Kennady

The words I always knew I would have to say. Ken died this morning. These last few weeks have been such a struggle for him as it became obvious he was losing the battle. His lungs were worse and worse, he was losing weight and losing the will to fight. Everything from eating to finding a comfortable position to breathing was getting harder and harder. One night he vomited all over his sweatshirt, but his IV was threaded through the sleeve. In order to take the sweatshirt off I had to disconnect the IV. Just as I got the IV apart the power went out. Had to do the rest by flashlight. He looked at me and said this is all too hard. Last Thursday night he was moved to the sick room with round the clock nursing care. On Friday they put another NG (down the nose to the stomach) tube in, over his very strenuous objections. The kids called it his pipe. Over the weekend the doctor that was covering for Nyumbani was from the UK. On Saturday she and I developed a tube feeding schedule so he was finally getting consistent nourishment. On Sunday she looked at his last 3 chest xrays and determined that he was suffering from TB. He was being treated for it when he came last January, completed treatment in June, but his August x-ray was clear that the TB had not been succesfully treated. While on the one hand it was bad news, the treatment would now have to be second line and he would need an injection everyday and where on his poor body would we put it? But, now we had the reason for the failure to thrive and the horrendous lung status. We felt he finally had a chance. Until this morning.
He was awake all night and very restless. I left Nyumbani early in the pouring rain to go help at one of the slum clinics. Shortly after arriving I got a call that he was worse, talking about dying, about his family, hallucinating and his breathing was deteriorating. I left the clinic and tried to get back as soon as I could, not an easy task in the pouring rain and traffic jams. He told Mercy, the Kenyan nurse, that he wanted to go back to his home, that nobody was there, he had seen both his parents and his brother die, but he wanted to be put in his bed and we shouldn't worry, he wouldn't be afraid. Mercy told him that we didn't have transport so then he asked Mum Terry to take him back to the cottage. While she was carrying him back he said "I'm not going to make it, I'm too sick. But John and George will make it." She brought him into the cottage and he looked all around, she laid him down, he was wrapped in the fleece blanket my niece Elizabeth made, his favorite one, wearing his watch from Susanne that he never took off with his DC sweatshirt next to him, and within a few minutes he died.
I arrived about a half hour later. Sr. Julie saw me coming down the driveway and came to meet me and I knew. I spent the rest of the day in the sickroom with his body. Some of the kids came in to say good bye. His best friend, Ignatius, is really struggling. One of the sweetest moments I have had here is one day we took the kids to a movie. Ken and Ignatius were walking down the hallway talking when Ken stopped because he was too tired to go on. Without breaking stride Ignatius bent down picked him up, put him on his hip and carried him, all the time they kept talking. They're the same age. This is what friends do. Ignatius would bring a bike over to the cottage and put Ken on the seat and ride him around the compound.
Ken loved the Nyumbani drivers, he told me once when he grew up he was going to be a driver and drive to Mombasa. He loved going for rides in the cars. This week we received 2 new trucks from USAID and Rotary Club. When it came time to take him to the mortuary we wrapped him up and laid him in the back seat of the new extended cab pick up truck. We all thought it was fitting his last ride was in the new truck he was so excited about. With one of his favorite drivers.
The kindness to me today from the staff was so touching. They would say sorry when they saw me and thank me for the care I gave him. Mum Gladys, who is in charge of laundry, saw how my only pair of khaki pants were covered to the knees in red mud from my frantic trip back. She took them and washed them and got all the mud out. The kids see so much loss, we are reassuring them that they are strong and healthy. I am so glad I'm here for the Cottage D kids. I told many of them, we've all been sad today. I have spent so much time with Ken these last few weeks, hours with him wrapped in his fleece blanket on my lap, how truly lucky I am.
His whole family is gone, I can't even fathom that. He didn't know his birthday,always said he was "tweleve." (pronounced just like that). He weighed 11kg when he died.
When I first arrived I gave Ken his Cottage D We are Family t-shirt, he had just arrived a few days before. He had never gotten a present before, his whole body was trembling with excitement. It was huge on him so he tucked it all in his pants. he had a smile that knocked your socks off, could be crabbier than anyone I ever met, could dance like you wouldn't believe. And he felt all of your love.
One of his DC aunties, (Ali and her 2 friends, Liz and Farya who he loved) Farya, said he died on the first day of Ramadan, a very blessed day, and that means he has a direct path to God.
Godspeed Ken (in the new truck)