Ishi Kwa Furaha

Live in Happiness

As I sit in my seemingly huge bed with no mosquito net surrounding me, about to fetch a GIANT chocolate muffin for breakfast, my last few days in Kenya seem like a dream. I can’t believe the animals I saw, friends I said “Goodbye” to, or hours of travelling I just completed. From Migori to Masaai Mara to Naroc to Nairobi to Amsterdam to Detroit to Colorado, I have finally made it home!

Moses- My first friend in Kenya

Moses arrived promptly at 6:30 (very strange to be on time) on Saturday morning to drive us to the safari. I said goodbye to the residence, the cows, and the children running to school after munching on some Swedish toast (toast with honey on it-yeah I made that up). It started to hit me that I may never see this place again, as we made it to the main road and started our journey to Masaai Mara, and the tears began. In Naroc we picked up a new student, Hannah, and continued on the bumpy trail with Judy, the housemother, to the land of lions, hippos, and crocodiles. When we finally reached the hotel, the girls were amazed at the beautiful lobby and scenic surroundings. Shelly and I reached Hut 33 where 2 twin beds sat under a giant mosquito net. We, of course, took the liberty to push the beds together for the ultimate Safari Slumber Party!

This safari was incomparable to my last safari: though we saw many of the same things, the people were entirely different. I put on my safari hat (thank you, Dad), stood up in the moving van, and turned on my Australian accent for majority of the ride. Not only did we see the usual hippos, zebras, wildebeasts, giraffes, and cheetahs, but also a king lion devouring his pray—a huge water buffalo—and several crocodiles chillin by the Mara river. We did not get attacked by elephants this time around, so to turn up the excitement, Shelly and I decided to greet every van we passed with “Habari!!” Apparently, the safari-goers of Masaai Mara rarely say hello to each other, so we decided to change that. We continued standing in the van and yelling “Habari” to the local Masaai people until we reached the lodge, though the fun did not stop there. After an amaaazing meal of lentils, potatoes, and vegetables, the girls and I ordered some wine and Tusker, the official beer of Kenya, to end my month in Kenya.

The following day, we embarked on a Morning Game Drive at 6:30 am with Moses. Dressed in skinny jeans and safari boots, I was ready to see something unreal—and that we did. As we were just driving along, Moses decided to floor it all the sudden and started yelling “RHINOS!!” I, of course, stood up while we plowed over the bumpy dirt road in pursuit of the most rare animal to see in Masaai Mara. I turned on my video camera to document the two shy rhinos running away from us, when all of the sudden, my camera turned off. In classic Blaire fashion, I left my new camera charger in Migori and was unable to charge my camera for the duration of my stay in Kenya—whoops! So, you will just have to take my word for it: these rhinos were UNREAL.

We began our journey back to Naroc after eating a scrumptious breakfast of eggs and pancakes (which are more like crepes). As we piled back into the car for the bumpy journey, the tears began again. I’m not sure if it was Celine Dion’s singing from my iPod or the thought of leaving this place and these people that made me tear up, but I managed to compose myself for the time being. We pulled up in Naroc to meet Josh and some more new students while grabbing a bite to eat. I was VERY excited to see Martin, the guy who drove me on my first safari, in Naroc. Afterall, he was my 4^th friend in Kenya, so we have a pretty special bond. After lunch and many group pictures, the “Goodbye’s” started. As I hugged each person goodbye, the tears returned, but this time I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t believe that I was leaving the girls I had grown so close to and experienced so much with. You wouldn’t believe how close you can get to someone by spending the nights with no power just staring at their face and talking.

Crocodile Dundees

Judy and I climbed into a car after I said goodbye to Josh, Moses, and Martin, promising them I would return soon. I pushed my sad face against the window and waved goodbye to everyone I had grown to love. Judy and I travelled to Nairobi together where we stayed in a hotel in the City Center. We spent 24 hours in the city drinking Kenyan tea, watching European soccer, and shopping. A late lunch of the pizza I had been craving was the perfect end to our stay in Nairobi. Jomo, our driver, picked us up after touring the University of Nairobi campus and took us to Kenyatta International Airport. I said my final goodbye to Judy, while sh;e told me not to cry, before hopping on a massive 747. I fell asleep before the flight attendants could finish their safety schpiel and was out for the duration of the flight. I woke to the older Kenyan woman next to me adjusting my blanket. Apparently, she almost had to call the paramedics because I was sleeping so hard. We landed smoothly in Amsterdam, I grabbed an amazing cheese sandwich, and boarded my plane to Detriot. Homeward bound!!

