We've been home for a few days now and most of the trip has had time to process. The GI distress has subsided (for the most part), and I think I have some perspective on the whole thing.
All in all, the trip, and all of its individual parts, was an astounding success. We elevated 16 high-caliber medical professionals to the level of AHA Instructor in one or more disciplines, the 8 individuals chosen to breathe life into the fledgling Paramedic program were left well-prepared to make the big leap in January (The program is actually full! They had 18 students registered, simply by word of mouth advertising, before we were done reviewing the National Standard Curriculum!), and great strides were made in the area for fire service education. This was, by far, the heaviest lift we had to make, and both Kevin and John pushed, pulled, prodded and yes, lifted, to get some semblance of standardization.
Moving the fire service from where it is, to where it could be, will continue to be a huge project. We are fighting limited resources, antiquated ideas about fighting fire, mediocre previous training and a society that simply hasn't embraced the value of aggressive fire attack - although the recent destruction of the biggest airport in the country by fire is highlighting some of the issues inherent to their current posture. The work is ongoing, and the Kenyan instructors are exuberant and eager to start making things happen. Time will certainly tell if our work will initiate any lasting changes.
As I've re-integrated into home-life, I'm left with some experiences that, maybe didn't change me, but certainly have left a lasting impact. The first, and foremost, is definitely the garbage fires. I almost wrote an entire post about the daily practice of burning trash in Kenya. It didn't seem to matter which part of the country we were in, either in the early morning or late afternoon, or both, everyone burns their trash. In some neighborhoods, it seemed like everyone pooled their garbage and set the whole, huge pile aflame. Everywhere you turned, something was burning. Maybe this has had some influence on the attitude Kenyans share regarding fire, maybe it accounts for the lackadaisical early attempts to control the airport fire...who knows, but the smell hangs heavy in the air nearly constantly. More than once, the plume of smoke caught my attention and made that fireman bit of my brain go bonkers. I distinctly remember the first night, driving from the airport to the hotel, and seeing a little fire burning, unattended on the side of the road. Coming from the U.S., and doing what I do for a living, you can imagine my difficulties with simply driving by, allowing the fire to burn there. It breaks with everything we're taught, from Smokey the Bear public safety announcements during Saturday morning cartoons, to the fire extinguisher training that I got as a freshman in the college dorm, we don't let fire burns. Apparently, in Kenya, it's not only "OK", it's expected...hence why they allowed the busiest airport in East Africa to burn down!
Clearly something else that has stuck with me is the shower situation. I still have some latent PTSD surrounding taking a shower. Even as I claw my beloved shower curtain back to climb into my garden tub at home, my heart races a little bit and I worry that I'm going to re-create Lake Goldstein...and Mrs. Goldstein is club me like a baby seal, unlike the cleaning lady's who probably were just happy to have a job siphoning water off of my bathroom floor (There's a 42% unemployment rate in Kenya! "Suck water off the floor? You bet! Straw or Shop-Vac, makes no difference to me Boss!")! But really, I love my shower curtain. I was not aware I could miss an inanimate object that way, but if I'm ever re-deployed to a curtain-less region of the globe, I'll probably be thinking about packing a collapsing rod and shower curtain...to help mitigate my stress disorder of course!
Driving seems to have clicked back into place. I did have a subtle urge to slide to the left side of the road for the first few minutes, and I certainly wanted to push a car off the road the other day (but that really had nothing to do with being in Kenya), but for the most part, I will relegate my memories of the roadways of Kenya to just that...memories. It's kind of like riding the rides at the county fair (you know, those conglomerations of moving parts assembled by individuals incapable of taking care of their own teeth), I'm glad I experienced it...and survived, but the tiny bits that I remember end up being way more interesting than the entire experience itself.
Lastly, I'm left with the the people. We met some incredible people over there. Firemen, Nurses, EMTs and Doctors, that will do almost anything to see their industry and their country advance. Although it was clear that some had additional, and arguably ulterior, motives for involving themselves in the projects, most simply sought to make things better. It is through the power of these folks, that progress will be made.
KCEMT will be offering a Paramedic Program in the next calendar year. They're not waiting for a consensus or a governmental decree, they know it's needed and they're willing to let it iron itself out AFTER the medics hit the streets, rather than wait to see when and/or if anyone decides it's a good idea. The AHA programs are spreading through Kenya and the surrounding countries faster than the KCEMT can teach them. Just months prior to this trip, one of the biggest private hospitals in Nairobi mandated AHA BLS and ACLS for all of its nurses. While this seems like a no-brainer for us, it is a massively progressive move over there and, as far as i know, the first (and probably not the last) of its kind.
Once the fire service can prove its value on a national scale, doors will start to open for change. I almost feel like they need a "win". If the guys that we taught, or maybe some of their first students, can apply something they learned to stop a fast moving fire, or save a victim, anything that can prove the power and value of a well educated, equipped and manned fire service, the tides will change and they'll no longer have 10, brand new donated fire engines sitting in customs. And that part they need to get the only fire truck in a particular region will get through the red tape and into the hands of the mechanic just dying to fix the truck meant to protect his house. And maybe they can get the support they need to get a few air compressors running so the air packs that they have, can finally have breathing air in them!
Shorty before I left, I was asked, "Would you come back?" I have to say I would. The trip there and back is pure torture (unless you're in those fancy seats at the front of the plane! can you believe those things? I mean, I had a dorm room that weren't that big!), the food, I'm sorry my Kenyan friends, is pretty bad, but most of the challenges are surmountable with a little patience and a good dose of humor. And any of the hiccups and speed bumps dissolve away when compared to the satisfaction of being able to jump start change like we did. We offered a spark and now we get to watch our compatriots turn it into a national fire (no, not a trash fire!). I can't wait to see where they'll be in a year!
Monday, August 26, 2013
Friday, August 23, 2013
Questions?
I have one more post planned for the blog. I'll be submitting a wrap up and final thoughts post sometime this weekend. I had thought though, is there anything else that anyone reading this is interested in hearing about?
I've really posted about things that struck me as interesting, funny or otherwise worth writing about. there were plenty of everyday things that just become part of the background noise of life in Africa. Things like the daily burning of garbage, wooden scaffolding, livestock on the roadways, deadly snakes in the backyard, etc, that are so commonplace that I stopped noticing them.
Please ask any questions as comments to this post and I'll do my best to answer them. If they spark a larger thought, I might expand it to an entire post of it's own!
I've really posted about things that struck me as interesting, funny or otherwise worth writing about. there were plenty of everyday things that just become part of the background noise of life in Africa. Things like the daily burning of garbage, wooden scaffolding, livestock on the roadways, deadly snakes in the backyard, etc, that are so commonplace that I stopped noticing them.
Please ask any questions as comments to this post and I'll do my best to answer them. If they spark a larger thought, I might expand it to an entire post of it's own!
Ride Along in Nairobi
David and I were fortunate enough to get the chance to ride some ambulances with E-Plus, an ambulance service in Nairobi operated by the Kenyan Red Cross. They are an ALS agency with advanced care provided by Critical Care Certified Nurses, typically operating with EMT or First Aid Certified drivers. By all accounts, they are the most well equipped and probably the busiest agency in Nairobi. I knew that this was just like every other ambulance company out there when the driver announced, "I have to go argue with the dispatcher."
The day started with some confusion, which, having spent most of the last 15 years in and around ambulance services comes as no surprise. To amplify the chaos, the entire staff was in the process of getting evaluated by HR, so tensions were higher than normal. As soon as I was paired with a Paramedic, she was yanked to meet with HR, so I got to run some errands with a driver and logistics coordinator. Neither were EMTs, but both offered a great picture of the company and EMS in Nairobi.
After dropping off some supplies, I was told we were going to fill oxygen tanks at a company called Noble Gases. It's a gas supply company operated by some Indians (from India, not Turning Stone). Noble Gases is what a gas supply company would look like if a bunch of kids decided to get in to the pressurized gas business. Random tanks of unlabeled gases everywhere. Trucks coming and going within inches of HUGE liquid nitrogen storage tanks.
In the back ground of the photo below is a tank. If you look closely, you can see a jet of gas spraying from the neck. Judging from the odor in the area, it was a canister of acetone. Apparently it needed to be emptied and what better way than to put it outside and open it up!
On the way out, we passed within feet of a worker struggling with these hoppers of liquid nitrogen. I have no clue what he was doing (and it would seem neither did he), but there was a cloud of nitrogen surrounding the two hoppers, the guy working on them and the intermodal supply tank in the background.
As we pulled away, our driver just shook his head and said, "I hate coming here."
After we dropped off the full oxygen tanks, we returned to dispatch and I was told they had a transport waiting. As it turned out, I went 7000 miles to do a vent job in Kenya!
This, however, was no ordinary ventilator transport...oh no, this is Kenya baby! I hop into the ambulance with my crew and we go blazing out of the parking lot lights and sirens blaring. I asked, "Is this an emergency? Is the patient critical?" Which would more than justify the urgency of our response (for all the non-EMS folks that might be reading, we don't typically travel with lights and sirens to non-emergency transports). Our driver responded, "No, he's stable. Just headed to Nairobi Hospital for a CAT scan...but we're late!" He smiled as he returned his attention to the road and continued pushing both oncoming traffic and vehicles he was overtaking off the road.
As the gas peddle was depressed closer to the floor boards, and the concept of LANES becomes even more optional, I distinctly heard a subtle slamming noise. As I sat in the middle of the front seat, I peered left and right to see if either the driver or Medic heard the same thing. As neither of them seemed to care, I assumed it must have been the sound of every sphincter in my body slamming shut simultaneously. The seatbelt for my seat was safely stowed under the seat somewhere, so I held onto the cushion and pinned my other hand against the dashboard. I was trying to be discreet, but I probably looked like a guy plucked off the street and placed in the front seat of the space shuttle...which is about how fast we were going.
To his credit, my driver was never out of control. He actually handled the rig as well as anyone I'd ever driven with before. After talking to him a bit, I found out why...he had been driving since he was 11 years old! Keeping my composure, I asked how old you had to be to get a driver's license. He said, 18 to drive legally, but he started driving on the side streets at 11. He must have seen the look on my face, because he started laughing and again returned his attention to the road.
