Monday February 11th.
Went to Nairobi for the weekend for the "Outreach" program, which involved visiting some projects that our charity is involved with, and the infamous bike ride through Hell's Gate National Park.
The first project we visited was the KCC Slum, about an hours drive from Nairobi. This is managed by an inspirtional man called Marcus, who came here as a volunteer for seven months - some three years ago. He now devotes his life to helping the people of the slum fend for themselves. Through his fundraising they have built a schoolroom which now teaches about fifty children, they grow vegetables, and have a women's centre, where the women make jewellery to sell . I think the thing that affected me the most about all the projects we visited was the way the children reacted to us. As we pulled up in the van , everywhere we went, cheers went up and we were mobbed - not for sweets, or pencils, or money, but for hugs, for games, to borrow our sunglasses (then give them back!!), to be swung round and round, to be picked up and squeezed - just to play. Gorgeous smiling upturned faces, "Teacher ! Teacher!" excercise books held aloft to mark their english work "Picture! Picture!" (just so they could check themselves out). After having travelled in Asia, and being pounced on by street kids, knowing my pockets would be emptied, and my hat/sunglasses gone by the end of the game, for these kids to be so innocently asking for nothing more than human contact, was profoundly uplifting.
Hell's Gate was wonderful. We had mountain bikes and cycled over sandy, dusty, rocky roads (me using the three gears which worked), through herds of zebra, girraffe, buffallo and little families of warthogs. I turn into a small child at the sight of wildlife, and kept stopping to clap my hands in delight at each new sighting - bit embarassing really, being the oldest person there ! At the end of the road we dismounted, and hiked through the gorge, which is prone to flash flooding and where seven people lost their lives last year. Handily, there was a tiny sign perched on a rock right at the bottom, saying "beware of flash floods".
We then cycled back, ever so slightly uphill, on the sandy, dusty, rocky roads, me with my three gears. Now I know it wasn't a competition, but I came third - out of thirteen twenty year olds....(not that I was checking....)
We spent the night in the closest thing to a prison I ever hope to experience.. It seemed to be a hotel built entirely from iron, with all the doors clanging shut and secured with an iron bolt, so I felt like someone out of "Porridge". Still - got my own room.....Monday morning I trotted down to the clinic as usual, to find that I was to be the "Doctor" that morning. - eek ! Cecilia (who I have just found out is not a trained nurse, but is a qualified psychologist -eek again !) was away, and Maggie is on leave, so I had to run the clinic on my own with the help of Naomi, who is the cleaner and helps in the pharmacy.Naomi translated for me, while I furiously winged it....wish I'd done more reading up on paediatrics before I left...thankfully Naomi knew all the doses of the drugs I was prescribing, so between us we got by - I was quite enjoying myself by the end of it, although there was one little boy who I asked to come back the following day who I am quite worried about - . Some of the mothers were very disappointed that I was not giving their children an injection (for their dry, clear chested, non febrile coughs) but I stayed firm...although I suspect they will be back when I'm not looking.....
In the afternoon we went to a Maasai house-warming , which really put in perspective just how far these people walk to get their injections. Most of the people I had seen that morning had walked from Ormeroi, a small village that must have taken them at least four hours to walk from, in the blistering heat, with a baby on their back.It took us an hour on a "pick-pick" motorbike, "two-up" to get there.People had come from miles around to get to the party, which involved blessing the house, some lovely African singing, then everyone piling into the little corrugated tin building "to have a look", followed by food (roast goat, chapati and rice - very tasty) and then interminable speeches (our host Mum, Maggie, said it was the only thing that got on her nerves about Maasai culture - the speeches......)We were travelling back in a small pick-up truck, with wooden benches nailed down each side. This would have (uncomfortably) sat about twelve people. When, after an hour or so, we were approaching twenty I was beginning to think that was the limit, and we were sure to leave soon. Not the case.
It transpired that we needed to take the crates of empty soda bottles back - four of them. So out fifteen people got, in went the crates, then back in got the fifteen, this time perching precariously on top of the crates.Then the speeches ended and another six or so people arrived, including the incredibly tall and angular Pastor in his suit three times too big for him (this appears to be the Pastor "uniform").Not a chance. So I thought...
So in got the six people, somehow, and surely now it was time to go - this had taken about two hours by now. The driver suddenly arrived, shouted something at the tightly packed (that is putting it extremely mildly) vehicle, and for some reason half the people then began to get out. . Some half an hour later, we eventually set off, only to stop a little way down the road to pick up all the people we had just unpacked. There seemed to be no reason at all for this, the road was no better or worse, but everyone took it in their stride, except my poor house-mate Matt, whose sense of humour was fading rapidly with every suffocating moment. In his defence he was sandwiched between the "nutter on the bus" and scary rhino lady who kept telling him to keep his hands to himself - a bit tricky when there are ten people between you and your hands. We arrived home in one piece somehow.....
Tuesday 12th February
No comments:
Post a Comment