No Man is an Island

Today I got an urgent facebook alert. One of Tom's colleagues' children has a long term debilitating illness. She's needed a range of blood transfusions, and now she's got severe malaria, so she needs blood platelets, urgently.  But for her to get the blood, her dad needs to rustle up the donors, to give earmarked donations in her name. And you can only give blood every three months, and lots of the likely suspects - friends, colleagues, relations - gave during the last crisis, less than three months ago.

Her dad was coordinating the blood donors from her bedside in intensive care. You don't want too many people on day one, and then no one in reserve for day four. Maybe blood platelets need to be fresh? Or maybe there just aren't the storage facilities at that hospital? 

When I got to the Blood Donor Unit, four of the security company guards from Tom's work were there too. Young, freshfaced, burly lads. We winced together as the needles went in.  Fellow feeling. Chatted and sipped the sugary sodas together afterwards. Ascertained that we were all there to give blood for the same little girl.  And looked on proudly, as her dad came to take away the seven pints of blood that had been collected in her name.

Kenya is a stratified society. We live behind electric fences and razor wire. My guard friends don't. Yes, of course I chat beyond the fence, work with and alongside Kenyans, - but since leaving BigCorporate its rare for me to be the sole mzungu in the room. Certainly rare for us all to be chatting on equal terms, contributing to a joint endeavour, a common purpose, something important which needed the input from each one of us.

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as a manor of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

John Donne

More blogs on this topic
http://www.onthethresholdafrica.blogspot.com/2011/03/bare-necessities.html

The Bare Necessities

If there's one institution (and in fact there are many) that I've learned to truly appreciate during this time in Kenya, its the UK National Health Service. Free health care at the point of delivery. Treatment for those who need it, without assessment of their ability to pay. Rationed, yes. After a wait, ok. Sometimes a postcode lottery. Not a magic wand. But ambitious in its vision, a testimony to what you can choose to do with taxation, and a miracle of our times, of which to be truly proud and for which to give daily thanks.  The freedom which comes from believing that should I, or mine, be struck down by illness, professional help that we can afford will, most often, be offered.

I've been thinking of blood recently.  When we arrived, we filled out forms at Tom's work to join the Walking Blood Bank.  Gave it no further thought. Assumed, vaguely, it might be about access to pre-screened or better nourished blood.  Gradually I've got wiser.

Now I'm in the networks I get regular texts and emails asking whether I'm a specific blood type to give blood. I''ve been a blood donor in UK, it's surely a good thing. But here, in extemis, the appeals are to give earmarked blood, to donate my O+  for my mate, patient B, or a classmate's dad, or the radio appeal beneficiary, patient C, and her alone.  No man is an island and there aren't the storage facilities, or, I think, enough donors. Here you need your network. You need your employment-based Walking Blood Bank. In case of emergency, you may need your O+ mates, the school mums, and their spouses, and their friends and relations, and the Quaker meeting and the book group, and additional Samaritans, and need them not just to bring grapes, or to bring the children home from school, but to turn out and to donate their blood.

Sanitary towels are another big issue. A hidden issue. An embarrassing issue I'd guess for many Kenyan young women.  They aren't cheap - probably 200 KSh - £1.50 for enough for a monthly period. But lots of poorer families in the slums try to live on 75 KSh for the whole family a day.  So girls, young women, older women have to manage without sanitary towels. Try to make do with  leaves, mud or rags.  Many have to miss a week of school a month. Not good for self esteem, health or education.

An Irish women's group goes to some schools in Nairobi's slums and hands out termly sanitary towels to the pupils. Local women's groups make cheaper ones to generate jobs. But they are a drop in the ocean. A friend passed me another appeal recently. For sanitary towels to work, you need knickers. And those who have no sanitary towels, in general have no knickers either. So this other appeal is to donate pants. Not pants for all the month. Just pants to be worn during a period. Parties for panties they suggest. Instead of bring a bottle, bring a pack of pants to donate. I have to say, it's a form of solidarity which appeals.  But like the peace movement saying that you don't see generals holding cake sales to pay for the latest military hardware, pants, sanitary towels, blood they're such basic needs in this country where you see many with plenty as well as extreme poverty.