BAMM - Blog About Malaria Month

BAMM – Blog About Malaria Month.  So I got a late start.  No surprise there.  But I’m on it now.  Actually you might remember I had malaria just a few short months ago.  I blogged about it so in a sense I was ahead of the BAMM game.   Go ahead High-5 me!  Because I just did!

World Malaria Day is April 25^th!  I am having a WMD event and will let ya know how it goes.   Watch for that.  You best believe I’m coming at malaria with a vengeance.  It did a number on me.  Many of you have continued to ask how I’m doing and let me assure you that I have been back to 110% for a while now.  Enough about me; lets talk malaria.  Stick with me on this. 

Malaria is caused by a parasite that is passed from one human to another by the bite of infected Anopheles mosquitoes. After infection, the parasites (called sporozoites) travel through the bloodstream to the liver, where they mature and release another form, the merozoites. The parasites enter the bloodstream and infect red blood cells.

Symptoms

-Flu-like symptoms – to the max! -Anemia -Shaking Chills -Coma 
-Convulsions -High Fever -Headache -Muscle pain –Nausea –Sweating -Vomiting

I’m not one for throwing out statistics.  I don’t like how it reduces a person to a number.  But I am about to list stats because I want there to be a grasp of the situation at hand. 

The CDC estimates that there are 300-500 million cases of malaria each year, and more than 1 million people die from it.

On average, 1,500 cases of malaria are reported every year in the United States, even though malaria has been eradicated in this country since the early 1950's.

3.3 billion people (half the world’s population) live in areas at risk of malaria transmission in 109 countries and territories.

35 countries (30 in sub-Saharan Africa and 5 in Asia) account for 98% of global malaria deaths.

Malaria is the 5th cause of death from infectious diseases worldwide (after respiratory infections, HIV/AIDS, diarrheal diseases, and tuberculosis).

Malaria is the 2nd leading cause of death from infectious diseases in Africa, after HIV/AIDS.

Malaria is one of the leading causes of morbidity and mortality in Kenya and it kills an estimated 34,000 children under five in Kenya every year.

77% of Kenya’s population lives in areas where the disease is transmitted.

25 million out of a population of 34 million Kenyans are at risk of malaria.

An estimated 170 million working days are lost to the disease each year in Kenya.

The most vulnerable group to malaria infections are pregnant women and children under 5 years of age.

Malaria is preventable and treatable

An estimated 655,000 people died of malaria in 2010

Malaria deaths have fallen by more than 25% since 2000

Malaria costs Africa $12 billion annually

Malaria is a huge burden on a community.  It steals time, money, and lives. 

Peace Corps has 3,000 volunteers in 23 countries working to end malaria.

A pretty awesome group of kids I used to work with back in the States will be learning about malaria and raising money to purchase malaria nets during VBS (Vacation Bible School) this summer.  I am partnering with them and will be buying and distributing malaria nets to members of my community in Namboboto.  I will say more on this to come in the summer. 

When you see this…

I don’t care how you get rid of it…stomp it, squash it, smack it, slap it, crush it, spray it, mash it, punch it, end it. 

Stats and information came from these sites. 

cdc.gov

USAID.gov

Malarianomore.org

Healthnytimes.com

All Work and No Play...Or Quite the Opposite

I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been living the life and have been spoiled for the better half of the last 2 weeks.  During the last week of March - Four of us Public Health volunteers spent 3 days in a workshop, in Nairobi, with members of the PC Staff to refocus the Public Health Sector.  We also spent a chunk of time planning the next PST (Pre-Service Training) for the next group of trainees coming in June.  (Wait!  That was me a year ago…has it already almost been a year since I was worrying how in the world I was going to pack for 2 years in under 80lbs.!?)

Let me define spoiled for you.  King size bed, hot shower, delicious food – salad with lettuce (haven’t had that since the States.) Steak and cheese subs, Meat skewers, and yes Bacon Cheeseburgers!  My stomach hurt after every meal.  Worth it every time and I’d do it again.  I’m just not used to eating this food anymore. 

A lot of Mango iced tea was consumed.  I was nearly teary eyed when there was ice in my iced tea!  (It had been 10 months since ice and I had met last.)  It’s the little things in life. 

