, or vehicle, on the road. The police ended up getting in their vehicle and alternated between leading us and following us. Then the gunshots started. My first instinct was to duck, but there’s little room to sit in a matatu let alone duck. Everyone was shouting “tuende” (let’s go) and I joined in the chorus. I still have no idea what was happening, but I think the crowd may have started advancing on us and the police were firing warning shots. Anyway we made it past another bad area and were soon sailing up the hill. It seemed that everyone was holding their breath until the matatu stopped and I alighted. I thanked the driver and said something cheeky causing the whole vanload to break out in relieved laughter and chatter. I think our van may have been escorted out of town because I was in the front seat. Sometimes it’s really good to be white. As it turned out a matatu driver had been driving recklessly and hit three bicycles taxis head on killing 4 people. The boda boda drivers were angry and started stoning all matatus. Apparently they chased the offending driver and beat him, but he must have escaped with his life. Their angry rampage lasted for about 3 hours before the streets returned to normal. My clinics have all changed and grown considerably. I’m now seeing approximately 200 people every Wednesday at St. Theresa’s cathedral across from Kibuya market. These are largely people from the slums around Kibuya which is the largest open air market in East Africa. It’s a free clinic, but we keep records and try to treat everyone with respect. I hire 3 people to help me handle the never ending line of people. Unfortunately everyone comes at 9 in the morning, so by the time I arrive there are already over 100 waiting. Some have waited 5 hours to be treated. I’m trying to reeducate them to come later in the day. At the end of the day the cathedral’s choir meets for practice, and my strength is somewhat renewed while listening to them practice pieces from Handal’s “The Messiah”. Kibuya market has had a bit of a facelift. Apparently a generous donor from outside Africa donated the money to build shelters for the vendors. Now they are sitting under open sheet metal topped structures instead of out in the sun and rain. The unfortunate problem at the moment is that all the rain water is now funneled into paths between the structures so the walkways are a muck filled mess. The vendors are thankful though, and rocks are starting to appear in the paths. Problems here are sorted out pole pole (slowly, slowly) but progress is eventually seen and life goes on. We don’t see much evidence of assistance from the American government here. That money is probably lost to corruption. But the Scandanavian countries and Germany have some very effective programs. They have learned to avoid the Kenyan government. The Catholic Church is the most effective church organization, although there are several smaller churches that have very nice, efficient programs. The Hindu and Sikh communities also provide good assistance programs. I’m going to help at a Sikh fundraiser next weekend. Their women’s group is fantastic at raising money for different projects. They remind me of my beloved United Methodist Women. They are fairly new at what they do because their society has kept them in the house until recently. I’m offering hints from my experience with UMW. Together we can do even more. Finally I want to share my very best news. I am again a grandmother. Rachelle gave birth September 25 to a beautiful 3.5 kg baby girl named Sophia. Dick and I took Rachelle to St. Monica’s and suffered through more than 4 hours of back labor and exhausting pushing with her. Sophia’s bottom is bruised but her head is perfect. The nurses were fantastic and I got to be on the “catching end.” The mid wives were the true heroines. About midway through the great ordeal of Rachelle’s delivery an African lady quietly walked into the delivery room. The nurse who had been rubbing Rachelle’s back during contractions had to leave and I had to take over. We could hear the woman lay down on the delivery table; we heard a nurse say “secuma, secuma (push, push),” and then we heard the baby cry. The woman was in and out of the delivery room in less than 10 minutes. I thought this was hilarious. Rachelle saw no humor in the interruption. Afterwards I told Rachelle that by the time Sophia arrived, this African lady had probably gone back home in a matatu and was working in the shamba (garden). May God shine His light on your path. Dr. Sandy |