Four movies later, we touched down in Detroit with a smile plastered on my face. I breezed through immigration and customs before checking in for my final flight to Denver. I then walked through the exit doors to find the one and only Chris Trojniak waiting with my stuffed animal frog, Harold. Just as the tears started forming in my eyeballs, he put me in somewhat of a headlock and bought me an iced coffee. I taught him some Swahili before the Jeff Janer strolled up and I jumped on him like a spidermonkey. Words cannot describe how happy I was to see my American pals in the great state of Michigan—so happy that I almost missed my flight! I jogged down the moving walkways to my gate to find that my plane was delayed 10 minutes. Praise the Lord! My final flight was a breeze compared to the 8 hour flights I had just endured. I took the train to Concourse A and rode up the escalator to find my mom and dad waiting with roses and balloons—a perfect welcome home!

After spending the evening chatting with my brothers, parents, and grandparents about my trip, I still cannot believe it was real life. The huge eyes of children with malaria, sturdy handshakes of Kenyan adults, and countless laughs shared with new friends are forever engrained my memory. These experiences would not have been possible if I was not given courage from my friends and family back home.

            To my parents—I cannot thank you enough for the countless “I love you’s”and “I’m proud of           you’s” that inspired me to continue my journey. And thank you for the AMAZING steak dinner upon my return.

            To my brothers—Thank you for always making me laugh and for saying “I love you, too”

            To my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents—Thank you for the emails and  facebook messages expressing your pride and love, along with your great advice

            To my friends—Thank you for making me feel missed. Just knowing that you were thinking of me gave me the courage to come home with incredible stories.

           To everyone who read my blog—Thank you for inspiring me to write down my experiences and for laughing at my jokes.

I really could not have had the experience I did if it weren’t for everyone supporting me back home.  I can’t wait to share my stories with you first hand!

Now it’s time to see how my skills held up with some Father-Daughter volleyball in Vail!

Kwaheri Kenya!

If it's Not Okay, it's Not the End

Everything is okay in the end. My final week at St. Joseph’s Mission Hospital has been eventful to say the least. As rounds proceed as normal each morning, babies continue to be born, patients are discharged, and some patients pass away. Each day, my colleagues and I (all just pre-Med students) discuss the patients, the miracles, and the tragedies we see. We all have a strong desire to make this hospital a safer place for patients, but have no idea how to do so. We walk the line between sounding pretentious by offering advice or letting the patients suffer by remaining quiet. Nonetheless, my week was full of experiences-highs and lows- I have only dreamed of. 

            After participating in maternity rounds Monday morning, Shelly, the new student from Chicago, and I felt VERY educated in birthing babies. We were ready to slap on some gloves and deliver a baby or two, but, unfortunately, there were no women in labor. I went to visit Collins to find that he was discharged home where he could continue recovering! We made our way home for lunch and spent the day enjoying Kenya, as usual. The highlight of my day occurred when I began skyping Mom outside and 3 little boys ages 4 and 5 approached me. They were primarily intrigued by my computer but were even more excited by the talking woman on my computer screen. I was so happy to show my mom the things I see every day—dozens of children running around outside in the lush, green yard.

            The following day was as devastating as it was beautiful. Hannah and I decided to do rounds in the Surgical Ward where many patients are assault victims and thus have large machete wounds—very cool. Hannah and I had to wait for Dr. Mobunga to do rounds and were sitting in the office when I saw Lucas’ chart. I have become familiar with the dark cross nurses write on patients’ charts to indicate death. I saw this familiar symbol but refused to believe it was true. Lucas had been admitted after being assaulted and acquiring a compound tibia/fibula fracture and some open wounds. He was left with no x-ray and no treatment for one week while his wound became septic with gangrene. Eventually, his left leg was amputated because the necrotic tissue was too extensive. As Lucas continued to sit in his hospital bed, he developed complicated malaria with anemia and septicemia. Lucas died because the hospital did not take good care of him: they did not cast him, clean his wound, or protect him from disease. Worse yet, Hannah and Kelsey had grown very attached to Lucas after visiting him each day. Lucas was their Collins. When Hannah and I saw a covered man rolled out of the ward, I informed her that it was Lucas and could see the devastation in her face. The roles had reversed from last week when Hannah and Kelsey were comforting me in the passing of the baby girl. It had become my job to offer my consolation, prayers, and life stories to distract my friends until we got home. Rounds continued and Hannah put on her game face as we visited women with spontaneous necrotic wounds on their feet, men who had been assaulted, and an HIV positive man with some sort of discharge from his intestines (it looked like spicy mustard).

