One of the primary reasons I elected to join the PC was because of its unique approach to development. That is, that PC actually puts volunteer development workers on the ground for two years in a community and teaches us the local language. Also, it is secular, and we work entirely in countries where we are explicitly invited by the host government. This means that we are guaranteed government support/cooperation, and we do not force our work upon uninterested or unsafe communities. Theoretically without some of the most common barriers we can maximize our productivity.
Though I learned a veritable TON about Int’l Development at Skidmore, CIDH and LSE (more than I ever thought possible really), I always felt like an imposter, having never had the chance to actually work in international development long-term. Sure, working on the ground for a month in Lima with Cross Cultural Solutions was a great beginning. It gave me that first addicting taste of international development work, but I needed a longer-term test. It just felt so hypocritical to gab on about development without ever living in a so-called “less-developed” country.
So here I am, finally fulfilling that desire. I’m thrilled to have such a concrete background in all things development related, from its champions, its skeptics, and its worst critics. Thanks (in part) to a revelationary (is that even a word?) course at LSE, “Complex Emergencies” with Dr. David Keen, my idealistic acceptance of all humanitarian work as ‘good’ and ‘beneficial’ was pretty much shattered. If you’ve never heard of him, check him out. His and his colleague’s perspectives on humanitarian work and aid work in general is disheartening to say the least, but totally changed the way I wanted to approach and to work in int’l development. The point is, that because of this academic base, I feel like I am better able to grasp the complexities of the ‘problems’ I see all around me.
One thing I have observed here in Senegal is the negative long-term effect of foreign aid—governmental or not. I’m not criticizing all aid orgs outright, (clearly all NGOs and humanitarian orgs are not made equal) or proposing that the more ‘privileged world’ should not help poorer countries to develop. What I am saying (and there is plenty of great literature out there to back me up) is that the constant flow of NGOs and IGOs and all the money they bring with them, takes away from government accountability. Granted I can only speak from my observations in a very specific place over just six short months, but it’s true. Talking to Senegalese about development projects, there are never any discussions about getting funding from the government, or about why Senegal’s education system isn’t better, or why the power and water cut out 8x a day. Instead people say that it is better to ask one of the many development orgs in country for help or for money. Maybe that’s because they actually get things done-build wells, give school supplies, bring in guest doctors and nurses, sponsor causeries and trainings etc. But that doesn’t change the fact that their presence makes governments unaccountable. And that’s what Senegal needs the most: large scale projects, sweeping educational reform, infrastructure, and economic diversification of its major industries. None of those things can come from USAID, or UNICEF, or AfricaCare. They are going to have to come straight from Abdoulaye Wade’s office.
It’s dependency.
People have become dependent on aid orgs, and will wait and wait forever for things instead of organizing and doing it themselves because they know that eventually, some foreign organization will come in, fund it, and do the work for them. And in the short-term that makes a lot of sense: “Do we tell the NGO in the next town over that we don’t have a clean water supply and have them build a well for us this season? Or do we wait and wait and wait for the Wade administration to come in and do it?” I mean which would you choose?
On a large scale, the more sustainable path to development is clear, but as a PCV, the work of other development workers sometimes makes our work that much more challenging. Most foreign development workers waltz in for a few weeks at a time. They stay in nice hotels, eat in restaurants, barely interact with Senegalese people, get their work done, waste much more money on living comfortably than necessary, take some heart-warming pictures and a few tear-jerking memories back home to impress their next date and then return home feeling selfless and proud. And they should! The very fact that they care enough to come down here, or “help” at all shows tremendous courage and compassion. Unfortunately, its been making a lot of our work more difficult.
Why? Because we don’t have any money.
One example is a friend of mine down south who is in a very isolated part of southeastern Senegal. She recently met a couple in her area that received a grant to come to Senegal and do development/health work. They are pouring out money for projects all over the place. They leave in 5 or 6 months and then who is going to be there to pick up the pieces when the projects they shoddily created fail? My PCV friend. Because there is no way that they can know the culture and the community well enough to know what projects will crumble and what projects will self-sustain. Most likely, whatever they do will fail. It might sound cynical but it’s true. Even after two years learning the ins and out of our communities, many PCV projects fail.
What about the two guys I met who had started their own NGO and were bumming around the country distributing mosquito nets using funds from friends, churches and schools at home? They were here for a few months and won’t come back for another two years. They gave no thought to enforcing “good mosquito net behavior.” Like the fact that most people only sleep under them during the rainiest season, and they don’t re-impregnate them, and most of the ones I see have so many gaping holes in them their practically useless.
And how about my other PCV friend’s village that just wants her to buy them a car so that they can transport women in labor to the nearest health post? They don’t care about her re-opening the health hut and training health workers to run it and hold educational health talks. They want money for a car. They’ve seen other groups come in and give similar sums for wells and schools etc. and they want a piece of that action. They’re not interested in some young, rich, white girl preaching at them about washing their hands with soap or how to make ORS.
Bottom line is that ultimately, all development/aid orgs should be working to be out of business, or at the very least to eventually adapt to a new location, or project. Not exactly a sound business model. And certainly the Peace Corps isn’t doing that either. After all, we’ve been in Senegal since 1963!
But our work has not gone unnoticed. A couple times I have passed people in markets and they have shouted things like “American? I like Americans better than Europeans. You learn our language and you live with us like family.” And this even before I have a chance to answer. (By the way Senegalese usually assume that all Americans are PC). Although PC isn’t perfect in its development approach, maybe those small interactions mean that what we’re doing, regardless of how ‘textbook sustainable’ it is, is worthwhile?
Certainly other approaches are equally valid and sometimes even more beneficial than the work we do. But as someone who actually lives here and struggles to convince my community that every conversation we have about hand washing is part of my work, it is defeating to be the “little guy” up against the “bling” of other foreign aid orgs. I just wish there was some way to instill all the aid orgs here with the aspiration for all projects to be sustainable.
I guess at the very least, I am satisfied that I am part of an organization with a mostly sustainable approach to development.
Now if I could just get some funding….
.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Unexpected Frivolity
I had all kinds of expectations about the “ enlightened” and “back-to-basics” person I would be post Peace Corps. I remember thinking that after two years living with only the basic necessities (which actually turns out not to be true seeing as I have electricity, a cell phone with perfect reception, my computer, an Ipod, and a faucet in my compound) that I would come home and be disgusted with all things materialistic, and superficial.
For example, a few weeks before I left, a friend was planning his visit out to see me. I remember triumphantly declaring to him “I don’t think I’ll want to stay in a nice hotel when you come. It will just be too much culture shock and way too overwhelming.”
During demystification I heard an outgoing volunteer comment to a fellow PCV, “Oh, look at all the incoming PCV’s stuff. It’s so new and nice and clean, and…pretty.” I remember thinking that that was such a weird thing to say. And I took it kind of personally like, “my stuff wasn’t ‘hardcore backpacker’” enough for the Peace Corps or something.
Now I totally understand where she was coming from. It’s the same phenomenon that led my Thies family to comment that my Tupperware containers were beautiful, and why my little sisters are preserving the box that the doll figurines my mom sent them came in, and why my host mom will barely let my little brother play with his new counting/rattle book, and why every article of clothing I have is “ina yoodi” (pretty).
Because there just aren’t new, or shiny, or different-looking things here. Everyone has the same stuff and they literally use it until it falls apart. Nothing stays looking new for more than a few hours and ten more people in your house probably have the same thing anyway so its pointless to get excited about.
I might still go through the “hate everything materialistic and wasteful and pop culture related” phase when I COS (Close of Service), but at this point in my service the total opposite has happened.
In my amazing birthday packages for instance, I received a Glamour magazine. Now, I almost never read that stuff at home. I’d occasionally skim People magazine at the gym to keep myself entertained during mind-numbing Elliptical machine workouts, but that was pretty much the extent of it. And I was (and actually still am) irate at the hype, attention, and media time that Anna Nicole Smith’s death received right before I left. I mean really? Uninterrupted reporting on a porn star’s funeral? Seriously CNN? Really?
But when I got this Glamour magazine, I literally spent the entire afternoon outside in the shade with my family, on my stick bed and read that magazine cover-to-cover. I positively devoured it.
And I can’t believe I’m about to admit this in a public forum, but I feel like you should all understand the extent of my newfound appreciation of all things pretty, clean, and good smelling…
I had some useful things that arrived in my packages like soap, food for Ramadan, pocket packages of Kleenex, vitamins, etc.
But my favorite new item, (that when I saw it I think I actually shrieked out loud with joy), was the shiny, new, white Ipod headphones with GREEN RHINESTONES. My dad sent them to me because my old ones were barely functional, and I think he meant them as a joke, but they are absolutely my new favorite thing that I have in country. I mean, they’re totally frivolous, and I love them for that. Sure I have other stuff that is kind of functional, but probably unnecessary (a silk pillowcase from Mom for my birthday for example), but the rhinestones are so totally over the top and non-functional that they take the cake.
In a way it’s kind of pathetic. Who would have thought that Peace Corps Senegal would bring out my inner (some might argue NOT so inner) princess?
But at least I’m not alone. When I’m at the regional house, we girls all sit around and look at 6-month-old magazines. We talk about clothes, and trends we’re “missing out” on and complain that we don’t have more up-to-date “junk” magazines. I mean we all know that they are trash, and “in life” (as PCVs are fond of saying) most of us probably took pride at being disinterested in celebrity gossip, but not anymore.
I think at root here is that it’s exhausting to constantly talk about our “PCV lives.” And of course we talk about that a lot of the time. But it can get so depressing and frustrating to constantly talk about what isn’t working in Senegal or at site, being discouraged by the slowness of grassroots development work, failed and successful projects and meetings, sick children, the heat, gross food, being lonely, and our families peculiarities.
Sometimes you just want to look at pictures of Brad Pitt and wonder if he and Angelina Jolie really will make it? Or yearn for fall weather just so that you can wear that perfect J Crew sweater with matching earmuffs.
So for the time being I am mostly comfortable with the fact that the Peace Corps has brought out the princess in me.
And the next time I wear my rhinestone headphones I am going to smile…and maybe even do a little dance.
For example, a few weeks before I left, a friend was planning his visit out to see me. I remember triumphantly declaring to him “I don’t think I’ll want to stay in a nice hotel when you come. It will just be too much culture shock and way too overwhelming.”
During demystification I heard an outgoing volunteer comment to a fellow PCV, “Oh, look at all the incoming PCV’s stuff. It’s so new and nice and clean, and…pretty.” I remember thinking that that was such a weird thing to say. And I took it kind of personally like, “my stuff wasn’t ‘hardcore backpacker’” enough for the Peace Corps or something.