The transport itself went like just about any transport I'd done before. The ICU nurse taking care of the patient knew very little about the patient and repeatedly referred to the doctor or the previous nurse's notes. The Medic completed a more comprehensive exam than had likely been done since the patient had been admitted. We discovered a very poorly secured tracheostomy tube, was probably febrile and had cerebral spinal fluid draining from his nose. Without getting into too much detail, I can say that the patient had suffered a traumatic brain injury secondary to a car accident in a neighboring country and was flown to Kenya for a higher level of care. We needed to take him to another hospital that had a CAT scanner to see the extent of his brain damage. We had him attached to our transport ventilator, Propaq, and portable oxygen. He was sedated with fentanyl, which we use for pain management more than sedation, but whatever works for ya I suppose.
The trip went without a hitch, and I got back to dispatch in one piece. The only other item of interest was the name of the hospital we picked our patient up at. I mean, I knew she was good, but to name a whole hospital after her? I don't know...
The day started with some confusion, which, having spent most of the last 15 years in and around ambulance services comes as no surprise. To amplify the chaos, the entire staff was in the process of getting evaluated by HR, so tensions were higher than normal. As soon as I was paired with a Paramedic, she was yanked to meet with HR, so I got to run some errands with a driver and logistics coordinator. Neither were EMTs, but both offered a great picture of the company and EMS in Nairobi.
After dropping off some supplies, I was told we were going to fill oxygen tanks at a company called Noble Gases. It's a gas supply company operated by some Indians (from India, not Turning Stone). Noble Gases is what a gas supply company would look like if a bunch of kids decided to get in to the pressurized gas business. Random tanks of unlabeled gases everywhere. Trucks coming and going within inches of HUGE liquid nitrogen storage tanks.
In the back ground of the photo below is a tank. If you look closely, you can see a jet of gas spraying from the neck. Judging from the odor in the area, it was a canister of acetone. Apparently it needed to be emptied and what better way than to put it outside and open it up!
As we pulled away, our driver just shook his head and said, "I hate coming here."
After we dropped off the full oxygen tanks, we returned to dispatch and I was told they had a transport waiting. As it turned out, I went 7000 miles to do a vent job in Kenya!
This, however, was no ordinary ventilator transport...oh no, this is Kenya baby! I hop into the ambulance with my crew and we go blazing out of the parking lot lights and sirens blaring. I asked, "Is this an emergency? Is the patient critical?" Which would more than justify the urgency of our response (for all the non-EMS folks that might be reading, we don't typically travel with lights and sirens to non-emergency transports). Our driver responded, "No, he's stable. Just headed to Nairobi Hospital for a CAT scan...but we're late!" He smiled as he returned his attention to the road and continued pushing both oncoming traffic and vehicles he was overtaking off the road.
As the gas peddle was depressed closer to the floor boards, and the concept of LANES becomes even more optional, I distinctly heard a subtle slamming noise. As I sat in the middle of the front seat, I peered left and right to see if either the driver or Medic heard the same thing. As neither of them seemed to care, I assumed it must have been the sound of every sphincter in my body slamming shut simultaneously. The seatbelt for my seat was safely stowed under the seat somewhere, so I held onto the cushion and pinned my other hand against the dashboard. I was trying to be discreet, but I probably looked like a guy plucked off the street and placed in the front seat of the space shuttle...which is about how fast we were going.
To his credit, my driver was never out of control. He actually handled the rig as well as anyone I'd ever driven with before. After talking to him a bit, I found out why...he had been driving since he was 11 years old! Keeping my composure, I asked how old you had to be to get a driver's license. He said, 18 to drive legally, but he started driving on the side streets at 11. He must have seen the look on my face, because he started laughing and again returned his attention to the road.
The transport itself went like just about any transport I'd done before. The ICU nurse taking care of the patient knew very little about the patient and repeatedly referred to the doctor or the previous nurse's notes. The Medic completed a more comprehensive exam than had likely been done since the patient had been admitted. We discovered a very poorly secured tracheostomy tube, was probably febrile and had cerebral spinal fluid draining from his nose. Without getting into too much detail, I can say that the patient had suffered a traumatic brain injury secondary to a car accident in a neighboring country and was flown to Kenya for a higher level of care. We needed to take him to another hospital that had a CAT scanner to see the extent of his brain damage. We had him attached to our transport ventilator, Propaq, and portable oxygen. He was sedated with fentanyl, which we use for pain management more than sedation, but whatever works for ya I suppose.
The trip went without a hitch, and I got back to dispatch in one piece. The only other item of interest was the name of the hospital we picked our patient up at. I mean, I knew she was good, but to name a whole hospital after her? I don't know...
Nakuru National Park and the Cookie Thief
Nakuru National Park was AMAZING! Although we weren’t trucking across the plains (there were trails leading everywhere), it was a full-on African safari. The top of the 4WD van we were in popped up and allowed us to stand and see in 360 degrees. The animals roamed freely and were EVERYWHERE.
The first critter we experienced, while we sat and waited for our passes to be processed, were the baboons. I figured they were hanging around the main entrance for a reason, they’re not stupid after all! A few of us wondered over to the main lodge building to use the men’s room and saw, as we sauntered back to the van, a baboon high-tailing it across the lot with something in his hands. He was being chased by two other monkeys vying for a bit of whatever he had. We even laughed as the whole scenario played out in front of us. The humor faded as we got closer to the van as saw the look on Dave’s face.
Apparently, as we walked away, Dave took one step away from the van, which opened a window of opportunity for the baboon to covertly enter the passenger compartment and raid the cookie supply! They grabbed an entire bag of cookies and a big bunch of little bananas that Dave had in front of his seat.
The rest of the day in the park was less eventful, but incredible to say the least. I honestly don’t have the words to fully describe it. Here are some pictures instead:
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| Hippos at Lake Naivashu |
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| Thompson's Gazelle |
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| Smile! |
The Great Rift Valley
On Sunday, we were taken up to Naivashu and Nakura to see the Great Rift Valley. As always, the trip there (and the trip back) were death defying. The access to the Valley is through a mountain pass at approximately 7100 ft. The road up the outer rim is essentially one lane up and one lane down, but in true Kenyan form, it’s possible to fit three vehicles side by side (regardless of the direction of travel) on the pavement and one on each shoulder, for a grand total of 5 vehicles moving either up or down the mountain at any given time.
Scary? Sure, but you also have to account for the fact that the downward moving traffic, with the help of gravity, is moving at roughly 3 times the speed of sound, while the uphill traffic, stalled by massive trucks screaming, “I think I can, I think I can!”, is crawling. But, not every vehicle going up is dragging 10 tons of rocks, NOOOO, some of the little SUVs and small sedans are trying to sprint up the hill. Where, pray tell, could they drive to get around the trucks? Why not into the oncoming traffic? Why not try it ona blind curve? Why not try it on a blind curve at a 40% grade? Hell, let’s have about 6 cars, pull out into oncoming traffic on blind curve! At a few points, there were more cars going up the hill in the WRONG lane than the correct one (I was going to say “right lane”, but the correct lane would actually be the left lane, and why further confuse an already confusing situation? I mean, lanes are completely optional to begin with, left lane, right lane, right lane, wrong lane...it’s all just semantics!).
Alas, we arrive at the overlook shown above and the world opens up in front of us revealing an awe inspiring sight. I mean, since my recent trip to the Smithsonian in DC, I am now very aware that I was overlooking the cradle of life for the human species. The power of the moment lasted about 7 seconds until one of the many merchants who had set up shop at the vista began peddling his wears in my face. I got him to identify a few of the key landscape features and then, as politely as possible, I sent him away. Fortunately for me, just as I was telling him I wasn’t buying anything, a van load of Asian tourists popped out of another van and he must have smelled fresh meat, because he didn’t even say goodbye, he vanished in a puff of smoke...I will call him the Ninja Vendor.
The rest of the trip to Naivashu was relatively uneventful. Seeing a death hung heavy around every corner, we did strike up a conversation with Paul, our KCEMT chaperone about the availability of ambulances and trauma services where we were. Suffice it to say, when he explained that there were TWO ambulances covering the entire region and, if called, we would be taken to Naivashu Hospital, which is a Level 5 Trauma Center. In my mind, I’m thinking that if St. Francis in Poughkeepsie is a Level 2 Trauma Center, what the hell is a Level 5 Trauma Center?!?!!? If Caren and me are both home, I think our kitchen might qualify as a Level 5 Trauma Center!! Jeezus, considering there were TWO first aid kits in the the van, and it was loaded with experienced Paramedics (and one EMT, which Johnny is VERY quick to remind everyone), we MUST qualify as a Level 5 Trauma Center...alright, maybe Level 6. Point being, when the van starts careening sideways, bend over and kiss your ass goodbye, ‘cause you’re screwed!
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
The Masai Market
I almost forgot! Before we went out for dinner and drinks in Nairobi, we were taken to the Masai Market. I'm going to struggle to describe this experience, but let me make an attempt.
The Masai Market is a an open air market in downtown. It is in a walled courtyard and is PACKED with vendors. My understanding is that everyone inside is from a particular tribe of Masai people and they earn their living by hand crafting items to be sold. You can buy clothes, jewelry, artwork, utensils, toys, trinkets, blankets, all sorts of things. But here's where the act of purchasing an item goes sideways in a hurry.
When you enter the market, you are confronted with a cloud of arms and legs and loud voices yelling in swahili. What is happening is a group of personal shoppers is fighting over the right to shop with you. I have no clue if they're actually called personal shoppers, but it's the best title I can think of. After a brief argument, Casimba and Moses had beaten back the competition and had won the right to guide me through the market. As we walked, Casimba, the lead shopper, explained the ground rules.
Rule #1: Anything you see that you like, we put in the plastic bag as a "maybe". (I later learned that "maybe" loosely translates into swahili as "an item that I thought I might like, and now am forced to purchase for fear of insulting my personal shopper")
Rule #2: After I have directed you to the vendors that I want you to see, we will retire to a private square foot of space and haggle over the price of everything. Of course, he didn't use the ugly word "haggle", he said we would "discuss" the purchase price.
That's about it, two rules. Outside of that, anything goes in the Masai Market. Teenagers with babies will ask for money, heavily intoxicated vendors will verbally berate you if you bypass their blanket full of shiny baubles. More teenagers with babies will ask for money. Your personal shopper will drag you past drink vendors, who scream at you, to show you their sister's blanket...and their brother's blanket...and their own blanket...and their cousin's brother's uncle's blanket...etc.
