29th August
Today we have decided that tomo, Iv gotta see a Dr about this stomach thing. I think its got worse, after every meal now, im running to the toilet, and the stools are partially formed which means im not absorbing anything, which probably accounts for the complete washed out feeling that I have. This in conjunction with me being too tired to sunbathe definitely indicates illness, oh and also this intermittent fever that I have oh and headache. Okay yikes, I am quite unwell, but I kinda expected to get sick here, as keeping anything clean and bug free is a bloody nightmare.
Last night I think was the final straw for me also, I awoke at about midnight with the urge, grabbed the poo bag, ran to the loo, switched on the torch and was greeted by so many cockroaches, I daren’t sit on the toilet seat and so had to do my business in a plastic food bag (thanking Sammy again for these bags which have become indispensable). How my aim was straight I dono but I did it! Yay!. Also this palaver enabled me to actually examine my stool and see if there was any blood or mucus (or god forbid PARASITES). None of which were present but I definitely could identify which meal in the last twentyfour hours (egg and toast) that I had expelled.
This morning, I thought toast would be appropriate (yes, that’s right, we have a toaster but no bloody running water) anyways I went to spread margarine on my bread only to discover that despite me sealing the tub, and wrapping it in two plastic bags, a family of ants had managed to set up home inside the tub! –fume.
Argh everything is infested with animals here, my only safe haven is my bed, and this is due to the minging mossie net that covers it.
Despite this I have managed to do away with the cockroaches in our toilet –i poured warm bleach over them. But the flies still persist and have this bloody annoying trait of not being afraid of humans and so landing on quite personal areas of my body, areas such as my lips, my nose my hands ergh, hand gel city.
Despite all this I am enjoying my time here, and actually really can’t wait to start at Siaya district on Monday. Hopefully, the antibiotics that I get will do the trick, as im starting to lose my appetite (don’t think ive lost any weight though) and as Janet text me, ‘dont come back looking like Africa aint got any food!’. The place has food, its just now im too afraid to eat anything. Its Sunday and im going back to bed im bloody exhausted!
Ok so Im finishing this blog on Monday the 30th of Aug. I got worse. I was running to the loo after every sip of water, my abdominal cramps were worse, and I think that after getting up from bed and pretty much fainting, Helen insisted that I go to the Drs. Mission. I figured I was ill cause only had I not washed, brushed my teeth or changed my clothes, but thought that my present appearance was suitable for a trip to the hospital (gal was ill). I kept falling asleep on the matatu (not good as only I knew the stop to get off) and just felt completely exhausted.
We arrived at Dophil and Dr Phil insisted that I should be put on a drip, have some IV antibiotics and be observed. Me being the worse patient in the world, refused everything –I seriously thought that I had travellers stomach and would feel better. But I gave up after having to run to the loo two more times and this was without eating anything!!
Guess which bloody bed I was placed on –I was put in the isolation room, on the bloody bed that the guy who I resused had died on. Great. I had the same view of the walls and ceiling that he had ad he took his last breathes. I bloody hate being a patient, I tell you its one thing being a Doctor in a third world hospital, but being a patient in a third world hospital and actively comparing the difference in care between that hospital and the one back in England, sends shivers down my spine. I perfectly knew that they would use clean needles to draw up my blood, I knew that the fluid given to me was sterile, I knew that the bed was clean but I still in the back of my mind was like, ‘am i gonna get HIV?!’ –bloody idiot.
Anyhow, I didnt have malaria. I didnt have typhoid. My Hb was like 16 (the highest its ever been mind). Next the lab tech wanted a sample of my poo. In England we give patients quite large sample pots into which to put their sample. Here, I was given a sample pot with the entrance diameter of about my little finger. Er, how am i to poo in this pot with out shitting all over my hand? But at this point I was desperate to please everyone and be allowed home, NO FUCKING WAY, was I staying the night in this hospital. And so I filled the pot and shat all over my hand. Grim grim grim grim grim times.
Embarrassingly but nicely, all the staff at the hospital, without knocking mind, all came to see me in my sick bed. All asking what I think could have caused my sickness. I replied some Kenyan food. They all typically replied, ‘Kenyan food dosnt cause sick stomach’ –Ey? I was too tired to argue with such nonsense.
Anyhow, after the litre of water had pumped its way into my veins and rehydrated my body, and the IV antibiotics has killed which ever organism was inhabiting my gut, and after I had some rest, IFELT SO MUCH BETTER! With hindsight it was obvious that I was bloody ill. Prob is that my threshold for illness is so high, Im sure that If I had I had left it until today MAN ALIVE I would have been so much more sick, and prob wouldn’t have made it to the hospital, and lord knows what would have happened then.
The joke is after I discharged myself, Dr Phils son came with some food for Helen and I, er, he came with rice, chicken and pepper soup. Lovely, thankyou I said but ive just had food poisoning I thought, the last thing I bloody want is spicy chicken. Needless to say I ate the chicken, jogged on with the rest though as now I have the fear, fear of food.
Today, Monday Iv had pretty much nothing but toast. Too afraid.. Everything here, has flies flying around it, or ants inhabiting it, I am starting to miss English food. The plastic packaging, the preservatives, clean, ah clean, i miss clean.
Okay so I haven’t needed to poo at all today, I bloody hope that I aint going through another week of constipation and then next week illness again. We shall see. Fingers crossed for wellness for the last three weeks.
Sunday, 5 September 2010
28th Aug
28th Aug
Odongo our Kenyan look-after-us-man has gone to a three day church event. Where he says, I quote, ‘we stand and pray for three days’, without eating or sleeping. No comment.
We, me and Helen are alone in the house and much to the disapproval of morris and Odongo, we went all by ourselves to Kisumu today. Kisumu is the closest town to Siaya and is about an hour away on the matatu. Ive been to and driven from Kisumu many a times, but despite this we have been told that its not a trip for two British women. I cant be told shit like that. Not only have I been here for 5 weeks now, I live in bloody London. Ive got the Kenyan way sussed now. I am no longer rip off able, I am no longer intimidated by Kenyan men, I understand basic Swahili, I allow people to think im Luo and to be honest I can navigate around quiet easily without fear and with confidence. Helen has full trust in me and I told Odongo that if he thinks that we were gonna sit in the house whilst he praises the lord for three days, he could think again. And so we woke up earlier and got the matautu to Kisumiu and had a day out of sight-seeing and food.
Nothing much to report except, the road to Kisumi is looked after by Kenyan police. Usually by a Kenyan policeman every now and then the matatu is stopped by a Kenyan police women. Def something so inspiring to see a Kenyan women in uniform and acting unlike her village counterparts, in a strong and confident way. Not at all intimidated by men and commanding their respect, love watching the matatu men cower and beg not to be reprimanded for speeding.
At the shopping centre, I saw two Kenyan women in army uniform holding fuck off machine guns, with ease and authority. Such a turn on, but couldn’t let on cos they would shoot my head off.
Right I’m off to bed, ive got an almighty headache and am sweating like a fucker. I reckon heat stroke, im kinda hoping not malaria, tomo we shall see. Apologies for the profanities in this blog –not gonna remove them thou. Lol
Oh yeah, as we were walking to the big ole shopping centre in Kisumu (its called Nakumart or something and is like the big malls in the US) we noticed that a women was kinds following us. Turns out this women was psychotic, she was crying but also shouting to an invisible person in Swahili. She was very unkempt and dirty and passers by were ignoring her, laughing or crossing the road. One women stopped and was talking to her kindly but eventually gave up. I was not afraid of the women but I wanted to be cautious as being with a ‘mazungo’ creates unwanted attention and I was certain that this women may create some disturbance. As we were walking away, some men yelled at us for our attention. They were shouting, ‘is she bothering you? I replied, ‘NO!’. Despite my answer, the men continued to talk (as Kenyan men seem to do despite the conversation being over), they were suggesting that if we wanted they would beat the women –ey? I was like ‘er, NO!’ she dosnt need beating she needs help. Anyhow, has you have prob guessed they didnt listen to the Luo looking women but kept shouting at Helen and asking for her approval in the matter. FRUSTRATING, this whole lets not listen to the Kenyan women but seek (almost beg) for a response from the white women (who by the way looked terrified) is pissing me off. All in all Kenyan men are egotistical chauvinist pigs and frankly the constitution aint gonna change an ingrained gender problem.
Ok so I figured that nothing I said, or Helen didnt say was gonna change anything. We walked away.
At the end of the day, on our way home, we encountered the women again, this time she was crying, ah, I wanted to give her some money, but Helen rightly stopped me, as giving money to a rejected member of society in public, isn’t like in Britain where you can put some money in a homeless persons paper cup, or buy them a meal. Here if ya seen doing that people think that you have money to throw away and ya can guess what happens next. I was sad. This women, must have had something so bloody horrible happen to her, cause the women here are tough, really tough and don’t break down unless, something fucks them up big time. I felt for her and felt helpless.
Odongo our Kenyan look-after-us-man has gone to a three day church event. Where he says, I quote, ‘we stand and pray for three days’, without eating or sleeping. No comment.
We, me and Helen are alone in the house and much to the disapproval of morris and Odongo, we went all by ourselves to Kisumu today. Kisumu is the closest town to Siaya and is about an hour away on the matatu. Ive been to and driven from Kisumu many a times, but despite this we have been told that its not a trip for two British women. I cant be told shit like that. Not only have I been here for 5 weeks now, I live in bloody London. Ive got the Kenyan way sussed now. I am no longer rip off able, I am no longer intimidated by Kenyan men, I understand basic Swahili, I allow people to think im Luo and to be honest I can navigate around quiet easily without fear and with confidence. Helen has full trust in me and I told Odongo that if he thinks that we were gonna sit in the house whilst he praises the lord for three days, he could think again. And so we woke up earlier and got the matautu to Kisumiu and had a day out of sight-seeing and food.
Nothing much to report except, the road to Kisumi is looked after by Kenyan police. Usually by a Kenyan policeman every now and then the matatu is stopped by a Kenyan police women. Def something so inspiring to see a Kenyan women in uniform and acting unlike her village counterparts, in a strong and confident way. Not at all intimidated by men and commanding their respect, love watching the matatu men cower and beg not to be reprimanded for speeding.
At the shopping centre, I saw two Kenyan women in army uniform holding fuck off machine guns, with ease and authority. Such a turn on, but couldn’t let on cos they would shoot my head off.
Right I’m off to bed, ive got an almighty headache and am sweating like a fucker. I reckon heat stroke, im kinda hoping not malaria, tomo we shall see. Apologies for the profanities in this blog –not gonna remove them thou. Lol
Oh yeah, as we were walking to the big ole shopping centre in Kisumu (its called Nakumart or something and is like the big malls in the US) we noticed that a women was kinds following us. Turns out this women was psychotic, she was crying but also shouting to an invisible person in Swahili. She was very unkempt and dirty and passers by were ignoring her, laughing or crossing the road. One women stopped and was talking to her kindly but eventually gave up. I was not afraid of the women but I wanted to be cautious as being with a ‘mazungo’ creates unwanted attention and I was certain that this women may create some disturbance. As we were walking away, some men yelled at us for our attention. They were shouting, ‘is she bothering you? I replied, ‘NO!’. Despite my answer, the men continued to talk (as Kenyan men seem to do despite the conversation being over), they were suggesting that if we wanted they would beat the women –ey? I was like ‘er, NO!’ she dosnt need beating she needs help. Anyhow, has you have prob guessed they didnt listen to the Luo looking women but kept shouting at Helen and asking for her approval in the matter. FRUSTRATING, this whole lets not listen to the Kenyan women but seek (almost beg) for a response from the white women (who by the way looked terrified) is pissing me off. All in all Kenyan men are egotistical chauvinist pigs and frankly the constitution aint gonna change an ingrained gender problem.
Ok so I figured that nothing I said, or Helen didnt say was gonna change anything. We walked away.
At the end of the day, on our way home, we encountered the women again, this time she was crying, ah, I wanted to give her some money, but Helen rightly stopped me, as giving money to a rejected member of society in public, isn’t like in Britain where you can put some money in a homeless persons paper cup, or buy them a meal. Here if ya seen doing that people think that you have money to throw away and ya can guess what happens next. I was sad. This women, must have had something so bloody horrible happen to her, cause the women here are tough, really tough and don’t break down unless, something fucks them up big time. I felt for her and felt helpless.
27th aug
27th Aug
Today was a national Holiday! The new constitution has been signed and to celebrate this one of the village neighbours decided to blast music from about 6 am till sundown –wicked!!!
Its Helens first day here, and sadly Kerea is back in Nairobi.
I took Helen to the orphanage so she could experience the place and compare it to the one she visited in Embu, and I needed to check on Hilary’s wrist.
We had a lazy few hours at the orphanage, the kids were genuinely pleased to see me, which I was surprised at cos, ive prob spend the least time with them then anyone else. Either way it was nice to feel wanted. I think my favourite, although, one really shouldn’t have favourites, is Brian. Brian is 11 (i think –yikes) and thinks that he is a rude boy. But i definitely have a connection with him. When I arrived at the gate, all the other kids ran to greet and hug me but he remained back. I shouted, ‘oi come say hello, you!’. And he was like ‘hello’, from where he stood. So I replied, ‘come give me a hug’, but he didn’t say anything and so I ran after him and he ran away screaming and then suddenly stopped and ran towards me and let me hug him. Oh I def have a soft spot for Brian, I kinda see a bit of me as a youngster in him. Kinda longing for love and not really being able to accept it despite really wanting it, but always eventually, letting the boundaries down and allowing to be loved. We all hung out under a tree.
Chris, one of the younger orphans, had hurt his leg and had changed form the most bubbly, mischievous little boy to a whimpering, sad- looking heap under the tree. He had a slightly swollen leg and a small healing cut on his heal. I examined his leg and felt that it was fine and he was just under the weather with a sore leg but I think that I may go and see him in the week.
Florence, another one of the girls had fallen off a motorbike and had a large section of skin missing from her lower leg. A scab had formed over it and she had been prescribed some topical antibiotic cream and some oral antibiotics so i wasn’t so worried about her.
I played football with Brian for about an hour and felt it important to spend time with him. I could tell that he was a little peeved when my attention moved to the injured children or allowed one of the other kids to hug me. I think that he may have a trust problem, I do love the way that him and the other boys act tough etc, but if i play fight with him or let him lay on my knees, or if i sit with my arms around him, he lets me and softens up.
It is difficult ya know, I def have love to give these children, but Im cautious, Im only here for another three weeks, and then I may never see them again. Transient love hurts, and I know with experience that I would have rather not experienced the care of someone at an age when I needed it that experienced it. You guys would prob say that its better to have loved than not loved at all, and I mean that in all context of the word love. I dono, these kids see so many people, and experience love and kindness from so many people. But nothing is stable and nothing is forever. Maybe it is good that they know that there are nice people in the world and love can come from anyone, but how does one learn to trust love or become attached and reliant on someone when these people go once their volunteering time is up. I guess that is why the love that they have for each other is so special. I think, im gonna spend as much time as I can at the orphanage, its hard cos im so tired after the hospital but maybe il try and endure church this weekend. I guess I might buy them lollipops again.
I admire these kids and I guess I initially stayed away because i didn’t feel that I had anything to offer these children. Well anything that would last. But memories are forever right, even when people are absent, with that in mind, il make the time that I have with them memorable.
Today was a national Holiday! The new constitution has been signed and to celebrate this one of the village neighbours decided to blast music from about 6 am till sundown –wicked!!!
Its Helens first day here, and sadly Kerea is back in Nairobi.
I took Helen to the orphanage so she could experience the place and compare it to the one she visited in Embu, and I needed to check on Hilary’s wrist.