Now I totally understand where she was coming from. It’s the same phenomenon that led my Thies family to comment that my Tupperware containers were beautiful, and why my little sisters are preserving the box that the doll figurines my mom sent them came in, and why my host mom will barely let my little brother play with his new counting/rattle book, and why every article of clothing I have is “ina yoodi” (pretty).
Because there just aren’t new, or shiny, or different-looking things here. Everyone has the same stuff and they literally use it until it falls apart. Nothing stays looking new for more than a few hours and ten more people in your house probably have the same thing anyway so its pointless to get excited about.
I might still go through the “hate everything materialistic and wasteful and pop culture related” phase when I COS (Close of Service), but at this point in my service the total opposite has happened.
In my amazing birthday packages for instance, I received a Glamour magazine. Now, I almost never read that stuff at home. I’d occasionally skim People magazine at the gym to keep myself entertained during mind-numbing Elliptical machine workouts, but that was pretty much the extent of it. And I was (and actually still am) irate at the hype, attention, and media time that Anna Nicole Smith’s death received right before I left. I mean really? Uninterrupted reporting on a porn star’s funeral? Seriously CNN? Really?
But when I got this Glamour magazine, I literally spent the entire afternoon outside in the shade with my family, on my stick bed and read that magazine cover-to-cover. I positively devoured it.
And I can’t believe I’m about to admit this in a public forum, but I feel like you should all understand the extent of my newfound appreciation of all things pretty, clean, and good smelling…
I had some useful things that arrived in my packages like soap, food for Ramadan, pocket packages of Kleenex, vitamins, etc.
But my favorite new item, (that when I saw it I think I actually shrieked out loud with joy), was the shiny, new, white Ipod headphones with GREEN RHINESTONES. My dad sent them to me because my old ones were barely functional, and I think he meant them as a joke, but they are absolutely my new favorite thing that I have in country. I mean, they’re totally frivolous, and I love them for that. Sure I have other stuff that is kind of functional, but probably unnecessary (a silk pillowcase from Mom for my birthday for example), but the rhinestones are so totally over the top and non-functional that they take the cake.
In a way it’s kind of pathetic. Who would have thought that Peace Corps Senegal would bring out my inner (some might argue NOT so inner) princess?
But at least I’m not alone. When I’m at the regional house, we girls all sit around and look at 6-month-old magazines. We talk about clothes, and trends we’re “missing out” on and complain that we don’t have more up-to-date “junk” magazines. I mean we all know that they are trash, and “in life” (as PCVs are fond of saying) most of us probably took pride at being disinterested in celebrity gossip, but not anymore.
I think at root here is that it’s exhausting to constantly talk about our “PCV lives.” And of course we talk about that a lot of the time. But it can get so depressing and frustrating to constantly talk about what isn’t working in Senegal or at site, being discouraged by the slowness of grassroots development work, failed and successful projects and meetings, sick children, the heat, gross food, being lonely, and our families peculiarities.
Sometimes you just want to look at pictures of Brad Pitt and wonder if he and Angelina Jolie really will make it? Or yearn for fall weather just so that you can wear that perfect J Crew sweater with matching earmuffs.
So for the time being I am mostly comfortable with the fact that the Peace Corps has brought out the princess in me.
And the next time I wear my rhinestone headphones I am going to smile…and maybe even do a little dance.
The plight of a health volunteer
Sometimes being a health volunteer is utterly exhausting.
There are so many myths, beliefs, and practices about what to give people and how to treat them, or not treat them, that sometimes it’s hard to know how and where to start re-educating them.
In about an hour today I had two different “health volunteer moments” (as I’ve come to call them), both of which with just a little bit of proper education would make my job obsolete.
Case #1
I stopped by the house of one of the women from my new mommies group, Aminata, and found that her 2-year-old son is really ill. She said he had been vomiting and his fever had to be at least 104. I felt his head and it was burning hot. Of course she asked if I had medicine to get rid of the fever, but I have to say no. I told her that she should go to the health post, or to the pharmacy to buy some. Then she pulled out some child’s dissolvable aspirin and asked if it was appropriate.
I was thrilled because it was exactly what he needed for a fever reducer, but she wasn’t sure how to give it to him, or how to use it because the instructions were written in French (classic). And she knew enough to read the date on the back and didn’t know what “Aug” was, but it said ’07 so she figured it was expired. Which, it technically is, but only by a few weeks so I gave her the okay (figuring it couldn’t hurt anyway) and explained how he should take it.
Like any normal two year old, he saw the meds going in the cup and refused to drink it. He hit it out of her hand and spilled about half. So I tried to salvage the little bit of powder that was still in the packet. Then we added sugar and he still wouldn’t take it. So I had her switch cups and tell him it was water. Then of course he drank it right down.
It was clear that he was dehydrated and even though he did not feel well he was gladly accepting water. It was news to her to give it to him. It’s a common belief that if stuff is coming up through vomiting or diarrhea that you should withhold water because it will just make them expel more. So that was the very first thing that I told her, that he needs to be well hydrated. She responded well and ran to get water. She is a very eager mommy and wants to learn how to take care of her first baby.
I told her to give him another dose in the afternoon (around 5 o’clock prayer time because they don’t usually pay attention to hours, and the mosque call to prayer is a good time marker) and that I would be back to check on him that afternoon. I am going to teach her one-on-one how to make ORS (Oral Rehydration Salts) so that at least she can keep him hydrated. Hopefully the aspirin will work and this is just a passing flu, and not malaria. But if it continues (it has already been 4 days) then I am going to have to keep pushing her to go to the health post and have him tested.
Interactions like this are so scary. Panic sets in immediately. I get so anxious for these kids and these families. It’s sort of like having a town full of 10,000 children. I always feel so responsible. Especially for the ones that I actually do work with on a regular basis and am trying to teach better health practices.
If anything happened to any of the kids I’m close with I don’t know how I would recover. I worry about them every night when they are outside sleeping without mosquito nets, or sitting on the ground near animal feces and then eating, or climbing walls and scraping their hands on rusty nails.
Because at least at home in the states you know that you can take care of most illnesses on your own. We all have huge medicine cabinets and know how to wash out a cut. And if a situation ever becomes a real emergency, trained and reliable personnel are just moments away. And there are roads to get there, and ambulances, and telephones etc.
The anxiety and the fear build in the pit of my stomach and I constantly ask myself what else I can do. And I get so frustrated that my Pulaar still isn’t better and that I still struggle so much to actually explain things, especially related to health.
But then sometimes little kids surprise you and they bounce right back and you can’t believe that they pulled through. In a way I’m starting to understand why people are so fatalistic and believe that the choice of who lives and who dies is out of their hands. Because a lot of times it defies all explanation and logic.
For example, I am SO happy to report that the baby that I wrote about in May, Oumou, who is the baby of a sister in another villages (the one that was having trouble breast feeding), has somehow gone from a 1 kilo premature infant, to a fat, happy, normal 4 month old. And it’s thrilling. She is always all smiles and never cries. I just don’t get it. I just didn’t expect her to make it. She’s a fighter I guess and has been since she was born.
(Next Day)
I went back to Aminata’s house this morning to check on her son. His fever is almost gone as far as I can tell. When I asked her what she gave him she said that she went to the pharmacy and picked up malaria medication.* She had just given him the first dose that morning. Who knows if that really what it is, but at least he seems better and was sleeping.
*(This is one of the reasons that some strains of malaria in some regions of Africa have become resistant to certain drugs. Here during the rainy season, everything is immediately diagnosed as malaria. I am pretty sure that the health post does not have the resources or take the time to test people using malaria smears. They just prescribe the prophylaxis to anyone with symptoms of malaria (which are pretty general and apply to almost every other illness).
Though he still wasn’t drinking anything. I sat her down to talk about giving him ORS and I was pleasantly surprised that she already knew how because she learned how to make it from the previous volunteer. Again, knowledge is there, behavior change is slow. But she thought that the ORS could only be used for diarrhea, so I assured her that it would be good because he is very dehydrated. She said she would make it right away. Fingers crossed that she did. At least his fever is gone. Hopefully he’s on the mend.
Case #2
The second “health volunteer moment” of the day happened right when I came back from Aminata’s house. I walked in and there was my 15-year-old sister, Faama, (who goes to school by the way) about to put BRIGHT PINK NAIL POLISH on her friend’s infected blister beetle bite! Are you kidding me? Nail Polish? What??
(If I could make a movie of this moment it would be in slow motion.)
I basically yelled, “What are you doing?” and ripped the bottle out of her hand. She is always the first to argue with me and question my health knowledge and it took me a good 10 minutes to convince the two of them that nail polish was not going to do any good, has NO antiseptic, or beneficial properties, and would make the infected blister worse. I had to plead with them that all they needed to do was wash it with soap and water and keep it clean and dry and eventually it will heal and go away by itself.
(Clarification: Blister beetles are these horrible things that if they land on you they often pee and their urine leaves a huge blister that is painful and can get easily infected (mostly because people don’t keep them clean or know how). Luckily, all you have to do is keep it clean and dry. It is still a very annoying bug to deal with. And everyone seems to have one so I’m assuming it is the season for them. Yuck.)
Last night I saw someone with one on his neck and it was absolutely covered in flaky white junk. Of course I freaked out and told him to run to the health post immediately. But he laughed and just said that it was a blister beetle blister, but that he had put “cream” on it. God only knows what it was…toothpaste? Soap shavings? Lotion? I have no idea.
I have decided that my very first lesson for the kids at the schools will be a first aid lesson. The things people put on cuts and scrapes make me cringe: sand, leaves, toothpaste, dirt, nail polish (apparently), hair pomade, cologne, random lotions and creams. You name it.
Although these moments are scary, at least I know there is a lot of work to be done and that I am definitely needed here.
Now I just have to work on not making myself a nervous wreck every time I see a sick child. Because if I don’t, I’m never going to make it through this.
There are so many myths, beliefs, and practices about what to give people and how to treat them, or not treat them, that sometimes it’s hard to know how and where to start re-educating them.
In about an hour today I had two different “health volunteer moments” (as I’ve come to call them), both of which with just a little bit of proper education would make my job obsolete.
Case #1
I stopped by the house of one of the women from my new mommies group, Aminata, and found that her 2-year-old son is really ill. She said he had been vomiting and his fever had to be at least 104. I felt his head and it was burning hot. Of course she asked if I had medicine to get rid of the fever, but I have to say no. I told her that she should go to the health post, or to the pharmacy to buy some. Then she pulled out some child’s dissolvable aspirin and asked if it was appropriate.
