Who ye gonna call?

This past weekend I was invited by Mr. Macharia, the deputy head teacher of St. Anna, to visit his home and to take part in his wife’s graduation ceremony. Honoured by the invite and keen to see another part of Kenya, I accepted right willingly.

Mr Macharia’s family live in a town called Molo in the Rift Valley province of Kenya. Quick geography lesson: Kenya is divided into 8 provinces (Central, Western, Nairobi, Rift, Nyanza, Eastern, North Eastern and Coast); St. Anna is located in the Central province, which is aptly located in the centre of the country, the Rift Valley is located to the west of Central province, between the Central & Western provinces.

Our route would take us from Murang’a to Nairobi (all routes go through Nairobi it would seem) and then on to Eldoret in the Rift Valley where the graduation was to take place. As the graduation was to take place on the Friday, and the journey from Nairobi to Elodoret would take 7 hours, Mr. Macharia and I set off on the Thursday evening.

For an idea of the journey to Nairobi § post “Nairobi” dated 24/03/2010

When we arrived, we had to cross the chaos that is Nairobi from the mutatu terminus to the “real” bus station. Spoilt for choice of bus companies, we choose the opulently sounding Eldoret Express (sounds a little like the Orient Express no?). We purchased two tickets and with visions of crimson velvet and baccarat lampshades, we made our way to appropriate bay. Leaving my illusions of opulence at the door, we climbed aboard, found two seats away from the axels (up there for thinking!), put our bags down and returned into the station café for tea and chapattis just as the heavens opened. We were due to leave at 20h00; it was now 18h30.

An hour or so later, our appetite satiated we waited for the departure call. Now as chance would have it there were 2 buses going to Eldoret at the same time and as both were half full the conductors decided, quite reasonably, that they would merge the 2 buses. Quite unreasonably they decided it was us who had to move, and so we all traipsed (I’ve never written that word before, is that spelt correctly?) a mile to another bus station where we joined up with the other bus…of course all of the other passengers already aboard had avoided seats on the axels (up there for thinking!), so we sat where we could.

At last it seemed we were ready to depart, or so I thought, when a whole troop of salesmen climbed aboard with one common goal … to separate their captive audience from their well earned shillings: drinks, biscuits, fruit, veggies, torches, sunglasses (essential on a nightime bus ride) … a veritable ambrosia of commerce. The next character to join the pantomime was the preacher intent on offering us a chance of redemption before for our journey … I was just praying that we would leave today. And so it went on…and on.

Finally, after about 45 minutes, with the preacher’s words still ringing in our ears, we headed off. Our scheduled departure time was 20h00; it was now 21h30 … bang on time. Surprisingly I slept more or less the whole way there, stirring only for a pee break in Nakuru.

We arrived in Eldoret at 04h30 on Friday morning and fell into the Strawberry Café…Food that makes you go mmm!! As this was our meeting point with Mr. Macharia’s mother in-law, brother, aunt & cousins who were coming from other places and they were not due to arrive for a couple of hours, we made ourselves comfy, ordered a bucket of tea and a dozen cakes and sat back to watch Al-jazera. The Strawberry Café was packed with people keen to go mmm … all half asleep and waiting for relatives or the first morning Matatus to begin service at 06h00. There is something delightfully peculiar about a station waiting room café…they’re wonderful places to watch life and the Kenyan variety is so unlike the ones back home where everyone is as quiet as possible, ignores each other and doesn’t bring their goats. But if I was surprised to see goats, my fellow waiting roomers were more surprised to see a white man. Like a scene from a western when the out-of -towner walks into the saloon, everyone turned to stare a me, but with a big smile and nod of the mutual recognition, the status quo was re-established and everyone returned to Al-jazera.

6 cups of tea (yeah I regretted that all day) and an obscene number of cakes later, it was 08h00 and everyone had arrived. We pressed on to Mosocho Teachers College. Alighting at Mosocho, we were descended upon by a swarm of tinsel salesmen. Wondering what on earth was going on (I spend a great deal of my time wondering what on earth is going on), I was informed that it is customary for graduates to deck themselves in tinsel for graduation…guests too. Not one to break from tradition, I picked up a silver & green garland and allowed myself to be carried along by the throng. The graduation was taking place on the school field; the students seated in the middle surrounded on 3 sides by guests and faculty. We chose a pew with a clear view of proceedings, and feeling not unlike a German tourist we laid our bags on it and hurried off to the boys dorm to freshen up (6 cups of tea remember).

The boys’ dorm was a simple white-washed concrete building with open rooms off a central corridor. Boys sleep a max of 4 to a room and as there are no doors, each had a curtain covering the entrance. Without waiting to be invited, we set up camp in Mr. Macharia’s old room… once your room always your room it would seem. Just as I was wondering what the current occupants would think of us squatting their quarters, one of them turned up. As is almost always the case here in Kenya, age is enough to ensure deference and we were invited to make ourselves at home
Doesn’t it seem to be the case that the more we have the less we share?

