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Our final week in Lwala was filled with visitors, a football match (soccer game), and the grand opening of a newly protected water spring. I’ll start at the beginning...

During our last trip to Kisii, we brought Dada (14), Harrison (14), and Anyango (18) with us as a special treat. They seldom get to leave Lwala, so watching herds of people scurry between a mess of swerving traffic on roads lined with massive metal buildings (although they are small by American standards) was quite the contrast to the slow pace of life in Lwala, where mud huts and rolling green hills are all that can be seen for miles. However, I think the highlight for them was exploring Nakumatt, the Kenyan equivalent of Wal-Mart, which sells everything from food to mattresses, to TVs and washers and dryers. Before heading home, we each picked out an ice cream bar, a foreign concept in Lwala, which has no electricity for refrigerators or freezers. Watching Dada’s expressions as she discovered that ice cream melts and experienced her first "brain freeze" from eating something so cold was priceless.

During our last week, a variety of visitors make the journey out to Lwala to see what roles they could play in the development of the clinic and the community, including Matt and Ravi from the Clinton Institute, Emma and Isaac from the safari company (who, after reading Abbie’s blogs, felt compelled to see the clinic firsthand), as well as a Kenyan-based HIV/AIDS peer educating group called I Choose Life.

When I Choose Life came to Lwala, our small group of American students participated in a few activities demonstrating the obstacles, yet utmost importance, of educating peers about HIV/AIDS. One activity involved candles; one involved unwrapping condoms and placing them on wooden penises while blindfolded. Though it was rather awkward, it was certainly funny while it was just our small group inside the Ochieng’s’ house. Then it just became incredibly uncomfortable when we were told we would be leading this demonstration right out in front of the clinic (where there are always at least 30 people waiting to be seen on weekdays). My instant reaction was an embarrassed "no!" But then I realized that that was the exact mentality that allowed HIV/AIDS to continue to be stigmatized. It dawned on me that if I’m afraid to talk about it, although it might be uncomfortable, how can I expect anyone else to?

We ended up facilitating a forum on preventing the spread of HIV/AIDS with a mixture of people from Lwala and an AIDS support group called Riana ("river" in Dholuo) from the neighboring village of Sare Kamagambo. First we led the demonstrations, then we asked for volunteers to try the techniques we had just taught. Though some remained shy and chose not to participate, I was so proud of some of the ladies from Lwala who boldly stepped up, showing that they weren’t ashamed to talk about AIDS. Whether or not they know it, these ladies are inspiring the change that could dramatically alter the lives of future generations, not only in Lwala, but everywhere.

Just two days before we left, the newly protected water spring was finally opened. People gathered around to eat Nice biscuits (cookies) and sip pineapple punch made from rainwater, while Omondi and Ben gave speeches recognizing the hard work of everyone involved, including the contributions from those overseas. "Children Helping Children" (in Dholuo) the cement reads, as over $3,000 was raised for the spring at Hanover Elementary School. The day after the opening, Ben and I got up early to do laundry and we were delightfully surprised to run into about seven other people doing the same. I am thrilled that the protected spring makes fetching water more convenient for many, but even happier that it will improve the quality of the water. Though the village continues to lack a water source fit for drinking, the protection will minimize bacteria growth and prevent animal waste from entering the water supply, which is essential since many still drink the water without boiling it.

As it came time to leave Lwala, I found myself struggling with a bittersweet goodbye. While the idea of pizza and a long shower with running water made me excited to return home, I realized that I didn’t know how long it would be before I could play draf (his altered version of chess) with Toby, an opponent I actually had a shot at beating... or swim in the riana... or sit with Dada, Maureen, and Grace, chopping vegetables by a kerosene lamp while they prepared dinner... or simply walk down the road and be greeted by everyone, despite the fact that I didn’t understand anything after my collection of Dholuo phrases had been spent, at which point I began repeating whatever was said to me. Everyone always got a kick out of that.