After a few minutes, I realized that this is absolute insanity and showing ANY weakness or insecurity will only result in a steadier onslaught of aggressive sales pitches. I finally had collected a small batch of things that I thought I might want. Casimba and Moses guided me to a spot where the real fun began.
He opened with a bid that probably could have sent four Kenyans to college for 8 years. I countered with the going rate for a Happy Meal. We went back and forth, removed items, replaced items, consulted the vendor for a "best price", discussed family, the exchange rate, the weather, American football, and after 20 minutes landed on a price that was agreeable to both parties. I ended up spending a little more than I intended, but I'll consider it a representation of the entertainment value of the whole process.
It seemed like everyone else managed pretty well. I still have no idea how Dave managed to avoid picking up a personal shopper, experience I suppose. He picked his way through and haggled with the individual vendors. Kenny was the only one that seemed stressed and primarily by the little mothers begging for money. Some of them could be quite persistent and, well, Kenny eventually resorted to telling them to "Go away!!" It was a test of anyone's patience to be sure. We were all glad to finally get clear of the market and find a bar to chill our nerves.
The Masai Market is a an open air market in downtown. It is in a walled courtyard and is PACKED with vendors. My understanding is that everyone inside is from a particular tribe of Masai people and they earn their living by hand crafting items to be sold. You can buy clothes, jewelry, artwork, utensils, toys, trinkets, blankets, all sorts of things. But here's where the act of purchasing an item goes sideways in a hurry.
When you enter the market, you are confronted with a cloud of arms and legs and loud voices yelling in swahili. What is happening is a group of personal shoppers is fighting over the right to shop with you. I have no clue if they're actually called personal shoppers, but it's the best title I can think of. After a brief argument, Casimba and Moses had beaten back the competition and had won the right to guide me through the market. As we walked, Casimba, the lead shopper, explained the ground rules.
Rule #1: Anything you see that you like, we put in the plastic bag as a "maybe". (I later learned that "maybe" loosely translates into swahili as "an item that I thought I might like, and now am forced to purchase for fear of insulting my personal shopper")
Rule #2: After I have directed you to the vendors that I want you to see, we will retire to a private square foot of space and haggle over the price of everything. Of course, he didn't use the ugly word "haggle", he said we would "discuss" the purchase price.
That's about it, two rules. Outside of that, anything goes in the Masai Market. Teenagers with babies will ask for money, heavily intoxicated vendors will verbally berate you if you bypass their blanket full of shiny baubles. More teenagers with babies will ask for money. Your personal shopper will drag you past drink vendors, who scream at you, to show you their sister's blanket...and their brother's blanket...and their own blanket...and their cousin's brother's uncle's blanket...etc.
After a few minutes, I realized that this is absolute insanity and showing ANY weakness or insecurity will only result in a steadier onslaught of aggressive sales pitches. I finally had collected a small batch of things that I thought I might want. Casimba and Moses guided me to a spot where the real fun began.
He opened with a bid that probably could have sent four Kenyans to college for 8 years. I countered with the going rate for a Happy Meal. We went back and forth, removed items, replaced items, consulted the vendor for a "best price", discussed family, the exchange rate, the weather, American football, and after 20 minutes landed on a price that was agreeable to both parties. I ended up spending a little more than I intended, but I'll consider it a representation of the entertainment value of the whole process.
It seemed like everyone else managed pretty well. I still have no idea how Dave managed to avoid picking up a personal shopper, experience I suppose. He picked his way through and haggled with the individual vendors. Kenny was the only one that seemed stressed and primarily by the little mothers begging for money. Some of them could be quite persistent and, well, Kenny eventually resorted to telling them to "Go away!!" It was a test of anyone's patience to be sure. We were all glad to finally get clear of the market and find a bar to chill our nerves.
Nairobi nightlife
It would simply be impossible to spend 10 days here and not get out at least once. We were fortunate enough to have one of the fire fighter students and Nairobi-native to guide us around. We refer to our guide as "House", as in, the Kenyan Doctor House. He is smart, charismatic and a natural born trouble maker. In short, he was the perfect tour guide.
Our first stop was a quiet place he described as his "goto" dinner spot in town. It had a cafe feel and was essentially empty. House looked around and said, "We could stay here, or we could go someplace really FUN." Umm, is this really a decision? Let's move!
We walked through the streets of downtown Nairobi, saw some of the sights, got a bit of history from House and arrived at a bar called Tribeca. The irony of us going to Tribeca for drinks was not lost on the New Yorkers. The bar had three stories, each with it's own bar and atmosphere. We settled on the third floor, overlooking the street.
At first, there was really no one on the floor with us. We started with beers and quietly chatted amongst ourselves. The Tuskers started flowing, the conversations grew louder and more boisterous. Behind us was a VIP lounge occupied by a couple enjoying some food and drink of their own. Someone asked House what was the deal with the "Shark Room", as the name on the glass doors read. House gave a stern look and simply said, "You don't want to go in there."
Here's where we all became aware of an VERY important lesson. When a life-long Kenyan, and Nairobi native tells you that you shouldn't do something, it likely means that what ever that thing is, has an inherent level of danger that scares someone that will kill a red mamba with a stick, ride helmetless on the back of a dirt bike on the Thika Super Highway and randomly burn piles of garbage EVERYWHERE. When a Kenyan tells you something isn't SAFE, you are basically being told that death is not only POSSIBLE, but PROBABLE if you insist on going forward.
There are lots of great pictures taken that night. To protect the personal and professional reputations of the individuals present, and to ensure we are ALL safely able to leave the country tomorrow, most of those pictures will remain private. There is one thing that I just have to share...
Our first stop was a quiet place he described as his "goto" dinner spot in town. It had a cafe feel and was essentially empty. House looked around and said, "We could stay here, or we could go someplace really FUN." Umm, is this really a decision? Let's move!
We walked through the streets of downtown Nairobi, saw some of the sights, got a bit of history from House and arrived at a bar called Tribeca. The irony of us going to Tribeca for drinks was not lost on the New Yorkers. The bar had three stories, each with it's own bar and atmosphere. We settled on the third floor, overlooking the street.
At first, there was really no one on the floor with us. We started with beers and quietly chatted amongst ourselves. The Tuskers started flowing, the conversations grew louder and more boisterous. Behind us was a VIP lounge occupied by a couple enjoying some food and drink of their own. Someone asked House what was the deal with the "Shark Room", as the name on the glass doors read. House gave a stern look and simply said, "You don't want to go in there."
Here's where we all became aware of an VERY important lesson. When a life-long Kenyan, and Nairobi native tells you that you shouldn't do something, it likely means that what ever that thing is, has an inherent level of danger that scares someone that will kill a red mamba with a stick, ride helmetless on the back of a dirt bike on the Thika Super Highway and randomly burn piles of garbage EVERYWHERE. When a Kenyan tells you something isn't SAFE, you are basically being told that death is not only POSSIBLE, but PROBABLE if you insist on going forward.
There are lots of great pictures taken that night. To protect the personal and professional reputations of the individuals present, and to ensure we are ALL safely able to leave the country tomorrow, most of those pictures will remain private. There is one thing that I just have to share...
These "statutes" ran the length of the bar and were positioned in front of each bar stool. It isn't visible in the picture, but the "statue" is wearing a pair of high heels, to distinguish the intended gender. So, when a patron sits down and slides forward to order a drink...you get the picture! It probably goes without saying that this was NOT the only photograph taken with these decorations. The other pictures will probably never see the light of day!
Monday, August 19, 2013
Proof!
I know I spoke about driving here in Kenya earlier, but it remains a common topic of conversation for us. There is rarely a trip anywhere where one or all of us is n't covering our eyes. On the way back to the hotel today, we were offered proof that the aggressive, bordering-on-reckless driving style popular in Kenya, results in accidents. A matatu (taxi) and a truck carrying concrete blocks collided causing the truck to rollover end-over-end. It was impossible to tell if the truck driver was alright, injured or even in one piece, but it was easy to see that there was a bit of what we in Fire/EMS call "passenger compartment intrusion." In this case, the "passenger compartment" was FLAT. I was able to see a puddle near the driver's door, but I couldn't tell if it was fuel, water or some bodily fluids.
We passed by, checked our seat belts and held on for dear life the rest of the way home.
More shower issues!
You'd think that after a week, the shower thing would have ironed itself out. Frankly, I continue to struggle to shower myself and not everything else in the room. But, after returning from a long morning of fire training, I didn't care about where the water went, as long as I could clean up. What, you ask, is the most important thing about that post-workout shower? Hot friggin water! What was not working in the entire hotel when we returned? You guessed it, the hot water.
Turning the knob produced a puff of air...not even hot air! I called the front desk, only to find that they were unaware that there was a problem, "We'll have to look into that" was the response. Hmmm, this could be a problem, especially considering that I could barely stand my own stench. All I wanted to do was get clean and relax. My only choice, a cold shower. Kenny basically dared me to do it, and so it was done.
I entered the bathroom and mentally prepared myself for the cold. One last attempt at the hot water proved that I had no other options. The cold water began flowing and I entered the ice bath.
The water wasn't actually frigid. But let's not kid ourselves, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest when the spray first hit my skin. My respiratory rate increased and my brain is screaming, "get away from the cold water you ass!" I struggled on. Deep breathing exercises allowed me to maintain consciousness. The final rinse was pure torture. I was clean, but refreshed? Not so much.
To add insult to injury, as I closed the cold water down, I decided to attempt the hot water, just for fun. The spout spit and sputtered and produced wonderful hot water. Un-friggin-believable!
Turning the knob produced a puff of air...not even hot air! I called the front desk, only to find that they were unaware that there was a problem, "We'll have to look into that" was the response. Hmmm, this could be a problem, especially considering that I could barely stand my own stench. All I wanted to do was get clean and relax. My only choice, a cold shower. Kenny basically dared me to do it, and so it was done.
I entered the bathroom and mentally prepared myself for the cold. One last attempt at the hot water proved that I had no other options. The cold water began flowing and I entered the ice bath.
The water wasn't actually frigid. But let's not kid ourselves, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest when the spray first hit my skin. My respiratory rate increased and my brain is screaming, "get away from the cold water you ass!" I struggled on. Deep breathing exercises allowed me to maintain consciousness. The final rinse was pure torture. I was clean, but refreshed? Not so much.
