How do I start my blog? How do I write all the emotions that I’ve been going through the past two weeks? I have had moments of joy and excitement and moments of sadness and depression.
As I prepare to leave Kenya on Saturday, I’m filled with so many different emotions. I know I’m only away from Kenya for two months but it seems like a lifetime to me right now. Yet, I’m SO excited to be coming to Canada to visit family, friends and prepare for the new chapter in my life – becoming a wife to an amazing man (craziness!).
About a week and a half ago, I hit a rock bottom, something I haven’t hit in a VERY long time. I’m continuing to process through things, continuing to understand things and of course, continuing to learn things. It’s been a great time for me to increase my trust in God, to have deep conversations with Him, to expose myself, my fears and my heart to Him even more. I had days of complete breakdown in tears if someone asked me how I was doing, or if I held one of my kids at HBF or hugged on a street kid.
Last Tuesday, Sean and I spent the night out at HBF, our last day/night with them. We arrived in the late afternoon, the children ran over to us, “Auntie Mary, Uncle Sean! Auntie Mary, Uncle Sean!” We did crafts and took lots of pictures together. When it was time for bed, I went to the girl’s room and us girls sat up for a few extra hours, talking, laughing and sharing stories. When I curled in to a bed that I was going to share with Lydia, I cried, overwhelmed that I was not going to see them for the next few months.
As Sean and I were getting ready to leave the next day, I told the kids that I would see them in a few months. Stella, Veronica and Linda told me, “No Auntie Mary, you’re not going!” After a bit of discussion, they feared that after getting married in Canada, I would decide to stay there and not come back. So they thought that if I didn’t leave Kenya, then it would be a safe bet that I’d be staying here. I had to promise them that I was coming back to Kenya but even as I was leaving, their hugs were a little tighter, a little longer and the whispers of “Nakupenda Auntie Mary!” (means I love you) in my ear, brought the emotions to the surface again.
On Friday, we had our second annual TI Christmas Party for all of the children in our sponsorship program at our compound. There were over 250 people that came and yes, most of them children. It was amazing!!! I have to say that we were quite organized this year. We hired people to be the cooks so that we could spend more time with the children and guests. Each of our projects prepared a song as entertainment to the whole group…that was so entertaining. Each child in our sponsorship program received a gift bag that included pencils, erasers, candy, toothbrush and an extra gift: a toy for the little ones and a t-shirt/top/ for the older ones. Thank you so much to Newmarket Alliance Church for their support this year in sponsoring the Christmas Party. It was a complete success. The TI website will have an update with lots of photos on it early next week. Check it out at: www.transformedinternational.org
This final week here has been a busy one. I’m visiting the remaining projects to do the updates on our children for the sponsors back in North America. In the evenings, we are visiting with friends to say “see you in a few months” to. Sean and I leave Kitale on Friday morning and will spend the night in Nairobi. I’ll pick up my wedding dress on Saturday, do the updates on two kids that we sponsor in the Soweto slums and then Sean and I will be “leaving on a jet plane” on Saturday night (Kenya time), arriving in Toronto on Sunday night (EST time).
I’m not one that minds Change; life is full of them; but depending on what the Change is, I just sometimes have a hard time getting used to them. I remember seeing a bumper sticker or a sign once that said something along the lines of change is something that never changes…it will always be there. I’m simply changing my location for a few months from my home in Kenya to my second home in Canada. I’m changing my status from single to married. And although I’ll miss my home here like crazy for those two months, I’m beyond excited for the change that is to come -- becoming Sean’s wife.
So, for my family and friends here in Kenya, I’ll simply say, “I’ll see you in a few months!” and to my family and friends in Canada, “I’ll see you in a few days!”
I love you all so very much.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Night at the hospital...
I sit in the hospital room, watching Linda color a book with the crayons that I brought. She sits in a white metal hospital crib with one side pulled down all the way. I’m sitting in a lawn chair next to the crib, looking around the room or at Linda, especially when a cough or funny sound comes from her.
In the room there are seven beds, five of them are twin size beds, two of them cribs. All the twin beds are occupied, three with mothers and their children and the other with a grandmother and her granddaughter. One crib is occupied by Linda, the other one empty. It, based on what the nurse just suggested (well more like demanded of me!), will probably house me in a little while as my bed…once the eyelids get heavy.
It’s now 9:00pm and most of the moms and the grandmother are sleeping. There is one mother and her son who are still awake. The mother tells me that her son, Kiprop, is suffering a bad chest cold. He can’t get comfortable and is constantly coughing and gasping for air. His mother is trying to be patient but loses it from time to time by “clicking” at him (which is a not so nice thing here – shows and relays that you’re annoyed or angry with the person) or tells him sternly to “BE QUIET!!”
I ask Linda if she is tired; she says yes. I have her lie down and pull the blanket up to her chin. I tuck her in nice and tight, kiss her all over the face and say good night. She laughs and then snuggles in to her blanket and closes her eyes.
Four minutes later, the silence in the room is broken by a nurse and her cart. She has come to do the evening medication run for the children. Her bedside manners definitely need quite a bit of tweaking. Another nurse comes in; I like her. She’s really nice and gentle with the children; she even calls Linda “sweetie”. Perhaps because I’m there but she’s nice to all the others too. The mothers and grandmother spend the next few minutes pulling out the medication and medical “chart” (which is more like a piece of paper) of their children.
Here, the parents/guardians are responsible to buy all necessary medication and equipment (i.e. needles, IV necessities, etc.) they are also responsible to bring/buy their own bed sheets, blankets, cups and eating utensils for overnight stays. Nothing, except the bed, the mattress and the nurses/doctors is supplied by the hospitals.
I watch the nurse hook a bag full of blood on the wall and connect the IV into the little boy on the bed next to Linda. He’s no more than two years old and I was told that he doesn’t have enough blood in his body so they need to give him blood. Two other mothers come over to watch the blood drip from the bag, through the IV and into the boy’s hand. They talk with the mother as he fights to get comfortable and is a bit upset of the pain of the IV needle.
As the nurses are getting ready to leave, the grandmother with her granddaughter stands up in the middle of the room and starts shouting/singing and then begins doing an African dance. Linda bursts out laughing; what a beautiful laugh (and it helps to drown out the sound of the screaming baby down the hall). The grandmother entertains for about 30 seconds, then sighs, and crawls back into her and her granddaughter’s bed, under the mosquito net and drifts off to sleep.
Linda is now wide awake. She starts gibbering off in Swahili to me. With hand jesters between the two of us and the Swahili that I know, we actually communicate very well. She shows me her IV needle in her hand, although there’s no IV attached to her now. She says she doesn’t like it and it hurts too much.
Now it’s 9:25pm and Linda is hungry again. Just two hours ago, she ate a chicken leg with roasted potatoes. This is a great sign – having her appetite back. I give her about two mouthfuls of my Coke. She likes the fact that we’re sharing my Coke with each other she then asks for her bread and starts to dip her bread in to her Coke. I make a grossed out look on my face and we both burst into laughter.
The little boy, Kiprop, at this point is very fussy. He’s whining and coughing uncontrollably. It sounds likes he’s coughing up his lungs and on the verge of vomiting. His mother is getting impatient and frustrated; she’s tired and just wants to go to sleep. She raises her voice at him but she seems to fail in realizing that the louder and more frustrated she gets, the more upset he becomes and the worse his whining and coughing are. My heart breaks for him.
Linda is now done dipping her bread in to her Coke. I remove the cup and bag of bread from her bed. She wants to go to sleep now so I tightly tuck her back under the blanket and cover her with kisses and say good night to the sound of her laughter.
In the distance, I can hear chanting. It quite possibly could be a number of people praying in unison. I don’t go to check it out; I instead stay and wait for Linda to fall asleep.
It’s now 10:00pm and Linda has fallen asleep quite quickly. I decide to get ready for bed and make a last trip to the not-so-clean toilet and hopefully off to sleep I can go.
As I head to the toilet, I realize that the chanting that I hear is mothers and grandmothers singing softly in the next ward. When I walk by again, they are now praying; the prayers are loud, powerful and some very tearful.
