27.08.2011 African Wedding

27.08.2011 African Wedding

Kelvin and I went on a short tour around Mwanza today.  This town is beautiful!  We woke up early to take a ferry to a close island.  We didn’t know our way around, so Kelvin asked a random guy on the street.  Instead of giving us directions, he took us.  That is one of the biggest and most splendid differences between here and home.  People go out of their way to help you, and it’s normal.  He was great for conversation, and so pleasant.  His name was Ollie.

I was the only mzungu that I saw this morning, and all the mbongos made sure to let me know that it wasn’t a common occurrence to see mzungus in Mwanza .  Not many mzungus come to mwanza, and they all told me that.  I wonder if it bothers Kelvin when people catcall me just because I have white skin.  It bothers me.  I wish I could change the color of my skin so I could blend in.  If I’m going to be noticed, I want it to be for something that I do, not because I have blond hair and pale skin.  

The ferry ride was nice.  Mwanza’s nickname is Rock City, and for good reason.  The rock formations are absolutely beautiful.  They look impossible, like gravity should cause them to fall apart.  Along the coast line, there were also homes and churches built into the rock walls. I was standing at the rail, and Kelvin’s arms were around me.  It was nice.  Ollie had decided to join us for the ferry ride.   We arrived to the island, let the cars drive off, and then left the ferry to explore a bit.  There were flowering trees and bushes everywhere, of all different colors.  Lizards were running around the rocks and sun bathing.  It was relaxing.  We grabbed lunch and caught a ferry back, and then went back to the hotel to prepare for the wedding.  Ollie walked with us most of the way, and then we said our good byes.  He is an amazing guy!  Less than a block from our hotel was a large compost pile full of rotten food.  I hadn’t noticed it this morning or last night, but walking back I couldn’t help but notice it because there were cows, dogs, children, and large storks feeding on the rotten fruit.  I bought chips for the kids, and had a hotel boy run it down there to them while I started to get ready for the wedding.  

Kaylee had given me a dress before she left for home.  Good thing, because it was the only appropriate thing I had to wear.  It was long, to my ankles, and black, pink, and tan.  I had no shoes to match, so I just wore my white sandals.  When I arrived to the wedding  , I was warmly welcomed by all.  In fact, I was ushered to the front (although I much rather would have hid in the back), and Kelvin and I were given seats next to the bride’s parents.  A woman came and asked what I would like to drink, and I ordered a Kilimanjaro.  She brought me five, all warm.  I don’t know why mbongos like warm beer.  It’s always asked, “Moto or baridi?”  Maybe most of them have gotten used to drinking it warm because of the lack of power and refrigeration, and so it is now their preference. I guess I’m getting used to it, but it still disappoints me every time.  

The wedding started with the bride and groom dancing down the aisle with the rest of the wedding party.  When they reached the front, they cut a ribbon to signify entry to their new life, a new beginning with each other.  There were no vows spoken.  Instead, a woman with a microphone did a lot of very loud talking and wild dancing.  I asked Kelvin who she was, and he said she was the MC of the wedding.  Basically, she is supposed to keep the party going and keep the wedding on track.  The bride and groom seemed to be part of the background compared to her.  I wish I understood everything that she was saying.  

The wedding cake was small.  Actually, there were three wedding cakes, all matching.  The first one was taken by the maid of honor.  She cut three small pieces off.  The first piece, the bride put halfway into her mouth.  The groom joined mouths with her and bit off the other half.  The second was taken by the groom, and fed to his best man.  The same was done with the third piece between the bride and her maid of honor.  Then, the groom and best man linked arms, and danced the second cake to the bride’s parents.  The bride and maid of honor danced the third cake to the groom’s parents.  Everywhere anyone went, they danced.  Mbongos sure can dance well too. 

