Trailing: A Memoir by Kristin Louise Duncombe

Author:Kristin Louise Duncombe [Duncombe, Kristin Louise]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781621108511
Publisher: CreateSpace
Published: 2012-05-20T00:00:00+00:00

Tano wanted to wait to reveal my pregnancy, at least until I was three months along. But I just couldn’t keep it to myself and announced the news immediately. It seemed to cheer everyone up, something to feel happy about in spite of the collective trauma of the bomb blast. Mama Florence, in particular, clucked around me, fluffing my pillows and scolding me for not eating correctly.

“Your baby is hungry, Madam,” she’d say, each time she saw me press fresh carrots into juice.

Or “Madam, baby needs food,” when she’d watch me slather peanut butter on whole wheat bread.

She wanted to feed me ugali. It was pure carbohydrate and had little nutritional value. But it filled the belly and was popularly considered “real” food. To make her happy, I grew accustomed to having several bowls a day.

Pregnancy infused me with a new sense of fortitude, as though the child growing inside would protect me from all violent crime with an invisible hormonal shield. Hence, after a few weeks of idly lying around (while Tano seemed to be slaving away more than ever), I decided that I should do something. And this is how I ended up in the back of Charles’ taxi one afternoon, headed towards the offices of Childlife Trust, in downtown Nairobi.

Childlife Trust’s main objective was to solicit and distribute donations to slum children. The Charity was housed in the storage space above the headquarters of a well-to-do paper products company called Kensta, whose managing director was a gorgeous Indian man called Anoop Shah. The Project Coordinator at the time was a young Kenyan woman named Rachel, who offered me her position ten minutes into our meeting.

“I’ve been accepted into a three months program at Nairobi University,” she said eying my still small belly. “You could take over while I go to school.”

It all felt a bit hasty, but why not? I shook her hand in agreement.

“Regarding donations, we never have enough to give to everyone that needs,” she continued. “But if we have a muzungu working here, we will certainly receive more contributions from foreigners.”

Now I understood why she wanted me, no questions asked. Widespread corruption had discouraged aid agencies from giving money to institutions like Childlife. With an expatriate involved, they might think there was less risk of abuse.

The ambiance at Childlife Trust was sometimes chaotic, an unmanageable number of idle volunteers hanging around the office, getting in the way of those who actually had something to do. Sometimes I didn’t know who “worked” there and who was part of the steady stream of people coming through the doors all day long, looking for donations for their group.

The number of requests became overwhelming. We just didn’t have that much inventory to distribute. Then it dawned on me that what we were lacking in material goods we could make up for with health education. I devoted my time to training the volunteers in basic counseling skills and the fundamentals of HIV prevention. For the first time since leaving the Teenage Clinic I felt truly useful.

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