Sipping a cup of tea while watching the stunning African sunset was both breathtakingly beautiful and comfortingly familiar. The sunset carried that distinct African glow—warm, radiant, and full of life—much like a pregnant woman beaming with the quiet joy and secret of nurturing a little human inside her womb. It was a moment of profound connection to the land, as if nature itself was whispering its timeless stories in hues of gold and amber. Bursts of color danced across the sky, painting it in breathtaking shades of orange, yellow, pink, purple, and gold. The vibrant display stretched endlessly over the vast Laikipia plains, where the rugged beauty of the landscape merged seamlessly with the serenity of the evening. It was a sight that filled the soul with both wonder and peace, a reminder of the raw magnificence of Africa's wilderness.
Laikipia
Laikipia is defined by its vast, undeveloped, and dramatic landscapes, creating a sense of remoteness where wildlife roams freely across unfenced and unfragmented plateaus. From the naturally carved valleys of the crocodile-infested Ewaso Nyiro River to the towering, majestic peaks of Mount Kenya, the region offers unparalleled panoramic views. The endless scenic plains are punctuated by striking rock formations, each adding to the rugged beauty of the land. It’s a place where nature’s raw grandeur and untouched wilderness converge in breathtaking harmony.
I have witnessed similar countless sunrises before, yet every time, the sunrise commands my full attention. It stirs something deep within me—an undeniable sense of aliveness, joy, and the quiet promise of a new day.
We arrived at this location to a warm and vibrant welcome, greeted by Maasai Morans performing their traditional dances. Their rhythmic chants and powerful jumps radiated energy and excitement, setting the tone for our arrival in a way that only Africa can. Now on our third day in this little village tucked away in the middle of nowhere, the isolation feels profound. It’s a place so remote you might believe you’re alone in the world, were it not for the occasional elephants wandering majestically through the grasslands.
Their giant brown bodies, unmistakable even from a few hundred yards away, move with a quiet grace, their presence a humbling reminder of the wilderness surrounding our unfenced, temporary eco-lodge. It’s a surreal blend of solitude and connection, where nature asserts itself in the most awe-inspiring ways.
This is Laikipia County, home to undeniably stunning landscapes, where untamed beauty unfolds in a unique blend of savanna, woodland, and grassland, all just north of the equator. It’s a land of both serenity and wildness, a place where nature thrives in its most raw and majestic form. This is also the home of the elusive black panther (or black leopard), which made global headlines with its groundbreaking discovery a few years ago. Yet, to the locals, it was met with a mix of amusement and mild scorn. 'What discovery?' they would laugh. For years, they had encountered this mysterious creature in their everyday lives and were baffled by the world’s excitement over what they considered a familiar, albeit rare, inhabitant of their land.
We had just wrapped up a two-day clinic at the nearby Kimanjo Hospital, and today, the team was finally going to unwind and relax. Our journey to get here, however, hadn’t been without its challenges. Our medicines had been held up at the airport, awaiting customs clearance for several days, and the road trip—an exhausting eight-hour journey, half of it along bumpy, unpaved roads—had tested our patience and endurance.
During the clinic, we encountered several critically ill patients, including some very sick children. One by one, mothers carried their feverish babies on their backs, their tiny bodies wracked with tearing coughs, runny noses, and reddened eyes. There was one little toddler, barely able to stand, who had developed an abscess on his upper arm deltoid area—ironically, caused by a routine immunization injection.
I watched as Dr. Alfred carefully cut open the thickened lump for incision and drainage, using the local anesthetic Lidocaine that MMK had brought along. The poor boy had tears in his eyes, but to my surprise, he didn’t scream or even flinch. It was a quiet endurance, an expression of strength. In the face of pain, these communities displayed an almost stoic indifference, an emotional resilience that left me in awe.
Oh, I have so many stories to tell, but I don’t want to turn this into a book, so I’ll just share a few. One of the most poignant moments occurred when a woman arrived at the clinic after walking miles, her infant child strapped to her back. She had been carrying the child for hours, only to discover, upon arrival, that the baby she thought was merely sleeping was, in fact, completely unconscious.