After the cakes, the father of the groom and the father of the bride both spoke.  Then it was time for each tribe to be recognized.  There were several tribes represented at the wedding, and each was called up to do a dance.  Three tribes danced, and then it was the Maasai tribe’s turn.  Since Kelvin is Maasai, he went to dance, but asked me to accompany him.  I said no several times, and so he gave up and went to dance on his own.  Victor, who calls me his shimegi, grabbed my hands and so we went.  Victor is Kelvin’s cousin, and took me under his wing and guidance as soon as we met.  Shimegi translates to mean, “my brother’s wife/partner/girlfriend/etc.”  He says that as his shimegi, it is his responsibility to make sure I am always well and if I ever get into any type of trouble, he will be by my side to protect me.  He had been so kind to me, I would have felt rude to not accept his hand when he offered it to dance.  I linked hands with the rest of the dancers and danced with them.  It was fun, although I didn’t know what I was doing and it looked so.  

At this point, I really had to use the washroom.  So badly that it was making me grumpy.  I leaned over and asked Kelvin if there were bathrooms.  He said yes, and then asked a woman sitting near us to accompany me.  She grabbed my hand, and led me to a row of cars.  She pointed to the ground, and then stood next to me and crossed her arms.  Shit, is she going to stand there and watch me? Well, this is Africa… I pulled up my dress and squatted. She is watching! I’m sure this is normal for her, but come on!  I’m a mzungu, turn away. I tried to urinate, I really did.  But I couldn’t!  Not with her watching. She finally turned her head to talk to somebody, but then I felt like she could hear me.  I pretended like I finished my business, and then pulled down my dress and returned back to the wedding with her. I sat back down, more grumpy than before because I still had to pee, and now I felt like I needed at least 30 minutes in between now and when it would be acceptable for me to go again.  I was the only mzungu, and everyone was watching me.  I couldn’t walk anywhere without everyone’s eyes following me.  

Next was gift giving.  People were called to the front by the MC in groups.  The first group consisted of teachers, because the bride was a teacher. They gathered into a group at the end of the aisle, and then danced to the front carrying a toaster oven over their heads.  The same was done for several other groups, all with different gifts.  Eventually, the “brothers” of the bride were called up.  Included in this group was Kelvin.  Again, he asked me to accompany him but I said, “No way!  I’m not a brother and none of the other men have their girlfriends accompanying them!”  All the other brothers went, and gave money, one at a time, to the MC.  If they tried to give less than 50,000tsh, the MC would yell at them and demand more money.  They all gave in, and seemed like they expected it.  Last was Kelvin.  When he stepped up I heard the MC say, “blah blah blah blah…mzungu…blah blah blah…mzungu!”  I buried my face in my hands.  Now I really didn’t want to go up there.  Kelvin came, grabbed my hand, and dragged me up there.  I saw the bride laughing, and I had forgotten to dance.  Kelvin reminded me, so I started dancing.  Then the bride REALLY started laughing at me.  The MC said, “blah blah blah…mzungu…blah….MZUNGU blah…” and then everyone started laughing.  I know they had to be laughing at me making a fool of myself with my horrible dancing.  In my defense, the music playing wasn’t even good!  And I was put on the spot. The music stopped, and the MC held out her hand.  Kelvin gave 20,000tsh and I gave 20,000tsh.  Then she demanded 10,000tsh more.  Kelvin gave it, and then I returned to the safety of my seat.   

At this point, I was exhausted.  There was still a lot more gift giving, dancing, and kanga swapping left to go.  The father of the bride fell asleep, and I found myself drifting as well.  I don’t know how, because the music and MC were so loud.  Also, the power had gone out, so they were using a very bright outdoor light.  Whenever they faced it in my direction, the light would blind me.  I don’t know how the wedding party got used to it being on them all night.  Finally, it was time for food.  I got into line with Kelvin, but then had to use the washroom. Badly.  It hurt. I had to go.  I asked Kelvin to get me a plate, and then I left for the front where the woman had guided me before.  As I walked up, I saw a woman squatting.  She stopped, midstream, and scooted over.  “Apa.”  At this point, I didn’t care. I had to go, audience or not.  I squatted and peed right there.  I had no toilet paper so I did a shimmy and drip.  When I was finished, I turned around and saw a young boy standing by the wall.  He was looking at me.  I guess I should have been mad, but I was only wondering if my squatting techniques differed from the pros.  I said, “What, never seen a mzungu pee?” and then I walked away.  Who knows if he even understood me. 

