Hospitals, Hard Concrete Floors, and Healthy Newborns

     One weekend last month, Rachel, Hannah, and I headed out to visit Mark Beachy’s family in Ny’gia.  Rachel is one of the girls here in the compound and Hannah is her cousin who was visiting at the time. 

     Saturday morning, after a delicious breakfast, we headed to the hospital in Siaya.  Hannah had worked at the clinic in Paraguay, so she was interested in watching them draw blood.  We were allowed into the room and watched them draw blood from several patients.  

     We then spent time in several wards, passing out Bible Story books, suckers, and balloons with the patients and sharing Bibles with the doctors and other staff.  We also sang several songs for some of the people there. 

     There are many burn victims here.  Young children fall into cooking fires or hot oil.  Seeing some of these children about made me cry.  Excruciating pain.  

     The highlight of my day was also definitely the most painful.  Slamming into hard concrete floors is not necessarily recommended.  Somehow . . . maybe because we are white, or because Hannah had experience with delivering babies, or because Mary Ellen is brave enough to ask, or maybe just because this is Kenya . . . we were given permission to go back to the delivery room.  One mother had a brand new little baby that was being cleaned up and taken care of, and another lady was in the final stages of delivery.  After a bit, I began to feel rather sick, but I was determined NOT to walk out.  I could be strong.  Plus, I had never fainted before, so surely I wouldn’t now.  I started to feel really lightheaded, so I leaned back against the counter, positively certain that I would be just fine.  Things were going well and I was going to be ok, right?  Then, there was a thud.  And darkness.  Lots of it.  Voices.  Many of them.  People.  People who were concerned.  People who wanted me to “wake up.”  People who wondered if I was ok.  People who were worried about me.  Cool, concrete floor.  Very dirty.  Full of bacteria I am sure.  Hot, stuffy air.  A hospital room.  In just a bit, I was truly fine again, but I decided to remain seated on the floor rather than stand again and cause more drama than necessary.  Before too much longer, the sweet little African baby was born.  What an incredible, miraculous experience!!  I hoped that I would be fine, but didn’t feel too remarkable.  Knowing how worried the nurses had been when I fell, I decided it would be wise to join Rachel out in the fresh air and sunshine in the open courtyard just down the hall.  She had sensibly chosen to stay out of the room and Hannah was given the privilege of helping out with clean-up and other procedures!!  Other than a pretty serious knot on my head, a few brushburns and sore spots, and some bruises on my legs and arms, it all turned out quite well.  

     Afterwards, we went to a small shack to eat lunch.  Somehow, I wasn't hungry and knew what would happen if I did try to eat.  I did recover and drink coke.  You can see the beginning of the knot here on my forehead.  :) Thankfully I didn't break my nose, or slice my head open on the edge of the counter. 

We had a fun, but long drive home.  It felt so good to get HOME!! :) 

My First Kenyan Funeral

Yesterday, my language teacher was planning to go to a funeral in Boya.  The lady who died was the wife of her cousin, Nyayo.  Here in Kenya, they always have their burials on Saturday.  Sometimes it will be as long as a month after the person has died until they have the funeral.  This lady died in her twenties, due to AIDS, something that is so common here. 

Earlier in the week, I had offered to accompany Rosemary, thinking that this would be a good time to tag along and immerse myself in the culture.  After she assured me that I wouldn’t be a bother, and that I was very welcome to go with her, I began to dread the day in general… going public (transportation) for the first time alone, spending hours sitting through speeches that I didn’t understand, just being gone all day long…   

It went so great though, and it definitely was a good cultural experience.  A bit before 9:30, I walked out to the road and hailed a tuk-tuk.  After you’ve done it once, you realize that it truly isn’t a big deal, but the very first time, you hope that you look a lot more brave and confident than you feel.  One of the guys who was already in the tuk-tuk had apparently sold some handmade items to former missionaries to take home as souvenirs when they returned to America, so he seemed to feel as though he had this connection with me and happily chattered the entire way out to the main road.  Somehow, his jolly attitude got my morning off to a great start.  The next step was crossing the busy road…watching for matatus zipping by, trucks rushing around the round-about, piki pikis flying by, and other pedestrians who are also attempting to dart across the road… I made it to the other side as a survivor.  YAY! :) 

