I have been incommunicado for some time now due to the demanding nature of my volunteer commitment here and an internet connection reminiscent of the early days of the Clinton administration. Ni kweli, nimeshughulika sana, lakini mimi afadhali kuandika zaidi mara kwa mara. (It’s true, I have been very busy, but I ought to write more frequently.) I don’t think I will be able to follow through on my commitment to weekly posts however. The pictures just take too long to upload. Don’t just click through them quickly; savor every pixel!
In my most recent post, I hinted that I have been embroiled in a political situation that proved challenging to navigate. Due to the sensitive nature of this imbroglio, I didn’t feel comfortable posting any details at the time. Happily, I was able to engineer a satisfactory resolution, so I can now reveal more or less what happened. I will do my best to interweave the explanation with a narrative of my time here thus far. This will be another long one, so grab a beer and get comfortable.
As many of you are aware, I am here to build a diagnostic lab as an addition to the healthcare facilities that ROTH built in 2007. The existing facilities include a dispensary, a maternity ward, and a borehole well. The borehole was sunk in order to provide the maternity ward with clean water. After sinking it, ROTH discovered that the daily yield exceeded the demands of the maternity ward. The surplus is sold to the community in order to ensure that there is money on hand for maintenance of the facilities. Water is very affordable at 2 shillings (roughly 2 cents) per 20 litres. So not only does the community have access to cheap, clean water, but every shilling they spend on it is an investment in the longevity of their healthcare centre. This model ensures the sustainability of the venture even if no other development partners ever commit more funding.
The Piave Dispensary (center), Maternity Ward (center right) and Borehole (far right)
In the course of planning the project, I was advised that a situation had emerged that threatened this sustainability. Several influential members of the community staged a hostile takeover of the borehole from the legitimate Dispensary Committee and established an unsanctioned committee to manage it, ostensibly for the greater good of the community at large. They began raising the price of water almost immediately, first to three shillings, then four, and finally five. The healthcare facilities have not seen any of that profit, and not for lack of need. There are numerous fixtures and fittings that need replacing, the cistern in the bathroom is inoperable, and most distressingly the Dispensary consistently sees quarterly shortages of essential medicines and reagents. The only reason patients can still receive healthcare is due to the dedication of the heroic staff, particularly that of Dr. Bernard Lugah, who routinely reaches into his own pocket. It is truly humbling and inspiring to work with him. Here’s the man himself with his wife Josephine above the Menengai Crater:
Bernard deserves a medal for the work he does. I’ve been working closely with him since I arrived, and he has become a good friend and close ally. Without his invaluable support, there’s no way I could ever hope to see this project through to completion.
ROTH’s president, Frederique Vallieres, tried her best to manage the borehole situation from a distance. She contacted all relevant authorities and even spoke directly to the transgressors themselves, but all to no avail; her repeated entreaties were simply ignored. Because Fred is busy pursuing a PhD in Global Health while simultaneously working for World Vision and managing several other ROTH projects the world over, it would have been a serious challenge for her to spare the month it would take to come to Kenya and see justice served. Her attempts thus frustrated, there was nothing to do but hope that one of the many local authorities would find the time and inclination to correct the injustice before my arrival.
As you may have already surmised, that did not happen. So in lieu of coming herself, Fred sent me. The stakes were high: not only are the existing facilities threatened due to the lack of their most significant revenue stream, but no further investment could be committed until the situation was resolved. That means no lab, and eventually no dispensary, no maternity ward, and no borehole. Ultimately, if I proved incapable, Frederique would have had to come herself to clean up my mess.
This situation set the stage for my arrival. While figuring out the intricacies of village culture and politics, I concurrently had to adapt to life in Kenya. Life everywhere is of course fundamentally the same, but there are always little differences. For example, there is a system of public transportation in Kenya, but it’s a bit different than the Skytrain. Kenyans get around by matatu, which is a 14-passenger van. Many are battered veterans of innumerable fender-benders, each dent and scratch a testament to the maniacal manner in which they are piloted. It’s not uncommon to see their flattened, mangled shells in scrap yards, silent epitaphs to the anonymous commuters who met a violent end together on some nameless stretch of asphalt. But don’t worry Dad, they’re totally safe. Here’s the view from the back of the bus:
Nakuru itself is the fourth-biggest city in Kenya, a country of some 42 million people. Like elsewhere in the world, there is an increasing trend towards urbanization, though it is somewhat less pronounced in Kenya than in many other countries. Many Kenyans are subsistence farmers, and the fabled Maasai have to a large extent retained their traditional pastoralist lifestyle. Nonetheless, Nakuru is still fairly busy. Here’s a window into the city that never sleeps with the intrepid Talitha Calder in the
foreground:
I’ve been lucky. Frederique, in her infinite wisdom, sent me to live with Nick and Sheila Nyamumbo and their two boys, Wayne and Shefah. Nick has the enviable qualities of being charismatic, instantly likeable, street smart, and generally competent. He absorbs information like a sponge: he is the kind of guy who can learn a language simply by listening to people speak it for a while. Sheila is quite similar in those regards. With their guidance, I was able to adapt to life in Nakuru quickly and easily, despite sticking out like a giraffe at a goat farm. In my short time here thus far, they have both become dear friends of mine. They are both very interesting people. Nick used to play Premier League football (soccer) here in Kenya – when he was a youth he was the top scorer in the country. Considering how athletic and talented Kenyans are, that is quite an accomplishment. Sheila is a policewoman, which means something a bit different in Kenya than it does in the States or Canada. The police here are virtually indistinguishable from the army. Sheila cuts quite an intimidating figure in full uniform:
After a day or two of orientation I felt like I was able to fend for myself, which gave me room to focus on the problem at hand: the borehole. The situation took nearly a month of exceedingly long days full of tense meetings to resolve, but I won’t go into meticulous detail. Suffice it to say that it was an uphill battle to convince the relevant authorities to see the situation my way. Just like anywhere else, some of the government officials were helpful, while others were just the opposite. I started with the lowest rungs on the political ladder and was finally forced to take it to one of the highest, the Provincial Commissioner of the Rift Valley Province, which is the largest province in Kenya.