I went back inside so join Kelvin for dinner.  Luckily, I had my hand sanitizer.  We had kuku, chips, wali, chipati, and salad.  All of us ate it with our hands.  I hurried and ate mine, because I knew we could leave as soon as we were done.  It tasted good, and I was starving (it was about 0300 by this point and I hadn’t eaten since lunch), so it didn’t take much effort to eat it quickly.  Afterwards, we said thank you and goodbye to everyone.  Kelvin and I piled into his aunt and uncle’s car, and I fell asleep during the car ride back to our hotel, my head on Kelvin’s lap. 

I’m really happy that I got the opportunity to see and be a part of this wedding.  I’m especially happy that I brought my camera, because it was only one of two cameras that were there, and the other one didn’t take that great of quality photos.  The bride was very grateful to see and receive the pictures Kelvin and I took. I’m especially grateful for meeting Kelvin, because my African experience would have been entirely different without him. 

26.08.2011 Another Bus Ride

26.08.2011 Another Bus Ride. 

Kelvin and I left for Mwanza on the 26^th at 0530.  His cousin was getting married, and asked me to accompany him.  He called a tax driver to pick me up, and the tax driver was drunk.  It was terrifying.  He was yelling in my face, and hiccupping. Kelvin didn’t live that far away, but I just wanted to get out of the car.  I thought that might be even more dangerous, so I yelled, “Pole, pole!” to him several times (slowly, slowly).  He drove slowly, but was still swerving quite a bit.  After we got to Kelvin’s place, I made him call a new tax, and refused to get back into that one.  It almost made us late for the bus, but at least we weren’t dead. The bus ride was quite uneventful.  I slept with my head on his shoulder for the first few hours, but then we reached a point of which the roads were no longer paved and very bumpy.  We talked the rest of the way.  Kelvin speaks English very well, but sometimes I think his understanding is less.  Actually, I think he’s a man and doesn’t listen well all the time, only it’s more noticeable because English isn’t his first language.  I will ask him a question, and his answer will have to do with the topic, but not be the answer.  I think he hears four or five main words, and fills in the blanks on his own.  I have to stop him, tell him he isn’t listening to me, and then rephrase or restate the question.  On the other hand, he always makes sure I am comfortable and happy.  He puts so much effort into my well-being.  Usually, I don’t let people do that, but with him, it feels comfortable.  He also has the courage to be himself and be free.  That is something I’ve always admired in people.   Besides the lack of listening (or understanding), he is 95% perfect. 

We ate lunch on the bus.  We had sambosas, boiled eggs, mandozi, and peanuts. We still had six hours to go, and I wished we would have been able to get out and stretch for a bit.  Ah well.  We arrived in Mwanza at about 1900, and his aunt and uncle welcomed us warmly.  Too warmly.  His aunt told me our kids would be adorable.  They took us to our hotel to drop off our stuff, and then out to eat.  I had barbecued catfish.  It was so delicious! Mwanza is right on Lake Victoria, so fish is a staple in their community.  After eating little more than coocoo (chicken), chips (fries), potatoes, rice, beans, and chapati, fish tasted so good.  They served the whole fish, head, bones, and all.  I had to ask Kelvin how to eat it.  You just pick the fish meat off the bones with your hands.  I now completely understand why people choke on fish bones.  They are small and sharp!  

After dinner, we returned to the hotel and went to sleep.  The wedding was the next day, and I was exhausted from the travels.  Not only was the room only 15,000tsh, the bed was super comfortable and I got a hot shower!  I’m living the life here in Mwanza!

