My guide on my long hike yesterday has a truly amazing story. Her name is Praxidis and she herself has HIV and Tuberculosis. Around the year 2000, she became very ill but rather than go to the doctor, she basically gave up on her life and prepared to die. She thought she was infertile and couldn’t have children. She turned to God for guidance and she was told that she had a purpose to be alive.
So, she went to the hospital and was tested for HIV in 2003. She was positive and was suffering from numerous complications related to her HIV. She found Dr. Hardison at Maseno Mission hospital as she was in end stage AIDS. This was before the CCCs existence. Dr. Hardison took her in and found antiretrovirals for her to take and over time, she practically came back from the dead. As she got on antiretrovirals she also got another big surprise - a pregnancy. She was scared like many here that her baby was doomed to have HIV, but Dr. Hardison helped her through this and gave her and the baby the best chance of making it through the pregnancy safe. Sure enough, both of her 2 children she has are HIV free.
She considers herself so blessed to be alive, she has dedicated her whole life around giving those who have given up hope like she once did, a second chance to turn their life around. This is why she walks 15 miles or more to visit HIV patients in their homes that have thrown in the towel. She has an infectious optimism and indestructible faith and she knows it’s her mission from God to spread it like wildfire . Even with her currently struggling with pulmonary tuberculosis and having already failed first line therapy, she still does these long hikes into the country to share her message of hope and faith.
I approached her the day before yesterday and told her I wanted to go on the hike to do the home visits with her. The CCC nurses looked at me and my spare tire and laughed. “It’s going to be a long way and it’s going to be hot”. I laughed right back at them and told them I can do it. The next day I geared up like Rambo for the hike - bringing water, snacks, sunblock, and most importantly – toilet paper (there’re no bathrooms where we are going). I tried to dress as inconspicuously as possible to not draw attention to myself... do you think I was successful?
We started our hike to Luwanda town - a much larger town than Maseno located several miles away. Along the way, she told me how she adopted a blind, neglected HIV positive child named Sophie (who I have helped take of while she was in the hospital) and now Sophie is doing well in her school for the blind. She said the education of her 3 children is her top priority because if something happened to her, they would have no one to take care of them. She wanted to fuel them up with as much education as possible so they could be successful if something terrible would happen.
Along the way, we passed under this banner for a good ole’ fashion tent revival. As I look up at it and snap the above picture, she turns to me and asks me “Are you a Christian?” I nervously laugh and tell her “well, I grew up catholic...”. She saw right through it like scotch tape, “well, are you now?” I replied with a negative and braced myself for her preaching, but she didn’t criticize me and when I stated some of the reasons I don’t agree with religion (namely the money-making nature), she agreed completely. She told me she had seen the prophet coming to speak several years ago and that was his message, that the churches have become too focused on the money and not the message. You could even take home a DVD of the sermon, available for sale on site :)
We proceed to enter Luanda town, which is a stark contrast from Maseno. The shops of Maseno are shacks composed of tree branches and tin roofs - the shops of Luanda town are made of concrete and you can actually walk into these buildings. There were paved roads and tons of road traffic and just many more people buzzing around everywhere. Praxidis was practically a celebrity here, as we move through the crowd, she’s pointing to people and telling me they are her clients (meaning they are HIV positive) - let’s see you try to get away with that in the US. As we go through the markets, we meet with another aid worker who comes with Praxidis and helps her find the locations of her clients. She also was wearing an ironic T-shirt, so I got her picture.
From Luanda town square, we proceed to get away from the paved roads and head into the sweeping country surrounding the town. There I see some of the most beautiful landscapes I have seen since I have been to Kenya. Under the clear blue sky, the rows of maize went on forever, herds of cattle mulched on the rolling hills cut by the now mostly dormant railroad. It was a breathtaking sight.
As we went house to house visiting the CCC patients who were either too sick to make it or have stopped becoming compliant, one thing really struck me. Most of these houses are the same - poured concrete with a roof made of stick supports and tin. Not a single house was wired for electricity or had running water. As we continued on our tour of the countryside, the houses stayed relatively the same, but the situations worsened. Toward the end, we went to a household where a woman was breastfeeding her baby.
Praxidis explained her story. She has 4 kids, 3 of them in the 4th grade (the older ones keep failing and repeating the grade). Her husband is gone during the day and only sometimes shows up at night - she has no idea where he goes. He does not help her raise the children. He refuses to be tested for HIV or wear condoms (which is a common occurrence here in Kenya, many of the men chose to remain on the down low). Her children have no food and are going to school hungry. She is breastfeeding her baby longer than the recommended 6 months for HIV patients because her baby has no other food - even though it might mean the baby may get HIV. Her tin roof was filled with holes which allow the rains to flood her small home. The small concrete house is probably 15x10 feet and house 5 people - 6 when her husband comes home. How can someone like this escape their situation when the odds are so stacked against them?
