Week One in the African Jungle

I have been settled here in Mukumu for a little over a week now, but it feels as though I have been here for a month because I have seen and experienced so much.

Little House on the Prairie

With 5 bedrooms, a kitchenette, and a living room for just the two of us, our house is the nicest I have seen since my arrival in Kenya.  I am becoming more and more comfortable here and I am just beginning to feel that this abode is mine.  As I expressed in my last post, we have a few other ‘residents’ that have become part of the squeaks and creaks of the house.  The first night I was here I was shocked to discover two salamanders making themselves at home in my room and another about half the size of the other two scampered away from my backpack as I lifted it the next morning.  We also have some resident rats that apparently host a WWF smack-down every evening in the attic above my head (while I’m trying to sleep) and also in the bathroom (they have taken a liking to our laundry soap).  One particularly gutsy rat is the food scout for the clan and he scurries into the kitchen at nightfall looking for leftover crumbs of Ugali.  We refer to him as “Blackie” (actually the first time I saw him, I referred to him as “What the H*** was that”).  Okay, anyone who knows me KNOWS that critters and I are arch-nemeses.  We are like the Montagu’s and the Capulet’s…the Jets and the Sharks…the Jetsons and the Flintstones…you get the point.  So, needless to say, I’ve had to learn to get over my phobia, with a little help from my trusty Walkman and a lot of prayers pleading God to spare my toes from the disease-infested teeth of these critters.  I have been able to convince myself that I am perfectly safe while I’m sleeping because I am well encapsulated in my mosquito net which I tuck under my mattress.  Patricia and I went to Kakamega on Saturday (yesterday) and bought some rat poison…say your prayers, Blackie! Mwahaha….

I have to say that I am so grateful to have Patricia to talk with.  When we miss America, Patricia and I reminisce about things (mostly food) that are readily available in America.  I probably would trade my right leg for a big greasy slice of pizza or a Happy Meal from McDonald’s.  Patricia misses raisins (a little healthier than my grease-filled pizza slice). J

Ring the Dinner Bell!

The staple food in Kenya is called Ugali, which is made from maize flour and has a play-dough like consistency.  It is usually eaten with cooked Sacomowiki (kale) and a dish that resembles scrambled eggs with tomatoes and onions (and LOTS of lard).  The nursing students here have taught me how to cook the Ugali, which consists of nonstop stirring for about 20-30 minutes (a.k.a. a fantastic workout for your triceps.  Goodbye Lunch Lady arms).  If you aren’t sweating and your triceps and deltoid aren’t burning, you aren’t making Ugali right. Also, they typically do not use utensils…that’s right Mom, I get to eat with my hands. J  Because of this, it is a very important custom to wash your hands before eating food, and it’s actually considered rude if you don’t.

Kenyans also drink a lot of tea.  As a matter of fact, they have two breaks every workday that are dedicated to drinking tea (or hot chocolate).  They typically have their tea with milk and A LOT of sugar.  It’s very sweet and not my favorite, but I usually drink it to be polite.  Plus, teatime is a great way to make friends and socialize with people (if they aren’t speaking Swahili).

Originally, when Patricia informed me that Thanksgiving is this coming Thursday, I said that we must bake a chicken, so we can have a little tradition.  However, when I told my friend Nyangweso of our plans, she asked me if I was going to slaughter the chicken myself.  In horror, I replied “no way” and hesitantly asked her if she had ever slaughtered a chicken.  She casually replied that she had many times and continued to explain the process to me.  As I braced the sides of my chair and stared wide-eyed at her, she exclaimed, “You will slaughter a chicken before you leave Kenya.”  Needless to say, I’ve decided on Ugali and Socomawiki for Thanksgiving instead. ;-)

