Young Widows of Chiga
Parham and I accompany Elizabeth of Heaventrax to Chiga to complete medical histories and physical exams on the young widows. These women, between 22 and 45-years-old, are HIV positive. A cat walks the ceiling beam overhead as I talk with the young women through a translator. The translator, a mother of five, is holding her one-month-old baby girl, who is healthy and adorable. She breastfeeds when the baby makes fussing noises and continues to translate while pulling her breasts in and out of her shirtwaist dress. Our translator was widow seven months ago, but she has a new husband because she was inherited by her dead husband's brother. She reports not having had sex with her new husband yet. Today, we learn the Luos celebrate a child's birth by having sex soon after the woman gives birth, sometimes within three days of birth. Couples are being educated about the dangers of sexual intercourse to the new mother and they are being encouraged to wait at least four weeks. In this culture, however, men make all the decisions about when and how often they'll have sex, if they'll use birth control (pro-fertility, valuing many children, is common in Luoland) and if additional wives will be taken.
We also learn sex is part of many rituals important to Luos. For instance, when a couple moves into a new home, the husband must spend the first night at the house with his wife. When crops are planted, they mark the occasion by having sex. When its harvest time, they have sex. For a culture that is so sexual, you certainly can't tell it by their conservative dress and manners. Men and women do not hold hands or show other signs of affection in public. It's extremely common to see two men walking through town holding hands, or having an entire conversation with their four hands clasped together. But men and women simply do not touch in public.
In Chiga, I record vital signs and medical histories on eight young women. Parham manages to examine seven of the women. Priscah, the last woman I interview, tells me about her complaints, which are common; headache, pain in her shoulder (which Parham thinks is bursitis and may require surgery) and sores on her feet.
The ladies have brought us cold sodas and cookies. Priscah and I complete her history and relax on the couch, eating cookies, until Parham is ready to examine her. I ask her about being hospitalized last August with Typhoid. She said they wanted to test her for HIV while she was in the hospital and she agreed. Her husband died in 1999 from AIDS and she had avoided being tested. Priscah leans forward, her elbows on her knees as she looks intently at her cuticles. In a soft voice, she says, “I waited for the results and when the doctor came into the room, he told me I was positive.” Her eyes moisten. Priscah is the first woman to describe how she learned of her status. She's the first one to show emotional pain and fear. Most Kenyans are stoic/numb about life's hardships. It's difficult to see this woman of 35, who has five children, grapple with the fact she is HIV positive. So I let her talk, what little she wants to share, and I simply nod.
Priscah wants to take the blood count test, so she'll qualify for ART, Antiretroviral Therapy. The drugs are given free by the Kenyan government, but only to people with counts at 200 or below. Only people in later stages of the disease have counts less than 200, so even if Priscah can come up with the 1,000 shillings ($12 USD) for the test, if the count isn't low enough, she won't get the free drugs. Then she's just given up 1000 very valuable shillings for nothing. Most people in Chiga live on less than 100 shillings per day (less than $1 UDS/per day), so 1000 shillings is a great deal of money. This woman has five children to care for. Five children she would like to see grow up. Free drugs, but only for the really sick.
When we leave, the women are sitting outside the mud house. They all stand and shake our hands and tell us “thank you” in Luo. Priscah asks when I'll be back and I tell her in the next week or two. She says, “Good. You look beautiful to me.”
“You look beautiful to me, too,” I say as I turn my back on her. I glance around, just a quick peek, to see Priscah and the other ladies smiling and waving, looking healthy for now. And beautiful.
We also learn sex is part of many rituals important to Luos. For instance, when a couple moves into a new home, the husband must spend the first night at the house with his wife. When crops are planted, they mark the occasion by having sex. When its harvest time, they have sex. For a culture that is so sexual, you certainly can't tell it by their conservative dress and manners. Men and women do not hold hands or show other signs of affection in public. It's extremely common to see two men walking through town holding hands, or having an entire conversation with their four hands clasped together. But men and women simply do not touch in public.
In Chiga, I record vital signs and medical histories on eight young women. Parham manages to examine seven of the women. Priscah, the last woman I interview, tells me about her complaints, which are common; headache, pain in her shoulder (which Parham thinks is bursitis and may require surgery) and sores on her feet.
The ladies have brought us cold sodas and cookies. Priscah and I complete her history and relax on the couch, eating cookies, until Parham is ready to examine her. I ask her about being hospitalized last August with Typhoid. She said they wanted to test her for HIV while she was in the hospital and she agreed. Her husband died in 1999 from AIDS and she had avoided being tested. Priscah leans forward, her elbows on her knees as she looks intently at her cuticles. In a soft voice, she says, “I waited for the results and when the doctor came into the room, he told me I was positive.” Her eyes moisten. Priscah is the first woman to describe how she learned of her status. She's the first one to show emotional pain and fear. Most Kenyans are stoic/numb about life's hardships. It's difficult to see this woman of 35, who has five children, grapple with the fact she is HIV positive. So I let her talk, what little she wants to share, and I simply nod.
Priscah wants to take the blood count test, so she'll qualify for ART, Antiretroviral Therapy. The drugs are given free by the Kenyan government, but only to people with counts at 200 or below. Only people in later stages of the disease have counts less than 200, so even if Priscah can come up with the 1,000 shillings ($12 USD) for the test, if the count isn't low enough, she won't get the free drugs. Then she's just given up 1000 very valuable shillings for nothing. Most people in Chiga live on less than 100 shillings per day (less than $1 UDS/per day), so 1000 shillings is a great deal of money. This woman has five children to care for. Five children she would like to see grow up. Free drugs, but only for the really sick.
When we leave, the women are sitting outside the mud house. They all stand and shake our hands and tell us “thank you” in Luo. Priscah asks when I'll be back and I tell her in the next week or two. She says, “Good. You look beautiful to me.”
“You look beautiful to me, too,” I say as I turn my back on her. I glance around, just a quick peek, to see Priscah and the other ladies smiling and waving, looking healthy for now. And beautiful.
posted by Cindi at 10:14 AM
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