Suitably freshened and presentable we embarked upon a tour of the school. According to Mr. Macharia, we could happily skip the first hour or so of the ceremony as it was only speeches. We visited the dorms, the grounds, the canteen, and finally made out way to some of the classes where many of the current students were displaying & explaining their projects. We were listening intently as the science club presented their projects on sustainable farming and energy conservation, when a dapper dressed bloke in a floppy velvet hat, who I later learned was the dean of the school, came over and told the students to “summarise more quickly as these are intellectuals”. I looked around to see who he was talking about; convinced he couldn’t be referring to me, and was reassured to see a group of important looking people had entered the room. We took this as our cue to leave and headed back to the ceremony where the speeches were coming to and end…surely the important looking people should have been there too?

Once the speeches were over there were some traditional dancers and not much else really. The students stood up as their names were read out, and that was it; no three cheers, no class photo, no hats thrown in the air…no hats come to mention it. Everyone just slipped away to join their respective families and have family time; we did the same. We said prayers together, made speeches and took about 250 photos before we gathered our things for the short journey back to Eldoret and our connection to Molo. First things first however, long over due a cup of tea (it had been a good two hours!) we stopped off again at the Strawberry Café.

I cannot tell you much about the first part of the journey to Molo as I slept all the way. But after a while we changed to a smaller vehicle that bore a striking resemblance to the Ghostbusters van. So with Ray Parker Jr. in my head we continued at top speed through the fields. The further we went, the wetter and muddier the roads became and before too long sure enough the terrain became too much and we got stuck. As we sat there with the wheels spinning I couldn’t help chuckling to myself as I thought “who ye gonna call?”. The answer was no-one as we all got out to push, and once free we continued the final half mile or so on foot.

Reaching Mr. Macharia’s home, I was introduced to the remainder of his family plus many of the neighbours who had come over for dinner and to join in the post graduation celebrations. There was quite a turn out and together we all sat in the Macharia family living room and beguiled the rest of evening with food, speeches and songs of thanks for the graduation.

When time came for bed, I was led to my quarters by Mr. Macharia. Compared to Murang’a where it is normally warm enough to wear shorts more or less all the time, Molo is freezing. So much so that a small “jiko” (bucket style stove) of charcoals had been placed in the room to warm it. Mr. Macharai pointed at the bed and informed me that that is where we were sleeping. We?! Yes I had heard correctly and so it was for the next 2 nights that Mr. Macharia and I were to be bed fellows. So fully clothed to fend of the cold, and feeling a little like Morecome & Wise (sorry for the cultural reference for the non British - basically a British comedy double act who in their skits live and share a bed together) I lay down to sleep … confident that my beard would stop Mr. Macharia confusing me with his wife.

The next day after a good lie in and a long breakfast, we were to embark on a visit of the area. Mr. Macharia had organised a vehicle and driver to take us around. Together with his brother we visited Molo, the neighbouring town Elburgon, the town of and lake Nakuru plus the town of and lake Naivasha, both famed for their pink flamingos; we even had lunch in the Naivasha country club.

Saturday evening was much more sedate than the night before. For starters several of Mr. Macharia’s cousins plus his mother in law had left earlier that day and we had a very early start the next morning to begin our long trip back to Murang’a. I read for a while as I waited for everyone else to finish washing and cleaning their teeth before doing the same. After about an hour or so, I cleaned my teeth in the garden, put my toothbrush down and headed to the toilet. Now you have to understand that it is pitch black in the fields around Molo…there is no light pollution as most places don’t even have electricity; so it was in these conditions that I made my way to the outhouse toilet. I had gotten about half way across the courtyard when I tripped over something and fell flat on my face in the mud. A little dazed and very confused, I picked myself up and turned to see what I had stumbled over. I had tripped over the Macharia’s family bull that was lying in the middle of the compound. Fortunately for me, he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest and with nothing more than my pride hurt I backed away slowly.

At 08h00 the next morning it was time to leave. Out in the courtyard we took multiple photos and promises were made to see each other in Murang’a and to come back and visit again some time soon. It was then that Mrs. Macharia stepped forward to present me with a box containing a rooster as a present to take back with me to Murang’a. I was and am thrilled to be the owner of a chicken again (we had eaten Trevor back in February if you recall). And so with my rucksack in one hand and my cock in the other we began the journey home. The first step was on motorbike from Mr. Macharia’s home to the Molo Matatu stop. The only place for Chorlton (I had by now christened the cock Chorlton) was up top, so with his box on my head we rode into town where we changed to another Ghostbusters van.

We didn’t have to wait long before the Ghostbusters van moved off in the direction of Nakuru where we would need to change again to Nairobi. Of all the matatu journeys I have had, this was the wildest…from the back of the van I could only assume the driver had died and all his weight fallen on the accelerator pedal. Glancing to my right, I noticed that Mrs. Macharia was looking a little bit green around the gills, and then, the van having gotten air for the second time, she handed me little Allen who was sat in her lap and threw up in her handbag…a smell of parmesan quickly enveloped the van. For all our differences - political, religious & cultural, our sick all smells the same…maybe our leaders should remember that. Anticipating a full on barfarama, I pressed my nose into the crack of the window and sure enough in a matter of minutes little Allen got in on the act.

