Madhouse Thursdays at Shanti

Yesterday was the craziest day at the birthouse yet.  Every Thursday, Shanti offers HIV testing, immunizations for infants, as well as a yoga class, nutrition class, and family planning class. In other words, Shanti becomes a zoo.  Julia and I didn’t want to miss any of the excitement, so we left the volunteer house early in the morning in an effort to catch it all.

 Welcome to Shanti Uganda

Waiting room 

Delivery room

I was stressing a little bit as we arrived at 10:30am because I didn’t want to miss the prenatal yoga class.  Keep in mind, we had been told by three separate people that the class started at three different times.  If the class was at 9 we had missed it, if the class was at 9:30 we had missed, and even if the class was at 10 we had missed it.  Luckily for us, the yoga mats hadn’t even been laid out yet when we arrived.  Apparently Ugandan time is no different than Kenyan time.  And so, Julia and I took our spots amongst the other thirteen big-bellied women and waited for the lesson to begin.  The class mostly consisted of hip thrusts, deep breathing, and cat/cow poses (accompanied by their respective animal noises).  I knew the class would be memorable before it even started because they handed out freshly picked bananas while were waiting for everyone to take their seats.  Healthy snacks before a good morning stretch? What more could an expectant mother ask for?  I may not have cankles or a baby growing inside of me, but I will definitely be back next week!

After a not-so-strenuous workout, Julia and I declared it time for lunch.  As we were munching on our homemade “salad” consisting of red beans, chickpeas, and artichoke hearts, one of the midwives’ granddaughters came over to us.  Little Flo is two years old and cute as a button.  Unfortunately she is very aware of this and uses it to her advantage to get what she wants. That includes asking for the mzungu’s food.  It’s not like she was going hungry. Lunch was coming in less than an hour. But what Flo wants, Flo gets.  I ended up hand feeding her single red beans as if she were a gumball machine.  Coincidentally, during the time I was waiting on a two year old, a baby was born in the next room. That makes 17! Only two more births this month until we break Shanti’s current record!

Julia’s and my current project is repainting the water tank that acts as a central marketing tool for Shanti.  You can’t really miss it once you step onto the compound, and our program director thought it was time to give the tank a facelift.  So, Julia and I are in charge of sprucing it up a bit.  Unfortunately, neither of us is artistically inclined.  We’ve managed to cover up the previous mural with primer, and today we coated the entire thing yellow.  We told passersby that the plain yellow would soon be decorated with cool designs to really liven it up.  Unfortunately, such “cool designs” have yet to be brainstormed.  Our boss wants us to paint the silhouette of a pregnant woman beside the company logo, but I think our best attempt would end up looking more like an inkblot from the Rorschach test.

Water tank before Julia and I began our project

(after picture coming soon)

In addition to our art project we attended a WIGG meeting with the other interns.  We also played with Flo a bit more and discussed plans to plaster and cement the company storage room next week.  One of my favorite parts of each day is the walk home.  We come across so many groups of young children who are elated to catch sight of the mzungus.  Shanti volunteers are the only white people in our entire village, so somehow we’ve become the celebrities of Kasana. Children run up to us, wanting to high five us and shake our hands.  I wish I could capture the sheer excitement on their faces when they greet us each day.  No one in the U.S. is ever that genuinely enthused to see me.

Our beautiful walk home

(before we reach the children)

Today we’re heading to Kampala for Shanti Uganda’s first art show fundraiser.  We’re highlighting the work of local artists and a portion of the proceeds goes toward expanding the birth house.  I’m very much looking forward to a fun weekend in a new city.

Kwaheri ya kuonana!

(By the way, I’m very jealous of those students spending their IDS in Tanzania who get to use their Swahili everyday. They say that Kiswahili was born in Tanzania, butchered in Kenya, killed in Uganda, and buried in the Congo.  I’m having a frustrating time not being able to use my Swahili in an area where most people speak some English but everyone speaks Luganda. Here’s to trying to learn yet another language!)

I was there in the room.

Last night was one of the most beautiful nights I have ever experienced. There was a woman in labor at the Shanti Uganda birth house…and I got to witness the entire thing!

