The Problem with Death

This morning, during our staff devotions, our director spoke about some of the challenges brought on by death. Death itself is painful to the community. But the challenges that follow are often even more painful.

Take Amin's family. His daughter died about 10 days ago. She was a young, single mother of three. She hemorrhaged while giving birth to her baby. The family rushed her to our clinic on foot, across the river, carrying the bleeding young mother on a tarp. Our nurses tried all they could to save her life, but she had already been bleeding for several hours, and there was nothing we could do to help. For that family, this was the fourth of nine grown children to die.

Today, I joined our three home-based care interns on their visit to the family.

The grandma (Rosemary) introduced us to Michelle (probably named after our nurse who had been providing ante-natal care). We sat under the banana tree and visited about the situation. The grandma's taking care of six orphans. She can take care of Michelle, but just needed help with formula, diapers, some clothing. Our home-based care team were buying formula today, plus bottles, plus clothing, diapers.

Those are things you can buy.

You cannot buy love. And this grandma obviously loved her grandchildren.

Some other relatives were trying to convince her that it would be easier to find someone to raise the baby for them, but she was adamant that she can do it.

I was strangely proud of Rosemary.

She didn't ask for money. But she also didn't pretend to have it all together. "I just need help with milk and clothing for the baby."

The home-based care team will continue to follow up, to check in on the baby as well as the other orphans.

They literally live right across the river from me.

As I held the little one, I could feel my lap getting warm. And it wasn't because the sun was beating down on us now that the rains have ended. Her urine was seeping through the rags her grandma had used as a diaper, and through the little blanket she was wrapped in. And through my skirt, onto my legs.

What do you do in a situation like this? You simply sit there. You keep holding the baby. You keep praying good things for the little one. You deal with the wet skirt when you're at home.

And what do you do about the baby? You thank God for a grandma like Rosemary, who, though she has very little in worldly terms, has a heart full of love for her grandchildren, and for God. You give out of that which God has provided for you. And you pray that this little one will grow up knowing that she is loved.

That indeed is the problem with death. Especially in Africa, where too many children are left orphaned by preventable causes such us death during childbirth, or malaria, or TB, or other opportune infections because of HIV/AIDS. They are left in the care of grandparents with no source of income, or other relatives who are already taking care of several other orphans.

And the problem doesn't go away. That's why groups like ELI will always have an enormous task before us. Because death simply is part of life.

Normal

I got to make new friends today. Since I was in town, some other missionaries invited me over to their place for brunch. I had met them not too long ago at the Eldoret airport once when they picked up a team, but we've never found the time to visit. Today, over brunch, we simply got to visit, drink 3 cups of great coffee, laugh, listen and dream.

I felt so normal.

It was a good feeling.

Unfortunately, I had to leave after an hour to go and take photos at the ELI event. But that hour of normalcy was refreshing.

Other events of my day included the graduation, interviewing students, visiting with an intern who is leaving, and spending an hour at my mechanic's place since my brakes seemed to jam every time I put the car in reverse... Not a good thing. But an hour and $3 later, the problem seems to be fixed.

Now I get to spend my evening catching up on reading. And killing mosquitoes since I forgot that I left my door open earlier. Perhaps writing the article on today's graduation. (I'll be sure not to mention in the article the student who was asked to give a 3-minute speech on what he had learned, and 20 minutes later--while he was still on page 1 of 6--the MC cut him short.)

Somewhere in between, I might throw something in the pot to eat.

Spot the error

I've often seen these stickers on the back of bicycles in Kenya, and am hoping that the company who's printing them have since corrected their mistake. Do you know what the error is? (Other than the fact that sunset is misspelled.)

I'm working at sorting through my photos again for ELI's archives, so you might see a number of random photos appear on my blog in the next few days. :)

One third

One third of the South African Cabinet resigned yesterday. Eleven ministers. Plus some deputies.

A very good blog to read to get a legal view of what's happening (and that which has lead up the things this far), is Constitutionally Speaking, which is maintained by a South African law professor who addresses issues surrounding South African politics in very clear terms.

It is disturbing to watch what is happening to my country. I respect Mr. Mbeki's example, however, to other African leaders in stepping down when his party asked him to, even though I don't agree with their reasoning for asking him to resign.

I have no idea what is lying ahead for my country. No-one knows. We can only speculate. And the speculations aren't good right now.

I pray that good will somehow come forth from this political crisis.

Perspective

There's a little gazebo just 20 feet or so from my front door. It's sort-of my office. It's also my favorite reading spot, birdwatching spot, breakfast nook, outdoor living room. From here, I have a view of just a small piece of our compound, of the 2 fields adjacent to our property where the cows often graze, and of what used to be my neighbors' tilapia pond. It's peaceful and fairly private.

A hundred yards further east, we have a new gazebo, by our guest housing. Though it's just a few feet closer to the Kipkaren River, that gazebo is completely different. It's where the river picks up speed and runs over several rocks, creating the most amazing sounds. The bird life there is slightly different as there are fewer trees. Which also makes for a completely different view, both from the gazebo, and of the gazebo.

