dawn: adventures of a journeywoman

"He wraps Himself in light as with a garment,
He stretches out the Heavens...
He touches the mountains and they smoke"
"The heavens proclaim the glory of God.
The skies display his craftsmanship.
Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make him known.
They speak without sound or word; their voice is never heard.
Yet their message has gone throughout the earth, and their words to all the world.
God has made a home in the heavens for the sun. It bursts forth like a radiant groom after his wedding. It rejoices like a great athlete eager to run the race."
-Psalm 104 and 19
Last weekend, I traveled with the other interns to the Kakamega forest (complete with a bat cave!). It is part of a rainforest that used to stretch across the equator in Kenya from coast to coast. Due to deforestation, industrialization, and climate changes, the forest is heavily broken today. But inside the forest are hundreds of species of plants and animals that are found nowhere else in the world. There is a treatment for prostate cancer that is quite famous from a tree that only resides in the Kakamega forest. As we hiked through it and ate different leaves and tried different mild medicinal plants, I was amazed at the medical possibilities that can be discovered through learning from native peoples.
At 5 a.m. on Sunday morning, we began our “night hike.” This consisted of sloshing through red mud, jumping over branches, running to catch up with the guides, laughing at each others’ head lamps, and trying not to fall down the steep mountain by grasping desperately at the tall grass. But in the end, we prevailed! Reaching the top of the peak gave us an unbeatable view of the world around us. As we sat silently looking at the mountain ranges covered in mists of clouds, the brilliant fire rose over the peaks. As I tried to come up with words or poetry to match the experience, I found myself only recalling the words of the psalmist. “He wraps himself in light…”
Though life in Shikokho is not always a mountaintop experience, it is starting to pick up to full speed. Each day this week, I have wondered at both how much and how little I was able to accomplish/change. I have moved into the doing stage (as opposed to the observing phase) with only 3 weeks and counting. On Monday, I helped another intern jumpstart his grant project: building latrines for families of the AIDS orphans. I gave a brief health talk on disease prevention and we also covered care of latrines and HIV/AIDS. Unfortunately, time and money is not enough to provide for all the families that lack pit latrines (not to mention those whose latrines are in utter disrepair), so each family drew a sheet of paper from a basket that had either yes or no written on it. It was heart-breaking for me to see families leave quietly out the back after drawing a no. When I was explaining (through a translator) how to prevent malaria by sleeping under a mosquito net every night, a woman raised her hand and asked what she could do instead if she couldn’t afford a net for her or the orphans she was caring for. When she left with a no written on the paper in her hand, I was determined to find nets for these families. Through a government distributor, I was able to get sharply discounted mosquito nets (30KSh each instead of 500) and through each of the families that is lacking adequate nets, identified by a house-to-house survey, we have been able to supply each of them with a new, treated mosquito net! 10 of the nets went to another intern whose grant was not funded. She is working at an orphanage where at least 3 (sometimes 6) children sleep in each bed, without nets, and one of the children is known to be HIV positive. So when one kid becomes ill, disease spreads like wildfire. She is now working to find funding to build more beds, have a hand-washing station, and a first aid kit available.
My first aid class in the primary school was so much fun I can't wait to conduct the rest of these classes for the community. I was surprised that the students had never even heard of the word "choking" before. As I taught them to take pulses, perform the Heimlech, care for someone in shock, recognize a poisonous snakebite, etc., they howled with delight and I loved seeing the realization and empowerment practically written on their faces as they practiced on their neighbors. I quickly realized that my methods of drawing bites, burns, and wounds with red markers on their arms was much different than the way they are normally taught. When I walked in the room, the student all stood and monotonally greeted me, "Good afternoon teacher. How are you? We are fine." I could hear the students in the classroom next to me repeating everything the teacher said. But without any textbooks or worksheets available, teachers have decided that rote recitation and memorization is the way to go.
This was the week of the fundis. A fundi is someone skilled in making or constructing things. Last week at market day, I picked out some beautiful fabrics (after bargaining until I was about blue in the face). I drew out some designs and the fundi adjusted them and took my measurements. People in my village are excited to have me looking more African. The same day, I talked to another fundi, who is building a file cabinet for the clinic. I’ve only seen 3 file cabinets in Kenya and they were each over $150 (way over my budget), so I’ve resorted to trying draw and explain how a file cabinet workers to a carpenter who has never seen one and probably doesn’t understand exactly what it is for. I’m pretty nervous about the final product but miracles do happen.
It was also the week of funerals. At least everyday, there was another story of someone who died of AIDS. My mother’s cousin died a few years after his wife, leaving their young children in the care of their grandmother (whom people are doubtful of her abilities to provide for them). It is said the wife “befriended” a man who also died of AIDS. A teacher in the primary school passed away of AIDS in her sleep Friday night, also leaving her children orphaned. Day after day, it seems the same story is repeated. Before coming to Africa, I thought the ABCs were brilliant. A: abstinence; B: be faithful; C: use a condom. But the B is killing people-husbands and their wives, afraid to question or mistrust their spouses are dying as a result. As I stood in front of the teacher’s body at the school on Thursday with 800 children wailing behind me, I couldn’t help but think, “How long? Why? Is there any real solution?” The reality is that AIDS is wiping off a generation from our planet. It’s easy to donate money, read about it, give a seminar on it, attend a concert for it, get passionate, and feel part of the solution, but when you’re here seeing the hurt, helplessness, and hopelessness it’s a lot harder to feel like there’s an end to the tunnel. The other day I was having a great time playing tag, tickle-monster, and high-fives with the orphans while my host-mom (who normally looks after/teaches the under-school-age kids at the church during the day) was at her cousin’s funeral. As I looked into their smiles, it hit me who these kids were. Though I know them as Lillian, Stonley, and Quazima, they are a generation who has to learn the hard way about AIDS-they live each day with a hole that AIDS has created in their lives. And what will that solution seminar do, I mean REALLY do for that, for them?
I’m realizing this blog is long and getting depressing, so if you’re feeling despondant, perhaps you can be reminded of me of the beginning. A sunrise. No matter how lonely or hurt or angry life can leave us, we have this new beginning, this eager athlete, this radient groom given to us as a present every day. It can’t fix the pain but can remind us of something greater than the present pain and point us to a greater future where there is not even memory of pain.