I was thrilled because it was exactly what he needed for a fever reducer, but she wasn’t sure how to give it to him, or how to use it because the instructions were written in French (classic). And she knew enough to read the date on the back and didn’t know what “Aug” was, but it said ’07 so she figured it was expired. Which, it technically is, but only by a few weeks so I gave her the okay (figuring it couldn’t hurt anyway) and explained how he should take it.
Like any normal two year old, he saw the meds going in the cup and refused to drink it. He hit it out of her hand and spilled about half. So I tried to salvage the little bit of powder that was still in the packet. Then we added sugar and he still wouldn’t take it. So I had her switch cups and tell him it was water. Then of course he drank it right down.
It was clear that he was dehydrated and even though he did not feel well he was gladly accepting water. It was news to her to give it to him. It’s a common belief that if stuff is coming up through vomiting or diarrhea that you should withhold water because it will just make them expel more. So that was the very first thing that I told her, that he needs to be well hydrated. She responded well and ran to get water. She is a very eager mommy and wants to learn how to take care of her first baby.
I told her to give him another dose in the afternoon (around 5 o’clock prayer time because they don’t usually pay attention to hours, and the mosque call to prayer is a good time marker) and that I would be back to check on him that afternoon. I am going to teach her one-on-one how to make ORS (Oral Rehydration Salts) so that at least she can keep him hydrated. Hopefully the aspirin will work and this is just a passing flu, and not malaria. But if it continues (it has already been 4 days) then I am going to have to keep pushing her to go to the health post and have him tested.
Interactions like this are so scary. Panic sets in immediately. I get so anxious for these kids and these families. It’s sort of like having a town full of 10,000 children. I always feel so responsible. Especially for the ones that I actually do work with on a regular basis and am trying to teach better health practices.
If anything happened to any of the kids I’m close with I don’t know how I would recover. I worry about them every night when they are outside sleeping without mosquito nets, or sitting on the ground near animal feces and then eating, or climbing walls and scraping their hands on rusty nails.
Because at least at home in the states you know that you can take care of most illnesses on your own. We all have huge medicine cabinets and know how to wash out a cut. And if a situation ever becomes a real emergency, trained and reliable personnel are just moments away. And there are roads to get there, and ambulances, and telephones etc.
The anxiety and the fear build in the pit of my stomach and I constantly ask myself what else I can do. And I get so frustrated that my Pulaar still isn’t better and that I still struggle so much to actually explain things, especially related to health.
But then sometimes little kids surprise you and they bounce right back and you can’t believe that they pulled through. In a way I’m starting to understand why people are so fatalistic and believe that the choice of who lives and who dies is out of their hands. Because a lot of times it defies all explanation and logic.
For example, I am SO happy to report that the baby that I wrote about in May, Oumou, who is the baby of a sister in another villages (the one that was having trouble breast feeding), has somehow gone from a 1 kilo premature infant, to a fat, happy, normal 4 month old. And it’s thrilling. She is always all smiles and never cries. I just don’t get it. I just didn’t expect her to make it. She’s a fighter I guess and has been since she was born.
(Next Day)
I went back to Aminata’s house this morning to check on her son. His fever is almost gone as far as I can tell. When I asked her what she gave him she said that she went to the pharmacy and picked up malaria medication.* She had just given him the first dose that morning. Who knows if that really what it is, but at least he seems better and was sleeping.
*(This is one of the reasons that some strains of malaria in some regions of Africa have become resistant to certain drugs. Here during the rainy season, everything is immediately diagnosed as malaria. I am pretty sure that the health post does not have the resources or take the time to test people using malaria smears. They just prescribe the prophylaxis to anyone with symptoms of malaria (which are pretty general and apply to almost every other illness).
Though he still wasn’t drinking anything. I sat her down to talk about giving him ORS and I was pleasantly surprised that she already knew how because she learned how to make it from the previous volunteer. Again, knowledge is there, behavior change is slow. But she thought that the ORS could only be used for diarrhea, so I assured her that it would be good because he is very dehydrated. She said she would make it right away. Fingers crossed that she did. At least his fever is gone. Hopefully he’s on the mend.
Case #2
The second “health volunteer moment” of the day happened right when I came back from Aminata’s house. I walked in and there was my 15-year-old sister, Faama, (who goes to school by the way) about to put BRIGHT PINK NAIL POLISH on her friend’s infected blister beetle bite! Are you kidding me? Nail Polish? What??
(If I could make a movie of this moment it would be in slow motion.)
I basically yelled, “What are you doing?” and ripped the bottle out of her hand. She is always the first to argue with me and question my health knowledge and it took me a good 10 minutes to convince the two of them that nail polish was not going to do any good, has NO antiseptic, or beneficial properties, and would make the infected blister worse. I had to plead with them that all they needed to do was wash it with soap and water and keep it clean and dry and eventually it will heal and go away by itself.
(Clarification: Blister beetles are these horrible things that if they land on you they often pee and their urine leaves a huge blister that is painful and can get easily infected (mostly because people don’t keep them clean or know how). Luckily, all you have to do is keep it clean and dry. It is still a very annoying bug to deal with. And everyone seems to have one so I’m assuming it is the season for them. Yuck.)
Last night I saw someone with one on his neck and it was absolutely covered in flaky white junk. Of course I freaked out and told him to run to the health post immediately. But he laughed and just said that it was a blister beetle blister, but that he had put “cream” on it. God only knows what it was…toothpaste? Soap shavings? Lotion? I have no idea.
I have decided that my very first lesson for the kids at the schools will be a first aid lesson. The things people put on cuts and scrapes make me cringe: sand, leaves, toothpaste, dirt, nail polish (apparently), hair pomade, cologne, random lotions and creams. You name it.
Although these moments are scary, at least I know there is a lot of work to be done and that I am definitely needed here.
Now I just have to work on not making myself a nervous wreck every time I see a sick child. Because if I don’t, I’m never going to make it through this.
Why does everything take so long????
Some days I want to throw an all-out-no-holding-back temper tantrum. I want to stamp my feet, scream at the top of my lungs, grab people by the shoulders and shake them, and yell “WHY IS THIS TAKING SO LONG??? DON’T YOU SEE?! THIS IS WHY YOU NEVER GET ANYTHING DONE!!”
(The sick irony is that I’m having this reaction today after having just written yesterday about never asking “When?”).
I know that if I ever did throw a fit it would do me absolutely no good. In fact people’s reactions would probably just anger me further. (The typical reaction to anger is uncomfortable laughter and teasing). But for my own sanity I think an occasional tantrum thrown in the privacy of my douche might actually be beneficial for my mental health.
It’s just so hard to put culture aside and get over that feeling of “This is the most ludicrous waste of time EVER!” Because more often than not, it IS. It’s not like I’m being unreasonable in these instances. I am worlds more patient and flexible (a PC motto) than I was six, or even four months ago. But sometimes even when I come fully prepared, the waiting and the idle time are insufferable.
Today I opted not to attend the weekly vaccination day at the health post for 2 reasons:
Because it’s Ramadan and when I’ve been at the health post on other days almost nobody has been there. So I didn’t see any reason why I couldn’t miss this one.
Because my counterpart is the President of my quartier’s association (quartier = neighborhood, my town has 8 or so) and today the members of the association were having their first meeting in over a year.
I figured, what a great opportunity! I’d get to meet some more motivated people from my neighborhood and we can discuss problems our area is having. I thought maybe I’d even be able to bring up the issue of the ridiculous amounts of standing water, garbage and therefore mosquitoes we have around. Maybe we would talk about organizing a World AIDS Day event for December 1st, or a fundraiser to get a landfill started (one of my “big idea” projects for my two years).
I didn’t even come close to discussing any of that.
The meeting was supposed to start at 11am. Yeah right. Even I knew better than that. My sister is the “secretary” of the association so when I came home from the market that morning she said “Binta, wait for me, we’ll go together.” Knowing this would mean at least an hour, I grabbed a book and sat outside with the fam while they napped in the shade and kept the babies entertained. We finally sauntered over to the meeting at around 12:45. And guess what? No one was there. Of course.
A few women trickled in about 10 minutes after us. (I think there is some unspoken rule that you can never arrive earlier than two hours late.) And then a couple of men showed up. We rolled out the mats in a shady spot in the compound and chatted. Then we passed around the babies and chatted some more. Then people started laying down, retreating to shadier spots in other parts of the compound, or left to watch TV inside. Then my counterpart finally went inside for her notebook and a pen. Her pen didn’t work so she asked me for one, which, I did not have. Twenty minutes later she got back up to go look for another one that worked.
Now I got kind of excited because I figured, “Okay! Great! Notebook and pen. Let’s make this official, this meeting is going to get started.”
Yep. You guessed it. No such luck.
It’s now about 2:30pm. I did not bring any water with me because it’s Ramadan and out of respect for everyone fasting I try not to drink or carry around water in front of them. I also hadn’t eaten since breakfast because I figured the meeting would only take an hour or so. Both were bad ideas, and both unquestionably added to my level of crankiness and inability to tolerate "time wasting."
I did have the foresight to bring a book with me, so that held my attention for most of the waiting. I also got to play with a couple of the babies which of course is always fun. But I felt myself getting really antsy so I asked my counterpart if the meeting just wasn’t happening? She said that they were still waiting for the “men” to arrive and that we would start in 10 minutes.
Fingers crossed.
Thirty minutes later, the men she was referring to got up from napping on the stickbeds across the compound after much nagging from the women and we finally began the meeting.
I felt better that at least some of the women were getting annoyed at the wait. And it turns out that they were waiting for so long in hopes that some of the other 20 missing members of the association would show.
The meeting itself lasted about 45 minutes and though I was lost for most of it (it was in Pulaar) I got the jist of it.
Nothing was accomplished.
They decided to hold another meeting next Thursday so that everyone could be there.
So for 45 minutes in the sweltering heat, famished, thirsty beyond comprehension, with everyone fasting (which includes not drinking water by the way….and yeah, we still live in the desert last time I checked) all they talked about was
Attendance
When to have the next meeting
What to do with the 100,000 CFA they had raised during the previous year.
At least the money part was intriguing. When that came up I waited for the perfect moment to snap my hand up and say “hey…what about an AIDS event? Or a landfill? Or more trees? Or a community garden?” or anything useful for that matter.
At 4pm, roughly 4 hours after I thought I would be finished, my neighborhood association decided that with their YEAR’S worth of savings they would buy….
Drumroll please…
Plastic chairs.
Tremendous.
They didn’t decide when, or from where, or who would pick them up, or where they would keep them or even any of the logistics. Nope. It took 5 hours just to decide to buy plastic lawn chairs.