I've spent amazing times there reading, even serving meals to visitors. Other times, I have chosen to abandon the spot since my presence created a strange flow of curious visitors to come and stand by the river and stare at me while I'm reading...

Tonight, after dropping off a plate of pasta at a neighbor's home, I decided to go to sit at the river for a while to enjoy my dinner. I sat in silence, listening to the rapids and the other night sounds, watching a lightning storm in the distance, over Lake Victoria*. 

It was amazing to realize what a difference a change in perspective can make: A simple move -- all of a 2-minute walk to the other side of our compound -- allowed me to see past the trees, past the hill on the other side of the river where I live. From there, I could see the lights of our clinic down the road. (And from the clinic, you can see the lights of the children's home. While my place is smack halfway between the two, I cannot see the lights of either from my home.)

It's easy to get blinded at times by our surroundings. Sometimes, it's worth the short walk to see things from a different side.

Though things are very peaceful in my compound tonight, I was reminded that there's a storm brewing over the lake. I also remembered my neighbors on the other side of the river who lost a daughter last week when she hemorrhaged after giving birth to a perfect little girl. Her family had to carry her across the bridge to our clinic on a tarp, and it was too late for our nurses to save the young mother's life.

And I remembered Mwalimu's family, a teacher who lives just on the other side of our clinic. I saw the lights of his house this weekend when I had dinner at William and Michele's home. (Very few people in our community have electricity, so the handful that do stand out at night!) William came to tell me today that this neighbor had passed away last night from TB, and his family is gathered tonight to prepare for his funeral.

May I not forget to step out of my comfort zone to help share the pain and the joy of those around me. Like this morning, when I took my cup of coffee to a nearby neighbor's house and spent an hour listening to what is happening in their world. It's the simple actions that sometimes show we care. We don't have to wait to do something grandiose. Just be there. Step out. And love.

I don't do it nearly as often as I could.

* The Kenyan shore of the lake isn't too far from here, and I'm amazed that I've not yet made a road trip there! Will have to do convince some colleagues to do so one weekend! I've not done it till now due to the state of the road between Eldoret and Kisumu, but it's worth the drive, I'm sure.

And by the way, I had to stop halfway through my meal and retreat into the safety of my home, else the mosquitoes may have carried me off to the lake themselves...

My heart is smiling

More often than not, we have absolutely no idea how God is going to use the challenges we go through... Mama Chiri reminded me of that today as we were sitting in her small living room while her husband, who sadly was drunk again, kept trying to pester me to give him money, which he's never done before. In between me trying to ignore Baba Chiri, his wife was telling me how God had used our ordeal with removing jiggers from the Sifuna kids to prepare her for serving her own brother.

She explained how she found her younger brother a month ago, literally debilitated by jiggers. He couldn't walk nor do anything to care for himself. Their other sister (a nurse) had heard that Mama Chiri had helped a family with jiggers, and hence she was called in. Without even a hint of negativity, my neighbor shared with the biggest smile how God had prepared her to serve her brother. It took her a month to get rid of all the jiggers.

"Just wait!" Baba Chiri said, and next, Joseph walked in. Evidence A. He rolled up his pant legs to show me how his knee folds are now clear of jiggers. He took off his shoes to prove that his feet are now 100% jigger free. He showed me his fingers, the tips deformed from the pests, now healed.

"Isn't God amazing, Adele?" Mama Chiri gloated. "He used you to prepare me to love my brother."

Wow.

So, I'm at Ilula.

Came here this morning before church to celebrate the 5th birthday of the Ilula Children's Home. There was lots of sharing, cutting of cake, words of encouragement, songs and more. I had lunch with the Rono kids and spent the whole afternoon catching up, answering questions, getting and receiving hugs from the kids. Lay on the lawn and visited with Mary. I went to see the Sifunas. They're doing really well.

A sober and joyful Silas Sifuna

The Sifuna family. Silas brought me the children's school binders to show how well they're doing in school. Even little Kiprono will start going to preschool next month!

The Sifuna family with a distant relative of Mama Chiri, one she "inherited" recently to raise after the child's mom passed away

I went to "eat news" at Mama Chiri's home. Had two cups of chai next to the fireplace at Mama Kigen's. Showed the kids photos. Answered a million questions, including, "Adele, which side will you play on when the Kipkaren staff are coming to play games against Ilula staff?" (I decided I may just have to take photos!) Went to tuck in some of the kids. They're getting big.

"I've really, really missed you," I could tell them with all honesty. I know they're speaking the truth when they responded with their "Even us. We miss you!"

Tomorrow morning, I'll be heading out right after sunrise for a management retreat. The rest of the management team are already at a campsite about an hour from here. I asked to come tomorrow only, so I could see everyone at Ilula. I'm glad I did.

It was hard to see that Baba Chiri has slipped back into his drinking habits ("I only drink a little," he told me...), but it was amazing to see the growth in the children and in individuals in our community.

It's good to be here, even just for a short while.

Who's joining me?

Come over for a cup of tea and to read a book in silence.

(And yes, it's the book I wanted to finish reading last night.)

