The Doctor Is In

In grade school, my teacher shared an analogy to help us remember the difference in spelling dessert and desert. "You need more S's in dessert than desert. Just as you will always ask for more dessert than you would for desert." As a child, I took her word for it. Now, having trudged through the hot, sandy, dry and dusty plains of Ombolion, I can confidently agree with Mrs. Petersen. Bring on the dessert! I think the flies were my least favorite, but the constant stench of cow, camel and goat dung is a close second. 

We learned when we arrived that the village of Ombolion was forced to move within just the past few weeks due to the lack of water and grass for their animals. As a result, no permanent housing or fencing had yet been established in their new location, a mere five kilometers from their old homestead. And just one week ago, the Turkana raided and took much of their cattle. These are hard times for the Ombolion Pokot. 

There was a lot of excitement and curiosity when we pulled up in Michael's Toyota truck. But Michael was exhausted from driving, and Peter, being that he is originally from Ombolion, was pulled in many directions as friends were demanding that he tell them stories of his adventures in Kapenguria and Nairobi. Earlier in the week, Nelly was feeling homesick, so I told Michael she should go home for a few days. That left me in the midst of a very large group of women and children, playing charades, trying to understand each other. I'm beginning to pick up some Pokot, but am no where near able to converse freely.

With the women.

I managed okay on my own, though. Some of the children, I noticed, had small booklets of notebook paper. I gently gestured towards one child, asking to see one of the books. It was full of the letters of the alphabet and numbers she had handwritten in pencil. On many of the pages, there were check marks, fractions, and "good job" written in pen. I looked up at one of the mothers and asked, 

"So do they go to school?"

"Ssh-kool, ssh-kool," she nodded her head and made a sweeping motion over the children's heads.

"Where do they go to school?" I looked as if searching the horizon to emphasize "where" and "school." Another mother pointed in a direction somewhere behind me.

One child came up to me and recited the ABCs and then counted to 100, to which I responded with applause. So then we sang the ABC song together (which he didn't know, but he rattled off the letters just the same).

One woman wanted medicine, so I gave her Tylenol...and then more wanted medicine. I gave out Pepto Bismol and more Tylenol depending on where they pointed on their body. Placebos. The strongest medicine for this part of the world, where no hospital will brave the harsh conditions. At one point, Peter came up to me and said, 

Yes, I am wearing gloves.

"Recho, Recho," (this is the Pokot version of my name) "this man needs some medicine," and then pointed to a man 30 yards away.

"What are his symptoms?" I asked.

"Just look and see. See if you can't tell." 

My travel clinic. Two folding chairs and first-aid kit.

As the man came nearer, I saw a 5-inch infected gash on his shin that had partially healed. I learned later (as I cleaned the wound with antiseptic, then smeared antibiotic cream on it and bandaged it) that he got the gash from a tree about one month ago. I made a similar bandage for a boy the next morning who is suffering from some disease affecting his shin bones. He was in a lot of pain, wailing in pain, and had to be held down by two men in order for me to secure the bandage. I gave him two Tylenol and found him a few hours later under a tree, rather lethargic.

"Takweny?" How are you doing? I asked and pointed to the bandage.

"Epa," Fine, he mumbled.

"Karam. Karam." Good. Good. I replied.

Is it dead yet?

The night we arrived, the village's fattest goat was slaughtered in our honor. Michael actually did the stabbing. That goat took a long time to die, in my opinion. It kept wanting to roll over, which no one would allow, as they didn't want the wound to get dirty with sand. The goat lay still for a few minutes, still breathing hard, so all of the men went and sat to wait for it to die. I stayed within a few yards of it. So, when it lurched and attempted to roll over again, I was the one who had to flip it back over, and then held its hind leg until it finally died.

Meanwhile, the men were building a fire and creating a table of leafy tree branches, fashioning them to face their holy mountain, Mt. Mtelo. From what I can tell, Mt. Mtelo is like the Christian Mt. Sinai, where they believe God has made a presence. Before the 

The leafy table and prayer circle.

goat was divided among the men gathered there, an elder led a prayer, a call and response, where the men chanted in unison. Michael quoted the Bible later, saying that they believe "For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them," suggesting that the men are simply chanting in agreement to what the elder prays, in order to fulfill the message of this Bible verse. 

Some elders have explained to me that before the missionaries came to Kenya, the Pokot already knew the stories about the parting of the Red Sea and the slaves leaving Egypt that are mentioned in the Bible. These stories were passed down orally from generation to generation, telling the story of where the Pokot came from before they found themselves in northwest Kenya.

The morning after the sacrifice of the goat, Michael tapped on the window of the truck (where I was sleeping in the backseat) to tell me that men are gathering for an early morning meeting, and do I want to go? I looked at my watch. It was just after 6:00am. My student self knew I should go, but my pampered self really needed another hour to sleep. So, I gave myself a silent pep talk about why I was way out in the middle of nowhere, and climbed out of the truck, put on my hiking boots, and followed Michael for...I don't know, one or two kilometers maybe, until we reached the "early morning meeting" spot where the meeting was just about to start. They primarily discussed where to take the cattle for pasture, and that there would be a peace meeting with the Turkana later that day, which would be a good three or four hour walk for those who would attend.

At the morning meeting.

My mouth began to salivate. A peace meeting between the Pokot and Turkana!? Later that morning, after Michael confirmed it would be safe, he informed me we would be going. Unfortunately, I couldn't take pictures because Michael did not want anyone getting nervous or uncomfortable, but it was incredible!

A Pokot leader, who is very well respected by both the Pokot and Turkana, arrived with us (by truck) to insure we would be received well. Near the end of the ceremony, Michael and I, the "foreigners," were invited to speak. So, I stood in front of 500 nomadic men in faux army attire, and 300 women and children (who had been shooed away earlier in the ceremony) and told them how honored I was to be present at such an important occasion, and congratulated them on putting aside their differences to make the challenging times they are facing with draught, hunger, and illness better. I incorporated a few key references to what some of the speakers said earlier on, and everyone applauded. And later, the Pokot leader riding in the back of our truck told me people said they were impressed with my bravery, a woman, standing up to address them.

Here is a picture of me and Mt. Mtelo. Michael said it is going to go on the jacket of the book he says I will one day publish about the Pokot.

Modern and Traditional

Me with the oldest woman in Ombolion.