Vaccination is about money… and nothing else

Vaccination is about money… and nothing else

I had had an argument with a colleague over the validity of yellow fever vaccinations, where I insisted that it was a ten-year thing, while the colleague swore that it was a lifetime thing.  We would put argument to the test when she produced her yellow booklet while I did mine.  And as sure as global warming, her vaccination was for life, while mine was for 10-years – same vaccinations, and even a similar vaccine batch!

That would mark the start of my troubles.  I usually like to have that YF vaccination upto date just in case of a travel, especially to our stubborn neighbours in the name of TZ and ET.  Those two can even deport you on the next available plane/vessel if you do not have or have a faulty YF vaccination certificate.  Why can’t they be like our good neighbor, UG, where you just match in even with your Kenyan ID with no questions asked?

Anyway, I finally I decided to validate the expired vaccination.  I wanted that time limit cancelled and a new ‘forever’ limit added.  I had read the WHO website on vaccinations and they had said as much, that YF vaccination is forever and there is no booster or repeat vaccination necessary.  You get it once; you are done with it.

I visited a vaccination centre at Adams Arcade to get the extension done on Tuesday, August 30, 2022.

“I have come to extend an expired yellow fever,” I told the receptionist, showing the yellow booklet and pointing to the ’10-year’ wordings indicated next to the 2011 date stamp.  Three or four people sat at the waiting area just next to the reception, on this clinic that had been converted from a one-storey residential quarters.

“Did you get it here?”

“No, Aga Khan, Parklands”

“We only deal with our own vaccinations”

“So?”

I was directed to Parklands where that batch originated.  I took a taxi and was at Parklands in about 20-minutes.  We conversed with the cab driver briefly about the ongoing supreme court battle over the challenge of the presidential election results.  We both agreed that the dueling sides should have this matter won at this round.  A second round would be a bigger quagmire with no guarantees to either side.

I reached Parklands around one-thirty.  The vaccination centre was just next to Mediheal hospital ten years ago.  Now the place was completed changed, with a new imposing brick building and an equally impossible gate and pedestrian access.

“I have come for vaccination,” I told the sentry.

“Go across,” she pointed to the main hospital across the road.

“But I was vaccinated here?”

“Sorry, this is now the medical school”

I crossed the road reluctantly.  I was sure that there was just something that was not right, but I could not put a finger to it.  I was soon at the reception desk opposite the road.

“Where is the vaccination centre?”

“It was closed”

“So?”

“So you have to get the vaccination elsewhere”

“But I need an extension?”

“Sorry, we closed”

What a good Tuesday I was having!  I soon called back the very same taxi that had dropped me and asked him to take me back to Adams.  He was still around and he agreed to take me back.  I was back to the same Adams vaccination centre hardly an hour since I was there last.  I found a new person at the reception.  I explained to him that I had come to have the YF vaccination extended to lifetime.

“Were you vaccinated here?”

For crying out loud!  I have been through this already!

“No,” I handed him the booklet to read for himself.

He proceeded to fill in some details from the booklet onto their computer systems and told me to sit and wait.  He did not tell me as to what was to happen next.  I even assumed that he was just confirming that I could get the extension, until….

“Go upstairs, door to the left.”

What for?  I thought of asking, but did not.

I matched upstairs.  I already know the profile of such quarters since my regular dental provider also took up the next quarters and I have been up such stairs in that side of the building many times.  I found two ladies and a gentleman seated at the head of the table, in this once bedroom of the quarters.  I took the seat opposite.

“We can only renew our own vaccinations,” the gent in white overcoat started.

“But I was vaccinated already!”

“Yes, but we did not issue that batch, so we cannot confirm”

“But the booklet already says that I got that vaccination!?”

“We can only renew our own, sorry”

“So what are my options?”

“Are you ready to pay?”

Soon one of the ladies, also in white overcoat approached my sitting position with a small stainless steel medical dish.  I could see in it a small vial and about an inch-long needle affixed to an equally small syringe.

“Roll up your left sleeve,” she instructed.  I did.

She made a kind-of-pinch on the top part of my arm and proceeded to prick up and inject.

“Go can go and pay downstairs,” the gent handed me a small paper on which he had scribbled on something that I did not understand, nor care.  I soon paid some KShs.4,200 by MPESA and was back to the first floor with the receipt.

I got my yellow booklet and confirmed that I had a second entry of yellow fever vaccination with a ‘lifetime’ time stamp.

