stone soup

stone soup: enough vegetables may make a meal

carrots – About an hour ago, just as the dinner hungries struck, we realized that maintenance had once again shut off all the water. Thanks for the warning. We are, alas, stuck without flushing toilets and running sinks and that heavenly liquid so good for tasks such as boiling, washing, cleaning, and rinsing.

celery – It sounds like a shuffle board symphony inside my tiny room. Alternating with key strokes are giant sniffs of the nose and jerky sneezes, and I fear that I’ve caught a bug aside from cockroaches and crickets. I am instantly slightly paranoid since TB is rampant here and my kids aren’t tested for it, but that is what it is, so I try not to fret. While I claim no expertise on medicine or TB specifically, I have learned a lot from some fellow interns and the CDC website (thank you). My friends Jen and Rajiv are working with the Health Department here, and part of their project is to help revamp official criteria for sanitation standards in medical institutions. Their work has led them to inspect centers all over the country, some of which they have found to be incredibly frightening. The scariest thing they’ve told me about are the TB wards, one of which sits directly across from the children’s wing in a hospital. The windows of the two buildings remain open, and aside from face masks for visitors, not much precaution is taken for preventing transmission. They’ve also been to visit wards that house patients with MDR TB (Multi-Drug Resistant TB) – a terrifying entity in a country already plagued by HIV/AIDS. TB is particularly bad here because it goes hand in hand with HIV, and my friend who works at a hospice has seen patients suffering simultaneously from HIV, TB, and a variety of other ailments.

Having grown up in an environment where AIDS, and especially TB, were never a concern, it is a strange and terrifying feeling to now be so exposed. It is a daily struggle to remain calm when a child coughs around my face, or a fellow combi passenger spews spittle onto the window I’m looking out of. I also find myself fast-forwarding to maternally instinctual thoughts when I see children playing in colorful plastic ball pits at the malls. Would I ever be okay with my kids swapping spit and scratches and sweat with every other child here? Am I even comfortable now with the amount of contact the kids at Kamogelo have? These thoughts burrow into me with a terrible ferocity, because every optimistic, ideological piece of me screams that children should be able to play together without fear, and to live without worry. Perhaps the hardest part about being frightened of disease here, is knowing that some others aren’t. Whatever the cause of their unconcern (ignorance, choice, habit, necessity,) I find myself strangely foreign in my hyper-conscious attitude. It seems a grotesque luxury to know such fresh paranoia.

turnips – A small, painfully thin boy clattered into my classroom today. He was wearing shorts and plastic soccer cleats, which the children swarmed to inspect when he sat down. One of the teachers yelled at him for having such “dangerous” footwear, and I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time because I doubt he has any alternatives. The boy is the latest addition to the five year old group, which has now reached 40.

parsnips – Francinah, a one-earringed, tiny bit of a girl, has more than once been called “special” by one of the teachers, and yelled at for not listening. It is true that she usually doesn’t respond well to direct instruction, or even to her own name, but I have a strange suspicion that she might be dealing with minor epileptic symptoms. I’ve been watching her closely, and every few minutes she will stare off into space and her eyes will flutter rapidly and slightly roll back. She twitches a little every now and then too, but will return to normal rug/storytime behavior when this ceases. Again, I reiterate that I claim no medical knowledge, but it surprises me that a teacher would assume some sort of retardation before testing her for other problems.

onions – I bought a banana for P1 at the combi station on my way to work yesterday. It was slightly frozen, brown, and ended up falling in the dirt, so I threw most of it away in a box outside my classroom at school. A few minutes later, Mogomotsi came running into the room to inform me that the children were eating the mushy remains, and I rushed outside to stop them. However, no matter how quickly I grabbed or how imploringly I yelled, I could not catch the discolored peel, or prevent its contents from entering tiny mouths. I felt suddenly, painfully guilty for wasting anything, and I can only imagine how insane it must have seemed to them when I yelled not to eat what was left.

rutabaga – I played Vampire Weekend for the children, and they were delighted. I also tried Raffi’s “Baby Beluga,” “Mr. Sun,” and “Brush Your Teeth,” instant classroom hits.

potatoes - Two days ago, Abby received an incredible piece of mail. She had contacted some pastors/church leaders in the Penn alumni newtwork, and one (Larry Benfield) sent us a $500 check from the Episcopal Diocese of Arkansas. We had requested cash donations so that we could purchase appropriate first aid supplies, and we are ecstatic and totally blown away to have been given such a generous amount. We also hope to give small first aid workshops for the teachers when the kits are ready. Abby and I have both been in contact with various Penn alums (almost all who've been incredibly generous with their time and advice) and we hope to continue our fundraising. I don't really know who's reading this, but if you have any interest in helping out the day care, even the smallest bit would make an incredible impact on the day-to-day welfare of the kids.

salt and pepper – SKYPE WORKS! hush hush hush now, I’m still not sure that it’s supposed to (and thus I won’t reveal the good fairies who fixed it) but hallelujah, and give me a ring.

the pot is boiling and things seem tender, so I serve you a bowl and retire my chef’s hat for the evening.