The Quest for Kakamega

Every Saturday, Patricia and I venture to Kakamega to buy essential groceries and phone minutes.  Kakamega is a large town about 5 km from Mukumu, which doesn’t seem far, but going to there is truly an all-day affair.  We leave between 8:00 and 9:00 in the morning and hail a Matatu, which is a 14 passenger van.  (Really the Matatu’s don’t need ‘hailing’, if they see people loitering on the side of the road they come careening towards you in hopes that they can smash two more passengers inside the van).  I say ‘smash’ because typically these vans are full to the brim and I’ve been in a van with as many as 18 or 19 people (the guy who takes your money and tells the driver when to stop, literally hangs outside the van with the sliding door wide open as it careens down the bumpy road)…talk about lack of personal space.  Then you get dropped off in Kakamega, where you find many people selling all kinds of stuff on the sides of the road in what is called ‘the market’.  It’s overwhelming because they see the Mazungu’s (white people) walking and know that we have money.  Many of them follow us for a short while and ask us several times to buy their products.  My first trip there, I was very scared of this and positive that I would be mugged, but this second time that I went, I really felt saddened to see so many of them.  There is a 40% unemployment rate in Kenya and so as I passed by them saying ,”hapana” (“No”), I couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt because I know that these people are doing anything that they can to make enough money to bring food home to their children.  I’ve seen some people cutting up the worn rubber from old tires and making them into shoes to sell.  We were told by one of our Kenyan friends that this area is the poorest area in Kenya.  It’s definitely a wake-up call to me.  I always thought that I was grateful for what I had, but I never truly understood the magnitude of poverty in this world until I have seen it with my own eyes.

We don’t always just pass by these markets.  In fact, Patricia and I have found that we can get very fresh produce for very cheap at these markets.  Today, we found a man selling fresh pineapples for the price of $1.00 USD.  Of course, we have to be careful of how much we buy because we still need to take the cramped matatu back to Mukumu.  (There is a smaller version of this street market near Mukumu where we buy fresh mangoes, tomatoes, onions, and other produce, but we haven’t been able to find bananas at this market yet).  Anyway, after we pass the street vendors, we journey on the dirty road towards Nakumatt (kind of like Kmart), where we can buy other foods, like milk, cheese, and meat, that we probably wouldn’t buy from the street vendors.  Today, we discovered that Nakumatt has a small restaurant attached to it, complete with burgers, fries, and Tusker beer (the popular Kenyan Beer), so Patricia treated me to a luxuries lunch.  I don’t think the burger was actually cow’s meat (It tasted like it was vegetarian), but it was delicious anyway and the beer (which came in a 500mL bottle!) was cool, crisp, and refreshing.  We definitely thanked God over and over for such a blessing.  Between the two of us, we spent $11 (including tip) for the entire meal!  When we actually made our way into the store, we found (among other things) a six-pack of beer and a carton of wine, which we decided was worth the extra bulk on the matatu ride home.  What a great day!

After again navigating through the heckling vendors and white-knuckling it on a zigzagging matatu, we arrive back at our cozy house, thankful that we are blessed with such a wonderful place to call home (critters and all).  After this journey, I am always absolutely filthy and must take a bath (the water is usually a greyish-black by the time I have finished cleaning).  I forgot to mention that the streets are full of garbage, including a plethora of old plastic bag pieces, so you really walk through some sludge when you travel anywhere (hence the black bath water).  If you buy anything here, it goes into a plastic bag and even the street vendors have plastic bags for your goods.  When I refuse the bags because I can carry whatever I’m buying in my purse, they look at me astounded.  Perhaps the “going green” movement hasn’t yet hit Kenya, the way it has in America.

Nursing at Mukumu Hospital

This week I began a two week long orientation at the hospital, first starting at the Maternal Child health clinic, where we give immunizations to babies and maternal screenings.  Tuesday and Friday, we did community outreach and took the ambulance into the nearby towns (at two churches) to vaccinate babies and screen pregnant women.   Side note, a mother will typically carry her baby by wrapping him onto her back with a long cloth (I will have to get a picture to show you).  It is such a great idea and it seems that the babies are really quite comfortable.

