Tuesday morning I was feeling a lot better, so I walked with Melissa to the corner of Mama Wahu road. She was teaching in the school today and I was running errands with Josephine. When I got to the office, Josephine was rummaging through the desk for something. She had apparently misplaced the original letter written to the Riruta Health Clinic about using their incinerator to dispose of our sharps. Apparently, we have to get an actual written contract from them instead of a letter for our VCT registration to finally be complete. The paper we already had was no where to be found in the office, nor was it at Josephine's house when we went to look there, so we went walked to the DASCO office at the District Health Clinic to retrieve the photocopy we gave them. It was especially busy today, and guessing from the medication cards I saw people carrying, I think it was a TB clinic day. During the initial intense phase of TB treatment, patients have to come back weekly to get their medications to ensure they are adhering to them properly. It made me laugh a bit to think about all the precautions we go through at an American hospital if someone is suspected to have TB (negative airflow rooms, and masks at the least), but everyone here was sitting close to one another and I didn't see any of the nurses wearing masks.
The DASCO woman wasn't at work today of course, but another lady opened her office to retrieve the paper for us. I watched the rag-tag squad of soldiers drilling in the courtyard again, and I wasn't the only one holding back a laugh at their poorly exaggerated steps. Having the paper as evidence of the agreement that had already been reached, we caught a matatu at Dagoretti Corner near Junction to take to Kawangare. I sat next to the driver in the front and listened to Black Power rasta music while we waited for the rest of the van to fill past capacity. We got out in front of the entrance to the marketplace and walked the rest of the way to the Riruta Health Clinic. The facilities are large and in good shape compared to others in the country thanks to renovations sponsored by USAID through "the generous support of the American people." Today was apparently day 2 of 3 of a special family planning Tunza project conducted through the Family Health Network. About 50 women sat outside in a lecture area listening to a man talk about the different family planning options, and another 50 were crammed in the narrow hallways waiting for their turn to have an IUD or implant inserted. 
With so many HIV+ women in the community, family planning is finally coming into the spotlight as many of them are unable to take oral contraceptives with their ARV's. To prevent unwanted and risky pregnancies with their low immunities, the only options are using condoms (which the husbands will not agree to) or an IUD. Many of the clinics in the area are ill-equipped to offer the IUDs and they charge for the services, so a high number of women are ending up pregnant. Programs like Tunza come with trained personnel and offer the services free of charge, and I really enjoyed listening to one of the women working talk about what they do. Josephine got her contact information to try and set up a similar program at the District Health Clinic in conjunction with another VCT in the Ngando area. Unfortunately, with all the business the Tunza program brought, the head nurse that we had come to see couldn't write out the contract today and told us to come back on Friday. I will be really upset if we haven't gotten the testing kits before I leave. My last day working is the 14th, but I wouldn't be surprised if they still haven't accomplished this in the month I've been here with all the red tape. 
After we left the Riruta clinic, we caught a matatu back and walked to the Shalom House internet cafe so Josephine could scan the NGO registration and send it to the chairwoman in Australia. She apparently needed it to compile the minutes required to open the NGO bank account. On the way back to the office, we stopped at a clean little restaurant on the ground floor of an apartment building on Ngong road and got kebabs. They are a meatball typed spiced minced-meat in the shape and size of a sausage, dipped in egg, and then fried. Mine was very tasty, and I might try and make them some time at home. We worked on the Virginia Gildersleeve International Fund application for an hour before heading home for a lunch of leftover githeri (beans and undercooked corn with potatoes and carrots and cabbage). I decided to finally go get my extra Malarone from the pharmacy at junction this afternoon, and caught a matatu at the end of my street. On the way there, however, I realized I'd forgotten my credit card to purchase the pills with (they're about $2.50 or 170Ksh each). Instead of heading right back home, though, I wandered through the mall window shopping and eating gelatto. I also said hi to Melissa at the internet cafe and got some more jam, because the marmalade I had at breakfast was way too bitter to enjoy. 