To add insult to injury, as I closed the cold water down, I decided to attempt the hot water, just for fun. The spout spit and sputtered and produced wonderful hot water. Un-friggin-believable!
Live Fire and Ladder Drills
Saturday morning, Dave, Kevin, John and I went to Thika to conduct a half day of live fire drills. We started the day with four of the Mombassa firemen demonstrating how they deploy and use the big, bangor ladder.
In this series of pictures, you can see the four guys grab the ladder, RUN with it across the field to the tower, use the momentum of the ladder to begin pivoting it to the upright position and then deploying it to the upper platform. Here's where the Kenyans separated the men from the boys.
Forget about the fact that they deployed this ladder in about 2 minutes, then one of them climbed the ladder, exited on the platform and feigned an injury, collapsing to the floor. The second fireman scaled the ladder and executed a rescue....by lifting his comrade ONTO HIS SHOULDER, climbed over the top rail onto the ladder, and DESCENDED the ladder with his buddy on his shoulder. They then (without a break of any sort) collapsed the ladder and reloaded it onto the truck. I don't care who you are, or where you're a fireman, you have to respect the sheer force of will exhibited.
This same sentiment carried on with the live fire drills. We lit fires and they put them out. We hid manikins, lit fires and they rescued the victim and extinguished the fires. We lit multiple fires and they handled it. By the end of the day, using a fusion of their own techniques and those learned over the last week, they were rescuing victims and putting out two fires in 4 minutes! I have much respect for these men, what they already knew, what they learned this week and what they intend to do with the knowledge to further the fire service in Kenya.
In this series of pictures, you can see the four guys grab the ladder, RUN with it across the field to the tower, use the momentum of the ladder to begin pivoting it to the upright position and then deploying it to the upper platform. Here's where the Kenyans separated the men from the boys.
Forget about the fact that they deployed this ladder in about 2 minutes, then one of them climbed the ladder, exited on the platform and feigned an injury, collapsing to the floor. The second fireman scaled the ladder and executed a rescue....by lifting his comrade ONTO HIS SHOULDER, climbed over the top rail onto the ladder, and DESCENDED the ladder with his buddy on his shoulder. They then (without a break of any sort) collapsed the ladder and reloaded it onto the truck. I don't care who you are, or where you're a fireman, you have to respect the sheer force of will exhibited.
This same sentiment carried on with the live fire drills. We lit fires and they put them out. We hid manikins, lit fires and they rescued the victim and extinguished the fires. We lit multiple fires and they handled it. By the end of the day, using a fusion of their own techniques and those learned over the last week, they were rescuing victims and putting out two fires in 4 minutes! I have much respect for these men, what they already knew, what they learned this week and what they intend to do with the knowledge to further the fire service in Kenya.
Brazilian BBQ
On Friday night, we were all invited to experience a Brazilian BBQ by the Medical Director of KCEMT. Just getting to sit and eat with the "who's -who" of Kenyan EMS was awesome, and then the food started coming out. If you've never experienced this type of feast, allow me to explain.
First, there is a card on the table in front of you. On one side it is green and basically says, "keep the meat coming"; the other side is red and say, "I'm about to explode, please don't put anything else in front of me or I may puke." They invite you to start at the salad bar and the fun begins.
Honestly, I have no clue why they even mention the salad bar. Maybe they feel like they need to make sure that something green is on the plate at some point in the evening. Just as I sat down with a heaping pile of salads from around the world, we are bombarded by men with roasted meat on massive skewers. They descend on the table and go seat to seat asking if you'd like some of what they have.
Three different cuts of beef, lamb, chicken, beef ribs, pork ribs, ham, crocodile (yes, croc meat!), deep fried cheese (just in case heart disease HASN'T been acquired genetically for you) and fried bananas. There may have been other offerings, but I couldn't keep track because they were flying in and out so fast, before I knew it, I had a mound of protein, completely obscuring the salads originally filling the plate.
We're all trying to eat fast enough to keep up with the onslaught. I'm desperately excavating to the salads, I keep telling myself that if I can see the salad, I win. The sirloin steak guy comes around AGAIN, and I really liked it the first time, so "sure" let's have another serving...3 steps forward, 2 steps back. A moment later, eureka!!, I can see something green!!. But those damn pork ribs were outrageous! 2 steps forward, 3 STEPS back. The battle lines had been drawn and for the next 90 minutes, carnage and mayhem pushed the front line back and forth. It was a see-saw battle, sometimes I was winning, other times...the protein porters laughed as the left me with another huge pile of meat!
By the 2 hour point, most everyone at the table had flipped their card and had thrown in the towel. Belts were loosened, shirts became untucked and antacids flowed like the River Nile. It was down to two, David and me. The two smallest guys at the table engaged in vicious hand-to-hand combat. We sat across from one another and the taunting was merciless. Another serving of sirloin, I took some, and he was forced to keep up. The banana man came around, I knew I wanted some, but I could feel the last serving of steak fighting to get back to the light. Dave took two bananas, I needed to take two. The banana burps started. I forced the delicious deep fried fruit down and saw, the miracle happen: Dave flipped his card. He was done, the banana man had sent him over the edge! I only needed to survive one more serving and the day could be won. Thank goodness it was the steak man, he sliced a thin piece of medium rare steak onto my plate with the machete they strut around with. The juicy slice of heaven hit the stark white plate and I could hear the deafening echoes of the impact reverberate through the cacophony of the room. I stared at the steak, it stared at me. The man with the machete smiled cruelly as he sauntered away, throwing me a sideways glance as he turned and fled before I lost sphincter control. I picked up the knife and fork and prepared myself mentally for what must be done.
The pieces were small, and the effort herculean, and the breathing was deep, but the steak was assimilated and the card was flipped. Last man standing...or sitting, uncomfortably. My colleagues were polite enough to roll me to the van for the ride home.
Now, in retrospect, I am left with one lingering thought about the whole thing, why the hell don't we have one of these at home?
First, there is a card on the table in front of you. On one side it is green and basically says, "keep the meat coming"; the other side is red and say, "I'm about to explode, please don't put anything else in front of me or I may puke." They invite you to start at the salad bar and the fun begins.
Honestly, I have no clue why they even mention the salad bar. Maybe they feel like they need to make sure that something green is on the plate at some point in the evening. Just as I sat down with a heaping pile of salads from around the world, we are bombarded by men with roasted meat on massive skewers. They descend on the table and go seat to seat asking if you'd like some of what they have.
Three different cuts of beef, lamb, chicken, beef ribs, pork ribs, ham, crocodile (yes, croc meat!), deep fried cheese (just in case heart disease HASN'T been acquired genetically for you) and fried bananas. There may have been other offerings, but I couldn't keep track because they were flying in and out so fast, before I knew it, I had a mound of protein, completely obscuring the salads originally filling the plate.
We're all trying to eat fast enough to keep up with the onslaught. I'm desperately excavating to the salads, I keep telling myself that if I can see the salad, I win. The sirloin steak guy comes around AGAIN, and I really liked it the first time, so "sure" let's have another serving...3 steps forward, 2 steps back. A moment later, eureka!!, I can see something green!!. But those damn pork ribs were outrageous! 2 steps forward, 3 STEPS back. The battle lines had been drawn and for the next 90 minutes, carnage and mayhem pushed the front line back and forth. It was a see-saw battle, sometimes I was winning, other times...the protein porters laughed as the left me with another huge pile of meat!
By the 2 hour point, most everyone at the table had flipped their card and had thrown in the towel. Belts were loosened, shirts became untucked and antacids flowed like the River Nile. It was down to two, David and me. The two smallest guys at the table engaged in vicious hand-to-hand combat. We sat across from one another and the taunting was merciless. Another serving of sirloin, I took some, and he was forced to keep up. The banana man came around, I knew I wanted some, but I could feel the last serving of steak fighting to get back to the light. Dave took two bananas, I needed to take two. The banana burps started. I forced the delicious deep fried fruit down and saw, the miracle happen: Dave flipped his card. He was done, the banana man had sent him over the edge! I only needed to survive one more serving and the day could be won. Thank goodness it was the steak man, he sliced a thin piece of medium rare steak onto my plate with the machete they strut around with. The juicy slice of heaven hit the stark white plate and I could hear the deafening echoes of the impact reverberate through the cacophony of the room. I stared at the steak, it stared at me. The man with the machete smiled cruelly as he sauntered away, throwing me a sideways glance as he turned and fled before I lost sphincter control. I picked up the knife and fork and prepared myself mentally for what must be done.
The pieces were small, and the effort herculean, and the breathing was deep, but the steak was assimilated and the card was flipped. Last man standing...or sitting, uncomfortably. My colleagues were polite enough to roll me to the van for the ride home.
Now, in retrospect, I am left with one lingering thought about the whole thing, why the hell don't we have one of these at home?
Friday, August 16, 2013
Breakfast conversations and an extra pair of sox
As we have spent more and more time together, we have gotten to know one anther so much better and have clearly become comfortable enough that NO topic is off limits. For instance, this morning at breakfast we spoke for some time on Will's fetish for high quality underwear. No Hanes or Fruit of the Loom for his fancy ass! I retorted with my new found appreciation for Under Armor undies (and the many more affordable imitations). We have talked about Ken's prior military experience and on many occasions, we have discussed (sometimes while he present, sometimes when he's not) Dave's penchant to extend ANY situation indefinitely with idle banter, quiet chit chat, polite small talk and overt politicking. I wish I had a nickel for every time I heard:
"Where's Dave?"
"Talking to someone."
"We're not going anywhere, anytime soon, are we?"
"Nope."
We love Dave, and realize that it's through his hard work, established and burgeoning relationships and endless chatting, that these projects are able to happen. Maybe we need to teach him a code word or phrase. We could make it something appropriate like, "the bathroom floor is wet" or, "Seth has malaria". We could whisper the code to him and it would clearly communicate something like:
"Kevin, Ken and Will stayed up until 2am discussing tattoos, cigars and whiskey. They are tired and cranky. Johnny O is anxious to get back to the hotel to tie knots. Seth is convinced he has contracted typhoid AND yellow fever and on the verge of developing diarrhea from the anxiety. We need to extricate ourselves from this situation precipitously and immediately head back to the hotel before Kevin loses his shit, Kenny starts throwing furniture, Will starts dancing on the column over there, John removes his shoelaces to make a set of prussiks and Seth loses bowel control."