Our pediatricians, Drs. Murtari and Park, immediately sprang into action, administering anti-fever medication, antibiotics, and supportive fluids. Meanwhile, the mother sat close by with a face as emotionless as stone. That night, during dinner, I could still feel the weight of Dr. Murtari’s frustrations. In the US, this kiddo would have been intubated, placed on mechanical ventilation, and transferred to a Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU), where warm incubators and a battery of diagnostic tests would help guide treatment. But here, we simply slapped an oxygen mask on the infant and prayed that the treatment regimen would work.
This was the harsh reality of medicine in a third-world village, where the hospital pharmacy’s shelves were empty until MMK arrived to fill every inch of space with supplies. But that night, as we gathered around the table, each team member was quietly reflecting on that helpless child rooting for her recovery. We all knew her prognosis was poor, but we also shared a silent hope, a collective prayer that somehow, against the odds, she would survive. It was a moment of deep humility—one that underscored the vast disparity between what we had at our disposal and the limits of what we could do in that setting.
The following day, as soon as we stepped off the bus in the hospital parking lot, where patients were already lined up and waiting, everyone made a beeline for the inpatient unit to check on the infant. When we saw her, our hearts lifted. She was still alive, still fighting. She lay there, still struggling to breathe, her tiny face covered by the oxygen mask that was helping her cling to life. Her fever was starting to come down, a small but significant sign of improvement. Her fever was finally beginning to subside, and in that moment, a small but significant sign of improvement. In that moment, we all exhaled a breath we hadn’t realized we were holding.
She was fighting. And at that moment, that was everything. That was all that mattered. It wasn’t just about medicine or treatment; it was about something deeper. We were all collectively, and individually, invested in her recovery.
She had become a symbol of our shared humanity, and her survival—her fight—was a reflection of our own strength and determination. We were there for her, and it was a quiet powerful moment, a reminder of why we were there—why we continue to do what we do.
We had brought along two EKG machines to donate to the clinics we were visiting, but what happened that day was beyond anything we could have anticipated. You honestly couldn’t make this up. In Kimanjo, before we even had the chance to train the local clinicians on how to use the machines, a man walked in, clutching his chest in visible distress.
It was a moment of pure urgency—time to get that EKG machine, STAT. We rushed to set it up, and as the results flashed on the screen, our hearts sank. The man was having an acute myocardial infarction—a heart attack—right in front of us. The shock of the situation hit hard. Here we were, in a remote village, with an EKG machine that had yet to be fully explained to the staff, and yet, it was the very tool that could save this man’s life. The timing was almost surreal—what were the odds? It was a dramatic reminder of how unpredictable life can be, and how sometimes, the timing of things is beyond anyone's control.
When I went to nursing school decades ago, the word 'MONA' was firmly etched into our young, curious minds as the first-line treatment for Acute Coronary Syndrome (ACS) or Myocardial Infarction (MI). MONA was a mnemonic, a simple acronym that stood for Morphine, Oxygen therapy, Nitroglycerin (Nitrates), and Aspirin—which was the cornerstone of initial treatment for a heart attack. At the time, it felt like a foolproof approach, a reliable method for managing what was often a life-threatening emergency. However, over the years, MONA has been phased out in favor of more evidence-based treatment guidelines. Modern guidelines now emphasize the use of fibrinolytic therapy, beta blockers, and other advanced treatments, as studies have shown that morphine's analgesic effects could inadvertently mask the severity of symptoms, such as angina, and lead to misinterpretation of the clinical picture. As our understanding of ACS has deepened, so too has the way we approach its treatment, moving beyond the simplicity of mnemonics to more tailored and effective care.
Alright, back to the man lying on the gurney, gasping for breath. Drs. Pandiri, Brettler, Juster, and Hooks were all present as we scrambled to begin emergency efforts. But the start of the process was nothing short of jarring. When our Pulmonary Registered Nurse Heidi asked for an Ambu bag to start administering oxygen to the man, the response she received was astonishing: 'Oxygen is only used during emergencies.' The confusion was palpable—this was clearly an emergency. But in a place where even the basics were lacking—a crash cart nowhere in sight, and no Nitroglycerin or Morphine available—it quickly became evident that we were in uncharted territory. The only medicines we could use were the Aspirin, some beta blockers, and a few alternative analgesics that we had brought with us. There were no STAT cardiac markers to monitor, no possibility of percutaneous coronary intervention or angioplasty. The treatment options were shockingly limited, and the realization of that was a gut-wrenching one. Somehow, the man was stabilized and made it through the night. But the reality of his situation hit harder the next day when tragically, he suffered a secondary heart attack during the night when our team was away. He did not make it. As we reflected on the experience, the mental checklist was clear: add Nitroglycerin to our must-have essential drugs for the next trip. We couldn’t afford to be caught unprepared again.