We had a lazy few hours at the orphanage, the kids were genuinely pleased to see me, which I was surprised at cos, ive prob spend the least time with them then anyone else. Either way it was nice to feel wanted. I think my favourite, although, one really shouldn’t have favourites, is Brian. Brian is 11 (i think –yikes) and thinks that he is a rude boy. But i definitely have a connection with him. When I arrived at the gate, all the other kids ran to greet and hug me but he remained back. I shouted, ‘oi come say hello, you!’. And he was like ‘hello’, from where he stood. So I replied, ‘come give me a hug’, but he didn’t say anything and so I ran after him and he ran away screaming and then suddenly stopped and ran towards me and let me hug him. Oh I def have a soft spot for Brian, I kinda see a bit of me as a youngster in him. Kinda longing for love and not really being able to accept it despite really wanting it, but always eventually, letting the boundaries down and allowing to be loved. We all hung out under a tree.
Chris, one of the younger orphans, had hurt his leg and had changed form the most bubbly, mischievous little boy to a whimpering, sad- looking heap under the tree. He had a slightly swollen leg and a small healing cut on his heal. I examined his leg and felt that it was fine and he was just under the weather with a sore leg but I think that I may go and see him in the week.
Florence, another one of the girls had fallen off a motorbike and had a large section of skin missing from her lower leg. A scab had formed over it and she had been prescribed some topical antibiotic cream and some oral antibiotics so i wasn’t so worried about her.
I played football with Brian for about an hour and felt it important to spend time with him. I could tell that he was a little peeved when my attention moved to the injured children or allowed one of the other kids to hug me. I think that he may have a trust problem, I do love the way that him and the other boys act tough etc, but if i play fight with him or let him lay on my knees, or if i sit with my arms around him, he lets me and softens up.
It is difficult ya know, I def have love to give these children, but Im cautious, Im only here for another three weeks, and then I may never see them again. Transient love hurts, and I know with experience that I would have rather not experienced the care of someone at an age when I needed it that experienced it. You guys would prob say that its better to have loved than not loved at all, and I mean that in all context of the word love. I dono, these kids see so many people, and experience love and kindness from so many people. But nothing is stable and nothing is forever. Maybe it is good that they know that there are nice people in the world and love can come from anyone, but how does one learn to trust love or become attached and reliant on someone when these people go once their volunteering time is up. I guess that is why the love that they have for each other is so special. I think, im gonna spend as much time as I can at the orphanage, its hard cos im so tired after the hospital but maybe il try and endure church this weekend. I guess I might buy them lollipops again.
I admire these kids and I guess I initially stayed away because i didn’t feel that I had anything to offer these children. Well anything that would last. But memories are forever right, even when people are absent, with that in mind, il make the time that I have with them memorable.
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!!!!
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!!!!
Friday, 3 September 2010
girls got worms in africa
Hey im not dead!! but I have worms and forgot my USB will upload lots of stuff for ya tomo!
Friday, 27 August 2010
26th Aug
26th Aug
Im back in Siaya. Home. Man, I love village life. Really enjoyed my break in Mombasa but not so much my time in the Nairobi house though.
In the Nairobi house, there is running water, hot water, showers, toilets with seats and flushes, clean sheets, blankets food, English tea! The internet, comfortable sofas and a good nights sleep! But we are molly couddled and have no independence. There are four people to room and we have little privacy and quiet time. The house is a thorough fare for people beginning their African adventures or ending it and so people are only at the house for a few days at a time and to be honest ive discovered that I aint that good at small talk and frankly and running out the bedroom during the early hours of the morning after switching on the Emerson to warm the water and then running to the bathroom, before anyone else steals the precious water is just not my game. Asking people to leave the room as you moisturize confuses people. Going to bed early (eight o’clock for me as I like to read) can seem anti social but gal needs her sleep!. Also a lot of the people at the house are quite young, from 15 upwards and I guess if you know me, you know that I don’t really get on with teenagers –lol.
Anyhow, the house is great for a few days break but frankly I’m glad to be back to my village house!!!
On reflection, I think that being here has reinforced my self sufficient, independent nature. I wonder though can you be too independent? Sometimes, I think that my desire to do everything by myself and disallow help from anybody (control freak traits) in some ways keeps me strong and able to battle through most things, but at times I think it may make it hard for people to get close to me and I guess I’m a bit bad because I don’t give people a chance to be my friend because i think that I come across that I don’t-need-noone! Anyhow, I guess that’s why I love village life so much as I always have just one or two people with me in the house which is nice as, we become really close and tight knit. Unlike the Nairobi house where it is really hard to want to actually get close to anyone because in a few days they jog on home. With me for a week and a bit is Helen a fellow Medical student, from Imperial. She is so opposite to me. She is really friendly, bubbly, chatty and just an all round nice person. Initially I was like oh lord how am I gonna get on with this lovely girl, but shes great and to be honest I do like to mother people and I quite enjoy showing people the ropes and converting their town minds into the village way!!
The journey home was only 7 hours and when we arrived home it was so sunny, so nice!. I missed my neighbors, I missed having a shower when I wanna, sleeping when I wanna, doing what I bloody like and being able to walk around without notifying someone just in case I didn’t come back.
What I haven’t bloody missed is the bloody diarrhea (not literally mind) that I seem to have constantly here. Today (man I love talking about my bowel habits), I was welcomed home by acute travelers stomach which I had to deal with an audience of about 10 cockroaches. The cockroaches here are bloody massive, like rat size man with big long thin yucky yucky antennae. They are not afraid of humans and as I was relieving myself of all the food which I had consumed the week previous a,few decided that they would scuttle over my feet, and because I wear thronged slippers the stupid fuckers got stuck in-between my toes, ergh cockroachs on ya feet is grim, but i couldnt shake them off cos I was mid squatt and mid bowel motion. Grim times man. Gonna spray them fuckers away tomo cant be dealing with natures call and having to deal with natures vermin as well –nah mate.
Tomo is a national holiday! The ratification and signing of Kenyans new constitution is taking place in Nairobi. Woop im here when African history is taking place. AMAZING!
Im back in Siaya. Home. Man, I love village life. Really enjoyed my break in Mombasa but not so much my time in the Nairobi house though.
In the Nairobi house, there is running water, hot water, showers, toilets with seats and flushes, clean sheets, blankets food, English tea! The internet, comfortable sofas and a good nights sleep! But we are molly couddled and have no independence. There are four people to room and we have little privacy and quiet time. The house is a thorough fare for people beginning their African adventures or ending it and so people are only at the house for a few days at a time and to be honest ive discovered that I aint that good at small talk and frankly and running out the bedroom during the early hours of the morning after switching on the Emerson to warm the water and then running to the bathroom, before anyone else steals the precious water is just not my game. Asking people to leave the room as you moisturize confuses people. Going to bed early (eight o’clock for me as I like to read) can seem anti social but gal needs her sleep!. Also a lot of the people at the house are quite young, from 15 upwards and I guess if you know me, you know that I don’t really get on with teenagers –lol.
Anyhow, the house is great for a few days break but frankly I’m glad to be back to my village house!!!
On reflection, I think that being here has reinforced my self sufficient, independent nature. I wonder though can you be too independent? Sometimes, I think that my desire to do everything by myself and disallow help from anybody (control freak traits) in some ways keeps me strong and able to battle through most things, but at times I think it may make it hard for people to get close to me and I guess I’m a bit bad because I don’t give people a chance to be my friend because i think that I come across that I don’t-need-noone! Anyhow, I guess that’s why I love village life so much as I always have just one or two people with me in the house which is nice as, we become really close and tight knit. Unlike the Nairobi house where it is really hard to want to actually get close to anyone because in a few days they jog on home. With me for a week and a bit is Helen a fellow Medical student, from Imperial. She is so opposite to me. She is really friendly, bubbly, chatty and just an all round nice person. Initially I was like oh lord how am I gonna get on with this lovely girl, but shes great and to be honest I do like to mother people and I quite enjoy showing people the ropes and converting their town minds into the village way!!
The journey home was only 7 hours and when we arrived home it was so sunny, so nice!. I missed my neighbors, I missed having a shower when I wanna, sleeping when I wanna, doing what I bloody like and being able to walk around without notifying someone just in case I didn’t come back.
What I haven’t bloody missed is the bloody diarrhea (not literally mind) that I seem to have constantly here. Today (man I love talking about my bowel habits), I was welcomed home by acute travelers stomach which I had to deal with an audience of about 10 cockroaches. The cockroaches here are bloody massive, like rat size man with big long thin yucky yucky antennae. They are not afraid of humans and as I was relieving myself of all the food which I had consumed the week previous a,few decided that they would scuttle over my feet, and because I wear thronged slippers the stupid fuckers got stuck in-between my toes, ergh cockroachs on ya feet is grim, but i couldnt shake them off cos I was mid squatt and mid bowel motion. Grim times man. Gonna spray them fuckers away tomo cant be dealing with natures call and having to deal with natures vermin as well –nah mate.
Tomo is a national holiday! The ratification and signing of Kenyans new constitution is taking place in Nairobi. Woop im here when African history is taking place. AMAZING!
25th Aug
25th August
OOOOH I think that I have seen every animal in the Lion King!!!!
We went to an orphaned elephant sanctuary in Nairobi! I managed to touch a few baby elephants! They have really rough skin and are so bloody cute! Apologies for not being able to put the pictures up, Im really gonna try next week. Gonna spend a day in the internet cafe and see if I can upload them to flicker but judging by the slowness of Kenyan Internet and the unreliability of the service, this may not happen.
We stayed at the elephant sanctuary for about an hour because weirdly it is only open for an hour a day, but at 250 bob, £2.50 this was not bad at all. We were assembled into a giant ring and
Next we went to the giraffe sanctuary and I actually got to feed and kiss one. They have long sloppy blue tongues that exudes saliva. So we were given pellets and allowed to feed the giraffe who just swipped the pellets from my hand with its long slobbery tongue and left a film a saliva. Apparently the saliva has antiseptic and sunscreen properties!! Giraffe are seriously beautiful creatures. Watching a few walk along the savannah ground was just beautiful, they are just elegant, I actually cant really believe their height! And their carotid arteries are about 2 meters tall! WOW!
To be honest It would be better if I actually just put the bloody pictures up as they are much more eloquent than my blabber!
Oh Forget I also touched a Rhino, bloody ugly prehistoric looking animals but kinda beautiful with the ugliness –misnomer but true. This one, also when it was still seemed unreal, almost like a stone figure.
We had starbucks lunch at Java café and rounded of the day with some more shopping. I love shopping, and the joke is that all the stuff we donate to charity finds itself being sold here in Kenya, so now im even more on the hunt for some vintage goodies!
OOOOH I think that I have seen every animal in the Lion King!!!!
We went to an orphaned elephant sanctuary in Nairobi! I managed to touch a few baby elephants! They have really rough skin and are so bloody cute! Apologies for not being able to put the pictures up, Im really gonna try next week. Gonna spend a day in the internet cafe and see if I can upload them to flicker but judging by the slowness of Kenyan Internet and the unreliability of the service, this may not happen.
We stayed at the elephant sanctuary for about an hour because weirdly it is only open for an hour a day, but at 250 bob, £2.50 this was not bad at all. We were assembled into a giant ring and
Next we went to the giraffe sanctuary and I actually got to feed and kiss one. They have long sloppy blue tongues that exudes saliva. So we were given pellets and allowed to feed the giraffe who just swipped the pellets from my hand with its long slobbery tongue and left a film a saliva. Apparently the saliva has antiseptic and sunscreen properties!! Giraffe are seriously beautiful creatures. Watching a few walk along the savannah ground was just beautiful, they are just elegant, I actually cant really believe their height! And their carotid arteries are about 2 meters tall! WOW!
To be honest It would be better if I actually just put the bloody pictures up as they are much more eloquent than my blabber!
Oh Forget I also touched a Rhino, bloody ugly prehistoric looking animals but kinda beautiful with the ugliness –misnomer but true. This one, also when it was still seemed unreal, almost like a stone figure.
We had starbucks lunch at Java café and rounded of the day with some more shopping. I love shopping, and the joke is that all the stuff we donate to charity finds itself being sold here in Kenya, so now im even more on the hunt for some vintage goodies!
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
23rd aug
23rd August
I have just come back from Kiberia town in Nairobi, the biggest slum in Africa and the second biggest in the world. I will describe the experience shortly. On the way home I bought sugar cane, de skinned and cut up for 20p. Sugar cane is possibly the most single best food here in Kenya. I love these shizzle. Its like every sweet tooth owners dream! Imagine having a bag of cubes that you pop in ya mouth, chew, suck and swallow the sweet nectar, and spit out when its dry. No solid is consumed, its just pure sweet nectar ingestion. Also the cane is quite chewy so ya give ya teeth a massive work out. All for 20p (40 if ya ripped of like me) but essentially this stuff is bloody amazing. Not sure about the calorie content but I crave sugar cane, like seriously wake up with longings!
Early this morning I was introduced to some of the children that moving mountains charity sponsor. Two boys and a girl. All at high school and all getting ready to go back to boarding school for three months. These are a few of the students who are in and out of the house on a daily basis in their holidays. They come here to receive mentoring ,counselling and get a good meal. Most of the children are really bright, and have showed potential during their early schooling, were identified by teaching staff and put forward for sponsoring. Once accepted by moving mountains they are sponsored until after university when they are employed in the profession that they have worked towards. The young people also give back to the charity by working for them. So one of the boys that I spoke to wants to be a Dr and the plan is that when he qualifies he will work in one of the charities hospitals.
So much emphasis is placed on Education here in Kenya. I dono if I have mentioned this before but the children start school at five years old. They begin school at eight but awake as early as six to walk the long distances to class. They are then at school till as late as four or five in the evening and are expected to walk home, do the home chores, do their home work etc etc. Life is hard for the kids man. If Parents have enough money for their childs education then the child may attend boarding school for three months four times a year. If a child shows brilliance at school, they can only go so far if their parents do not have money to finance their further education. Moving mountain helps by sponsoring children that show brilliance. One of the boys I spoke to today showed me his report card, this boy was brilliant, he was second in the year out of 288 and was first last year!!!!
It isn’t just the clever students that are sponsored, orphans and children with real tragic family backgrounds are sponsored too! It must be hard for the charity to spread their wealth as pretty much every child in Kenya could do with some input into their education but as funds are limited the child refer file is full here.
All the young people I met are exceptional. Most have overcome adversity to do so well! These Kids study study study. Sad thing is that aside from education their isn’t much else to do here in Kenya. It’s not like in the UK where you can just find a dead end job, go on the doll, go to college part time, or join a training programme here in Kenya if ya don’t finish ya studies, are slightly entrepaneurial enough to set up ya own small shop or get pregnant and look after ya kids for the rest of ya life, life can be pretty thankless.
When you look around in the villages and towns, many women and men can be seen selling goods outside their houses or at the side of the road. Goods such as foods (fruit, nuts, some veg, fried sweet dough called mandazee, clothing, sugar cane, fish, maize, or watermelon), hair products, clothing. Shoes or offer services such as tailoring and hair braiding. The men usually are making goods, fixing bikes, own small shed like shops, or small businesses, carry people about on bikes or motorbikes or are matato conductors or do nothing.
Life is really limited and therefore so much emphasis is placed on study as a gateway to a better future.
The sense of failure must be overwhelming for some students has, being in the top five in the year is ideal and A* is always better than a A-. These young people don’t know how to relax and sadly the emphasis on studying all day every day renders them lacking communication skills. For example, many of the Drs that I have shadowed (except Dr Phill) are able to diagnose an illness and tell me the pathology around the illness etc, but when it comes to communication and empathy with the patient, they are somewhat lacking in ability.
I met another person sponsored by the charity who is actually an older gentleman who had volunteered in the Kiberia hospital and now wanted to become a DR. He took me to Kiberia and showed me round the Kiberia clinic.