  

Being white can be a problem.  Especially if you are a white girl.  Especially if you are a white girl who is alone.  The problem is this:  everyone wants to transport the mzungu (foreigner).  I hopped in the fullest matatu, hoping that the fuller the van, the sooner we would leave.  We eventually got left and after MANY stops to pick up and drop off passengers we made it to Alendu, where I was meeting Rosemary.  From then on, I could relax and just enjoy the ride and let Rosemary "be in charge."  We had a great time!! When we got to Boya, we walked way back in until we finally got to the funeral (around 11:00).  You could “hear” it LONG before you could see it.  

The dala (home) where the funeral was taking place..

There was a group of people next to the coffin who were singing, dancing, and jumping, while others were banging metal together, shaking some homemade instruments, and pounding away on their drums.  Thrilling.  

We viewed the body(thankfully through glass- which definitely helps out with the smell, although it is still not so pleasant), greeted dozens of people, and eventually sat down. 

About 1/3 of the people sat under this tent... the rest of us were seated under nearby trees...

Hour after hour, groups of people would come forward to share memories of the deceased.  Some spoke in Luo, and it was translated to Swahili.  Others spoke Swahili and it was translated to Luo.  

A few friends sharing memories...

As this group (below) was sharing, I was deeply humored... What a vast difference in the way these friends were dressed... Everything from suitcoats & white long-sleeved shirts to sunglasses, blue baseball caps, & beanies.  I was thankful he was wearing the hat and not me.  I felt hot just watching him!

 Or instead of blue, try red or BRIGHT YELLOW... :)

At times, newcomers would arrive…wailing so loudly and pitifully that all other sounds were completely drowned out.  They would then stand at the casket and weep loudly for long periods of time.  I wish you could hear them moaning and watch them swaying back and forth.  I wish you could smell the poor man seated close beside me, who likely hadn’t bathed for a VERY LONG TIME.  I wish you could hear ‘the band’ as they would enthusiastically sing yet another song.  I wish you could feel the heat and the warm breeze.  I wish you could see all the moments that I wanted to take pictures of, but couldn’t capture in time.  Overall, it was quite entertaining, even though there were times that I got extremely tired.

This man was sleeping away.  I was tempted to follow his example!

This charming little girl was dressed in her absolute best!

Around 1:00, Rosemary & I were taken to the “food tent” where we were served a Kenyan meal.  They definitely treat visitors with extra respect, and it’s almost frustrating how they cater to white people.  Thankfully, they did not seem bothered that I wasn’t interested in the intestines and other internal delicacies.  

My plateful of food... Starting at the 1:00 position and going clockwise: sikuma, cabbage, beef (chewy and terrible), cold rice, and ugali...

Later, Rosemary took me to the dala where she had grown up, and showed me where her house used to be, where she used to pump water, etc.  Sadly, polygamy is very ordinary here, and her grandfather had seven wives.  It was interesting to see how each house was placed in a circle around the common central ground.  Rosemary then introduced me to many of her “brothers and sisters.”  She grew up with her aunt and uncle, so these cousins became her family.  Her sisters thought it was extremely important that we take LOTS of pictures. 

One of her brothers was sent to town to pick up cold sodas for us.  It is so humbling to accept gifts from these people who cannot afford to buy a drink for themselves, yet turning them down would be much, much worse.  These people give from the heart, and find such joy and pleasure in serving others. 

Rosemary and some of her family :)

We eventually left and after a lengthy journey, I arrived back at the compound around 5:00.  It was a wonderful experience, but it felt so good to be HOME.      

The husband and son of the deceased lady...

Bonus Pic:  This lady's chicken stuck its head out of the basket during the funeral and began to cluck away... I didn't get a picture in time, but here she is STUFFING it back in and spreading her leso over top.  Poor, poor chicken!