But on this beautiful morning, we set out for a walking safari, water bottles in hand, escorted by the spear-wielding Maasai guards. The breathtaking environment around us filled us with energy and awe. The Laikipia plateau stretched out before us, with the towering presence of Mount Kenya to one side, and the rolling, picturesque Lolldaiga Hills and Aberdares on the other. The African plains here are indescribable—an endless sea of golden grasses that stretch from the foothills of Mount Kenya, painting a scene of both tranquility and wild beauty. Laikipia is unlike the Mara or the Serengeti. It has its own unique energy, quieter and more intimate feeling. The area is home to the British and the Kenyan Army base in nearby Nanyuki town, as well as many European settlers who chose to stay in Kenya after independence. They were drawn to the serenity of Laikipia, finding in its vast, open spaces a place to call home.
Here, in this remarkable region, wildlife and human communities coexist in a way that feels almost seamless. It’s a harmonious balance, where local cultures have found a way to live side by side with nature, learning to avoid conflict and respecting the delicate relationship between people and the wild.
Here, giraffes and zebras graze alongside domesticated animals, while elephants roam freely, happily munching on their beloved umbrella-thorn Acacia trees. But don't get me wrong—it's not all kumbaya here. Wildlife-human conflict is a very real challenge in this region. As we walked, we passed through countless thorned Acacia trees, which the locals humorously call 'wait-a-minute' trees—a warning to slow down and tread carefully, as these thorny branches can cause painful skin tears if you're not cautious. I took a deep breath and looked up at the clear skies, taking in the vast, untouched beauty around me. Yeah, TIA (this is Africa).
As I continued to gaze at the breathtaking landscape, I couldn’t help but admire the massive natural rocks scattered across Laikipia. Some of them looked like they could have been the inspiration for the iconic rock formations in The Lion King. It’s easy to understand why Karen Blixen and other white settlers, fell in love with Kenya.
The synchronicity between the land, the people, and the culture is nothing short of staggering—it's a place where nature and humanity seem to move in harmony, a delicate yet powerful balance that has stood the test of time.
As we walked through the dry riverbed, the local Maasai guards demonstrated how they could quickly dig for water to drink, showing us their resourcefulness in the face of the harsh landscape. There was also a race and a spear-throwing contest, a lively way to showcase their agility and skill. My son, Sean, a talented long-distance runner who had dominated both his high school and college cross-country teams, was no match for the local runners. Barefoot and swift, they moved effortlessly across the sandy, uneven terrain, leaving Sean trailing behind. The thrill of walking safaris lies in the raw, unfiltered sense of danger that comes with them—there’s always that lingering uncertainty, that feeling that something might be lurking just beyond the next turn. Whether it’s the rustle of leaves, the distant sound of hooves, or the quiet murmur of wildlife, the tension is palpable. But it’s this tension between risk and beauty that makes this land so captivating.
There’s something about the unpredictability of the land, the coexistence of danger and magnificence, that actually strikes a deep chord within you. It’s that sense of wildness and freedom that resonates at the very core of why this terrain, and this experience, feels so profound.And sure enough, halfway to the river, there it was—a massive African elephant, standing boldly in the middle of the dry riverbed, about a hundred yards ahead of us.
We all instinctively slowed our pace, walking cautiously to the side of the path, while the Maasai guards swiftly stepped forward, using their signature whistles to chase the elephant away. It was a moment of sheer awe, yet also a reminder of the untamed wildness that surrounded us. When we finally reached the Ewaso Nyiro River, it stood undaunted, its riverbed stretching endlessly before us. We sat on the rocky banks, the cool breeze offering a welcome respite from the heat. We didn’t want to head back just yet—so we lingered, enjoying the peace and the quiet. We stayed put, letting time slip by, until the vans came to collect us and bring us back from this moment of tranquil isolation.