I will be discussing appropriate code language with Ken and Will over lunch. By this afternoon, we will be able to more effectively communicate our needs to our fearless leader.
On a much lighter note, most of us had our laundry done yesterday. It disappeared in the morning and came back, washed, pressed, folded and hung up in the closet. I was ecstatic to get back the clothes, I was less happy about finding a pair of sox that was not mine. We have no idea who they belong to which begs the question, who else's laundry was ours mixed in with? Not gonna think about it too much, the last thing I need to be considering is the possibility of transcutaneous transmission of Ebola through poorly laundered clothing.
"Where's Dave?"
"Talking to someone."
"We're not going anywhere, anytime soon, are we?"
"Nope."
We love Dave, and realize that it's through his hard work, established and burgeoning relationships and endless chatting, that these projects are able to happen. Maybe we need to teach him a code word or phrase. We could make it something appropriate like, "the bathroom floor is wet" or, "Seth has malaria". We could whisper the code to him and it would clearly communicate something like:
"Kevin, Ken and Will stayed up until 2am discussing tattoos, cigars and whiskey. They are tired and cranky. Johnny O is anxious to get back to the hotel to tie knots. Seth is convinced he has contracted typhoid AND yellow fever and on the verge of developing diarrhea from the anxiety. We need to extricate ourselves from this situation precipitously and immediately head back to the hotel before Kevin loses his shit, Kenny starts throwing furniture, Will starts dancing on the column over there, John removes his shoelaces to make a set of prussiks and Seth loses bowel control."
I will be discussing appropriate code language with Ken and Will over lunch. By this afternoon, we will be able to more effectively communicate our needs to our fearless leader.
On a much lighter note, most of us had our laundry done yesterday. It disappeared in the morning and came back, washed, pressed, folded and hung up in the closet. I was ecstatic to get back the clothes, I was less happy about finding a pair of sox that was not mine. We have no idea who they belong to which begs the question, who else's laundry was ours mixed in with? Not gonna think about it too much, the last thing I need to be considering is the possibility of transcutaneous transmission of Ebola through poorly laundered clothing.
The Kenyan Longhorn Steakhouse
Thursday morning, we traveled into Nairobi with Kevin and John to meet with some Nairobi Fire Department Officers. In typical Kenyan standard, the Chief was late. The general pace of the country is very laid back and slow. Things just happen when they happen. This morning was no different. The cool thing is that, while we waited, we were able to interact with firefighters a little bit.
It quickly became evident that, no matter where you are, and what the fire house looks like, firemen are firemen. They bust one another's chops relentlessly, they do their house chores in the morning, they always make sure their gear is set to go, they eat together, smoke together, watch TV together, and back one another up regardless of the situation. Heres a video of the off-going shift getting a late job:
It quickly became evident that, no matter where you are, and what the fire house looks like, firemen are firemen. They bust one another's chops relentlessly, they do their house chores in the morning, they always make sure their gear is set to go, they eat together, smoke together, watch TV together, and back one another up regardless of the situation. Heres a video of the off-going shift getting a late job:
The end result of the morning meeting was less than optimal for the ongoing projects, but it was great to meet the guys and see how they work. Timmy, the senior driver/operator, who clearly worked most of his career without the benefit of dental coverage, would put ANY driver/pump operator to shame. It taught me beyond a shadow of a doubt that, no matter where you work, and what resources are at your disposal, you have to find a way to get the job done; Adversity breeds creativity and never underestimate the power of a motivated, intelligent, dedicated fireman with a problem to solve!
The remainder of the day was productive and downright fun. David and I pulled out manikins and equipment and started working through the Paramedic skill set. Digital intubation was a huge hit and just when they started to get confident, we placed manikins under chairs, upside down in corners and only accessible from the wring angle to challenge them and offer them examples of how to push their students beyond their comfort zone.
We knew we were scheduled to join the KCEMT administrators for a special dinner of nyama choma. We all expected a traditional Kenyan meal of BBQ'd beef and some of us were genuinely excited. A select group of us...Kenny mostly...had chosen to stay up until 2am the night before hellbent on finishing a bottle of Jameson purchased in the Netherlands. Although his mission was successful, it required 8 mg of Zofran the next day to stop his stomach from doing somersaults. By the time dinner came around, he has something resembling an appetite but getting 3 hours of sleep had caught up with him like a cheetah catches a gazelle, he looked like a vicious carnivore has grabbed him and squeezed the life out of him. Just in case we had momentarily forgotten that he was tired, we received numerous reminders that he wanted to go home to goto sleep. It reminded me of traveling in the car with my kids and the near constant, "Are we there yet?"
As it turns out, the restaurant was attached to a very westernized hotel. It was so westernized that the name of the restaurant was The Spur and it had an American western theme. There were silhouettes of cactuses everywhere, western-themed signs, pictures of American Indians in full head-dresses and plenty of streak and burgers on the menu...basically, we ate at the Kenyan version of Longhorn Steakhouse. The beer was cold and the skewered steak I ordered tasted good. Most guys had ribs (Thursday is Ribalicious Thursday!), a few had steak. It was nice, at least initially, to have gotten a "normal" meal.
On a more sobering note, one of the KCEMT Instructors that joined us was a guy named Tosh. He works full time for the Kenyatta Airport Fire Brigade and was one of the first responders at the big airport fire. Tosh, without the protection of an SCBA and breathing air, entered the burning building with his team and attempted an interior attack on a humongous fire. He ended up suffering significant smoke inhalation and was in ICU on a ventilator for a few days. To his credit, he looked great and it was an honor getting the chance to dine with him. His experience further solidifies the overwhelming need for improved fire training and a major change in the equipment typically available to firefighters.
Getting home a little early and getting into bed closer to 10pm was a joy. We are all recovering form long days, short nights and bit of jet lag still. Unbeknownst to me, a quiet monster was creeping up inside me. I'll never know if it was just salt, or MSG, or something else, but at 3am, I awoke to the sensation that someone had buried an axe in my skull. My head throbbed and the act of rising to find some ibuprofen nearly dropped me to the floor. In retrospect, after half a liter of water and 600 mg of ibuprofen resolved the pain, I realized that it was probably something in the marinade on my steak that sucked every last ounce of water in my body out. Of course, at 3am, with my head splitting open, in my bed IN KENYA, I knew, with every bit of my existence, that I had malaria and I was about to die. I even thought...for a moment...that taking the pain killers was a waste of time. I just had to wait until the fever set in, so I could confirm the diagnosis and get to the hospital to begin treatment. I imagined having to ride in the back of a Kenyan ambulance, be admitted to a hospital and trying to fly home still suffering from the infection. Just as I was about to convince myself that death was on the doorstep, I fell back to sleep. Miraculously, 2 hours later, I had cured myself of the dreaded malarial infection, with nothing more than pain killers and some water. So maybe it was the MSG...who knows!
Tonight we've been told that we are going to a Brazilian BBQ joint. I have no clue what that means, but if they bring out hot wax and small strips of paper my ass is outta there!!!!
Thursday, August 15, 2013
And then there was a monsoon!
Wednesday proved to be a VERY productive day for all the projects. The Fire Academy got outside for most of the day, deploying hose lines, working with Johnny O's beloved ropes and conducting search drills inside a newly constructed building at the Training Center.
The AHA team completed ACLS and ran full on into PALS without slowing down. Our Paramedic team worked out a baseline schedule and finished the admin side of running a program.
As the afternoon moved on, we in Nairobi (and we found out later that Kevin and John saw the same thing) noticed that clouds were rolling in and the wind had picked up. Now, in NYS, it's fairly evident that, when the clouds roll in, and wind shifts, rain is coming. Both the Nairobi teams and the Thika teams mentioned to our Kenyan counterparts that we thought rain was coming. The unanimous response was: "It won't rain here again until September." We respectfully nodded our heads and waited to see what happened.
Well, what happened was the sky opened up and the rain came in torrents. It didn't drizzle, or mist, a deluge of water cascaded form the sky, immediately flooding the roads, limited sidewalks, all the exterior walkways at the hospital were covered in water. The picture below shows the hospital staff using brooms to push the standing water out of the hallways and walkways. Earlier in the week we had questioned the large concrete troughs that run along the exterior walkways and were told that they are for when it rains. We all remarked that that was bizarre...until we actually saw it rain.
This late afternoon storm just happened to coincide with our departure from the hospital. I had mentioned in an earlier post how "interesting" driving here is. This day we got to experience that same harried experience in the face of nearly 8 inches of running water on every roadway!
Kevin, our hyperthyroid driver, left the hospital and entered the highway, his nerves seemingly more taxed than normal. I haven't really spoken about Kevin. He is a young, private car driver (think car service driver). Kevin is possibly the most cautious driver I've ever seen...on any continent. His hands NEVER leave 10 and 2 on the steering wheel. He WILL NOT change lanes without signaling. He drives like he has a car full of hemophiliacs and an open box of razor blades in the back. To be clear, although Kevin is the definition of a defensive driver, he is the ONLY one in this part of the country. He is surrounded by aggressive, offensive drivers, and despite our deepest desires, no one changed their driving style because of the rain (except Kevin who put his flashers on and slowed to 20 mph).
To further complicate the situation, we needed to stop at the Nakumatt to pick up a few things. Kevin didn't know where the Nakumatt we wanted to get to was and decided not to tell us. SO rather than making a simple stop half way to the hotel, we drove around in circles for an hour trying to explain to him how to get to where we wanted to go. But each time we left the highway to turn around, we were confronted with huge puddles of water, streams flowing across the roadway up to 8 inches deep and crowds of pedestrians and other vehicles attempting to navigate the traffic circles that are found at the bottom of every off-ramp in the highway system. Imagine if you can, 100 cars, trucks, buses, motorcycles (yes, they ride their motorcycles in monsoons too), with about 1000 pedestrians running, wading and doggie paddling in, on and around the vehicles.
After an hour, and one minor auto-pedestrian accident, we arrived at the Nakumatt. For the record, Kevin only "tapped" the young lady crossing in front of us. She was not knocked to the ground and honestly didn't even seem upset that she was just hit by a car. In the US, she would have been writhing on the ground, screaming about neck and back pain and demanding an ambulance and a lawyer, and not necessarily in that order.
After the harrowing experience, a long day and way too many odd chicken dishes, we decided to purchase pizzas and chicken wings to bring back to the hotel for everyone. There's just nothing better than pizza wings and beer after a hard day of teaching, snorkeling and endangering public safety!
