Today I saw Antia and her mother again. (Both HIV +ve). Antia, 2yrs old, was walking proudly along the hospital corridor in her new shoes and beautiful blue frilly dress, ahead of her mother. Her hair had grown thicker, her skin was smooth and clear and she was smiling at us......what a change from the poor sick little girl of last month who was too exhausted from her illness to even walk. Antia's young mother, too, had changed. Lively, confident, happy and relaxed.
They were proud to show us how much better they both were......we were delighted to see them both looking so lovely.
Friday, 14 August 2009
One sunny afternoon
Alodia was 32 years old. She had been orphaned earlier in her life, but had married a lovely young man from a well to do local family in 2002.
They had three children. Their second and third born died in infancy. Their eldest died suddenly when he was 6 years old.
Today we attended her funeral. It was held in her parents in law’s shamba.
She’d caught severe malaria about 3 weeks ago and was transferred to Mwanza for treatment. Then she got meningitis (probably due to the malaria) and died.
Her father-in-law, our friend an colleague, Dr. Felix, is a rotund, jovial, kind man who works hard at Kagondo Hospital (and has done so for 40 years) and when off duty he runs his own clinic in nearby Kemondo. He lives in a large house in the middle of his banana plantation with his lovely wife, also rotund, jovial and kind. They have eight adult children, all professionals or studying to be so.
A month ago we were at their home being generously and happily entertained on the occasion of his daughters’ betrothal…it was poignant to be returning to the same place (same awning rigged up outside his home to shelter the crowd from the sun) for such a sad occasion.
The funeral mass was scheduled for 3.00pm (9.00 Swahili time). Today was hot, breezy and dusty. “Lifting” as many as we could, our car was overladen for the dirt footpath that we had to negotiate to get there, arriving at the same time as the priest.
Mr. Felix greeted us warmly. He can’t help smiling but it was sad to see his large round eyes so sorrowful. We shook hands and offered condolences and were seated on a bench with a front row view, together with our colleagues. Fresh cut grass had been laid down as a carpet, sweet smelling and slightly tricky as it is very slippery to walk on. We were seated near to the grieving relatives beside the coffin, which was painted white, adorned with purple and gold ribbon and Alodia’s kanga.
The service eventually started at about 3.30. We were the only wazungu there and the priest asked us (in “KiEnglish”, or Kiuingeresa) during his address if we understood the Kiswahili service. We were able to say we could without lying as we got the gist of it all.
At the end of mass, we were invited to pay our respects by viewing Alodia in her coffin through a glass window. She looked so pretty; quiet and peaceful in repose. We all trooped off to the prepared gravesite nearby, amongst the banana trees. The menfolk, led by Alodia’s husband, father in law and an uncle secured the coffin lid and collected the inscribed cross and her Kanga then she was carried to the graveside. Banana trees had to be negotiated, not to mention the odd boulder/slippery banana leaf. The men eventually were in a position to lower her into the grave. The earth was shovelled into the grave by her close relatives, using old jembes and spades, followed by her friends and acquaintances from the village, creating an increasing cloud of red dust glittering in the afternoon sun until the whole space had been filled in.
Now the women came forward and the men who had dominated the graveside stood back. The women all had their heads covered with bright scarves, the main mourners wearing white. The elder women scattered flower petals onto the grave and lit candles, which they planted into the soft earth. Then bright silver wreaths were laid on her grave by her husband and friends.
Alodia lay alongside the small graves of her children. Flanked by his brothers, her husband stood beside the graves of his family.
They had three children. Their second and third born died in infancy. Their eldest died suddenly when he was 6 years old.
Today we attended her funeral. It was held in her parents in law’s shamba.
She’d caught severe malaria about 3 weeks ago and was transferred to Mwanza for treatment. Then she got meningitis (probably due to the malaria) and died.
Her father-in-law, our friend an colleague, Dr. Felix, is a rotund, jovial, kind man who works hard at Kagondo Hospital (and has done so for 40 years) and when off duty he runs his own clinic in nearby Kemondo. He lives in a large house in the middle of his banana plantation with his lovely wife, also rotund, jovial and kind. They have eight adult children, all professionals or studying to be so.
A month ago we were at their home being generously and happily entertained on the occasion of his daughters’ betrothal…it was poignant to be returning to the same place (same awning rigged up outside his home to shelter the crowd from the sun) for such a sad occasion.
