I realized that while I wrote about my plans to go to Kenya, I never actually wrote about my time there. There’s no great reason for this, except to say that my time there was busy and full, and, as predicted, somewhat ordinary. Also, Ari and David captured both weeks of my trip, in some fashion, on their own blog, and I am lazy :).
The truth is, I spent much of the time leading up to my trip stressed – not about the trip, but just life in general, upcoming grants, plans for a new clinic at work, and lack of warmth and sunlight. I knew, in my mind, that I was excited about the trip, but it wasn’t until I stepped on the flight from Paris to Kenya that it sunk in: I was going to KENYA. I LOVE KENYA. I LOVE THE SHIRKS. I AM SUPER EXCITED.
It was late when I arrived, but still warm enough to not be chilled as we waited on the tarmac for the bus that would carry us from the plane to customs. I breathed deeply – mostly plane exhaust – and finally felt like I could be at ease. I listened carefully to other passengers, bits of Swahili coming back to me, feeling that this place was familiar, comfortable. I meandered my way through customs, grateful that it went without incident, and when the bag containing most of my clothing and toiletries, as well as most of the Christmas gifts, was clearly lost, found that I was non-plussed, reassuring the Air Kenya worker that it was not in any way her fault that the baggage people in Paris had not loaded the bag onto the plane. As it turned out, this was probably the worst traveling issue I had the entire trip, and for that I am supremely grateful. I figured that Ari and I had been swapping clothes back and forth for about 10 years, so not having my own clothes was no big deal, and my bag would arrive eventually (it did, it only took 3 days and they delivered it right to the hospital!). As it turned out, going through customs with only one large bag and a carry-on means that they don’t even bother to stop you, so no complaints here!
From there, my trip was fairly smooth sailing – my driver was waiting for me, took me off to the hotel I’d been to three times before (more familiarity), I slept a sound 7 hours, enjoyed a delicious breakfast, and within a few hours was standing in the Shirk house. Later that afternoon (after a nice jet lag nap), I sat on the bed of “my” room while Ari hung some curtains I had brought with me, and we marveled at the ordinariness of it all. Of course I was in Kenya. Of course we were chatting like no time had passed despite not having talked on the phone more than 15 minutes in 5 months.
Over the next 2 weeks we would say often that there really was no need for me to leave Kijabe – life was good and easy there. The five of us had never shared a house for more than a few days at a time but I think we managed alright. I figured out how to light the stove and bake cookies by smell more than by time and wash dishes. I spent some days at the hospital, remembering protocols that are common in Kenya (tuberculosis, malnutrition) but seldom used in the U.S. Other days were spent thinking about how they might treat children with cancer in Kijabe after I was gone, writing up drafts of protocols I prayed they would find useful, encouraging the nurses and doctors there that this was possible, amazed at what we could accomplish in the short time I was there, humbled and thrilled to realize that I did not need to be the champion for those children at this hospital – they already had champions, I was just there to support them. And still other days were spent just being – on a mini-vacation at Kedogo Ranch, walking up to the girls’ school to see them play tennis baseball and have field day with a giant waterslide.
It was, essentially, everything I had hoped for and more. It was sun and familiar faces and new adventures and working side by side with Kenyan doctors and nurses to find ways to provide for the children there. It was ordinary and extraordinary. And the best part is that even though I had to leave, I can always go back. I think, actually, that I have to.
Quote for the day:
“Now, being in Africa, I was hungry for more of it, the changes of the seasons, the rains with no need to travel, the discomforts that you paid to make it real, the names of the trees, of the small animals, and all the birds, to know the language and have time to be in it and to move slowly.” ? Ernest Hemingway, Green Hills of Africa