Sunday 5 September 2010

Forgot this blog

A blog that I forgot -9th August maybe

A few days before the Mombasa Trip, I was asked by Kerea to have a look at a one of the kids arms at the orphanage. The boy is called Hilary, he is fifteen years and completely deaf. A few days earlier he had fallen during some games and had dislocated his right wrist (also his dominant hand). He was taken to the local hospital and had his wrist placed in a cast. The casts here are not like the lightweight ones used in the UK, these casts are akin to cement –very heavy and difficult to remove. All seemed well and despite the cast being heavy and cumbersome, Hillary hadn’t complained one bit and we all thought that he would be fine for six weeks. We were wrong.
The Kids at the orphanage rarely complain or exhibit discomfort until they are in serious pain. Hilary is probably the best at this. He must have been in excruciating pain, but hasn’t cried once –even when the doctors in the hospital relocated (reduced for you medics) the bones. I was beginning to hear reports that Hillarys hand was swollen and that he had not slept since the accident because he was in so much pain, this lack of sleep was the only sign that Hilary was in distress. He also had not been eating as much and was finding it difficult to communicate with others as obviously he uses his hands and cannot lip read. (Sign language here is not like BSL –British sign language. I learnt how to sign a few years back and tried to communicate with Hilary and found that he was unable to understand BSL. The rest of the kids and staff have developed a simplified way of communicating with him, and I could communicate with Hilary if I acted out what I wanted to communicate. For example if I wanted to know if he was in a pain, I acted as if I was in pain. Alright, was a smile and a thumbs up. Come with me is as one would gesture with ones hands. It was actually very simple and we got on fine).
Anyways some concerned volunteers and Kerea asked me to just assess Hillarys arm. I turned up at the orphanage bloody soaking after walking half an hour in pure monsoon weather, when it rains here, it pours, almost as if mother nature is poring a bucket of water over Siaya. Anyhow just as soon as the rains finished we have brilliant sunshine for the rest of the day, and ya dry here up in literally fifteen minutes. I arrived at the Orphanage and immediately looked at Hillarys arms and was horrified. The cast was thick, heavy and really hard. And his hand was almost triple its size. The cast was too tight and was causing fluid to collect in the tissues of his wrist and hand. The cast itself was digging into his skin and causing soft tissue damage and blisters and I was worried that under the cast could be causing pressure sores. And so I decided that we were going to take the cast off. The women in charge at the orphanage refused to believe that the cast needed to be removed. They had taken Hilary to the Drs that morning and he was told to come back in September, on a date nearly a whole month away. I guess the women in charge (i forgot her name) didn’t believe me because a) I was just a student and b) much faith in placed in doctors here, even when like in this case their advice is just completely wrong wrong wrong. And so after much persuasion I was allowed to partially remove the cast, from the upper wrist and the bit covering his palm. All I had to hand though was my Swiss army knife, what we needed was an electric saw, in the UK a small, made for the task, saw is used. Need I remind you that the cast was rock solid and Hilary was so brave as I sawed, cut and tried to peel away the cast in the fading Kenyan sunlight. After about twenty minutes, I decided that it wasn’t working and could tell by Hillarys face that he was completely disappointed by my efforts. And so we called Dr Phill. He was happy to see Hilary and the Orphanage staff were relieved that I was gonna take Hilary to a proper Dr and even more elated that because I was the worried one that I would be footing the bill.
So Kerea and I took Hilary to our Siayan home. He was quite excited to be having a day trip from the orphanage and we decided to make it his while, while he waited as we packed for Mombasa, has we weren’t sure that we would have time or power (as we were currently suffering a power cut which began early the previous morning). We plied Hilary with Mandazes, crisps, juice and chocolate; I think that he must have thought it was bloody Christmas or his birthday, as he hungrily ate everything that we placed in front of him.
After a meal fit for a king I took Hilary to Dophil clinic and presenting him to Dr Phil. Dr Phil was aghast with horror! Dr Phill loves children and was surprised that Hilary wasn’t in more distress and couldn’t believe that his hand was still warm and well perfused despite being triple its size!
And so our next challenge was to find an implement suitable for removing the cement cast. A medical officer was sent to find such a tool and came back half an hour later with the biggest saw that ive ever seen. Oh dear, I thought, I bloody hope that I don’t have to do this. Thank god, Dr Phill had decided that this was his mission and he needed to get the cast of himself.
And so the sawing began, I was so worried about Hillarys pain threshold, I and another medical officer had to hold his arm in a still position whilst Dr Phil sawed and sawed. White dusty power covered us, and I gritted my teeth as the knife edge got closer and closer to Hillarys skin. Hilary however, just looked on in complete calm, smiling every time I communicated a are you alright thumbs up. Bless him, he was just relieved that the bloody lead weight was coming off!.
After half and hour, may be longer, the cast was prized off and Hillarys arm was swollen city. Still viable –thank god. No signs of serious underlying damage at that point and Hiliary was really happy. As his wrist was just dislocated and not broken, and seeing as it was successfully reduced and the hand he still had feeling in the hand (but reduced power due to the swelling) it was decided that he would do better in with it bandaged.
I paid up and then considered our next challenged –getting Hilary back home safety. After dark, Kenya comes to a standstill. The night is associated with potential danger here. Danger from thieves, danger from traffic and just danger from not being able to see in the pitch dark. If you wanna go out at night, you either have a car or a trusted driver. As I didn’t have either, we hoped that the matatus hadn’t stopped running and that we could get one that had a safe driver and wasn’t over packed. Thankfully, one of the male staff (who has decided that he will be my husband –yikes) hailed down a matatu for us. Not before he managed to hail down a taxi. The tax driver was female and left her car to greet us. She greeted me, and after thirty seconds of platitudes she proceeded to greet Hilary, he obviously didn’t answer and I explained that he was deaf, on me saying this she, almost jumped back and replied oh, oh, I’m sorry oh ok. She reacted like I expected a village person would –scared, confused and worried that she might catch it. Irritated I walked away and took Hillary with me, this boy has just bloody braved a painful experience and frankly doesn’t need to experience just yet the cold and harsh and ignorant reality of Kenya just yet. Thankfully, our male protector had hailed us a matatu and away we went.