Clement
The next day, the team began the long road trip back to Nairobi. One of our volunteers on this trip was a young man named Clement, whose story embodies the ripple effect of compassion and inspiration. MMK first met Clement during an outreach trip to Samburu in 2014, where he served as a translator in the triage area for our RN, Monette. During their time together, they formed a special bond. After the trip, Clement wrote to Monette, expressing his newfound dream of pursuing a nursing career, inspired by the work MMK was doing in his community. However, Clement's dream faced a major obstacle— his family could no longer afford to sell more goats to fund his education. Without hesitation, Monette stepped up, providing the financial support he needed to attend nursing school.
Years later, seeing Clement now as a a graduate nurse, volunteering alongside the very person who inspired and mentored him, was a profound and heartwarming moment. It was a full-circle moment that reminded us of the far-reaching impact one act of kindness can have.
Clement inspired the team as he shared captivating stories of his upbringing as a Samburu Maasai young man, offering an intimate glimpse into the treasured traditions and customs of his people. From recounting tales of herding livestock across the vast plains to describing the intricate rites of passage that shape Samburu identity, his stories painted a vivid picture of a life deeply intertwined with nature and community. His pride in his culture was evident, and his ability to bridge the gap between his traditional roots and his journey into nursing school despite his challenges left the team in awe. It was a powerful reminder of the resilience, adaptability, and beauty of preserving heritage while embracing new opportunities.
The Team
This 2024 team, without a doubt, was the largest group of volunteers I had ever taken under my wing—an ambitious and daring endeavor. While managing such a large group came with its fair share of challenges—coordinating logistics, ensuring clear communication, and balancing the diverse perspectives of so many individuals—the rewards were equally profound. The collective enthusiasm, the unique skill sets of each person, and the sheer momentum of the group brought about remarkable outcomes. It was a humbling and transformative experience, one that allowed us to attend to a remarkable number of patients—398 in the Chuylu communities and 340 at Kimanjo Hospital.
However, our arrival at JKIA didn’t go quite as expected. A few of us were stopped by the immigration and 4 of our medicine packed suitcases were confiscated pending inspection for authenticity and quality. After days of frustration and uncertainty, Dr. Pandiri and I drove to the airport and got our bags back. It wasn’t easy—our efforts involved calling everyone we knew in the city, seeking help wherever we could find it. The process was further complicated by inefficient government systems, which created significant barriers to obtaining the necessary clearances. Despite these challenges, the support of our network and our persistence ultimately paid off, turning what felt like an impossible situation into a hard-fought success.
Another unexpected surprise was the journey to Lewaso, which took a staggering three hours from Nanyuki, despite Google Maps estimating it to be a mere 30-minute drive. Recent bouts of relentless and devastating rainfall had left their mark, transforming the rugged, barely tarmacked roads into a treacherous maze of deep potholes and washed-out sections. The once-passable route had become an arduous test of endurance and patience, underscoring the impact of nature’s fury on already fragile infrastructure.
Meet Dickson
In Laikipia, the team worked alongside an inspiring young man, Dickson, who served as an Orthopedic Trauma Technologist at the local hospital. At just 17 years old, Dickson suffered a compound fracture of the tibia and fibula from a sports injury and was rushed to a public hospital. His timing couldn't have been any worse. While initial immobilization and pain management were done as he awaited imaging test results, a doctors' strike due to low pay began that same morning. With no medical staff to attend to him, Dickson endured excruciating pain, confined to his hospital bed and feeling helpless. His family moved him between two more hospitals before he eventually underwent a knee disarticulation amputation. After surgery, Dickson spent three weeks bedridden for wound care before undergoing a wound closure procedure and missed part of his final year of high school. Despite these challenges, he returned to school using axillary crutches for mobility—a physically exhausting experience—but his determination never wavered.
