It is the best kind of day. I meet Sammy at the cyber café. Sammy is one of Emmanuel Center’s first high school graduates. He comes from Kitui in Central Kenya. The area is so dry that the World Food Program has had to provide food aid to Sammy’s community for the last decade. His mother is still trying to grow a few crops on their acre of desert, while battling TB and AIDS. His father and youngest sibling are dead. His three other younger brothers are all at Emmanuel Center, having fled rural poverty for Nairobi’s streets and then the streets for a chance at Emmanuel Center.
Sammy is all smiles. We are going to register him for college. We board a matatu. Matatus are the most common form of public transport. Most are Nissan 14 seater mini vans, though they often squeeze in 15, 16, or 17 passengers. Most blare hip hop, reggae or gospel music (or a lively mix of all three) and are decorated with decals representing European football teams, American gangster rap and God. The one we’re on clearly supports Arsenal Football Club, has a huge picture of some gangst’a (I don’t know any of their names) and numerous stickers with sayings like “God can do what no man can do,” and “I love Jesus.” I’ve often compared riding matatus to riding roller coasters since the driving makes your stomach drop. Thankfully we reach downtown Nairobi safely and cross Moi Avenue, one of the busiest streets in Nairobi, with only two near death experiences.
Sammy and I enter the office of the Tourism College to a warm reception. Sammy has decided to study catering and found an excellent course. After one year he will get a certificate in Food Preparation and Management, if he continues for another year he will get a Diploma in the same, and if he completes a third year he will have a Advanced Diploma in Catering. We go over the paper work and register him to start in July. Since Sammy mentioned the course to me he has been constantly praying for it, even though I told him it was a done deal and I could guarantee that I would beg, borrow or steal the funding for it. Now he still doesn’t seem to quite believe it.
We go for lunch and he begins to talk – and Sammy is a talker. The conversations goes something like this: he says, “You know Daniel (Emmanuel Center founder and director) is like my father and I love him so much and he is my father because he saved my life and he put me through school and now he has brought people like you to help me. I love him so much. I really honour him….and you are so good. You must come to Kitui and see my home. I will give you half my farm (which is of course drought ridden) and we will kill our only goat for you. I am so happy…. Once I have this course I won’t want anything. I will never ask for anything again. I will be a chef and can’t miss a job…I will get a good job and give you the farm… and I will come on safari with you and cook for you. You know once I’m a chef I can’t miss a job. I won’t ask anything from Emmanuel Center again. I will be a donor. If I have job I can help others like Daniel does. I won’t ask anything from Daniel again…” And so the conversation goes full circle and starts at the beginning again. Meanwhile I’m torn between bursting into tears, because I’m so moved by what Sammy is saying, and bursting out laughing. Sammy is desperately trying to eat his chicken and chips with a knife fork even though everyone in Kenya picks up chicken with both hands and chews it off the bone. Sammy is obviously inexperienced with a knife and fork, but I guess he’ll learn such things in college too.
And as we ride the crowded, smelly, noisy matatu back to the center I realize that this might just be one of the best days of my life. Sammy is starting a new phase in his life, a phase he had every chance of missing due to poverty and disease, and I am here to celebrate it.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
A visit to the children's HIV clinic
At the children’s HIV clinic which we take the HIV+ Emmanuel children to there is a chart on the wall that lists how many HIV + children have been admitted this month (8), how many have transferred to other clinics (6) and how many have died (4). The furniture is simple (the examining table is the most basic wood table with a plastic table cloth on top), there are no computers and the medical supplies include only simple plastic gloves, tongue depressors, etc. (which is most than most Kenyan hospitals have), but the place is spotless (which most Kenyan hospitals are not) and the staff are cherry.
Brother (the remarkable volunteer at Emmanuel Center who does everything from monitoring the boys’ education to supervising their healthcare) and I take the HIV+ children to the clinic for medication refills.
The first child, let’s call him Dave, recently tested negative for HIV. The staff called me while I was still in Canada and told me he had ‘turned negative by a miracle.’ I instantly shot down their optimism, saying it is impossible to ‘turn negative.’ In fact I was harsh with them. I find belief in miraculous healing, when it comes to HIV, extremely dangerous – it leads to rash behavior and people praying instead of taking medication or protecting themselves. It turns out, on consulting the doctor, Dave’s first test for HIV must have been wrong. This happens occasionally, even in Canada. So though it wasn’t a miracle, there is good reason to celebrate.
The second child, let’s call him Sam, is one ARVs (HIV medication) but hasn’t been taking them regularly, even though Brother gives them to him at the allotted time each day. Sam who is 13 is rebelling like many 13 year olds do. He has realized that taking his medication on time is very important to the staff and so when he doesn’t get his way about something else he retaliates by refusing the medication. However, unlike many 13 year olds, his rebellion could truly shorten his life (not adhering to medication regimes can cause drug resistance). So the doctor, Brother and I all try and explain that the only person Sam is hurting is himself. Still I have to sympathize with him. I know many adults in Canada struggle to take their medication regularly; it is so much to ask of a child. We resolve the issue, hopefully, by agreeing to get him a watch with an alarm set for the time he must take the medication – this way he has to be responsible for himself, though of course he will still be monitored by Brother.
The third child, let’s call him Peter, is not on ARVs but is taking multivitamins to maintain his immune system. (The clinic gives us these and the medications for free through the fantastic program of Nymbani Children’s Home, funded by USAID.) The doctor asks Peter if he knows why he takes the vitamins and comes to the clinic, and Peter says no, though he has already been counseled many times about his HIV status. So we send him to the counselor to explain it all to him again. Once again I have to sympathize with him – HIV is a complicated disease, how can he really understand it?