            

          We returned home for lunch and spoke about Lucas’ tragic and unfair death before receiving notice that TWO women were in labor. We rushed back to the hospital in our scrubs where one lady had been fully dialated since morning and the other had just reached 7 cm. We listened to the fetal heartbeats before the fully dialated lady (who was 6 ft. 1 in. tall) was taken to theatre for a c-section. We followed closely behind and Kelsey scrubbed in for the bloodiest, most beautiful surgery of all time. I watched as Dr. Agullo pulled a 3.5 kg baby girl out by her feet. My heart skipped a beat or two before she started crying and was swaddled in traditional Kenyan fabrics. Her curly hair, chubby thighs, and soft hands made my heart melt—a miracle right before my eyes. We later found out that the woman endured female circumcision, which is practiced by several tribes in Kenya. This horrific discovery ended what seemed like the longest day of emotional ups and downs.

            The following day was spent doing rounds with Dr. Otonga in the Children’s ward—who can say no to a smile like his? We walked in the office to find Brittney, a 1 and a half year old girl with sickle cell anemia and cerebral palsy. She was receiving fluids and treatment for malaria, but was not responsive to any pain. The following day, we visited her and found that she was completely rigid on the left side of her body. I can only pray that the doctors are able to control her fever, which will lead to her miraculous healing. We returned to the hospital that afternoon to assist in the lab—we worked the CD4 machine to determine if patients were immuno-suppressed (HIV positive). Our assistance was greatly appreciated by the technicians who called us “very beautiful girls!”

            

Today, we returned to the Andrew Junior Academy where the orphaned children of Migori attend school. After a long week of medical miracles and tragedies, it was incredible to see the smiling children once again. My friends and I were left in awe of the happiness these children exuded while they must face so many struggles at home. We are all stumped. We share the desire to “fix” Migori—to make it a better place for everyone who lives here. I can’t help but feel guilty as my time here is ending while people continue to suffer every day. Everything is not okay, so how can I leave?

“We can do no great things, only small things with great love.”- Mother Theresa

There is no doubt in my mind that I have grown to love everything about Kenya: the children, the food, the language, the people. Though my final day at the hospital tomorrow will be full of teary goodbyes, and I continue to wish that I could change this hospital for the better, I know that I have impacted the lives of many. I was not able to save every patient I encountered or improve all of the malpractices of this hospital. However, I sure did welcome each person, sick or healthy, old or young, into my heart. Additionally, I am certain that this is not the end of my African adventures, but only the beginning. Now it is on to Masaai Mara for another safari (THANK YOU MOMMY AND DADDY!) before returning to the homeland!

Just dancin'

Hands Touching Hands

There is one thing that Kenyans, children and adults alike, love more than anything—hand-to-hand contact. Whether you are meeting someone for the first time or greeting an old friend, it is always customary to shake hands. Except the hand shaking is more of a hand grab for an extended amount of time. Day after day, I touch the hands of all sorts of people in Migori, but this week I realized what it is that Kenyans love so much about shaking hands.

            After my first morning of rounds in the maternity ward, which including hearing a fetal heart beat for the first time, Kelsey and I helped Dr. Agullo discharge what seemed like the entire ward. We met women who had C-sections, hysterectomies, and one with a hernia the size of a basketball (that produced an interesting smell). The girls and I then headed to the supermarket to purchase toys and diapers for the orphans we would visit that afternoon. After a delicious lunch of lentils and chipati, another Kenyan classic, we piled in a taxi (I comfortably laid on top of everyone in the back seat) and drove 10 minutes across the hill to the orphanage. As we rolled up, we were greeted by lots of children, dogs, and chickens running around the yard. The man in charge, Peter, explained to us that one woman had been housing many orphaned children until he started the program Help for Self Help Good Samaritan Orphanage. The children living there slept in bunkbeds in rooms separated by gender. Two infants also lived in the home and were sleeping angelically when we arrived. As we took turns holding the baby boy, my heart melted in his big eyes and toothless smile. I had never seen such a happy baby after waking up from his morning nap. It took all I had not to take him and sprint to the airport where I could take him back to Colorado with me.

          

          We then walked back outside to give the kids all of our presents while they sang us a song “Welcome, welcome, our visitors. Happy to see you, happy to see you. Welcome, welcome, our visitahhhs!” complete with hand motions. They were so grateful for our presents, but were more interested in the visiting mzungus. What started as holding my hand lead to hugging my lead, and eventually I was holding smiling children in my arms. In fact, once I picked up one girl, she refused to let go of my neck while the other girls reached up to be held, too. The kids longed for human contact. They had been raised without loving parents to hold their hand while crossing the street or rub their backs until they fell asleep. Though Peter was searching for family members and volunteers to house the children, it was a difficult task. They wanted to be held lovingly like any other child, and I was happy to do so.