With the help of friends, Dickson raised enough money to purchase a prosthesis, which enabled him to walk again. This milestone brought immense joy and renewed hope. Determined to transform his personal tragedy into an opportunity to help others, Dickson pursued studies in orthopedic plaster technology. Despite the challenges of living with a prosthesis—such as frequent maintenance issues and occasional breakages that forced him to return to crutches—he persevered. He graduated as a plaster technician and later advanced his training, becoming an Orthopedic Trauma Technologist to better serve his community. However, one significant obstacle remained: his prosthesis had become ill-fitting, causing unbearable pain and severely limiting his mobility. A new prosthesis, costing a-little over $2,000, was beyond his financial reach. That’s when MMK stepped in, ensuring Dickson could obtain a properly fitting prosthesis. This new prosthesis will not only restore his mobility but also enable him to continue his invaluable work, serving his community and ensuring that others do not endure the suffering he once faced.
Chyulu
A day later, we boarded our chartered flights to Chyulu Hills, our second outreach location. Clement, a young man from the village, experienced many "firsts" on this trip, making it an especially memorable journey for him—and for all of us. This was the very first time he had ever boarded a flight, a milestone that brought some of our team members to tears as they watched him take in the wonder of the experience. Witnessing Clement’s awe and joy reminded us of the transformative power of opportunities, and how moments like these can inspire hope and broaden horizons. His journey, from a curious young translator in Samburu to a nurse volunteering alongside us, was a poignant testament to the impact of mentorship, education, and compassion.
As we stepped off the plane, we were greeted by a fleet of Rivian trucks waiting to transport us. My son Sean, a car enthusiast, was grinning ear to ear, gawking like a child at Disney as he eagerly snapped selfies with the sleek Rivians. Luca, the larger than life owner of the resort, was incredibly welcoming and gracious, setting the tone for the experience ahead. Upon arrival, we were enveloped in the luxury of Africa’s First Carbon-Negative Lodge, perfectly nestled amidst the Chyulu Hills. Surrounded by nature in every direction, the lodge offered a stunning view of the wild landscape, where wildlife roamed freely, and the beauty of the land seemed endless. It was the ideal blend of comfort, sustainability, and breathtaking natural surroundings.
Powered entirely by solar energy, Chyulu lodges operate without reliance on fossil fuels, offering a truly carbon-negative safari experience that leaves only footprints on the environment. From the Rivian electric safari vehicles to the solar-powered induction kitchens, every detail of the camp has been thoughtfully designed with sustainability at its core. Luca, alongside actor Edward Norton, have championed an eco-conscious approach that prioritizes the preservation of this pristine land for generations to come shaping Chyulu Lodges into a model of sustainable luxury, where every element is designed to harmonize with the environment while leaving a lasting positive impact.
We spent the afternoon immersing ourselves in the serene environment, recharging our energies in preparation for the workday ahead. Our luxurious tents were thoughtfully positioned to offer a stunning view of Mount Kilimanjaro, its majestic peak crowned with snow, rising above the lush, undulating landscape. The sight was nothing short of breathtaking, as if the mountain itself was silently watching over us, its timeless presence grounding us in the beauty and tranquility of this extraordinary place.
Back to work, the setting in Chyulu Hills presented a unique challenge as we didn’t have a physical clinic. Instead, we adapted an unfinished church structure, transforming it into a makeshift clinic. The locals came in droves, eager for care. It took a moment to find our rhythm—I am pretty certain it looked chaotic at first—but soon, we established an efficient flow. The process began with a triage area, a diabetes screening table, a providers' area that included a makeshift OBGYN exam room, ending with the pharmacy.
One striking difference from Laikipia was the condition of our patients; they were not as critically ill, a contrast that spoke volumes about the impact of Luca’s Maasai Conservation Wilderness Trust (MWCT). Through the trust’s initiatives in education, water, health, solar energy, and more, MWCT has significantly improved the lives of the Kuku communities. This progress was reflected on the overall health of the people we treated. As patients waited in line for evaluations, my friend Meme Bailon was outside engaging with the children, sharing laughter, and adding a touch of lightheartedness to the otherwise serious atmosphere - with crowns and all.
It was here in Chyulu Hills that we met 3-year-old Anna, a little girl whose plight left a lasting impact on us all. She arrived at the clinic with a bulging tumor pushing her eye out of its orbit, creating a distressing sight accompanied by continuous discharge. Anna’s mother, in an attempt to shield her child from the constant stares, kept her wrapped in a shuka, her protective instincts evident.