Because technology is lacking, it seems that everything takes much more time and many more steps.  For example, in the maternal screenings, the nurse listens for the heart rate of the fetus by using a fetalscope, which is a metal, cone-shaped instrument with a hole at the end to place your ear for listening.  It is very difficult for me to hear the heartbeat, but the nursing students who were working with me, said that they could hear it quite clearly.  I suppose with practice, I’ll get the hang of it.

There are many, many nursing students at this hospital and there is a shortage of nurses.  Therefore, nursing students are the bulk of the work force here at the hospital and the students and very independent from the few nurses that are here.  It’s very strange because I feel like the students are orientating me in the units.  In fact, I feel like a student myself!  Nursing in Kenya is very different from nursing in America and I am trying to take it all in.  For example, nurses deliver babies here.  WAIT!  WHAT?!  In fact, I have a good friend here who is a nursing student and she claims to have delivered over 50 babies!!!

One barrier for me nursing over here is the language.  I speak…one language: English.  The Kenyans typically speak three languages: English (if they are well educated), Swahili, and their native tribal language.  Most of the clients who come in do not speak English, and if they do, I have a hard time understanding what they are saying because of the strong accent and they are often very soft-spoken (unlike us loud Americans).  In order to be a good nurse, I need to be able to communicate with my patients (basically the fundamental step in nursing) and right now I can’t.  Therefore, I have begun to learn Swahili.  The nursing students have been a great help with teaching me simple words and phrases and I have already learned a lot in just the one week that I have been here, but I still can’t effectively communicate in Swahili.  I have to keep reminding myself that Rome wasn’t built in a day and I can’t learned an entire language in a week…but it would be much easier if I could.

Sister Claire is a second year nursing student and has been such a wonderful support to me.  She is (as evinced by her name) a nun at the convent here and after teaching in a primary school for several years, she decided to go back to fulfill her dream to become a nurse.  This woman is so amazing and is truly a blessing to me.  She is always taking the time to teach me when I don’t understand something and she constantly tells me that I am doing very well.  Thursday, she invited me to tea at her room and she has promise to show me the convent.  I’m so happy the God has placed us in each other’s lives.

Church in Kenya

Church here is very unique.  The children dance up at down the aisle during each song here.  I think we should have the kids in America do this because it gives them a job and makes them a heck of a lot less squirmy.  The music is sung a capella with an African polyrhythmic beat and many colorful harmonies to complement the melody.  Of course, the mass is said in Swahili (and most the songs are in Swahili), making it difficult for Patricia and I to sing with the songs.  Actually, I do sing along with some of the repetitive songs, but I have no idea what I’m singing.  I hope   There is also a lot of clapping and some swaying during the songs (much different from many Catholic masses in America).  Since we are the only two mazungus in Mass, everyone knows if we were to skip, so I have many truant officers (including the priest) to make sure I go to mass every week.  Haha.

This week’s message: Loving God includes loving people.  You’ve got to love both.  Think about that person in your life that drives you nuts or you’ve had a bad scrap with and refuse to resolve the issue until that person admits they are wrong.  Remember, that person has God in them, and you must reconcile in order to feel God’s peace.

Baby Moses: The Survivor

As you pass through the long maternity ward, you will find a tiny babe named Moses swaddled in a green fleece blanket.  This little boy is a survivor and his story really touched my heart.  Moses’ mother had abandoned him at birth and left him to die in a latrine.  God was looking out for this fragile infant and two men found the infant struggling for his life, covered in feces and maggots.  The men quickly brought Moses to the hospital to get treatment.  This babe struggled and fought for his life and despite his poor prognosis survived the tragedy.  At two months, he cannot hold his head up without support and we suspect that he may be suffering from some other illnesses, but this little guy is a survivor.  I find myself peering into his crib and holding him tightly, hoping that maybe some love will seep from my skin into his.  His tiny fingers grasp onto yours and his chocolaty eyes stare into yours as if studying your soul.  I wish I could take this precious child home with me and spare him from a life in the local orphanage.  Moses still has a mountain to scale, but I have faith that he will keep climbing because he is a survivor.