The other night, as Harrison and I walked beneath a breathtaking blanket of stars, I asked him to stop so that I could oogle over the glittering glory that can seldom be seen from the city where I live. He laughed at the thought of me looking in amazement at something so commonplace in rural Kenya, where the skies are not polluted by city lights as they are in much of the developed world. "Where I live," I told him, "we cannot see stars because there is so much light from the buildings." "I want to go there," he said. I told him he should come meet my family and experience my way of life, as I had his.

Although it is incredibly hard to leave Lwala, I find peace of mind in the visible progress being made in the clinic. A second nurse, Olivia, started her first day on our last day in the village, and the clinic is currently interviewing lab technicians in order to more accurately diagnose patients, as well as test for a wider range of diseases. Already, 50 of the planned 500 bed nets have been purchased by the clinic and are for sale in the community in an effort to prevent against Malaria, which is especially dangerous in pregnant women and children under five, two very large groups in Lwala. And though I can still barely believe it, in this remote village with no electricity and virtually no contact with the outside world, internet was established at the clinic just days before my departure. It still seems hard to fathom, but with the combination of three donated laptops and a Safaricom cell phone card, clinic records will now be able to be stored and accessed online, contact with visiting doctors and relief agencies will be significantly easier, and Rose and Olivia will now be able to research illnesses not included in what was formerly the village’s only source of medical information, the textbook Where There Is No Doctor.

We left Lwala on foot, one last time making the 5 mile trek to the Sare Kamagambo junction where we would be picked up. As we walked, we ran into a few friends and said our final goodbyes and thank yous, and we were sent off with children, as usual, running out of their homes to the road, screaming "BERAINHA MZUNGU!!!!" ("Hello white person!") at the top of their lungs.

So, to everyone in Lwala: erokamano and wabiro nanore!

I still can't believe I'm in Africa.

Earlier this week, during a visit to the Lwala Primary School to watch Japolo teach, I was asked if I would like to come teach English. Visions of assisting the school's English teacher and letting students listen to a true American accent filled my mind. Boy was I mistaken. I was handed a copy of the seventh grade English book, roughly shown where the teacher had left off, and told that tomorrow the English classes would be combined and I would begin teaching 70 students on my own. I was a) horrified—thinking “what am I going to teach/do with 70 kids?” and b) shocked that the headmaster of the school would just hand over full responsibility of the entire seventh grade. Despite these initial fears, I have actually enjoyed teaching, and my students appear to be understanding my lessons. At one point, a little girl looked at me in confusion as I tried to tell her to use “were” instead of “was” when speaking about more than one person. After a few moments, another student finally whispered “Waaah.” It was then that I realized that these children had never heard an American accent before, and thus were only accustomed to the British pronunciation of “were.” Despite these minor barriers, teaching has been fun. I sometimes switch over to a British accent to make my English easier to understand, and just to see if the kids notice. So far no one has had the courage to call me out.

The past few days I’ve been spending my afternoons at the clinic helping wherever I am needed, though it usually means taking patients’ temperature, weight, and blood pressure, and occasionally listening to their lungs. Rose, the clinic nurse (though it would be a huge understatementto leave her title at that), single-handedly handles all of the clinic’s patients. Most are children and most are terrified of the idea of going to the clinic, let alone having a Mzungu stick a foreign metal object under their arm (thermometer) or touch their back with a cold, scary-looking contraption (stethoscope). Most cry incessantly, creating the sort of “doctor’s office from Hell” environment that we all feared as children, and I witnessed one poor soul even wet his pants right there on the examination room floor.

Yesterday, a severely malnourished four-year-old boy was brought in, although he looked around two. Because of the extreme degree of malnutrition, he was experiencing several extremely painful and life-threatening physical effects (the graphic details I will spare you), and was driven to the hospital in Kisii (40 km away from the clinic inLwala) by Omondi, Milton and Fred’s older brother who oversees the clinic operations and development. This little boy was so lucky to have come in when he did, during the daytime and before the rain, and to have Omondi willing and available to drive him to Kisii. Not all patients are as lucky, as I discovered a day earlier.