Here are a couple of pictures of the amount of water flowing everywhere:
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| Driving through a monsoon |
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| Water flowing off the overpass |
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Gizzards
Ok, I knew that the food would be "different" here in Kenya. In general, I have been pleasantly surprised by whatI've been served. Food is generously being provided for us everywhere, and I truly believe that beggars shouldn't be too choosey.
I will say that I'm not a fan of goat...actually, I hate goat. For me, goat is like eating dirty shoe leather. The beef is typically a bit fatty for me, but it tastes like beef. Chicken and fish have proven safe and predictable. Well, most of the chicken. Yesterday, lunch was technically chicken, just not a part of the chicken normally served in the US.
The nice young lady set the spoonful of food on the plate. It looked like a mushroom sauce, almost like stroganoff. It didn't have much smell, to it and I honestly didn't hear her tell me what it was. It was served with samosas that turned out to be filled with a cross between a chili pepper and the surface of the sun. I tried the samosa first. The top layers of skin in my mouth immediately liquified and dribbled out of the side of my mouth. I attempted to cool the inferno with water, but decided that liquid nitrogen would have been more effective. Once I could feel my tongue again, I turned my attention to the meat. I still didn't know exactly what it was, but as a gentleman adventurer (that one's for you Strat), nothing is beyond trying.
I popped the little blob of something-er-other into my mouth and quickly determined that this was not a good thing to have in my mouth. Waves of nausea swept over me, my eyes began tearing, I literally felt the color drain from my face and the blob was rapidly extricated just before my stomach completely turned inside out sending the molten samosa back out towards the light!
I was sitting next to a nurse manager from the hospital we are training at, and a participant in the program I am running. She clearly caught the near seizure unfolding next to her. To her credit, she did not laugh at me. The ensuing conversation went something like this:
Nurse: "Did you like the gizzard?"
Seth: "The what?"
Nurse: "The gizzard?"
Seth: "The what?"
Nurse: "It's chicken gizzards. Did you like them?"
Seth: (turning green now that he knows what he just had in his mouth) "No, I didn't like it."
Nurse: (matter of factly) "Why not?"
Seth: (thinking, because it's a friggin gizzard! I don't eat bird throats!!) "Oh, it must be the texture."
Fortunately, I had some more samosas on my plate and was able to burn the remnants of the gizzard from the inside of my mouth.
The ultimate upshot of the episode is that it prompted another trip to Nakumatt (my new favorite retail mocation) to purchase peanut butter, jelly and bread. This Nakumatt was smaller and less well stocked with barbed wire and baby diapers, but they had my beloved PB&J. I now know that I will always have something to eat that is both recognizable as food and less likely to cause violent bodily reactions.
I will say that I'm not a fan of goat...actually, I hate goat. For me, goat is like eating dirty shoe leather. The beef is typically a bit fatty for me, but it tastes like beef. Chicken and fish have proven safe and predictable. Well, most of the chicken. Yesterday, lunch was technically chicken, just not a part of the chicken normally served in the US.
The nice young lady set the spoonful of food on the plate. It looked like a mushroom sauce, almost like stroganoff. It didn't have much smell, to it and I honestly didn't hear her tell me what it was. It was served with samosas that turned out to be filled with a cross between a chili pepper and the surface of the sun. I tried the samosa first. The top layers of skin in my mouth immediately liquified and dribbled out of the side of my mouth. I attempted to cool the inferno with water, but decided that liquid nitrogen would have been more effective. Once I could feel my tongue again, I turned my attention to the meat. I still didn't know exactly what it was, but as a gentleman adventurer (that one's for you Strat), nothing is beyond trying.
I popped the little blob of something-er-other into my mouth and quickly determined that this was not a good thing to have in my mouth. Waves of nausea swept over me, my eyes began tearing, I literally felt the color drain from my face and the blob was rapidly extricated just before my stomach completely turned inside out sending the molten samosa back out towards the light!
I was sitting next to a nurse manager from the hospital we are training at, and a participant in the program I am running. She clearly caught the near seizure unfolding next to her. To her credit, she did not laugh at me. The ensuing conversation went something like this:
Nurse: "Did you like the gizzard?"
Seth: "The what?"
Nurse: "The gizzard?"
Seth: "The what?"
Nurse: "It's chicken gizzards. Did you like them?"
Seth: (turning green now that he knows what he just had in his mouth) "No, I didn't like it."
Nurse: (matter of factly) "Why not?"
Seth: (thinking, because it's a friggin gizzard! I don't eat bird throats!!) "Oh, it must be the texture."
Fortunately, I had some more samosas on my plate and was able to burn the remnants of the gizzard from the inside of my mouth.
The ultimate upshot of the episode is that it prompted another trip to Nakumatt (my new favorite retail mocation) to purchase peanut butter, jelly and bread. This Nakumatt was smaller and less well stocked with barbed wire and baby diapers, but they had my beloved PB&J. I now know that I will always have something to eat that is both recognizable as food and less likely to cause violent bodily reactions.
Projects Kick Off
On Monday, we started two of the three projects here. The AHA team of Will and Ken, started the day trapped. For reasons unknown to us, the front doors of the hotel were pad locked closed, from the inside. There was speculation surrounding the night clerk possibly taking a nap, but we were not able to confirm the theory. We discussed why we would need to lock the front door when there is a 10 foot wall surrounding the property and a security guard at the gate, but it was unanimously decided to change the topic before we came to any unsettling conclusions.
From the reports received, other than a couple of momentary power outages, the AHA team working at Gertrude's Children's Hospital had a great day!
From the reports received, other than a couple of momentary power outages, the AHA team working at Gertrude's Children's Hospital had a great day!
David and I traveled to Thika with Kevin and John to start the Fire Training Academy. It was an honor and a joy to meet with the 16 or so Kenyan fire fighters and EMTs and help start the first NFPA fire fighter 1 course in Kenya. The enthusiasm and energy was infectious.
One of the first things that became evident was that we had some minor language and terminology issues. While discussing fire fighter protective gear, Kevin learned that what we call bunker gear or turn out gear, they call a tunic and leggings (jacket and pants). We struggled for a few seconds with the term leggings and Kevin made the final decision that, under no circumstances could we call our bunker pants leggings. We did explain to everyone that in 'Merica, leggin's are things that women wear, not salty firemen (or salty firewomen for that matter!)
As it turns out, the group was generally very experienced, with the 80 year old, Mobassa Port Fire Brigade Chief, with 33 years on the job, clearly the top dog. Those students with less experience made up for it with unbridled enthusiasm and the first few modules flew by. Below are some picture of us working with ground ladders, including the massive, 50 foot bangor ladder.
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| Dennis Engine |
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| The Fire Tower |
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| The bangor on top |
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| Kenvin discussing tunics and leggings |
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| Johnny O holding court |
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| Ground ladders |
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| Lt. McGuire impersonating a building |
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| Some PT after class! |
Driving in Kenya
I'm going to try to discuss the perilous nature of driving in Kenya (at least in and around Nairobi) without being hyper-critical...I may not be successful.
First off, we do not drive here. We are driven by EMTs and fire fighters from the area. I'm not even sure I would attempt to drive here. I've driven in NYC and Boston. I've driven in Florida where the average age of vehicle operators is about 150 years old and cars are more aimed than driven. I've even driven across Costa Rica, where the pot holes are bigger than the cars and traffic stops for monkey crossings. None of these experiences could have prepared me for the roadways of Kenya.
Lanes are marked but clearly optional. I believe that the intent is to have everyone drive on the left, like in England, but, seeing as lanes are more optional guidelines than hard, fast rules, traffic moves in both directions, in all lanes simultaneously....and at speeds that would make Jeff Gordon cry like a little baby! Motorcycle taxis called boda bodas practice their motor cross skills, with passengers, holding children, without helmets. They weave in and out of traffic, fly across medians, bounce onto the shoulder and criss cross the "lanes". Matatus, taxi vans holding up to 13 people legally, and 20 passengers typically, suddenly pull to the left to pick up passengers lined up on the side of the road, pack themselves to the point of over-flowing and then sharply turn right and "merge" into traffic.
Once you enter the highway, it is vital that your life insurance is paid in full and you have prepared your kidneys for an onslaught. The highway has a posted speed limit of 80 KPH. I'd do the conversion to MPH for you, but it's irrelevant. The speed limit on the highway is speed at which whatever vehicle you're in stops accelerating when the pedal has found the floorboard. Some newer cars and SUVs top out at speeds somewhere between "what was that white blur" and "oh my God, Halley's Comet is back!" Older cars and trucks loaded with things like dirt, rocks, people, pipes, or any combination of these items, travel at more moderate speeds, maybe only "holy crap, I didn't know a 1978 Toyota Corolla could go that fast".
In an effort to curb the growing problem of motor vehicle crashes on the highway (I couldn't imagine why they have so many accidents!), the highway authorities decided to implement a plan to slow traffic down. After careful consideration, it was decided that the best way to slow drivers was to place speed bumps...on the highway. They've used two distinct types of speed bumps. Some are three smaller bumps placed right next to each other, the others are large humps, just slightly smaller than a Volkswagen Beetle. Sometimes people slow down for the speed bumps, other times they accelerate in an attempt to clear the pedestrians that use the "slowed" traffic to cross all 4 lanes of traffic. It is my humble opinion that the speed bumps have not only failed to slow traffic in any appreciable way, but that they are very likely resulting in increased incidence of kidney damage and lower back injuries. In Kenya, just driving down the road can cause spinal cord trauma, no impact required!
First off, we do not drive here. We are driven by EMTs and fire fighters from the area. I'm not even sure I would attempt to drive here. I've driven in NYC and Boston. I've driven in Florida where the average age of vehicle operators is about 150 years old and cars are more aimed than driven. I've even driven across Costa Rica, where the pot holes are bigger than the cars and traffic stops for monkey crossings. None of these experiences could have prepared me for the roadways of Kenya.
Lanes are marked but clearly optional. I believe that the intent is to have everyone drive on the left, like in England, but, seeing as lanes are more optional guidelines than hard, fast rules, traffic moves in both directions, in all lanes simultaneously....and at speeds that would make Jeff Gordon cry like a little baby! Motorcycle taxis called boda bodas practice their motor cross skills, with passengers, holding children, without helmets. They weave in and out of traffic, fly across medians, bounce onto the shoulder and criss cross the "lanes". Matatus, taxi vans holding up to 13 people legally, and 20 passengers typically, suddenly pull to the left to pick up passengers lined up on the side of the road, pack themselves to the point of over-flowing and then sharply turn right and "merge" into traffic.
