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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!