Ultimately, I was able to convince the people that mattered to lend a helping hand, and emerged from the situation victorious having returned control of the borehole to the legitimate Dispensary Committee. The next step was enlightening the community of the details of the situation. I addressed nearly 100 community health workers (CHWs) and requested that from here on out, they serve as the ultimate measure of accountability to ensure that this situation does not reoccur. I provided them with all the relevant details of the takeover. Because knowledge is power, I’m confident that the community now has the capacity to safeguard its own interests, even if there are further attempts to undermine those interests from within.
This has been an immensely edifying experience for me – call it a crash-course in diplomacy. I learned the power of simultaneous centralization and decentralization of power, and I witnessed the efficacy of self-determining, politically active citizens exercising their right to participatory democracy. I think this is the most effective safeguard possible, because it is only a very few people within the community that have caused this situation to occur. The overwhelming majority of community members I’ve met are wonderful, selfless people with easy smiles and good hearts.
The Wellspring of Despair
The writing that you can see on the borehole in the picture above has already been painted over. We intend to change it very shortly to reflect the new, proper arrangement. Though the Dispensary Committee has not yet approved it, I would like to see the title of this post emblazoned upon the well. I’ve been working on my Swahili, and I came up with it myself, though I did consult with Bernard extensively. With the blessing of the appropriate arbiters, the borehole will read ‘Maji Safi kwa Afya Bora – Afya Bora kwa Maisha Marefu’. Translated, that means ‘Clean Water for Good Health – Good Health for Better Life’. The entire borehole situation hinged upon the false claim that the borehole was separate from the healthcare facilities, so the significance of this statement is that this particular clean water is intended to facilitate the provision of quality healthcare, and that this arrangement benefits the community.
Because the borehole situation demanded so much of my time and energy, I haven’t been able to fit in much traveling. Luckily, Nakuru and the surrounding area has much to offer in the way of recreational opportunities, and I’ve been taking full advantage. Some of the staycations I’ve enjoyed include trips to the Menengai Crater; Lake Nakuru National Park; and Thomson Falls. Besides that, I’ve made the best of sticking around Nakuru itself. I immersed myself in the market, haggled over various trinkets with local vendors, and made a great many friends around town.
Lake Nakuru National Park is essentially a safari. The park is directly adjacent to town, but it’s as though you enter another world when you drive through the gates. Walking is strictly prohibited as there are predatory animals about. Lake Nakuru is famous for its flamingos, but regrettably nearly all of them migrate to Tanzania during these months. Regardless, the park is incredible. It’s packed with wildlife – you literally can’t turn a corner without seeing something exotic. There are giraffes, gazelles, zebra, rhinos, water buffaloes, wild dogs, baboons, monkeys, impala, and a large variety of birds. There are even lions and leopards, though I did not have the good fortune to see any. I was hardly disappointed though; here’s a sampling of what I did manage to get eyes on:
When you approach, buffalo do their best to look menacing.
This guy didn't get the memo.
The rhinos make the buffalo look small.
Lake Nakuru is famous for its flamingos.
He looks majestic, but don't let that fool you. He's an incorrigible philanderer. Every male gazelle in the park has an enormous harem.
The animals in this picture are displayed in full colour, but I made the rest of the photo black and white.
This was the strangest-looking animal in the park that day by far.
The trip to Thomson Falls was also very enjoyable. The Falls themselves are beautiful, but surprisingly enough the real highlight was the car ride there. We made our way through coffee and tea plantations owned by former President Moi; over the equator; past verdant hillsides covered in acacia and jacaranda trees; up many steep and winding switchbacks to a promontory viewpoint; and finally to the falls themselves.