A few minutes later, the prayers have stopped; the only sounds in our room are now Linda’s breathing and a few whining noises from Kiprop and the snoring of his mother.
About ten minutes later, Kiprop’s whining increases into tears of pain and discomfort. He cried through is tears, “Mama! Mama!” She curses at him once and then I hear her snoring again. Again Kiprop says, “Mama! Mama!” over and over again. I go over to console him but then the mother looks over and seems me coming toward them so she pulls out her breast and puts it to his mouth to feed. It quiets him for about three minutes where he then begins again. His mother is furious at this point and some of the others in the room are getting a bit agitated. She clicks at him, tells him to shut up and then ignores him.
I hear Linda toss a bit in the bed; I look over and thankfully she stays asleep despite Kiprop’s whining and calling out to his mother. Kiprop is now sobbing and in between the sobs, he’s gasping for air and then coughing. His mother clicks at him, telling him be quiet and goes back to sleep. This happens over and over again. When I hear she’s snoring and out like a light and he’s still whining, I go over to their bed and kneel down in front of him. I start to rub his cheek, his face and his head. He immediately calms down, and moves his head in the motion of my hand…harder into my hand to feel my touch against his face. He actually begins to close his eyes and starts to fall asleep. I gently lay him down next his mother. He’s quiet and falls asleep.
I can feel the cold night air coming in through the glassless window door that separates us from the outside. Linda has three blankets; one as a pillow, one underneath her and one over top of her and I’m not about to steal any of her blankets. I’ll just put on my sweatshirt and socks…that should work.
I thinks its now bedtime. I crawl in to the crib (a little small but the fetal position always works!) but no sleep right away.
It’s around 11:40pm and Linda wakes up and looks in the direction I was sitting in when she fell asleep. When she doesn’t see me there, panic strikes her voice as she loudly says my name, “Mary!” I say “I’m here!” in Swahili. She turns her head around and literally sighs out loud and then smiles. I ask her if she’s okay and she says she needs the toilet. We get out of our cribs and head to the toilet. The big, main ward, the one we’re not in, smells of urine and vomit. Most of the room is quiet, except for some little crying from children and snoring from mothers or grandmothers. There are a few people awake; just sitting there but somewhere in the back beds, I hear a woman singing to her child.
I bring Linda back to bed, do the routine of tucking her in tightly, cover her with kisses and say goodnight. She falls asleep almost instantly. What an angel!
It’s 2:19am now and I just suddenly got woken by a loud and long scream. I’m looking around the room to confirm that it’s none of us in our ward. I hear women start to sing and pray. The scream turns into sobbing. I wonder if a child has just lost his/her life. As I too say a prayer, tears fall down my face and I drift off to very light sleep.
Wow, I’m not sleeping much. I look at my cell phone; it reads 3:23am. I hear Linda rustling around under her blanket and making a moaning noise. I think she’s having a nightmare. Linda bolts up in bed and calls, “Mary, Mary!” in a panic. She is looking in the opposite direction that I’m sleeping in. I jump out of the crib and say in Swahili, “Linda, I’m here! It’s okay.” I rub her head, give her a kiss and she lies back down. I sit beside her for a moment, rubbing her head until she falls back to sleep. I then crawl back in to my crib.
It’s now 5:15am. I might as well get up, as I’m up at 5:00am every weekday morning anyway. I crawl out of crib and notice that some of the mothers are starting to stir in their beds too. The noise in the hallways is increasing as people all around our section are starting to wake up also. I pull out the chair and sit next to Linda’s bed.
It’s 7:00am and our social worker, Anne, arrives to relieve me from Linda’s bedside, although I realize that I don’t really want to go. I want to stay with her…we’ve had fun. Its a few minutes later and Linda wakes up. She’s definitely not a morning person. She’s very quiet and non-expressive. It’s quite funny to watch her this way.
Anne goes and gets some water and gives her a quick sponge bath in the bed and rubs her face, arms and legs with smearing oil (aka: Vaseline – it keeps their skin soft and smooth).
After a few minutes, I say good-bye to Linda. I need to go home and get some sleep. She asks if I will come back and visit her. “Of course I will come back. I love you Linda.” She smiles at me, a big beautiful smile. I’ll take that as an “I love you too.” : )
****************
On Thursday, November 20th, Linda was released from the hospital. She returned to HBF and so far, so good. She is doing AMAZINGLY well, her appetite is back and she’s laughing along with the other kids.
In the room there are seven beds, five of them are twin size beds, two of them cribs. All the twin beds are occupied, three with mothers and their children and the other with a grandmother and her granddaughter. One crib is occupied by Linda, the other one empty. It, based on what the nurse just suggested (well more like demanded of me!), will probably house me in a little while as my bed…once the eyelids get heavy.
It’s now 9:00pm and most of the moms and the grandmother are sleeping. There is one mother and her son who are still awake. The mother tells me that her son, Kiprop, is suffering a bad chest cold. He can’t get comfortable and is constantly coughing and gasping for air. His mother is trying to be patient but loses it from time to time by “clicking” at him (which is a not so nice thing here – shows and relays that you’re annoyed or angry with the person) or tells him sternly to “BE QUIET!!”
I ask Linda if she is tired; she says yes. I have her lie down and pull the blanket up to her chin. I tuck her in nice and tight, kiss her all over the face and say good night. She laughs and then snuggles in to her blanket and closes her eyes.
Four minutes later, the silence in the room is broken by a nurse and her cart. She has come to do the evening medication run for the children. Her bedside manners definitely need quite a bit of tweaking. Another nurse comes in; I like her. She’s really nice and gentle with the children; she even calls Linda “sweetie”. Perhaps because I’m there but she’s nice to all the others too. The mothers and grandmother spend the next few minutes pulling out the medication and medical “chart” (which is more like a piece of paper) of their children.
Here, the parents/guardians are responsible to buy all necessary medication and equipment (i.e. needles, IV necessities, etc.) they are also responsible to bring/buy their own bed sheets, blankets, cups and eating utensils for overnight stays. Nothing, except the bed, the mattress and the nurses/doctors is supplied by the hospitals.
I watch the nurse hook a bag full of blood on the wall and connect the IV into the little boy on the bed next to Linda. He’s no more than two years old and I was told that he doesn’t have enough blood in his body so they need to give him blood. Two other mothers come over to watch the blood drip from the bag, through the IV and into the boy’s hand. They talk with the mother as he fights to get comfortable and is a bit upset of the pain of the IV needle.
As the nurses are getting ready to leave, the grandmother with her granddaughter stands up in the middle of the room and starts shouting/singing and then begins doing an African dance. Linda bursts out laughing; what a beautiful laugh (and it helps to drown out the sound of the screaming baby down the hall). The grandmother entertains for about 30 seconds, then sighs, and crawls back into her and her granddaughter’s bed, under the mosquito net and drifts off to sleep.
Linda is now wide awake. She starts gibbering off in Swahili to me. With hand jesters between the two of us and the Swahili that I know, we actually communicate very well. She shows me her IV needle in her hand, although there’s no IV attached to her now. She says she doesn’t like it and it hurts too much.
Now it’s 9:25pm and Linda is hungry again. Just two hours ago, she ate a chicken leg with roasted potatoes. This is a great sign – having her appetite back. I give her about two mouthfuls of my Coke. She likes the fact that we’re sharing my Coke with each other she then asks for her bread and starts to dip her bread in to her Coke. I make a grossed out look on my face and we both burst into laughter.
The little boy, Kiprop, at this point is very fussy. He’s whining and coughing uncontrollably. It sounds likes he’s coughing up his lungs and on the verge of vomiting. His mother is getting impatient and frustrated; she’s tired and just wants to go to sleep. She raises her voice at him but she seems to fail in realizing that the louder and more frustrated she gets, the more upset he becomes and the worse his whining and coughing are. My heart breaks for him.
Linda is now done dipping her bread in to her Coke. I remove the cup and bag of bread from her bed. She wants to go to sleep now so I tightly tuck her back under the blanket and cover her with kisses and say good night to the sound of her laughter.