            As we piled back into the car, I felt tears forming in my eyes—a familiar feeling. The kids started singing again and waving “goodbye.” I had never felt the urge to jump our of a moving car until this moment. I looked into the eyes of children with no home and no family, but the huge smiles on their faces hid their pain. The car ride home was quiet as we all contemplated the futures of these children and how we could help them from feeling abandoned.

         

 The following day was Kenyan independence day, called Madaraka Day, which literally means freedom day. We went to the hospital at 8 as usual, but found ourselves alone in the doctors office. One of the clinical officers showed up and told us that no doctors were on duty today—it is a day of rest. We should go home and he invited us to join him for the celebration at the district hospital. Only Dr. Agullo was on call for the day and he was resting at home unless an emergency occurred. This, along with the fact that doctors are off all weekend, was troubling to us. The patients are left hardly monitored, in critical conditions, simply because doctors needed rest. We went through the rounds to check on Lucas, whose leg was amputated, and Collins, and they were both showing some improvement. Collins may be transferred to the district hospital where he can receive more blood transfusions because he has begun having severe bloody noses. However, when I walked in, he was just waking up and already grinning. We exchanged our daily high-five and I told him to “Get better, buddy!” though I know that he actually understands me. We prefer to communicate through charades and high fives.

            We were picked up from the residence a bit after 10 and made the hike through the scenic trails covered by trees and flowers until we reached the main road. The celebration was scheduled to begin at 9:45 but started around 11:37. Classic Kenya. As we walked to our seats, we found some fellow white people (the first we have seen in Migori) and exchanged “Hello’s” and laughs. The festivities included many dances and songs performed by children of the local primary and secondary schools. I felt like I was in a movie, watching the children dance around and sing—why are all of them so talented? Pride was bursting out of every Kenyan who attended the event. When the speeches in Swahili began, we decided to head home for lunch. It was incredible to get a taste of the Kenyan culture we had never seen before.

            That night, we all decided to hit the dance club, Bells, with the housekeeper, Judy. After practicing my dance moves in the living room for a while, we piled into another taxi and headed into town. As we pulled up, I was pretty intimidated to be the first fair-skinned girl stepping out of the car. However, we marched right in to the back of the club and sat down to order some beverages. After a few minutes, the crowd formed on the dance floor and my jaw dropped. Kenyan dancing includes a lot of head bobbing, hip swaying, and knee bouncing all at the same time. We were all dancing around our little table, when, of course, someone grabs my hand to lead me onto the dance floor. The grinning young fella dancing with me was dancing his heart out while the rest of the group was laughing hysterically at the only white girl on the dance floor. I was just trying dance without making a fool of myself. Within a few minutes, the rest of the girls surrounded me on the dance floor and lead me back to the table where I could dance in my own little zone. I was relieved not to have a smelly stranger in my face holding my hands and bobbing around, and luckily, he found a new dance partner—Rachel.

            As we continued dancing , Dr. Agullo rolled into the club with his wife and some other women. At this point, I became 100 percent sure that he is the coolest surgeon in the world. We left shortly after and were back home by midnight giggling about the night’s endeavors.

GO BLUE!

         
The weekend was filled with relaxing with friends, great food, and children running around the house at all times. When I went outside to jump rope, I was greeted by kids who wanted to join in the fun. I got them their own jump rope before we started an exciting round of double-dutch. They leaped and leaped while I sang songs producing lots of laughter. I gave lots of high-fives, but most turned into more handholding and leg hugging. I realized that when I put out my hands, whether it be for a high five or a dance, Kenyans of all ages take this as an invitation to be my friend. To hold someone’s hand is to say that you trust him or her. As I begin my final week at the hospital, I will keep this gesture in mind as I prepare to observe several surgeries and hopefully deliver a baby or two!

Nimeshukuru

I am grateful.

So far this week has been a whirlwind of emotions. From smiles to tears, I never thought I would experience so many powerful things at the age of 19. As I began my last few days in the Children’s Ward, I was so excited to see Dandi, a child admitted with severe malaria, anemia, and pneumonia, being discharged. He was the most lethargic baby I had ever seen, refusing to even open his eyes, and here he was sitting up and clapping his hands. I truly witnessed a miracle. Rounds continued with several more discharges, and I was elated. I returned home to do laundry—another new talent I have developed. I scrubbed, rinsed, and hung my clothes to dry on the line all while some chickens followed me around.