This was the most unnecessary vaccination that I have ever had in life, but a rubberstamp can be costly, trust me.  I was so absent minded over this whole episode that I even failed to give much thought of the eatery where I went subsequently at the same Adams centre.  The upstairs sitting area had a ‘mind your head’ warning that turned out to be the only true one that I have ever seen.  The concrete ceiling was so low that I had to walk while bending down low to get to my sitting area.  I could easily touch the ceiling even from my seating position.  Then the sitting stools were toddler size – maybe due to the low ceiling?  How did this place even pass a building inspection? 

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Sept. 1, 2022

Running falsely – is it worth it?

Running falsely – is it worth it?

Yesterday was a memorable Friday.  I left Uthiru at one, got a matatu to Kawangware, and then another one to Adams Arcade.  I had not even settled and taken a breath when I was called into the dental room.  I was ushered straight to the reclining seat that I am now so used to.  There was no time for niceties.  I appreciate that DSes are busy people.  Additionally, I do not like anything that starts with ‘dent’ and I try to give such the minimum of the minimum time available.

I had already seen that dental crown for the few seconds that I had, before being ushered onto the recliner.  It looked so real!  That premolar ‘imposter’ was almost like the real thing.  It had been shaped like a real, had the colour of a real and even had the hardness of a real one when I touched it briefly.

“Let us fix him in there,” the DS said as he probably pointed at the crown, and waved in my direction in my recliner.  I could not see much from my semi-sleeping position.  I was already having on my face that large pair of goggles that I loathe.  Of course, I got to appreciate them soon, when water splatter and some flying debris from all manner of dental works started flying about.

I was now used to this dental chair, in this very room for the last five months.  I had started this in early October 2021.  I was finally ending in in March 2022.  I had second guessed my decision to get this prosthetic into my mouth to fill that gap on the lower jaw, the gap that had been there for over twenty-years with no effect at all.  I was comfortable with that gap as was, after all, it was these same DSes that extracted a premolar from that very spot, when they claimed that it was of no use, rotten, they called it.  Why did they want that gap now filled, when it is them who wanted it created?

The same DSes had now changed their narrative and told me that if that gap remained open, then the upper premolar would progressively grow longer and get into that gap.  This was surely impossible.  The gap had reduced in size as a result of the neighbouring teeth filling it up over time, though the gap still remained.  The upper tooth had grown longer than the rest, but with just a manageable bit, not as exaggerated as the dental surgeons, DSes, were stating.  Anyway, they are the experts.

The discussion to get that gap filled started earlier in 2021.  October just happened to be decision time.  I went for it.  It was more of I had no choice based on the Armageddon that the DSes had promised if that gap stayed for a day longer than October.  It is then that the procedure started.  That is when the implant was drilled into my jawbone in that three-hour operation.  This is already in the public domain, so let me not remind myself of it.

Five months later and here I was on this Friday, finishing what I had started.  A was paying up an instalment of almost 50k in each of those months, all from my pocket, after the insurance had declared such an important treatment as ‘cosmetic’, despite this being something that would be spelling doom to my life.  How can something that affects your life adversely, in the opinion of those who have our lives in their hands, be considered ‘cosmetic’?

Soon the temporary cap that had been affixed on the gum of that gap was unscrewed and the implanted screw exposed.  It was not long before that crown, with a hole brought it, was affixed onto the implanted screw.  A small wrench was fixed onto the small groove on the crown and this fixed the crown into position.  Finally, that groove through the artificial tooth was filled up with some materials, which I just heard them ‘mix it up’, ‘fix the primer’, ‘UV it up’.

Just when I thought they were through and….

“Try to close your mouth and try fit your jaws together,” the doc said.

I tried.

The jaws did not fit!

I could feel the very high level of the prosthesis preventing my already lowered upper premolar from settling onto the lower jaw.  I did not know that the upper and lower jaws have a natural comfortable resting position!  

“I feel a hard thing in the mouth,” I responded.

“OK, let me see,” he tried seeing.

“Bite on this, and move your jaws in a chewing motion,” he continued, after fixing something like a piece of paper into my mouth, on that right side next to the now filled-up gap.

A series of grinding sounds would soon follow.  Each grinding sound would then be followed by that chewing on paper thing, then another examination of that paper, then another round of grinding.  Four repetitions later and, “It is almost comfortable,” I said.