In the distance, I can hear chanting. It quite possibly could be a number of people praying in unison. I don’t go to check it out; I instead stay and wait for Linda to fall asleep.
It’s now 10:00pm and Linda has fallen asleep quite quickly. I decide to get ready for bed and make a last trip to the not-so-clean toilet and hopefully off to sleep I can go.
As I head to the toilet, I realize that the chanting that I hear is mothers and grandmothers singing softly in the next ward. When I walk by again, they are now praying; the prayers are loud, powerful and some very tearful.
A few minutes later, the prayers have stopped; the only sounds in our room are now Linda’s breathing and a few whining noises from Kiprop and the snoring of his mother.
About ten minutes later, Kiprop’s whining increases into tears of pain and discomfort. He cried through is tears, “Mama! Mama!” She curses at him once and then I hear her snoring again. Again Kiprop says, “Mama! Mama!” over and over again. I go over to console him but then the mother looks over and seems me coming toward them so she pulls out her breast and puts it to his mouth to feed. It quiets him for about three minutes where he then begins again. His mother is furious at this point and some of the others in the room are getting a bit agitated. She clicks at him, tells him to shut up and then ignores him.
I hear Linda toss a bit in the bed; I look over and thankfully she stays asleep despite Kiprop’s whining and calling out to his mother. Kiprop is now sobbing and in between the sobs, he’s gasping for air and then coughing. His mother clicks at him, telling him be quiet and goes back to sleep. This happens over and over again. When I hear she’s snoring and out like a light and he’s still whining, I go over to their bed and kneel down in front of him. I start to rub his cheek, his face and his head. He immediately calms down, and moves his head in the motion of my hand…harder into my hand to feel my touch against his face. He actually begins to close his eyes and starts to fall asleep. I gently lay him down next his mother. He’s quiet and falls asleep.
I can feel the cold night air coming in through the glassless window door that separates us from the outside. Linda has three blankets; one as a pillow, one underneath her and one over top of her and I’m not about to steal any of her blankets. I’ll just put on my sweatshirt and socks…that should work.
I thinks its now bedtime. I crawl in to the crib (a little small but the fetal position always works!) but no sleep right away.
It’s around 11:40pm and Linda wakes up and looks in the direction I was sitting in when she fell asleep. When she doesn’t see me there, panic strikes her voice as she loudly says my name, “Mary!” I say “I’m here!” in Swahili. She turns her head around and literally sighs out loud and then smiles. I ask her if she’s okay and she says she needs the toilet. We get out of our cribs and head to the toilet. The big, main ward, the one we’re not in, smells of urine and vomit. Most of the room is quiet, except for some little crying from children and snoring from mothers or grandmothers. There are a few people awake; just sitting there but somewhere in the back beds, I hear a woman singing to her child.
I bring Linda back to bed, do the routine of tucking her in tightly, cover her with kisses and say goodnight. She falls asleep almost instantly. What an angel!
It’s 2:19am now and I just suddenly got woken by a loud and long scream. I’m looking around the room to confirm that it’s none of us in our ward. I hear women start to sing and pray. The scream turns into sobbing. I wonder if a child has just lost his/her life. As I too say a prayer, tears fall down my face and I drift off to very light sleep.
Wow, I’m not sleeping much. I look at my cell phone; it reads 3:23am. I hear Linda rustling around under her blanket and making a moaning noise. I think she’s having a nightmare. Linda bolts up in bed and calls, “Mary, Mary!” in a panic. She is looking in the opposite direction that I’m sleeping in. I jump out of the crib and say in Swahili, “Linda, I’m here! It’s okay.” I rub her head, give her a kiss and she lies back down. I sit beside her for a moment, rubbing her head until she falls back to sleep. I then crawl back in to my crib.
It’s now 5:15am. I might as well get up, as I’m up at 5:00am every weekday morning anyway. I crawl out of crib and notice that some of the mothers are starting to stir in their beds too. The noise in the hallways is increasing as people all around our section are starting to wake up also. I pull out the chair and sit next to Linda’s bed.
It’s 7:00am and our social worker, Anne, arrives to relieve me from Linda’s bedside, although I realize that I don’t really want to go. I want to stay with her…we’ve had fun. Its a few minutes later and Linda wakes up. She’s definitely not a morning person. She’s very quiet and non-expressive. It’s quite funny to watch her this way.
Anne goes and gets some water and gives her a quick sponge bath in the bed and rubs her face, arms and legs with smearing oil (aka: Vaseline – it keeps their skin soft and smooth).
After a few minutes, I say good-bye to Linda. I need to go home and get some sleep. She asks if I will come back and visit her. “Of course I will come back. I love you Linda.” She smiles at me, a big beautiful smile. I’ll take that as an “I love you too.” : )
****************
On Thursday, November 20th, Linda was released from the hospital. She returned to HBF and so far, so good. She is doing AMAZINGLY well, her appetite is back and she’s laughing along with the other kids.
Monday, November 17, 2008
A Day Full of Questions....
There are moments when I question all I have been taught, all that I have believed in. There are times when I don’t have a single clue as to why things happen the way they do and when they do. There are days when I just want to throw in the towel and say, “what the hell am I doing here?”
On Saturday, Daniel took our visitor Theresa, along with our social worker Anne, on an assessment. It was in the same area as our children’s home, Hope Bright Future (HBF), where the rest of us were, playing with our children, as per every Saturday.
Daniel and the crew arrived back at HBF but they brought with them two little girls: Stella, twelve years old and her extremely sick younger sister, Linda, seven years old. Daniel was carrying Linda in his arms; she looked so ill. I immediately went over to Stella and introduced myself to her, wrapped my arms around her and had her sat beside me. We talked for a few minutes before she went off to play with the other children at the home.
Daniel told me their story.
The grandmother had abandoned the girls a few weeks back. Some people in the community had made a child neglect complaint against the grandmother to the area chief (similar to a town councilor). The area chief summoned the grandmother and when she arrived, her response to the area chief, “I don’t care. Let them die.”
Let them die? My heart sank. Who could do that? Who could leave a twelve year old alone with her very sickly younger sister? I was angry; I was sad; I was broken.
We looked at Linda’s frail body; malnutrition was definitely there. There were sores on her body; her eyelashes curled up, showing signs of severe dehydration. She was in and out of the awareness of her surroundings. Daniel immediately gave her fluids to try to get some hydration back in to her.
I sat with her for awhile; I asked her if she was tired and she nodded her head yes, so I took her to the girl’s room to lie down. All of us “white people” went in to the girl’s room, sat around her on the bed and began to pray for her. What we prayed, I don’t really recall at this moment…but I know that we all felt emotion. We all felt an overwhelming sadness in what we saw lying there on the bed.
Fast forward to today….
Anne, our social worker is meeting Zipporah (the manager of HBF) and Linda at the hospital today. Linda is getting checked out and a possible HIV test….
A bunch of us went for lunch today. When Lauren S and I arrived at the restaurant, I saw friends of ours: Jeff and Carla. They run a baby’s home for abandoned or orphaned babies. When I saw Carla, she was carrying a little boy named Teddy. His mother abused and then abandoned him quite a few months back. The children’s department got Teddy and handed him over to Jeff and Carla’s ministry. The mother was in prison for the abuse and abandonment but somehow, some judge who must’ve been smoking crack that day, allowed the mother custody of Teddy again. She started raising him….IN PRISON. Shortly thereafter, Teddy got sick and so he was taken to the district hospital. It was then that the mother, receiving a hospital bill that she of course could not afford, said that the baby could return to the children’s department and back to Jeff and Carla.
I immediately swooped Teddy in to my arms and held on to me. We made kissy lips at each other; I did blow farts on his face; he nuzzled in to my neck. We were really a good match for each other. :-) Then Carla said, “Come, meet the newbies.” So we went around the corner and there at one of the tables were two little kids. One I knew for sure was a girl, the other, I wasn’t too sure about (later finding out it was a boy with the possible name of Jackson). Jeff and Carla had picked up these two kids today. The girl, not knowing her name, was a cute chubby little thing, the brother, Jackson, was not at all healthy looking. He looked to be about eight months old but based on the teeth in his mouth; he was probably closer to the age of two, similar to his sister’s age.