After checking the movie times for this weekend and searching in vain for a sticker of the Kenyan flag, I went back to retrieve my credit card. When I was there I also got my last $40 to change into shillings and said a brief hello to the guests Margaret had over. While waiting for my fifth matatu ride of the day, a lady with brown skin and no front teeth introduced herself and her son to me. Her name was Sharon and she said she was my neighbor. The gesture was very kind, and I appreciated her simple desire to make me feel welcome. The matatu on the way to Junction for the second time was packed. There were 18 men, women, and children as well as a huge box the size of 3 people crammed into the 14 passenger van. We all arrived safely, though, and I made Forex my first stop. The guard standing in front of the money-changing booths was probably the most friendly person I've met, and he talked and smiled with everyone. I hope he's getting paid more than the standard $1-2 a day. After I got got 3,000Ksh for my $40, I went to a store called Mr. Price and looked around for a bit. The electricity went out 3 times while I was in the dressing room, but I got a really cute floral print shirt that was on sale. 
The sixth time on a matatu today was the last, and I was squeezed next to a man and his bicycle minus the front wheel. I've become addicted to the book I've been reading, and I got half-way through the 900+ pages before dinner. Patrick was feeling better as well, so I promised him (and everyone else) a Twix bar if he finished his vegetables. He didn't disappoint. Later that night, we watched some of the Michael Jackson memorial service being broadcast on all the news channels. It's amazing how many people are willing to forget how you molested little boys when you die if you led a successful enough life.
I woke up late on Wednesday, and we were subsequently late to the LocalAid office. The chilly morning air didn't help us walk quicker, but I did enjoy seeing my breath fog up in front of me. After Josephine finished sweeping, she helped me put the varnish on the beads that I'd made from magazine pages. I was so cold that that the excess didn't drip off, but stuck in clumps that I knew wouldn't turn out well. I was disappointed that my hard work wasn't turning out as I'd planned, but I hoped we'd get a few good ones out of a couple hundred. We took tea, and I had the triangle-shaped doughnuts they call mandaazi for the first time. Afterward, we headed out to begin our round of home visits in the Riruta satellite area across the railroad tracks. On the way, Josephine told us the story of an epileptic girl who was raped and infected with HIV by her father. Neighbors had alerted Josephine to their suspicions, but failed to testify to put the father away in jail. The girl was rescued and put in a home for the mentally challenged after she tested positive. Josephine still managed to pity the father somehow because he is now very sick, but Melissa and I were much less forgiving. Even if she didn't understand the words "rot and die in jail," I think she understood my tone. 
When looking for our first visitee, who ended up not being home, we came across a group of four mutt puppies. No matter what country you're in, puppies are the cutest thing ever and a sure way to brighten your mood. We then stopped at a local school to inform them about the behavior change and IV education program that LocalAid provides to schools. We signed their guest book and the principle agreed to set up a time for Josephine and Elosy to come and talk to the children. Following that, we walked along the paved road past fruit stands made out of sticks and tarp and a pile of trash four feet high being scavenged by a herd of goats. The women we went to visit were members of the beading program, and we were coordinating the group meeting tomorrow morning. The first one was a lady named Grace, and she had her young daughter with her hair braided with heart-shaped beads sitting on her lap. While they talked in Swahili, Melissa and I watched a kitten bat at the smoke curling up in the hair and chasing around a disembodied baby doll head on the floor. When we left, we went to another woman and met both her young daughter and her mother. 
