8.05.2006
Hellos and Goodbyes in Kenya
My last three weeks were a whirlwind. In Kisumu, I had to present my findings twice on powerpoint and once on a poster, produce 3 20-30 page reports, and whip up a protocol for a follow-on study. But after a grueling week, everything was wrapped up and ready to go. On my last day, a Saturday, Florence threw a big African-style party for me. The guests were invited to come at 4 pm, for dinner at 6 pm. The first guests arrived at 6 pm and dinner was served around 10 pm. At that point, the house was packed. Women and babies sat on the sofas around the TV—eyes riveted to a Mexican soap opera. The men had carried chairs onto the porch and sit drinking beers, talking mostly about the recently completed World Cup. The children raced upstairs and downstairs, spilling sodas, and climbing all over the guests. The dinner was spiced rice, mashed green bananas, ugali, grilled cheese sandwiches, taro root, guacamole, fried chicken, chicken stew, fried beef, beef stew, and minced meat sauce (you can spot my two contributions). I gave a short speech in Swahili and English thanking everyone—most of whom I’d never seen before—and we all ate until we were painfully full. Dessert was fruit salad served out of a hollowed-out pineapple by a lady who reminded me of that one person at every potluck who makes sure everyone has tried her casserole.
Having been appropriately farewelled, I headed to Arusha, where I used to live and work. When I got to the school, the kids came running, shouting my name. They were so excited to see me, they didn’t even ask for presents. My friend Genya, whose wedding I attended, now has a fat baby girl, my friend Zena is planning to get married, and two of my neighbors had newborns that they proudly brought me to hold. When I caught up with my old roommate Glory we both jumped around with joy. On the streets, people I didn’t recognize recognized me and remembered my name. But there were some sad developments as well. A woman whose husband I watched die of AIDS was pregnant. Some of our kids had left the school but were struggling at home. And these days in Arusha electricity is only being provided five days a week, a result of this year’s brutal drought.
While I was in Arusha, something amazing happened. When I was there before, I had been helping a boy, “Matatizo”, who needed a series of surgeries. But after the first surgery, his mother died and some of his relatives took him back to their village and since that time, there had been no word about his status (for more complete backstory, see: http://www.contextjournal.org/category1.php). But my first day back in Arusha, Matatizo and his relatives came to the school. Matatizo was much, much healthier than he had ever been—his limbs had plumped up and he could stand and walk for the first time in his life (he is 7). And the relatives clearly cared about him and they were ready to go ahead with the second surgery. So on my second day when I was supposed to be relaxing and hanging out with my friends, I went with them to Moshi. We learned that there is still no pediatric surgeon at that hospital (only two government hospitals in all of Tanzania have pediatric surgeons). But there is one at a private hospital in town and now we are trying to get the sponsor to agree to pay a little more for the second surgery for the private clinic.
My major activity while I was in Arusha, though, was helping to run a four-day “summer” camp. We had done a few of these before—basically we invite some of the needy kids from the neighborhood where we work to the main project site, and for a few days instead of 30 kids, we have 100. As far as I can tell, the work increases exponentially with each additional kid you add. The weather contributed four days of chilling rain, and the extreme workload brought out tensions in the staff and volunteers. There were a few times when I questioned the logic of me allocating time and money so that I could be present to peel potatoes, sweep the floor, wash muddy feet, and try to convince the volunteers that fingerpaints with a hundred kids was not a good idea. But some of the kids from the neighborhood are so skinny and their joy is so apparent at even a sticker or a tennis ball, that even though everyone is exhausted and the place is a wreck at the end of four days, it always seems worth it.
And the fact is, I missed it all the next week when I was back in Nairobi, producing reports and trying to impress people, only leaving my desk to microwave my lunch. I was antsy and ready to be done. Fortunately, I was housed very comfortably with the family of the lady I was working for. And now I’m off to Austalia, to meet my family and be a tourist.
Having been appropriately farewelled, I headed to Arusha, where I used to live and work. When I got to the school, the kids came running, shouting my name. They were so excited to see me, they didn’t even ask for presents. My friend Genya, whose wedding I attended, now has a fat baby girl, my friend Zena is planning to get married, and two of my neighbors had newborns that they proudly brought me to hold. When I caught up with my old roommate Glory we both jumped around with joy. On the streets, people I didn’t recognize recognized me and remembered my name. But there were some sad developments as well. A woman whose husband I watched die of AIDS was pregnant. Some of our kids had left the school but were struggling at home. And these days in Arusha electricity is only being provided five days a week, a result of this year’s brutal drought.
While I was in Arusha, something amazing happened. When I was there before, I had been helping a boy, “Matatizo”, who needed a series of surgeries. But after the first surgery, his mother died and some of his relatives took him back to their village and since that time, there had been no word about his status (for more complete backstory, see: http://www.contextjournal.org/category1.php). But my first day back in Arusha, Matatizo and his relatives came to the school. Matatizo was much, much healthier than he had ever been—his limbs had plumped up and he could stand and walk for the first time in his life (he is 7). And the relatives clearly cared about him and they were ready to go ahead with the second surgery. So on my second day when I was supposed to be relaxing and hanging out with my friends, I went with them to Moshi. We learned that there is still no pediatric surgeon at that hospital (only two government hospitals in all of Tanzania have pediatric surgeons). But there is one at a private hospital in town and now we are trying to get the sponsor to agree to pay a little more for the second surgery for the private clinic.
My major activity while I was in Arusha, though, was helping to run a four-day “summer” camp. We had done a few of these before—basically we invite some of the needy kids from the neighborhood where we work to the main project site, and for a few days instead of 30 kids, we have 100. As far as I can tell, the work increases exponentially with each additional kid you add. The weather contributed four days of chilling rain, and the extreme workload brought out tensions in the staff and volunteers. There were a few times when I questioned the logic of me allocating time and money so that I could be present to peel potatoes, sweep the floor, wash muddy feet, and try to convince the volunteers that fingerpaints with a hundred kids was not a good idea. But some of the kids from the neighborhood are so skinny and their joy is so apparent at even a sticker or a tennis ball, that even though everyone is exhausted and the place is a wreck at the end of four days, it always seems worth it.
And the fact is, I missed it all the next week when I was back in Nairobi, producing reports and trying to impress people, only leaving my desk to microwave my lunch. I was antsy and ready to be done. Fortunately, I was housed very comfortably with the family of the lady I was working for. And now I’m off to Austalia, to meet my family and be a tourist.
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