Once you enter the highway, it is vital that your life insurance is paid in full and you have prepared your kidneys for an onslaught. The highway has a posted speed limit of 80 KPH. I'd do the conversion to MPH for you, but it's irrelevant. The speed limit on the highway is speed at which whatever vehicle you're in stops accelerating when the pedal has found the floorboard. Some newer cars and SUVs top out at speeds somewhere between "what was that white blur" and "oh my God, Halley's Comet is back!" Older cars and trucks loaded with things like dirt, rocks, people, pipes, or any combination of these items, travel at more moderate speeds, maybe only "holy crap, I didn't know a 1978 Toyota Corolla could go that fast".
In an effort to curb the growing problem of motor vehicle crashes on the highway (I couldn't imagine why they have so many accidents!), the highway authorities decided to implement a plan to slow traffic down. After careful consideration, it was decided that the best way to slow drivers was to place speed bumps...on the highway. They've used two distinct types of speed bumps. Some are three smaller bumps placed right next to each other, the others are large humps, just slightly smaller than a Volkswagen Beetle. Sometimes people slow down for the speed bumps, other times they accelerate in an attempt to clear the pedestrians that use the "slowed" traffic to cross all 4 lanes of traffic. It is my humble opinion that the speed bumps have not only failed to slow traffic in any appreciable way, but that they are very likely resulting in increased incidence of kidney damage and lower back injuries. In Kenya, just driving down the road can cause spinal cord trauma, no impact required!
Kenyan Walmart
In Kenya, there is a store. This store is called Nakumatt. Nakumatt is something to beholden. If it's for sale, it can be bought at the Nakumatt.
Kitchen appliances? No problem, aisles 1 and 2.
Bread? Got it, that's in the back near the dairy products.
A DVD player and the latest Baliwood hit? Check, aisle 2.
A roll of barbed wire? Sure, at the end of aisle 2 across from the stoves!
Anabolic protein? Why not, right next to the wash clothes on the end cap.
A bottle of Jameson, 2 bottles of red wine and a case of Red Bull? It's all in the age restricted beverage section...enjoy!!
We love the Nakumatt so much, we're going back for another adventure! Can't wait to see what we find next!!!
Kitchen appliances? No problem, aisles 1 and 2.
Bread? Got it, that's in the back near the dairy products.
A DVD player and the latest Baliwood hit? Check, aisle 2.
A roll of barbed wire? Sure, at the end of aisle 2 across from the stoves!
Anabolic protein? Why not, right next to the wash clothes on the end cap.
A bottle of Jameson, 2 bottles of red wine and a case of Red Bull? It's all in the age restricted beverage section...enjoy!!
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| Barbed wire and stoves! What more could you need? |
We love the Nakumatt so much, we're going back for another adventure! Can't wait to see what we find next!!!
Tea Time
We have all been pleasantly surprised (well, not ALL of us, but those of us who have never been to Kenya before) by the Kenyan custom of tea time. It's a remnant of British rule and downright awesome. At 10am and 3pm-ish, everyone takes break and has tea and snacks! I mean, who doesn't love tea and snacks?
Usually they serve coffee as well, but it's not real coffee, it's some version of instant coffee, but it's the thought that counts. Actually, the coffee situation is confusing. I know that some of the most robust coffee you can buy comes from Kenya, but you can't get it here. Just about all the coffee served is either instant or very weak brewed coffee. Fortunately, Dave brought some of the Starbucks instant packets. They're still instant, but they make a strong cup of coffee.
Since we're on the topic of beverages, we might as well discuss the milk. Not pasteurized and generally served warm. The hotel caters to enough Americans and Europeans to have cold milk on hand, but it has to be asked for specifically. Their tea is brewed with hot milk instead of hot water also. They generally have hot water available also.
So, as far as I'm concerned, tea time comes back with me. I can't wait to tell the Lieutenant that I can't do 10am training because it's tea time!
Usually they serve coffee as well, but it's not real coffee, it's some version of instant coffee, but it's the thought that counts. Actually, the coffee situation is confusing. I know that some of the most robust coffee you can buy comes from Kenya, but you can't get it here. Just about all the coffee served is either instant or very weak brewed coffee. Fortunately, Dave brought some of the Starbucks instant packets. They're still instant, but they make a strong cup of coffee.
Since we're on the topic of beverages, we might as well discuss the milk. Not pasteurized and generally served warm. The hotel caters to enough Americans and Europeans to have cold milk on hand, but it has to be asked for specifically. Their tea is brewed with hot milk instead of hot water also. They generally have hot water available also.
So, as far as I'm concerned, tea time comes back with me. I can't wait to tell the Lieutenant that I can't do 10am training because it's tea time!
Monday, August 12, 2013
The shower situation
Here's my shower. It looks normal with the exception that it lacks a shower curtain. Like I mentioned, I've been showering my kids with the sprayer for years and have never had a problem. I was not even surprised to see the arrangement as it is, it's a very European look and I've been forced to watch enough episodes of House Finders International to know that this is how it would be. Unfortunately, this prior knowledge did not really prepare me to actually USE this shower.
It probably didn't help that my first attempt at showering happened at 3am on the first night. I had had a few Tuskers and had been awake for almost 2 days. If I said that it was a disaster I would be making a huge understatement. I did manage to clean myself...but I also sprayed the walls, the roll of toilet paper, the sink, the mirror, about half the crown moulding in the room (10 foot ceilings mind you!). The clothes I intended to put on after the shower looked like they had just come out of the washing machine! And to top it off, despite there being a drain in the floor, I created a small pool about half an inch deep.
I left the bathroom clean, but discouraged at the mess I'd made. I will definitely think twice before I yell at my kids for making a mess!
The next morning, thinking I had it figured all out and determined to shower myself and nothing else, I stumbled into the bathroom. I reached for the hot water knob, bumped the shower/tub selector and set the damn sprayer loose in the room. I guess I have to mention that the shower has water pressure like I'm used to seeing on a fire house! The sprayer literally jumped off the holder, flew into the air and swung around the tub area while I bounced back and forth, desperately trying to clear my eyes (because of course I was looking directly at the sprayer when it opened up). I ended up diving into the bathtub to grab the sprayer, bumped the water to ICE cold on the way in and found an exciting new way to wake myself up in the morning! Who needs coffee, tea and Red Bull when you can spray your nether-parts with ice cold water leaving the sprayer at about 100 psi?
Now that my eyes are open (and bulging from my skull) I finish cleaning myself, and yes, I managed to spray the crown moulding, my towel, the toilet and placed another 5 gallons of water on the floor. I will continue to work at it. Maybe after another week, I'll be able to take a shower!
Sunday, August 11, 2013
The Rainbow Ruiri Resort
The hotel/resort we're staying at is called the Rainbow Ruiri Resort (the have a website if you want to check them out). By Kenyan standards it is a VERY nice hotel, by ours, it's a pretty nice hotel. The rooms are clean, the bathrooms have hot water and great water pressure. The staff is beyond accommodating. To give you an example, I mentioned in the last post that we arrived pretty late. By the time we got to the hotel it was midnight local time. The kitchen staff had stayed two hours past closing time to make sure there was hot food waiting for us! I don't care how many stars your hotel has, that just doesn't happen in the US. The desk clerk actually helped Dave set up a cell phone tonight - not her job, but she just wanted to help. I am in awe of how helpful they are - customer service that too many establishments I've been at recently could really learn from.
It was during that first midnight meal that I was introduced to Tusker. Tusker is a local beer with a big elephant on the label. It comes in 16 oz bottles, at least at our hotel, and is really quite good. Smooth and refreshing. Seeing as you can't drink the water, I've found that Tusker is a reasonable substitute! It's light like a Coors light, but it actually has flavor.
It was during that first midnight meal that I was introduced to Tusker. Tusker is a local beer with a big elephant on the label. It comes in 16 oz bottles, at least at our hotel, and is really quite good. Smooth and refreshing. Seeing as you can't drink the water, I've found that Tusker is a reasonable substitute! It's light like a Coors light, but it actually has flavor.
By the time dinner was done and everyone wound down, it was 2am local and I had been going for roughly 40 hours straight. I remember thinking that I was going to have a hard time falling to sleep in the strange bed, in the strange place, but that thought lasted about 30 seconds and the next thing I knew, it was time to get up.
Something I'll have to discuss in the next post is the shower situation. Yes, I have a shower, but no, it has no shower curtain. I've been using a hand held sprayer to wash my kids for years, but I never actually though about having to spray myself without a shower curtain!
Arriving in Kenya
We finally arrived in Nairobi at 11pm local time. The delay in Amsterdam definitely made it a late night. Flying into Nairobi at night really robbed us of the chance to see the city and the airport, post-fire. It doesn't take long to see that things are a little off kilter.
We disembarked via a set of stairs directly to the tarmac. We, and the other 400 people on the plane mulled around for a few minutes until they shuttled us to the receiving area by bus. I call it a receiving area, but it's really a tent. Imagine 400 people shuffling into a tent at 1130 pm to go through "customs". Honestly, it wasn't the weirdest airport I'd traveled through, I flew out of a Regional airport in Costa Rica that was a glorified car port! Everyone had a decent sense of humor about it and the constant odor of burnt stuff reminded us why we were in a tent.
After paying $50 for the right to enter the country (they call it a Visa, but I didn't anything about bonus miles, credit limits or interest rates), we are herded to another tent that opens out to a large darkened area. Suddenly a single light goes on and they tell us to find our bags. All 400 of us look out across a small parking lot at a sea of baggage. All the bags from the flight are arranged in loose rows, in a darkened lot waiting for us to find and claim our own. Mayhem ensues.
I immediately found 3 of our 12 bags,but my hands were already full, it was pitch black and the rest of the crew had dispersed to my left. I called for David, he didn't answer. I left the bags to go find someone, trying to maintain my bearings and the location of the bags I had already found. David appeared out of the darkness and pointed me towards where Kevin and John were. Slowly, over the next 10 minutes we rounded up the bags. Literally, as we added the last 2 bags to our pile, someone thought it would be a great idea to turn on the lights! A bunch of trailer mounted spot lights switched on and we could finally see everything...that we had already found!