The planning sessions went great and I was glad to be a part. 

I then traveled to Nanyuki, near Mt. Kenya, where a handful of us went to an animal orphanage.  I’m gonna be lazy and let the pics tell you about that…

During Easter, 20 of us traveled to Uganda to take on the Nile – rafting and bungee jumping!  I don’t know if I’ve ever been so scared in my life while having so much fun.  Rafting was a blast. And the Nile is no joke. 

 Sure there were parts where we cruised along, sprawled out on the raft to sun bathe, jumped in and splashed around allowing the Nile to carry us.  And then…come the rapids.  At one point our guide told us to paddle, close our eyes, continue to paddle and then open our eyes.  When we opened our eyes there was a 90 ft rapid in front of us.  Ok I’m exaggerating on that but here was a ginormous wave crashing down on us.  It was wicked awesome.  Our raft together decided at one rapid that we wanted to flip.  In fact it was known that if we went down this rapid called the bad place we would flip.  All of us wanted to do it but would question the others to make sure they wanted to.  What we were doing was looking for an out, but none of us wanted to be the reason we didn’t do it.  We all put our brave faces on and pulled up our big girl panties.  Normally our guide Cam, who we at first thought his name was Camel and yes we were calling him Camel,  (c’mon he loved it) normally he told us to hang on to the raft and don’t let go.  At this rapid he instructed not to even try to hold on. 

Not even 5 seconds, ok maybe I lasted 2, but I was thrown from the front of the raft to the middle and on the opposite side taking out another girl.  In the next 20 seconds the rapids tossed and turned me, threw me, churned me and mostly dunked me.  The Nile had its way with me that’s really the point here.  When the safety kayak took me back to the raft I climbed in with a bruised and swollen foot. 

Backing up a week, I had already injured this foot.  I wish there was a good story that I kicked a rock and made water flow from it or that a motorcycle ran over it.  Not the case.  I tripped while walking and twisted it.  Leaving me with an over-sized foot and swag in my step.  Update: I still have swagger when I walk but the swelling has since peaced out and the bruises are nearly gone. 

I’ve been rafting a few times before and typically I would say ah I’ve done that before let’s do something new.  But the Nile -  I would raft that again in a heart beat.  It’s intense.  And in this picture little did we know this part was just for babies, but great introduction by the Nile. 

So bungee jumping hasn’t ever been on my list.  I figured I crossed off skydiving about 4 years ago.  But I will be anxiously waiting the next time I’m harnessed in and get to jump again.  The scariest part was climbing the steps and then inching towards the ledge with your toes hanging off.   The comes the 3-2-1- countdown and everything shuts off and you just jump for it.  For the next few seconds you are trying to figure out what in the world is going on as you are springing up and down and then you are hanging there until you are in the raft getting unstrapped from the equipment and you wanna jump again.  (At least that was my go of it) It was insane and my thrill seeking days have been reborn with this weekend.

After jumping, I got a massage and sat in the steam room.  It was nice being pampered for a little while.  Quite a change from village life.  Then a group of us took a boat out to the source of the Nile.  It was a good time jam-packed with friends, GOOD food, being scared out of my mind, ya it was a relaxing time. 

Now it’s back to the village and back to playing…or the opposite! 

I've got Sense, Yo.

Ok so this blog was per a friend’s request that I write about using my 5 senses in my village.  Little known fact: I actually have 6.  Ok, that’s a lie.  So here’s my two cents on the 5 senses.  (Seriously, why do you people even read my lameness on here!?) 

Senses.  Let’s do this. Shall we.

                        Hearing:

Roosters start sounding the alarm at 4am and continue for the next few hours making sure that no one is sleeping past sunrise.  (I want to fry them all up Buffalo Wild Wings Style.) 

                       

                         I live on a tiny 1-strip market street of my town…So…

-Metal shop clanking is constant. 

-Babies crying while sitting with their mamas selling sugarcane, tomoto, onion, and omena (dried minnows, basically)

-Girls primary school to the left of my house so I can hear counting 1-100, repeating memorized answers, and high shrills during games time

-Many times they will have events in town with blown speakers that drowned out my choice of music for the next 5 hours.