23.08.2011 Tumor

 23.08.2011 Tumor

I was helping a local nurse today with wound care and dressing changes.  Wounds here are much more extreme than the wounds I have seen at home.  They are taken care of improperly because of lack of money, education, and resources.  When infections occur (which they do, regularly), they are not checked for MRSA or cultured.  Rather, they are all treated the same.  One woman in particular had a tumor growth on her face.  It looked like the underside of a mushroom, but as large as a baseball, and made her unable to talk, chew, or swallow properly.  She keeps her face covered with a scarf and Kanga and only takes it off for dressing changes.  Since it is an open wound, we crushed Flagyl and sprinkled it on the growth.  She was offered a transfer, but refused.  There is no more we can do at our hospital, unfortunately, so she lays in the bed, with her family near her.  She hardly talks to anyone when I see her.  Sometimes, I get the impression that she is just waiting to die.

I am going to be spending a few more days assessing the hospital and trying to figure out how I can use my education and time to the best effect.  I want to leave something with the hospital that will continue on long after I am gone: education.  As long as I can make them realize the importance of proper technique, hopefully they will continue to do it.  There are no enforced regulations to keep them up to par, and that scares me.  Meds do not have to be given on time (or locked up), pain is not assessed, and patients are not regularly cared for.  It’s why healthcare here is as awful as it is.  I talked to Dr. Julius and he is very open to me hosting educational classes for the staff members.  Hopefully he will also enforce what is taught. 

22.08.2011 Hospital

22.08.2011 Hospital

Today I did rounds again with the doctors and local nurses.  I miss the amenities at the hospitals at home.  I miss the care patients receive at home.  I miss being able to talk with my patients.  At home, we take vitals every four hours.  Here, heart rate and blood pressure are taken once in the morning.  Respirations are not counted, auscultation is not routinely done (and I doubt the ability for a lot of the medical professionals here to recognize the different sounds and what causes them), and the patients are not routinely bathed, walked, turned, or given ROM exercises.  Their families are responsible for feeding them, washing them, and assessing their well being.  The food they eat is brought from home.  If there is no family, the patients are not washed.  There was one Maasai man in particular who was in the hospital for a broken hip.  He was not in a cast, but just resting on his side.  We went in to change sheets and the local nurse wanted to skip his bed, because it was going to be difficult to move him.  I saw him and couldn’t leave him.  His sheets were covered in dirt, dust, and urine.  I pulled is blankets off of him and assessed his hip to determine the best way to move him.  I rolled him, and changed his sheets myself.  It was hard to do it alone because I didn’t want to hurt him or cause his hip more damage, but the man was so grateful after I had finished. Being here makes me truly realize how very important basic nursing care is.  It’s the foundation of every patient’s health and well being.   

19.08.2011 Sick Still, but Feeling Better

19.08.2011 Sick Still, but Feeling Better

Michael came and gently woke me up this morning to ask if I wanted to go to the hospital.  I wanted to get tested for malaria, but didn’t want to get out of bed quite yet.  I told him to go run his errands, and come back for me in a couple hours.  I don’t have malaria, it’s just the flu.  It’s evening now, and I feel much better, although the smell of food makes me nauseous.  Hopefully by tomorrow I’m 100%. 

18.08.2011 Nobody Can Take the Place of Your Mama

18.08.2011 Nobody Can Take the Place of Your Mama.

Last night was awful.  I was feeling ill, and so I went to bed early.  I woke up projectiling vomit onto myself.  It was in my hair, on my bed, woven into the fibers of my mosquito net.  My stomach was forcing its contents out so forcefully that I was gasping for air, and coming up short.  Trying to make it to a garbage or the toilet at this point was useless, so I waited until I thought I was done, and slowly pealed my blankets off of me, to avoid getting vomit anywhere else. I carried my sheets outside, and then came back to my room.  I don’t know about you, but when I get sick, all I want to do is sit in a bath tub with hot water running over my head and back.  Here, I’d have to settle for cold water, to at least wash the smell and chunks away.  Or so I thought.  I turned the faucet, and started crying. My tears were the only water falling.  The tank was dry.  As if I wasn’t disgusting enough, with my own emesis sprayed over my body, the realization that we had no water made my stomach churn again, and so I ran to the toilet.  I stuck my head over it, and immediately smelled the powerful odor of human waste.  No water means no flushing.  I grabbed for the garbage can, and puked again.  