If this is pace of development work, I don’t know if I have the patience for it…and it’s only been 6 months.
(The sick irony is that I’m having this reaction today after having just written yesterday about never asking “When?”).
I know that if I ever did throw a fit it would do me absolutely no good. In fact people’s reactions would probably just anger me further. (The typical reaction to anger is uncomfortable laughter and teasing). But for my own sanity I think an occasional tantrum thrown in the privacy of my douche might actually be beneficial for my mental health.
It’s just so hard to put culture aside and get over that feeling of “This is the most ludicrous waste of time EVER!” Because more often than not, it IS. It’s not like I’m being unreasonable in these instances. I am worlds more patient and flexible (a PC motto) than I was six, or even four months ago. But sometimes even when I come fully prepared, the waiting and the idle time are insufferable.
Today I opted not to attend the weekly vaccination day at the health post for 2 reasons:
Because it’s Ramadan and when I’ve been at the health post on other days almost nobody has been there. So I didn’t see any reason why I couldn’t miss this one.
Because my counterpart is the President of my quartier’s association (quartier = neighborhood, my town has 8 or so) and today the members of the association were having their first meeting in over a year.
I figured, what a great opportunity! I’d get to meet some more motivated people from my neighborhood and we can discuss problems our area is having. I thought maybe I’d even be able to bring up the issue of the ridiculous amounts of standing water, garbage and therefore mosquitoes we have around. Maybe we would talk about organizing a World AIDS Day event for December 1st, or a fundraiser to get a landfill started (one of my “big idea” projects for my two years).
I didn’t even come close to discussing any of that.
The meeting was supposed to start at 11am. Yeah right. Even I knew better than that. My sister is the “secretary” of the association so when I came home from the market that morning she said “Binta, wait for me, we’ll go together.” Knowing this would mean at least an hour, I grabbed a book and sat outside with the fam while they napped in the shade and kept the babies entertained. We finally sauntered over to the meeting at around 12:45. And guess what? No one was there. Of course.
A few women trickled in about 10 minutes after us. (I think there is some unspoken rule that you can never arrive earlier than two hours late.) And then a couple of men showed up. We rolled out the mats in a shady spot in the compound and chatted. Then we passed around the babies and chatted some more. Then people started laying down, retreating to shadier spots in other parts of the compound, or left to watch TV inside. Then my counterpart finally went inside for her notebook and a pen. Her pen didn’t work so she asked me for one, which, I did not have. Twenty minutes later she got back up to go look for another one that worked.
Now I got kind of excited because I figured, “Okay! Great! Notebook and pen. Let’s make this official, this meeting is going to get started.”
Yep. You guessed it. No such luck.
It’s now about 2:30pm. I did not bring any water with me because it’s Ramadan and out of respect for everyone fasting I try not to drink or carry around water in front of them. I also hadn’t eaten since breakfast because I figured the meeting would only take an hour or so. Both were bad ideas, and both unquestionably added to my level of crankiness and inability to tolerate "time wasting."
I did have the foresight to bring a book with me, so that held my attention for most of the waiting. I also got to play with a couple of the babies which of course is always fun. But I felt myself getting really antsy so I asked my counterpart if the meeting just wasn’t happening? She said that they were still waiting for the “men” to arrive and that we would start in 10 minutes.
Fingers crossed.
Thirty minutes later, the men she was referring to got up from napping on the stickbeds across the compound after much nagging from the women and we finally began the meeting.
I felt better that at least some of the women were getting annoyed at the wait. And it turns out that they were waiting for so long in hopes that some of the other 20 missing members of the association would show.
The meeting itself lasted about 45 minutes and though I was lost for most of it (it was in Pulaar) I got the jist of it.
Nothing was accomplished.
They decided to hold another meeting next Thursday so that everyone could be there.
So for 45 minutes in the sweltering heat, famished, thirsty beyond comprehension, with everyone fasting (which includes not drinking water by the way….and yeah, we still live in the desert last time I checked) all they talked about was
Attendance
When to have the next meeting
What to do with the 100,000 CFA they had raised during the previous year.
At least the money part was intriguing. When that came up I waited for the perfect moment to snap my hand up and say “hey…what about an AIDS event? Or a landfill? Or more trees? Or a community garden?” or anything useful for that matter.
At 4pm, roughly 4 hours after I thought I would be finished, my neighborhood association decided that with their YEAR’S worth of savings they would buy….
Drumroll please…
Plastic chairs.
Tremendous.
They didn’t decide when, or from where, or who would pick them up, or where they would keep them or even any of the logistics. Nope. It took 5 hours just to decide to buy plastic lawn chairs.
If this is pace of development work, I don’t know if I have the patience for it…and it’s only been 6 months.
Television
I have decided that television ruins and homogenizes cultures.
Let me explain.
I didn’t watch much television until later in college and into grad school. Having not had a TV in high school, or the time to watch it through most of college, I missed out on a lot of my generations’ “pop culture” references. In fact, I am still catching up. (For example, I have yet to see a James Bond or a Batman movie, and I can count the number of Saturday Night Live shows I’ve seen on one hand). So I wasn’t that concerned with not having access to TV during my service. Granted I’ve seen my fair share of movies when I’ve taken days off at the regional/transit house up North, but that was an unexpected luxury for sure. Because my family here does have a TV, I’ve actually been exposed to a fair amount. Most of it is entirely unwatchable. French, American, and Venezualan soap operas prevail, but the Senegalese shows are even worse (if that’s possible).
But I prefer the banality of RTS (the national station) to the effects of American television networks on Senegalese culture. What I mean is that on several occasions I have observed totally inappropriate programming and I’ve seen what cable does to “family togetherness.”
During PST my Thies family had basic Senegalese TV. They watched the news, various Senegalese music videos and of course the beloved Venezualen soap, Barbarita. When I came back for IST, they had expanded their channels and among others now have a 24 hour all-American music video station. As a result, our nighttime interactions were drastically different. Before, we would sit around together, eat dinner, maybe cook together, visit neighbors, look at magazines, chit-chat, braid hair etc. But with the new MTVesque programming I absolutely could not ever talk to them without hearing and seeing Sean Paul, Britney Spears, Kelly Clarkson, Usher, and Snoop Dogg videos in the background. Most of which are wholly inappropriate for such a conservative culture.
I understand that to some extent it might be beneficial for Senegalese to be exposed to other cultures, expand their horizons, etc. But I doubt that exposing them to half naked, subservient women in rap videos is going to do very much for the blatant gender inequality in this country. If I were my host father, I probably would have locked up and immediately married off my daughters after seeing some of those videos. After being here for just a few months some of those videos actually made me blush and squirm in my seat. They were so inappropriate and suggestive. Because of the television my family spent less time interacting with me, and there was little incentive for me to come home from training right away. Thus during IST, I spent much more time out with other volunteers socializing.
Now I’m not saying that television should be censored. I’m just sharing my observations about how awkward I felt and how disappointed I was at the reduced “family” time.
Up at site I’ve also had some moments where I wanted to run to the TV and rip the cord from the wall. Desperate Housewives plays on Saturday nights on RTS (24 hours, LOST, and Monk also play weekly). This particular Saturday I was watching an episode of Desperate Housewives with my 13 year old nephew, Oumar. I have no idea why this episode was chosen, but it was one of the racier and more controversial episodes I had ever seen (granted I’ve seen about 3). The whole thing glorified infidelity, and addressed sexuality (kind of). It’s probably a matter of time before I’ll have to have a conversation with people in my town about the spectrum of sexuality, and homosexuality/bisexuality/transgender/queer culture, but I just was not ready for it at that moment.
At the end of the episode of the actresses’ sons was making out with his boyfriend in a pool and a neighbor walked in on them. My little brother was so perplexed. He had no idea what was going on even though he speaks French (all shows are dubbed in French). He asked me, “Binta, what are they doing?” Now homosexuality is actually illegal in Senegal not to mention that it’s so taboo that I’ve never even heard it talked about in country. In that particular instance I chose to totally ignore the opportunity for dialogue. I lied to him and told him that they were playing and that the woman was surprised because they tricked her into thinking it was her kid…or something ridiculous like that. He just nodded and said “oh.”
Looking back on it, I HATE that I felt so helpless to address something that I feel so strongly about. And yes, I do look at it as a wasted opportunity. But it’s a slippery slope when you’re dealing with such a sensitive subject. I felt that using Desperate Housewives as a means to bring up homosexuality would not exactly help me make a point. Instead I opted for silence. My point is not that the topic should not be addressed (obviously it is high time) but that the exportation of scandalous images and mothers walking in on teenage boys making out, and then ultimately not supporting his choice (a later episode), is a horrible way to start the dialogue.
Talking to volunteers in villages without televisions, I am always slightly jealous of the peaceful, quiet evenings they spend under the stars, laying on mats with their families. My evenings are relaxing and I cherish the family time, but they are always tainted and a little less romantic when theme songs and commercial jingles resonate in the background.
(Disclaimer: Though I might be “anti-TV” now, give me a few more months and we’ll see if I’m not glued to the screen the next time RTS airs a re-run of Monk.)
Let me explain.
I didn’t watch much television until later in college and into grad school. Having not had a TV in high school, or the time to watch it through most of college, I missed out on a lot of my generations’ “pop culture” references. In fact, I am still catching up. (For example, I have yet to see a James Bond or a Batman movie, and I can count the number of Saturday Night Live shows I’ve seen on one hand). So I wasn’t that concerned with not having access to TV during my service. Granted I’ve seen my fair share of movies when I’ve taken days off at the regional/transit house up North, but that was an unexpected luxury for sure. Because my family here does have a TV, I’ve actually been exposed to a fair amount. Most of it is entirely unwatchable. French, American, and Venezualan soap operas prevail, but the Senegalese shows are even worse (if that’s possible).
But I prefer the banality of RTS (the national station) to the effects of American television networks on Senegalese culture. What I mean is that on several occasions I have observed totally inappropriate programming and I’ve seen what cable does to “family togetherness.”
During PST my Thies family had basic Senegalese TV. They watched the news, various Senegalese music videos and of course the beloved Venezualen soap, Barbarita. When I came back for IST, they had expanded their channels and among others now have a 24 hour all-American music video station. As a result, our nighttime interactions were drastically different. Before, we would sit around together, eat dinner, maybe cook together, visit neighbors, look at magazines, chit-chat, braid hair etc. But with the new MTVesque programming I absolutely could not ever talk to them without hearing and seeing Sean Paul, Britney Spears, Kelly Clarkson, Usher, and Snoop Dogg videos in the background. Most of which are wholly inappropriate for such a conservative culture.