As the story was told, the father of the children had chased away the mother and then shortly after, abandoned his two children. The girl was strong enough to walk around and leave the house on her own so the neighbours would care for her, give her food and tea….but never knowing that there was a little boy in the house.
He is your typical World Vision looking kid, the extremely scrawny arms, rib cage protruding from his skin and a bulged out belly. I handed Teddy to Lauren S for a moment and picked up Jackson. He immediately cuddled in to my neck and got as close to my skin as he could. The denial and wanting affection was so evident in this little boy. I looked at his sad little face and again was overcome with emotions of anger, sadness and brokenness.
We ended up holding Teddy and Jackson all through our lunch. I thought it was because I wanted to give Carla a break but in actuality, I just wanted a baby to hold, a baby that I could smother complete affection on and cover in kisses.
After our lunch and busy afternoon of shopping and putting the groceries away, I started doing some accounting work. I got a call from Anne…
They’ve admitted Linda in to the hospital. She has severe malaria, severe pneumonia and yes, tested positive for HIV. All the questions started flooding my mind. The question why came up again and again in my head. I lost it. I sat on the chair and burst in to tears. Sean immediately came over and let me cry on his shoulder.
A mother abuses and abandons her child twice. A father abandons his children; one on the brink of starvation. A grandmother says she doesn’t care if her grandchildren die. Who are these people? How could they do this?
I am at a loss of words and at the moment at a loss of hope. When does it end? When does a child stop suffering? I don’t know what else to say right now…my heart is too broken, my words don’t make sense and my mind is all over the place.
On Saturday, Daniel took our visitor Theresa, along with our social worker Anne, on an assessment. It was in the same area as our children’s home, Hope Bright Future (HBF), where the rest of us were, playing with our children, as per every Saturday.
Daniel and the crew arrived back at HBF but they brought with them two little girls: Stella, twelve years old and her extremely sick younger sister, Linda, seven years old. Daniel was carrying Linda in his arms; she looked so ill. I immediately went over to Stella and introduced myself to her, wrapped my arms around her and had her sat beside me. We talked for a few minutes before she went off to play with the other children at the home.
Daniel told me their story.
The grandmother had abandoned the girls a few weeks back. Some people in the community had made a child neglect complaint against the grandmother to the area chief (similar to a town councilor). The area chief summoned the grandmother and when she arrived, her response to the area chief, “I don’t care. Let them die.”
Let them die? My heart sank. Who could do that? Who could leave a twelve year old alone with her very sickly younger sister? I was angry; I was sad; I was broken.
We looked at Linda’s frail body; malnutrition was definitely there. There were sores on her body; her eyelashes curled up, showing signs of severe dehydration. She was in and out of the awareness of her surroundings. Daniel immediately gave her fluids to try to get some hydration back in to her.
I sat with her for awhile; I asked her if she was tired and she nodded her head yes, so I took her to the girl’s room to lie down. All of us “white people” went in to the girl’s room, sat around her on the bed and began to pray for her. What we prayed, I don’t really recall at this moment…but I know that we all felt emotion. We all felt an overwhelming sadness in what we saw lying there on the bed.
Fast forward to today….
Anne, our social worker is meeting Zipporah (the manager of HBF) and Linda at the hospital today. Linda is getting checked out and a possible HIV test….
A bunch of us went for lunch today. When Lauren S and I arrived at the restaurant, I saw friends of ours: Jeff and Carla. They run a baby’s home for abandoned or orphaned babies. When I saw Carla, she was carrying a little boy named Teddy. His mother abused and then abandoned him quite a few months back. The children’s department got Teddy and handed him over to Jeff and Carla’s ministry. The mother was in prison for the abuse and abandonment but somehow, some judge who must’ve been smoking crack that day, allowed the mother custody of Teddy again. She started raising him….IN PRISON. Shortly thereafter, Teddy got sick and so he was taken to the district hospital. It was then that the mother, receiving a hospital bill that she of course could not afford, said that the baby could return to the children’s department and back to Jeff and Carla.
I immediately swooped Teddy in to my arms and held on to me. We made kissy lips at each other; I did blow farts on his face; he nuzzled in to my neck. We were really a good match for each other. :-) Then Carla said, “Come, meet the newbies.” So we went around the corner and there at one of the tables were two little kids. One I knew for sure was a girl, the other, I wasn’t too sure about (later finding out it was a boy with the possible name of Jackson). Jeff and Carla had picked up these two kids today. The girl, not knowing her name, was a cute chubby little thing, the brother, Jackson, was not at all healthy looking. He looked to be about eight months old but based on the teeth in his mouth; he was probably closer to the age of two, similar to his sister’s age.
As the story was told, the father of the children had chased away the mother and then shortly after, abandoned his two children. The girl was strong enough to walk around and leave the house on her own so the neighbours would care for her, give her food and tea….but never knowing that there was a little boy in the house.
He is your typical World Vision looking kid, the extremely scrawny arms, rib cage protruding from his skin and a bulged out belly. I handed Teddy to Lauren S for a moment and picked up Jackson. He immediately cuddled in to my neck and got as close to my skin as he could. The denial and wanting affection was so evident in this little boy. I looked at his sad little face and again was overcome with emotions of anger, sadness and brokenness.
We ended up holding Teddy and Jackson all through our lunch. I thought it was because I wanted to give Carla a break but in actuality, I just wanted a baby to hold, a baby that I could smother complete affection on and cover in kisses.
After our lunch and busy afternoon of shopping and putting the groceries away, I started doing some accounting work. I got a call from Anne…
They’ve admitted Linda in to the hospital. She has severe malaria, severe pneumonia and yes, tested positive for HIV. All the questions started flooding my mind. The question why came up again and again in my head. I lost it. I sat on the chair and burst in to tears. Sean immediately came over and let me cry on his shoulder.
A mother abuses and abandons her child twice. A father abandons his children; one on the brink of starvation. A grandmother says she doesn’t care if her grandchildren die. Who are these people? How could they do this?
I am at a loss of words and at the moment at a loss of hope. When does it end? When does a child stop suffering? I don’t know what else to say right now…my heart is too broken, my words don’t make sense and my mind is all over the place.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Sharing My Story...
I want to share this story with you because I want to share the children’s questions, the children’s views on things here. But to share this story with you means I need to share a little bit more of myself with some of you who don’t know. So here it goes…
Four of our interns, Andrew, Nate, Andrea and Lauren S, go to a primary school that is located on the outskirts of a slum, just 5 minutes from our compound. They go to the school twice a week, after school is done and talk with six, seven and eighth graders. They’ve touched on topics such as Christianity, puberty, and sex.
This past Tuesday, the topic for the day’s discussion was rape. I was asked to come and speak to the students, to share my story, my struggles and my forgiveness from my rape that happened over 15 years ago.
When I started to tell them that I had been raped, some kids laughed. I asked why they thought something of a serious nature would be funny to them. They didn’t answer so I gave some thoughts as to why they thought it was humorous. The reason: they never thought bad things happened to white people.
I told them that 1 out of every 4 women in North America are raped. Therefore, out of the three of us white women at the front of the class; I was that one that had been raped. It shocked them.
I spoke at times, directly to the boys. “When a girl says no, you MUST listen to her. You MUST respect her no and not push her further or force yourself upon her.” I could see snickers on some of their faces. In a culture where in many places are still old school traditions, the men are still superior to women, the men still have control of women, the men can take whatever they want from women…some of these boys still lived in that warped existence.
I asked the boys who had sisters to raise their hand. Almost all the boys raised their hands. I then asked the boys who had mothers to raise their hand; again almost all the boys raised their hands. Then I said, “Picture your sister coming home, crying, bleeding, beaten, with torn clothes and she tells you that she has been raped. Picture it.” The boys grow quiet. “When your sister tells you this, are you happy? Are you happy to hear that she has been raped?” All the boys say no. I said, “Are you angry? Very angry at what just happened to your sister?” They all shout, “Yes!!” I said, “Are you so angry that they did this to your sister, that you want to go and beat them?” “YES!!!” They shout.
