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My main project, that I will be striving to achieve here in Kenya, is to develop an OVC (orphans and vulnerable children) program for the kids within my community. We are applying for grants to get them money to pay for their school fees, uniforms, food, etc... and I always want to make it a mentoring program. (kind of like the US "big brothers big sisters" program.) There are many secondary (high) schools and universities in the area, and I think that would really think that both groups would benefit form the experience. To start the program, we are meeting and gathering three “sub-communities” that will support about 30 children from the ages of 2-12. The first two groups that I met with were fairly typical of the Kenyan culture, but the third group that I met with was very complicated experience… Just thinking about it makes me tear up… So, I’m going to do my best to set the scene for you, but I’m not sure that I am able to really portray to you the heartache that comes with it.
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When I go into the really rural surroundings of my village to meet the kids that I will be working with, I go with my supervisor (Judy, who is now eight months pregnant). We meet the kids, their guardians’, and the “sub-chief” of that area. Many times, the sub-chief doesn’t show up, and usually when they do they are on their phones texting the entire time. The guardians dress-to-impress and they do the same to their kids, but that doesn’t really mean much. .... Also, please note that in order to get funding for our program we have to have proof that the kids are orphans aka: we need death certificates.... which isn’t exactly the easiest thing to accomplish here. The places that we meet are in one of the houses of the guardians, and let me tell you, it is never enough space, but the surrounding view of the forrest and the shambas [garden/farms] is soooo beautiful that it’s ironic.
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So, as Judy and I walk through the most desolate surroundings to meet the third and final group of kids to start this program. We walk for about 20 minutes out of the village of Cheptulu and into the Nandi forrest where one of the guardians lives. Eventually the small, mud path that we are walking on ends at a small mud house and there are children running all around, playing. (a typical Kenyan-tiriki home)
After formally greeting all of the adults that came to visit and sit in on the meeting (to see the mzungu [white person] that’s been hanging around town for the past month). Judy and I walk into the sitting room. It is very small room with a Kenyan-made sofa against every wall. After Judy and I take our seats the kids then come in. There are so many of them that they have to sit on each other’s laps. As the meeting begins I am mesmerized by the children and really only focus on them, and as I watched a 4-year-old carrying a 2-year-old as if he was the parent, I just thought to myself, “yep, this is in Kenya.” As every meeting does, we start by going through roll call... we get their names, their parents names, their guardians names, their ages, the attending schools, and then I talk a little bit about who I am and what I’m doing there. Then, Judy reiterates what I say because my accent isn’t always understood, and as she’s talking one of the visitors grabs a little girl saying, "Oh, you are a nurse. Help her,” as she pushes her onto my lap. The girl is about six or seven and small for her age (as they all are malnurished) and i just start saying, "no no no no nonononono no no no. I'm not a doctor or a nurse. I am not able to help her.” But, the woman continues to talk, in very fast Kiswahili now, to Judy about this girl. She tells/demands the girl to take off this scarf that was covering her head and as the little girl is delicately unknotting it the woman (who no one can seem to move fast enough for) pulls it off of the girl. Immediately I can smell this overwhelming odor that is so pungent that I had to cover my nose and mouth to keep from gagging. It reeked. I couldn’t really see what I was looking at, (because we were in a mud hut that lacks electricity) but I what I could see was that her hair was falling out and her skin was peeling off. It looked like a mix between a burn wound (where the skin looks wavy) and an open/raw sore. Judy then started asking questions (she used to be some sort of nursing assistant at the hospital) and that’s when the arguing started. The woman was telling Judy that we (Judy and I) needed to take this little girl to the hospital because they didn’t have any money. Judy then told the woman and the male guardian that this girl can receive FREE healthcare from the hospital, FREE medicine, FREE treatment. FREE CARE. All they have to do is take her to the hospital. And that’s when the excuses turned into, “well I am not able to take her because I live and work in Mumias and I a do not have time. And he (referring to the older male guardian on the other side of the room) has to take care of the rest of these kids so he does not have time.” [please note, that I walk past the hospital everyday on my way to the office every morning. It is not even a 30 minute walk. It is not far away from where these people were staying.] I just didn’t understand what was going on. I was in complete shock, probably sitting there with my mouth hanging open and looking back and forth between the female guardian and the little girl. This little girl was suffering. I sat there watching as she could barely touch her own scalp enough to put the scarf back on and this woman was telling us the story of her parents dying of AIDS several months ago and her grandmother dying several weeks ago. Seriously, this little girl is not healthy and was suffering in so many ways.
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As we left the house the owner walked us out, and as everything was just sinking in i started looking around at the beautiful landscaping and thought, how ironic. and then i notice the enormous dirt pile in the front yard. The woman, who was talking to judy, turns to me and points at the dirt mound saying, "this is my mother." it was her grave, but she treated it as if she was introducing me to someone that i should greet, and that would greet me back. It was a grave. IT WAS A GRAVE. So, as Judy and i walk back to the office i just cannot stop thinking about how that little girl needs medical attention. Judy agrees and says that the sub-chief that introduced us to the group is going to look into it.... so we get back to the office and i am eating my lunch in complete contemplation of life and one of my co-workers (Charles, we call him "Charlo" because it is short for Charles) sits next to me and asks what's up, and i tell him everything and he says, "oh i know who you're talking about" and describes the house and the little girl in exact detail. He tells me that her parents died of AIDS and that she also has it and that it's probably her medication that is doing that to her scalp so they stopped giving her the medicine and started rubbing herbal medicines on her head. my own skin started to crawl at the thought. I asked why her guardian didn’t take her back to the hospital to change the medication and he said, "I don’t know, probably because they are just waiting for her to die."......................
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yeah. i don't even know what to say. The situation is so desperate that i just wanted to take the little girl to the hospital myself. But, judy reminded me that it is not my responsibility, it is the little girl's guardians responsibility and if i do it this time then they will continue to expect me to do things like this... to take these kids for treatment, to pay for their treatment and to buy them medications…. I just cannot emotionally settle this internal turmoil with my conscience. After a bit of time passes, i told judy what charles had told me and together they contacted the guardian and got her to the hospital the next day. Turned out that the medication that they wanted to put the girl on was out and she will either have to go somewhere else and pay for it, or she will have to wait and return to the hospital to get it... who knows if she will ever get it.
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