I understand that to some extent it might be beneficial for Senegalese to be exposed to other cultures, expand their horizons, etc. But I doubt that exposing them to half naked, subservient women in rap videos is going to do very much for the blatant gender inequality in this country. If I were my host father, I probably would have locked up and immediately married off my daughters after seeing some of those videos. After being here for just a few months some of those videos actually made me blush and squirm in my seat. They were so inappropriate and suggestive. Because of the television my family spent less time interacting with me, and there was little incentive for me to come home from training right away. Thus during IST, I spent much more time out with other volunteers socializing.
Now I’m not saying that television should be censored. I’m just sharing my observations about how awkward I felt and how disappointed I was at the reduced “family” time.
Up at site I’ve also had some moments where I wanted to run to the TV and rip the cord from the wall. Desperate Housewives plays on Saturday nights on RTS (24 hours, LOST, and Monk also play weekly). This particular Saturday I was watching an episode of Desperate Housewives with my 13 year old nephew, Oumar. I have no idea why this episode was chosen, but it was one of the racier and more controversial episodes I had ever seen (granted I’ve seen about 3). The whole thing glorified infidelity, and addressed sexuality (kind of). It’s probably a matter of time before I’ll have to have a conversation with people in my town about the spectrum of sexuality, and homosexuality/bisexuality/transgender/queer culture, but I just was not ready for it at that moment.
At the end of the episode of the actresses’ sons was making out with his boyfriend in a pool and a neighbor walked in on them. My little brother was so perplexed. He had no idea what was going on even though he speaks French (all shows are dubbed in French). He asked me, “Binta, what are they doing?” Now homosexuality is actually illegal in Senegal not to mention that it’s so taboo that I’ve never even heard it talked about in country. In that particular instance I chose to totally ignore the opportunity for dialogue. I lied to him and told him that they were playing and that the woman was surprised because they tricked her into thinking it was her kid…or something ridiculous like that. He just nodded and said “oh.”
Looking back on it, I HATE that I felt so helpless to address something that I feel so strongly about. And yes, I do look at it as a wasted opportunity. But it’s a slippery slope when you’re dealing with such a sensitive subject. I felt that using Desperate Housewives as a means to bring up homosexuality would not exactly help me make a point. Instead I opted for silence. My point is not that the topic should not be addressed (obviously it is high time) but that the exportation of scandalous images and mothers walking in on teenage boys making out, and then ultimately not supporting his choice (a later episode), is a horrible way to start the dialogue.
Talking to volunteers in villages without televisions, I am always slightly jealous of the peaceful, quiet evenings they spend under the stars, laying on mats with their families. My evenings are relaxing and I cherish the family time, but they are always tainted and a little less romantic when theme songs and commercial jingles resonate in the background.
(Disclaimer: Though I might be “anti-TV” now, give me a few more months and we’ll see if I’m not glued to the screen the next time RTS airs a re-run of Monk.)
Homecoming
I am so happy to be home!
After almost 6 weeks away because of IST, med appointments in Dakar, and regional health meetings up North, I was really worried about readjusting to site. But I could not be happier to be back.
When I arrived, totally exhausted, sweaty (of course) and carrying my huge bags, it was dusk and no one was in my compound except my baabaa (dad).
He was in the middle of praying, but came running over to me (as much as he can run for an old man who uses a cane to walk, and can barely hear) and gave me a HUGE hug and was so happy and smiling and kept hugging me and saying he was happy and how much he missed me.
It was so nice to be welcomed home that way. Usually people give handshakes but there isn’t a lot of hugging. It even made me a little teary. (No surprise there).
Then people started trickling in and I was greeted over and over. My favorite sister even came in town. She was married a few weeks ago very suddenly while I was gone, to a young French Senegalese man who I’ve met and seems very nice. (But I don’t know what I’ll do if she moves to France. I’ll be devastated. I hope she at least stays to finish her schooling.)
I had been so worried about my room flooding. I had heard horror stories from other volunteers about coming home to inches of water and totally destroyed possessions. But as it turns out, my room was only a little mildewy and dank smelling. No puddles.
I even only had one scorpion waiting for me! Hooray! As my dad pointed out “How nice for you!” (Insert biting sarcasm). Really though, with my track record I was practically expecting them to be covering the floor. And I knew exactly where to find it. Under that trunk where all the other ones like to hide out. I had about 40 huge black beetles, a cockroach, lots of spiderwebs, and piles of sand. But everything was intact and in good condition.
I spent the last couple of hours of sunlight sweeping furiously, unpacking, and greeting people. Then an incredible rainstorm came out of nowhere and I was able to bucket bath in it. It was like taking a real shower. Incredible. And it was even cool enough to sleep inside my room that night. A luxury for sure.
Point is I’m so happy to be back. I really missed my host family and my routine and my work. Coming back made me realize that it finally feels like home here. I’ve noticed the progress that I’ve made and how much more comfortable I feel compared to the first few weeks when I arrived.
And to boot, I had 6 packages and 3 letters waiting for me! THANK YOU EVERYONE! Those made for such a warm and wonderful homecoming. It means a lot to hear words of encouragement and support from people at home.
Although I haven’t been using it that much over the past few weeks, for some reason my Pulaar really does sound better. Maybe it’s just because I’m more confident? Or paying better attention and am making more of an effort? I’m not sure, but I’m getting there.
As for the month of Ramadan, well, thus far it’s not as bad as I had heard. I mean yes, people are tired and do a lot less in the afternoon, and it’s sort of a strange existence having to hide my eating and water-drinking habits from my family. I told them that I did not want to fast and they agreed that unless you are praying, there is no point in fasting anyway. For the most part I’m hoping to still be able to have meetings and get some lesson plans finished and maybe finally be able to have a meeting with my new mothers and girls groups. That has been a challenge I had not expected. Between my own insecurities with Pulaar, and everyone’s schedules we have yet to meet at all. Numerous attempts have been made, but nothing as of yet. Hopefully because there are a lot fewer chores for the girls and women to do during the day (aka. no cooking) we will find time this month.
As for the weather, there hasn’t been any rain for a few days and the temperatures have started to climb again. The rumor is that the month of Ramadan is sweltering because the rains have stopped but it still hasn’t cooled off yet. It doesn’t really get cooler until mid-November.
My first guest is coming in 6 weeks! Very exciting. I cannot believe that I’ve now been here 6 months. It has flown by. Roughly 19 months left…but who’s counting? If I start thinking about how little time I have to accomplish everything I would like, then panic sets in. I have to constantly remind myself to take baby steps.
Someone recently told me that he learned that in Africa, you never ask “When?” If you do it will make you crazy. Things happen slowly, sometimes not at all, but I’ve just got to keep pushing and keep trying.
Until next time. Thanks for reading. Keep the questions coming.
After almost 6 weeks away because of IST, med appointments in Dakar, and regional health meetings up North, I was really worried about readjusting to site. But I could not be happier to be back.
When I arrived, totally exhausted, sweaty (of course) and carrying my huge bags, it was dusk and no one was in my compound except my baabaa (dad).
He was in the middle of praying, but came running over to me (as much as he can run for an old man who uses a cane to walk, and can barely hear) and gave me a HUGE hug and was so happy and smiling and kept hugging me and saying he was happy and how much he missed me.
It was so nice to be welcomed home that way. Usually people give handshakes but there isn’t a lot of hugging. It even made me a little teary. (No surprise there).
Then people started trickling in and I was greeted over and over. My favorite sister even came in town. She was married a few weeks ago very suddenly while I was gone, to a young French Senegalese man who I’ve met and seems very nice. (But I don’t know what I’ll do if she moves to France. I’ll be devastated. I hope she at least stays to finish her schooling.)
I had been so worried about my room flooding. I had heard horror stories from other volunteers about coming home to inches of water and totally destroyed possessions. But as it turns out, my room was only a little mildewy and dank smelling. No puddles.
I even only had one scorpion waiting for me! Hooray! As my dad pointed out “How nice for you!” (Insert biting sarcasm). Really though, with my track record I was practically expecting them to be covering the floor. And I knew exactly where to find it. Under that trunk where all the other ones like to hide out. I had about 40 huge black beetles, a cockroach, lots of spiderwebs, and piles of sand. But everything was intact and in good condition.
I spent the last couple of hours of sunlight sweeping furiously, unpacking, and greeting people. Then an incredible rainstorm came out of nowhere and I was able to bucket bath in it. It was like taking a real shower. Incredible. And it was even cool enough to sleep inside my room that night. A luxury for sure.
Point is I’m so happy to be back. I really missed my host family and my routine and my work. Coming back made me realize that it finally feels like home here. I’ve noticed the progress that I’ve made and how much more comfortable I feel compared to the first few weeks when I arrived.
And to boot, I had 6 packages and 3 letters waiting for me! THANK YOU EVERYONE! Those made for such a warm and wonderful homecoming. It means a lot to hear words of encouragement and support from people at home.
Although I haven’t been using it that much over the past few weeks, for some reason my Pulaar really does sound better. Maybe it’s just because I’m more confident? Or paying better attention and am making more of an effort? I’m not sure, but I’m getting there.
As for the month of Ramadan, well, thus far it’s not as bad as I had heard. I mean yes, people are tired and do a lot less in the afternoon, and it’s sort of a strange existence having to hide my eating and water-drinking habits from my family. I told them that I did not want to fast and they agreed that unless you are praying, there is no point in fasting anyway. For the most part I’m hoping to still be able to have meetings and get some lesson plans finished and maybe finally be able to have a meeting with my new mothers and girls groups. That has been a challenge I had not expected. Between my own insecurities with Pulaar, and everyone’s schedules we have yet to meet at all. Numerous attempts have been made, but nothing as of yet. Hopefully because there are a lot fewer chores for the girls and women to do during the day (aka. no cooking) we will find time this month.
As for the weather, there hasn’t been any rain for a few days and the temperatures have started to climb again. The rumor is that the month of Ramadan is sweltering because the rains have stopped but it still hasn’t cooled off yet. It doesn’t really get cooler until mid-November.
My first guest is coming in 6 weeks! Very exciting. I cannot believe that I’ve now been here 6 months. It has flown by. Roughly 19 months left…but who’s counting? If I start thinking about how little time I have to accomplish everything I would like, then panic sets in. I have to constantly remind myself to take baby steps.
Someone recently told me that he learned that in Africa, you never ask “When?” If you do it will make you crazy. Things happen slowly, sometimes not at all, but I’ve just got to keep pushing and keep trying.
Until next time. Thanks for reading. Keep the questions coming.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Homecoming
I am so happy to be home!
