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.