Then I say it. “Now remember boys, the next time you want to force yourself upon a girl, remember that she is somebody’s sister.” You could hear a pin drop in the room.
After sharing my story, I opened it up for questioning for the whole group: boys and girls. At first, similar questions were asked: “Were you angry with him?”, “How long did it take you to forgive him?” “Were you afraid that you could be pregnant?” and so on.
One of the first questions from a boy was, “Can boys also be raped?” And the look on his face was so serious, so sad. “Absolutely!” I said, “And it’s no less scary or wrong for a man to be raped as it is for woman.”
Another boy asked me the name of the person who had raped me. I wouldn’t tell them. I knew that this question was going to be asked and I had prepared an answer for when it was asked. I wouldn’t give the name out because I wanted to respect any boy in that room that could have the same name. I knew that if I had told them, they would all immediately point and laugh at the boy in the class who had the same name (if there was even a boy with the same name) and I didn’t want to cause embarrassment to someone that had nothing to do with my story. The students agreed that they would’ve done that and I’m sure all the boys were thankful for me not releasing the name, dreading that it may be their name.
After awhile, we separated the boys and girls. The boys left with Andrew and Nate to discuss more in-depth questions that may be awkward for them to ask in front of the girls. Andrea, Lauren and I stayed to talk with the girls and some of the most difficult questions were asked to me. With almost every question asked, I had to take a silent moment and ask God for wisdom. Without Him, I don’t think I would’ve been able to answer some of them.
Here is a list of some of the questions:
- After you wrote him the letter forgiving him, did he contact you? Are you two friends now?
- What if you’re raped and he gives you HIV/AIDS from the rape? How can you forgive him for ruining the rest of your life?
- What do you do if you’re raped and you get pregnant and you have the child and the child looks like the man who raped you and you hate that child because it reminds you of the rape?
- How can you know if a baby has been raped?
- How can you tell if a girl has been raped?
- What do you do to get rid of the sadness that’s inside of you if you have been raped?
- What should you do if you are raped?
- Are women in North America raped by their fathers or other men that they know?
There were so many questions; all of them valid; all of them asked with extreme seriousness. I looked around the room and saw in to some of their girl’s eyes. I could see the sadness; I could see the pain; I could see the rape victims. And it broke me.
I went through a time in my life, after the rape, where I was angry with God. I blamed Him, asked Him, “Why didn’t you save me? Why didn’t you stop it?” Back in 2001, God gave me the reason. He showed me the verse 2 Corinthians 1:3-4: Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
I believe that God can take every bad situation that happens and turn it in to something good. And talking to those kids, especially the girls, on Tuesday about my story, sharing my pain, my thoughts, my healing and my suggestions to them, helped some of them. Even if it only helped one girl, then it was all worth it. When a girl or woman that I know has been raped, I am thankful that I am reminded of the pain that I went through because I know how to comfort and pray for those girls and women.
A few years back, I decided to work with God rather than fight Him and take the something bad and make it something good. It’s amazing how wonderful it really feels.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Crazy Week - Part 3
Our final trip with the Foster Group was in Nairobi. The Foster Group left our home on October 3rd and the TI team traveled to Nairobi on October 5th and spent a few days there. We spent October 6th, our last day with the Foster Group in one of the many Nairobi slums, called Soweto.
Soweto Slums
Soweto is a name that is derived from the place in South Africa. It means “trouble”. Soweto in South Africa is a dangerous, dirty place (from what I’ve been told and read about). So does the curse of the word, the name, follow….who knows?
I’ve blogged about Soweto to you before. It’s a slum in Nairobi that is very much forgotten. It can’t even compare to the commercialism that has followed the largest slum in Africa, which is Kibera (Key-bear-a) and therefore little to no assistance reaches these people.
There is a school in Soweto that TI has a relationship with. We are good friends of the people who run the school, we sponsor a few children at the school and the Foster Group for the past months has provided the food to the students of this school. On most days, it’s the only food these children receive.
The group was shocked by the huge dump site on the outskirt of the slums, where there were dozens of people, children included, rummaging through the garbage for food to eat, and for plastic bottles to take back to recycling companies for money back, even if it was for only a few pennies. As we crossed the river, I could see the curled noses at the sight and stench of the dark grey river filled with garbage and human waste.
We did a tour of the slum, to which became too difficult for some of the group members. The dirty, hungry looking, sick children running around us, wanting to greet us and hold our hands, was overwhelming. Just being there for a half an hour was emotionally draining on some people.
We went to the school that we assist and were greeted with screams of excitement by the children. On mine and Daniel’s last trip there in May with Daniel’s parents, the children sang and danced for us. I had joined them in the dancing and (un)fortunately they remembered that and therefore some of the girls wanted me to stand alongside them again and be a part of the dancing. :-) Thankfully, I was saved from the teachers and they agreed that I didn’t practice the routines so I would be a little lost. “Next time, Mary! You dance with us next time.” That’s what they said. Yep, next time I will!
The students presented some songs and skits for us all. Their faces were painted and they even wore costumes for their performances. The teams got a tour of the school and were introduced to each teacher.
From there, the Foster Group presented to the teachers, books and supplies for the school. There was excitement in their faces; seeing that they have more supplies now to work with, to help better teach their students. It is so evident that these teachers love their job and love their students despite the hardships that they all encounter there on a daily basis.
After a few hours at the school, we headed back to the city, said our goodbyes to the Foster Group and parted ways with them. For me, it was an emotional goodbye. I have made some great friends in Sandy and Cathy and I really miss them.
Walking through Soweto
Doing skits for us
Beautiful kids of Soweto
Holding a doll, tightly...
TI in Nairobi
The TI crew stayed another day in Nairobi. We celebrated my birthday the evening we arrived (October 5th). Thank you to EVERYONE who sent me birthday wishes; I SOOOOOOOO appreciated and loved it. For my birthday, I got from the TI crew, a kick-butt 3-CD changer stereo. It’s pretty amazing.
On October 7th, the TI crew went to Nairobi City Park for some fun with the monkeys. We heard about this park from a few friends of ours and decided to check it out. Oh my, it was so much fun. Get some nuts, fruit and bananas and your guaranteed to have monkeys crawling all over you. And we did. It was so much stinkin’ fun!!!
We chased away the aggressive monkeys that weren’t letting the little ones eat or have fun. We got them to climb up on our shoulders, our heads and wherever else they knew they could get to the food. Some monkeys were a little more timid than others. It was a moment of, “Oh my gosh, I’m in Africa. I have monkeys on my shoulder, on my head.” It helped us release a bit of what we had just been a part of for the past two weeks; it allowed us to have some fun and enjoy the sillier things here…even if it was just for a little while.
Sean and his newfound friend.
Nate and his friend, ED
Me with George
"Give me food!"
Lauren's found love!
"Give me nuts!"
They were seriously fighting over Andrew.
Andrea & Andrew just hanging out with their friends.
Soweto Slums
Soweto is a name that is derived from the place in South Africa. It means “trouble”. Soweto in South Africa is a dangerous, dirty place (from what I’ve been told and read about). So does the curse of the word, the name, follow….who knows?
I’ve blogged about Soweto to you before. It’s a slum in Nairobi that is very much forgotten. It can’t even compare to the commercialism that has followed the largest slum in Africa, which is Kibera (Key-bear-a) and therefore little to no assistance reaches these people.
There is a school in Soweto that TI has a relationship with. We are good friends of the people who run the school, we sponsor a few children at the school and the Foster Group for the past months has provided the food to the students of this school. On most days, it’s the only food these children receive.
The group was shocked by the huge dump site on the outskirt of the slums, where there were dozens of people, children included, rummaging through the garbage for food to eat, and for plastic bottles to take back to recycling companies for money back, even if it was for only a few pennies. As we crossed the river, I could see the curled noses at the sight and stench of the dark grey river filled with garbage and human waste.