I'm bringing him home with me

After lunch, we made our way to the Andrew Junior Academy for orphaned children, which was a beautiful 15 minute walk through the hills of Migori. From the moment we arrived, the students’ excitement was overwhelming. They crowded the barred windows screaming and waving before storming out of the classrooms to greet us. A fellow volunteer, Jenny, got them to say “I love you!” and sing a Swahili song about how all sins are equal in God’s eyes (very smart children). We then were invited to enjoy some sodas with the preschool teacher and learn more about the school. She informed us that 178 orphans share 2 latrines at the academy and live with their guardians throughout Migori. The 8 teachers are all volunteers that are trained but not yet absorbed by the government due to job shortages. Much of the funding was provided by the school’s headmaster out of his pocket. WOWZA. The children are taught English, math, Swahili, music, social studies, science, and have lots of play time outside. Unfortunately, the school cannot afford to feed all the students, so they return home for meals at noon. I was able to give all of my pencils and remaining toothbrushes (thank you Mommy) to the preschool teacher who would distribute them to the classrooms.

As we walked back outside, the teachers released the students back outside in a stampede and the mania began. I took over 100 pictures of the children as they surrounded us because they were so amused by my camera, though they rarely smiled at the camera directly. I put out my hands for high fives, and the children immediately started touching my skin and grabbing my hands. Who knew my pasty skin would be so interesting? It was so difficult to say goodbye, but I knew the children had to return to class where they could learn even more! The experience as a whole moved me to tears. It was amazing to communicate with the kiddos without speaking words. Their happiness shined bright through the hardship they encountered at home. I felt so grateful, not only for all that I have been given at home with a supportive family and many loving friends, but also to have met these beautiful children. Their strength with continue to inspire me every day.

In opposition, Tuesday was a nightmare. Rounds began normally with many new patients to learn about. As Dr. Otonga and I were assessing a young boy with malaria, another patient’s mother approached us. Dr. Otonga stopped in his tracks and walked over to the 7-month-old baby girl’s bed. He grabbed her by the arm and swiftly walked into the office while all the other patients in the ward gathered at the connecting windows. We watched as he attempted to resuscitate the baby with chest thrusts and hooked her up to oxygen. His techniques were nothing like I had been taught. I stood frozen with terror, my heart in my stomach. I knew immediately that the child was not healthy, but she had shown improvement over the 5 days she had been in the hospital.

Patience, the baby girl, was admitted with severe dehydration and malnutrition and tested positive for HIV. The mother informed us that she had stopped feeding when she got sick. In other words, the woman stopped feeding her child, as her condition worsened. I looked into the baby’s eyes praying, no pleading, that she wouldn’t give up. I heard her mother crying faintly in the background as the life drained from her eyes. There is a very good chance that I was the last person she saw here on Earth. I stood with a blank look on my face until another student walked up and asked what was happening. We walked out of the ward and I immediately started crying hysterically. The head nurse, Awiti, pulled me into her office to hold me and thank me for my compassion for the patients. I was devastated.

As I reflect on the event, it is difficult for me to accept that the hospital officials tried their hardest to save this baby’s life. I understand that there are ups and downs in the world of medicine, but every life deserves the best treatment possible. If we were in the States, this baby would have been in the Intensive Care Unit, monitored 24/7 and hooked up to machines to save her life. It pains me that the doctors here are so accustomed to the death of their patients that they are able to give up the fight. They put on their game faces and continue the day as usual—a strength I have not yet developed. I am comforted by the fact that Patience no longer must live in constant pain and suffering.

Now, I want to know how I can help this from happening to other innocent lives in Migori. So many people have attempted to comfort me by saying, “It happens.” It shouldn’t happen. People cannot die because of the poor communication, lack of proper treatment, or insufficient resources at this hospital. I have been reminded of the delicacy of life and will carry this experience with me for the rest of my life.

We're blood siblings

On a brighter note, even more patients were discharged this morning during rounds. Furthermore, Collins has improved tremendously!! The doctors are still concerned about his red blood cell count and anemia, but he is finally able to act like a normal 11-year-old boy. I could tell by the strength of his high-five today that he was feeling better than ever. He even squeaked out a few smiles when I looked over at him from across the room, as he practiced walking around. His case is just another miracle at St. Joseph’s Mission Hospital. At a place where so much death occurs, it was easy for me to forget the happiness of so many children being cured under such terrible conditions. For this, I am very grateful. 