The funeral mass was scheduled for 3.00pm (9.00 Swahili time). Today was hot, breezy and dusty. “Lifting” as many as we could, our car was overladen for the dirt footpath that we had to negotiate to get there, arriving at the same time as the priest.
Mr. Felix greeted us warmly. He can’t help smiling but it was sad to see his large round eyes so sorrowful. We shook hands and offered condolences and were seated on a bench with a front row view, together with our colleagues. Fresh cut grass had been laid down as a carpet, sweet smelling and slightly tricky as it is very slippery to walk on. We were seated near to the grieving relatives beside the coffin, which was painted white, adorned with purple and gold ribbon and Alodia’s kanga.
The service eventually started at about 3.30. We were the only wazungu there and the priest asked us (in “KiEnglish”, or Kiuingeresa) during his address if we understood the Kiswahili service. We were able to say we could without lying as we got the gist of it all.
At the end of mass, we were invited to pay our respects by viewing Alodia in her coffin through a glass window. She looked so pretty; quiet and peaceful in repose. We all trooped off to the prepared gravesite nearby, amongst the banana trees. The menfolk, led by Alodia’s husband, father in law and an uncle secured the coffin lid and collected the inscribed cross and her Kanga then she was carried to the graveside. Banana trees had to be negotiated, not to mention the odd boulder/slippery banana leaf. The men eventually were in a position to lower her into the grave. The earth was shovelled into the grave by her close relatives, using old jembes and spades, followed by her friends and acquaintances from the village, creating an increasing cloud of red dust glittering in the afternoon sun until the whole space had been filled in.
Now the women came forward and the men who had dominated the graveside stood back. The women all had their heads covered with bright scarves, the main mourners wearing white. The elder women scattered flower petals onto the grave and lit candles, which they planted into the soft earth. Then bright silver wreaths were laid on her grave by her husband and friends.
Alodia lay alongside the small graves of her children. Flanked by his brothers, her husband stood beside the graves of his family.
Lists
Lists
Some delightful things:
Little girls plucking up courage to smile shyly and drop a little curtsy-bob to say “Goodmorning!” in a sing-song voice, (sometimes in the afternoon or evening) before giggling behind their friends, doubling up.
The warmth of the morning sun on my shoulders as I walk to work on the dusty road, the smell of eucalyptus in the air.
Large brown eyes of the babies on their mother’s backs, looking and looking at this strange white person.
The purple-blue blossom of the huge Jakaranda tree contrasting with the dark green leaves against the clear blue of the morning sky. Colours that look wonderful in nature, would look garish when reproduced by man.
Hibiscus flowers in bloom for only a day.
Freshly roasted local peanuts and cashews tasting warm, sweet and crunchy from the oven.
The wonder of children when looking through our binoculars.
Watching/hearing the cows wander home past our step at the day’s end.
The nightly song of the crickets.
Some beautiful things:
Full moon. Brushing our teeth at night under the starlit skies.
Sunset from “our” rock, even when obscured by firesmoke.
The strikingly elegant clothing of many of the young women who dress beautifully to come to hospital, often with their babies on their back.
The colour of freshly prepared passionfruit juice.
The view of Lake Victoria just as it appears from the road on the way to Kemondo Bay.
Smiles, which are readily given.
Colours.
People’s straight backs, measured walk and their skintone.
Some sad things:
A young father walking away from the hospital carrying a small bundle wrapped in a kanga, a stricken look on his face.
A malnourished child, too tired and feeling too ill to do more than just look at you.
Malaria.
Meningitis.
Lack of availability of appropriate medication.
Lack of the ability to pay for medication, sometimes lifesaving.
Lack of donated blood.
Some humbling things:
Being given food by the poorest of patients in gratitude.
The warm, dignified welcome received in humble homes.
Being given, in a dirty old bag, 6 ripe juicy tomatoes from an elderly, shoeless gentleman who had last week accepted, with great dignity, a papaya from me when we had a glut. (We sometimes meet in the market or on the road home and discuss the way of the world. Or at least he does and I try to!)
We are often being thanked for “being here and helping us”.
How we consider the food/transport/commodities to be so “cheap.” And most people can only afford to walk....
No urgency.
Some irritating things:
Unreliable IT connections.
Our enforced reliance on IT for communication.
Bureaucracy. In triplicate … x 5!