We did a tour of the slum, to which became too difficult for some of the group members. The dirty, hungry looking, sick children running around us, wanting to greet us and hold our hands, was overwhelming. Just being there for a half an hour was emotionally draining on some people.
We went to the school that we assist and were greeted with screams of excitement by the children. On mine and Daniel’s last trip there in May with Daniel’s parents, the children sang and danced for us. I had joined them in the dancing and (un)fortunately they remembered that and therefore some of the girls wanted me to stand alongside them again and be a part of the dancing. :-) Thankfully, I was saved from the teachers and they agreed that I didn’t practice the routines so I would be a little lost. “Next time, Mary! You dance with us next time.” That’s what they said. Yep, next time I will!
The students presented some songs and skits for us all. Their faces were painted and they even wore costumes for their performances. The teams got a tour of the school and were introduced to each teacher.
From there, the Foster Group presented to the teachers, books and supplies for the school. There was excitement in their faces; seeing that they have more supplies now to work with, to help better teach their students. It is so evident that these teachers love their job and love their students despite the hardships that they all encounter there on a daily basis.
After a few hours at the school, we headed back to the city, said our goodbyes to the Foster Group and parted ways with them. For me, it was an emotional goodbye. I have made some great friends in Sandy and Cathy and I really miss them.
Walking through Soweto
Doing skits for us
Beautiful kids of Soweto
Holding a doll, tightly...TI in Nairobi
The TI crew stayed another day in Nairobi. We celebrated my birthday the evening we arrived (October 5th). Thank you to EVERYONE who sent me birthday wishes; I SOOOOOOOO appreciated and loved it. For my birthday, I got from the TI crew, a kick-butt 3-CD changer stereo. It’s pretty amazing.
On October 7th, the TI crew went to Nairobi City Park for some fun with the monkeys. We heard about this park from a few friends of ours and decided to check it out. Oh my, it was so much fun. Get some nuts, fruit and bananas and your guaranteed to have monkeys crawling all over you. And we did. It was so much stinkin’ fun!!!
We chased away the aggressive monkeys that weren’t letting the little ones eat or have fun. We got them to climb up on our shoulders, our heads and wherever else they knew they could get to the food. Some monkeys were a little more timid than others. It was a moment of, “Oh my gosh, I’m in Africa. I have monkeys on my shoulder, on my head.” It helped us release a bit of what we had just been a part of for the past two weeks; it allowed us to have some fun and enjoy the sillier things here…even if it was just for a little while.
Sean and his newfound friend.
Nate and his friend, ED
Me with George
"Give me food!"
Lauren's found love!
"Give me nuts!"
They were seriously fighting over Andrew.
Andrea & Andrew just hanging out with their friends.Thursday, October 23, 2008
Crazy Week - Part 2
As mentioned in my Part 1 blog, we did two food distributions to needy communities in our area. We had one more community a few days after that. This community hit people in more ways than the previous two; it left many of us emotional.
Kolongolo Village
Kolongolo (Colon-go-low) is a community that is deep in the bush. It is a village over an hour away from Kitale, most of it on rough dirt roads. It’s about 2kms from the border of West Pokot (Po-cot), which is considered a fairy violent tribe among other Kenyans. The Pokot people believe that all livestock, especially cattle, belongs to them, therefore other people living in the area of the Pokot, do not own cattle. If they did, the cattle would have been stolen and if people tried to protect their livestock, they would’ve been killed. There are very few people in this community who have livestock and if they did, they have permission by the Pokot to keep their own livestock. How they get the permission and from who, I don’t know.
Kolongolo is a very poor community. HIV/AIDs has swept this area and the high percentage of this place is widows raising their children on their own and grandmothers left to care for the grandchildren. We connected with this community because a Kenyan family that we are close to has their home out there. The mother/wife in this family has been connected to this community for years, has been assisting from their own farm and resources to help these women and children survive.
On September 30th, the Foster Group and TI delivered maize, beans, blankets and school uniforms to 15 families. The welcome was overwhelming. Here were women and children without anything, but together, they presented us with a large bag of corn on the cob and a dozen eggs as a thank you for coming and assisting them. They were giving us food, a gift of thanks. That in itself was completely overwhelming.
We had some of the children present songs to us, then some of the widows and grandmothers. During the time at Kolongolo, we found a few children who were really sick.
There was one boy, Isaiah, who the previous week had hurt himself on a bike. The wound in his ankle area had not been properly taken care of. Lauren R removed the dirty bandage to find it was infected and smelled horribly. The bone was showing; I had never seen a cut that deep, flesh so infected and exposed before. With the little resources that we had available, anti-bacterial wipes, a tank top and a Swiss army knife, she cleaned up the wound, tied it up and we arranged to have the boy taken to the hospital for further examination.
There was a young mother there whose husband had died of AIDs; she did not know if she or her child had contracted the illness from him. We recommended that they be taken to the hospital as well to find out. We gave these families transport money and arranged when we would meet them at the hospital.
We left Kolongolo that day even more so physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted than we did at Maili Saba and Shimo. The Foster Group was deeply touched by this village and prayers have been answered in Kolongolo. We look forward to see what comes about over the next year here.
The Hospital
On October 2nd, Anne (our social worker), Lauren R and I went to Kitale’s district hospital, to meet with the families from Kolongolo that needed medical assistance.
The first was a little girl named Rachel. She hadn’t been feeling well for quite awhile. After testing, it was confirmed that she had Tuberculosis. The doctor and Anne thoroughly explained to Rachel’s grandmother, the importance and necessity of the medication for Rachel. The curing of Tuberculosis is a lengthy process and missing of treatment can lead to starting the treatment all over again.
The second was a sweet little boy named Kevin. He has had this sore in his belly button for awhile that we’ve been treating. From what it looks like and after a bit of research, it’s a common illness where the intestine pushes out the belly button. The doctor looked at it, gave him two injections (arm and bum) of something that I’m not sure of but knew that Kevin didn’t like as he cried for quite awhile, rubbing his arm and bum. He also got medication and will go back for a follow-up in the next little while.
The third case was that of Isaiah’s, the boy with the hole on his ankle. We got to go in to the ‘minor surgery’ room and Lauren and I were quite excited about it, thinking we just might get to see a bit of surgery done. We were sadly mistaken, although I’m sure Isaiah was thankful that there was no surgery. When the doctor removed the bandage that Lauren had done back in Kolongolo, he asked Isaiah’s mother when it had happened, she told him about a week before. The doctor glared at the mother and demanded to know why she didn’t bring him in sooner, to which Anne defended Isaiah’s mother saying she lived deep in the village where there is no medical care or finances. The doctor ignored Anne and attacked the mother again, to which the mother, put her head down in shame and said in Swahili, “I have no money to bring him here.” The doctor shut up.
The cost of transportation to and from the hospital for Isaiah’s mother is about $6. To us, that amount of money is nothing but here in Kenya, to a widow who has no means of income and has mouths to feed, $6 is unimaginable. And then there is the medication and the hospital fees to pay on top of that. Six dollars now turns in to $10 or $15 dollars, more than she could financially handle. So she cleans the wound with soap and dirty water, wraps it with an old dirty rag from somewhere around their home and prays for the best. That’s all she can do.
The doctor took the bandage off, rubbed it with alcohol, to which made Isaiah wince and cry and then covered a bandage in iodine, placed it on the wound, wrapped it up and told them to come back on Saturday and Monday. That was it! We were shocked at that; we could’ve done those ourselves. And so we made sure Isaiah’s mother had money for transport and medical care for those days that she was to return.
The fourth case was the wife whose husband had died of AIDS and her little girl Nancy. We all walked in to the pediatrician’s ward (if that’s what you could call it). We walked in to this large room and it was quite a sight to see. There were over 100 mothers PLUS their children in this semi-large open room. Some of the mothers looked as young as 13-14 years old, holding their children. I stared at them thinking, “These are children themselves, now raising children.”
The room was packed; it had benches lining the walls of the room and a few more in the middle. The only empty spots on the benches remaining were the ones we sat on when we arrived. There were two tables in the room; one in the middle, considered the “reception desk” that had doctors and nurses just hanging out at. They weren’t doing too much from what I could see, except for having a conversation among each other. The other table was to the right, in the corner. There were two doctors and a weigh scale for babies; they were busy working away as baby after baby was laid on the scale, the doctors writing something down, saying something to the mother and then moving on to the next baby.