We got the Matatu to Kiberia and I was not shocked by the slum but more impressed by its vastness! Dustbins are few and far between in Kenya and actually I don’t think that I recall seeing a dust cart ever. Rubbish is just deposited on the street; people drop everything and anything on the ground as soon as it is done with. There are few massive smelly dumping grounds in Kiberia that made me heave. Luckily I fit in and so after looking around the hospital, i went for a wander alone. Umm Not as scary as I thought it would be, aside from my glasses I didn’t stick out. I’m as dark as a Kenyan, I look like a luo and my clothing doesn’t attract attention because the variety in what people wear in Kenya is immense. Ones clothing doesn’t really, reflect ones wealth as people try and make very attempt to look clean and wear clean clothing (however, even if they wear clean clothing, I think some Kenyans do neglect to wash everyday or brush their teeth). As I walked around not even 1% of the slum (as I was conscious of getting lost), the sun was shining, and to be honest here in Africa, when the sun shines, it makes everything look nice, and I start to have a poetic sense of things. Ah, Africa I thought, when really on reflection I was walking through a dangerous and very poor area of Kenya and really, anything could happen to me at any moment, but I guess that I am getting more and more brazen and familiar with the Kenyan way and so because I don’t feel in danger and I am very very observant of people and don’t let on that I am British I think that I may be ok -Touch wood.
The hospital in Kiberia, is small and male run but it was refreshing to see a female lab tech but a bit annoying that all the staff automatically assumed that I was a vounlenter and behaviours changed and people became more interested when I announced my medical student status.
Interestingly, this hospital had a circumcision programme where boys at sexually active ages are encouraged to be circumcised as a prevention tool. The two men that complete the operations are able to circumcise a boy in under seven minutes and not medically trained. Circumcision is thought to be clean and promote good sexual health here in Kenya but I worry that some of the patients may see this method as a reason not to wear condoms and or practise safe sex.
Encouragingly, the clinic has a counsellor! A female member of trained staff who counsels patients –yay! I told the lady that it was nice to see a hospital striving to attend to its patients psychological needs!!!
-Which is a service that I have found lacking in pretty much all of the medical establishments that I have visited so far!
I have just come back from Kiberia town in Nairobi, the biggest slum in Africa and the second biggest in the world. I will describe the experience shortly. On the way home I bought sugar cane, de skinned and cut up for 20p. Sugar cane is possibly the most single best food here in Kenya. I love these shizzle. Its like every sweet tooth owners dream! Imagine having a bag of cubes that you pop in ya mouth, chew, suck and swallow the sweet nectar, and spit out when its dry. No solid is consumed, its just pure sweet nectar ingestion. Also the cane is quite chewy so ya give ya teeth a massive work out. All for 20p (40 if ya ripped of like me) but essentially this stuff is bloody amazing. Not sure about the calorie content but I crave sugar cane, like seriously wake up with longings!
Early this morning I was introduced to some of the children that moving mountains charity sponsor. Two boys and a girl. All at high school and all getting ready to go back to boarding school for three months. These are a few of the students who are in and out of the house on a daily basis in their holidays. They come here to receive mentoring ,counselling and get a good meal. Most of the children are really bright, and have showed potential during their early schooling, were identified by teaching staff and put forward for sponsoring. Once accepted by moving mountains they are sponsored until after university when they are employed in the profession that they have worked towards. The young people also give back to the charity by working for them. So one of the boys that I spoke to wants to be a Dr and the plan is that when he qualifies he will work in one of the charities hospitals.
So much emphasis is placed on Education here in Kenya. I dono if I have mentioned this before but the children start school at five years old. They begin school at eight but awake as early as six to walk the long distances to class. They are then at school till as late as four or five in the evening and are expected to walk home, do the home chores, do their home work etc etc. Life is hard for the kids man. If Parents have enough money for their childs education then the child may attend boarding school for three months four times a year. If a child shows brilliance at school, they can only go so far if their parents do not have money to finance their further education. Moving mountain helps by sponsoring children that show brilliance. One of the boys I spoke to today showed me his report card, this boy was brilliant, he was second in the year out of 288 and was first last year!!!!
It isn’t just the clever students that are sponsored, orphans and children with real tragic family backgrounds are sponsored too! It must be hard for the charity to spread their wealth as pretty much every child in Kenya could do with some input into their education but as funds are limited the child refer file is full here.
All the young people I met are exceptional. Most have overcome adversity to do so well! These Kids study study study. Sad thing is that aside from education their isn’t much else to do here in Kenya. It’s not like in the UK where you can just find a dead end job, go on the doll, go to college part time, or join a training programme here in Kenya if ya don’t finish ya studies, are slightly entrepaneurial enough to set up ya own small shop or get pregnant and look after ya kids for the rest of ya life, life can be pretty thankless.
When you look around in the villages and towns, many women and men can be seen selling goods outside their houses or at the side of the road. Goods such as foods (fruit, nuts, some veg, fried sweet dough called mandazee, clothing, sugar cane, fish, maize, or watermelon), hair products, clothing. Shoes or offer services such as tailoring and hair braiding. The men usually are making goods, fixing bikes, own small shed like shops, or small businesses, carry people about on bikes or motorbikes or are matato conductors or do nothing.
Life is really limited and therefore so much emphasis is placed on study as a gateway to a better future.
The sense of failure must be overwhelming for some students has, being in the top five in the year is ideal and A* is always better than a A-. These young people don’t know how to relax and sadly the emphasis on studying all day every day renders them lacking communication skills. For example, many of the Drs that I have shadowed (except Dr Phill) are able to diagnose an illness and tell me the pathology around the illness etc, but when it comes to communication and empathy with the patient, they are somewhat lacking in ability.
I met another person sponsored by the charity who is actually an older gentleman who had volunteered in the Kiberia hospital and now wanted to become a DR. He took me to Kiberia and showed me round the Kiberia clinic.
We got the Matatu to Kiberia and I was not shocked by the slum but more impressed by its vastness! Dustbins are few and far between in Kenya and actually I don’t think that I recall seeing a dust cart ever. Rubbish is just deposited on the street; people drop everything and anything on the ground as soon as it is done with. There are few massive smelly dumping grounds in Kiberia that made me heave. Luckily I fit in and so after looking around the hospital, i went for a wander alone. Umm Not as scary as I thought it would be, aside from my glasses I didn’t stick out. I’m as dark as a Kenyan, I look like a luo and my clothing doesn’t attract attention because the variety in what people wear in Kenya is immense. Ones clothing doesn’t really, reflect ones wealth as people try and make very attempt to look clean and wear clean clothing (however, even if they wear clean clothing, I think some Kenyans do neglect to wash everyday or brush their teeth). As I walked around not even 1% of the slum (as I was conscious of getting lost), the sun was shining, and to be honest here in Africa, when the sun shines, it makes everything look nice, and I start to have a poetic sense of things. Ah, Africa I thought, when really on reflection I was walking through a dangerous and very poor area of Kenya and really, anything could happen to me at any moment, but I guess that I am getting more and more brazen and familiar with the Kenyan way and so because I don’t feel in danger and I am very very observant of people and don’t let on that I am British I think that I may be ok -Touch wood.
The hospital in Kiberia, is small and male run but it was refreshing to see a female lab tech but a bit annoying that all the staff automatically assumed that I was a vounlenter and behaviours changed and people became more interested when I announced my medical student status.
Interestingly, this hospital had a circumcision programme where boys at sexually active ages are encouraged to be circumcised as a prevention tool. The two men that complete the operations are able to circumcise a boy in under seven minutes and not medically trained. Circumcision is thought to be clean and promote good sexual health here in Kenya but I worry that some of the patients may see this method as a reason not to wear condoms and or practise safe sex.
Encouragingly, the clinic has a counsellor! A female member of trained staff who counsels patients –yay! I told the lady that it was nice to see a hospital striving to attend to its patients psychological needs!!!
-Which is a service that I have found lacking in pretty much all of the medical establishments that I have visited so far!
22nd Aug
22nd August
Its official, I am the only black sun worshipper in Kenya. I wake up at seven (suns up at six) and, brush my teeth wash my face put on my swimming suit ( a brilliant eighties number that I bought on the beach on my first day) and make my way down to the beach (30 seconds away). Get the cushion for the sun lounger, place it in full direction of the sun, pull down my bikini straps, get out my water, my shades and my book and sunbathe until it gets too hot. On average the temperature has been in the early thirties and the sun is uncovered by clouds and is just relentless and amazing. Its hottest between 12 pm and 2 and when I mean hot I mean hot!! It’s so funny many of the Kenyans can’t believe their eyes when they walk past me, A KENYAN? SUNBATHING? But I love it. On questioning many of the Kenyan women I know, on why they dislike the beautiful sun, they say that the sun is too much and they don’t want to get too dark –EY, confuse!
I long to get darker and after three days in the sun, im glowing. Gutted that I only had three days thou.
Kearea and her mate Erin also love to sunbathe problem is that they both has pale Irish skin and today, kearea got sunburnt and heat stroke which I was hoping was malaria so I could do the dr thing but no cigar she had acute sunstroke AND IS NOW BLOODY BURNT THAT THE PART OF HER BODY COVERED BY THE BIKINI IS WHITE AND THE REST OF HER IS BRIGHT PINK! YIKES
It was so hot and sunny that even my African skin is peeling! But nothing beats sitting on the beach for eight hours and doing nothing, thinking about nothing, sometimes reading, sometimes going for a dip, but mostly laying and tanning. I get it, I bloody get why Londoners crave and so thoroughly and in so much advance plan their 2 weeks summer holiday in the sun. The sun heals, the sun makes you happy, the sun tans, the sun bleaches everything clean and I love it.
Actually today, I decided to have a whole pineapple for brekky. I cut and prepared it on my sun lounger with my swiss army knife (love it). As I was eating the first portion, I noticed that a monkey was staring at me. A really cute monkey with blue testicles and a pink willy. I add this extra description cos the actual fur on the monkey was beige. It was as almost as if god was having a laugh when he assigned the colour to these animals genitalia. Blue balls and a pink willy, very exotic, but brown fur? Why not purple. Anyhow the monkey and I eyeballed each other for a few minutes, I figured that it wanted some fruit so I offered a piece of which it reached out and took and ate on the spot. These monkies were like small children, with fully formed human hands (unable to thumb oppose) and walking towards me on hind legs. Anyhow, big bloody mistake after five minutes, im pretty sure that every monkey in Africa had decided to descend on the beach and rob me of my pineapple! Seriously, I was surrounding by monkeys of every size all trying to grab a piece of pineapple of me –i was slightly scared also –eek. And so I packed the pineapple in a bag and thought they would all jog on. Er no they didnt , they grabbed the bag, ripped it open and ate all the pineapple remnants within it. Ergh, mayhem!!
Speaking of Animals, the cats and dogs here ARE NOT PETs they are feral animals, unloved by the Kenyans and often ignored or kicked. For some reason there are cats everywhere, Kearea suggests that this is because they deal with rats as Kenyas sanitation methods leave a lot to be desired. The cats here at the hotel seem cute, and so I gave one a bowl of milk, stupid me. This cat is now stalking me. Twice ive come out of our room and its been ‘waiting for m on the stairs’. Also it has suddenly become more vocal at me, purring at me all the fucking time. No way mate, aint feeding that cat again after the monkey debacle. Dont wana get myself a name in the Mombasa animal kingdom.
Few more interesting things occurred today, I was at the supermarket buying goods and was fortunate to be stood in front of two Massai in the checkout queue. Er massai are fucking hot. Tall, dark, fit, elaborately decorated and just calm. No wonder, white women fall in love with them. Anyhow, I saw two such fit Massai today and was like ah how funny to see two Massai in a queue along side muzongo on holiday and other Kenyans. So I had a nosey into their trolley, what could they be buying, basic supplies for their modest abode? No mate, these two men, had a trolley full to the brim of cans of Stella. Made me chuckle, to watch two Massai men in the full Massi get up and stick in tow try and negotiate a trolley full of beer (or is it larger).
Lastly, mossi nets is making me heave. They are just a nightmare provoking addition to bedtime.
Its official, I am the only black sun worshipper in Kenya. I wake up at seven (suns up at six) and, brush my teeth wash my face put on my swimming suit ( a brilliant eighties number that I bought on the beach on my first day) and make my way down to the beach (30 seconds away). Get the cushion for the sun lounger, place it in full direction of the sun, pull down my bikini straps, get out my water, my shades and my book and sunbathe until it gets too hot. On average the temperature has been in the early thirties and the sun is uncovered by clouds and is just relentless and amazing. Its hottest between 12 pm and 2 and when I mean hot I mean hot!! It’s so funny many of the Kenyans can’t believe their eyes when they walk past me, A KENYAN? SUNBATHING? But I love it. On questioning many of the Kenyan women I know, on why they dislike the beautiful sun, they say that the sun is too much and they don’t want to get too dark –EY, confuse!
I long to get darker and after three days in the sun, im glowing. Gutted that I only had three days thou.
Kearea and her mate Erin also love to sunbathe problem is that they both has pale Irish skin and today, kearea got sunburnt and heat stroke which I was hoping was malaria so I could do the dr thing but no cigar she had acute sunstroke AND IS NOW BLOODY BURNT THAT THE PART OF HER BODY COVERED BY THE BIKINI IS WHITE AND THE REST OF HER IS BRIGHT PINK! YIKES
It was so hot and sunny that even my African skin is peeling! But nothing beats sitting on the beach for eight hours and doing nothing, thinking about nothing, sometimes reading, sometimes going for a dip, but mostly laying and tanning. I get it, I bloody get why Londoners crave and so thoroughly and in so much advance plan their 2 weeks summer holiday in the sun. The sun heals, the sun makes you happy, the sun tans, the sun bleaches everything clean and I love it.
Actually today, I decided to have a whole pineapple for brekky. I cut and prepared it on my sun lounger with my swiss army knife (love it). As I was eating the first portion, I noticed that a monkey was staring at me. A really cute monkey with blue testicles and a pink willy. I add this extra description cos the actual fur on the monkey was beige. It was as almost as if god was having a laugh when he assigned the colour to these animals genitalia. Blue balls and a pink willy, very exotic, but brown fur? Why not purple. Anyhow the monkey and I eyeballed each other for a few minutes, I figured that it wanted some fruit so I offered a piece of which it reached out and took and ate on the spot. These monkies were like small children, with fully formed human hands (unable to thumb oppose) and walking towards me on hind legs. Anyhow, big bloody mistake after five minutes, im pretty sure that every monkey in Africa had decided to descend on the beach and rob me of my pineapple! Seriously, I was surrounding by monkeys of every size all trying to grab a piece of pineapple of me –i was slightly scared also –eek. And so I packed the pineapple in a bag and thought they would all jog on. Er no they didnt , they grabbed the bag, ripped it open and ate all the pineapple remnants within it. Ergh, mayhem!!
Speaking of Animals, the cats and dogs here ARE NOT PETs they are feral animals, unloved by the Kenyans and often ignored or kicked. For some reason there are cats everywhere, Kearea suggests that this is because they deal with rats as Kenyas sanitation methods leave a lot to be desired. The cats here at the hotel seem cute, and so I gave one a bowl of milk, stupid me. This cat is now stalking me. Twice ive come out of our room and its been ‘waiting for m on the stairs’. Also it has suddenly become more vocal at me, purring at me all the fucking time. No way mate, aint feeding that cat again after the monkey debacle. Dont wana get myself a name in the Mombasa animal kingdom.
Few more interesting things occurred today, I was at the supermarket buying goods and was fortunate to be stood in front of two Massai in the checkout queue. Er massai are fucking hot. Tall, dark, fit, elaborately decorated and just calm. No wonder, white women fall in love with them. Anyhow, I saw two such fit Massai today and was like ah how funny to see two Massai in a queue along side muzongo on holiday and other Kenyans. So I had a nosey into their trolley, what could they be buying, basic supplies for their modest abode? No mate, these two men, had a trolley full to the brim of cans of Stella. Made me chuckle, to watch two Massai men in the full Massi get up and stick in tow try and negotiate a trolley full of beer (or is it larger).
Lastly, mossi nets is making me heave. They are just a nightmare provoking addition to bedtime.
21st Aug
21st August
We went to the ‘old town’ in Mombasa. This area of Kenya is the oldest part of the country in the sense of buildings and it is right next to fort Jesus, a shipping fort built by the Portuguese, so called because it is a big stone fort in the shape of Jesus on the crucifix.
