Whisper words of wisdom...

After reading Sean's post, I decided to go ahead and confirm that yes, I was mugged by someone that he calls "Mr. Poopy". And yes, he did have change. Which was bizarre. I am really glad I had no idea what was going on.

The hike last weekend was pretty incredible; inside the crater looked like a complete other world. It was entirely separate from its surroundings; if you have ever read The Beach (or seen the movie with Leonardo DiCaprio) then that is how I imagine the paradise that the people go to, but without the ocean nearby. Finding a matatu to get home really sucked; some truckers offered to give us a ride if everyone sat in the back with the cement bags except for me. I would get the immense pleasure of sitting up front with the 5 men...no thank you.

Work is...amazing. I meet so many incredible people, people that have experienced the worst that life has to offer and are still able to joke with me. At the same time, its completely devastating. I saw a woman almost die in front of me two days ago...she was positive, and had hepatitis B. She was unable to walk, speak, open her eyes...anything. Another woman came into the clinic trying to give up her baby because she just couldn't handle it. I go home so emotionally drained that I really can't even describe how I feel. I heard from some of the USIU AIESECers that the previous KENWA interns began to drink heavily after work because of the emotion involved.

I guess I should describe a little bit about what I actually do. At the main office there is a clinic that sees HIV+ patients. I have become their newest pharmacist....which completely makes sense given my extensive background in pharmaceuticals (I have a degree in anthropology and psychology; I haven't taken a real science class in years). Turns out I love it, I love counting pills and figuring out dosages. It is also such a tangible thing that I am doing as opposed to counselling people; I know that I am giving them this many pills and that it will make them feel this much better.

About two to three times a week I go out to the field, which is going to informal settlements (read: slums) where we have clinics and work there. The main clinic I can usually enjoy myself, but going into the slums is unbelievable. Children are constantly playing in garbage, covered in dirt and often barefoot. Yesterday a group of men in Mathare (one of the largest informal settlements around Nairobi) asked me if it was true that AIDS was a black person disease. I was taken aback, but it was no worse than the question I have gotten more than once: Why did God stop in America?

...let it be.