           

                                    Taste:

Had porridge for the first time…it tastes like if you were to make a grits shake.  So better than I had expected.  Though I won’t miss this or make it for myself, but also won’t refuse it when it is given to me.  If it sits for a minute it grows a film on the top.  This is gross. I’m a textured eater and my buds of taste don’t like it. 

Omena- This is the one I thought I would lose it on.   Again textured eater.  In their defense they aren’t as bad as I thought and I am basing this on the fact that I didn’t puke.  Which is a miracle if you know me.  The girl who has somehow managed to throw up on herself, twice while being behind the steering wheel.  (This of course was in America.  Not allowed to drive here.) Did I paint that picture beautifully enough for you.  But seriously can you imagine being the car next to me.  Looking over and seeing chunks hitting the dash, windshield, steering wheel, and lets not forget me!  Pole Sana for that.  I’m very sorry.  I really should think about who reads this.  (But do you see what I’m doing there.  I’m trying to lose readers so I don’t have to BLOG.) 

Ok so the omena they were surprisingly crunchy.  Not so surprisingly fishy tasting.  The key is chew once and get that sucker down as fast as possible.  No reason to savor the flavor here.  And if you can help it don’t look in their eyes as you pop them in your mouth.   It messes with you.  Thanks for attending Omena eating 101.

Sight:

A lot of green and brown going on.  When I first arrived to site I was amazed by how green and lush the area was.  Now it is dry season and it is dusty dusty dusty.  Nothing but dust.  The dust storms are crazy wicked.  I’m thankful for the wind during the dry season but sweating and dust being blown on me not the best combination.  The dust gets in my house and turns everything orange.  Sweeping and dusting are a daily chore.  The crops and fields are mostly shades of brown right now. 

My site has many hills, which make it nice to look at. 

Really though, I’m the site to be seen here.  Ya, I said it.  No but seriously, I live in a fish bowl.  Sometimes its fun, but it can also get rather annoying.  I miss the days I could walk outside and go unnoticed.  The days in America where you could blend and no one cared what you were doing and left you to your business.  Of course, I’m sure I will have days when I return that I miss 100 kids running towards me shouting my name.  So for now I will enjoy the heck out of it. 

                                    

                                    Smell:

So this one really depends on where you are as to what you smell.  I have passed some places that reek so bad I’ve almost puked.  The other day my sense of smell played a mean trick on me.  There was an aroma of BBQ ribs.  For one second I was in heaven until I realized, it was in no way BBQ and it would be 17 months till I could sink my teeth into ribs.   (Yes, I will continue to whine about food for the next 17 months.  We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.  Buckle up.)

Not a lot of deodorant usage going on.  So when you do get that rare whiff of someone who is wearing cologne its like an instant attraction.  Pheromones people. 

I love it when it rains.  Always a refreshing smell. 

                                   

                                    Touch:

Hmmm not sure where to go on this one.   The grass feels crunchy.  The tree bark feels like…you guessed it, tree bark.   Allow me to mention again how the kids try to rub the white off my arms and love to pet my hair.  

This is my hairdresser.  She makes sure I look gooooooood!

Sometimes this can be dangerous.  I mean really.  When I’ve got a whole school encircling me it’s like a mob.  My glasses have been knocked off and I’ve lost my shoes in the process of trying to break free before the stampede of primary school students tramples me. 

 I wasn’t going to do it.  But I will be brave and march on to be completely lame and note how my time here observing and being invited into the homes and another culture, this whole experience is touching me.  Beyond my capacity of even knowing… I am extremely blessed. 

This could be dangerous but I’m gonna throw it out there because I laugh in the face of danger.  That’s what I say.  (Actually, Simba said that.)  I honestly don’t know if I can post this blog.  I’m in a weird mood today.  I’m blaming it on the fact that I’m drunk on Gatorade.  Haven’t had the Gator since last June.  But I just got a package of it!!!! 

So back to walking on the wild side.  If there is something you want me to make a post about HollerAtYerGirl.  I will give it my best efforts.  And I won’t drink a liter of Gatorade before posting it.  I think I’ve learned my lesson with this post.  (Also, can someone check to see if Gatorade will send me free Gatorade since I have mentioned Gatorade like 10 times in the last 18 seconds. 