We arrived at the Orphanage after about half an hour, being driven in the dark is blloooooooody scary. Its funny cos in London I recognise places via landmarks and road signage. Here in Kenya, ive began to recognise trees, and shacks and scenery. Although, the landscape at night is much more difficult to appreciate than during the day, and im pretty sure that im night blind, so thank fuck we had one of the more nicer matatu conductors drop us off at our destination.
Once home every one was pleased and relieved to see Hillarys cast removes and him looking so bloody happy. He thanked me in the best way a 15 year old deaf boy could without using his hands or uttering a word. He promptly ate his dinner and went to bed. I hear that he slept until late the next day as he was so sleep deprived!

Yay, I now have the trust of the Orphanage women staff. I was given a bowl of fruit and treated with the bloody respect i should have got at the beginning of this bloody drama. Anyhow, I was really pleased that all ended well, I think that we all wouldn’t have enjoyed Mombasa if we hadn’t done anything.

When we arrived at the orphanage a massive bone fire party was in play. All the children were holding hands and singing and dancing around a massive fire. It was just lovely, the children here, really do love each other. Jackie is a 14 year old orphan and seems to be the mummy, despite not being the oldest child. She was orchestrating, the activities. Initiating the start of each song. Pulling children into the centre and getting them to dance or sing. The children aren’t shy either, at one point I found myself surrounded by gyrating youngsters, all wyning their middles to some Kenyan song that they were singing in Swahili. I felt really overwhelmed. These children have no parents and survive on the love that they have for one and other and the transit love that they receive from the thoroughfare of visitors that stay at the orphanage each month.
During the song singing the kids asked us (the UK visitors) to sing some songs that we knew. Er, embarrassing, the songs we choose like, kum by ya, head shoulders knees and toes etc were crap compared to the beautiful, animated Kenyan songs that the kids sang –gutted.
At the end of the bonfire, one of the UK volunteers had ordered these paper air balloons that we let off into the night sky. Earlier that day the kids had written messages on these balloons. We let of four, and it was amazing to watch these kids fascinated faces –they had seen nothing like it ever. Me and another volunteer joked that any villagers that happened to look out into the night sky and see these glowing balloons would probably think that it was Armageddon or something, lol.

All in all the night was magical, until we realised that we might not be able to get home. By now it was eight o clock. Siaya was enveloped in pure darkness and we were gonna walk home. Until Jackie said that Kerea and Ashely, were targets for thieves because they are white and it wouldn’t be safe for us to embark the 30 minute journey home alone. Argh, I was tired and really wanted to go home, there were no more matatus and frankly if a 14 year old acting mother tells you something aint safe, you listen.
And so Morris came to our rescue. Morris is a dubious character, who leaves a bad taste in my mouth after uttering his name and frankly as an air of distrust about him –this I will elaborate on when I am closer to the end of this adventure. Anyhow, he is the Kenyan in charge of the charities’ west London operations. He turns up on a motor bike and introduces us to a non English speaking Kenyan male who is also on a motor bike. Keraea and I are told to mount this guys bike, whilst Ashley backs Morris’ bike. We are driven through the Kenyan night, home. SCARED CITY. I held onto this mans clothing until the tips of my fingers were sore. Ive never been on a motor bike, ive never been driven in the day on a motor bike let alone at night. I aint describing a moped, im talking about one of these massive Harley Davidson type numbers. I remember reading in an email sent by my uni, that most deaths occur on electives due to motor accidents. I was sure that I was gonna be killed. Kerea was sure that we were gonna be killed.

We weren’t killed.

We arrived home about ten minutes or so later and I praised the lord. Never again though. This mode of transport is popular in Kenya, ive seen motorbikes carrying, three people and a goat. Nah mate. I value my life but I sure aint gonna be scared of anything in England.

All in all a very eventful day, which initially started with me sunbathing for four hours outside the house!!!!

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