Shanti Uganda is my new home for the next three weeks.  It is a non-profit volunteer organization dedicated to “improving infant and maternal health, providing safe women-centered care and supporting the well-being of birthing mothers and women living with HIV/AIDS in Uganda.”  Their two main accomplishments include the WIGG program, an effort to help HIV-positive women earn an income by sewing bags and other fabric-based products for sale.  Most recently, the women are working on mastering a properly fitted Macbook case.  Shanti’s other prized possession is their birth house.  Women from all over Kasana can come to Shanti for prenatal checkups, vaccinations, birthing and nutrition classes, and delivery services for only 3000 Ugandan shillings (1.16 U.S. dollars).

The birth house has had fifteen births this month, almost exceeding their record of eighteen in one month, and last night was number sweet sixteen.  Usually when a birth takes place, a volunteer is permitted to be in the delivery room with the midwives.  I am one of six volunteers currently, but the number is constantly changing.  Most volunteers stay for about four months, but Julia and I are only at Shanti for three weeks.  Right before we were about to dig in to dinner, we received a phone call that a woman was going into labor at the birth house, about a 30-minute walk from the volunteer house.  Because I had been chomping at the bit since I arrived, eager to see a birth, the other volunteers who are here for a few more months let me go.  And so, on my first day on the job, I was rushed over to the birth house with our night-shift midwife.

When we arrived, the young woman had already been in labor for about two hours.  I was mildly freaking out, wondering what I was supposed to do, and how I could avoid getting in anyone’s way.  Blood and lady parts don’t bother me.  I just didn’t want to knock over any sterile tools or bump into nurses with needles in their hands. 

Jane was an absolute champ.  Without any medication to numb her pain, she quietly rested on the delivery bed and walked around the room occasionally to set her labor further into motion.  She didn’t complain, and her only request was for a cup of tea.  Unfortunately she only spoke Lugandan so one of the midwives had to translate her words into English for me. 

When the time came to push, my heart was pounding as if I were going into labor.  I had a cramp deep in my gut and sweat was slowly trickling down my forehead.  By this point, Jane was making the occasional moan but not a tear had been shed.  She braced herself and took deep, calming breathes in between her hefty pushes. Within minutes, a healthy newborn girl had emerged into the world, healthy as can be.  The midwives even made a comment about how abnormal the birth was, strictly because there were no complications.

I nearly cried when Jane breastfed for the first time.  I did my best to hold it together because no one wants a crying mzungu in their delivery room.  Jane was elated about having a girl because it’s what her husband wanted.  She was waiting to name the baby until her husband arrived, which he did about an hour later. 

I was shocked by how quickly the mood in the room changed once the baby was born.  There was so much buildup, and then as soon as the baby came out, all was peaceful again.  The midwives began cleaning up the room almost immediately after the placenta was out and the umbilical cord had been cut.  As soon as the baby was attached to her breast, Jane whipped out her cell phone and began texting her friends and family.

Julia and I returned to the birth house today to see how the baby was doing.  Little Milly was perfectly healthy and her mother was glowing—absolutely stunning.  They lay around for a few hours as friends and family came to visit.  Around 5pm, Jane packed up her things (including Milly), hopped on a boda-boda (motorbike taxi), and headed home.

This was by far one of the most incredible events I have ever witnessed.  I know my friends at home will make fun of me for how sappy I’m getting, but it was just so natural and beautiful.  I have a newfound jealousy for OB/GYNs as they get to witness the most incredible, physical human act everyday. 

I hope to never forget April 22, 2013, 7:47pm.  I can’t imagine how I could—I’m counting down the days until the next birth.  I suppose I know which career I should pursue now.  Are you happy, Mom? You were right again.  One thing’s for sure…yesterday was a hell of a first day at Shanti! 

Fourth Time's a Charm!

As a follow up to yesterday's post, I thought I'd inform you all that we finally made it to the top of the Kenyatta International Conference Center! Megan, Julia, and I travelled to the top of the second tallest building in East Africa and had the opportunity to catch a 360 degree view of the entire city of Nairobi. As Miley Cyrus would say, "It was pretty cool."  I could try to conjure up some witty description of our adventure, but I think the photos speak for themselves. (All photos courtesy of Julia Hall)

Listening to our esteemed tour guide, Peter 

Nairobi! 

 President Kenyatta's personal jet in the distance

(apparently he wasn't even in it...how Peter knew that, I have no idea)

 Megan, Julia, and I

Megan and I

Woah, we're on top of the world! 

