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!