“One more time,” he said, “Get me the diamond,” he instructed the nurse aid.

The nurse gave him something that I did not see.

“This is when we usually need such,” he told the nurse in a manner of education, as he proceeded to fix something to one of the gadgets, but I could not see the motions from my reclined position, which was now completely flat – and I hate flat!

Another round of grinding of both the upper tooth and the new lower crown followed.  When it was done, I did the last chewing motion and all was just about well.  Not exactly OK, since I still felt that something new and hard was in my mouth.  It did not feel like a tooth, more like a piece of stone in my mouth.  The upper tooth was still hitting that new tooth and responding with some uncomfortable knocking sensation.  However, I had to live with it for now.  I just hoped that the strange feeling in the mouth would subside.

Hardly twenty-four hours later and that strange feeling in the mouth is gone!  I hardly feel any new different tooth in the mouth, nor is there a knocking action of the upper tooth onto the lower ceramic.  I feel nothing at all.  I have only experienced a sharp pressure pain once, when I chewed on a tough piece of bone.  Other than that, I am not even sure if there is a new tooth in the mouth.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, March 5, 2022

How long does this take? Of five minutes that turned out to be three hours

How long does this take?  Of five minutes that turned out to be three hours

I had now sat on that chair for exactly one-and-a-half hours.  My mouth had remined open for most of that time.  I was tired by all definitions.  The seat was comfortable alright, but the open mount situation was not.  My mouth muscles were tired.

“Shield him up for the x-ray,” I heard the doc say.

When I say ‘heard’ it is true.  I had been having a face cloth covering throughout the duration.  I could not see much, just the darkness of the blue clothing covering the whole of my face, leaving just a circular slot on the clothing for the position of my mouth.  I was already getting used to the darkness of the cloth covering.  The first relief came about when I was being prepped for the x-ray.

I got the chance to look at the wall clock, hanging above the wide window to my left, after the veil was lifted.  I momentarily observed the traffic flowing along Ngong road.  The Green house building was just on the other side of the road.  It was now exactly one.  

The portable x-ray equipment was brought to my once lying position, as the seat was adjusted back to a seating position.  I had to hold the x-ray reader in my mouth for the process to be done.  I would soon be adorned with the leaded shield sheet for the process to commence.  My mouth stayed open.  My mouth continued being tired of being open for hours.

“Take him back and cover him,” the doc instructed his assistant.

The lady adjusted the seat, and I was once again flat on the seat.  My face was once again covered, leaving only an opening for my mouth.  Some little panic was already setting in as to whether everything was OK.  That x-ray break however gave me some semblance of comfort that I would be done soon.

Truth be told, I had surely convinced myself that this would be a five-minute process.  After all, how long does it take to fix a piece of titanium, hardly two-centimetre high, into one’s gum?  Shouldn’t it just be push in and it is done?  I was wrong….

“We are now halfway done,” the doc updated me when I was back flat.  I was still in the dark due to the face covering.

“That cannot be true!,” I thought of saying.  However, in my darkness and a tired open mouth full of all manner of paraphernalia, I could hardly talk.

I would be lying if I said that there was any pain in this whole process.  None.  The local anesthesia had taken effect about five minutes after administration.  The whole half of my right lower jaw and tongue were numb.  I could only feel the motions of things but not the sensation of pain.  I was just tired and now worried that maybe something was wrong with the whole process.  I was expecting a five minute thing.  I was now in ninety-minutes and just halfway through.

I persevered and survived another three x-ray breaks.  I managed to see the number of blood-stained cotton balls lying on the adjacent table during one of those breaks.  They were bloody!  They were scary!  Could all that have come from my mouth?

That Wednesday had started well.  I already knew that this procedure was happening.  My expectations were however far from reality from the get-go.  I had an eleven o’clock appointment, but I was not called into the medical room until eleven-thirty.  That should have rung the first bell that it was not business as usual.  I have always first taken a seat next to the small desk used by the doc for some preliminary discussions.  This time it was different.  Neither the seats nor the table were there.  The room had all been cleared and instead there were all manner of paraphernalia lying around to occupy such spaces.

“Things are thick!,” I said to myself, as I wondered how to even proceed.