A nurse came over to us and asked if we could be helped. Anne spoke to the nurse regarding this mother’s situation and the nurse took us to another area of the hospital. Lauren and I could see the nervousness on this mother’s face, knowing the rest of her life and what it may look like was going to be determined today. We went to the area of the hospital for HIV/AIDS counseling, medication, etc. The mother was told that she would be tested and if it was positive, she would immediately be counseled and assisted for the free medication provided by the government (and other countries) to help prolong her life and assist her immune system.
We were not able to stay with her during this time so we all went and had lunch with the other three families that we had assisted at the hospital and then sent them on their way back to Kolongolo.
Lauren and I went back to town to do some other things while we waited for the details of the mother and her little daughter Nancy’s status. We ended up meeting back up with Daniel, Anne, the mother and Nancy in town.
The mother and Nancy were tested positive for HIV. I hugged the mother for as long as I could and as tightly as I could. I kissed Nancy’s face over and over again until I saw that beautiful smile of hers appear. And before my tears could flow, I said goodbye to them and walked over to our taxi, told Lauren the news, both of us put our sunglasses on and started to cry. Two more lives devastated by a disease that I can’t begin to comprehend and despise more than I can ever explain.
And that’s all I can say for now…
Kolongolo Village
Kolongolo (Colon-go-low) is a community that is deep in the bush. It is a village over an hour away from Kitale, most of it on rough dirt roads. It’s about 2kms from the border of West Pokot (Po-cot), which is considered a fairy violent tribe among other Kenyans. The Pokot people believe that all livestock, especially cattle, belongs to them, therefore other people living in the area of the Pokot, do not own cattle. If they did, the cattle would have been stolen and if people tried to protect their livestock, they would’ve been killed. There are very few people in this community who have livestock and if they did, they have permission by the Pokot to keep their own livestock. How they get the permission and from who, I don’t know.
Kolongolo is a very poor community. HIV/AIDs has swept this area and the high percentage of this place is widows raising their children on their own and grandmothers left to care for the grandchildren. We connected with this community because a Kenyan family that we are close to has their home out there. The mother/wife in this family has been connected to this community for years, has been assisting from their own farm and resources to help these women and children survive.
On September 30th, the Foster Group and TI delivered maize, beans, blankets and school uniforms to 15 families. The welcome was overwhelming. Here were women and children without anything, but together, they presented us with a large bag of corn on the cob and a dozen eggs as a thank you for coming and assisting them. They were giving us food, a gift of thanks. That in itself was completely overwhelming.
We had some of the children present songs to us, then some of the widows and grandmothers. During the time at Kolongolo, we found a few children who were really sick.
There was one boy, Isaiah, who the previous week had hurt himself on a bike. The wound in his ankle area had not been properly taken care of. Lauren R removed the dirty bandage to find it was infected and smelled horribly. The bone was showing; I had never seen a cut that deep, flesh so infected and exposed before. With the little resources that we had available, anti-bacterial wipes, a tank top and a Swiss army knife, she cleaned up the wound, tied it up and we arranged to have the boy taken to the hospital for further examination.
There was a young mother there whose husband had died of AIDs; she did not know if she or her child had contracted the illness from him. We recommended that they be taken to the hospital as well to find out. We gave these families transport money and arranged when we would meet them at the hospital.
We left Kolongolo that day even more so physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted than we did at Maili Saba and Shimo. The Foster Group was deeply touched by this village and prayers have been answered in Kolongolo. We look forward to see what comes about over the next year here.
The Hospital
On October 2nd, Anne (our social worker), Lauren R and I went to Kitale’s district hospital, to meet with the families from Kolongolo that needed medical assistance.
The first was a little girl named Rachel. She hadn’t been feeling well for quite awhile. After testing, it was confirmed that she had Tuberculosis. The doctor and Anne thoroughly explained to Rachel’s grandmother, the importance and necessity of the medication for Rachel. The curing of Tuberculosis is a lengthy process and missing of treatment can lead to starting the treatment all over again.
The second was a sweet little boy named Kevin. He has had this sore in his belly button for awhile that we’ve been treating. From what it looks like and after a bit of research, it’s a common illness where the intestine pushes out the belly button. The doctor looked at it, gave him two injections (arm and bum) of something that I’m not sure of but knew that Kevin didn’t like as he cried for quite awhile, rubbing his arm and bum. He also got medication and will go back for a follow-up in the next little while.
The third case was that of Isaiah’s, the boy with the hole on his ankle. We got to go in to the ‘minor surgery’ room and Lauren and I were quite excited about it, thinking we just might get to see a bit of surgery done. We were sadly mistaken, although I’m sure Isaiah was thankful that there was no surgery. When the doctor removed the bandage that Lauren had done back in Kolongolo, he asked Isaiah’s mother when it had happened, she told him about a week before. The doctor glared at the mother and demanded to know why she didn’t bring him in sooner, to which Anne defended Isaiah’s mother saying she lived deep in the village where there is no medical care or finances. The doctor ignored Anne and attacked the mother again, to which the mother, put her head down in shame and said in Swahili, “I have no money to bring him here.” The doctor shut up.
The cost of transportation to and from the hospital for Isaiah’s mother is about $6. To us, that amount of money is nothing but here in Kenya, to a widow who has no means of income and has mouths to feed, $6 is unimaginable. And then there is the medication and the hospital fees to pay on top of that. Six dollars now turns in to $10 or $15 dollars, more than she could financially handle. So she cleans the wound with soap and dirty water, wraps it with an old dirty rag from somewhere around their home and prays for the best. That’s all she can do.
The doctor took the bandage off, rubbed it with alcohol, to which made Isaiah wince and cry and then covered a bandage in iodine, placed it on the wound, wrapped it up and told them to come back on Saturday and Monday. That was it! We were shocked at that; we could’ve done those ourselves. And so we made sure Isaiah’s mother had money for transport and medical care for those days that she was to return.
The fourth case was the wife whose husband had died of AIDS and her little girl Nancy. We all walked in to the pediatrician’s ward (if that’s what you could call it). We walked in to this large room and it was quite a sight to see. There were over 100 mothers PLUS their children in this semi-large open room. Some of the mothers looked as young as 13-14 years old, holding their children. I stared at them thinking, “These are children themselves, now raising children.”
The room was packed; it had benches lining the walls of the room and a few more in the middle. The only empty spots on the benches remaining were the ones we sat on when we arrived. There were two tables in the room; one in the middle, considered the “reception desk” that had doctors and nurses just hanging out at. They weren’t doing too much from what I could see, except for having a conversation among each other. The other table was to the right, in the corner. There were two doctors and a weigh scale for babies; they were busy working away as baby after baby was laid on the scale, the doctors writing something down, saying something to the mother and then moving on to the next baby.
A nurse came over to us and asked if we could be helped. Anne spoke to the nurse regarding this mother’s situation and the nurse took us to another area of the hospital. Lauren and I could see the nervousness on this mother’s face, knowing the rest of her life and what it may look like was going to be determined today. We went to the area of the hospital for HIV/AIDS counseling, medication, etc. The mother was told that she would be tested and if it was positive, she would immediately be counseled and assisted for the free medication provided by the government (and other countries) to help prolong her life and assist her immune system.
We were not able to stay with her during this time so we all went and had lunch with the other three families that we had assisted at the hospital and then sent them on their way back to Kolongolo.
Lauren and I went back to town to do some other things while we waited for the details of the mother and her little daughter Nancy’s status. We ended up meeting back up with Daniel, Anne, the mother and Nancy in town.
The mother and Nancy were tested positive for HIV. I hugged the mother for as long as I could and as tightly as I could. I kissed Nancy’s face over and over again until I saw that beautiful smile of hers appear. And before my tears could flow, I said goodbye to them and walked over to our taxi, told Lauren the news, both of us put our sunglasses on and started to cry. Two more lives devastated by a disease that I can’t begin to comprehend and despise more than I can ever explain.