One last thing I realize I haven’t posted on the actual work aspect of what I’m doing here.  That is coming soon.  Next month.  I promise.  Scouts honor.  (I was never a scout so does that even count?) 

What's Normal...

My normal in the States looked so different but this is what my new normal looks like…

            Seeing donkeys carrying a ridiculous amount of cargo.    

            Walking through a heard of cow.

            Eating chips (fries) with a fork but most other foods with my hands.  (I can’t even begin to explain it)

            Telling people my name is Sela because that is how they pronounce it anyway.   (I’m one step ahead in this game.)

            Goats jumping my gate to eat my compost and chickens racing towards me for the scraps. 

            Seeing toddlers roam on their own / Young children caring for and carrying even smaller children strapped to their back with a piece of cloth.  (Seriously, those baby carrier things that are outrageously expensive…Unnecessary.)

            Kids climbing under my compound gate to listen to music, dance, and play.

            Feeling like I’m in a parade everyday.

            Hearing this constantly…Give me…sweets, your shoes, clothes off your back, your bag, whatever you are holding in your hand pretty much.  Marry me.  Take me to America.    

            Being flogged by students wanting to touch my hair and skin.

            Living without a fridge (and not really even realizing the lack of one anymore.)

            Having 4 shillings in my bank account.

            Having money in my bank account but the ATM not working so I have to live on $ 1 . 50 for the rest of the week.

            Getting excited about the littlest things.  Seriously it doesn’t take much here.

            Having a meal at a neighbor’s house and eating 10 minutes past the time you were full only to have them tell you that you didn’t eat. 

            Seeing other mzungus (foreigners) and staring at them wondering what in the bejeezus are they doing here.

            Seeing an entire family and pets/dinner on a motorcycle.   No kidding I’ve seen a kid sitting in front holding the hand grips.  The father driving.  A child in between the father and mother holding a chicken and the mother holding a baby in back.   (In case you weren’t counting that’s 5 plus a chicken.)

            When out at an actual restaurant…seeing people leave half their drink or dessert and wanting to go grab the left overs, but the waiter swoops in before you swiped it.

            Awkward and outside the comfort zone = typical day.

            Tucking myself in my mosquito net only to realize I forgot something.

            Not being able to live without buckets and basins in my life.  (What did I ever do without them??? Oh that’s called a washing machine, sink, and shower!)

            Collecting soda caps, blueband (butter) containers, anything really because even though it is trash you can do something with it.  Need a bowl have a blueband container, need a jewelry holder have a blueband container, need a wine glass blueband. Making cinnamon sugar for your toast- blueband it.   (I’m worried I’m turning into a hoarder.)

            If a shirt/skirt has only been worn a couple times and isn’t completely orange from the dust then it’s still clean. 

            Turning around when I hear Nahula. (My village name.)

            Leaving spiders alone in my house to eat the bugs. (One Friday night was spent watching a battle between a spider and grasshopper.  The spider killed it. Literally.  Oh how my weekend activities have changed.)

            Riding in a 5-person vehicle with 12 people. Or in the trunk with a bag of dead fish.  (Done this more than I can count.) Or a 14 with 30.  If your lap is open there is still space.  I have stood in a moving vehicle leaning over other passengers.  I have sat on others and have had people sit on me.  It is a death trap every time.  (What is a seat belt?) 

            Carrying around toilet paper everywhere you go.   (If you are smart.)

            Always having a book in my backpack because it is inevitable that you will be waiting hours before your meeting will start.  Or your vehicle will break down and you have no idea how many godforsaken hours you will be on the side of the road waiting. 

            Having leftovers from the previous night for breakfast.  I would never do this in the states.  I mean I would rarely if ever eat leftovers that same day with refrigeration.  I will be a human garbage disposal when I get back to America and leftovers will always get eaten from here on out. 

