The Third Post

There are eight other volunteers here with me at the moment. We are all living in the same compound, which is called The White House even though it’s bright pink. Apparently it was white when it was built, but at some point the three main mobile phone companies here went around the district and painted all the shops for free – so the district has a lovely variety of pink and black, orange and white, and green and red buildings.

One of the girls at the White House is a nurse and has been helping out at the local medical centre. Yesterday afternoon we were at a loose end and so she went down there to see if there was anything that needed doing – it was unlikely because apparently there is a local belief that if you go to the doctor in the afternoon you won’t come home. They also don’t go at all on Fridays. Go figure. Anyway we expected to see Kelly back again pretty shortly, but at 6pm she was still there, because a woman had arrived late that afternoon in labour. I say woman – actually it was a 16 year-old girl. It was her first baby at least.

Word of the delivery created a fair bit of excitement back at the compound, and when Kelly eventually showed up everyone was eager for news. Was it a boy or a girl? What was the name? No – she was still in labour. They had thought it was twins, because the mother was so big, but as the labour progressed they realised it was actually just one big baby – a really big baby in a tiny girl. There are no pre-natal screening facilities in the area, so they hadn’t known earlier. They sent Kelly home because it was looking like the birth might take all night.

The next day we finally got the news – the baby had died. It was just too big, and probably suffocated in the birth canal. Again, there were no facilities to do a caesarean in the village. If she’d been at hospital in the nearest city, an hour and a half away, the baby probably would have survived. As for the mother, there is no post-natal counselling or support here – she wasn’t injured, so they just let her sleep it off and then sent her home. Apparently it’s quite common for women to lose their first baby.

There is so far to go for Kenya to get to anywhere near a standard of living where the loss of a first baby is considered anything more than just one of those things. Everywhere you look, there is just so much to do – it’s overwhelming. Where do you even start? Even if parents can afford to send their kids to school, there are no books or stationery. In a crowd of kids walking home from school, those wearing shoes will be in the minority. When I arrived here I was miffed to learn that I’d be sharing a room with another volunteer – I hadn’t had to share a room since I was about eight years old. But in the house next door to us, a family might have four or five or even more people in the same space that we have two. Everywhere you look, buildings, roads and everything else are in a state of disrepair. We’re all over here trying to do our bit to fix it, and plenty of Kenyans are trying too. But how can it ever be more than a drop in the ocean? It’s okay to say, be patient, these things take time – but that would be a lot easier to say if there were clear signs of progress to make you feel the patience was worthwhile. Of course I’m not equipped to answer whether there has been progress here, having been in the country only a week, but the feeling you get is not one of confidence. It’s a bit like Aboriginal disadvantage in Australia – so much effort going towards fixing the problem, but apart from the odd success here and there how far can we say we’ve really come?

I wonder about my own contribution here. I’m certainly learning a lot – the pace and quantity of learning has been so great I can almost see it happening, like watching time lapse photography. The other day I went to talk to the manager of the microfinance program I’m hoping to work on while I’m here. She told me all about the program and I had heaps of questions and she was incredibly generous with her time in answering them all, and I came out knowing much more about microfinance than I did before. Which is great – but aren’t I supposed to be helping them? When I leave here I think I’ll be happy if I can just say that one good thing happened because I was here, that wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t. I actually think if I can do that it will be a real achievement. Baby steps, baby steps…