I was immediately ushered onto the dental seat and reclined flat.  The first explanations were that there shall be a full face covering on this day.  This was for purposes of complete sterilization of the mouth area.  This was a first one.  I have always dealt with the dentist ‘face to face’.  This time it would be different.  Other than that, I was told that the process would be as previously explained.  That explanation had been about one month prior.  It was simple enough.  As simple as five minutes in my view.

It was at 2.30pm that I was finally brought back to a sitting position and the face covering removed.  I have never imaged that a small gap of a missing molar on a lower jaw, hardly a centimetre space, could take that much time to deal with.  This same gap was costing me about 0.2M.  And it is a big deal when your bill in charged in millions.  All this was to paid out of pocket as the insurance company had indicated that such a necessary treatment as an exclusion.  

I had even debated on the wisdom of this decision, since the alternative option was to extract the upper molar to equalize this lower gap and be done with.  Such an extraction would be covered by insurance, hence a free issue.  However, it was not too late.  The bill was now payable, the titanium crown holder was now buried in the gum, and the next stage of fitting a top crown on the holding root was to follow after two months.

I almost collapsed with the anticipated pain when I got a prescription of the four painkillers, each to be taken over a period of five days.  I knew that my next five days would be hell on earth!  I had already been warned that cold drinks were out of question for a week, nor were hard foods and any much use of the right jaw in that period.  

The first night on that Wednesday was the most apprehensive.  I took the tablets by nine and went to bed immediately after.  That was four hours earlier that I would normally hit the sack.  I wanted to be immersed in deep sleep by the time the pain hit.  The pain would probably be swallowed by the dreams.  The numbness had already died down by this time, though the pain had not yet started.  I did not take any food on this day, just a glass of warm water.

I was surprised to wake up on Thursday without even a painful disturbance in the night.  Today is a Friday, the second day after my dental issue and I am yet to feel the pain.  I am even wondering whether that dentist did implant anything on my jaw.  I however cannot explain those stitches whose strings I can feel with my tongue on that gap.  Maybe I shall ask the implantologist.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, October 15, 2021

Being conned twice in one run… before running gets cancelled anyway

Being conned twice in one run… before running gets cancelled anyway

Nairobi is not called Nairoberry for nothing.  It lived true to its name today, Friday, March 26, 2021, when I was on my way to Adams arcade.  I took the first matatu at Uthiru and things did not seem right from the moment I stepped into that matatu.  We had the usual social-distanced seating, with a free seat between passengers, before that was quickly overlooked, and the vessel was packed full as usual.

It did not take long before my fears were confirmed.  The conductor would momentarily ask passengers for fare, of which I gave out a one-hundred shillings note.  The recipient did not give me back my seventy-shillings, and so I did beckon him to do so.  He proceeded to give me only twenty-shillings then started an animated conversation with some passenger seated behind him, who was in front of my sitting position at the backseat.  I beckoned him a second time and reminded him that he was yet to give me the full amount.

“Najua nina finje yako, siwezi enda na doo zako, manze,” the ruffian in him responded.  

His eyes were bloodshot red.  His hair was shaggy.  I could have judged him for a bad thug, had it not been for the semblance of dark brown overcoat that he had adorned, which is supposed to be the uniform for matatu crew.  And I wish I could have judged him as much…

We would momentarily reach Kawangware, where he alighted even before the matatu came to a stop and somehow disappeared into thin air.  Three passengers started waiting outside the vehicle, in a manner to suggest that we were waiting for something.  It turned out that we were waiting for our cash balances from the conductor.  

We eventually made him out from the large crowd at Kawangware roadside side as he finally came to our standing position.  He gave the first passenger a fifty and the passenger left.  He gave the lady thirty shillings and gave me twenty shillings.

“Fifty!  Nakudai fifty,” I reminded him.  He looked a bit confused.

The lady told him that what she gave her was not her balance, “Bado hazijafika,” she repeated.

The ruffian would then snatch the monies from the palms of our hands and shove a one-hundred shillings note to the lady.  I was still wondering what was going on, before realizing that he had already run off towards the collection and chaos of matatus and people, while shouting just beyond earshot, “Gawaneni hiyo”

I was just starting to be happy that at least we shall only have to divide the hundred between us, on a fifty-fifty basis, problem solved, when a new twist emerged.

“Yangu ilikuwa seventy!,” the lady lamented, looking at the direction of the conductor, who had by now disappeared forever.

This was now a new territory, because my balance was fifty and the lady was claiming seventy, yet the available money was only one-hundred.