I took a picture of water pump crafted out of a bicycle wheel and pieces of buckets that was outside of their door. We had one more person to visit in Ngando, and we headed back across the railroad. On the way, we met an older women who has clearly drunk by 1pm. It was worse, Josephine told us later, because the women is taking ARVs and complains about not having enough money to buy food to take with her medicine. She wasn't the only one starting happy hour early in this part of the slum, however, because I saw a group of 5 jobless men sitting around a bottle of vodka. We stopped at a stand selling the colorful wrap skirts printed with Kiswahili proverbs for Melissa, and by the time we were done it was already 1:45pm. We had just decided to go see the last patient on Monday, when we heard a heart-piercing scream of a child coming from the direction we were heading. A twelve-year old boy was wailing uncontrollably and his 15 year-old brother was sobbing quietly a few ways off. They were they sons of the man we had just decided to see on Monday, and he had just died. Neighboring women were standing around talking about who would care for the children until the relatives came, and who would contact the police so they could get the paper to take the body to the morgue. 
The children's mother had run off in January when she realized the father was very sick, and she had married another man in Kibera leaving the boys with their father. She was the second wife, and the first wife had died earlier leaving an older son who was very ill as well, but refused to get an HIV test. Josephine comforted the boy while Melissa and I stood by helplessly watching the display of grief, secretly and shamefully glad that we had stopped to look at the wraps and not witnessed the man's death. Josephine ensured us that the children would be taken care of, by relatives if the mother refused to return, and we went home. It was a very sobering end to the day, and I was once again reminded how lucky I am to have both of my wonderful parents. I also became frustrated with the African culture that refuses to punish a man who rapes his daughter, or turns a blind eye to a woman leaving her sons to care for their ailing father instead of attending school. I stopped by the internet cafe on the way home, but the connection was off and on so I went home. This was after I had finally bought a slice of cake from the delicious smelling bakery downstairs, and was sorely disappointed by it's dryness. I still can't put Shantaram down (unless we're watching Storm Over Paradise of course). Melissa did laundry, and when I went to show her where to hang her clothes, I saw two girls sharing a pair of rollerblades, one each. They compensated for the unevenness well though, and seemed to enjoy themselves immensely. Through the small people gate cut out of the larger gate of our apartment complex, I saw one of the largest trash fires since I've been here. It was made of discarded plastic and vegetable peeling and other rubbish, but the group of older boys were treating it like we would any bonfire back home despite the presumably unpleasant fumes given off from the plastic bags. 
We are so fortunate back home that it's almost unfathomable, but I don't think we are any more happy or less sad in the long run. Dinner was spaghetti with plenty of vegetables but no sauce, and I think I like it more this way. Apparently there's both a water and maize shortage in Kenya and the news stations are all talking about the government's inability to deal with it. I much prefer watching their version of "Top Comic" even if I can't understand half the jokes. After almost 4 weeks here, I'm finally going to bed at the respectable time of 11pm, and I feel like my understanding of Swahili is getting a little better. It hasn't improved enough for me to understand what the workers say to me after "Hey, mzungu" when I walk past, and I'm ok with that as I'm sure it's not exactly polite conversation.
Today was the beading program meeting, and Melissa and I left on time for once. She had bought some mandaazi from Nakumatt yesterday, and brought them to toss to the myriad of stray dogs that wandered the slum. It was pretty cold this morning, a lot like winter in Florida (so not really that cold) and I dressed in layers and my Florida Ultimate hoodie. I'd seen another white girl wearing a Florida sweatshirt jogging in he park yesterday, and I decided I should represent as well. Melissa and I spent the majority of the morning sitting in the hallway making necklaces while the women discussed techniques and marketing ideas in rapid fire Swahili. Most of my beads actually didn't look too bad, and the women were impressed with my first attempt at jewelry making. Grace, the woman we had met yesterday, was a master craftsman, however, and I am wearing a beautifully finished necklace that I bought from her as I type this.The meeting only lasted until noon, and Melissa and I were released early. I came to cyberworld, and she set off to meet her friends for their tour of Kibera. I'm still trying to figure out what to do on my last weekend in Kenya, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to the market at the YaYa center on Sunday after church. Only a week and a day left here, and while I'm finally feeling truly comfortable here, I am looking forward to being back home. Love you all, and see you soon!
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