           

I’m a little scared what this will all mean in a year and a half when I return to such a different world.  My Grandpa K. grew up during the great depression and I remember him disliking that we would throw away plastic cups and he would dig them out to wash them.  (But isn’t that the plastic cups purpose and the point in buying them?)  Will this now be me going through the trash and seeing so many possibilities other than garbage?  Am I destined to glares and stares because I grab plates of half eaten food from unoccupied tables?   How many places will I get kicked out of because I pop a squat because the line for the bathroom is too long? 

This is my life and this is normal.

Oh and I also do this…

NORMAL.

The Shamba Workout

A guy from my youth group asked if he could take me around and show me more of Namboboto.  Yes, absolutely.  What a generous offer.  So on Friday at 4 we met and as we were walking away from town I asked where we were going.  He said something and it didn’t answer my question and clearly we were having communication issues.  I decided to go along with it. 

This experience is so much doing things you would never do in the States.  So I continued to follow.  We first stopped at his house.  He showed me his cattle, pigs, chickens, his maize he had stored for his family to eat until next harvest and the maize he would sell during the off season.   Not everyone plans.  Food gets scarce and prices go up.  This is smart. 

From there we continued walking further in the bush.  Of course now he had a curved blade he was carrying.  Nope, nothing scary or wrong with this picture.  We met his boys along the way taking the animals to graze.  And then we made it to his shamba where he showed me how they water during the dry season.  He has dug trenches from the water source so a stream flows to his crops and he opens and closes mini dams as he wants water.  He walked around uncovering hoses and a machine he has buried because it is too much work to haul it back and forth every 3 days.  So this machine it’s like a stair stepper and it pumps water through a hose with a sprinkler like attachment.  After 5 minutes my legs were feeling the burn.   Who needs a gym, right.   Screw P90X.  

Not many people have machines like these; it’s an invaluable item to have especially during the dry season with no rain for months on end.  We did this for a couple hours and by the end my skirt was soaked from the sprayback.  But I was ok with that.  I felt like a kid playing in a sprinkler.  I wanted to ask if I could bring my shampoo next time.  It’s basically a shower.  And 8 year old Sarah wanted to run home and suit up in beach attire to run, splash, and play (of course, this would be completely inappropriate not only because I am 28).  Who knew watering the crops could be so fun and such a workout at the same time. 

Peace Corps is insane with its highs and lows.  At one point I was taking a break and standing on a hill with a boy behind me with grazing cattle, his father in front of me stair stepping it up to water the crops, and a mama to the side of me throwing water and the sun going down behind her.  

The scenery is breath taking really. I was so high on my life at that point.  Sometimes my life is too amazing I don't know what to do with myself.  It was a ridiculously awesome day and I’ll be going back every Friday from 4 til sunset to work in the shamba or what I will now call my gym. 

As the sun was going down he had his son take me back home with the cattle while he would stay to finish the job.  Again no reason why I shouldn’t trek back through the bush with a ten year old and animals with horns that can spear me.  

The boy walked me back to their home and I am yet to figure out how they find their way anywhere.  I can’t tell one dirt path from the next.  How do you know which tree to turn at or whose back yard you have to traipse through.  So now all I had to do was get myself back home, only a 6 minute walk though this is dependant on the number of people who stop me along the way and how many kids want to play with my hair.  I had taken 5 steps and I was asked where I was going… Namboboto Dispensary.  Dude said he was going that way.  Great you can show me.  He said he knew a short cut.  Which ended up taking forever on tiny paths getting scratched by the brush along the way.  I kept confirming… this leads to Namboboto Dispensery, yes? Ehhhhh.  That means yes in Samia, the local language.  The sun is seriously going down at this point.  I’m getting nervous and planning my escape plan if necessary.  Not that he has given me a reason to need a plan.  You can never be too careful.  And from an Americans perspective this doesn’t seem smart following a stranger further in the bush, I know.  The stranger danger alert is going off in my head.  But it is life here and relying on strangers is sometimes a must.  Though I am almost positive this short cut is not taking me to my home. 

