On Thursday March 12th, when my colleague asked if it was safe for her to
return to the village after having traveled to Tanzania for a retreat, the
leadership team saw no risks. On Friday March 13th, Kenya confirmed it’s first
COVID-19 case. By March 21st, I was back home in Chicago.
Last week was extremely tumultuous and emotionally exhausting. I’m only now
finally beginning to process my thoughts and share them with those close to me,
including you!
I was given two days to pack up everything I had, say goodbye to the people
and places I grew so close to, and leave the country without knowing when I
would return. For those that have been following my journey in Kenya, you know
that my time there was filled with pressure, stress, and general frustration. I
owe this in large part to the structure of my role. I haven’t, however, given
enough justice to the beautiful moments I had while I was there. So here are a
few thank yous:
To my friends in Kenya – Thank you for welcoming me, for teaching me your
culture & language, for forcing me to stop working & go out once in a
while, for putting up with my jokes, for never making me feel like a burden and
for letting me grow comfortable with you all. Thank you to my Kenyan friends in
Nairobi who gave me a place to stay and showed me the best parts of the city.
Thank you to my Kenyan friends in Rwanda – I have a deep love for you all and I
know we will see each other again soon.
To my colleagues (also my friends) – Thank you for your true and endless
commitment to your communities, thank you for never getting tired of my
seemingly endless line of questioning, thank you for letting me support you
& thank you for never taking things too seriously. Thank you, also, for giving
me the opportunity to learn more in these 8 months than I learned through all
my internships combined.
To the landscape – When I first got to Rongo, I told myself I would never be
able to memorize the 30 minute motorcycle journey from the village to Rongo. By
the end of my stay, not only did this path feel so familiar to me, but I could
share with you in detail the landmarks that helped me remember. Thank you to
the dirt roads that would become completely flooded after rainfall, to the lush
forests that provided a nice breeze at night, and to the endless rolling hills
that could be seen for miles. Fun fact: If you are ever on a motorcycle in Rongo, Kenya crossing a muddy path and you feel the motorcycle slipping – don’t move! If you move, the motorcycle driver loses balance and you’ll be at a higher risk of actually falling and injuring yourself. Trust me – the motorcycle drivers in Rongo know what they are doing. The first time I was given this advice, I thought it was ludicrous, but after many close calls, I advocate for you to follow this advice!
To the community – thank you for letting another muzungu come into your
lives, for trusting me , for always yelling my name to get my attention, and
for the laughs and hugs you gave me when I surprised you with my Dholuo đŸ™‚ To
all the mamas who’ve asked me to stay and get married to their sons, I’m sorry
to say that won’t be happening any time soon đŸ™‚ However, I won’t be saying
thank you to the church members who would play christian pop music on speaker from
11pm – 4am every other night. Thank you to Ochieng, and all the other piki
drivers who took me wherever I needed whenever I needed. Thank you to all the
babies who would run into my arms after work and want to chase me around for
hours.
I spent my last night in Kenya with my team drinking chang’aa at a random
house in Nyabigege before going to Joe’s club and dancing the night away. I
thought back to the night we went to Sirare and crossed over to Tanzania for
cheap beers. It was only my third week here, but I already felt like I had a
new family.
While I was packing, I felt a lot of guilt. I was leaving the village
because it was for my safety. If anything were to happen, I needed access to my
family and to the healthcare system that I grew up with in the United States.
You know how shitty it feels to say the latter half of that sentence? I was
working for a public health organization whose work is directly integrated with
a clinic in the village. The clinic provides a higher quality of care than most
clinics and large private hospitals in the area. Still, mothers deliver there
without ever receiving any form of an epidural. Accessing an operating room in
the case of an emergency means being transferred over an hour away to the
nearest hospital. Pharmacies are often out of stock due to the Ministry of
Health’s inadequate commodity distribution. These are only a few images of what
happens everyday at the clinic, the “quality” clinic. So try to begin
to imagine what other clinics in nearby areas could be like. Most facilities
don’t have access to an ambulance, so you’ll find hemorrhaging mothers being
transported in the trunks of taxis or risk waiting hours for an available
ambulance. I was leaving my friends and colleagues to this healthcare
system – one that has failed to prove over and over that it prioritizes quality
care and saving lives.
To be honest with you, I am afraid. I am afraid for Kenya and for what is to
come in the upcoming months. Social distancing & quarantine are not going
to be easily implemented in a place where people distrust the government, have
no faith in the healthcare system, and quite frankly don’t believe that
COVID-19 is real. I am afraid for the families who don’t and can’t access
information about national and international realities and who will continue
shaking hands and greeting everyone they meet on their way to the market,
unknowingly putting themselves, their families, and their communities at risk.
But I am hopeful. I spent a lot of time researching community-led health
interventions during public health crises in sub-saharan Africa in college.
Specific, isn’t it? I hope to continue studying this in graduate school because
I am convinced that it is the community health workers who are the ones saving
lives. If we think the US government is corrupt, I can’t even begin to explain
the intricate post-colonial power dynamics in sub-saharan Africa that have left
the government almost entirely untrustworthy and incapable of creating any
change.
So these are some of my thoughts. I’ve been reminiscing and listening to
music that reminds me of the people and places I’ve interacted with. The
reality is that I will probably not be going back before the end of my
fellowship, but I will continue working & supporting everyone remotely. So
one last time – thank you, Asante, Ero Kamano sana.
Observations and Conversations 