After almost 6 weeks away because of IST, med appointments in Dakar, and regional health meetings up North, I was really worried about readjusting to site. But I could not be happier to be back.
When I arrived, totally exhausted, sweaty (of course) and carrying my huge bags, it was dusk and no one was in my compound except my baabaa (dad).
He was in the middle of praying, but came running over to me (as much as he can run for an old man who uses a cane to walk, and can barely hear) and gave me a HUGE hug and was so happy and smiling and kept hugging me and saying he was happy and how much he missed me.
It was so nice to be welcomed home that way. Usually people give handshakes but there isn’t a lot of hugging. It even made me a little teary. (No surprise there).
Then people started trickling in and I was greeted over and over. My favorite sister even came in town. She was married a few weeks ago very suddenly while I was gone, to a young French Senegalese man who I’ve met and seems very nice. (But I don’t know what I’ll do if she moves to France. I’ll be devastated. I hope she at least stays to finish her schooling.)
I had been so worried about my room flooding. I had heard horror stories from other volunteers about coming home to inches of water and totally destroyed possessions. But as it turns out, my room was only a little mildewy and dank smelling. No puddles.
I even only had one scorpion waiting for me! Hooray! As my dad pointed out “How nice for you!” (Insert biting sarcasm). Really though, with my track record I was practically expecting them to be covering the floor. And I knew exactly where to find it. Under that trunk where all the other ones like to hide out. I had about 40 huge black beetles, a cockroach, lots of spiderwebs, and piles of sand. But everything was intact and in good condition.
I spent the last couple of hours of sunlight sweeping furiously, unpacking, and greeting people. Then an incredible rainstorm came out of nowhere and I was able to bucket bath in it. It was like taking a real shower. Incredible. And it was even cool enough to sleep inside my room that night. A luxury for sure.
Point is I’m so happy to be back. I really missed my host family and my routine and my work. Coming back made me realize that it finally feels like home here. I’ve noticed the progress that I’ve made and how much more comfortable I feel compared to the first few weeks when I arrived.
And to boot, I had 6 packages and 3 letters waiting for me! THANK YOU EVERYONE! Those made for such a warm and wonderful homecoming. It means a lot to hear words of encouragement and support from people at home.
Although I haven’t been using it that much over the past few weeks, for some reason my Pulaar really does sound better. Maybe it’s just because I’m more confident? Or paying better attention and am making more of an effort? I’m not sure, but I’m getting there.
As for the month of Ramadan, well, thus far it’s not as bad as I had heard. I mean yes, people are tired and do a lot less in the afternoon, and it’s sort of a strange existence having to hide my eating and water-drinking habits from my family. I told them that I did not want to fast and they agreed that unless you are praying, there is no point in fasting anyway. For the most part I’m hoping to still be able to have meetings and get some lesson plans finished and maybe finally be able to have a meeting with my new mothers and girls groups. That has been a challenge I had not expected. Between my own insecurities with Pulaar, and everyone’s schedules we have yet to meet at all. Numerous attempts have been made, but nothing as of yet. Hopefully because there are a lot fewer chores for the girls and women to do during the day (aka. no cooking) we will find time this month.
As for the weather, there hasn’t been any rain for a few days and the temperatures have started to climb again. The rumor is that the month of Ramadan is sweltering because the rains have stopped but it still hasn’t cooled off yet. It doesn’t really get cooler until mid-November.
My first guest is coming in 6 weeks! Very exciting. I cannot believe that I’ve now been here 6 months. It has flown by. Roughly 19 months left…but who’s counting? If I start thinking about how little time I have to accomplish everything I would like, then panic sets in. I have to constantly remind myself to take baby steps.
Someone recently told me that he learned that in Africa, you never ask “When?” If you do it will make you crazy. Things happen slowly, sometimes not at all, but I’ve just got to keep pushing and keep trying.
Until next time. Thanks for reading. Keep the questions coming.
After almost 6 weeks away because of IST, med appointments in Dakar, and regional health meetings up North, I was really worried about readjusting to site. But I could not be happier to be back.
When I arrived, totally exhausted, sweaty (of course) and carrying my huge bags, it was dusk and no one was in my compound except my baabaa (dad).
He was in the middle of praying, but came running over to me (as much as he can run for an old man who uses a cane to walk, and can barely hear) and gave me a HUGE hug and was so happy and smiling and kept hugging me and saying he was happy and how much he missed me.
It was so nice to be welcomed home that way. Usually people give handshakes but there isn’t a lot of hugging. It even made me a little teary. (No surprise there).
Then people started trickling in and I was greeted over and over. My favorite sister even came in town. She was married a few weeks ago very suddenly while I was gone, to a young French Senegalese man who I’ve met and seems very nice. (But I don’t know what I’ll do if she moves to France. I’ll be devastated. I hope she at least stays to finish her schooling.)
I had been so worried about my room flooding. I had heard horror stories from other volunteers about coming home to inches of water and totally destroyed possessions. But as it turns out, my room was only a little mildewy and dank smelling. No puddles.
I even only had one scorpion waiting for me! Hooray! As my dad pointed out “How nice for you!” (Insert biting sarcasm). Really though, with my track record I was practically expecting them to be covering the floor. And I knew exactly where to find it. Under that trunk where all the other ones like to hide out. I had about 40 huge black beetles, a cockroach, lots of spiderwebs, and piles of sand. But everything was intact and in good condition.
I spent the last couple of hours of sunlight sweeping furiously, unpacking, and greeting people. Then an incredible rainstorm came out of nowhere and I was able to bucket bath in it. It was like taking a real shower. Incredible. And it was even cool enough to sleep inside my room that night. A luxury for sure.
Point is I’m so happy to be back. I really missed my host family and my routine and my work. Coming back made me realize that it finally feels like home here. I’ve noticed the progress that I’ve made and how much more comfortable I feel compared to the first few weeks when I arrived.
And to boot, I had 6 packages and 3 letters waiting for me! THANK YOU EVERYONE! Those made for such a warm and wonderful homecoming. It means a lot to hear words of encouragement and support from people at home.
Although I haven’t been using it that much over the past few weeks, for some reason my Pulaar really does sound better. Maybe it’s just because I’m more confident? Or paying better attention and am making more of an effort? I’m not sure, but I’m getting there.
As for the month of Ramadan, well, thus far it’s not as bad as I had heard. I mean yes, people are tired and do a lot less in the afternoon, and it’s sort of a strange existence having to hide my eating and water-drinking habits from my family. I told them that I did not want to fast and they agreed that unless you are praying, there is no point in fasting anyway. For the most part I’m hoping to still be able to have meetings and get some lesson plans finished and maybe finally be able to have a meeting with my new mothers and girls groups. That has been a challenge I had not expected. Between my own insecurities with Pulaar, and everyone’s schedules we have yet to meet at all. Numerous attempts have been made, but nothing as of yet. Hopefully because there are a lot fewer chores for the girls and women to do during the day (aka. no cooking) we will find time this month.
As for the weather, there hasn’t been any rain for a few days and the temperatures have started to climb again. The rumor is that the month of Ramadan is sweltering because the rains have stopped but it still hasn’t cooled off yet. It doesn’t really get cooler until mid-November.
My first guest is coming in 6 weeks! Very exciting. I cannot believe that I’ve now been here 6 months. It has flown by. Roughly 19 months left…but who’s counting? If I start thinking about how little time I have to accomplish everything I would like, then panic sets in. I have to constantly remind myself to take baby steps.
Someone recently told me that he learned that in Africa, you never ask “When?” If you do it will make you crazy. Things happen slowly, sometimes not at all, but I’ve just got to keep pushing and keep trying.
Until next time. Thanks for reading. Keep the questions coming.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Cross-Cultural Comparison
Someone recently suggested to me that I should include more cross-cultural comparisons of the US and Senegal.
I’m unsure how to do that more than I have been, but I thought I would take a list of questions that people have asked and address them in blog entries. Remember that my blog is an open forum for any questions you all might have. If any of you do have questions do post them so that others can benefit.
Do you ever feel that the gender situation is so remarkably unjust that it has transcended into situations beyond reach?
The simple answer is yes; I do, all the time. Sometimes the lack of women’s empowerment is so disheartening and depressing that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make any kind of headway. But to be a successful PCV you really have to believe that you are planting the seed and that you might not necessarily see the fruits of your labor. Someday some little girl could be inspired to go on and get through school and be a teacher, or have a little bit of knowledge that she learned from me that will help keep her children healthier. We just can’t know. But to stay sane, I have to believe that somehow, someday my work will impact at least one person. It’s just so difficult to measure.
One of the things I desperately want to work on is to have a boy’s group. In my own studies and experiences I’ve been consistently disappointed with how frequently men are left out of the development/gender/reproductive health conversation and I want to find a way to work with teenage boys.
(Also, see blog entry called “Atheist Man Hater” from July for a more thorough description of some of the more negative experiences I’ve had.)
Have you been able to do any doula work?
I have not yet been able to attend any births, but my counterpart is currently very pregnant and is due soon. I spoke with her about my volunteer doula experience and offered to be there for the birth and she emphatically agreed. I’m definitely excited about it, but also kind of nervous too. I mean the other births I attended were in a modern birthing center with teams of surgeons on call just next door. Every woman had her own room, bathroom, shower, rocking chair, birthing balls and bars, mirrors, and ample room for family members.
This time around it’s going to be a completely different experience. If the mid-wives even decide to let me in the room with her for the birth then it will be done in a tiny, dirty room with 6 “beds”, no running water, sketchy electricity, no medicine, and obviously no emergency supplies or staff. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I won’t have to witness anything traumatic and that the birth will go smoothly. I am slightly worried because she is older and her last birth was 9 years ago. But I am still honored and looking forward to being there to support her and hopefully make her more comfortable.
What is the mother and infant mortality rate in Senegal?
The Infant Mortality Rate (IMR) for Senegal is 78 per 1,000 live births. Though progress has been made because it’s down from 164 in 1970 By comparison the USA’s IMR is 7 per 1,000 livebirths.
The Maternal Mortality Rate (MMR) for Senegal is 690 per 100,000 live births. Whereas in the USA its 17 and in Iceland it’s actually 0.
(For more statistics see the Human Development Index from the UN.
http://hdr.undp.org/hdr2006/statistics/ )
How much teaching do you get to do?
Now that I’m back at site, and summer vacation is finally coming to an end, I’m preparing to do a lot of teaching. There are actually 5 schools in my town. One pre-school, two primary schools, a middle school, and then one private school. I have made friends with many of the teachers and I’m hoping to come in and teach regular health lessons to the kids. Health lessons are written into the national curriculum, but they are certainly not comprehensive and usually the way the kids are forced to learn is by repetition and reading. So my goal is to spend the majority of Ramadan preparing lesson plans on all kinds of health topics: hygiene, malaria, first aid, dental hygiene, nutrition, STIs, family planning, etc.