I am for realz lost in the middle of nowhere.  I couldn’t even call any friends for help at that point.  All I had to go by to explain my where abouts was dead crops and fields forever.  Following him was my only option.  We finally made it to one of the main dirt paths where one of my softball girls asks where I’m going.  I say in an unsure tone, home.  She informs me I am going the wrong direction.  Ya, I kinda figured, which is why I kept trying to confirm with my “guide” that he was taking me to the right place.  Nah we were headed to the dispensary in the next town over.   And at that point I nearly panicked.  The sun would be down soon and it isn’t good for me to be wandering the villages at night.  Immediately I was knocked from my high like an American Gladiator knocks their opponent from their pedestal with that thing that looks like an over sized Q-tip.  What’s that thing called?  I don’t know.  I always wanted to duke it out on American Gladiators with Storm and Laser and the crew though.  And they just sucker punched me. 

Thankfully, my softball girl offered to escort me home.  I am lost without roads and cars and street signs and landmarks.  Not really though.  I’m just lost without my TomTom. 

True Story.  

Malaria & a Viral Infection. So that happened.

Ah this past Sunday I took the padlock off my door for the first time in 2 weeks to walk into my hotbox of a home that had empty water bottles, medicine wrappers, dust, and cobwebs all over.  Heck yes, I busted out some sweet ninja warrior moves at every run in with a cobweb.   You know the feeling.  When a web hits your face it’s like instant super powers.  Ok. Enough on that.

So lets back up to say Jan 20^th.  The Peace Corps experience is like a rollercoaster.  This week just so happened to be an up week.  Health clubs, softball practice, meetings, everything was going well.  I was reading some friends comments back home about how Kenya has been treating me well.  And I was like you know what it really has.   I haven’t hardly been sick.  MISTAKE. Not 24 hours later: Boom – Have some malaria and that’s not enough how about we throw in a viral infection. 

So I was doing laundry Friday morning and when I was taking my clothes off the line I became incredibly weak my clothes instantly became 90 lbs. and I needed to sit down.  It wasn’t until Friday night that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it was malaria.  PC medical told us in training that we would know when/if we had malaria.  True statement. 

We were given a med kit stocked full of meds we might need at some point during our service.  In this kit is a rapid malaria test.  I didn’t drag myself out of bed until Saturday morning to confirm that it was malaria.  I pricked my finger, drew blood, and watched the 2 lines appear indicating what I already knew.  I called PC medical they told me to start the anti- malaria meds and that I would feel better after the first dose.  (It’s 4 pills in the morning.  4 at night for 3 days.)  I didn’t start feeling better until I had taken all 24 pills.  At one point I was on 20 pills a day for different symptoms. 

I had a splitting headache.  I’m almost sure an axe was stuck in my skull.  My back was in excruciating pain like I had never felt before.  I’ve been in a couple car accidents that have messed up my back.  Had nothing on this.  I was drenching my clothes in sweat one minute.  Then the next I was freezing, wrapped in my sleeping bag wearing a sweatshirt, pants, and socks.  None of which I have had to use at my site till now.   (Remember my house is like a sauna…it's free, no club membership necessary.  Come visit.)

My symptoms only got worse and my temperature kept increasing.  When it reached 103 and I wasn’t showing any signs of getting better it was off to the hospital for me.  The first night I spent 5 hours trying to get admitted to the hospital.  I had nearly finished the meds by now when they tested my blood so it was already out of my bloodstream and they told me nothing was wrong with me.  Yes, but I beg to differ.  So I stayed in a hotel room being miserable freezing under 4 blankets with a 103.7 temperature.  (any higher and I was looking at possible seizures, brain damage, etc.) 

PC was going to fly me to Nairobi the next day.  In fact one of the PC med staff was going to fly out to get me but abdominal pain had now joined the unwelcomed guest list and they just wanted to get me in a hospital asap.  So I went back to the hospital that denied me.   After 3 hours of running me back and forth through about 12 steps they admitted me.  I was sitting with one of the drs when she was on the phone talking to another dr. telling him she was admitting me because I was Caucasian.  Really!?  Cause that didn’t work for me last night. 

While I was waiting in the waiting area there were no seats so a nurse came over to tell everyone to scoot over and share seats so I could sit down.  Awesome even hospitals do it matatu style.  (You may remember me writing about how they pack in 30 people in a 14 passenger vehicle.)  Cool lets have all the sick people sit on top of one another coughing all over each other.   This seems good.  They called me back to put in my IV line and by this point I was feeling pretty ill.  The nurse asked me why I was looking like that.  Seriously, do I need to explain?  I nearly puked all over the place.  She gave me a bowl to carry around just in case.  