Godfrey, a father of five who appeared to be in his mid-forties, quietly took at seat on the couch, hardly noticeable in the room full of singing and cards and chess by the light of a kerosene lamp. All of this was the normal commotion just before dinner time, around 9 o’clock or so: unfamiliar faces who turned out to be family friends or relatives, amidst a crowd of laughing and chatting about the day or life at home, mostly in English but with a few Dholuo phrases detectable every so often. So it was quite a surprise to us Americans when Grace, Milton and Fred’s eighteen year old sister, came in and told us this man had been bitten by a snake and hoped that Dr. Young would take a look at it. To us, it seemed absurd that this man had said nothing about his foot, but for Kenyans, it would have been rude to interrupt or talk “business” without first being social.

Godfrey explained that he had been walking outside his house and stepped on the tail of a small black snake (what we now believe was a baby Black Mamba, one of the deadliest snakes in the world) that responded by biting him on the foot. At first glance, there was no difference in his feet, and there wasn’t even a visible bite wound. As a few minutes passed, however, Godfrey’s foot grew larger… and larger… and larger, until his entire leg had swollen. It was apparent that something needed to be done, but with no anti-venom at the clinic and night travel dangerous in Kenya, the only option was to stabilize his foot and wait until morning. The men around helped transport Godfrey back to his hut, which was located down the road. With no bicycle or wheelbarrow available (the two most common means of transportation to the clinic in Rongo—9 miles away—for emergency healthcare before the Lwala clinic was built), Japolo carried the grown man home on his back. The next day, Godfrey was taken to the hospital in Kisii, where he has been for the last two days.

Luckily, Godfrey will be fine. However, I had never experienced that aspect of Lwala. My concept of Lwala was people going to the clinic with health problems. I had witnessed people unable to pay for much needed testing and medicine not available at the clinic, but I had never truly felt the complete and utter lack of options. It was frustrating that all we could do was watch, like useless spectators. I was angry that the potential dangers of driving at night kept us from reaching help. It seemed that getting Godfrey to a hospital was most important. But who pays? The question of money is one thing, but moreover, is it worth risking the livelihood, or worse, of other people? In my mind, the question remains unanswered.

So as not to end on a depressing note, earlier this week a woman in her early twenties came into the clinic, pregnant with her second child. The mother of one of the volunteers here donated a fetal doppler to the clinic, which is something entirely unknown to the village. I can’t explain the woman's eyes light up when she heard her unborn baby's heart beat for the very first time.

And with that, oritu!

From Kenya

Oyaore uhru!!! ("Good morning everyone!" in Dholuo, the language of theLuo tribe)

I can't believe we've been in Kenya for nearly a week now. This is the first time I've had access to internet, as there is no electricity orrunning water in Lwala, the remote eastern village where we are living. To give you an idea of the journey to reach the nearest town withinternet, we walked 5 miles, then took a 45 minute bus ride unlikeanything I've ever experienced. It was hot and crowded and SO bumpy, butamazing. Women were lined up on the side of the road sellingfruit--mangos, avocadoes, HUGE stocks of sugarcane more than 10 feet tall,etc.-- because Mondays and Thursdays are market days. But just to put things in perspective, this short trek brought us to a grand total of 20miles walked in the last 2 days…we usually walk just under 10 miles a day.

I don't even know where to begin in explaining what life is like here. We stay in mud huts. I sleep under a mosquito net. And I carry water on my head from about 4 minutes away when I want to bathe, or I bathe in the river. I’ve learned that those with a salary (the wealthiest) live on around $15-$20 a month, though the most common occupation is sustinance farming, which means the food is eaten and not used for profit. Before coming, I heard all of the statistics… one in three children in Lwala have been orphaned because of AIDS, 25% of men and 40% of women are infected with the HIV/AIDS virus… but it’s so different being here. It seems unreal when I stop and think about those statistics applying to the people who have now become my friends. There isn’t a feel of hopelessness or depression in the village. People are incredibly friendly and lively, and despite the fact that we only know short phrases in Dholuo, whenever we walk anywhere, people want to stop and welcome us to the village.