There was no quick fix for Anna. She needed surgery to remove the tumor, but it was our last day at the clinic. Dr. Kisika, the local physician, referred Anna to the nearest hospital, where the tumor was removed, and her eye was completely excised. In the U.S., her eye might have been saved with advanced medical interventions. Here, this was the reality of limited resources and options.
Post-operatively, Anna faced complications, including bleeding through the sutures that required weekly evacuation in Nairobi. Luca’s wife, Antonella, stepped in, coordinating Anna’s care and ensuring she received a second biopsy in Nairobi. Despite the hurdles, there is a collective hope that Anna’s story would lead to recovery and a better quality of life and we continue monitoring her condition.
Our last day in Chyulu Hills was dedicated to a safari adventure, and I hopped into one of the safari vans, only to see Dr. Tina, our OBGYN provider, wiping away tears as she spoke on the phone. My heart instantly sank—what could be wrong? I gently rubbed her shoulder and quietly assured her I was there if she needed someone to talk to. A few minutes into the drive, she turned to us, her voice trembling with emotion, and said, “I miss my husband so much.” The tension in the van softened instantly as we all let out a collective, heartfelt “Awwww!” Her vulnerability was a touching reminder of the sacrifices everyone on this trip had made—not just to be here, but to leave behind loved ones to serve others. It was a bittersweet moment that reflected the deep personal connections woven into this shared experience.
After a delightful bush breakfast, we found ourselves at Pride Rock, a breathtaking location that felt straight out of The Lion King. We hiked to the top of the towering rock formation, perched high on a cliff. From there, the jaw-dropping vistas stretched out in every direction—watching the giraffes below us, and the sweeping views over the escarpment gave a profound sense of endless sky and space. It was a moment of awe, where nature’s grandeur silenced any need for words.
On the day before our departure, Luca extended a special invitation—an opportunity to fly with him in his vintage 1950s Cessna. Luca is this charming - larger than life - conservationist who fell in love with Kenya from the moment his family took a safari trip when he was just a young boy.
The vast savannas, the distant roar of lions at dusk, and the endless sky speckled with stars made his heart ache with wonder. To him, Kenya wasn’t just a destination; it was home. Years later, as a young man, Luca’s dream became reality. Armed with little more than a suitcase and an ironclad determination, Luca and his wife boarded a plane and left behind the comforts of their Italian hometown. The heart of their existence became Chyulu Hills, a place they now call home. In Chyulu Hills, he found not only the life he had always dreamed of but also a purpose greater than himself.
The idea of soaring above the Chyulu Hills and witnessing this untamed landscape from above was exhilarating. It promised a once-in-a-lifetime perspective on the breathtaking beauty of the region, and it was an invitation I couldn’t possibly refuse. From the sky, the beauty of Chyulu unfolded in ways unimaginable, revealing intricate patterns etched into the earth. Among them was a Maasai shield and an elephant footprint carved into the beautiful plains—markings that had been preserved for years, a testament to the region's rich cultural heritage and harmonious connection with nature. It was an awe-inspiring experience, blending the marvel of human artistry and nature’s grandeur in one unforgettable view.
As we wrapped up the trip, I reflected on how special it was to share this experience with all three of my children. I had been particularly concerned about my then 11 year old Spencer, who was joining us for the first time, unsure of how he would handle the challenges. But to my delight, he embraced every moment with a smile that rarely left his face. He was humbled by the experience and found joy in being a helper to the adults, eagerly lending a hand wherever he could. Even when he fell ill twice during the trip, his only concern was missing out on helping others. I’ll never forget how he made sure I apologized on his behalf to the team for missing a clinic day—it was a small gesture that spoke volumes about his heart and his character.
I wrap this reflection with immense gratitude for everyone who made this journey possible. There are so many people to thank that I cannot name them all. To the friends who helped organize the successful fundraiser, our gracious hosts who opened their doors for the event, and all the individuals who showed up or donated. But most of all, I am deeply thankful to the 16 extraordinary volunteers who took time away from their busy lives and work to travel to Kenya. Their dedication, resilience, and compassion in rendering free health services under challenging conditions are what truly made this trip impactful. Together, we created lasting memories, touched lives, and, I hope, made a meaningful difference.
Comments