I was put in a room with 6 other women who would randomly peek behind my curtain to wave at the white girl.  A nurse stopped by to ask if I wanted anything to eat.   (I have no idea what Kenyan hospital food would be.)  I hadn’t been able to eat since I was sick but I kept trying.  I asked her what my options were and she said no, you tell me what you want and I’ll get it.   Um, so in that case a brownie sundae and BBQ.  She brought me chicken and terrible rice.   I looked down at my hospital bracelet to see that it was a baby bracelet and latched on the very last hole giving no room between the bracelet and my wrist.  

The next night I was in a private room but my bed was angled like a ski slope so I woke up with a stiff neck and kept falling to the foot of the bed.  The food was endless (which they kept being surprised when I hardly took a stab at it…people can we remember I don’t feel well.  You know the whole hospital thing and all.)  I also got fruit baskets with fruit I had no idea how to eat or even which part to eat.  When I first moved into that room they brought me my own salt and peppershakers.  Living fancy.  You got nothing on me with your hospital stay Beyonce.  The next morning the IV had made my wrist and hand swell up causing the baby bracelet to cut into my skin.  Luckily, I was able to leave to get to Nairobi so PC could have a go at me before the hospital had a chance to balloon up my remaining hand. 

I ended up staying in Nairobi for a week and a half while they monitored me and ran blood tests every other day.   My liver was over functioning and a few other things were high but after 2 weeks of labs, check ups, and resting I was able to come home.  My stats have gone back to normal.  I’m still a little weak and my appetite hasn’t fully returned but I’m getting there.  I was pretty miserable but I got spoiled with people serving me food, running water (showers, a real toilet) rooms that don’t feel like I’m in an oven, and uninterrupted sleep with no one banging on my door. 

Let’s back up one more time to Jan. 1.  A fellow PCV and I have been in search of a decent cheeseburger.  I have had 4 and none have been slightly good, but we finally found one in Nairobi.  We were passing through to get back to our sites.  Nairobi is off limits to us except for medical reasons.  So we were discussing how we could get "medical" trips to come to Nairobi to eat real food.  I didn’t realize what I was asking for and the worst part I didn’t have an appetite my entire stay.  I never got to order that bacon cheeseburger that I’ve been dreaming about ever since I found it a month ago.   I know I know little violins are playing. 

By the time PC was done with me I had been stuck with needles about 10 times.  Also everyone always has a hard time finding my veins.  So it’s a search and find but with all the blood work to get here and shots I’m used to it by now.  At one point I had 6 jabs in my left hand.  I played connect the dots and made a dinosaur. 

It was tough being that sick and away from the people that love me but I kept hearing about how many people were praying for my recovery and keeping up with the updates on how I was doing.  Even people I have no idea who they are.  I was told one guy after finding out called 33 people.  The love was felt from afar.  Thank you for that. 

I also had a number of great PC friends visit me at all of my medical stops along the way.  In my worst hours I couldn’t help but question how long I would let Africa beat me up.  You may remember back in 2009, I came back from Uganda with a viral infection that turned to pericarditis.  That wasn’t fun but I remember saying then that it wasn’t gonna stop me from returning.  Malaria is mean and viral infections hate me but this won’t stop me from staying.

So this is how you wanna play 2012.  I like a good challenge.  Lets go. 

That was too long.  I’m done.  


Except I'm not.  Side note: People have been worried that I haven't been eating for 2 weeks that I'm losing weight.  Yes, indeed I have lost 5 pounds.  But no worries somehow I have gained 18 since being here.  Crazy right.  I try to gain forever in the States and can't, but move to a place that is lacking food.  Sure, makes perfect sense.


Last thing:  World Malaria Day is April 25th.  More on Malaria in a couple months.  

 

Life By the Numbers. Worth It.

6 ½ : number of months I’ve lived in Kenya

26: number of mosquito bites I have had at one time

1: number of cups of water I need to wash my hair

8: number of cups of water for a bucket bath.   Gotta conserve.  