Dust
Mud
No urgency
Some delicious things:
Mangos. Papaya with fresh lime squeezed on top. Kagondo pineapples. Tilapia fresh from the Lake. Ripe, sweet tomatoes. Ripe, sweet young carrots from the sisters’ garden. AnnieMarie Morales' okkra fritters. Spicy samosas from the Rose Cafe. Likewise spicy chai from the Rose Cafe. Supu wa Kuku. Sweet banana fritters. Even, occasionally, my home made bread, fresh from the oven…..
Some funny things:
At an outreach clinic recently, I carefully wrote on a new baby’s vaccination/growth chart his name, as I heard it: Tainaibara. Mmm, must be a Haya name, I thought. However, when the mother discovered what I had carefully written as the “name” my mistake caused hilarity, thigh-slapping mirth, and much delighted discussion of this ignorant freigner.....It transalates as: “I haven’t yet named him”!
Our attempts at speaking KiHaya.
Believing it when told I would be fined by the police in Bukoba for having a dirty car!
Some delightful things:
Little girls plucking up courage to smile shyly and drop a little curtsy-bob to say “Goodmorning!” in a sing-song voice, (sometimes in the afternoon or evening) before giggling behind their friends, doubling up.
The warmth of the morning sun on my shoulders as I walk to work on the dusty road, the smell of eucalyptus in the air.
Large brown eyes of the babies on their mother’s backs, looking and looking at this strange white person.
The purple-blue blossom of the huge Jakaranda tree contrasting with the dark green leaves against the clear blue of the morning sky. Colours that look wonderful in nature, would look garish when reproduced by man.
Hibiscus flowers in bloom for only a day.
Freshly roasted local peanuts and cashews tasting warm, sweet and crunchy from the oven.
The wonder of children when looking through our binoculars.
Watching/hearing the cows wander home past our step at the day’s end.
The nightly song of the crickets.
Some beautiful things:
Full moon. Brushing our teeth at night under the starlit skies.
Sunset from “our” rock, even when obscured by firesmoke.
The strikingly elegant clothing of many of the young women who dress beautifully to come to hospital, often with their babies on their back.
The colour of freshly prepared passionfruit juice.
The view of Lake Victoria just as it appears from the road on the way to Kemondo Bay.
Smiles, which are readily given.
Colours.
People’s straight backs, measured walk and their skintone.
Some sad things:
A young father walking away from the hospital carrying a small bundle wrapped in a kanga, a stricken look on his face.
A malnourished child, too tired and feeling too ill to do more than just look at you.
Malaria.
Meningitis.
Lack of availability of appropriate medication.
Lack of the ability to pay for medication, sometimes lifesaving.
Lack of donated blood.
Some humbling things:
Being given food by the poorest of patients in gratitude.
The warm, dignified welcome received in humble homes.
Being given, in a dirty old bag, 6 ripe juicy tomatoes from an elderly, shoeless gentleman who had last week accepted, with great dignity, a papaya from me when we had a glut. (We sometimes meet in the market or on the road home and discuss the way of the world. Or at least he does and I try to!)
We are often being thanked for “being here and helping us”.
How we consider the food/transport/commodities to be so “cheap.” And most people can only afford to walk....
No urgency.
Some irritating things:
Unreliable IT connections.
Our enforced reliance on IT for communication.
Bureaucracy. In triplicate … x 5!
Dust
Mud
No urgency
Some delicious things:
Mangos. Papaya with fresh lime squeezed on top. Kagondo pineapples. Tilapia fresh from the Lake. Ripe, sweet tomatoes. Ripe, sweet young carrots from the sisters’ garden. AnnieMarie Morales' okkra fritters. Spicy samosas from the Rose Cafe. Likewise spicy chai from the Rose Cafe. Supu wa Kuku. Sweet banana fritters. Even, occasionally, my home made bread, fresh from the oven…..
Some funny things:
At an outreach clinic recently, I carefully wrote on a new baby’s vaccination/growth chart his name, as I heard it: Tainaibara. Mmm, must be a Haya name, I thought. However, when the mother discovered what I had carefully written as the “name” my mistake caused hilarity, thigh-slapping mirth, and much delighted discussion of this ignorant freigner.....It transalates as: “I haven’t yet named him”!
Our attempts at speaking KiHaya.
Believing it when told I would be fined by the police in Bukoba for having a dirty car!
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