I sleep in a dorm-style room with five other women, and the walls and door of the bathroom are paper thin.  I know they could hear me puking (dying) in the bathroom, and I couldn’t very well crawl back into the bed I had just soaked with my stomach’s contents, so I went into the living room and laid on the love seat, trying to get comfortable.  I started crying again, quietly.  I wanted my mom to cook me soup, and I wanted my mom to give me 7-Up, and I wanted her to clean my sheets so I could have a bed to crawl into.  I just wanted my mom.  I texted her, and asked her to call me.  It was about 0200 here, but mid-day there.  Five minutes later, dad called me.  I answered crying.  Stupid me, of course they knew it was the middle of the night here.  They were worried something serious had happened, and me answering the phone crying didn’t calm my dad’s nerves.  I quickly told him that everything was fine, I was just ill and home sick.  I told him what happened, and he said, “Oh no, Da.  I’m sorry.  Can Ashlee or somebody take the dolly dolly to get water tomorrow?”  This made me imagine Dolly Parton on a dala dala, and that made me start laughing out loud.  

My parents each comfort me in a different way, and depending on the situation, I usually prefer one over the other.  My dad, for example, is the person I went to when Mike died back in high school, and the first person I wanted to talk to when Jacob and I broke up.  He doesn’t usually know what to say, but he oozes comfort from his pores.  Usually when he does say something in the attempt to make you feel better, the awkwardness of his words makes you laugh (dolly dolly).  My mom, on the other hand, comforts with actions.  When I’m sick, my mom knows exactly what to do.  When I arrive home after a while away, she goes out of her way to make me happy to be home (even though the entire time I am home, she jokes that she can’t wait until I leave again). 

My mom had been at Kohls, shopping with the girls.  She came home while I was still talking to my dad, and got on the phone too.  I was so happy to talk to her, but it made me even more home sick.  This was the first time I had felt home sick since arriving, but I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bed with my blankets tucked around me, with my annoying cat drooling while lying on top of me.  After we got off the phone, I rolled over on the love seat and started to drift off.  Less than an hour later, I began vomiting again.  Kaka and Zachi, the security guards, heard me and came inside.  They comforted me, found me another blanket and a more comfortable pillow, and made me honey tea.  Kaka sat with me until I fell asleep again.  Not my mama, but he did well. 

17.08.2011 Angela's Going Away Party

17.08.2011 Angela’s Going Away Party at Kitulizo

Today was Angela’s official last day at Kitulizo.  First Em left, and now she is too.  We have no new volunteers, and I’m at the hospital three day a week, so they have no teacher.  Mama Anna said she would step in until we got somebody new.  I hope there is somebody from the next orientation, because these kids rely on it.  

For the party, we brought speakers and music.  The kids LOVED it!  They were dancing like little rock stars.  Venence belongs in Via Via as a member of one of the break dance groups.  He was like a twenty year old professional stuck in a short six year old’s body.  I was dancing with all of them, but dancing with Dora was my favorite.  She usually sleeps all the time, because she gets such awful sleep at home.  Her bed is the gravel ground, and she shares it with her family.  When the music came on though, her eyes lit up and she jumped on the top of the desk, grabbed my hands, and started shaking it.  Finding enjoyment in the tiniest moments seems like a defense mechanism for coping with all the things that lack in one’s life.  For those who have everything and want more, well…I’m not sure if they experience the same level of enjoyment as those who have so little.  Can you go your entire life without feeling true enjoyment?  Can you go so long without feeling it that you eventually forget the spark it causes in your soul?