Kenya; Summer 2012: In the bush

This morning, Joshua, the cook here, made us the most incredible cinnamon sugar pancakes. Then we were on the road to the New Frontiers Bush Clinic. About 10 minutes in, we came across a family of giraffes crossing the road and of course we all got out of the vans to take pictures with them. Shortly after, the road turned into a dirt path and the dirt path turned into… well… not a dirt path. We were pretty much driving through straight bush for at least an hour. They make the trip twice a week to their bush clinic. And when I said the compound we’re staying at was remote, I had no idea what we were in for here. The clinic was, in fact, not a clinic at all. It was a little tin “church” big enough to hold about 20 people, tops. There were 4 plastic chairs and 2 benches. On one bench, they laid out all their medical equipment and the other was for the patients to sit on. As soon as we got out of the cars, we were greeted by beautiful Masai women of all ages covered from head to toe in colorful fabrics and beads. It was quite a sight in the middle of such barren land. I stayed in the clinic with Dr. Tonya first while the others went out on a tour of the surrounding Masai village. We sat in the plastic chairs and the translator, Phillip, let patients in one by one. Then, he came back and sat with Dr. Tonya and I and told us what was wrong with the patients as they told us in their native language. As they came through (mostly women it seemed) I was noticing a trend. A lot of the time there wasn’t really anything seriously wrong with them, but they wanted to be seen, listened to, taken care of. One woman said she had pain in her chest and in her back because she got hit by a water buffalo. When Dr. Tonya asked when, she said about 20 years ago, so she prescribed some ibuprofen and talked with her a bit longer, just to give her some attention. Also, when asked their age, most of the patients had no idea. One woman who came in must have been at least 70 years old and her card said 38 years of age. They have no birth certificates or records, or as Dr. Tonya said, no scrapbooks with their hand and foot prints next to their dates of birth. That hit pretty close to home when I thought back to my TWO giant scrapbooks full of every single detail of my life from the day I was born and on. The more women that came through, the more I wanted to cry, really, thinking about the harsh reality of their lives. They find and carry all the firewood. They walk miles to the stream and carry giant jugs of water back on their heads. They build the houses (manyattas). They take care of the babies. And they do it all without the help from their husbands. One woman who I will remember for the rest of my life came in right at the end of the day and demanded (kindly) to see Dr. Albert, the other clinical physician there. She had been to him before and she wanted to see him again. We all think she had a crush on him (she was about 75, he’s about 25), but regardless, she was adamant. Anna, Ashley, Wairumu and I stood with her until he could come see her and she went on for about 10 minutes (in Masai) telling us what hurt and where and why and what she wanted done, knowing full well that we couldn’t understand her. It was one of those experiences that forever changes you. She just wanted to be heard and she didn’t care who was listening. When Dr. Albert came over she started to take off her dresses because she wanted him to give her a massage haha! He sent her over to one of the other volunteers and she finished taking her dresses off, bent over in the chair, and waited. The volunteer gave her an essential oil treatment and a steroid injection and when she was done, the women looked up at us and smiled her almost toothless smile. She was so incredibly beautiful and so happy, I had to walk outside for a minute to take it all in. Seeing her so happy made me even happier, and I didn’t even know her. Just the simple joy of knowing that she got what she came for, and that they could understand and acquiesce to her needs was more than satisfying. After working in the clinic, it was my turn to go on the tour of the village. Julius, the program director, took me through some of the manyattas, which are their houses made from dried up mud and cow dung. The first thing I noticed before I even had 2 feet in the manyatta was the constant buzzing sound. Okay, side note… because I haven’t mentioned it yet, I will now. FLIES. ARE. EVERYWHEREEEEEEEEEEE. And they don’t even brush them off, they just let them land on them, practically covering them from head to toe. And I’m really not trying to come off as insensitive, but when I see babies with flies all over their eyes, nose, and mouth, I really can’t help but cringe. Apparently, they like the milk residue around their mouths, so most babies we saw had flies literally covering their mouths. Okay, back to the manyatta. First off, cows are the Masai’s lives; they mean everything to the men. If asked to choose between a Masai man’s wife and one of his cows, he would choose his cow, and that’s not a joke. As soon as you walk in to the manyatta, there’s a pen for the calves with a wall dividing it from the kitchen/bedrooms/living room. It’s one room; a bed on one side for the woman and children, a small fire in the middle for cooking/warmth at night (the winds at night are wicked) and another bed on the other side for the man. The only light in the room comes from the fire in the middle of the room, which as you can imagine keeps the room at a solid 100 degrees, even in the middle of the day. (It’s also the cause of all the respiratory problems we saw earlier in the day at the clinic). I felt like I was about to have an anxiety attack for a minute; you couldn’t stand up in the room, it was pitch black, I was sweating profusely, and there were flies all over me. That and the smell of manure pouring into the room from the cow pen were pretty overwhelming. But once I got over my minor panic attack, I was able to really take in my surroundings and appreciate everything in my life so much more. Not only that, but I had so much respect for these people; they are so complex in their simplicity… if that even makes sense. After touring the manyattas, we walked to the school where about 40 kids ran up to us, all yelling “HOW ARE YOUUUU” just like the little kids in the Kibera slums. They all wanted their pictures taken and they would pose and laugh and run up to the camera… they loved it. They call us Mazungas, or white travelers, and they don’t see many because the area really is in a world of its own. Whenever we’re driving, they stand by the side of the road as we pass, waving and yelling “sweets, sweets, sweets!!!!!” wanting us to throw candy to them. Anyway, as we were leaving to make the 2 hour trek back to the compound, they all ran after us yelling “bye” and laughing with each other (video below). Today’s experience was probably the best yet, and we hadn’t even had our lecture with Dr. Tonya. I wish you could all meet her, really, she is the most amazing woman I have ever met. (Here’s a link to the NFHF video that made me cry http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5p3wxIyPayI&feature=related). We talked about bush medicine and the difficulties of running a clinic in the middle of nowhere. And it’s not only the location, but the customs (like circumcision and polygamy) that make her work difficult. Their influence has educated the local Masai enough to at least shed some light on the circumcision aspect, but polygamy (and the quick spread of HIV/AIDS that it results in) is not as easy. For one, many wives means many children and many children means wealth (in terms of family labor). Andrew asked why they can’t just tell them to stop or explain to them what the virus is. The first thing we learned about the Masai, even in my African Studies class last semester, is that they live in the present. There is no future, there is no past (no I’m not quoting “Rent”), only there here and now. There was a story we were told, of Masai men who had been imprisoned, who all died because they couldn’t understand the fact that they would one day be released. They only saw themselves in that moment, locked up, and they couldn’t bear it. Dr. Tonya told us that they can’t even get them to understand that if they let their cows walk through/drink from/poop in the river, and then they do their laundry/bathe/collect water downstream, that they’re going to get sick. They don’t see the connection because they cannot fathom what bacteria and microorganisms are because they cannot see them; what they can’t see isn’t there. Then she said, “try telling someone who doesn’t understand that, that they’re dying from a disease that is doing nothing visible to their bodies on the outside… you can’t.” She has a lot of patience and a lot of determination, I’m really not sure how she does it, but I have more respect for her than anyone I have ever known. She gave up her entire life… making 6 figures in an upstanding medical facility in Florida. Not to mention having running water, methods of sterilization, and everything she could possibly need for a patient at her fingertips. To leave all that and come to the middle-of-nowhere-Kenya, to open a clinic that she not only started, but runs, organizes, works at (voluntarily), and, cleans the toilets for… simply amazing. And she’s still as sweet as can be. Today was really as good as it gets.