E and D drop me off at KASO for probably my last day with the gang. It's another sunny start to the day. Rose, Blackson and Lizinisi are already there and Jonathan and Maureen soon arrive on bikes too. There will be no day care today, instead, we will be conducting 'home-visits' for families that have been affected by AIDS.Maureen and I depart KASO and head off towards her house to pick up another bike - my means of transportation for the day. We arrive at a neighbor's house and walk through a front yard, also known as a maize plot split by a path in the middle. The two women, Maureen's friends, are both very friendly and sparkly-eyed and converse in basic English with me since my Chichewa is even more basic.
And we're off! I follow Maureen, as she seems to be able to out-maneuver the potentially dangerous potholes and divots in the road better than I. Along the way I get more 'thumbs ups' than I can count, and even more friendly smiles and yells and 'hellos' as we bike through what I think is still Area 25. And even though I have not biked for a good long while, I manage to wave (with one hand off of the handlebars) to some of the kids. As E said earlier in the day, this will probably be as close to being a celebrity that I will ever feel.
Our first stop is at a bike repair stand. It consists of four large branches propping up a cardboard roof with a bench below it. A few bikes are lined up around the area, and this is where Blackson, Rose and son Peter, Lizinisi are already stationed. The repair guy flips Rose's bike and gets to work - and I soon scurry to the shade to join the other volunteers - it is getting very hot today.
I watch the world, this world, go by. Across the way there's a truck depot, presumably a spot used for picking up laborers for the day's jobs. These archaic trucks pull onto the dirt road when loaded with guys my age (probably younger), belching light blue smoke out of their underbellys. Even these guys wave and yell at me. Celebrity.
With Rose's bike seemingly fixed and sun blazing and getting stronger, we continue our trek. Rose wraps Peter onto her back, and we are soon a well-oiled procession of KASO bikers heading to 'I do not know where or how far'.
Maureen and her bike
The bikes splash over small brooks that intersect with our path, luckily we've all got mudguards over the tires. I can see really far here and the savannah stretches for tens of miles. It's picturesque and green - thanks to the plentiful rain that has been falling.
We stop at a village called Yepa - no sign, no km markers. Looks like you just have to know you're there, wherever 'there' is. It's a left turn, now we're walking our bikes, and I see the KASO logo on a house/shed. We head around back and a local volunteer opens the door to the buillding. They're housing some 150 young chickens in here - which will ultimately be shared with the local people. That's a lot of drumsticks.
We lean our bikes on the back wall of the house and walk another 500 meters, following a path that's leads us through the ubiquitous maize. I meander, it's getting hot now, past tobacco drying under thatch-roofed huts, and chickens, roosters and goats roam the compound, searching for something to chew on. Alas, the woman we were actually here to visit is at the Area 25 market! Guess she took the expressway, we didn't see her on our way here...
We nevertheless seat ourselves in the shade and chat - the family members are curious to hear where I am from and information about my family. And then there's the 'side-Chichewa' that gets exchanged too - I wonder what they discuss amongst one another after I speak. I get asked to "take us all to your country" with smiles.
The KASO gang, Blackson, Lizinisi, Rose & Peter, Jonathan, Maureen and I walk back towards the 'henhouse'. I am told that the local volunteers and the KASO team need to have a discussion, so we head into the building. And soon enough we have 7 locals, 12 total people in the room. So I listen. It's starts off with a prayer, the only word I comprehend is 'amen'. I get offered a metal bucket to sit on, and I take advantage. It's comfortable, actually, and with my back against the cool wall I almost fall asleep - I'm right by the door, and the hypnotic breeze and the sun nearly do their trick. From this angle I can see the landscape and the banana trees rustling in the wind.
The discussion gets quite heated, but still it seems everyone gets heard and is allowed to speak and in the end a resolution is found. I never do ask what they argued about.
At this point it has gotten really hot outside. We get back on our bikes and start heading out of Yepa. But not before stopping at a shady spot underneath some trees – Blackson needs his front bike tire pumped up. Jonathan, who did not come to Yepa with a bike, communicates to me that he will be stationed on the back of my bike, on the rack. Sure, I’ve tooled around, in my youth, with other people on my bike – but it’s been a while.
I manage, without falling down, to start the bike rolling and get up to that critical speed that allows me to maintain my balance and the bike upright. The first part of the procession runs back the same way we arrived. We soon veer off on another trail and need to hop off the bikes (this proves a bit more difficult with two people on board). Through the maize, we pass some remote-looking huts – an older gentleman gives me a double take – I wonder the last time he saw a muzungu pass through.
At the crest of the hill we make it to another small village. Kids are working a large water pump, filling buckets and now look at the group of volunteers that has arrived. A duck utilizes the water that is being pumped out of the well and tries as best he can to stay cool too. I greet a few of the curious kids. Jonathan then jumps on the back of the bike and the gang and the rest of the group heads down a wider, flat dirt road. I do my best and concentrate not to fall off the bike - successfully. Women, walking with items propped up on their head are passed, bikers cruise in the opposite direction, people are moving: "Hello? How are you?" And always that smile.
The volunteer team and I visit two houses once we make it back to Area 25. Rose and Lizinisi enter first and make sure the rest of the group is welcome too. It's a three 'room' house - no carpet, electricity, just firm dirt under our feet and ambient light. I meet and greet the family - the father has died of AIDS, mother is ill and is surrounded by her three sons, aged 7 to 13.
Nobody's similing in here, understandably so. Maureen explains and translates, I tell the family about the efforts in the Baylor Clinic and encourage them to take advantage of the facilities and help there. We share aspirin that we've brought. I ask her if she is in pain - she says no. Is she lying?
Her oldest son accompanies us to the next house. I recognize some of the kids at the other house we visit - they participated in the Picturing Hope program last week. Three younger children are playing outside, and one cuddles me as I hold her hand, as if she's known me all of her short life. A man, a woman, and four kids are in the house. The father looks dejected and tired, the mother speaks. She agrees to take the kids to the clinic that E and all of the other docs work at. This is good.
The day nears its end and pictures are snapped with Maureen's camera. It's my final walk through the neighborhood - kids follow us, people look. We make it to Rose’s place – goodbyes, addresses and phone numbers are exchanged – I am sad. Then Maureen’s house, goodbyes to Lizinisi and Blackson too. I promise to share photos once I get home. Jonathan walks me through the neighbohood's ‘alleys’ to a minibus stop I would not have found. 
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