Grateful - Pregnant Molo girl
Grateful
Travel to third world countries always offers a host of humbling experiences and eternal gratitude for the privileged life I lead and the hardships I don't have to endure. None more so than our trip to Lake Turkana in Northern Kenya in 2015.
As we were leaving Molo village on the shores of the lake, we met a young girl, barely into her teens. She was nine months pregnant and setting out to walk (in 42°C / 108°F heat) the 20kms to the nearest 'town', where she was hoping to be able to catch a lift with a truck for the six-hour journey to Maralal, the location of the nearest hospital.
We gave her a lift to the town, and when we dropped her off at the truck stop, I slipped her some money "for the baby". She cried.
Our translator explained that while it may not be a great deal of money to me, the cash I gave her will undoubtedly be the most money she will ever possess, as their society gets by mostly on bartering. He went on to say that what I handed over was the equivalent of a week's wages for a skilled worker such as a teacher - I suppose that would be tantamount to a stranger giving me around £700 in the UK or $1,000 in the US, in which case I'd cry too.
Through our translator she asked my name, announcing that she wanted to name the baby after me. Then it was my turn to cry. We hugged and a brief encounter became a lasting memory.
So if you ever travel to Lake Turkana and come across someone called Grete, you'll know why. I just hope she didn't have a baby boy.
Grateful - Pregnant Molo girl
Grateful
Travel to third world countries always offers a host of humbling experiences and eternal gratitude for the privileged life I lead and the hardships I don't have to endure. None more so than our trip to Lake Turkana in Northern Kenya in 2015.
As we were leaving Molo village on the shores of the lake, we met a young girl, barely into her teens. She was nine months pregnant and setting out to walk (in 42°C / 108°F heat) the 20kms to the nearest 'town', where she was hoping to be able to catch a lift with a truck for the six-hour journey to Maralal, the location of the nearest hospital.
We gave her a lift to the town, and when we dropped her off at the truck stop, I slipped her some money "for the baby". She cried.
Our translator explained that while it may not be a great deal of money to me, the cash I gave her will undoubtedly be the most money she will ever possess, as their society gets by mostly on bartering. He went on to say that what I handed over was the equivalent of a week's wages for a skilled worker such as a teacher - I suppose that would be tantamount to a stranger giving me around £700 in the UK or $1,000 in the US, in which case I'd cry too.
Through our translator she asked my name, announcing that she wanted to name the baby after me. Then it was my turn to cry. We hugged and a brief encounter became a lasting memory.
So if you ever travel to Lake Turkana and come across someone called Grete, you'll know why. I just hope she didn't have a baby boy.