 

Obligatory selfie overlooking the greatest city in East Africa

That Time I was mistaken for a Korean Tourist…

Yesterday was one of those days when you look back and think Wow, that was a really great day. It certainly didn’t play out the way I had expected it to, but perhaps it was for the best.

Julia, Abby, Megan, and I had planned on going to the Kenyatta International Conference Center for the past week or so.  It’s the tallest building in Kenya, or as we like to call it “The Tallest Building in the World!”  For 200 shillings, you can take a trip to the top of the center and look out over all of Nairobi. Unfortunately, heavy rainstorms in the city dampened (no pun intended) our last two efforts to go. What’s the point of going to the top when you can’t even see out into the city…and there’s the potential you might slip on the roof and fall 28-stories to your death? How embarrassing.

And so, the Fab Four set out on a sunny afternoon yesterday for the KICC.  As we reached the entrance, we were grinning from ear to ear. We had made it! No rain was going to keep us from getting to the top. It was our day!

We approached the front desk attendant to inquire about an excursion to the roof.  Our dreams were quickly crushed when he told us that that would not be possible. When we asked why, he told us that the new President, Uhuru Kenyatta, was on his way to address Parliament, which was nearly 400 meters away. Apparently four young, white, American girls are a threat to national security, so we wouldn’t be allowed to go to the top of the conference center until after the President had safely left the city.  I guess they thought we had sniper rifles in our backpacks and were prepared to take out Kenya’s newest celebrity. Seeing as this excuse was too unique to possibly be made up, all we could do was pout our lips and leave the building.

The Tallest Building in the World

(it's on the left)

We had already walked all the way downtown, so we decided to go on a little adventure.  We stumbled upon the Kenyan Supreme Court and because Julia’s father is a judge, we had no choice but to go in. As we passed through security, they asked us why we were entering the building.  We told them that we were here for a tour, and they couldn’t help but laugh in our faces.  Apparently no one in Kenya has ever taken a tour of the Supreme Court…who knew?  After catching his breath, one of the security guards agreed to show us around the place.

Uncharted waters

We followed him inside and he showed us the locked doors to administrative offices in addition to an alternative entryway to the building.  Clearly this was the first tour he had given…as well as the first tour given ever. What a pioneer!

We asked him if it would be possible to see a courtroom. He said that the courtrooms are only unlocked when a case is taking place, during which time visitors can sometimes sit in the spectator section.  The odds were once again not in our favor because all of the cases had concluded that morning.  Disappointed once more, we sulked down the hallway. And then, as if out of a fairytale, we stumbled upon a courtroom whose door was slightly cracked.  Our trusty guide allowed us to enter, and it was like walking into Hogwarts—we were in complete and total awe. The room had a suspicious odor and the seats were falling apart, but we could officially say that we were the first St. Lawrence students to ever step foot inside a Kenyan Supreme Court(room)!  Obviously I couldn’t contain my excitement and immediately ran over to sit in what I thought was the judge’s chair.  I later found out that it was merely the stenographer’s seat.  Who cares—I was like Sandra Day O’Connor presiding over my imaginary bitches.

Abby, Megan, and I 

Clearly there was some confusion as to the seriousness of this situation

(Photos courtesy of the lovely Julia Hall)

After realizing that we probably shouldn’t be role-playing in a national courtroom, our soft-spoken tour guide shuffled us out of the room. On our way to the exit, we bumped into one of his security guard friends. This lady had some spunk…or perhaps a few screws loose.  Not only did she mistake Megan’s name for Melon, but she was overly excited to be meeting Americans.  She kept stroking Megan’s arm and forcefully wrapping it around herself.  We told her and our tour guide that we were from the Land of Obama, and our guide then went on to tell us that Obama is Kenyan. Each of us has already had a tough enough time explaining to Kenyans that actually no, Obama is not Kenyan. His family is from Kenya, but he is an American.  Kenyans are always shocked to hear that Obama couldn’t be elected President of the United States if he was a Kenyan native.  So this time, just to humor our new friends, we let it slide and nodded our heads in agreement. 

           

After glancing momentarily in my direction, the lady guard turned to Julia and asked if all of us were American.  When Julia replied yes, the guard pointed at me and argued, “but she’s Korean!” Realizing that I had been mistaken for an Asian tourist, we erupted into a bout of laughter.   This was definitely not the first time that my ancestry has been mistaken…and it probably won’t be the last.

(Featured on Julia's blog)

We said goodbye to our friends, who clearly didn’t want us to leave, and returned to our classroom.