“Jameni!  Yangu ilikuwa seventy!  Sasa nitafanyaje?,” she lamented before me.  We were now just standing next to matatus that were coming and going, with all the chaos of passengers and pedestrians in the mix.

“Sawa, nipe tu thirty,” I volunteered to do with the loss to her benefit.

It did not take long before she started wondering where we shall get loose change.  I would have easily asked for change or even got some from my pockets, but the lady was not making any effort to get loose money, nor willing to part with the one-hundred shillings note

“Kaa tu nayo.  Nilikuwa na haraka,” I gave up and walked on, losing my fifty shillings just like that, to the thuggery of the matatu sector.

I walked about one kilometre on Naivasha road to the Kinyanjui road junction stage next to Midhill hospital where I was to take the next vehicle to Adams.  I survived the very chaotic roadside mess called hawkers, matatus and passersby and was glad to be at that stage ready for my next phase of the travel.  I observed the buses and matatus beckoning the few reluctant passengers at that stage, until my time to take the opportunity came.

“Tao foti, tao foti foti!,” the touts chorused.

We stayed put.

“Tao foti, tao foti foti!,” the touts chorused some more.

We continued staying put.  We wanted better.

One of those touts would soon come to my standing position and whisper almost inaudibly to my ear, “Wewe ingia na thati!”

He showed me the door of the bus, and continued the ‘foti, foti’ chant.

It did not take long before the bus was full.  I would then notice the person who had ushered me in start negotiating for his cut with the real conductor at the door of the bus, before he jumped out of the now speeding bus, almost falling in this process of jumping out.

When my turn to pay came, I gave out the thirty shillings in two coins of twenty and ten.  The conductor looked at the money and stayed put, his hand still stretched, “Gari ni foti!”

“But yule jamaa alisema ni thati?”

“Jamaa gani?  Nimi ndio conda.  Ulinisikia nikisema thati?”

I added another ten shillings without much ado.

I would soon be at Adams, would be soon done with my errands and would travel back without much drama on this return journey.  I had not imagined that I would be conned twice in one day by this matatu industry that has no rules.  I had thought it was ‘softiness’ that had led to the junior runner in training, aka WWB junior, when she reported that a tout had refused to give back her change.  I had not imagined that even fully grown people still suffer similar fates.  I had learnt my lessons.  It is never too late to be conned!

I had already forgotten about the morning, and was planning for my next run set for next Monday, when I heard someone speak loudly along the corridor, just outside my office door, for the benefit of all, that,

“Imagine wame ban masports zote!  Hata vitu kama jogging haziko tena!”

What?

What is going on here?

It did not take long before the communique came in through official channels, that the President of the republic of Kenya had just issued new directives aimed at curbing the spread of the corona virus that causes COVID19.  The measures were drastic, many and immediate.  It was true that sporting activities had been banned, with immediate effect.  The country had been zoned into the red zone of Nairobi, Nakuru, Kajiado, Machakos and Kiambu, and non-red zone of the rest of the country.  The red zone was to go into a new 8.00pm to 4.00am curfew from tomorrow, unlike the 10.00pm to 4.00am in the rest of the country.  

But that was not the clincher – the red zone was now under lockdown with movement in and out of that zone prohibited with immediate effect!  Bars had been closed indefinitely, eateries were to open for takeaway only, employers were directed to allow all workers to work from home, schools and colleges were to close unless they offer online classes (apart from examinations which are to continue as planned), meetings had been banned, religious in-person meetings had been stopped with immediate effect!  Some prohibitions were only for the red zone, such as the issue of bars, eateries and religion.  Vehicles were reminded to carry 60% capacity… bringing back memories of my morning experience just when I thought I had forgotten about it.

This was bad!  

This time I am not seeing the runners surviving even their solo runs.  Let me state what that prohibition on sports state, and you be the judge…. all sporting activities are hereby suspended, similarly operations of sporting and recreational facilities including Members Clubs are suspended until it is otherwise directed.

All this due to this thing that we thought was out of limelight.  This corona virus that causes COVID19.  This very corona that has now affected 126,256,838 worldwide with 2,770,139 deaths and 101,847,640 recoveries.  In Kenya, our numbers now stand at 126,170 infections, 2,092 deaths and 91,268 recoveries.  The first lockdown in March of 2020 was met with fear and uncertainty.  It is now exactly one year later, and we are facing another lockdown with fear and uncertainty.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, March 26, 2021