We spend over two hours walking through the fort and the town, in the blazing sun! Mombasa is just a beautiful part Kenya, the people and the place. There are lots of open markets, with vendors selling food, clothing and goods. Ok the vendors do make a big show of trying to make people visit their stalls or shops, but if you say no, its no and hey will leave you alone. There is not the type of desperate in your face, over your shoulder, standing in front of you hassle to buy like in Nairobi. Also there is scope for bartering, which isn’t aggressive like in Nairobi!
We had a really cheap meal in a Kenyan cafe in the town centre. The staff here were hilarious, the place was full of girls working their Saturday jobs and bored shitless, honestly, i have never been served by such a watt-less group of individuals in my life. Made us giggle thou, don’t matter what country ya in –if ya working a boring job, ya working a boring job and its gonna show in ya face and ya actions. It is actually nice to eat in the eateries catering for Kenyans rather than tourists, cos the food is generally cheaper and your really get a feeling that you are immersing yourself in Kenyan life. Although being told that the ladies toilet was for ladies and being ushered out of the stall and pushed towards the gents toilets made me feel at home. Un believable, minus my Kenyan top (mens of course) i essentially look like a Kenyan teenage girl (ok or teenage boy). The people here really stick to the clothing that their gender would wear. Ive seen some women here that would pass for drag kings but no one batts an eyelid at them, but me in my wicked African tops, gets ushered to the gents, they are having a laugh.
However, What was just simply refreshing to see and completely changed my opinion was seeing, Muslim women actually Muslim people, walking free, undisturbed, with no feelings of distain, distrust from other non Muslims. In England I hate to say but there is an underlying hate towards Muslim people. After nine eleven Muslims received a bloody hard time. All were made responsible for the atrocity and the necessity for them to wear religious attire has questioned and singles them out for hate crime. Also, hate crime from Muslims particularly Bangladeshi Muslims is on the up. Gang warfare is rift especially in east London, where the Muslim community don’t do themselves any favours. After being in receipt of so much abuse after the last few years, I too am weary of Muslims and I guess actively get myself into debts regarding controversial religious issues, one of which being the debate regarding the Burka, I initially didn’t think the attire really had a place in English society and would really like to think that women were given a choice in wearing the clothing that didn’t involve pressure to conform to their elders cultural beliefs (although maybe Muslim women argue that they choose to be covered and that they do not receive any pressure from members of the family, a part of me believes this but most of me thinks that pressure can be wordless cultural phenomena). I also seem to have a problem with the observation that I have made especially in East London that many Muslims seem to want to convert everybody to their religion and disregard anyone who isn’t Muslim. I have had sweet shop owners not serve me, refuse to place money into my hand, not look at me. I have had Muslim boys screams hate at me, women turn away from me and Muslim boys spit at my back or at my feet. This has caused me to be weary seriously weary. BUT here in Mombassa things are so bloody different, makes me think that the English Muslims may have a confused thought patterns and ideas of Islam. In Mombassa muslims –black, white Asian, Arab, all live side by side. Non Muslims hang with Muslims and people of other faiths. They share shop space, work together have stalls with each other. There is respect for all and everyone. At certain times, some shops close, other non Muslim shops remain open. Honestly, things are so different, the men were traditional clothing, the women wear clothing varying from western clothing and a head scarf to a full body covering burka outfits, and nobody butts an eyelid.
I went into shops and bought items from Muslim men and women and was shown genuine kindness and respect. Muslim women gave us directions. People stared at us but that was because we were out of towners and the girls are white. We walked unaccompanied in Mombassa town. One Muslim man even advised me to wear my bag on my front so as not to get pick pocketed. Nobody screamed abuse at me, despite me wearing a man’s top and men’s shoes, I looked like a pure Kenyan boy, but no bother. Pure bliss and so nice to see.
Maybe some of the Muslims and non Muslims alike in the western world could maybe take a trip to Kenya become enlightened. All this hate is boring and seems created and perpetuated in London/UK as oppose to being an institutionalised aspect of Islam.
We went to the ‘old town’ in Mombasa. This area of Kenya is the oldest part of the country in the sense of buildings and it is right next to fort Jesus, a shipping fort built by the Portuguese, so called because it is a big stone fort in the shape of Jesus on the crucifix.
We spend over two hours walking through the fort and the town, in the blazing sun! Mombasa is just a beautiful part Kenya, the people and the place. There are lots of open markets, with vendors selling food, clothing and goods. Ok the vendors do make a big show of trying to make people visit their stalls or shops, but if you say no, its no and hey will leave you alone. There is not the type of desperate in your face, over your shoulder, standing in front of you hassle to buy like in Nairobi. Also there is scope for bartering, which isn’t aggressive like in Nairobi!
We had a really cheap meal in a Kenyan cafe in the town centre. The staff here were hilarious, the place was full of girls working their Saturday jobs and bored shitless, honestly, i have never been served by such a watt-less group of individuals in my life. Made us giggle thou, don’t matter what country ya in –if ya working a boring job, ya working a boring job and its gonna show in ya face and ya actions. It is actually nice to eat in the eateries catering for Kenyans rather than tourists, cos the food is generally cheaper and your really get a feeling that you are immersing yourself in Kenyan life. Although being told that the ladies toilet was for ladies and being ushered out of the stall and pushed towards the gents toilets made me feel at home. Un believable, minus my Kenyan top (mens of course) i essentially look like a Kenyan teenage girl (ok or teenage boy). The people here really stick to the clothing that their gender would wear. Ive seen some women here that would pass for drag kings but no one batts an eyelid at them, but me in my wicked African tops, gets ushered to the gents, they are having a laugh.
However, What was just simply refreshing to see and completely changed my opinion was seeing, Muslim women actually Muslim people, walking free, undisturbed, with no feelings of distain, distrust from other non Muslims. In England I hate to say but there is an underlying hate towards Muslim people. After nine eleven Muslims received a bloody hard time. All were made responsible for the atrocity and the necessity for them to wear religious attire has questioned and singles them out for hate crime. Also, hate crime from Muslims particularly Bangladeshi Muslims is on the up. Gang warfare is rift especially in east London, where the Muslim community don’t do themselves any favours. After being in receipt of so much abuse after the last few years, I too am weary of Muslims and I guess actively get myself into debts regarding controversial religious issues, one of which being the debate regarding the Burka, I initially didn’t think the attire really had a place in English society and would really like to think that women were given a choice in wearing the clothing that didn’t involve pressure to conform to their elders cultural beliefs (although maybe Muslim women argue that they choose to be covered and that they do not receive any pressure from members of the family, a part of me believes this but most of me thinks that pressure can be wordless cultural phenomena). I also seem to have a problem with the observation that I have made especially in East London that many Muslims seem to want to convert everybody to their religion and disregard anyone who isn’t Muslim. I have had sweet shop owners not serve me, refuse to place money into my hand, not look at me. I have had Muslim boys screams hate at me, women turn away from me and Muslim boys spit at my back or at my feet. This has caused me to be weary seriously weary. BUT here in Mombassa things are so bloody different, makes me think that the English Muslims may have a confused thought patterns and ideas of Islam. In Mombassa muslims –black, white Asian, Arab, all live side by side. Non Muslims hang with Muslims and people of other faiths. They share shop space, work together have stalls with each other. There is respect for all and everyone. At certain times, some shops close, other non Muslim shops remain open. Honestly, things are so different, the men were traditional clothing, the women wear clothing varying from western clothing and a head scarf to a full body covering burka outfits, and nobody butts an eyelid.
I went into shops and bought items from Muslim men and women and was shown genuine kindness and respect. Muslim women gave us directions. People stared at us but that was because we were out of towners and the girls are white. We walked unaccompanied in Mombassa town. One Muslim man even advised me to wear my bag on my front so as not to get pick pocketed. Nobody screamed abuse at me, despite me wearing a man’s top and men’s shoes, I looked like a pure Kenyan boy, but no bother. Pure bliss and so nice to see.
Maybe some of the Muslims and non Muslims alike in the western world could maybe take a trip to Kenya become enlightened. All this hate is boring and seems created and perpetuated in London/UK as oppose to being an institutionalised aspect of Islam.
19th Aug
19th August
So i am writing this blog on my bed in keareas, Erins and my Kenyan hotel room. We are at a hotel called ‘Jamboree’ right on the Indian ocean coastline –seriously, we can hear the water and see it (100 yards) from our room. We have a TV, fridge, shower room (only cold water though) and a lovely balcony on which we can sit and watch events below, and most importantly the view from this balcony is just beautiful.
Mombasa is a dirty, busy, traffic jammed city, but it is HOT here and gals going to sit on the beach and get a wicked tan, drink water, eat fruit and read.
The room is reasonably priced also! 4000 Kenyan bob (seriously, bob is the tender here!) between three of us a day, so for four nights that is equivalent to about £50 for four nights. I don’t think that you guys really want to hear any more about the hotel and so I want to discuss a couple of things both are relating to Kenyan culture.
I am Nigerian by blood but born and breed in the UK, here in Kenya people think I’m Kenyan, I guess me wearing Kenyan clothes doesn’t help the matter. In particular Kenyan people tend to think that I am from a tribe called ‘Luo’. In the beginning this was amusing, now it’s bloody annoying, especially since neither pretending to be luo nor actually confessing to being British Nigerian helps me one bit.
I am finding it a tad bit difficult to socialise with the Kenyan youngsters here. Not the ones in the orphanage but the Kenyans who are taken on trips etc with the charity. Its kind of like in London but different, Il explain, I guess in London I feel sometimes that my old look (i have hair now) didn’t go down with –not all black people but especially Nigerians and West Indian people, especially straight ones. Being gay can be hard, being black and gay can be tough, but being female, black and gay is a tricky one. Fortunately, I am out and couldn’t really care less who is aware of my sexuality, it’s not really there in peoples faces but it isn’t hidden either. Through the years I’ve battled with not really, feeling Nigerian or more really at one with my culture. I resent mostly the look that Nigerian women and men find attractive, long nails, big ole weave, the tight non traditional clothing, ergh everything, i feel that it is all fake and I guess that I try my very very best to err towards looking nothing like that. Coming to Kenya, although it not being Nigeria was a chance for me to be immersed in an African society, to see how my people live, work and play. In some ways I have been really impressed and in other ways deeply disappointed.
A lot of the women here stare at me. In the village the women wear traditional clothing, really beautiful African clothing that I looove. I hadn’t bought any traditional clothing yet so when I was out and about in the village I was wearing my Primark linen and I guess the women were confused to why this “Luo” looking girl was wearing western clothing. That staring I kind of get. Here however the women were really friendly, and to be honest, I have got mostly nothing but love from my village women.
In Nairobi and Mombasa different story mate. The women stare still but I know that it’s a competition and hierarchy thing. Now that I have some African clothing, I wear them and am creating confusion again. In Nairobi, the women wear ‘western clothing’ not to be rude but if ya think of the really cheap stuff that you can get in East street market that is what the ‘trendy girls’ wear and the older women with jobs all wear these eighties two piece suits (that i do actually, love, I love a shoulder padded number!) I aint judging, I just found it fucking irritating that they look down at me cause I’m wearing ‘village’ clothes when they are all wearing eighties throw backs. Seriously, I thought people stared in London but people do sure stare, almost stop what they’re doing, tumble weed moments in Nairobi. And, when I open my mouth confusion city!! Strange though, one would have thought that people would think that I am a Kenyan who has studied in Europe , hence my accent but they truly the people here can’t put two and two together.
So the Kenyan girls at the Nairobi house won’t talk to me, to be honest I am not really bothered, i am more disappointed. Kerea reckons that they are shy, I don’t think so as shy people don’t say hello to everybody, not one person.
In the village, I was inspiring the girls to stay in school, not get pregnant use condoms etc. Life is wicked in the village ya know. The young girls would come and chat with me at the hospital and ask me how they can become Drs, ok, they don’t all warm to me has they can’t work out how I managed to become a female Dr not a female nurse but after that its fine. Ergh here in the city the girls are just plain rude. Many times I’ve entered a room with keara and the girls make every effort to talk to her and frankly the conversation is quite mundane. The situation kind of has echoes of the men in the village, who see a white face and stop what they are doing to make a bee line to the poor muzongo and chat incessant rubbish. The girls here do the same to Kearea. She says that I’m too cynical, however, I think life through a black person’s eye and a white person’s eye is so different. As a white person in Kenya life is easy, you are bound to get ripped off, but at least the residents make an effort, notice you, a matatu will always stop for you, the men will talk to you and things seem to run a bit smoother. As a Kenyan women, you are not seen, the residents will always talk to the muzongo rather than you. So many times I have been totally ignored in conversations; until I open my mouth I don’t exist.
I hate City life I think. Seriously, Nairobi is stuck in the mid eighties and is dirty man, dust is everywhere, it is not like in the village where people stop and talk to one another, I guess the culture here reminds me of London a bit, I’m a village girl, i like my own space, my African clothes and the freedom to do what I want without the fear of being robbed.
Although in the centre of Nairobi, keara took me to a starbucks-like coffee house called java, I had the most delicious latte in the whole wide world –yummy, but have been paying for the treat since -lets just say my poo bag is my best friend lol.
Secondly, I am sad to say that deceit appears to be ingrained in Kenyan culture here. In every single situation that I have been in, alone or with friends, the Kenyan people have tried to rip us off. What we have realised thou is not to take this trend personally, but see it as a sad aspect of the Kenyan society. Oh dear I’ve been pretty down on Kenyans in the last few blogs, I did go to a beautiful part of Mombasa today , called ‘old town’ and I had a fabulous day! Life in Mombasa is totally different to that in Nairobi and I will go into more depth about some of the positive observations that I made today in the next blog (just so you don’t think that I’m totally negative yikes).
So back to deceit, after speaking to well travelled people back in the UK, I was expecting to have to barter and perhaps pay foreigner prices for goods here in Kenya BUT nobody prepared me for what I have experienced. I think it’ll be hard for me actually describe, the way of purchasing life here, but if I give a few examples of situations that I’ve been in then may be the picture will illustrate itself.
So like I said here in Kenya white skin is associated with wealth, and if you’re not from town, suddenly the price of goods goes up. My first experience of being ripped off was in a matatu (bus) on the way to the hospital on my second day. The conductor (hold on, let me just describe these buses, they are actually 10, 14 or 7 seater, purpose build van/bus things –just type the name in google. There is a driver, and a conductor type man who tells the driver when to stop by banging a coin on the steel door. The conductor is usually an untrained local, who makes a bit of extra cash with this job. The driver is an accredited driver, BUT many times these drivers are in various states of fitness, from drunk, visually impaired, maybe deaf and they will not hesitate to use their phone to make a call or text whilst driving on Kenyas notoriously bad pot holed roads. To make matters worse at night, they only put on their headlights –if they work, to signal to other drivers that they are approaching. Matatus often race each other and although they are only legally meant to take the number of people stated on the side, they will cram the bus full of people, two to a seat, with some men hitching a ride by clinging onto the side of the bus. Many a time I have sat next to live stock –chickens and the odd baby goat, which funnily enough are really well behaved! The decor in these buses varies, from leather seats and padded carpeted roofs, and an inside tv usually blasting Christian gospel music to the max, to ranshackle-i-think-this-bus-is-gonna-collaspe-like-a-matchstickhouse-in-any-minute condition. Accidents happen but touch wood, I’ve been fine)
Ah I’ve gone off point but what I was saying that the fare to the hospital is 50 bob and it is advisable to have the change to hand, so I did and the cheeky conductor was like that’s 80bob for you and I was like, er, no its fifty I KNOW IT IS FIFTY HERE IS FIFTY, TAKE IT OR LET ME OFF. Needless to say the guy knew that I knew he was trying to rip me off and so took the money and mumbled something in Swahili. These has happened to me a few times, and luckily I know the cost of the distances that I travel but its tiring having to barter down to a price that trips are allocated anyway.