In April of this year, the Erastus Ochieng’ Memorial Clinic, in honor of Fred and Milton’s father, opened up and, from what I understand, changed the lives of the villagers. Before the clinic was opened, the nearest medical clinic was 9 miles away, in Rongo, and the only doctor in the area was often 16 miles away at the hospital. Since April, the clinic has seen over 1,000 patients from Lwala and other surrounding villages. Dr. Bill Young from Dartmouth is spending the summer in Lwala helping in the clinic since there is currently no permanent doctor. Some of the current projects in the village include a malaria study, a study of worms in children, a mosquito net distribution project (to help prevent malaria), and the protection of a water spring. Last year the Christian rock band Jars ofClay (who started the Blood:Water Mission) came to Lwala to build a water pump, which is where the people here get their water for everything—including bathing, washing clothes, washing dishes, and drinking. Though this pump is much more convenient than the stream that was once the only source of water, we recently discovered that it contains ecoli. The protection ofthe water spring will not guarantee that all harmful ailments are eliminated, but it will keep animals from defecating in the water supply, as well as keep the water moving, which will reduce the chance of bacteria growth.

Since we’ve arrived in Lwala, I’ve sort of adopted 2 little brothers: 10 year old Toby and 14 year old Harrison. Harrison is wonderful at English and Toby is picking up phrases. At night we play BS a lot, and I just laugh and laugh at how that is the only time Toby breaks out his English. “Twoo Threeeeees?” he asks in his Kenyan accent, with this look across his face like he’s trying to interrogate you. Then he calls “BS!!!!” and always seems to wind up with half the deck jumbled into his little hands. We also play a game similar to Checkers called Draf, although I think Toby cheats because whenever I don't understand a move, he spits a new rule at me. I’ve started calling him “ouadua,” which means brother in Dholuo, and every now and then I get a “yamenua,” the word for sister, back.

Yesterday we walked 5 miles to have a meal that Omondi’s wife Betha cooked for us. I have never seen so much food. It was amazing! So far the food has been really good. I love the rice and meat, which is a treat here, but as guests we're spoiled. I am ashamed to say that I was the first one out of the group to get sick. But I survived. I was laying in bed all morning with a stomach ache, and Toby and Harrison came in individually and asked me if I had malaria. That question really grabbed my attention; malaria here is as common as the flu…but deadly.

So far, the highlight of being here has been the kids. Most of the kids in the village have never seen a white person before. Some are scared because of the myth that white people eat children, but most are just curious and run from their homes yelling “Mzungu!!! Mzungu!!!” (the Dholuo word for a white person). I’ve played soccer a few times but usually end up just kicking a ball around with Japolo, Milton and Fred’s cousin, before he plays real soccer with the Lwala men's soccer team. Even though my Dholuo vocabulary is extremely limited, the kids are so fascinated with us. They sit in groups and just stare in awe at us, until one brave soul musters up the courage to run up, touch one of us, then sprint back to the group of kids who are all giggling hysterically. It never gets old.

Two nights ago, the local church choir came and sang to us after dinner. Such strong, harmonized, beautiful voices singing by candlelight leave me without words to describe the experience. Though I didn’t understand the songs, which were sung in Swahili, I felt it in my chest… It took my breath away. Watching Toby get up from the audience to go sing and dance with the group was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. There was such an overwhelming sense of culture and community. There was no age that the tradition of religion and singing and dancing became uncool. Toby was proud to take part, and it was the most incredible thing to witness.

A few days ago, Abbie took me swimming in the river, and since then I’ve become slightly obsessed. I keep trying to go but the past couple of days we haven’t gotten home until dark. Hopefully today I will be able to go before an interview I’m conducting with one of the secondary school scholarship recipients. It costs around $400 a year for secondary school (high school) in Kenya, so this scholarship will help immensely.

Oriti!!!