I have pictures of the madness that I'll post as soon as we get a better internet connection. More to come on the interesting first night in Kenya.
We disembarked via a set of stairs directly to the tarmac. We, and the other 400 people on the plane mulled around for a few minutes until they shuttled us to the receiving area by bus. I call it a receiving area, but it's really a tent. Imagine 400 people shuffling into a tent at 1130 pm to go through "customs". Honestly, it wasn't the weirdest airport I'd traveled through, I flew out of a Regional airport in Costa Rica that was a glorified car port! Everyone had a decent sense of humor about it and the constant odor of burnt stuff reminded us why we were in a tent.
After paying $50 for the right to enter the country (they call it a Visa, but I didn't anything about bonus miles, credit limits or interest rates), we are herded to another tent that opens out to a large darkened area. Suddenly a single light goes on and they tell us to find our bags. All 400 of us look out across a small parking lot at a sea of baggage. All the bags from the flight are arranged in loose rows, in a darkened lot waiting for us to find and claim our own. Mayhem ensues.
I immediately found 3 of our 12 bags,but my hands were already full, it was pitch black and the rest of the crew had dispersed to my left. I called for David, he didn't answer. I left the bags to go find someone, trying to maintain my bearings and the location of the bags I had already found. David appeared out of the darkness and pointed me towards where Kevin and John were. Slowly, over the next 10 minutes we rounded up the bags. Literally, as we added the last 2 bags to our pile, someone thought it would be a great idea to turn on the lights! A bunch of trailer mounted spot lights switched on and we could finally see everything...that we had already found!
I have pictures of the madness that I'll post as soon as we get a better internet connection. More to come on the interesting first night in Kenya.
Amsterdam
Yes, we got to travel through Amsterdam. Unfortunately, we weren't there long enough to have fun in Amsterdam. Basically, we sat in the airport, ate terrible airport food and boarded our plane.
In perfect airline practice,they got us on board AND THEN found a problem with engine #2. We sat on the tarmac, on the plane, for 2 hours while they did something or other. The good news is that it was the best (and only) sleep most of us got for that 24 hour period. I say most of us because Ken and Kevin are afflicted with the odd, yet superhuman ability to sleep...anywhere...anytime. (pictures will follow)
They both enjoy the superpower, but are forced to activate it in completely different ways. Kenny uses a hooded sweatshirt: the hood is slowly brought over his head and magically and nearly instantly he is sent to LaLa land. Kevin, on the other hand, simply rocks his head back, closes his eyes and he is gone. After witnessing the powers a number of times now, I am convinced that it is Kevin's vast experience that allows him to use his superpower without a prop. Ken, once he has practiced for years to hone his craft, will likely be able to find slumber without using his hood. He is diligently learning from the master for the near future. We are all trying to be as supportive as we can!
In perfect airline practice,they got us on board AND THEN found a problem with engine #2. We sat on the tarmac, on the plane, for 2 hours while they did something or other. The good news is that it was the best (and only) sleep most of us got for that 24 hour period. I say most of us because Ken and Kevin are afflicted with the odd, yet superhuman ability to sleep...anywhere...anytime. (pictures will follow)
They both enjoy the superpower, but are forced to activate it in completely different ways. Kenny uses a hooded sweatshirt: the hood is slowly brought over his head and magically and nearly instantly he is sent to LaLa land. Kevin, on the other hand, simply rocks his head back, closes his eyes and he is gone. After witnessing the powers a number of times now, I am convinced that it is Kevin's vast experience that allows him to use his superpower without a prop. Ken, once he has practiced for years to hone his craft, will likely be able to find slumber without using his hood. He is diligently learning from the master for the near future. We are all trying to be as supportive as we can!
Friday, August 9, 2013
Embarking!
After braving the monsoon (more on that later) and spending the better part of an hour getting out of Newburgh, we arrived at JFK.
From there, it would be expected that we would spend hours checking our 12 bags of teaching supplies and fire gear, parking cars, finding and navigating TSA security and marching to the gate. All total, it was about a half hour for all of the above. In fact, at the hour mark, we are enjoying adult beverages and Buffalo Wild Wings at the gate!
Roughly an hour to take off. Once I have my laptop up and running I'll make a more detailed post.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
One thing after another!
The lead up for this trip has been one hurdle after another! This trip was originally supposed to happen in January. One little hitch after another has pushed it back to August. Let's take a moment to chronicle the hitches:
- Money - funding has and will continue to be an issue for this and almost every trip like it. As I stated earlier, in the end, the Kenyans themselves are footing the bill for our travel and accommodations. Each of our employers has granted us some type of time off to make this happen. Available funding was definitely the first set back, and drove the January launch back to late spring/early summer.
- Money...again - Spring became summer, and early summer became mid-summer, and still Dave and the crew at NYC Medics struggled to put together the roughly $15,000 needed to get us all to Kenya. We knew that KCEMT had some funds, but it wasn't clear how much of the trip they could cover. Around this time, a large East Coast hospital system, known for research and humanitarian work around the world, stepped up and unofficially offered to cover the entire trip.
- Money revisited - The hospital pulled out...sort of. I think a better explanation would be that they turtle-headed: they were in, they were out, they were in, they were out, they stayed out. Up to two weeks prior to the departure date, we thought they were still in, but they officially and unequivocally said they would not be funding us, leaving the Kenyans to come up with the money...which they did!
- My anniversary - I know this sounds like a strange hurdle, but as it turns out, my 10th wedding anniversary on the 9th of August. When I was asked about my availability to travel, I said "any time after the 9th". Our original departure date was set for the 10th (Happy Anniversary Baby!), but, due to forces outside our control, and in order to save over $2000, we had to switch the departure date to the 9th (Double Happy Anniversary Honey!!). To be clear, and for the world to hear, Mrs. Goldstein was already aware that this was a possibility and despite a dirty look, offered zero argument to the new travel plan. Dave, to his credit, realized the gravity of the situation, and thought the trip was doomed right up until he spoke to me. Problem solved, tickets bought.
- Carry on only! - This may have only been a problem for me, but some folks might find it humorous and I'm certainly not above self-deprecating humor. So, Dave says to me, "You can only take carry on bags." I'm thinking, 10-days, Africa, how the hell am I getting everything I need for 10 days into a bag that's roughly 20"x14"x9"? This is further complicated by the fact that the only official carry on bag we own is my wife's bright orange roll around bag. So this is where I have to make a confession, I'm a bit of a bag addict and I'm VERY snobby about the bags that I'm addicted to. First thing is, there's no friggin way I'm gallivanting through international airports with a bright orange bag in tow. I'm vain, there it is, I said it; simply not going to happen. (It's worth noting that Mrs. Goldstein does not share my zealous search for the perfect bag for each occasion and has NO problem telling me that I'm insane about it). After an exhaustive, internet search, interviews with other international travelers I know, field recon at Eastern Mountain Sports and careful calculation of the airspeed of an African Swallow, unladen of course, I determined that the Osprey Porter 46 was the bag of choice. My parent generously agreed to help me purchase the bag and in my mind, that box is checked. Further "debate" with my wife revealed deeply seeded issues with my self-professed psychosis. Only after offering to model the new bag, and show her just how perfect it is, given my body shape, packed volume, and need to be agile while in transit did she agree to stop calling me "ridiculous". I'm pretty sure she still thinks I'm a lunatic, but I got her to stop saying it out loud!
- Let's get crazy!!!!!! - No, this is not a reference to my bag fetish (is it really a fetish? I'l have to look that one up). traveling to sub-Saharan Africa requires one to consider the presence of malaria-carrying mosquitoes. To avoid all the fun associated with the blood infection, one has to take an anti-malarial medication. Larium is probably the most popular drug for this and was recommended to me. Larium has some known side effects, most of which are attributed to every drug the FDA approves: stomach ache, nausea, vomiting, headache, flu-like symptoms, etc. Facts of life dictate that you deal with the side effects to avoid the fun associated with a blood infection! So, I get my Larium and set about taking the initial dose a week before we leave. Knowing it has some GI impacts, I decide to see if anyone has posted whether it's better to take it with food or on an empty stomach. And what, pray tell, do I discover? 6 days prior, the FDA issued a Black Label Warning on Larium! Apparently, there's a fairly high instance of psychiatric and behavioral side effects known to accompany taking Larium, simple issues like depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, twitches. These symptoms may be short term and have been documented to last months and years after the drug was taken. I immediately called Dave to let him know (he was the nice guy who said, "Take the Larium, it's great, it works...no big deal." I have since been seriously reevaluating some the other advice he has given me over the years!!) In an effort to avoid long term psychiatric disorders, no matter how much fun they might be for my wife, I decided to go with another anti-malarial. Maloram has to be taken daily, rather than weekly, but it has almost no side effects and only has to be taken 7 days after returning from the trip instead of 4 weeks.
- Damn terrorists - Thinking we had hit some smooth sailing going into the last week before departure was a huge mistake. Just when everything started falling into place, the US Governments controversial electronic surveillance programs help uncover some sort of terrorist plot out of Yemen. The State Department issue travel warnings and closes Embassies, the military goes on alert, Predator drones start crisscrossing the Middle East and we throw our hands in the air! I mean, REALLY? The threat is deemed to be primarily in and around the Middle East and or North Africa and does not even remotely involve Kenya...but REALLY? Anxiety levels spike, but no plans are changed..yet.
- NYS Vehicle and Traffic Law Section 600 - What does the NYS V&T law for a hit and run accident have to do with our trip to Kenya? When a low level diplomat out of the US Embassy in Nairobi hits and kills a Kenyan father of 3, claims diplomatic immunity and is whisked out of the country over-night, this present a minor complication for the other Americans, without diplomatic immunity, traveling to the area. I have no clue what the details of the accident are, and I'm not suggesting fault, liability or responsibility, but it sure don't look good!
- The final straw! -
You just can't make this shit up! As if everything previously discussed isn't complicating enough, two days before we leave, the International Arrivals Building at the airport we're flying into burns to the ground! The irony of the fire happening days before we deploy fire instructors to the area is unrelenting. No official cause announced so far. Fortunately, there's no indication that it has anything to do with the "Damn Terrorists" bit above.From here, we wait to see what happens next. Dave is afraid that some new strain of deadly virus will be uncovered in the resort we're staying at. I'm past that and looking for alien space ships!
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