Ideally I’d like to be teaching at least one class a week but even more would be great. I’m particularly excited about working with kids not just because I adore them so much (as you all know…I didn’t get voted “PCV Most Likely To Adopt A Senegalese Child” for nothing!) but also because then I can work in French and I won’t be intimidated to get started. I might even be able to do some of the lessons at the middle school level in English with the English classes.
How much do the mothers understand?
The issue that most volunteers face is not so much the lack of education and knowledge (for those who have been to school) but behavior change. My family for example knows full well that they need to wash their hands with soap before they eat, and that they should always sleep under mosquito nets…but do they? Nope. They rinse their hands with water, and only sleep under nets after I begged them too. They know about malaria, and how it is transmitted, but it’s getting them to that next step…to actually change their behavior that is the biggest challenge.
But I don’t think that that is much different than anyone else I know. How many people do we all know that are lifetime smokers? They know it’s horrible for them but they continue to do it anyway? It’s really no different. And what about obesity? Everyone knows that it increases your risk for heart disease, diabetes, cancer, etc. And yet people still don’t exercise and eat horribly.
So yes it’s frustrating and there are some myths that are so counterproductive and preposterous that sometimes even I am baffled by them. But all I can do is try to find creative ways to talk about them.
Plant the seed and hope for the best.
Is the care of their infants built on folklore?
I guess I can use some examples of typical myths that mothers and grandmothers have regarding their children.
That if a child has diarrhea the last thing you want to give them is water.
That colostrum (the first milk) is not good for the baby so you should give them water instead.
If you have a cut a way to stop the bleeding is to put it in the sand.
That babies should be fed, water, butter, and other random food scraps during the first 6 months of life because breast milk is not enough.
The list goes on…
If so, how do you even begin to break those barriers?
Breaking those barriers? I wish I knew. My strategy is to ask lots of questions, be incredibly patient, and have many conversations. Oh, and repetition. I have to constantly ask breastfeeding moms about their children and what they feed them, but also to observe their behavior because they often lie about what they are doing. Luckily because I am an outsider and a Westerner and a health volunteer I can get away with bringing up weird subjects like breastfeeding and family planning. But there are days when it seems like I’ll never be able to change anyone’s mind.
I am really only touching the surface of addressing these questions, but I hope that it has been informative and given you all a glimpse into some cross-cultural comparisons.
Please keep the questions coming. Sometimes I have a hard time knowing what to talk about and what people want to hear about.
Thanks for reading and caring enough to ask!
I’m unsure how to do that more than I have been, but I thought I would take a list of questions that people have asked and address them in blog entries. Remember that my blog is an open forum for any questions you all might have. If any of you do have questions do post them so that others can benefit.
Do you ever feel that the gender situation is so remarkably unjust that it has transcended into situations beyond reach?
The simple answer is yes; I do, all the time. Sometimes the lack of women’s empowerment is so disheartening and depressing that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make any kind of headway. But to be a successful PCV you really have to believe that you are planting the seed and that you might not necessarily see the fruits of your labor. Someday some little girl could be inspired to go on and get through school and be a teacher, or have a little bit of knowledge that she learned from me that will help keep her children healthier. We just can’t know. But to stay sane, I have to believe that somehow, someday my work will impact at least one person. It’s just so difficult to measure.
One of the things I desperately want to work on is to have a boy’s group. In my own studies and experiences I’ve been consistently disappointed with how frequently men are left out of the development/gender/reproductive health conversation and I want to find a way to work with teenage boys.
(Also, see blog entry called “Atheist Man Hater” from July for a more thorough description of some of the more negative experiences I’ve had.)
Have you been able to do any doula work?
I have not yet been able to attend any births, but my counterpart is currently very pregnant and is due soon. I spoke with her about my volunteer doula experience and offered to be there for the birth and she emphatically agreed. I’m definitely excited about it, but also kind of nervous too. I mean the other births I attended were in a modern birthing center with teams of surgeons on call just next door. Every woman had her own room, bathroom, shower, rocking chair, birthing balls and bars, mirrors, and ample room for family members.
This time around it’s going to be a completely different experience. If the mid-wives even decide to let me in the room with her for the birth then it will be done in a tiny, dirty room with 6 “beds”, no running water, sketchy electricity, no medicine, and obviously no emergency supplies or staff. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I won’t have to witness anything traumatic and that the birth will go smoothly. I am slightly worried because she is older and her last birth was 9 years ago. But I am still honored and looking forward to being there to support her and hopefully make her more comfortable.
What is the mother and infant mortality rate in Senegal?
The Infant Mortality Rate (IMR) for Senegal is 78 per 1,000 live births. Though progress has been made because it’s down from 164 in 1970 By comparison the USA’s IMR is 7 per 1,000 livebirths.
The Maternal Mortality Rate (MMR) for Senegal is 690 per 100,000 live births. Whereas in the USA its 17 and in Iceland it’s actually 0.
(For more statistics see the Human Development Index from the UN.
http://hdr.undp.org/hdr2006/statistics/ )
How much teaching do you get to do?
Now that I’m back at site, and summer vacation is finally coming to an end, I’m preparing to do a lot of teaching. There are actually 5 schools in my town. One pre-school, two primary schools, a middle school, and then one private school. I have made friends with many of the teachers and I’m hoping to come in and teach regular health lessons to the kids. Health lessons are written into the national curriculum, but they are certainly not comprehensive and usually the way the kids are forced to learn is by repetition and reading. So my goal is to spend the majority of Ramadan preparing lesson plans on all kinds of health topics: hygiene, malaria, first aid, dental hygiene, nutrition, STIs, family planning, etc.
Ideally I’d like to be teaching at least one class a week but even more would be great. I’m particularly excited about working with kids not just because I adore them so much (as you all know…I didn’t get voted “PCV Most Likely To Adopt A Senegalese Child” for nothing!) but also because then I can work in French and I won’t be intimidated to get started. I might even be able to do some of the lessons at the middle school level in English with the English classes.
How much do the mothers understand?
The issue that most volunteers face is not so much the lack of education and knowledge (for those who have been to school) but behavior change. My family for example knows full well that they need to wash their hands with soap before they eat, and that they should always sleep under mosquito nets…but do they? Nope. They rinse their hands with water, and only sleep under nets after I begged them too. They know about malaria, and how it is transmitted, but it’s getting them to that next step…to actually change their behavior that is the biggest challenge.
But I don’t think that that is much different than anyone else I know. How many people do we all know that are lifetime smokers? They know it’s horrible for them but they continue to do it anyway? It’s really no different. And what about obesity? Everyone knows that it increases your risk for heart disease, diabetes, cancer, etc. And yet people still don’t exercise and eat horribly.
So yes it’s frustrating and there are some myths that are so counterproductive and preposterous that sometimes even I am baffled by them. But all I can do is try to find creative ways to talk about them.
Plant the seed and hope for the best.
Is the care of their infants built on folklore?
I guess I can use some examples of typical myths that mothers and grandmothers have regarding their children.
That if a child has diarrhea the last thing you want to give them is water.
That colostrum (the first milk) is not good for the baby so you should give them water instead.
If you have a cut a way to stop the bleeding is to put it in the sand.
That babies should be fed, water, butter, and other random food scraps during the first 6 months of life because breast milk is not enough.
The list goes on…
If so, how do you even begin to break those barriers?
Breaking those barriers? I wish I knew. My strategy is to ask lots of questions, be incredibly patient, and have many conversations. Oh, and repetition. I have to constantly ask breastfeeding moms about their children and what they feed them, but also to observe their behavior because they often lie about what they are doing. Luckily because I am an outsider and a Westerner and a health volunteer I can get away with bringing up weird subjects like breastfeeding and family planning. But there are days when it seems like I’ll never be able to change anyone’s mind.
I am really only touching the surface of addressing these questions, but I hope that it has been informative and given you all a glimpse into some cross-cultural comparisons.
Please keep the questions coming. Sometimes I have a hard time knowing what to talk about and what people want to hear about.
Thanks for reading and caring enough to ask!
soccer riot
Yesterday, for the first time in this country I felt unsafe.
Nothing horrible happened, but the situation definitely had the potential to get out of control.
Driving back from the regional house after our regional health IST meeting, 6 other volunteers and I were driving in a 7-place (station wagon that holds 7 but should really be for about 5). We were an hour from our destination when we came upon a huge crowd of young boisterous men. Our driver slowed down and they surrounded our car. They were yelling and telling us to turn around. Then they started yelling at us and banging on our windows and pulling at the doors. The confusion of where and how to turn around plus the huge cloud of billowing black smoke (we still don’t know what they were burning) made our driver incredibly flustered and nervous. As he was deciding how to back out, people starting throwing things at the car.
Nothing broke and no one was hurt, but it shook us up a bit.
Our driver turned off the road and we took a minor detour through the sand and grass to double-back and find a way around the village. Luckily, a local kid said he knew how to get around the mess. He jumped in the car and directed us for about 1K across sand dunes and grass, dodging bushes, divots, goats, cows, and huts. It was quite the adventure. The seven of us were bouncing along and a little wary of running into another crowd of angry youths, but we were mostly just excited about the story factor.
We found out that the reason for the riot was a cancelled soccer match! Two nearby villages were supposed to play a final game for the regional title but the match was called off.
I just don’t get it.
I guess people just have too much time on their hands? Too much time, and too much pent up frustration/testosterone.
But this phenomenon is not rare. Especially when it comes to soccer. Remember when the Brazilian goalkeeper was killed for failing to block a goal? Ridiculous.
Even when I was in Costa Rica and two rival teams, Saprisa and La Liga were playing a normal match, the fans pelted the losing team with food, bottles, and whatever they could get their hands on.
What is it about the sport that makes people so crazy?
I mean I love soccer as much as the next guy (okay, maybe not quite as much), but to inflict pain on another person, and to riot, and destroy property just because of a cancelled match seems totally over the top to me.
In any case, we took all the right steps and called our PC security officer who notified the gendarmes in the area. Two big cars full of them actually whizzed passed us on their way to break up the crowd. We assume they took care of it. But there is no real way to find out what happened.
At least now I know that the next time we come upon a roadblock of people and smoke it would be wise to stop a little sooner, and find an alternate route around BEFORE we drive straight into the mess huh?
No harm done. Lesson learned.
At least it makes a decent cocktail party story right?