This one time… my waterman failed to bring me water for 10 days (and it hadn't rained in a while so couldn't get water that way) so I was forced to bathe using a bottle of water.  Surprisingly, I was clean.  True story.

You know that saying glass half full vs half empty.  A Peace Corps Volunteer can take that glass and bathe in it.  Fact.  And probably use it to do some laundry.  I kid not.

3: number of people I’ve seen hit by a motorcycle/car.

37: number of kids that knock on my door wanting to play everyday.

3: number of soccer balls that have popped.  The number would be larger if I continued to supply.

45-60: number of minutes it takes me to walk to my market town/bank/post office/supermarket depending on my pace.  It’s gorgeous by the way.  But don’t take my word for it, come see for yourselves. 

Maybe 4 and that’s being generous: number of books I read in a year in the States.  

Ok, or my whole life.  

4: number of books I am currently in the middle of.

12: number of books I have finished.

9: number of donuts I ate in one day resulting in a bellyache like a 5 yr old.  Don’t judge.  There is no snack food here.  Unless of course you are a fan of eating dried minnows or catching termites. 

12: number of potatoes I eat in a week. 

27: number of people I've been sardined in a matatu with.  (This is a 14 passenger mini van taxi.)  

Of course a few chickens and dead fish were also present.  Smells awesome.  Wish I could include a scratch and sniff for you here.  Pole sana...  Very sorry.  

18: number of hours I spent on a bus in one day…with a chicken under my feet. 

Too many.  I’ve lost track:  number of times I’ve been in a vehicle with a goat.  

(Goats ride at the same cost as humans.)

1: number of monkeys I’ve seen hop a gate.  Grab a woman’s doggy bag and hop on the roof of the restaurant to enjoy free dinner.

16: number of shots I’ve been given to be here.  Ain’t no thang.

1,440: number of minutes I sweat in a day.  Ok that’s all of them.  Exaggeration but it’s dang hot under a tin roof.  (Incredibly grateful for the roof over my head though.)

3: number of minutes it takes for my hair to dry after being washed.  Who needs a blow dryer with the African sun and tin roof yo.

3: number of minutes it then takes for my hair to become drenched in sweat.

4,680/ Every one since I hopped the plane: number of hours I’ve missed my nephew, Roman.

All of them.  Well maybe that’s pushing it: number of kids I want to adopt when I grow up.

A ridiculous amount.  You’d be surprised: number of people who ask if I know Obama after finding out I’m American.   After I tell them: Ya, the President, but I don’t know him personally.  

Their next question: Oh, well how about Michelle?

 A gajillion: number of times I’ve been reminded how lucky I am at the chance I was born in the States; and that alone promises me a fair chance in life. 

Many: number of mornings I wake up and have to remind myself where I am and what I am doing. 

99: percentage of the time that I think to myself: How cool is what I’m doing.  I live in mother loving Kenya.  This is my life!?  Awesome. 

1/flipside: percentage of the time I think: This is my life!?????  I live in mother loving Kenya?  What am I doing????

Here’s the thing every Peace Corps Volunteer has sacrificed to be here.   We have all left very different lives back in the States.  Comfortable ones, at that.  With Bacon Cheeseburgers!

I could tell you about the number of times I wished I had a cold Gatorade.  20 and that’s only been in the last 8 hours.  Actually, I’d even take it hot these days  (Gatorade it’s the thing I’m stuck on missing right now.)  I could mention how I wish I could wash my clothes, I mean have a machine wash my clothes and then throw them in a dryer.  I could tell you the outrageous number of times I miss my family, fast food, home cooked meals, toilets, entertainment, showers/hot water, FOOD, football and game time food, BUT the point I’m getting at is that all the adjustments, shots, mosquito bites, lack of amenities and food choice/flavor: Worth it.

So Worth it.

I live in Kenya!  I have this incredible opportunity before me.  People get excited to see me and cheer for me everyday.  I love where I'm at and what I'll be working on for the next 20 months.  More on that in upcoming posts... next year. 

I don’t want to get preachy (and really I don’t know how I’ve ended up here) but we really don’t know how great we’ve got it. 

Enjoy your family, friends, and of course the food during this holiday season! 

Miss you all 1,000 and ten%