Be thankful for all you have because you truly are blessed by God more than you even realize.

Travelling into the Unknown

It took three full days of travel before I reached Mukumu.  Of course, this post will be quite long winded because there is just so much to tell.

Detroit and that Crazy Airline Representative:

Sitting on the plane in the Metro-Detroit Airport listening to my favorite CD by NeedtoBreathe, hot tears streaming down my blotchy cheeks, I began my journey as a nomad working my way towards Africa.  It really hadn’t hit me that I was leaving for a year until I reached the airport.  But, this was only half of the reason I was creating a puddle in my lap.  Of course, this wouldn’t be a story unless God threw me a curve ball somewhere along the way.  I had had trouble getting on the plane because my printed ticket stated that I needed a visa to leave.  However, I had been informed by CMMB that I didn’t need to obtain a visa until I arrived in Nairobi.  The attendant was rather irritated and brash as she scolded me for not having my visa and told me that she could not let me have a boarding pass.  She argued back and forth with me as I try to explain that I was told to buy my visa when I arrived in Nairobi.  She was not going to let me get on the plane!  My stress-o-meter maxed out at this point and I began to bawl my brains out.  Finally, by the grace of God (and after a stern tongue-lashing from my dad and a quick check of the airline rules and regulations), she decided to ‘let’ me keep my boarding pass and continue towards my flight.  However, my anxiety was not relieved because she sternly warned me that I may be sent back home on any of my upcoming flights because I had no visa.  I knew that I had received an email sent from St. Elizabeth’s Hospital that welcomed me to Mukumu, Kenya for a year and I decided that I needed to download that onto my computer as proof that I would be doing missionary work in Kenya.  I paid a lovely $10 for use of the internet café in the airport, so I could download the welcome note.  For everyone’s information, no else even inquired about where my visa was or for proof of my work.  In fact, when I arrived in Nairobi they hardly even asked me questions, they just asked for my 50 bucks and gave me a visa.  Sidnote, as I was going through security, they randomly searching my bag (which was stuff extremely full) and took my beloved peanut butter, saying that they counted it as a liquid!  WHAT?!  You enjoy that peanut butter, dirt-bag.

Amsterdam and the concert at Carnegie Hall:

When I arrived in the Amsterdam airport, I had almost a three hour delay until my flight left for Nairobi, so I figured that I would wander a bit to waste some time.  As I trekked through the airport, I heard the familiar clinking of the keys to a piano and I immediately had to venture towards the sound (kind of like a radiant bug lamp).  Sure enough, as I walked towards a very contemporary looking lounge, there was a little girl carefully plunking out her very own magnificat.  I patiently waited until she was satisfied with her performance and left the bench, all the while too embarrassed to figure out how to sit in the avant-garde chairs that filled the lounge.  As I strolled up to the Baby Grand Kawaii, I noted a sign on the piano that stated anyone and everyone was allowed to play it.  It just so happens that I threw a couple of piano books in my carry-on, just in case.  Thank the Lord!  This was exactly what I needed to calm my nerves and to make me feel less alone in this very big airport.  I began to play the songs in the books and the people who had been slumbering in the lounge awoke and perked up their ears.  I seriously felt like I was having my very own concert in the renowned Carnegie Hall.  People stopped in their tracks to listen to the music and stare at this grubby-looking American with her bulky luggage, playing the piano.  When I finally decided that I had played a little too long and needed to get back to my gate, the entire lounge applauded and one woman thanked me profusely as I walked by.  That was definitely my ego boost for the day.  I had this strong urge to proclaim: “Thank you!  I’ll be here all week!”  haha.

