style="font-size:15px;"> Ben accepted her hand but dropped it quickly. “No problem.” His eyes were focused on her left shoulder. After the terse response, he turned away to help Titus with the luggage.
They drove from the airport in the aging Jeep that Mama Joe laughingly assured Leslie was more reliable than it looked. “We’ve had this old Jeep longer than I want to admit. It hasn’t let us down yet, and Titus keeps it running like a clock.”
The terrain around them contrasted starkly with Nairobi. The Jeep bumped and jolted on an unpaved road through a vast savanna. The land was dry and dusty and vegetation consisted primarily of tall brown grass and stunted thornbushes. She recognized flat-topped acacia trees and bottle-shaped baobab trees from the books she had read to prepare for her journey. Some of her earlier unease returned as she studied the surroundings, and she fleetingly wondered if it was too late to go back.
Mama Joe interrupted her brief moment of panic. “We’re only about twelve miles from the landing strip,” she said over the rumble of the Jeep. “We should be at the clinic in about twenty minutes. It’s located a few miles from town, which is a relatively short walk by Kenyan standards.”
They saw no other vehicles, though occasionally they passed locals walking or jogging along the road. The women were conservatively dressed in bright-colored kangas, and most had two or three children in tow. The men wore long, Bermuda-type shorts or khaki slacks and T-shirts. Most wore shoes or leather sandals, but a few were barefoot. Whenever they met someone, without exception, the local people smiled and waved to Mama Joe and Titus.
Dusk was fast approaching when they arrived at the clinic complex and Leslie got her first look at her home for the next six months. She was encouraged and relieved as she examined the fairly large compound in the waning light. There were two main buildings surrounded by an eight-foot cinder-block wall. “Titus and his wife, Naomi, live there,” Mama Joe said as she pointed toward the smaller dwelling. “And the clinic and my apartment are in here.”
The Jeep stopped before the larger building—a long, low, sturdy structure. A slender Kenyan woman with short graying hair and excellent posture had come out of the clinic and waited on the covered, screened porch.
“This is Naomi,” Mama Joe said with sincere affection as she stepped up to the porch. “Naomi has been nursing with me for more than a decade. The clinic couldn’t operate without her.”
Naomi was obviously pleased but embarrassed by Mama Joe’s praise as she shook Leslie’s hand. She was wearing what Leslie later learned was a Kenyan nurse’s uniform: a blue-striped dress with a white collar and apron. “I am very much looking forward to working with you,” she said shyly. Her velvety brown eyes were friendly, and Leslie liked her immediately.
“In addition to Naomi,” Mama Joe told her, “the clinic employs a bookkeeper and receptionist named Elizabeth, and a woman named Agnes who helps with cleaning, cooking and laundry. They’ve already gone for the day, but you’ll meet them early tomorrow.”
Mama Joe turned to open the freshly painted screen door and stood to one side. “Well, this is it.” She flipped on a light and invited Leslie in. “It’s nothing fancy, but it works.”
The arrangement reminded Leslie of pictures she had seen of clinics from the 1950s. The large waiting area held a receptionist’s desk, tall filing cabinets and rows of neatly arranged chairs; the open, airy room smelled of bleach and alcohol. The worn but spotlessly clean linoleum creaked a little as she wandered over to one of the large, curtainless windows.
“There are three examination rooms on this side of the building,” Mama Joe explained as she led Leslie to the back of the main room. She opened a door to reveal a small room furnished with an examining table, and she pointed out a glass-and-metal cabinet against the far wall. “Each exam room has a locked cabinet, which holds our supplies and medications. In the hall is a large storage closet where we keep other equipment and items that we don’t use as frequently.”
Leslie skimmed the contents of the cabinet and found it to be well stocked. Bottles and jars of medications were clearly marked. Boxes of exam gloves, dressing materials, suture sets and similar supplies took up the middle shelves, while disinfectants and cleaning implements were neatly lined up on the bottom. “This looks great, Mama Joe.”
Leslie followed the two women through a door at the rear of the clinic into the living quarters. A generous kitchen with a small eating area took up one side of the apartment; on the other side were a 1960s-era bathroom and two bedrooms. “Our electricity comes from propane tanks and generators that are located behind the clinic,” Mama Joe explained as she showed Leslie around the homey, nicely provisioned kitchen.
Leslie nodded appreciatively. “I must admit I’m relieved to know that everything looks pretty normal.” She grinned a little sheepishly. “I was afraid that things would be a lot more primitive—like cooking over campfires.”
Mama Joe and Naomi laughed. “We have to be fairly modern,” Mama Joe explained. “In addition to holding my milk and eggs, the refrigerator is needed for some of our medications and vaccines, and we need electricity to filter water and run the autoclave.” Her smile faded. “AIDS is such a threat, we have to be able to sterilize equipment. Later on I’ll introduce you to the generators and water filtration system.”
Titus entered the kitchen carrying Leslie’s bags and proceeded toward the two bedrooms, which were accessed through a short hall off the kitchen. “Titus and Naomi have been working for over a week to get your room ready.” Mama Joe gestured for Leslie to follow him, and under her breath she whispered, “I hope you like blue!”
The warning was appropriate. Titus set her bags down in a room with cinder-block walls that had been painted a soft blue. Blue-and-white gingham curtains adorned the windows, and the single bed was covered with a lightweight blue cotton spread.
“How did you know that blue is my favorite color? This is wonderful!” Leslie exclaimed as she gave Titus and Naomi a smile of thanks and shook their hands in appreciation. She managed to suppress a grin as she looked around the baby-blue room, grateful they hadn’t chosen pink.
As Leslie lifted one of her bags onto the bed and started to unpack, Mama Joe pointed to the mosquito netting hanging from a hook above the bed. “Other than vigilant attention to HIV precautions and the water filtration system, using that net is probably the most important thing to remember. Long-termers don’t generally use drugs to prevent malaria because of the side effects. Instead, we rely on insect spray and nets. If, God forbid, we do get malaria, we just treat it.”
Leslie nodded, studying the netting. “I’ll be careful.” She hung several shirts in the small closet. “Have you had malaria?”
“Yes, a couple of times. It’s not fun, but with the right antibiotics, we can treat it quickly and effectively. But always sleep with the net.... Oh, and another thing. It’ll help keep the spiders away.” Mama Joe turned to walk toward the kitchen. “While you unpack, I’ll come up with something for supper.”
Leslie frowned as she watched the retreating nurse. Glancing warily around the room, she whispered, “Spiders?”
* * *
LESLIE’S FIRST DAY in the clinic was a trial by fire. Over a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and fruit, Mama Joe outlined the course of a normal day. “Titus opens the compound gates at seven. There are almost always people waiting. We have some scheduled appointments, but most patients are walk-ins.” She took a bite of toast. “Once or twice a week we’ll get calls on the telephone or radio to assist people