Arriving in Nakura just in time to overt a catastrophe we changed to a larger more stable vehicle. I’m almost sorry to say the rest of the journey to Nairobi and then on to Murang’a was dull in comparison. But maybe that was enough for one day.

Finally, I cannot conclude without mentioning Chorlton. Chorlton is now ranging free with the other chickens around our compound … blissfully unaware that his days are numbered.
_ _ _

Just to let you know also before I sign off, today I flew back to Paris on the return journey of my original outbound flight from February. Can you believe I have already been here almost 4 months?

I’ll be in Paris for a little over a week before heading on to London for about the same time with 3 days in Porto for a very good friend’s wedding sandwiched in between. The plan is to use much of the time to drum up support for building a school library. I gotta find £4k from somewhere. Please have a look down the back of your sofas.

xx

Dilemma - Contd

It seems that everybody is in agreement that it is the correct decision to test the children for HIV/AIDs.
Not that I’m advocating not testing them for a second, but this does then shift the dilemma downstream. How do you keep the results confidential, and even more difficult it seems to me, how do you treat the child or children without anyone else discovering it?
i) How do you keep the results confidential? – We have decided that only the school nurse & lab technician will know of the results. But it seems to me that once you have informed each child of the results, there will probably a marked change in his or her demeanour. Putting myself in the child’s shoes, if I was informed that I had tested positive I’m sure the other children would see it written all over my face.
ii) How do you treat the child or children without anyone else discovering it? – I do not know how often the ARV drugs need to be taken, but if we assume that the school nurse keeps the drugs, any change to a child’s routine will also be picked up by the other children.

The deputy head and I turned this one inside out over the weekend without coming to a satisfactory solution. So today I will speak to the school nurse and together we will contact some of the other local schools to see how they did it (if indeed they even have.)

Answers on a postcard…

"Dilemma" Update

Following on from yesterday's post, I have just come from the Bishop's home where once again we discussed this issue.

This morning we placed an advert for a lab technician to work with the school nurse in the school dispensary, and this evening we agreed that together with the nurse one of his/her first responsibilities will be to test all of the children for HIV/AIDS. This will of course be done with the utmost discretion.

At least then we will have the information to act accordingly.

"Dilemma"

Back in February, during the period when one of the girls, Joyce, was sick and blacking out, an issue was raised which, thinking about it now I’m sure I must have thought about before, but it did not preoccupy my like it has been doing these past days.

Joyce was taken to hospital by the school nurse accompanied by the 2 Swedish ladies Günilla & Gün-Britt who were here at the time (both nurses incidentally). From what they told me afterwards, more or less the first question the nurse asked of Joyce was whether she had been tested for HIV/AIDS if so what the result was. The school nurse replied yes, and that the result was negative.

Now I know this not to be true. Not the result I hasten to add, but rather that Joyce has not been tested. Indeed, none of the children at the school have been tested. And therein lies the beginning of the dilemma. As none of the children have been tested, we do not know whether any are infected, nor do we know in which phase of the infection they are (question, can you name them? All the children here can).

Although there have been great strides in recent years to combat the virus through educational programmes and increased access to generic antiretroviral drugs - In Kenya, for example, HIV infection rates have fallen from 15% in 2001 to 6% at the end of 2006, one in seven children across the African continent still die before the age of five (World Bank Development Indicators).

St. Anna is a school for children & orphans. Most of the orphans are HIV/AIDS orphans i.e. one or both of their parents have died of HIV/AIDS. The hypothesis that some of the 200+ children at the school are infected must therefore be fairly solid. Even simply taking the national infection rates, statistically somewhere between 6% - 15% percent of the children could be infected. Indeed, the average age of our children today is 8, which would place them right at the peak of 2001.

The real dilemma the school leaders are facing however is this. The policy has been not to test the children to avoid stigmatizing those who tested positive. We all know how cruel children can be and there is a real risk of that the children shunned/ostracised by their classmates. The consequences for the running of the school could be severe. However on the flip side, if we tested the children we would have the information to act and to prescribe treatment. The antiretroviral drugs today can allow a person to live a ‘normal’ life for potentially many years (plus socio-economic factors), and the ever continuing progress against the disease can only give further hope for the future.

But the longer we leave it to understand the children’s’ true situation, and the further along the timeline from seroconversion to onset of HIV/AIDS-related illness the child is, the harder it will be to intervene effectively. As with so many illnesses, early diagnosis is everything.

What should we do? I have my position and have made it clear… but it is not shared by all at the school.

I'm back!

I’m back…and have been pleasantly surprised to see things have continued to progress in my absence.

1) The boys dorm has a roof, the class rooms have doors and the walkways and balconies have rails
2) The rabbits have grown and in spite of losing 2, we have 10 and 2 more females are pregnant (ok, so we can’t claim any credit for that ... at least I hope not!)
3) The gardens and allotment patches are blossoming
4) The workshop is churning out stools for the neighbouring school (we won an order just before my departure for 105 from Kiambugi High)
5) The Music club has met 3 times and has 3 songs with accompanying moves!

Hmmm ... maybe I should leave more often?