By the grace of God, I did not lose it on “Roger.” About five weeks ago, this 20-year-old refugee and resident of HAIG dropped off my otoscope head with “a guy” in downtown Nairobi. It just needed the bulb replaced, but the “guy” didn’t know what size bulb to order. Roger left the otoscope head with said individual, which made it difficult for me to determine what size bulb to order. After a call to Welch Allyn though, the determination was made, and I ordered bulbs for my otoscope and ophthalmoscope. They even eventually came in the mail!
Now, fast forward to yesterday. Roger brought me to Nairobi! With the bulbs, bases, and ophthalmoscope head in my backpack-purse, we took a couple of vans to get to the right section of downtown Nairobi. But he didn’t know where he was going, the streets do not consistently have names marked, and who knows if the Google map he kept staring at on his phone was even correct. He did actually stop to ask for directions a few times. In the meantime, I had to follow this tall Ugandan guy who, for all his personal trauma history, had never had to look out for anyone else but himself. It would also appear that nobody ever modeled good communication for him. So, I didn’t necessarily know when he would soon turn or try to cross the street.
While looking down to avoid either falling into a pit or tripping over a hazard that would have any North American city slammed with multiple lawsuits by 9:15 AM, I clutched my Contigo stainless steel water bottle as a weapon in my right hand and my held my phone tightly in my left hand. I stood up straight with my shoulders back and my right shoulder ready to bump or be bumped by the steady stream of pedestrians on the sidewalk. When Roger stepped into the street to cross it, he did not necessarily plan to go at a time that would leave room for the mzungu (white person). Crosswalks do not exist, and 90 percent of the intersections are uncontrolled (no traffic lights). So, you may weave between large buses, vans, and cars. On two occasions, he had started across the street when I did not have enough room, so I waited just off the curb when . . . a van effing backed up without noticing or checking behind. My Contigo came in handy to make a loud noise on the back of the vehicle. They stopped. One guy from the second van that did this came out to yell at me as Roger just turned back lifting his gaze from his phone for a moment. They shared a smile as if to say, “Mzungus . . .” But, without looking, they effing backed up on the G.D. street. You can’t convince me that it was my fault.
Finally, we made it to the place–a small office with medical and surgical supplies on the sixth floor of an office building. They didn’t have my otoscope head. They never had it. Roger says that “the guy” told him to go there to get the otoscope head fixed. He then either tried or pretended to try to contact the guy while we waited. I failed to mention this, but the cost of the transportation for this outing fell to me as the refugees have no money. So, I went to the restroom without toilet paper or soap across the hall while Roger stared at his phone some more.
Fortunately, the owner of the shop, a Sikh man, took pity on me. He very generously gave me a small otoscope that takes AA batteries. At least I could get those at any grocery store. He also gave me a box of nitrile gloves. So, the trip was not a complete waste, but I had ear plugs in and bone conduction headphones on with my eyes closed for much of the way home. The complete sensory overload, the frustration, the wasted time, energy, and money . . . I needed to be alone in my room for awhile after that. I just lay there in the quiet even though I couldn’t sleep.
Roger did not apologize for the fiasco, although his gaze remained down at his hands or on the floor for most of the ride back. A couple of other concerns had previously arisen regarding Roger. I had not seen him at all the weekend before and assumed he had gone out with his friends and stayed with them—as he had already been warned by the HAIG director to never do again or face expulsion the shelter. But, no, he had stayed holed up in his room the whole time. We talked later that evening after the crazy and frustrating trip to Nairobi, and he admitted to being depressed. So, he started on fluoxetine/generic Prozac. Next week, we will start with group PTSD/trauma therapy with women and trans-men and start a men’s group the following week. This community has so much to process, and they need a safe space to learn how to move forward and look toward a brighter future. I will not put Roger in charge of anything at all anytime soon, but he deserves a chance to heal and grow. Frankly, I am honored to be here working in this holy place.