Kenyan Time

Patience. I am quickly learning that the people of Migori do not operate on a specific schedule. Surgeries begin when Dr. Agullo is ready, the next surgery begins when the previous one ends, and food is served when food is ready. This requires a lot of something I do not have: patience. Not only do I like to follow a daily schedule, but I prefer to do everything efficiently—I even walk quickly. Here in Kenya, people take the time say hello to everyone they know on the street. They could sit around for hours just drinking tea and chatting with friends. They appreciate the moments spent with one another rather than focusing on what is next on the agenda. This has been a difficult adjustment for us Medics to Africa volunteers, because when we ask a Kenyan how long it might take to get somewhere or what time something will happen, the answer is often inaccurate. In fact, I usually double the answer, and that still might not be the correct time. This does work to my advantage at times, however, as the morning meeting frequently starts 15 minutes after 8:00.

            Another exciting part of Kenya that I am adjusting to is the frequent loss of power. Almost everyday the thunderstorms begin and the power goes out. Judy, the housekeeper, then lights candles and the other girls and I sit in the candlelight talking about whatever comes to mind—anything from weddings to amputations. Luckily, the hospital has a back up generator. Recently, the program director has provided us with sparkling red wine (interesting), beer, and gin as I am the youngest one here. He then proceeds to ask why we aren’t finishing the drinks each night though we don’t often feel like drinking after our long days. In fact, I’m usually feeling sleepy as soon as the sun sets though I force myself to stay awake until 10 so I don’t miss out on any interesting conversations.

            Wednesday morning began abnormally when I woke to an unusual power outage. Just when I thought I would have to go without my morning toast, Helen, the chef, whipped me up some toast on the stove before I could even ask. Rounds in the Children’s Ward began after the usual morning meeting. Much to my surprise, most of the patients who seemed so sickly the day before, had improved tremendously. It was incredible to see the sick kids I once knew walking around the ward and being discharged! However, as we approached Collins, an 11-year-old with pyomyositis causing abscesses in his legs, his condition seemed to be worsening. Each day I had watched the doctors changed Collins’ dressing as his abscesses oozed with puss and he writhed in pain. Today, Dr. Otonga said the infection had spread from his wounds causing fever, edema in his feet, and his breathing to become intermittent. I was told that Collins needed a blood transfusion of O negative blood. After a bit of discussion between the doctors, it was noted that Collins actually needed O positive blood- my blood type. I was told that earlier in the year, someone pretended to be a hospital worker and stole the hospitals funds for blood donors leaving the hospital with no blood for the patients. They desperately had to find someone to donate blood for Collins before his organs started shutting down.

I told the PA student I was with that I had O positive blood but my mom would kill me if I donated in Kenya. Not only would I be exposing myself to disease in a hospital swimming with HIV positive patients, but I’m just not a very good blood donor. I don’t drink enough water so my blood comes out very slow, my veins are difficult to find, and I am known to faint. I absolutely despise getting shots because they hurt! So as I sat eating my lunch to mull over the idea, I weighed these pros and cons. I then remembered my answer to those who asked why I was going to Kenya; I quickly reply, “to save lives.” Though I pretend to be a real doctor sometimes, I cannot actually perform life-saving surgery, as I said in my previous blog. However, I had been presented with the opportunity to actually save the life of a little boy I had seen every day in immense pain. Thinking of it this way, I had to donate blood, no matter how bad it would hurt.

I quickly marched down to the hospital before I could change my mind to find Dr. Otonga at the gates. He told me that Collins had not yet received a transfusion, so I headed to the lab to get screened. I sat down and a man had me fill out the donor questionnaire, which asked questions like “Have you ever done cocaine? No. Are you pregnant? No. Have you ever been sexually abused or exploited? No.” Before he poked me I waved for a little boy to come over and hold my hand as the evil doctor drew my blood. The boy seemed very confused when I didn’t let go of his hand immediately, but started laughing when I made painful faces. I told you guys, needles hurt!! It would take an hour for my blood to be tested and deemed acceptable for donation. This hour seemed to take a lifetime as I went to visit Collins in his worsening condition. Dr. Josiah, who always greets me with a hug and a smile, informed me that Collins liver and spleen were inflamed, which I could feel by pressing on his abdomen. I knew I had made the right choice.