And that’s all I can say for now…
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Crazy Week - Part 1
Quick note: I’m sorry that this email/blog is almost a month late. One, it was extremely busy few weeks with the team here and two, our internet has been down for over two weeks, which makes it difficult to post pictures. Hopefully, you’ll forgive and enjoy the next few updates…
Crazy Week – Part 1
It’s been a crazy and emotional few weeks for all of us here at the TI compound. We’ve all experienced different types of emotions but for the most part, it’s been emotional. In order not to bore everyone or have a blog that is about 10 pages long (because trust me, with all that’s happened, it very well could be), I’ll break down the past week in to separate blogs.
Maili Saba & Shimo
On Thursday, September 25th, the TI team (staff and interns) as well as the Foster Group (Sandy, Don, Cathy, Carol and Julie), spent the day at the compound packing food for the big distribution that we were going to be having the following day. There were enough bags of maize (corn) and beans to feed 177 families as well as 500 blankets to distribute to each family.
It was a long day and an exhausting one for us as all as we (well lets be honest, it was mostly the guys) carried up to 190lbs bags of maize to package.
Distributing the food for the big day.
On Friday, September 26th, was the big distribution day. We were ready to go and had the three pick up trucks loaded by 9:30am. We drove to our first destination called Maili Saba (my-lee sa-baa). As we approached the road, there lining the path were tons of children with their old grandmothers and children with their widowed mothers. When they saw the trucks and the taxis arrive, they began to sing and dance. It was beautiful and emotional.
The Families
Trucks full of food
We unloaded the trucks and got organized. This food distribution stop was the largest one out of all of them. There were 108 widows and grandmothers that we assisted. We set up the food along one side, calling over 20 families at a time. They would receive their blankets first, some getting more blankets than others depending on the size of the family.
Families lined up for food and blankets.
The line-up of women and children was overwhelming. We did the same community last year when the Foster Group was here but this year was different. There were more children which meant more poverty hitting more families, more children. It was way too difficult.
As each family received their food and blankets, they were then prayed for by our interns. They were welcoming and so incredibly thankful of the prayers.
I had two beautiful little girls, Chebet (my Nandi tribe name) and Nancy, cling to me for most of the time there at Maili Saba. All of us made some new, cute little friends that day.
Chebet & Nancy
Nancy, Me & Chebet
Carrying her blanket home...
After we returned from Maili Saba, we grabbed lunch in town and then headed back to our compound to fill up the pick up truck with maize, beans and blankets for our next food distribution location, Shimo La Tewa (She-mo La Tay-wa). We had done this location last year as well with the Foster Group. It is a slum area, about 5 minutes from our home. It is filled with drunkards, young children, rape victims, widows, grandmothers and prostitutes. It’s an area that is forgotten because it’s in a corner of the town and not as large as the other slum in Kitale.
There is a school that borders the slum and our community, called Shimo La Tewa Primary. This is where we do our distribution. We have a relationship with the Headmaster (principal) there and the school counselor (it’s the school counselor that assists on finding the families for the distribution as she is familiar with the needy in this community). The school counselor, in fact, informed us that this year, four girls in grades seven and eight dropped out of school because they were pregnant. Grade Seven and Eight?!?!?!? Sadness, complete sadness.
When we arrived at the school, there were the women, sitting in wooden school desks in the yard of the school, as students still in class looked out the window, watching the commotion begin. The women started to dance and sing for us. And like at Maila Saba, there were more children and here, the children were dirty, wearing torn clothes that probably hadn’t been washed in weeks. But that didn’t stop us from hugging, chasing, kissing and loving on these children.
Kenyan Child Beauty
He got his lollypop stolen...
In Shimo, we assisted over 50 families with maize, beans, blankets and prayers. At the end of the day, we were all physically, emotional and spiritually exhausted. Some of us came home and cried, cried over the poverty we had just seen, cried over the children that were so dirty, cried over the lack of love or affection these children receive at their homes. We just didn’t understand why people have to live this way. We did a lot of processing, knowing that we still had one more distribution to do in the next few days.
Food for Shimo
Praying for the people of Shimo
THE TI CREW...
Crazy Week – Part 1
It’s been a crazy and emotional few weeks for all of us here at the TI compound. We’ve all experienced different types of emotions but for the most part, it’s been emotional. In order not to bore everyone or have a blog that is about 10 pages long (because trust me, with all that’s happened, it very well could be), I’ll break down the past week in to separate blogs.
Maili Saba & Shimo
On Thursday, September 25th, the TI team (staff and interns) as well as the Foster Group (Sandy, Don, Cathy, Carol and Julie), spent the day at the compound packing food for the big distribution that we were going to be having the following day. There were enough bags of maize (corn) and beans to feed 177 families as well as 500 blankets to distribute to each family.
It was a long day and an exhausting one for us as all as we (well lets be honest, it was mostly the guys) carried up to 190lbs bags of maize to package.
Distributing the food for the big day.On Friday, September 26th, was the big distribution day. We were ready to go and had the three pick up trucks loaded by 9:30am. We drove to our first destination called Maili Saba (my-lee sa-baa). As we approached the road, there lining the path were tons of children with their old grandmothers and children with their widowed mothers. When they saw the trucks and the taxis arrive, they began to sing and dance. It was beautiful and emotional.
The Families Trucks full of foodWe unloaded the trucks and got organized. This food distribution stop was the largest one out of all of them. There were 108 widows and grandmothers that we assisted. We set up the food along one side, calling over 20 families at a time. They would receive their blankets first, some getting more blankets than others depending on the size of the family.
Families lined up for food and blankets. The line-up of women and children was overwhelming. We did the same community last year when the Foster Group was here but this year was different. There were more children which meant more poverty hitting more families, more children. It was way too difficult.
As each family received their food and blankets, they were then prayed for by our interns. They were welcoming and so incredibly thankful of the prayers.
I had two beautiful little girls, Chebet (my Nandi tribe name) and Nancy, cling to me for most of the time there at Maili Saba. All of us made some new, cute little friends that day.
Chebet & Nancy
Nancy, Me & Chebet
Carrying her blanket home...After we returned from Maili Saba, we grabbed lunch in town and then headed back to our compound to fill up the pick up truck with maize, beans and blankets for our next food distribution location, Shimo La Tewa (She-mo La Tay-wa). We had done this location last year as well with the Foster Group. It is a slum area, about 5 minutes from our home. It is filled with drunkards, young children, rape victims, widows, grandmothers and prostitutes. It’s an area that is forgotten because it’s in a corner of the town and not as large as the other slum in Kitale.
There is a school that borders the slum and our community, called Shimo La Tewa Primary. This is where we do our distribution. We have a relationship with the Headmaster (principal) there and the school counselor (it’s the school counselor that assists on finding the families for the distribution as she is familiar with the needy in this community). The school counselor, in fact, informed us that this year, four girls in grades seven and eight dropped out of school because they were pregnant. Grade Seven and Eight?!?!?!? Sadness, complete sadness.
When we arrived at the school, there were the women, sitting in wooden school desks in the yard of the school, as students still in class looked out the window, watching the commotion begin. The women started to dance and sing for us. And like at Maila Saba, there were more children and here, the children were dirty, wearing torn clothes that probably hadn’t been washed in weeks. But that didn’t stop us from hugging, chasing, kissing and loving on these children.
Kenyan Child Beauty
He got his lollypop stolen...In Shimo, we assisted over 50 families with maize, beans, blankets and prayers. At the end of the day, we were all physically, emotional and spiritually exhausted. Some of us came home and cried, cried over the poverty we had just seen, cried over the children that were so dirty, cried over the lack of love or affection these children receive at their homes. We just didn’t understand why people have to live this way. We did a lot of processing, knowing that we still had one more distribution to do in the next few days.
Food for Shimo
Praying for the people of ShimoThat’s for Part 2…
THE TI CREW...Back row: Sean, Andrea, Andrew, Daniel
Front row: Lauren R, Nate, Lauren S, Ina, Meredith
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