Mixed Feelings

I'm thankful for
dental floss,
electric toothbrushes,
a somewhat-flushable toilet,
an electric shower head that works when there's enough water pressure,
a solid roof over my head,
a clean bed,
Lucy who helps keep my house clean
and washes my laundry by hand
so I don't have to spend 2 days a week trying to do so!

I'm grateful for
for fresh fruit
and clean water,
for electricity
and a satellite connection to the Internet,
for cell phones,
for the ability to read
and to reason,
for opportunities to have seen the world,
for God's guidance through good times and tough times.

And tonight, I miss
a variety of friends.
* I'm thankful for my friends here, don't get me wrong.*
I just miss variety.

I miss my friends who make me belly-laugh,
who know when not to take me seriously,
when to tell me the truth,
when to simply listen,
when to pray,
and when to share their hearts.
Or when to simply play cards and talk about nothing important.

I miss the ease of life in some other parts of the world,
of driving over to friends' home
rather than have to cross a stream and hope not to topple in
cause the rocks you step on wiggle under your feet.

Yet I love the beauty of the walk to the said friends' home,
the sound of the river and the critters that come with it,
neighbors who greet you along the way,
the laughter of the children playing on our compound,
and the enthusiasm with which students are rehearsing for tomorrow's item in church.

Life here is good and it's hard.
It's a dream and at times it's tough.
It's a calling and it's a season.

"Sleep with God"

When I walked to my friend Helen's house tonight, it was already dark. "Hodi?" I called at the door. It didn't look like anyone's home. But then again, wood shutters don't let light through...

I could hear the smile in her voice. "Karibu, Adele!" (Welcome!)

The small room was lit by a single kerosene lantern. It really makes for the best atmosphere by which to visit. We were catching up on news, When's the baby due? How are you adjusting to a little one growing inside of you? questions that are actually cultural taboos, especially so early in a pregnancy. But Helen's been telling everyone she's pregnant since the first month when she found out. "How can I keep quiet? God has blessed us with a baby!"

"Hodi?" a neighbor came knocking. She was dropping off a pot of food. Helen explained that they usually cook together, but tonight she told her neighbor "You cook! I'm staying at home. Adele said she'll come to greet me. I don't want to miss her."

I was thankful that I decided to go and visit tonight before going to greet the kids... Once you're at the children's home, it takes hours to go through all 8 rooms of children, hugging each one, looking at homework, listening to stories. I was glad I didn't disappoint Helen, that I actually remembered that I told her yesterday that I'll come to greet her today...

When her husband stopped by for dinner (he's our night watchman, so he's out at night), I left them and went to see the children. But not before Cosmas could tell me how excited he was about raising a baby. He's 42, Helen 39.

Then I went to see my little friends at the children's home. The older kids were in "preps." That's evening tuition. It goes on till 8:30. I got to go and hug all the little ones, though, and most of them were very proud to show me their homework. Some were roasting maize on open fires. It's their favorite snack. Little Brian kept telling me about my car. (Apparently he was guarding my car for me while I was gone, making sure none of the kids play anywhere close to my car. I think this is hilarious, since I trust our kids not to damage the vehicles, but it's especially funny since Brian's just 2 years old.)

I left the children's home grounds by the time the bigger kids came home from preps. Hugging each one as they came by, I wondered about my relationship with them... I don't know these kids nearly as well as I know the ones in Ilula. But I think it's always healthy for any child to see that there are some other adults in their world who care about them. Simply because I want to. I don't have to spend time with them. It's not officially part of my job.

As I left the children's home grounds, walking home under a sky full of stars, one of the little ones called my name. "Adele!" I couldn't see her face, so I just called back, "Lala salama!" (Sleep well.) To which she answered, "Sleep with God, Adele."

I thought that was sweet.

I know it well: Flannel's far from the only other being in my home. God's right here with us. Even while we sleep.

Crickets

That's all I can hear. The sound of crickets. Perhaps a night bird or two. Some other bugs. Frogs. But mostly crickets.

I'm back in Kipkaren, in my house. It was already dark when we pulled in, and colleagues were expecting me for dinner, so I didn't get to go and see the kids. Will do so tomorrow. Hug them and tell them stories. I didn't even bring them candy this time. In fact, I didn't buy treats for myself, either. The books I carried weighed a ton. 

Walking to the Kiprops' home (dodging lots of puddles and mud from lingering rains), I couldn't help but smile. Earlier, when our center manager pulled into the compound with me, the first person I saw was Helen. And she had a tummy she hadn't had before... Is she pregnant?

In this culture, people don't talk about being pregnant. Helen tends to be different. For one, she's the only female pastor (ordained in the AIC church) in this area. Got married at 39 to Cosmas, our night watchman. She's a phenomenal woman. And she's not shy to talk about the fact that she's in fact expecting a baby.

"I've come to greet you - but look out, I have a BIG stomach!" she announced with a smile. I promised to come for chai tomorrow and "eat news." One would think I was gone for a long time!

Much has to happen tomorrow. People have to be visited. News exchanged. And there are projects that need to be taken care of. In the evenings, I'll study. As before.

I'm looking forward to catching up. But for now, I'll fall asleep to the sound of the crickets.