I Remember Her Toes

It's been over 10 years since I traveled to Kenya. I spent my whole life wanting to go, mainly to see lions and cheetahs. When I was little, my friend and I would role play nature shows, reading from magazines, recording our voices on tape. We thought we were going to be famous in some make believe way, and took this very seriously. When I found out I would be able to go, the little girl in my jumped for joy. Although I wouldn't be going to save wild cats, I would have the chance to at least see one.

I remember the moment I stepped off the plane in Kisumu (a city south west of Nairobi near Lake Victoria) and became entrenched in a beautiful golden haze that only the African sun can provide. My bare sandaled feet were soon coated in a vibrant red dirt and I found myself feeling a sense of homecoming. I had arrived and would spend the next 3-4 months establishing a health program in a small rural village. I look back and it becomes more and more nostalgic. I remember the sun, how hot it was. I remember the rain and how it pounded on the metal rooftops. I remember the sounds of night, dogs howling and running, bugs singing their songs. I religiously wrote about my thoughts and experiences. Some of those moments were joyful and others full of sorrow. I still the see faces of those I spent time with in their final moments of life. They were scared but still hopeful for a miracle. The hope and resilience was astounding and to this day I draw from their power. The biggest lesson I learned is that relationships are powerful and important. The bonds we create with other humans keep us strong, they keep us alive. Relationships help us be capable of endless achievements.

I've shared this story from my journal in the past and I want to share it again. The more I read this story the more it changes and the more lessons I learn from it. One of the best moments in my life happened in a small space with a small person with a big story to tell. That's what matters, this shared experience and respect that changed my life forever.

"Journal Entry

I’m currently sitting in a scolding hot room listening to an African Soap Opera and the millions of bugs inhabiting the surrounding environment. It's hot today and it has been all week, I don't know why I expect any different. I find myself a little jet lagged, but getting used to the house and the people living here. There are around 5 families living in the compound, all children to the lady of the house, whom we have come to call Nyanya.

My work in the clinic has been fairly slow so far, but I have done a couple wellness checks with the nurse Edwin and another health worker. The first visit was to a 29 year old women who was very ill. We went to check on a wound on her hip that was so deep you could see bone. Since her immune system isn’t working that well the wound hasn't been healing as fast as it should. Walking into the house I didn’t know what to expect. When I entered the small dark home and I saw a small girl lying on a mattress covered in flies. She was unable to move, but I could tell from her smile she was happy to have company. As Edwin examined her, I listened to their Swahili and observed the interaction. As we examined her she implored us not to touch her, she was in so much pain. Edwin was pleased to say that the wound was healing but still had a long way to go. We left some dressings for her mother to clean and wrap the wound and headed back to the clinic. It was an intense experience seeing a woman (age 40) looking so small and so close to death. I hope I get to see her again.

A couple days later we went to the house of an elderly woman a little further out in the countryside. Most of the homes are very small and made of wood and mud. They seem to have one or two rooms with no electricity. Some of the roofs are made out of tin and others are thatched. This particular house we visited was a one room mud home with a tin roof. As we entered the little house the light from the outside exposed a living room with a table a chairs. As you turned left through the door way, there was a small kitchen and from there a bedroom. As I walked past the kitchen I noticed tiny dark toes hiding out behind a wall. I took a seat at the table and waited for the woman to appear.

Through the front door warm light hit my face and cool air rushed around us. I could see a hill side in the distance freckled with roof tops of various colors. As the breeze passed through the banana tree in the field in front of the house I heard the woman's voice and her tiny footsteps coming closer. At the sight of me she began to sing Amazing Grace in Luo (local tribal language). With one hand the woman grabbed onto mine while she lifted her other in the air as she finished her song. The light from the front door reveled her face, her closed eyes and withered brown skin. This woman, I'll call her Mary, a five foot tall Luo lady in her eighties, wearing a white bandanna, a long blue dress, and a small button up cable knit sweater. Her face was wonderfully aged. As she sang her song, holding my hand, I started to weep. It was one of those moments in life that stops time, that you know is significant. When she finished her song, Mary said a quick prayer and welcomed me into her home.

I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to hear (I don't think I was prepared for most things). While myself and the other health worker did a brief assessment, Mary started asking us questions. She wanted to know why a white woman would visit the home of a poor dark skinned woman. I explained to her that I was honored to help her and be in her home. When we completed our assessment Mary offered us food and drink, which is common practice in all homes. As we waited for tea and a snack, Mary told a story of when she was young. She told us a story of when a group of white people came to her village. The white missionaries told them that dark people would never be equal to whites, they would breed thieves and give birth to children resembling Hyena’s. I felt more tears welling up as she spoke and could say nothing other than, "I'm so sorry." She went on to tell stories about her family and how she was advising her daughter-in-law against being inherited (which is an old testament practice of men inheriting the wives of their departed male family members). She spoke about how wife inheritance contributes to the spreading of HIV/AIDS and how women should never remarry anyway.

As she spoke she was very expressive with her hands. I immediately fell in love with her and could have stayed in that spot for hours, which I may have. The more she spoke the more I realized this woman was magical, she was special. She has lived through watching her children and grandchildren die and years of political and social unrest. When we left the house, I immediately wanted to return but haven't gotten the chance. I realize now that I had the pleasure of meeting someone that would forever stay in my heart."

It's so important to remember what ties us together. How important it is to share stories, to be present with another human, to hold space for someone who is different than ourselves. The strength and resilience of those women and the ability to be kind and welcoming to someone who represents a history of control, fear, judgement to this day baffles me. I don't think I can truly fathom how much I learned in such a small amount of time. I understand my privilege. My perception of the world shifted and I look back on those moments to remind myself that we're all human, we're all here in this world trying to live and be loved. No matter who we are, where we come from, or what we look like, we all deserve to be heard. Thank you for taking the time to hear me. Take care and remember to listen. You may discover a wonderful moment you weren't expecting.

Be well.