The worse occasion was when I was in Kisumu with odongo (our Kenyan rep here in Siaya) and some others, the waiter actually asked odongo in Swahili, if he would help them rip us off. When Odongo refused he was called a Mazongo lover, this pissed me off cos it was the same waiter that was trying to be really friendly to us and generate crap convo with us –moron. At this same restaurant, we weren’t given certain parts of our food despite the menu stated that our meals were accompanied with these foods. When we complained they bought the food out half an hour later and then charged us for the stated side dish. Our bill was also incorrectly added up –something that seems to be a trend if you order lots in a group.
On another occasion we had pre booked a man with a van to be our transport for the day, we had agreed a price and everything was honkadory, except when it came to midday the man with the van claimed that the booking was for half a day and insisted that this arrangement was made clear with the person on the phone that he had spoke to. We knew he was lying because we got a Kenyan to book him cos we knew that we would get a fair price if a Kenyan dealt with a Kenyan, and we were all present in the room and so he was lying. Ergh
I just remembered that the first time I was asked for money was at the airport in Nairobi, where I was waiting in a really long line to get a Kenyan visa and I was resigned to waiting and decided to read my book. Some women with a badge (official looking) asked me if I would like to go to a shorter queue. Lovely, I thought, as she took my passport and claimed to be checking that I filled the form out correctly. She took me to another visa checkpoint and yeah so I had 4 people in front of me instead of 60. I thanked her, and seeing as she seemed to be airport staff i expected her to jog on. Nope she asked for some money, err NO i replied and she left. She was doing her job and then asking for money for it. This is something which baffles me about life here, if anybody helps you in anyway they expect a tip??? This makes me suspicious of asking anyone for help!
Dya know what I could give quite a few more examples but I have realised that what I write could be controversial and as much as I love controversies im still under the care of the charity and so will write blog the after stuff after.
What Ive taken to doing now is not opening myy mouth when I buy things, looking like a luo has its advantages, Kenyans tend to hold up the itme that they want, and expect the vendor to say the price. And so buy doing this I get a fair price. If I actually ask the for the price in my English accent, (which everyone thinks is USA) then I get a heavily inflated answer. For example sugar cane canes, uncut are 12bob, skinned and cut into chucks they are 20bob, the first time we bought sugar can we were charged 50 bob. When we returned the next day to buy more sugar cane knowing the correct price the vendor refused to sell us the cane at the correct price, and waved us away!! As in they would rather not sell us their goods than sell us it too us at the correct price.
One time I bought a avocado for 10 bob after not saying a word and just holding it up. Afterwards I said in the strongest US accent I could ‘Thanx a lot mate’ and the guy was gutted!!! Hahahaha.
Hey it’s not that I don’t want to give any Kenyan some extra money as to be honest we are still paying not very much for some of these goods, compared to prices in the UK the only problem is just that if they were honest with me id give them the correct price and some but its after the theatrical performance of calling me sister, trying to converse with me and being my friend then ripping me off like a fucker. Or its when I’ve spent twenty minutes discussing the fact that im not Kenyan, that im a uk born Nigerian, studying medicine, here on elective, and yes im married and no I don’t wanna meet your son and then they try to rip me off! Lol. Its all funny now, but I took it quite personally for a while.
I guess I give you more meaty examples when Im coming to the end of this elective!
So i am writing this blog on my bed in keareas, Erins and my Kenyan hotel room. We are at a hotel called ‘Jamboree’ right on the Indian ocean coastline –seriously, we can hear the water and see it (100 yards) from our room. We have a TV, fridge, shower room (only cold water though) and a lovely balcony on which we can sit and watch events below, and most importantly the view from this balcony is just beautiful.
Mombasa is a dirty, busy, traffic jammed city, but it is HOT here and gals going to sit on the beach and get a wicked tan, drink water, eat fruit and read.
The room is reasonably priced also! 4000 Kenyan bob (seriously, bob is the tender here!) between three of us a day, so for four nights that is equivalent to about £50 for four nights. I don’t think that you guys really want to hear any more about the hotel and so I want to discuss a couple of things both are relating to Kenyan culture.
I am Nigerian by blood but born and breed in the UK, here in Kenya people think I’m Kenyan, I guess me wearing Kenyan clothes doesn’t help the matter. In particular Kenyan people tend to think that I am from a tribe called ‘Luo’. In the beginning this was amusing, now it’s bloody annoying, especially since neither pretending to be luo nor actually confessing to being British Nigerian helps me one bit.
I am finding it a tad bit difficult to socialise with the Kenyan youngsters here. Not the ones in the orphanage but the Kenyans who are taken on trips etc with the charity. Its kind of like in London but different, Il explain, I guess in London I feel sometimes that my old look (i have hair now) didn’t go down with –not all black people but especially Nigerians and West Indian people, especially straight ones. Being gay can be hard, being black and gay can be tough, but being female, black and gay is a tricky one. Fortunately, I am out and couldn’t really care less who is aware of my sexuality, it’s not really there in peoples faces but it isn’t hidden either. Through the years I’ve battled with not really, feeling Nigerian or more really at one with my culture. I resent mostly the look that Nigerian women and men find attractive, long nails, big ole weave, the tight non traditional clothing, ergh everything, i feel that it is all fake and I guess that I try my very very best to err towards looking nothing like that. Coming to Kenya, although it not being Nigeria was a chance for me to be immersed in an African society, to see how my people live, work and play. In some ways I have been really impressed and in other ways deeply disappointed.
A lot of the women here stare at me. In the village the women wear traditional clothing, really beautiful African clothing that I looove. I hadn’t bought any traditional clothing yet so when I was out and about in the village I was wearing my Primark linen and I guess the women were confused to why this “Luo” looking girl was wearing western clothing. That staring I kind of get. Here however the women were really friendly, and to be honest, I have got mostly nothing but love from my village women.
In Nairobi and Mombasa different story mate. The women stare still but I know that it’s a competition and hierarchy thing. Now that I have some African clothing, I wear them and am creating confusion again. In Nairobi, the women wear ‘western clothing’ not to be rude but if ya think of the really cheap stuff that you can get in East street market that is what the ‘trendy girls’ wear and the older women with jobs all wear these eighties two piece suits (that i do actually, love, I love a shoulder padded number!) I aint judging, I just found it fucking irritating that they look down at me cause I’m wearing ‘village’ clothes when they are all wearing eighties throw backs. Seriously, I thought people stared in London but people do sure stare, almost stop what they’re doing, tumble weed moments in Nairobi. And, when I open my mouth confusion city!! Strange though, one would have thought that people would think that I am a Kenyan who has studied in Europe , hence my accent but they truly the people here can’t put two and two together.
So the Kenyan girls at the Nairobi house won’t talk to me, to be honest I am not really bothered, i am more disappointed. Kerea reckons that they are shy, I don’t think so as shy people don’t say hello to everybody, not one person.
In the village, I was inspiring the girls to stay in school, not get pregnant use condoms etc. Life is wicked in the village ya know. The young girls would come and chat with me at the hospital and ask me how they can become Drs, ok, they don’t all warm to me has they can’t work out how I managed to become a female Dr not a female nurse but after that its fine. Ergh here in the city the girls are just plain rude. Many times I’ve entered a room with keara and the girls make every effort to talk to her and frankly the conversation is quite mundane. The situation kind of has echoes of the men in the village, who see a white face and stop what they are doing to make a bee line to the poor muzongo and chat incessant rubbish. The girls here do the same to Kearea. She says that I’m too cynical, however, I think life through a black person’s eye and a white person’s eye is so different. As a white person in Kenya life is easy, you are bound to get ripped off, but at least the residents make an effort, notice you, a matatu will always stop for you, the men will talk to you and things seem to run a bit smoother. As a Kenyan women, you are not seen, the residents will always talk to the muzongo rather than you. So many times I have been totally ignored in conversations; until I open my mouth I don’t exist.
I hate City life I think. Seriously, Nairobi is stuck in the mid eighties and is dirty man, dust is everywhere, it is not like in the village where people stop and talk to one another, I guess the culture here reminds me of London a bit, I’m a village girl, i like my own space, my African clothes and the freedom to do what I want without the fear of being robbed.
Although in the centre of Nairobi, keara took me to a starbucks-like coffee house called java, I had the most delicious latte in the whole wide world –yummy, but have been paying for the treat since -lets just say my poo bag is my best friend lol.
Secondly, I am sad to say that deceit appears to be ingrained in Kenyan culture here. In every single situation that I have been in, alone or with friends, the Kenyan people have tried to rip us off. What we have realised thou is not to take this trend personally, but see it as a sad aspect of the Kenyan society. Oh dear I’ve been pretty down on Kenyans in the last few blogs, I did go to a beautiful part of Mombasa today , called ‘old town’ and I had a fabulous day! Life in Mombasa is totally different to that in Nairobi and I will go into more depth about some of the positive observations that I made today in the next blog (just so you don’t think that I’m totally negative yikes).
So back to deceit, after speaking to well travelled people back in the UK, I was expecting to have to barter and perhaps pay foreigner prices for goods here in Kenya BUT nobody prepared me for what I have experienced. I think it’ll be hard for me actually describe, the way of purchasing life here, but if I give a few examples of situations that I’ve been in then may be the picture will illustrate itself.
So like I said here in Kenya white skin is associated with wealth, and if you’re not from town, suddenly the price of goods goes up. My first experience of being ripped off was in a matatu (bus) on the way to the hospital on my second day. The conductor (hold on, let me just describe these buses, they are actually 10, 14 or 7 seater, purpose build van/bus things –just type the name in google. There is a driver, and a conductor type man who tells the driver when to stop by banging a coin on the steel door. The conductor is usually an untrained local, who makes a bit of extra cash with this job. The driver is an accredited driver, BUT many times these drivers are in various states of fitness, from drunk, visually impaired, maybe deaf and they will not hesitate to use their phone to make a call or text whilst driving on Kenyas notoriously bad pot holed roads. To make matters worse at night, they only put on their headlights –if they work, to signal to other drivers that they are approaching. Matatus often race each other and although they are only legally meant to take the number of people stated on the side, they will cram the bus full of people, two to a seat, with some men hitching a ride by clinging onto the side of the bus. Many a time I have sat next to live stock –chickens and the odd baby goat, which funnily enough are really well behaved! The decor in these buses varies, from leather seats and padded carpeted roofs, and an inside tv usually blasting Christian gospel music to the max, to ranshackle-i-think-this-bus-is-gonna-collaspe-like-a-matchstickhouse-in-any-minute condition. Accidents happen but touch wood, I’ve been fine)
Ah I’ve gone off point but what I was saying that the fare to the hospital is 50 bob and it is advisable to have the change to hand, so I did and the cheeky conductor was like that’s 80bob for you and I was like, er, no its fifty I KNOW IT IS FIFTY HERE IS FIFTY, TAKE IT OR LET ME OFF. Needless to say the guy knew that I knew he was trying to rip me off and so took the money and mumbled something in Swahili. These has happened to me a few times, and luckily I know the cost of the distances that I travel but its tiring having to barter down to a price that trips are allocated anyway.
The worse occasion was when I was in Kisumu with odongo (our Kenyan rep here in Siaya) and some others, the waiter actually asked odongo in Swahili, if he would help them rip us off. When Odongo refused he was called a Mazongo lover, this pissed me off cos it was the same waiter that was trying to be really friendly to us and generate crap convo with us –moron. At this same restaurant, we weren’t given certain parts of our food despite the menu stated that our meals were accompanied with these foods. When we complained they bought the food out half an hour later and then charged us for the stated side dish. Our bill was also incorrectly added up –something that seems to be a trend if you order lots in a group.
On another occasion we had pre booked a man with a van to be our transport for the day, we had agreed a price and everything was honkadory, except when it came to midday the man with the van claimed that the booking was for half a day and insisted that this arrangement was made clear with the person on the phone that he had spoke to. We knew he was lying because we got a Kenyan to book him cos we knew that we would get a fair price if a Kenyan dealt with a Kenyan, and we were all present in the room and so he was lying. Ergh
I just remembered that the first time I was asked for money was at the airport in Nairobi, where I was waiting in a really long line to get a Kenyan visa and I was resigned to waiting and decided to read my book. Some women with a badge (official looking) asked me if I would like to go to a shorter queue. Lovely, I thought, as she took my passport and claimed to be checking that I filled the form out correctly. She took me to another visa checkpoint and yeah so I had 4 people in front of me instead of 60. I thanked her, and seeing as she seemed to be airport staff i expected her to jog on. Nope she asked for some money, err NO i replied and she left. She was doing her job and then asking for money for it. This is something which baffles me about life here, if anybody helps you in anyway they expect a tip??? This makes me suspicious of asking anyone for help!
Dya know what I could give quite a few more examples but I have realised that what I write could be controversial and as much as I love controversies im still under the care of the charity and so will write blog the after stuff after.
What Ive taken to doing now is not opening myy mouth when I buy things, looking like a luo has its advantages, Kenyans tend to hold up the itme that they want, and expect the vendor to say the price. And so buy doing this I get a fair price. If I actually ask the for the price in my English accent, (which everyone thinks is USA) then I get a heavily inflated answer. For example sugar cane canes, uncut are 12bob, skinned and cut into chucks they are 20bob, the first time we bought sugar can we were charged 50 bob. When we returned the next day to buy more sugar cane knowing the correct price the vendor refused to sell us the cane at the correct price, and waved us away!! As in they would rather not sell us their goods than sell us it too us at the correct price.
One time I bought a avocado for 10 bob after not saying a word and just holding it up. Afterwards I said in the strongest US accent I could ‘Thanx a lot mate’ and the guy was gutted!!! Hahahaha.
Hey it’s not that I don’t want to give any Kenyan some extra money as to be honest we are still paying not very much for some of these goods, compared to prices in the UK the only problem is just that if they were honest with me id give them the correct price and some but its after the theatrical performance of calling me sister, trying to converse with me and being my friend then ripping me off like a fucker. Or its when I’ve spent twenty minutes discussing the fact that im not Kenyan, that im a uk born Nigerian, studying medicine, here on elective, and yes im married and no I don’t wanna meet your son and then they try to rip me off! Lol. Its all funny now, but I took it quite personally for a while.
I guess I give you more meaty examples when Im coming to the end of this elective!
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
This song is the ringtone on Dr phills phone. Everytime his phone rings we have a thirty second dance, then it goes to voicemail. lol
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93b1NB5XrKE
Im in Nairobi just now, we are going to Mombassa on thurs. The Nairobi house, has wireless, so I can catch up with the blog, and download some tunes, ready for my return to village life. Gonna see if I can convince my neighbour that Tech is the way forward. (ummm)
I have taken lots of pictures but cant seem to be able to upload them so, I think they are gonna have to wait. Nairobi, is busy, dusty and big. Gonna go for a wander tomo, Keara wants to show me the orphan baby that she and lucie (well she) has decided that she wants to adopt. She reckons that the baby smiled as soon as it looked at her, -i reckon it was a reflex, or it was pooing. lol.
I still have monday to write up, and actually describe the hospital I was at and enlighten you all on kenyan robbery. hopefully, il have it all done by tomo eve, as I wont have acess to upload after then!
I am well, still happy to be here, thankful for a change of scenery, but I miss village life, so am glad to be going back next week.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93b1NB5XrKE
Im in Nairobi just now, we are going to Mombassa on thurs. The Nairobi house, has wireless, so I can catch up with the blog, and download some tunes, ready for my return to village life. Gonna see if I can convince my neighbour that Tech is the way forward. (ummm)
I have taken lots of pictures but cant seem to be able to upload them so, I think they are gonna have to wait. Nairobi, is busy, dusty and big. Gonna go for a wander tomo, Keara wants to show me the orphan baby that she and lucie (well she) has decided that she wants to adopt. She reckons that the baby smiled as soon as it looked at her, -i reckon it was a reflex, or it was pooing. lol.