Undaunted, we went from house to house, at each place checking their HIV and TB medication to make sure they were taking it right and setting up appointments at the CCC clinic for those that needed closer follow up. After talking to the quail farmer (I talk about him in the food entry), we went to another house in the rural country. I learned something really interesting there. It seems that nzungu (white people) are considered good luck in the area where I am in... but in more rural places like where we were going, white people have NEVER been seen, so the children freak out. When we went to one house, I found this out first hand, all of the children started screaming and crying and ran/crawled away at top speed! I have a few pictures of this below.
Also, on the way back we came across a primary school (recognizable because the kids where wearing the typical blue and yellow school uniforms). As I came by I hear the usual “nzungu!” cry and they all ran up to the barbed wire fence to take a look at me. Recognizing the opportunity I missed while I was at the Orphan program, I tried to teach them to dance as quickly as I could. I instructed them to put one foot out and bend it at the knee. At the same time, lean back and move that extended foot like you are putting out a cigarette. In the US, this dance is known as the “stanky leg” and it was my goal to teach the children of Kenya this dance. I guess they didn’t know English though because not a single one of the 30+ kids followed my instructions through the fence - bummer-mission failed.
We hiked the whole countryside, coming across the quail farmer I talk about in the food entry. Once I feel like Praxidis and I are close enough, I ask her about Changaa and Bhang (moonshine and marijuana). She tells me that cannabis is grown in neighboring Uganda where it is less restricted and shipped here. Some folks in Luanda town grow it as well. The threat of police keeps it relatively low scale, but there is a small population of Rastafarians here. As we were leaving one client's house and I was talking about Bhang and how lots of people in the US use it, I hear reggae music in this distance and see the small shop where it is coming from. Praxidis’s friend walks up to the shop and I keep my distance, I ask Praxidis “what’s she doing?” She replies “she is seeing if they have Bhang they can show you”. I flip out completely, I don’t want to get arrested in Kenya - I’d never leave. Thankfully, they didn’t have any left but they showed us where we could get some down the street.
Are you ready for the real shocker? Guess how much a joint costs in Kenya-5 shillings! That’s less than 7 cents a joint! You can buy 15 joints for 1 US dollar. All you potheads should add on an additional ticket from Amsterdam to Kenya because bhang and changaa use isn’t heavily policed and you can smoke your brains out with maximum savings!
As we were going to Luanda town, I knew I had to get some money to pay for my rent here this month, so I found an ATM (there’s only 1 bank in the whole big town it seems). At least I felt comfortable getting money when the guards outside the ATM are carrying assault rifles. Walking back was extremely nerve racking carrying all this money, I did manage to get some obama gum but I also needed a way to protect myself. So, I did what any cautious citizen would do, I bought a pangaa (machete). Unfortunately, it comes in an unsharpened state, but Praxidis bought it with my money so I wouldn’t get charged the Nzungu (whitey or honkey) price. That’s a big reason of why I couldn’t live here, I would regularly get charged 4-5x more than everyone else since the prices are negotiable.
On the way back, it started to rain, so we got a matatu. In Kenya, there are 3 modes of public transport. Matatus are vans that you can (and regularly do) cram 10-15 people in that drive like a bat out of hell down the roads. There’re boda bodas which are bicycle taxis (you sit on the seat over the rear wheel and try to balance. Then there’s the piki piki which are motorcycle taxis. There’re no helmet laws here, so few people use a helmet on these bumpy dirt roads. Worse still, I have regularly seen entire families of 4 (which baby in the mother’s arms or sandwiched on the seat) on a single motorcycle. Considering the number of motorcycle accidents we see, if I could change 1 thing in Kenya, it would be to enforce helmet laws and maximum number of passenger laws.
Anyway, we took a matatu back and when we got in, they were blasting reggae music which made me wonder if they had some bhang or perhaps used it all before we got on. We hung on for dear life as they sped down the road and brought us closer to the hospital. As we walked back to the hospital, Praxidis showed me where the people in my village get changaa. About 200 yards from where we were walking, there was a banana plantation and several young men walking toward it carrying a sofa on their heads. “Those men are going to drink Changaa” she said “and they are bringing a sofa so they don’t have to stand”. She explained that the Changaa stand is hidden in the fields so that bystanders can not see what’s happening, but it’s common knowledge where to find them. Twenty shillings gets you 15 ML portion in a special commemorative Changaa shot glass (which I swear I saw for sale on QVC). It only takes about 2 doses until you are drunk and a few more until you are dead. We kept our distance from these guys, especially considering I was carrying a year’s salary in my pocket - Praxidis said the changaa boys regularly rob people.
As we made it back to the hospital, the rains picked up and I said bye to Praxidis and let her know more UT folks would be coming soon. The next day she helped me make a short video to let UT students know they are appreciated here and thanked me for my help. It was truly an amazing experience. I am in a time crunch, so no swahili translation in this entry, but look for double the swahili lessons in the next blog! I’m off to masai mara!
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