Yesterday was the kind of spontaneous afternoon that you hear your friends telling stories about from their adventures abroad. I’m proud to have my own story to share, and I hope it has inspired each of you to approach a random government building in your town and request a free tour.

Only 4 more days until Uganda!

Kwaheri ya kuonana!  

Amboseli: The Maasai and I

Well we’re back in Nairobi after a week in Amboseli.  We learned all about the Maasai and the current struggles they’re facing with maintaining their traditional culture. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Maasai, just imagine your stereotypical image of an African warrior. Minimal clothing, long red shuka (blanket) wrapped around themselves, covered in beads, faces painted red, herding a bunch of cattle.  They’re the guys who greet you at Kenyatta International Airport dressed up in traditional garb even though they’re probably not even Maasai and were paid to stand there and pretend. Still confused? Hopefully this will help.

Making fire at the cultural manyatta (read below) 

We arrived on Sunday, March 31^st to a beautiful tented resort outside Amboseli National Park. I’m sure the Real Housewives would have boasted to all of their socialite friends that they had spent a rough week camping had they stayed at our resort…but this was no camping. It was glamping! Whereas in Tanzania we slept in two person tents, took “bag-o-water” showers, and relieved ourselves in the woods, at this resort we slept in spacious areas complete with beds, a toilet, and a shower ALL INSIDE THE TENT! Call me Fergie, but this place was glamorous!

If only you could see the inside...it's better than Narnia 

We visited a cultural manyatta on our first day out in the field.  These “snapshots into traditional Maasai life” are ooh-ed and aah-ed over by tourists. Naive visitors come to these “villages” and think they’re getting an exclusive look at how Maasai people currently live.  However, locals view these villages more as business ventures than accurate representations of modern day living, and as well-informed students we were skeptical as well. We were greeted at the edge of the boma (enclosed village area) by beaming dancers draped in beads and traditional Maasai cloth. After having us join in on their extravagant welcome celebration, they brought us into the manyatta to teach us about their lifestyle.

A village medicine man taught us about herbal remedies used by the Maasai.  I had a strange feeling he was playing us when he picked up the same stick five times and each time described a very different purpose. It also didn’t help that he spoke perfect English when most Maasai that we met spoke Kimaasai, some Kiswahili, and very broken English.

"This herb heals eye sores" 

[put down stick, pick up identical stick]

"This herb cures heart disease" 

[put down stick, pick up identical stick]

"This herb will solve the nuclear missile crisis"

They also showed us the inside of their homes (i.e. huts). The entire house is approximately the size of my bedroom, and it includes a cooking area and two beds—one for the mother and all of the children, and one for the father. 

Ally, Chloe and I inside the hut

After completing our tour, they lured us over to their market area to buy handcrafted beads. Nothing like being heckled to buy crafts after experiencing the “true” Maasai way of life.

The rest of the week was filled mostly with interviews with local pastoralists, village elders and women, and farmers.  We also went on safari one morning in Amboseli National Park, but it appeared that the animals were all on holiday. By far the most exciting component was our one-night homestay with a real Maasai family.

My friend Abby and I spent the night with Grace, our translator, and her family.  She is one of 9 children and lives with her husband and two children in another boma down the road.  Grace is very well educated and she came back to her parents’ home for an overnight in order to translate our English into Kimaasai and vice versa. Luckily for us, she brought her 7-month-old son, Leonard with her!

Check out that smolder

Grace wanted to give us a true Maasai experience, so she showed us how to perform as many chores as she could fit into a 24-hour period.  We went to fetch water, which was about a 25-minute walk. We carried 5-liter jerrycans from our heads, and afterward my neck was sore for a day. Grace and her friend completely showed us up by carrying 20-liter cans! Grace helped me get over my embarrassment by assuring me that carrying the equivalent of a baby from one’s head is something that my neck has to get used to. Mothers take their daughters to fetch water as young as 5 years old. They start out carrying 3 liters and work their way up to 20 liters like their mothers.

Abby's a natural 

Other funtivities of the day included making traditional Maasai beaded jewelry with the women in our boma, milking our family’s goats, helping to cook meals, and smearing cow dung mixed with ashes on the houses to repair any holes.

Cooking with Grace 

Who needs cement when you can dunk your hands in cow poop? 