Nairobi and the kind-of-sort-of-not-really Banana:

After another long 8 hour flight from Amsterdam to Nairobi (I would’ve rather plucked my eyes out with venom-infested bamboo shoots than sit in that crammed plane for another minute), I arrived in Nairobi, met by my kind driver, Francis, who took me to the CHAK guest house.  Sidenote, there are these freakin’ gargantuan birds sitting in the trees along the road that are 1.5 meters in height and basically can digested bone into liquid…don’t want to turn your back on those babies!  The CHAK house was beautiful hotel that had a garden in the middle (instead of a swimming pool like in America).  It was a wonderful place where I had my first taste of Kenyan food (I put what looked like a banana on my plate, but it tasted bland and —nothing like a banana).  The next morning, I met the branch of CMMB in Nairobi and got to see a familiar face in Anand, one of the volunteer coordinators from New York that I had been working with.  It was a very tiring day as I was extremely jet-lagged and I really didn’t do much.

Kisumu and the American Jesus:

The next day, I was off to the airport again, where I would fly to Kisumu and meet Patricia (my roommate) and Martha (The nursing school principal).  At this point, I was feeling very alone and afraid, sitting all by myself at an airport café, where I could even buy myself some breakfast or coffee because I hadn’t exchanged any money yet and they (like most places in Kenya) do not take credit cards.

Enter Daniel:  Daniel, a clearly American looking man wearing blue jeans, a hoodie, and a red bandana, had requested to sit at my tiny little table, stating, “You look like a familiar face” (not gonna lie, this guy looked a little like a modern day Jesus).  Being a skeptical traveller, I gave him a visual pat-down to ensure that he wasn’t going to scam me and steal everything I owned.  As he sat drinking his Kenyan coffee, he told me his story.  He was also going to Kisumu where his friend was running an orphanage.  He would stay for two weeks and get the lay of the land to ensure that the area would be safe for his two boys and wife to come live.  He was such a wonderful person, encouraging me that I would be just fine because God would protect me.  He asked if I was a Christian and I flashed him the devotional that I had been reading as he approached me, so we talked a while about how we both had felt a strong calling to Africa.  He took another small sip of his coffee and exclaimed that it was possibly the best coffee he’d ever tasted and he offered me a sip.  As this sweet nectar of the gods caressed each of my taste buds, I thought to myself, “With coffee like this, I can survive anything”.  He assured me that I should buy a cup because it was extremely cheap.  I sheepishly told him that I had no money and without hesitation, Daniel handed me a 1000 Kenyan Shilling (roughly $10) and said, “You have to get some.  Just bring me back the change”.  I waited in line, all the while glancing back at him to ensure that he wasn’t stealing any off my stuff.  Best.  Coffee.  Ever!  We chatted for a little longer and soon after, he needed to leave, but not before we said a prayer, exchanged emails, and he handed me another devotional that he said was excellent.  As he was leaving he smiled and said, “If we meet again, you owe me a cup of coffee.”  God is so good.  He placed this man, Daniel, along my path when I felt so weak, to let me know that he would always be here for me.

Mukumu and the crazy Kenyan Drivers:

I finally arrived in Kisumu early that morning where Patricia (my roommate) and Martha (the nursing school principal) met me.  It was so amazing to see a familiar face that I ran up to her and gave her a big hug.  We went travelled into the town of Kisumu via the school’s van and Patricia and I exchanged our American money for Kenyan Shillings at the Bank.  Unfortunately, I had a one hundred dollar bill that they would not exchange because it was too old (granted it was okay that they gave me mushy old Kenyan bills).  As we travelled the 70 km toward Mukumu, I noticed that Mukumu had much more green foliage than Nairobi.  About every kilometer or so, there is a speed bump on the road.  Kenyans are crazy aggressive drivers, swerving into oncoming traffic to pass another car and not slowly down for pedestrians.  Sidenote, the anti-malarials that I have to take every day make me very nauseous, so riding on a bumpy road in a swerving van for an hour and a half is not very conducive to my condition.  I also noticed that almost everyone owns a cow, but the poor cows have barely anything to eat, so you can see their rib cages.  Where’s PETA when you need them…  We finally arrived at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital and I saw my house which is way bigger than what it looks like in pictures.  It’s not without a few resident critters, but it is home.  Karibu.