I walk the line.
gratuitous tourist shot
As you can see, it hasn’t been all work and no play here. I’ve definitely been taking advantage of what little free time I have. I even managed to make it to Uganda! Frederique was just over the border in Busia working for World Vision. She generously invited me to head that way for a quick visit in spite of how busy she is, and I jumped at the chance. I took a long overnight bus journey where I discovered that the roads between Kenya and Uganda are paved only in patches. The bus itself had seen better days: the transmission was emitting a death rattle; the windows would not close all the way; some of the seats were missing their cushions altogether; and most distressingly the suspension was practically nonexistent. This meant that it was more like a trampoline ride than a bus ride.
I arrived at the border at approximately 5am. We had to disembark in order to pass customs, which is reasonable enough. At that point, I asked the conductor whether it was possible to drop me off 3km over the border at Frederique’s hotel. She flat-out refused, telling me that my ticket didn’t entitle me to go to Uganda. Busia is a town that straddles the border. The bulk of it is on the Kenyan side, but I had explicitly asked to go to the Uganda side when I purchased my ticket. Regardless, the conductor was adamant that I remain in Kenya or proceed by foot to Uganda. She told me to please stop asking, as there was “simply no other alternative”. I was a bit confused, as my ticket simply said ‘Busia’, and made no indication whatsoever as to which country I could go. Further argument proved futile, so I wearily trudged into the customs office where I paid an extortionate fee for a visa.
Upon entering Uganda, I spied people boarding the coach again, bound for Kampala. I decided that I would ask just one more time. I approached the conductor and inquired as to the destination of the bus. She told me, “Kampala, of course.” I asked whether the bus would be continuing down the East African highway through Busia towards my destination. She replied in the affirmative. I asked if it would be completely full, or if any seats remained. She told me that there were plenty of empty seats. So again I asked if I could please just board the bus for the 3km to Fred’s hotel. She looked surprised, and said, “Yes, of course. Why not?”
Anyway, after that truly bizarre exchange, I managed to make it to Fred’s hotel uneventfully. It was wonderful to be reunited with her after some five years apart. We shared breakfast and caught up briefly before she had to put in some hours at the office.
I accompanied her and studied Swahili for a while before heading out for a jaunt around Busia. It didn’t take long before I’d seen all there was to see, so I returned to the office to make myself useful. I provided my expert stapling services, and even went so far as to photocopy several whole pages, all by myself and with minimal supervision. I think I can safely say that I was an integral part of the World Vision team.
At 3pm, Fred finished work and we boarded a matatu bound for Jinja, Uganda’s second-biggest city. I imagine the 3pm finish was a nice reprieve from her normal schedule of 18-hour days. As for myself, it felt incredible to get away from Nakuru for a while and relax. We found a beautiful patio on the shores of Lake Victoria where we sat and worked our way through a few well-deserved Nile Specials, the local lager. After finding a hotel, we returned and had dinner and a few more drinks with an English gentleman named David. He informed us that the grounds on which we were sitting was formerly Idi Amin’s lakehouse getaway. Here’s how tyrannical dictators like to vacation:
The next day we headed to Bujagali Falls, one of the tributaries of the Nile. Again, we found a patio where I indulged myself in just a few more lagers while we admired the view:
ROTH President Frederique Vallieres atop Bujagali Falls.
After putting several beers away I found a private spot and became, however briefly, a source of the Nile myself. It was an eminently satisfying experience.
Fred and I headed back into town in a very relaxed mood and perused the various souvenir shops available. Before we knew it, we were out of time. Again I boarded a bus, this one even more run down than the last. Fred accompanied me as far as Busia, and then I was on my own. It was such a bumpy ride that a pregnant woman towards the back became concerned that it might induce a miscarriage. In any event, we all made it through the night safely and I found myself back in Nakuru at 3am none the worse for wear.
I have finally been able to devote this past week to planning the lab. This project will have to be done at a blistering pace to ensure that it is completed before my departure date, but I’m confident that with a little help from my good friends here it will be done. I drew up the plans and have submitted them for approval only today. I am currently seeking quotes for various parts of the construction; pricing materials; pricing equipment; and dealing with about 1000 other maddening details. It feels great to be elbow-deep in the project I came here to put together.
Below you can see one page of the plan I drew. I don’t want to bore you with the whole thing, but I thought some of you may be interested in the work I’m doing. Miraculously enough, the Ministry told me that my plan is good enough that we don’t need to consult an architect. This would not be the case were it not a renovation, but it was still gratifying to hear, because drafting the plan required meticulous attention to detail for the better part of a week.
Floor Plan, Piave Laboratory
If you’re still with me, thanks for reading. I miss you all very much, but rest assured that I am safe and sound, well and happy. My project is finally on the rails again, and I anticipate nothing but success. I’ll do my best to keep you all apprised of further developments, but given my atrocious track record of keeping you regularly updated I won’t make any promises.
Stay well my friends.