I returned to the lab and Norah, yet another amazingly nice Kenyan, took me to a curtained area where I would give blood. I jumped onto the bed, removed my shoes, and laid down for what I thought would be an excruciating hour. I was right. The vein in my right arm decided to form a clot before the blood bag was half way full, so Norah wiggled the needle around to try and get some more blood out. That was unsuccessful so she stabbed another vein in that arm, which produced literally no blood. At this point, I was gritting my teeth while Norah smiled. She then switched arms and finally found a vein in my left arm as she sang “You are toooooo liiiiitle. Your veins are inviiiiisibleeeee.” After a bit more needle wiggling, we finally had a pint of blood. All I could say was OUCH! I laid on the bed for 20 minutes while Norah wrote down her phone number and invited me to dinner at her house—I was just trying not to faint. When I felt up to it, I wolfed down a Nutrigrain bar and started walking back to the residence. I continued up the hill when I realized that if I was to faint, I would most likely hit my head on a rock and wake up in a strange Kenyan home. I put a little pep in my step and finally ended up on the couch of my beautiful residence. I did it!!

For those of you who are worried about my health, as my mom was, I am happy to inform you that the needles used were very sterile. Furthermore, St. Joseph’s Mission Hospital is dedicated to preventing the spread of HIV/AIDS and therefore, takes the necessary measures to use new needles on every patient. I also have come to the conclusion that God simply would not let me get HIV for saving a child’s life, just like the doctors here don’t get TB though they are exposed to it each day. But, I still pray each day that HIV is not in God’s plan for me, just to be safe!

Collins received my transfusion the following day at noon after the his blood was cross-matched with mine. By Friday, he was sitting up, laughing, and talking to his family showing much improvement. During rounds that day, Dr. Otonga told Collins and his mom that he received my blood during the transfusion, and I could see the gratitude in their eyes. Their surprise accompanied by endless “Thank-You’s” proved that the pain of the needle was nothing compared to the pain Collins had been enduring for weeks.

Thursday afternoon included the new girls’ first trip to the market, which went rather smoothly. On our way home, I was greeted by an old man walking with a cane. He asked if I spoke Swahili, and I said “hapana” (clever, I know). He proceeded to teach me that cuja= come and twende= let’s go. Judy told me that he was actually telling me to come with him to his place. Some locals on the street asked him if they could have one of us girls but he said that we were his girls? Odd. A 16-year-old boy, Elias, from the hospital who had chicken pox and malaria came over unannounced when we returned. I was happy to see his smile and excited to introduce him to my mom over skype. I gave him some neat pencils and he was on his way to school at 5 pm. Helen, who I have decided is a saint, made us pizza for dinner. It was homemade bread and sauce covered in vegetables and cheese. Let me tell you, corn on pizza is scrumptious!

As I woke to the smell of scones warming the room Friday morning, I was excited to begin a new day at the hospital. I only have a few days left in the children’s unit but I am becoming very close to the patients and their families. I am greeted with smiles as I walk into the ward. The morning meeting today included two cases of patients who had died over the night. The first case was a baby born yesterday morning who may have had a congenital. However, the correct tests were not ordered which could have saved the babies life. This is the frustrating part of the hospital here- so many patients could be saved but aren’t because of a lack of communication. The other deceased patient was a 76-year-old man that died from possible liver failure due to alcoholism. The problem at St. Joseph’s is that the cases are discussed each morning because the doctors honestly don’t know what kills most patients. This man had a history of drinking but never had tests ordered on his liver, and therefore, they are unsure of what happened. Autopsies are not performed unless the family requests them so everyone is truly left in the dark regarding the cause of death of most patients. Additionally, over the night, a patient was admitted after he had been shot with an arrow through the nose. The day ended on a high note with 5 discharges in the Children’s Ward. Because there were so many, Dr. Otonga taught me how to do discharge paperwork and let me sign my name as the discharging clinician. Does that make me a doctor? Yep.

         
          On Saturday, we headed to Lake Victoria with a hospital driver, Willis. The lake was massive and a strange combination of green/blue/brown. We took a sketchy motorboat out on the lake to catch some rays and relax. My favorite part of this endeavor was when the Kenyan man taking us on the boat swept me up and carried me across the mud onto the ladder—HOW ROMANTIC! We spent the day on Kenyan time driving around Homa Bay and eating lunch around 3 pm. On our way back, we picked up the most delicious pineapples on Earth—literally I could eat a whole pineapple but my tummy started hurting. I also found a jump rope in the residence to add to Blaire’s Kenyan Workout, which my dad was happy to hear. We are playing in a tournament 2 days after I return, so he is hoping I’m not completely out of shape. The night ended with Sleepless in Seattle, a perfect end to a week full of African adventures.

The Same in Every Language

After my weekend as the lone mzungu in Migori (or so it seemed), the language barrier has become noticeable but rarely problematic. Many people here speak some English--especially the children that attend the private schools across the street. While I often play games of charades with the people of Migori to communicate, I have found that one thing sounds the same in all languages: laughter.