I still have monday to write up, and actually describe the hospital I was at and enlighten you all on kenyan robbery. hopefully, il have it all done by tomo eve, as I wont have acess to upload after then!
I am well, still happy to be here, thankful for a change of scenery, but I miss village life, so am glad to be going back next week.
15 th aug
15th August
Today we went to church, which was an epic show of human endurance for Kearea and I. We were told that church was just a few hours, and so we awoke early, I put on my African tied die dress, Kerea put her Sunday best (a beautiful skirt but with flipflops) and we walked for the first time to the orphanage to meet the children. Can I just add that this walk was a fortyfive minute walk in blazing Kenya heat, up and down the most unkept roads you have ever seen also trying to avoid death by matatu. Anyhow we met up with the orphanage children, and began walking back on ourselves to church..
The churches in Kenya are the most beautiful, or lets say structurally perfect building that you will see in Kenya. Also the church plays such a big role in Kenyan life. The beginning of the service was confusing and appeared not to have any structure. There were nuns outside and a choir of women singing separately. People were sat in the church, sat outside, children running in and out it seemed like chaos. But it turned out we were early and they were rehearsing.
Everybody was in their Sunday best, I have no idea how this women manage to look so presentable, with perfectly, clean and white clothing, with pleats in the right placing, especially considering that they all live in mud huts and have no running water!!!
Service began at about half nine. Oh I nearly cried, the sound of the choir of children singing and dancing was magical. It was exactly how one would imagine an African church service. Ive been to church in England before but it has been a while, and I have forgotten how bloody beautiful, the whole affair is. Also there was this cute Kenyan boy with downs syndrome, who was really getting into the singing, whoa this boy could dance and eventually managed to persuade the choir to let him stand with them and sing, much to one of the other nuns annoyance. She tried to remove him the choir, I think she wasn’t appreciating his animated dancing and singing, but we all liked it so ushered her away.lol
4 hours later....I HAD HAD ENOUGH. I was hypoglycaemic, tired, cramped up in a pew and didn’t understand the Swahili sermon. I kept asking the kids, what time is this meant to finish, soon they kept saying, soon. I was like aren’t you tired? –no they replied. Lies these kids were tired and so were some of the adults by the looks of things, -i think closed eyes are a tell tell sign. I was so relieved to leave, AT 3!!!!!!!
Dont think Il be attending another service, hey not cos I didn’t enjoy it but cos girl needs lunch time!
Ah i forgot to add that, after church, I went off to do some stuff whilst keara went to the orphange. I thought that it would be nice to treat the kids to some lollipops and so i popped into a shop and bought a bag of red sweets. When I got to the orphange, I gave them to gertrude the woman in charge to distibute. Anyhow, after ten mins or so, the kids were all making repeated trips to the water tank.. Kenyans dont drink much water, despite the hot sun and we were all like ey? Then one of the more confident children ran up to me and was like,'ronx, why did u buy us chilli sweets'. Low abd behold, what i thought were strawberry lollipops were acually tripple chilli lollipops, and bless them the children were so polite and thankful for a rare treat that they perservered and ate every single one.
oh dear - who makes tripple chilli lollipos anyway? -only in africa!!!!
Today we went to church, which was an epic show of human endurance for Kearea and I. We were told that church was just a few hours, and so we awoke early, I put on my African tied die dress, Kerea put her Sunday best (a beautiful skirt but with flipflops) and we walked for the first time to the orphanage to meet the children. Can I just add that this walk was a fortyfive minute walk in blazing Kenya heat, up and down the most unkept roads you have ever seen also trying to avoid death by matatu. Anyhow we met up with the orphanage children, and began walking back on ourselves to church..
The churches in Kenya are the most beautiful, or lets say structurally perfect building that you will see in Kenya. Also the church plays such a big role in Kenyan life. The beginning of the service was confusing and appeared not to have any structure. There were nuns outside and a choir of women singing separately. People were sat in the church, sat outside, children running in and out it seemed like chaos. But it turned out we were early and they were rehearsing.
Everybody was in their Sunday best, I have no idea how this women manage to look so presentable, with perfectly, clean and white clothing, with pleats in the right placing, especially considering that they all live in mud huts and have no running water!!!
Service began at about half nine. Oh I nearly cried, the sound of the choir of children singing and dancing was magical. It was exactly how one would imagine an African church service. Ive been to church in England before but it has been a while, and I have forgotten how bloody beautiful, the whole affair is. Also there was this cute Kenyan boy with downs syndrome, who was really getting into the singing, whoa this boy could dance and eventually managed to persuade the choir to let him stand with them and sing, much to one of the other nuns annoyance. She tried to remove him the choir, I think she wasn’t appreciating his animated dancing and singing, but we all liked it so ushered her away.lol
4 hours later....I HAD HAD ENOUGH. I was hypoglycaemic, tired, cramped up in a pew and didn’t understand the Swahili sermon. I kept asking the kids, what time is this meant to finish, soon they kept saying, soon. I was like aren’t you tired? –no they replied. Lies these kids were tired and so were some of the adults by the looks of things, -i think closed eyes are a tell tell sign. I was so relieved to leave, AT 3!!!!!!!
Dont think Il be attending another service, hey not cos I didn’t enjoy it but cos girl needs lunch time!
Ah i forgot to add that, after church, I went off to do some stuff whilst keara went to the orphange. I thought that it would be nice to treat the kids to some lollipops and so i popped into a shop and bought a bag of red sweets. When I got to the orphange, I gave them to gertrude the woman in charge to distibute. Anyhow, after ten mins or so, the kids were all making repeated trips to the water tank.. Kenyans dont drink much water, despite the hot sun and we were all like ey? Then one of the more confident children ran up to me and was like,'ronx, why did u buy us chilli sweets'. Low abd behold, what i thought were strawberry lollipops were acually tripple chilli lollipops, and bless them the children were so polite and thankful for a rare treat that they perservered and ate every single one.
oh dear - who makes tripple chilli lollipos anyway? -only in africa!!!!
14th aug
14 August
Today the sun was shining. We hired a man with a van and took a day trip to kisumu. Ashley, Keara, me and Dutch family (that were staying at the orphanage) first went to Impala animal sanctuary. We had no idea what we would see and at first I was like this is gonna be shittttt!. As we entered the first thing in view was Lake Victoria, the second largest lake in the world (Lake Superior being the largest in USA) it is actually is 68 000 km2 and the deepest point is 81 m deep. Only 6% of the lake is in Kenya, 60% is in Tanzania and 34% is in the Uganda! As we looked across the lake, three hippos emerged from the water!! Beautiful! The best animals were to come thou!!. We wandered through the sanctuary amisely, all the animals were enclosed in chicken wire sections. We saw, buffalos and deer first. Boring. Actually, I lie they are beautiful animals but I wanted more. We next saw the cutest monkeys, that exposed themselves to me. I saw hyenas and jackals but the best was yet to come. The next enclosure contained a cheater it was beautiful! Ya know here in Kenya it seems that we are relied on to judge how safe it is to get really up close to the barbed wire. Seriously was only the barbed wire between us and the animals. The cheeter came right up close to the wire, I managed to get some amazing pictures. The next enclosure contained female lions and again we were so close that the we could touch the creature. Man these animals are beautiful, David attenboruogh was right!! In the next enclosure was the greatest animal of all! A male lion, it was just breathtaking, I ran like a small child right up to the wire. He was sat on a rock about 7 meters away, just basking in the sun, silent, magnificent and definitely the king of the animal kingdom. Its mane resembled the hair from a patch work dolly, its body was so golden, so smooth, so still, his eyes were on us, unafraid but surely poised to attack if need be. It got up and walked away from us, almost as if it was dismissing us as lower species. We were taking pictures furiously, no one had yet dared to get close to the barbed wire. As the lion walked away, I though ah fuck this, and climbed over the handrail and ran towards it. All that was between me and this killing machine was a thin barbed wired fence. I placed the lens of my camera in the wire holes, seriously a 1cm of air was all that was between me and the animal. Then suddenly out of bloody no where the animal, roars and lunges at me. FUCK ME i was scared, actually i don’t think i had time to be scared i literally back flipped , fell back onto my rucksuck, closed my eyes and expected my head to be eaten, seriously that barbed wired looked like it couldn’t contain chickens. Anyways a few seconds later i opened my eyes to the sounds of laughter from everyone. My heart was racing, i was terrified, my breath was caught in my throat but I was laughing out of pure and utter fear. That was the best moment of this trip so far, this animal, the biggest most ruthless killer in the animal kingdom would have eaten me if it wasn’t for the barbed wire, mate, i felt its breathe on my face. LION BREATHE. I still think of the moment now and my heart kind of sinks, I was so scared and I do not think that I have most that fast ever! –lol. Im gonna tell whoever will listen this story.
The zebra and the impalas in this sanctuary are allowed to roam free, and so we were fortunate enough to roam a field with this truly truly stunning animals. England has horses but Africa has zebra, beautiful, elegant Zebra. So much of the day so far I have only ever seen on the Tv and today for just twelve pounds I have had such memorable experiences. Today has today washed away the sadness of the week.
We then went to a lovely Kenyan hotel. Where we had good food but were ripped of by the staff. Next week I will write a blog about the experiences of being ripped off by the Kenyans. Its beginning to get a bit annoying but I don’t want to ruin a lovely blog and day with this subject.
Tomo, church. This will be interesting. I have my African garmes and im tanning nicely so hopefully il fit in –until i open my muzongo mouth lol.
Ah, A lion roared in my face today, lol a lion lunged at me, so bloody fabulous.
Today the sun was shining. We hired a man with a van and took a day trip to kisumu. Ashley, Keara, me and Dutch family (that were staying at the orphanage) first went to Impala animal sanctuary. We had no idea what we would see and at first I was like this is gonna be shittttt!. As we entered the first thing in view was Lake Victoria, the second largest lake in the world (Lake Superior being the largest in USA) it is actually is 68 000 km2 and the deepest point is 81 m deep. Only 6% of the lake is in Kenya, 60% is in Tanzania and 34% is in the Uganda! As we looked across the lake, three hippos emerged from the water!! Beautiful! The best animals were to come thou!!. We wandered through the sanctuary amisely, all the animals were enclosed in chicken wire sections. We saw, buffalos and deer first. Boring. Actually, I lie they are beautiful animals but I wanted more. We next saw the cutest monkeys, that exposed themselves to me. I saw hyenas and jackals but the best was yet to come. The next enclosure contained a cheater it was beautiful! Ya know here in Kenya it seems that we are relied on to judge how safe it is to get really up close to the barbed wire. Seriously was only the barbed wire between us and the animals. The cheeter came right up close to the wire, I managed to get some amazing pictures. The next enclosure contained female lions and again we were so close that the we could touch the creature. Man these animals are beautiful, David attenboruogh was right!! In the next enclosure was the greatest animal of all! A male lion, it was just breathtaking, I ran like a small child right up to the wire. He was sat on a rock about 7 meters away, just basking in the sun, silent, magnificent and definitely the king of the animal kingdom. Its mane resembled the hair from a patch work dolly, its body was so golden, so smooth, so still, his eyes were on us, unafraid but surely poised to attack if need be. It got up and walked away from us, almost as if it was dismissing us as lower species. We were taking pictures furiously, no one had yet dared to get close to the barbed wire. As the lion walked away, I though ah fuck this, and climbed over the handrail and ran towards it. All that was between me and this killing machine was a thin barbed wired fence. I placed the lens of my camera in the wire holes, seriously a 1cm of air was all that was between me and the animal. Then suddenly out of bloody no where the animal, roars and lunges at me. FUCK ME i was scared, actually i don’t think i had time to be scared i literally back flipped , fell back onto my rucksuck, closed my eyes and expected my head to be eaten, seriously that barbed wired looked like it couldn’t contain chickens. Anyways a few seconds later i opened my eyes to the sounds of laughter from everyone. My heart was racing, i was terrified, my breath was caught in my throat but I was laughing out of pure and utter fear. That was the best moment of this trip so far, this animal, the biggest most ruthless killer in the animal kingdom would have eaten me if it wasn’t for the barbed wire, mate, i felt its breathe on my face. LION BREATHE. I still think of the moment now and my heart kind of sinks, I was so scared and I do not think that I have most that fast ever! –lol. Im gonna tell whoever will listen this story.
The zebra and the impalas in this sanctuary are allowed to roam free, and so we were fortunate enough to roam a field with this truly truly stunning animals. England has horses but Africa has zebra, beautiful, elegant Zebra. So much of the day so far I have only ever seen on the Tv and today for just twelve pounds I have had such memorable experiences. Today has today washed away the sadness of the week.
We then went to a lovely Kenyan hotel. Where we had good food but were ripped of by the staff. Next week I will write a blog about the experiences of being ripped off by the Kenyans. Its beginning to get a bit annoying but I don’t want to ruin a lovely blog and day with this subject.
Tomo, church. This will be interesting. I have my African garmes and im tanning nicely so hopefully il fit in –until i open my muzongo mouth lol.
Ah, A lion roared in my face today, lol a lion lunged at me, so bloody fabulous.
13th aug
So yesterday was grim, I guess I was given a chance to redeem myself for failing the girl from yesterday, today. She didn’t deliver yesterday, she delivered today, she delivered a 12 week dead baby. Was so sad, but I guess I was prepared for the scenario and her apparent naivety to the situation kinda gave us all some solace although it didn’t take away the fact that i had to handle a perfectly formed dead baby boy. I haven’t handled a dead foetus before, I was staring at it kinda looking for signs of life, almost willing it to open it eyes and defy all our expectations. But it was heavy, floppy and lifeless. To make matters worse its next home was the red plastic, infectious waste bucket –from is mother’s womb to clinical waste.
I think the smell of birth fluid actually consumed me today. The women here are expected to wash themselves down immediately after giving birth and then they put on the clothes that they were wearing during labour. These clothes are usually soaked or caked in birth fluid and really smell, the whole maternity ward smells of birth waste or menstruation fluid, and today i just felt sick.
The girl was put back to bed, wet from washing and smelly from labour. She was to be discharged in a few hours, and I suggested that she should be considered for a home, where she can be looked after for a while and taught how to care for herself. One of the medical officers was like ‘a place for mentally ill people?’.
Er I was like ‘no’ she isn’t mentally ill she just doesn’t have the mental capacity to live independently. Anyhow, she was discharged home. No further care, just a follow up if she has any abdominal complaints.
Argh, a part of me, no actually, most of me is so relieved that she is no longer in the hospital. Man alive it is so frustrating wanting to help someone and thinking of all the patient pathways available in the Uk for a women in her case but the cold reality of the Kenyan medical system always gets my head out of the clouds. I guess this girl epitomised all the things that frustrate me about the Kenyan medical service and seeing her and knowing that I could do absolutely nothing to help her made me sad. Even trying to console her didn’t seem to do anything. Maybe this says more about me needing gratification from my actions rather than just being content with the fact that they have been completed. Argh!!!!! This whole situation has left me thinking about so many things.
The afternoon was brilliant. Ashley, Keara and I had dinner at Dr phills house. Woowza!! Dr Phill lives in an amazing house, nothing like our village home. Clean, modern nice. And we were fed! I had chicken, beautifully cooked lovely chicken, i proper gorged myself I had 5 pieces of chicken, two chapattis, beef stew and orgali with spinach, with a paw paw and pineapple for afters. An Hour later I was stuffed, slightly ashamed of myself as everyone else had finished and were patiently waiting for e to finish,but mate the saying is, here in Africa ‘you eat all the food that is presented to you, as you do not know when you will eat next’. And with that in mind, boy did I eat.
Dr Phill is so sweet, his family are just lovely. He has a lovely wife, three children, the oldest boy being in his twenties and his youngest daughter 3. He also had adopted three boys with HIV and his dead brothers children. The house is full of laughter and children that really love him and his wife. I felt so at home their, I hope the love that I have for this man is conveyed in the pictures il post up as soon as I can.
