I don't even know how to begin distilling my thoughts and experiences into a single post. I'll start by the ever-cliche, nothing could have prepared me for this. After my last post I had a quick meeting with Mike about what I'll be doing and where I'll be going. As Mike instructed me not to take any food with me into the bush he said, "There's something very dangerous about poverty tourism. There's a temptation to check off the 'save the world' box as you hold up a starving child for a photo. I encourage you to just taste hunger and dehydration - that is something that can never be taught in any university and will give you some ground to stand on when thinking about the issues behind poverty and disease." With that said, I walked into the bush with 3L of water, the clothes on my back, and about $1.20 in emergency cash. I took so many pictures to try and capture how isolated I really was....there was literally nothing as far as the eye could see in all directions.
The floors are dirt and there is no electricity. There's a drought and an extreme shortage of water all around Nairobi, but these villagers get hit the hardest as you can imagine. It hasn't rained in 3 years. I spent three days in almost complete silence because the villagers speak very little broken English.
Clincal Note:
Obviously I didn't have much time to take pictures of the patients and I thought I'd spare you the gore, but some of the cases I saw were TB, Malaria, Pneumonia, a bloody dog bite from a rabid dog (the shots to save the child are about $50 for the whole series - about 6 months wages for Maasai people, there was nothing I could do), and a baby with melted skin because the mother spilled boiling water on him (pictured below). Villagers would walk for miles to the clinic - as I did. Here are some excerpts from my journal:
What's your sleep number? Mine is planks of wood covered by a sheet. It's 4 am and I'm trying to decide whether or not to use my rolled up jacket as a pillow or as a cushion to reduce the pressure of the wood on my ribcage. The sick goat in the room with me is coughing and I know there's at least one bat in here - is there such a thing as goat-acquired pneumonia? When the wind blows through the valley it sounds like it will rip the tin roof right off the hut. 6 am comes early when you can't sleep and there's a pit in your stomach.
My job is easy - wake up at 6, walk 2 hours (~5 miles) through the bush to the clinic, play doctor, then walk home late in the evening. The women, however, are also up early to find any water that they can. They load up barrels on the donkey and strap two 5-gallon barrels adound their necks, but they better be home in time to make the only meal of the day, supper. I watched as she cooked cabbage and served it alongside ugali (spongey bread). I did not have any - there wasn't much to go around for the whole family that lives in the area. Mike promised me that it would be lonely and he was right. I've made some calls to friends and family just to have a conversation in English - about anything, really. I'm ashamed at how weak I am.
Looking back, my journal may have been a bit dramatic. I was lonely, tired, and hungry. Give me a break! I leave again for the bush tomorrow, but to the HIV/AIDS clinic further north. I'll be there about 5 days this time with no internet access.
In other news, the school in Takaungu called me and they really need me to get over there for the start of school to do health screenings for the students starting school Sept. 7th. I'll jump on a train to head that direction very soon. I'll keep you posted! As always, e-mails, comments, and prayers are extremely appreciated!
ben