As I spoke to Gabe the physiotherapist last Friday, I found him laughing at my silly questions about Kenya and my numerous accents. Gabe was convinced that I was British (apparently Blaire is a British name?) until I did my Southern accent for him. And then my Australian accent. And then the famous Kazakhstan accent. He finally had to ask where my ancestors were from so I told him that I was mostly German and Irish. This lead to excessive laughter when he asked, "So you have Irish blood in you? Irish blood is crazy!!" So here I am, the crazy Irish mzungu walking alone down the streets of Migori. Could I possibly stand out anymore??

On Sunday, the entire town of Migori became a place of worship. I went outside to workout/run around like a 4 year old when I heard the constant singing of distinct male and children voices from a nearby church. This was so much more inspiring than any music I could have played on my IPod while working out. As I sat down to stretch, three young boys approached me and just stared at me for what seemed like 15 minutes. I said "Hi!" so they decided to shake my hand and resume staring at me. One little boy seemingly spoke some English, and I think he was asking me for a ball so I ran in the house. I came back with 3 frisbees, a toy they were not familiar with. I showed them how to throw it before they took the frisbees and chucked them across the yard at the grazing cows. They would then run after the frisbee giggling, eager to throw it again. And again. And again. I had so much fun watching these boys throw the frisbees as hard as they possibly could. Before leaving, they thanked me for the new toys and ran home giggling.

Monday began as a normal day at the hospital with the morning meeting at 8 am Kenyan time (so about 8:12). As I walked into the office, I was greeted by 7 PA students from Pacific University in Oregon. I  exclaimed "Good Morning!" louder than I had planned in my excitement. It turns out, many of these students are from different parts of Colorado- what a coincidence! As I left the hospital for lunch around 11:30, I was walking at my usual quick pace when a man crossed the street to say hello to me. We stopped and began speaking when he told me that he saw me walking around the hospital last week but I looked busy so he didn't stop me. However, he had a "desire to be my friend." People that know me well know that when I don't know how to respond to something or I get nervous, I start giggling. So I'm standing in the middle of the road as motorcycles zoom by laughing unnaturally hard. The man, named Aquinos, asked if I had a phone for him to contact me on (I don't know my phone number), if i had a Twitter, and if  I was on Facebook. Between bouts of laughter I told him that he will just have to hope we run into each other on this road again. He told me that he wanted to take me for a "stroll" so I told him that maybe I could stroll with him tomorrow after work. Though I may never see this man again, and I don't particularly like strolling with strangers in Kenya, I was happy to have brightened his day with my nervous laughter and rosy cheeks.

During rounds in the Children's Ward this morning, I was greeted by the most adorable children on Earth. Their huge eyes, chubby cheeks, and toothless smiles could melt anyone's heart. So many of these children are extremely sick with malaria, anemia, and abscesses. Unfortunately, I'm not a real life doctor yet (though I like to think I am sometimes), so I can do very little to truly save these kiddos. Instead, I have taken it upon myself to hold their hands when their bandages are changed and make funny faces at the babies who begin crying upon examination. One patient in particular is a little girl with malaria who has the world's chubbiest cheeks and was dressed in a princess costume. Her smile lights up the room as I play peek-a-boo behind my notebook. Another young boy named Brian had his hand crushed in the sugar processor. Brian is ready to be discharged, but his mother is travelling here from Nairobi, so he must hang around the hospital surrounded by illness. As I approached Brian and his friend today, I literally walked directly into a bright blue mosquito net hanging from the ceiling. Though I thought no one saw me, Brian and his friend were smiling ear to ear fighting laughter. I blushed and smiled. If I could make Brian's day just a little better with my clumsiness, I would run into things all day long. The laughter and smiles I have caused in these few days lets me know that I am doing my job over here by brightening the town of Migori one person at a time.

Pictures!

Amsterdam Centraal

Home Sweet Home

Monica- she asked me to take a picture with her and her foot and print it out for her, unfortunately I have no printer and don't speak Swahili...yet

Hippo!

Simba the Lion

Carrying water up the hill after stepping in a huge mud puddle

Safari with Martin the Ultimate Driver and Jason the Canadian

Momma Cheetah and Baby

 Elephant- slightly evil but SO cool

 P.S. I have learned a few words in Swahili:
          Jambo- Hello
          Karibu- Welcome
          Hakuna Matata- it's all good (thank you Lion King)
          Asante sana- Thank you very much
          Sawa sawa- Okay
          Hapana- No
          Haburi- How are you; respond with Nzuri- I am fine
          Mozungu- white person
         

I will post more pictures soon as long as the internet cooperates!