I think the smell of birth fluid actually consumed me today. The women here are expected to wash themselves down immediately after giving birth and then they put on the clothes that they were wearing during labour. These clothes are usually soaked or caked in birth fluid and really smell, the whole maternity ward smells of birth waste or menstruation fluid, and today i just felt sick.
The girl was put back to bed, wet from washing and smelly from labour. She was to be discharged in a few hours, and I suggested that she should be considered for a home, where she can be looked after for a while and taught how to care for herself. One of the medical officers was like ‘a place for mentally ill people?’.
Er I was like ‘no’ she isn’t mentally ill she just doesn’t have the mental capacity to live independently. Anyhow, she was discharged home. No further care, just a follow up if she has any abdominal complaints.
Argh, a part of me, no actually, most of me is so relieved that she is no longer in the hospital. Man alive it is so frustrating wanting to help someone and thinking of all the patient pathways available in the Uk for a women in her case but the cold reality of the Kenyan medical system always gets my head out of the clouds. I guess this girl epitomised all the things that frustrate me about the Kenyan medical service and seeing her and knowing that I could do absolutely nothing to help her made me sad. Even trying to console her didn’t seem to do anything. Maybe this says more about me needing gratification from my actions rather than just being content with the fact that they have been completed. Argh!!!!! This whole situation has left me thinking about so many things.
The afternoon was brilliant. Ashley, Keara and I had dinner at Dr phills house. Woowza!! Dr Phill lives in an amazing house, nothing like our village home. Clean, modern nice. And we were fed! I had chicken, beautifully cooked lovely chicken, i proper gorged myself I had 5 pieces of chicken, two chapattis, beef stew and orgali with spinach, with a paw paw and pineapple for afters. An Hour later I was stuffed, slightly ashamed of myself as everyone else had finished and were patiently waiting for e to finish,but mate the saying is, here in Africa ‘you eat all the food that is presented to you, as you do not know when you will eat next’. And with that in mind, boy did I eat.
Dr Phill is so sweet, his family are just lovely. He has a lovely wife, three children, the oldest boy being in his twenties and his youngest daughter 3. He also had adopted three boys with HIV and his dead brothers children. The house is full of laughter and children that really love him and his wife. I felt so at home their, I hope the love that I have for this man is conveyed in the pictures il post up as soon as I can.
12 aug cont
12th August
People warned me that I would see stuff here that would upset me, and every day that i have been in Kenya, i have been emotionally challenged by aspects of Kenyan life. Today I was really disappointed by humans, and I was saddened to my very core. Im going to describe quite a horrific chain of events and want to warn ya before you read on.
So, I had just finished seeing this fat Kenyan policeman who was wondering why his knees were hurting, neglecting the fact that he is obese and is on feet all day. Anyhow, Dr Phill shouted for my assistance from the surgical room , and me thinking it was to do another circumcision, took my time to respond.
I knocked on the door and entered the unlocked room. Before me were two of the male staff holding down the arms of someone on the couch. The patients face was obscured from my view so for some reason I figured that the presence of this number of staff could only mean that the patient was male. Another male staff was holding down a leg and a female member of staff was holding down another leg. ‘Ah’, I thought another circumcision where the boy won’t keep still’.
I turned away and put my bag down, rolled up my sleeves and put some gloves on. Dr phill Jumped up from in between the patients legs and said, ‘ah ronke you are here, come and help me finish this procedure’. As he said this he held up the instrument that he had been holding –it was a vacuum pump. An instrument that I have become familiar with, we use it to remove the products of conception. For a moment I was confused, then I looked at the patient, it was a girl, a really young girl. I immediately asked what was going on here, this girl was pretty much naked, looked in her late teens, legs and arms held akimbo by four members of staff, her gentalia exposed for all to see in such an undignifying way and it looked like an abortion taking place.
I WAS FUMMING! I was so cross so fucking cross. I demanded to know why this was happening, and I was told the following...
The patient was a 20 year old mentally impaired female, who from childhood has been mute and only able to follow simple commands. The girl has never been able to look after herself, go to school, or be of any use, she has always been reliant on her mother. (mum was also in the room, holding down her daughter with her 2 year old son on her back). One day a few months back, the mother had to travel and so left the girl at home alone. During her mother’s absence, this girl was repeatedly raped by men in the village. A few months later it transpires that the girl is pregnant and obviously, mum doesn’t want her to have this baby and so here we were today, removing it. I was gutted for this girl. Looking at her on the table she was so helpless, hadn’t a clue what was happening to her. Everyone was commenting on how un co-operative she was being and I angrily retorted that, if no one has explained, or even tried to explain what the hell is going on, of course she is going to be un-cooperative. Someone replied that they couldn’t believe that she had been raped if she was this strong. AHH what the fuck, Im standing there watching a girl have to go through an abortion, a procedure that she doesn’t understand in a way that probably reminded her of the events that causes this predicament in the first place. I haven’t the words to even explain the gruesome picture before me. Don’t get me wrong, non of the staff holding this girl down were enjoying it but nobody was offering her words of comfort or even displaying empathy, everybody was just focused on holding her down.
There she was lying pinned down like an animal, she wasn’t even covered, just bare and naked for all to see.
No anaesthetic either, the vacuum was just used to remove the contents of her womb and she would have felt everything.
I asked her mother why, her daughter was in such a bad way, why was the skin and legs of her inner thighs so dry, mother had nothing to say. At this point I dono what came over me i just let rip, I told the mother that she must never leave her daughter in such a vulnerable position again, it was her duty as a mother to ensure that this girl is taught how to care for her self even in the basic ways. It is not an excuse to say that because she can’t speak that she would be unable to learn simple tasks by watching her mother complete them first. I kind of went on with this talk and hoped that my status as the foreign Dr would make this women sit up and listen. Girls are raped here in Kenya and when they are, it is their fault, and if they fall pregnant they are expected to keep the baby or give it to an orphanage. The men go unpunished, it is almost thought of as expected that some men are unable to control themselves and will behave in such a way. Ah, furious. I was so sad for this girl, angry at the situation at first, the Dr was unable to remove all the contents and so a pill was placed in her vagina/cervix,that stimulates contractions and will enable her to expel the remaining contents (the dead fetus). Did anyone explain this to her? No! This teenager, with the mind of a child, was not only raped, had just suffered the humiliation of having an instrument inserted into her in front of an audience, was now going to go into labour and expel a dead fetus. Ah, Im traumatised thinking about her going through this.
Listen I am not for one second saying that the staff here don’t care about this girl, they do. Im not saying that what they are doing is wrong, im saying that I just cant deal with the difference in practise. In the western world, as long as the patient it competent then they are informed and consented on all procedures. This girl was perhaps not competent, actually, I don’t think she was but nothing was done to maintain her dignity throughout the above events. I know that the staff have probably see a fair few cases like this and so were perhaps numb to it all, but I don’t think I could ever get use to hearing such a sad story and seeing such things.
After the procedure, I asked the men to leave. The girl was dressed and told to lie down in the maternity area, here she would remain until the contractions began. Mum went with her and sat at the edge of the bed, playing with her baby, as her daughter lie still, mute and just unaware of the pending events that were about to take place in her abdomen.
This all happened at about midday today, im writing this at 11 pm. Im glad my mate keara is here cos I can off load on her a bit. I really am sad about what I saw today. I feel the pain that you feel when ya dumped. Real aching saddnes in the pit of my chest. And dya know what Im ashamed of myself, despite me writing that this girl really needed female staff around to care for her, i left shortly after completing three circumcisions straight after her procedure. The thought of watching this girl go into labour and deliver a dead foetus, was too much for me. I could not bare it. And for this I am deeply ashamed of myself as the pain that I am feeling, is nothing to what she may be feeling and will have to go through. Ah, I sat on the bus driving away from the hospital bloody miserable, but i figure i have to protect myself. Everyday, I am realising more that there is just evil out their, uncomprehendable evil. People like this girl are suffering at the hands of our fellow humans. What the hell goes through someone mind that makes them think that doing such horrific thing to a young girl is okay? And dya know what, it dosnt end there for this girl, HIV mate, we haven’t even done an HIV test for this girl or tested her for other STIs, with the HIV rate being what it is in Kenya, i wouldn’t be surprised if she tests positive, and what was her mistake, shes mentally impaired. I don’t understand, if there is a god, Kenyans are mostly all quite religious, why does he allow these things to happen to people like her?
Im homesick too today. It raining like monsoon raining here. I don’t have waterproof shoes, the waters really cold, i really need to poo, i long for a hot drink that isn’t Kenyan tea, im tired from the lack of sleep, I miss my sisters, im tired of alcohol gelling my hands,i need to floss, im bored of talking about myself to every villager in 100km radius.
I feel guilty for feeling all the above.
People warned me that I would see stuff here that would upset me, and every day that i have been in Kenya, i have been emotionally challenged by aspects of Kenyan life. Today I was really disappointed by humans, and I was saddened to my very core. Im going to describe quite a horrific chain of events and want to warn ya before you read on.
So, I had just finished seeing this fat Kenyan policeman who was wondering why his knees were hurting, neglecting the fact that he is obese and is on feet all day. Anyhow, Dr Phill shouted for my assistance from the surgical room , and me thinking it was to do another circumcision, took my time to respond.
I knocked on the door and entered the unlocked room. Before me were two of the male staff holding down the arms of someone on the couch. The patients face was obscured from my view so for some reason I figured that the presence of this number of staff could only mean that the patient was male. Another male staff was holding down a leg and a female member of staff was holding down another leg. ‘Ah’, I thought another circumcision where the boy won’t keep still’.
I turned away and put my bag down, rolled up my sleeves and put some gloves on. Dr phill Jumped up from in between the patients legs and said, ‘ah ronke you are here, come and help me finish this procedure’. As he said this he held up the instrument that he had been holding –it was a vacuum pump. An instrument that I have become familiar with, we use it to remove the products of conception. For a moment I was confused, then I looked at the patient, it was a girl, a really young girl. I immediately asked what was going on here, this girl was pretty much naked, looked in her late teens, legs and arms held akimbo by four members of staff, her gentalia exposed for all to see in such an undignifying way and it looked like an abortion taking place.
I WAS FUMMING! I was so cross so fucking cross. I demanded to know why this was happening, and I was told the following...
The patient was a 20 year old mentally impaired female, who from childhood has been mute and only able to follow simple commands. The girl has never been able to look after herself, go to school, or be of any use, she has always been reliant on her mother. (mum was also in the room, holding down her daughter with her 2 year old son on her back). One day a few months back, the mother had to travel and so left the girl at home alone. During her mother’s absence, this girl was repeatedly raped by men in the village. A few months later it transpires that the girl is pregnant and obviously, mum doesn’t want her to have this baby and so here we were today, removing it. I was gutted for this girl. Looking at her on the table she was so helpless, hadn’t a clue what was happening to her. Everyone was commenting on how un co-operative she was being and I angrily retorted that, if no one has explained, or even tried to explain what the hell is going on, of course she is going to be un-cooperative. Someone replied that they couldn’t believe that she had been raped if she was this strong. AHH what the fuck, Im standing there watching a girl have to go through an abortion, a procedure that she doesn’t understand in a way that probably reminded her of the events that causes this predicament in the first place. I haven’t the words to even explain the gruesome picture before me. Don’t get me wrong, non of the staff holding this girl down were enjoying it but nobody was offering her words of comfort or even displaying empathy, everybody was just focused on holding her down.
There she was lying pinned down like an animal, she wasn’t even covered, just bare and naked for all to see.
No anaesthetic either, the vacuum was just used to remove the contents of her womb and she would have felt everything.
I asked her mother why, her daughter was in such a bad way, why was the skin and legs of her inner thighs so dry, mother had nothing to say. At this point I dono what came over me i just let rip, I told the mother that she must never leave her daughter in such a vulnerable position again, it was her duty as a mother to ensure that this girl is taught how to care for her self even in the basic ways. It is not an excuse to say that because she can’t speak that she would be unable to learn simple tasks by watching her mother complete them first. I kind of went on with this talk and hoped that my status as the foreign Dr would make this women sit up and listen. Girls are raped here in Kenya and when they are, it is their fault, and if they fall pregnant they are expected to keep the baby or give it to an orphanage. The men go unpunished, it is almost thought of as expected that some men are unable to control themselves and will behave in such a way. Ah, furious. I was so sad for this girl, angry at the situation at first, the Dr was unable to remove all the contents and so a pill was placed in her vagina/cervix,that stimulates contractions and will enable her to expel the remaining contents (the dead fetus). Did anyone explain this to her? No! This teenager, with the mind of a child, was not only raped, had just suffered the humiliation of having an instrument inserted into her in front of an audience, was now going to go into labour and expel a dead fetus. Ah, Im traumatised thinking about her going through this.
Listen I am not for one second saying that the staff here don’t care about this girl, they do. Im not saying that what they are doing is wrong, im saying that I just cant deal with the difference in practise. In the western world, as long as the patient it competent then they are informed and consented on all procedures. This girl was perhaps not competent, actually, I don’t think she was but nothing was done to maintain her dignity throughout the above events. I know that the staff have probably see a fair few cases like this and so were perhaps numb to it all, but I don’t think I could ever get use to hearing such a sad story and seeing such things.
After the procedure, I asked the men to leave. The girl was dressed and told to lie down in the maternity area, here she would remain until the contractions began. Mum went with her and sat at the edge of the bed, playing with her baby, as her daughter lie still, mute and just unaware of the pending events that were about to take place in her abdomen.
This all happened at about midday today, im writing this at 11 pm. Im glad my mate keara is here cos I can off load on her a bit. I really am sad about what I saw today. I feel the pain that you feel when ya dumped. Real aching saddnes in the pit of my chest. And dya know what Im ashamed of myself, despite me writing that this girl really needed female staff around to care for her, i left shortly after completing three circumcisions straight after her procedure. The thought of watching this girl go into labour and deliver a dead foetus, was too much for me. I could not bare it. And for this I am deeply ashamed of myself as the pain that I am feeling, is nothing to what she may be feeling and will have to go through. Ah, I sat on the bus driving away from the hospital bloody miserable, but i figure i have to protect myself. Everyday, I am realising more that there is just evil out their, uncomprehendable evil. People like this girl are suffering at the hands of our fellow humans. What the hell goes through someone mind that makes them think that doing such horrific thing to a young girl is okay? And dya know what, it dosnt end there for this girl, HIV mate, we haven’t even done an HIV test for this girl or tested her for other STIs, with the HIV rate being what it is in Kenya, i wouldn’t be surprised if she tests positive, and what was her mistake, shes mentally impaired. I don’t understand, if there is a god, Kenyans are mostly all quite religious, why does he allow these things to happen to people like her?
Im homesick too today. It raining like monsoon raining here. I don’t have waterproof shoes, the waters really cold, i really need to poo, i long for a hot drink that isn’t Kenyan tea, im tired from the lack of sleep, I miss my sisters, im tired of alcohol gelling my hands,i need to floss, im bored of talking about myself to every villager in 100km radius.
I feel guilty for feeling all the above.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
12TH AUG
HAD a really traumatizing day today with a patient.
Proper homesick too.
Will write it up tonight and post as soon as I can, its not nice one bit but I said that i would be honest about the stuff I see here, but i think i need a few days to digest things and I tell ya.
really missing my girls today. Missing starbucks. Missing hot water. missing my bike.
galshomesickinafrica.
Proper homesick too.
Will write it up tonight and post as soon as I can, its not nice one bit but I said that i would be honest about the stuff I see here, but i think i need a few days to digest things and I tell ya.
really missing my girls today. Missing starbucks. Missing hot water. missing my bike.
galshomesickinafrica.
11th Aug
11th August
The kids at the Dophil Hospital are going to kill me. I am so in love with everyone of them. Today three sisters and a boy pulled at my heart strings. One of the sisters -7 years had malaria was really unwell and really subdued in bed. The other two were 10 and 1 and were there with mum. Sharon was so cute, her little dark black face was so cute against the white of the blanket keeping her warm. She was so tired, and ill and just kept looking at me trying to work out who I was. I coulnt help myself and sat with her in my arms, in which she was really comfortable , it was like she was my little sister. Anyhow, as i tried to remove her and continue with my rounds, she would’nt let go of me and i had to un grip her and lay her back down as she cried silently -man alive I had to hold back tears.