We spent the night in one of the houses with Grace. She shared her own bed with Leonard, and Abby and I shared a bed. Unfortunately we were in the cooking hut where a constant fire was maintained 24/7.  This wouldn’t have been too much of a problem (after all it was pretty cold once the sun set) except that there was NO ventilation in the huts. A tiny “window” the size of my hand was cut out of the wall near the fire pit, but it might as well have been covered by concrete. We convinced Grace to kill the fire, and Abby and I enjoyed our restless night of sleep on a bed of wood planks covered in cowhide.  The number of bed bugs, fleas, and ticks in our bed has yet to be determined. Rest assured Mom and Dad, all bugs have been removed from my body.

Kitchen (left) and bedroom (right)

Perhaps the best story I can share with you was of our first meal at the homestay. In February, when we were at our rural homestays in Meru, each of us had been stuffed to capacity and forced to eat enormous amounts of food. We had no choice but to choke it down because we didn’t want to be rude. And so, when Grace served both Abby and me an entire plate of potato and cabbage stew in addition to 8 brick-size pieces of ugali (bland, maize-meal wedges), I was under the assumption that I had to eat it all. There was no way I could finish the entire meal by taking my time, so instead I went with the Man v. Food approach.  If I’ve learned anything from Adam Richman, it’s that you have a 20-minute window to eat as much food as possible before your “food wall” goes up. After 20 minutes, your brain recognizes that your stomach is full and it’s nearly impossible to consume any more food, especially when you’ve been mirroring the style of a competitive eater.  Realizing that I was fighting against the clock, I began shoveling ugali into my mouth in between slurps of stew to keep my mouth from drying out like a desert.  Oh yeah, and to keep myself from CHOKING! There was no time for talking, only time for eating. I occasionally glanced over at Abby who was enjoying a single piece of ugali and slowly sipping on her stew. All I kept thinking was Man, Abby’s going to have a hard time eating her other 7 pieces of ugali without any stew to add some moisture. Maybe she should have thought more about her strategy as I have so cleverly done.  After jamming the last piece of ugali into my mouth with an incredible 13 minutes to go, I forcefully swallowed and reveled in my success.  I had done it...and now I just had to keep myself from throwing it back up.  It literally felt like there was a brick in my stomach or a layer of thick concrete that had just dried.  I looked over at Abby who was eating the last bit of her stew, and then looked down to find that she still had her 7 pieces of ugali left.  She peered her little puppy eyes over at Grace who was eating the last bit of her ugali and politely smiled “I’m done.”

My inner dialogue: You’re done? You’re done! You can’t be done. You still have all of your dinner left. How can you be so rude? These kind people made us all of this food and you’re not even going to eat it?! Wow, you’re really in for it now. Guess I know who’s their favorite guest. **pat on back**

As we were brushing our teeth before bed, I leaned over to Abby and whispered “Wow, that was rude. You didn’t even finish.”

Abby: “Emma, no it wasn’t. Sinnary [our professor] specifically told us that we didn’t have to finish all of the food. This isn’t Meru. You must have missed that part of the orientation.”

That’ll teach me never to bring my Kindle to a lecture ever again. 

I focused on portion control the rest of our stay and thoroughly enjoyed getting to experience authentic Maasai culture. There was no medicine man in Grace’s village; no beaded women or painted warriors—just the pleasant company of a traditional tribe trying to modernize with the times.

Amboseli was our final field component before IDS (independent study project).  My friend Julia and I just found out that we’ll be going to Uganda for 3 weeks to work with Shanti Uganda, a volunteer-based organization aimed at “improving infant and maternal health, providing safe women-centered care and supporting the well-being of birthing mothers and women living with HIV/AIDS in Uganda.”

With just a week left before we depart for our individual projects, it’s hitting me that my stay in Kenya is quickly coming to an end. When we return from IDS, we’ll have less than a week before the program is over. I hate to admit how soon my time here will be up because I have truly come to love this country.  I know it won’t be goodbye when I leave. Kenya has given me too much to turn my back on it entirely.

To give your eyes a rest, I will save stories about my final adventures in Nairobi for another post.  One exciting thing to note is that Kenya officially has a new president! Uhuru Kenyatta, the fourth president of Kenya, was inaugurated this past Tuesday. Unfortunately President Obama was not present to witness Kenyatta’s swearing in. [I really hate rumors when they’re wrong].  

Kwaheri ya kuonana!