Luckily, he comes out of the councilor’s office smiling and I could kiss the councilor in gratitude for doing such a hard job so well. She agrees to come to the center to test all the children again (we like to test them once a year) and provide counseling/education. However, she first has to request the extra supplies needed. She only gets about 100 testing kits a month and if she runs out before hand she can’t test anyone till she gets more.
As we leave we pass the line of mothers with children as young as infants and as old as 14 waiting to also see the doctor and get medications. I try and rejoice that they are at the clinic – after all HIV medications can help HIV+ individuals live a ‘normal’ life and these mothers and children are doing the right thing by being at the clinic. However, I feel that the reality where there is a need for a specific clinic for children with HIV is a sad reality. No one ‘should’ have HIV, which is after all completely preventable, but children ‘should’ especially be free from the virus.
Thinking about the way the world ‘should’ be often makes me want to blame someone for the way it actually is. In this case I can’t blame the doctors, children or mothers. The only blame I can point is at those of us who know how to prevent mother-child transmission and who haven’t done a good enough job at communicating it and making it possible (prevention requires good maternity healthcare facilities and a nutritious supplement to breast milk) in places like Kenya. It’s a harsh reality.
Brother (the remarkable volunteer at Emmanuel Center who does everything from monitoring the boys’ education to supervising their healthcare) and I take the HIV+ children to the clinic for medication refills.
The first child, let’s call him Dave, recently tested negative for HIV. The staff called me while I was still in Canada and told me he had ‘turned negative by a miracle.’ I instantly shot down their optimism, saying it is impossible to ‘turn negative.’ In fact I was harsh with them. I find belief in miraculous healing, when it comes to HIV, extremely dangerous – it leads to rash behavior and people praying instead of taking medication or protecting themselves. It turns out, on consulting the doctor, Dave’s first test for HIV must have been wrong. This happens occasionally, even in Canada. So though it wasn’t a miracle, there is good reason to celebrate.
The second child, let’s call him Sam, is one ARVs (HIV medication) but hasn’t been taking them regularly, even though Brother gives them to him at the allotted time each day. Sam who is 13 is rebelling like many 13 year olds do. He has realized that taking his medication on time is very important to the staff and so when he doesn’t get his way about something else he retaliates by refusing the medication. However, unlike many 13 year olds, his rebellion could truly shorten his life (not adhering to medication regimes can cause drug resistance). So the doctor, Brother and I all try and explain that the only person Sam is hurting is himself. Still I have to sympathize with him. I know many adults in Canada struggle to take their medication regularly; it is so much to ask of a child. We resolve the issue, hopefully, by agreeing to get him a watch with an alarm set for the time he must take the medication – this way he has to be responsible for himself, though of course he will still be monitored by Brother.
The third child, let’s call him Peter, is not on ARVs but is taking multivitamins to maintain his immune system. (The clinic gives us these and the medications for free through the fantastic program of Nymbani Children’s Home, funded by USAID.) The doctor asks Peter if he knows why he takes the vitamins and comes to the clinic, and Peter says no, though he has already been counseled many times about his HIV status. So we send him to the counselor to explain it all to him again. Once again I have to sympathize with him – HIV is a complicated disease, how can he really understand it?
Luckily, he comes out of the councilor’s office smiling and I could kiss the councilor in gratitude for doing such a hard job so well. She agrees to come to the center to test all the children again (we like to test them once a year) and provide counseling/education. However, she first has to request the extra supplies needed. She only gets about 100 testing kits a month and if she runs out before hand she can’t test anyone till she gets more.
As we leave we pass the line of mothers with children as young as infants and as old as 14 waiting to also see the doctor and get medications. I try and rejoice that they are at the clinic – after all HIV medications can help HIV+ individuals live a ‘normal’ life and these mothers and children are doing the right thing by being at the clinic. However, I feel that the reality where there is a need for a specific clinic for children with HIV is a sad reality. No one ‘should’ have HIV, which is after all completely preventable, but children ‘should’ especially be free from the virus.
Thinking about the way the world ‘should’ be often makes me want to blame someone for the way it actually is. In this case I can’t blame the doctors, children or mothers. The only blame I can point is at those of us who know how to prevent mother-child transmission and who haven’t done a good enough job at communicating it and making it possible (prevention requires good maternity healthcare facilities and a nutritious supplement to breast milk) in places like Kenya. It’s a harsh reality.
Friday, June 6, 2008
No Peace No Ugali
Ugali is the past made from maize flour that most
I get a lot of questions about the post-election violence from people in the west. I wasn’t here then but let me share some things my friends have told me…
-“They were rioting and burning tires just outside the gate. We had our passports ready and fuel in the car incase we had to run.”
- “I couldn’t get milk for my baby for five days. I was too scared to leave the house.”
- “We snuck Luos (one of the tribes) out of the neighborhood in the middle of the night. There were pamphlets warning them to leave now or be killed tomorrow.”
- “They (rioters) stopped our car and were going to burn it, and then one of them recognized me and let us go. My wife and baby were in the car crying.
-“He (an old acquaintance) is in hiding. He killed a Kikuyu (one of the tribes) woman during the violence.”
- It’s good Kofi Anan made them agree. Things would have gotten worse. The Kiyukus were ready to march to Kibera.’
- “This child saw his mother burnt alive. That one saw his grandmother raped. Where can they go home to?”
And, most commonly and most importantly…”We have seen who these politicians are. They have used us. They will not use us again. This will not happen in 2012.”
Remember No Peace, No Ugali – pray for peace.
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