Nothing horrible happened, but the situation definitely had the potential to get out of control.
Driving back from the regional house after our regional health IST meeting, 6 other volunteers and I were driving in a 7-place (station wagon that holds 7 but should really be for about 5). We were an hour from our destination when we came upon a huge crowd of young boisterous men. Our driver slowed down and they surrounded our car. They were yelling and telling us to turn around. Then they started yelling at us and banging on our windows and pulling at the doors. The confusion of where and how to turn around plus the huge cloud of billowing black smoke (we still don’t know what they were burning) made our driver incredibly flustered and nervous. As he was deciding how to back out, people starting throwing things at the car.
Nothing broke and no one was hurt, but it shook us up a bit.
Our driver turned off the road and we took a minor detour through the sand and grass to double-back and find a way around the village. Luckily, a local kid said he knew how to get around the mess. He jumped in the car and directed us for about 1K across sand dunes and grass, dodging bushes, divots, goats, cows, and huts. It was quite the adventure. The seven of us were bouncing along and a little wary of running into another crowd of angry youths, but we were mostly just excited about the story factor.
We found out that the reason for the riot was a cancelled soccer match! Two nearby villages were supposed to play a final game for the regional title but the match was called off.
I just don’t get it.
I guess people just have too much time on their hands? Too much time, and too much pent up frustration/testosterone.
But this phenomenon is not rare. Especially when it comes to soccer. Remember when the Brazilian goalkeeper was killed for failing to block a goal? Ridiculous.
Even when I was in Costa Rica and two rival teams, Saprisa and La Liga were playing a normal match, the fans pelted the losing team with food, bottles, and whatever they could get their hands on.
What is it about the sport that makes people so crazy?
I mean I love soccer as much as the next guy (okay, maybe not quite as much), but to inflict pain on another person, and to riot, and destroy property just because of a cancelled match seems totally over the top to me.
In any case, we took all the right steps and called our PC security officer who notified the gendarmes in the area. Two big cars full of them actually whizzed passed us on their way to break up the crowd. We assume they took care of it. But there is no real way to find out what happened.
At least now I know that the next time we come upon a roadblock of people and smoke it would be wise to stop a little sooner, and find an alternate route around BEFORE we drive straight into the mess huh?
No harm done. Lesson learned.
At least it makes a decent cocktail party story right?
Saturday, September 8, 2007
The evolutionarily superior mosquito
I have come to the conclusion that the mosquito is an evolutionarily superior being.
Superior to what? I’m not sure. But recently they have succeeded in making my life absolutely miserable.
“How are they superior?” you might ask. All they do is fly around, bite other creatures, suck their blood, and die. How sophisticated can they possibly be? All you need is a little deet, some screened in windows and doors and your interactions with them are almost non-existent.
While that might be the typical experience with them at home, that is certainly not my experience here in Senegal.
Have you ever really stopped to think about how powerful they are? I mean mosquitoes transmit the biggest killer of children in the world! They force us to develop new medicines, chemicals, and techniques to eradicate them and the diseases they bring. Sewage systems, DDT, screen doors, bug repellent, citronella candles, bug zappers, anti-itch creams, standing water removal, malaria prophylaxis, yellow fever vaccines… the list goes on.
I’m probably starting to sound a little crazy to most of you at home so let me explain why mosquitoes have recently become a top priority in my life.
Up north they are not anywhere near as bad as they are in other places, like down south, or even in Thies. But maybe that’s what makes these Northern mosquitoes more vicious, cunning, and brilliant? I don’t know. I do know however that because I sat outside at the transit house (on my way back from IST), for an hour in shorts with no bug repellent (stupid now I admit), I now have over 100 mosquito bites on my legs alone. 23 individual bites just on my left hand, and the list goes on. I truly look like a leper. I even took a picture of my legs and have posted it for your enjoyment/sympathy.
Maybe I am evolutionarily inferior. I mean, other volunteers did the same thing and only suffered a few very mild bites on their ankles. Why me? Granted I know that mosquitoes “like” me or whatever, and I made the poor decision to risk being outside without protection, but a month ago it would not have been a problem.
I think that I’ve been lured into a false sense of security living in the desert. I left for IST thinking, eh, there really aren’t a lot of mosquitoes up here. But after a month of rains and flooding it is like a totally different country. All of the sand is covered with bright green grass, the trees have leaves, and subsequently, the mosquitoes are out in full force.
Another example. Last night I set up my bed after dark. This is something I try to avoid because the mosquitoes are attracted to my headlamp and find their way into the net as I’m tying it up. After nodding off for a few hours, I awoke to that horrible whining sound they make as they dive-bomb your ears and face looking for an uncovered place to bite. Thinking that there were just a few stragglers and that I could easily get rid of them, I turned on my headlamp and began the dance. I managed to kill 4 or 5, staining the net and my hands with (what I assume was) my blood. Just to make sure I had gotten all of them I took a quick scan around the net to make sure. Nope. No chance. There were at least 6 just hanging out on the other side of the net…on the INSIDE of it mind you. I don’t get it? How did 10 or 12 of them get INTO my net? There are NO holes, the thing is permethrin treated! Shouldn’t it kill them off? Or repel them at least?
I’ve watched them around nets before. They will land on them and hop from spot to spot looking for an opening. And when you have to slip out to use the “facilities” you better watch out. That’s when then dive right in. And of course when you are actually sleeping you have to make sure that no part of your body is touching the net because that’s when they bite you right through the damn thing.
And they hide out in the places where you’re forced to be still and wait for their bites…aka. the “loo.” Middle of the night, usually with a lamp (which of course attracts them) maybe some standing water (so they’ve been breeding), and obviously, the 20 or so seconds of idle time as you do your business. That is when they attack. Needless to say most volunteers have complained about bites on their bums at one point or another. Not fun.
The thing about them in Senegal is that whereas at home you can usually tell when a mosquito is biting you, here that is just not the case at all. You can’t even FEEL them when they land on you let alone when they’re sucking your blood. The bites are smaller and more similar to fleabites, but if you START scratching…forget it. You might as well carve off your top layer of skin with your leatherman. You’re probably better off.
And that rule about dawn and dusk. Absolute rubbish. I see them and am bitten at all times of the day. They hide out in the shadows, in the shade, where of course WE are all hiding out as well because it’s still sweltering.
It is miraculous that I do not have malaria. After all, it only takes one bite right? Good thing I’m a PCV and have free access to anti-malarials at all times right?
So there you have it.
Senegalese mosquitoes: 123+
Caitlin: 0
You tell me who is the inferior species.
The jury is still out.
Superior to what? I’m not sure. But recently they have succeeded in making my life absolutely miserable.
“How are they superior?” you might ask. All they do is fly around, bite other creatures, suck their blood, and die. How sophisticated can they possibly be? All you need is a little deet, some screened in windows and doors and your interactions with them are almost non-existent.
While that might be the typical experience with them at home, that is certainly not my experience here in Senegal.
Have you ever really stopped to think about how powerful they are? I mean mosquitoes transmit the biggest killer of children in the world! They force us to develop new medicines, chemicals, and techniques to eradicate them and the diseases they bring. Sewage systems, DDT, screen doors, bug repellent, citronella candles, bug zappers, anti-itch creams, standing water removal, malaria prophylaxis, yellow fever vaccines… the list goes on.
I’m probably starting to sound a little crazy to most of you at home so let me explain why mosquitoes have recently become a top priority in my life.
Up north they are not anywhere near as bad as they are in other places, like down south, or even in Thies. But maybe that’s what makes these Northern mosquitoes more vicious, cunning, and brilliant? I don’t know. I do know however that because I sat outside at the transit house (on my way back from IST), for an hour in shorts with no bug repellent (stupid now I admit), I now have over 100 mosquito bites on my legs alone. 23 individual bites just on my left hand, and the list goes on. I truly look like a leper. I even took a picture of my legs and have posted it for your enjoyment/sympathy.
Maybe I am evolutionarily inferior. I mean, other volunteers did the same thing and only suffered a few very mild bites on their ankles. Why me? Granted I know that mosquitoes “like” me or whatever, and I made the poor decision to risk being outside without protection, but a month ago it would not have been a problem.
I think that I’ve been lured into a false sense of security living in the desert. I left for IST thinking, eh, there really aren’t a lot of mosquitoes up here. But after a month of rains and flooding it is like a totally different country. All of the sand is covered with bright green grass, the trees have leaves, and subsequently, the mosquitoes are out in full force.
Another example. Last night I set up my bed after dark. This is something I try to avoid because the mosquitoes are attracted to my headlamp and find their way into the net as I’m tying it up. After nodding off for a few hours, I awoke to that horrible whining sound they make as they dive-bomb your ears and face looking for an uncovered place to bite. Thinking that there were just a few stragglers and that I could easily get rid of them, I turned on my headlamp and began the dance. I managed to kill 4 or 5, staining the net and my hands with (what I assume was) my blood. Just to make sure I had gotten all of them I took a quick scan around the net to make sure. Nope. No chance. There were at least 6 just hanging out on the other side of the net…on the INSIDE of it mind you. I don’t get it? How did 10 or 12 of them get INTO my net? There are NO holes, the thing is permethrin treated! Shouldn’t it kill them off? Or repel them at least?
I’ve watched them around nets before. They will land on them and hop from spot to spot looking for an opening. And when you have to slip out to use the “facilities” you better watch out. That’s when then dive right in. And of course when you are actually sleeping you have to make sure that no part of your body is touching the net because that’s when they bite you right through the damn thing.
And they hide out in the places where you’re forced to be still and wait for their bites…aka. the “loo.” Middle of the night, usually with a lamp (which of course attracts them) maybe some standing water (so they’ve been breeding), and obviously, the 20 or so seconds of idle time as you do your business. That is when they attack. Needless to say most volunteers have complained about bites on their bums at one point or another. Not fun.
The thing about them in Senegal is that whereas at home you can usually tell when a mosquito is biting you, here that is just not the case at all. You can’t even FEEL them when they land on you let alone when they’re sucking your blood. The bites are smaller and more similar to fleabites, but if you START scratching…forget it. You might as well carve off your top layer of skin with your leatherman. You’re probably better off.
And that rule about dawn and dusk. Absolute rubbish. I see them and am bitten at all times of the day. They hide out in the shadows, in the shade, where of course WE are all hiding out as well because it’s still sweltering.
It is miraculous that I do not have malaria. After all, it only takes one bite right? Good thing I’m a PCV and have free access to anti-malarials at all times right?
So there you have it.
Senegalese mosquitoes: 123+
Caitlin: 0
You tell me who is the inferior species.
The jury is still out.
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