My Kenyan House

The Procelain Throne (My personal favorite pic)

My bedroom

The Living Room (or what Americans would call the dining room)

The Quaint Kitchen, complete with stove 

Tee Minus Three...

Hu Jambo!  Well, three more days and I'll be starting my journey to Kenya.  It is so surreal that I'm going to be gone for over a year.  I keep saying 'see ya later' to people, but it really hasn't hit me yet that I'm leaving.  I'm sure that when I get to the airport everything will start hitting me (especially when my mom starts to cry) and I'll start bawling.  Then, shortly following an episode of sheer panic and a probable pat-down of this suspicious-looking passenger, I'll pull myself up by my boot straps and carry on.  A friend recently gave me a card that I feel deserves to be shared here.  It described a fierce wind pummeling an oak tree attempting to make it tumble over, tearing leaves and bark and branches from it; but to no avail.  The strong wind ashamed of it's futile attempts asks the oak why it hasn't fallen, to which the oak replies that it is because of its strong roots buried deeply underground that were nurtured along the way of its life that make the oak so unyielding.  This card really spoke to me because I have been shown so much love and support from all my family and friends throughout my life--but especially in the last few months--that has nurtured my walk with Christ.  Because of this, I know that my spirit cannot be broken no matter what little mishaps (or gigantic winds) come my way.  Thank you so much everyone for your prayers and support.  They do not go unacknowledged.  So, that being said, I will make it through airport security without being pulled aside and interrogated in a small dark room for causing a seen.

Since there are only three days left until my departure, I have just begun to pack my bag.  Now I know what you're thinking: HOLY MOLEY SHE'S JUST STARTING TO PACK NOW?!  However, I have to say that I am impressed with myself for starting the packing now, because anyone who knew my habits in college (leaving the majority of my 40 page synthesis paper unfinished until the night before it was due), knows that normally I would start this "I'd-rather-poke-my-eye-with-a-dull-spoon-fifteen-times-than-do-this" task the night before, or worse the day of my flight.  This is a very tedious process that takes a certain amount of planning in order to accomplish because I am only allowed to take ONE 44 lbs bag (62 inches lenghth+width+height) on my flight from Nairobi to Kisumu and instead of shipping a second bag with the risk of it never reaching me, I'm hoping that I can fit my life for a year in that measly 44 pound bag.  Of course, I am a woman and more importantly my mother's child, so I like to pack for the "what ifs".  What if I get caught in a rainstorm in my last pair of underwear? Well, better pack 15 more pairs, just in case.  What if I run out of soap and I can't find any??  (can't find soap, really?!)  I better pack 10 more bars, just in case.  What if our sink stops working?  Better pack the spare sink...mmmhhmmm...sure Natalie.  Typically, I over pack for a week long trip (14 t-shirts, 5 dress shirts, 5 pairs of pants, etc. just in case and a boat load of shoes), so you can imagine the difficulty of fitting a years worth of clothing and miscellaneous garb in the space provided.  It gets a little overwhelming and I have to admit that I tend to take extensive 'smoke' breaks (hence, why I'm writing such a lengthy novel here).

My roommate, Patricia has kindly sent me 5 wonderfully awesome pictures of our abode (my favorite being the one of the flush-able toilet), so I will try to figure out how to post those on here.  She has also informed me that the day after I get there, the nursing school is having there graduation, which is a huge celebration complete with dancing (so for those of you who wanted me to learn a tribal dance, this may happen quicker than I previously anticipated).  Anywho, I suppose my break is up, so it's back to work for me.