Then there was this other baby, whos aunty was in for suspected torsion of ovarian cyst (my differential –yay). This baby was so cute so bloody cute. I picked her up to say hi (here in Kenya women present you with their children as if you are an English god or something) anyhow, me and this baby instantly bonded like I was her mummy, and when I motioned to give her back to her mother, lord god she screamed, and kept screaming until I picked her up again! This happened three more times and so I had to carry her about for half an hour or so, until she remembered and missed her mum -lol.
As one of the medical officers and I were chilling in the sun, a young boy comes and sits with me, then takes my hand and nestles his head in my chest. Lol. So cute. I let him sit in my lap for a while. Strange, these kids are not really given affection at home (despite their parents loving them to bits) but seem to know that I will dish out lots of loving and seek it from me. Its so funny to watch them squirm when I kiss them on the cheek, but after a few times they laugh and let me. Aah I love children!
These children do so much, at the end of today, the older sister of the girl with malaria, was told to walk home with some bags. I saw the girl leave the hospital, and because we were going the same way, I took her bags, held her hand and we sang the alphabet as we walked in the blazing Kenyan sun. Naively I thought that this kid was walking a few meters home. WE WALKED 2 MILES! To this girls house!. This girl would have had to walk 2 miles with two heavy bags (one placed on her head) shizzle, this expectation of children is common place here, and again I felt a twang of guilt as I thought about my behaviors in London and how much I just don’t really appreciate what I have. Argh.
Saw a young girl whose genitals were ravaged with STIS today, I think I identified at least three separate STIS one of which being sphillius sad times as she would only let me examine her and it turns out that she had been married for two yrs and only in the last 2 months had she had symptoms. Clearly her husband is cheating, as she denied being unfaithful and I suspected that she may be positive for HIV. Sad outcome again, she didn’t have the money for treatment and so she left the hospital.
Ive made headway with the staff! After dropping of the girl, i walked home with, the receptionist and one of the nurses caught up with me and we walked some of the way home together. We laughed and joked and it was nice. They told me about their home-life and I described London to them.
Oh yeah, we had people at out window again last night. I am no longer scared ya know, im angry. If they are thieves wanting to break into the house, im ready, seriously, I have my swiss army knife by my pillow and keara and I have decided to surprise them and take their picture for identification. If I find out that its one of the village men, i will be fuming. I will make sure the police go hard on them, seriously, the number of patients who ive seen at the hospotal who have been attacked by these ‘thieves’ usually, drunk good for nothing waste of spaces upsets me. Poor people stealing from poor people, pisses me off.
I am ready thou, fuck being scared.
The kids at the Dophil Hospital are going to kill me. I am so in love with everyone of them. Today three sisters and a boy pulled at my heart strings. One of the sisters -7 years had malaria was really unwell and really subdued in bed. The other two were 10 and 1 and were there with mum. Sharon was so cute, her little dark black face was so cute against the white of the blanket keeping her warm. She was so tired, and ill and just kept looking at me trying to work out who I was. I coulnt help myself and sat with her in my arms, in which she was really comfortable , it was like she was my little sister. Anyhow, as i tried to remove her and continue with my rounds, she would’nt let go of me and i had to un grip her and lay her back down as she cried silently -man alive I had to hold back tears.
Then there was this other baby, whos aunty was in for suspected torsion of ovarian cyst (my differential –yay). This baby was so cute so bloody cute. I picked her up to say hi (here in Kenya women present you with their children as if you are an English god or something) anyhow, me and this baby instantly bonded like I was her mummy, and when I motioned to give her back to her mother, lord god she screamed, and kept screaming until I picked her up again! This happened three more times and so I had to carry her about for half an hour or so, until she remembered and missed her mum -lol.
As one of the medical officers and I were chilling in the sun, a young boy comes and sits with me, then takes my hand and nestles his head in my chest. Lol. So cute. I let him sit in my lap for a while. Strange, these kids are not really given affection at home (despite their parents loving them to bits) but seem to know that I will dish out lots of loving and seek it from me. Its so funny to watch them squirm when I kiss them on the cheek, but after a few times they laugh and let me. Aah I love children!
These children do so much, at the end of today, the older sister of the girl with malaria, was told to walk home with some bags. I saw the girl leave the hospital, and because we were going the same way, I took her bags, held her hand and we sang the alphabet as we walked in the blazing Kenyan sun. Naively I thought that this kid was walking a few meters home. WE WALKED 2 MILES! To this girls house!. This girl would have had to walk 2 miles with two heavy bags (one placed on her head) shizzle, this expectation of children is common place here, and again I felt a twang of guilt as I thought about my behaviors in London and how much I just don’t really appreciate what I have. Argh.
Saw a young girl whose genitals were ravaged with STIS today, I think I identified at least three separate STIS one of which being sphillius sad times as she would only let me examine her and it turns out that she had been married for two yrs and only in the last 2 months had she had symptoms. Clearly her husband is cheating, as she denied being unfaithful and I suspected that she may be positive for HIV. Sad outcome again, she didn’t have the money for treatment and so she left the hospital.
Ive made headway with the staff! After dropping of the girl, i walked home with, the receptionist and one of the nurses caught up with me and we walked some of the way home together. We laughed and joked and it was nice. They told me about their home-life and I described London to them.
Oh yeah, we had people at out window again last night. I am no longer scared ya know, im angry. If they are thieves wanting to break into the house, im ready, seriously, I have my swiss army knife by my pillow and keara and I have decided to surprise them and take their picture for identification. If I find out that its one of the village men, i will be fuming. I will make sure the police go hard on them, seriously, the number of patients who ive seen at the hospotal who have been attacked by these ‘thieves’ usually, drunk good for nothing waste of spaces upsets me. Poor people stealing from poor people, pisses me off.
I am ready thou, fuck being scared.
10th aug
10th August
Today was a bloody busy day again! Well happy cos as im writing this and iv found some batty pod casts on my computer, which means, batty tunes to get ready to in the morning!! Woooop.
Keara, is here so I have roomy! Woop.
Today, I drained a year old kids deltoid abscess, without pain relief, proper grim, this kid screamed like a fucker and had to be held down by its mother. I squeezed about half a glass of pus from this babies shoulder, but didn’t heave! Had to buy the kid sweets after though cos I felt so guilty for the pain that I had caused.
Today , I actually toyed with the idea of becoming a surgeon, I participated in so many surgical procedures, including, exploration and packing of a anal fissure, an evacuation of productions of conception, a pericentisis and removal of a finger nail.
Not really anything else to report today, except the number of men asking to ‘get to know me’ is becoming exponential. Iv taken to just looking down now, cos if I accidentally catch a Kenyan mans eye, he automatically thinks that I am checking him out (I AM NOT) and ergh I have to endure 5 minutes of him reeling of his credentials, and reasons why i should follow him to wherever he is going. Can someone send me a wedding ring pls. –not that that would stop them anyway.
Had sugar cane today, that shit nearly made me loose more teeth, fucking sweeeeet thou.
Today was a bloody busy day again! Well happy cos as im writing this and iv found some batty pod casts on my computer, which means, batty tunes to get ready to in the morning!! Woooop.
Keara, is here so I have roomy! Woop.
Today, I drained a year old kids deltoid abscess, without pain relief, proper grim, this kid screamed like a fucker and had to be held down by its mother. I squeezed about half a glass of pus from this babies shoulder, but didn’t heave! Had to buy the kid sweets after though cos I felt so guilty for the pain that I had caused.
Today , I actually toyed with the idea of becoming a surgeon, I participated in so many surgical procedures, including, exploration and packing of a anal fissure, an evacuation of productions of conception, a pericentisis and removal of a finger nail.
Not really anything else to report today, except the number of men asking to ‘get to know me’ is becoming exponential. Iv taken to just looking down now, cos if I accidentally catch a Kenyan mans eye, he automatically thinks that I am checking him out (I AM NOT) and ergh I have to endure 5 minutes of him reeling of his credentials, and reasons why i should follow him to wherever he is going. Can someone send me a wedding ring pls. –not that that would stop them anyway.
Had sugar cane today, that shit nearly made me loose more teeth, fucking sweeeeet thou.
9th aug
9th August
Today was grimmmm. After the fun of yesterday, this morning I was smacked down back to the reality of Kenyan medicine.
I was in the middle of consulting with a patient when one of the medical officers interrupted and asked me to insert a speculum into a woman asap.
So I finished with the patient I was with and went along to the surgical room and before me was a women gasping in pain (thats what Kenyan women do here, they don’t cry or yell, they gasp), her clothing was soaked in blood and she was dripping blood all over the floor. First thing I think of is post partum hemorrage, maybe miscarriage, turns out she had a patial spontaneous abortion yesterday, the contractions had stopped suddenly and the fetus was partial hanging out from inside of her and she was bleeding heavily.
Forget the speculum I had to manually remove the fetus from the mother and then manually remove the placenta. Mother was given no pain relief, and only 500ml of fluid (not blood cos their wasn’t any) despite her bleeding copious amounts of blood. She was really brave and I felt so sorry for her, she had no relatives with her, no one. The whole procedure took about half an hour and we were fortunate because we manged to remove all the products of conception and the placenta came out whole.
What came out of this women I just cannot describe here as it horrified me, ive seen dead fetus’ and babies but not like this.
There is no after care here in Kenya, if a women has had any type of procedure she is expected to wash herself down, make herself look presentable and make her way to her bed. I felt so bad for this women, the hospital does not provide bed wear and her lower clothing was soaked with blood which was also caked on her lower body, so I cleaned her up, as she was too weak to move. I felt even worse cleaning up this women, there was no way I could do it without probably making her feel like a dirty baby, but it had to be done.
The whole of the above was over in an hour and unsurprisingly, the women, didn’t cry or express grief, she thanked me profusely and went to her bed.
Later I asked her how she was in really broken Swahili, ‘fine, im fine’. She replied. Even later on she was sat outside in the sun with some of the other female patients laughing ang joking.
I admire Kenyan women at times and at times Im desperately sad for them. I have seen women here in absolute dire situations –nursing children dying of AIDS, broken from years of hard work, ill from the complications of HIV, losing babies, the list goes on. But these women just get the fuck on with life. They don’t show emotions, they hide the severity of their symptoms and they are so grateful for even the smallest medical attention, even if they have not actually even been helped. They have to endure the utter embarrassment of being treated by male staff, having people truge in and out of consultation rooms and surgical areas, without a care in the world for their privacy ( this actually pissing me off big time, so many times I have had to lock my consultation room door to prevent people just walking in and taking a seat, waiting for me to serve them –usually men too). What was I saying? Ah yeah, I look at these women and think, how the fuck do they do this, live this life? The women in the village just seem to be caring for children, washing clothing , cooking and collecting water, day in day out. I feel so guilty getting up at 7 when I hear them up and about at 5 am. Im off to work, going to have a varied day and they are doing the same thing, day in day out, week in week out like clockwork. Going for trips at the weekend excites me, I wanna tell these women, my friends about my day, but I cant and i don’t cos i don’t want to show off this feeling is also compounded by the fact that I am a black female who looks like these women but is running about enjoying life, sitting reading my books in the sun as these women hand wash their clothes or carry water form the well. I have asked to help a few times but they refuse to let me and so I have given up. A part of me knows that in my absence and in my presence these womens lives will be the same. The guilt is my problem as to be honest they are all content with the lives that they lead. Ive sat down with them and asked if they have ever regretted leaving school and getting pregnant so early (18 yrs) and they all respond that they want children, they want to be married and they are living the life with is expected of them. Only a hand ful of women I speak to want to go to back to school. So maybe Im the one with the problem, yes I am but its not a problem so to speak its more of a disbelieve that these women will never experience some of the things which I take for granted in London. I need to appreciate my life a whole lot more. I spend a lot of time wanting this that or the other, mulling over why I don’t have some things, why i cant be more pretty, more clever, more happy, when really im bloody alive and have so much freedom that ive taken it for granted. Epiphany city.
Today was grimmmm. After the fun of yesterday, this morning I was smacked down back to the reality of Kenyan medicine.
I was in the middle of consulting with a patient when one of the medical officers interrupted and asked me to insert a speculum into a woman asap.
So I finished with the patient I was with and went along to the surgical room and before me was a women gasping in pain (thats what Kenyan women do here, they don’t cry or yell, they gasp), her clothing was soaked in blood and she was dripping blood all over the floor. First thing I think of is post partum hemorrage, maybe miscarriage, turns out she had a patial spontaneous abortion yesterday, the contractions had stopped suddenly and the fetus was partial hanging out from inside of her and she was bleeding heavily.
Forget the speculum I had to manually remove the fetus from the mother and then manually remove the placenta. Mother was given no pain relief, and only 500ml of fluid (not blood cos their wasn’t any) despite her bleeding copious amounts of blood. She was really brave and I felt so sorry for her, she had no relatives with her, no one. The whole procedure took about half an hour and we were fortunate because we manged to remove all the products of conception and the placenta came out whole.
What came out of this women I just cannot describe here as it horrified me, ive seen dead fetus’ and babies but not like this.
There is no after care here in Kenya, if a women has had any type of procedure she is expected to wash herself down, make herself look presentable and make her way to her bed. I felt so bad for this women, the hospital does not provide bed wear and her lower clothing was soaked with blood which was also caked on her lower body, so I cleaned her up, as she was too weak to move. I felt even worse cleaning up this women, there was no way I could do it without probably making her feel like a dirty baby, but it had to be done.
The whole of the above was over in an hour and unsurprisingly, the women, didn’t cry or express grief, she thanked me profusely and went to her bed.
Later I asked her how she was in really broken Swahili, ‘fine, im fine’. She replied. Even later on she was sat outside in the sun with some of the other female patients laughing ang joking.
I admire Kenyan women at times and at times Im desperately sad for them. I have seen women here in absolute dire situations –nursing children dying of AIDS, broken from years of hard work, ill from the complications of HIV, losing babies, the list goes on. But these women just get the fuck on with life. They don’t show emotions, they hide the severity of their symptoms and they are so grateful for even the smallest medical attention, even if they have not actually even been helped. They have to endure the utter embarrassment of being treated by male staff, having people truge in and out of consultation rooms and surgical areas, without a care in the world for their privacy ( this actually pissing me off big time, so many times I have had to lock my consultation room door to prevent people just walking in and taking a seat, waiting for me to serve them –usually men too). What was I saying? Ah yeah, I look at these women and think, how the fuck do they do this, live this life? The women in the village just seem to be caring for children, washing clothing , cooking and collecting water, day in day out. I feel so guilty getting up at 7 when I hear them up and about at 5 am. Im off to work, going to have a varied day and they are doing the same thing, day in day out, week in week out like clockwork. Going for trips at the weekend excites me, I wanna tell these women, my friends about my day, but I cant and i don’t cos i don’t want to show off this feeling is also compounded by the fact that I am a black female who looks like these women but is running about enjoying life, sitting reading my books in the sun as these women hand wash their clothes or carry water form the well. I have asked to help a few times but they refuse to let me and so I have given up. A part of me knows that in my absence and in my presence these womens lives will be the same. The guilt is my problem as to be honest they are all content with the lives that they lead. Ive sat down with them and asked if they have ever regretted leaving school and getting pregnant so early (18 yrs) and they all respond that they want children, they want to be married and they are living the life with is expected of them. Only a hand ful of women I speak to want to go to back to school. So maybe Im the one with the problem, yes I am but its not a problem so to speak its more of a disbelieve that these women will never experience some of the things which I take for granted in London. I need to appreciate my life a whole lot more. I spend a lot of time wanting this that or the other, mulling over why I don’t have some things, why i cant be more pretty, more clever, more happy, when really im bloody alive and have so much freedom that ive taken it for granted. Epiphany city.
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