Stuff, stuff, stuff

Hey y’all. (I actually do say y’all here, due to the abundance of Southerners. Sorry. It’s science.)

To start off this month’s blog, here are a couple common village insults and why they do not work on me:

“You eat so many beans! Beans only! So many, all the time!”

“Yes, they’re delicious on sandwiches.”

“You don’t grow corn/peanuts/rice, but you eat it!”

“…Yep.”

Here’s a quick update on the Tamba Run for Education, which took place in early March: IT WAS AWESOME! Thank you so, so much to all of you who donated!  We’re trying to get a list of donors from Washington so we can send out thank-yous, but there’s a lot of red tape involved – so if you’d like a personalized thank-you from yours truly, please reveal yourself, you wonderful, wonderful person. There were about 150 runners, including PCVs, students, firemen and gendarmes, and many random Tamba sports enthusiasts. A professional runner, Djiby Sow, came with his personal photographer and was amazingly nice (and fast, duh). Expats came all the way from Dakar to run, as did a cavalcade of PC/Senegal staff in their fancy buses and cars, ready to help manage, chauffeur, and ensure nobody succumbed to dehydration. Even Tamba’s portly prefet d’education ran the 5k! It was great. Many PCVs were involved in all aspects of organizing the race, from hand-made race numbers to hydration stations to prizes to tent/speaker rental. I have to say that watching some of these students finish the race, especially the girls – who had probably never had this sort of opportunity before - was one of my favorite moments of my service so far. Annnnd, in addition to spreading awareness through the marathon, we also managed to raise nearly 4,000 bucks for girls’ education – not bad for the first time!

First time, I say, because we wholly expect this to be a yearly thing.  We’re already planning the next race, which will take place on December 9^th, 2012 – and it will be even better than last time. It’s never too late to start training/saving up money for your trip to Senegal, people!

A quick and dirty update on other projects that I don’t feel like writing about: LatrinesMasonTrainingGirls’LeadershipCampSchoolGardenMoringa. BAM.

So, I was looking through my journal the other day, and I found an entry from last June – right after I installed – that I want to share. It definitely affected me at the time, and still does (because now I know the aftermath), but illustrates some of the problems with healthcare here, especially for women. It’s a little gross, so don’t read it if you can’t handle amateur descriptions of injuries. You’ve been warned, wimp.

“June 6^th

I guess this is going on 3 weeks now – 2 weeks and 5 days?

It’s hard to say if much has changed. I still have moments when all I want to do is give up and go home. I figure that will last the entirety of my service (note to past self: so far, yes). I think the 3 nights I spent in Tamba did me good, though. It’s comforting knowing I can go back there to escape village for a while.

A weird thing happened today. Kind of disturbing. A man who works at the health post – not a doctor or nurse – as far as I can tell, he just does bandages – told me to come with him to see this woman’s wound. He said he has just been dressing it every day, and she hasn’t been to the hospital. When I got there, the woman limped in – though there was nothing wrong with her food or leg – and sat down. She looked young. She hiked her shirt up and her pagne down, and the guy took off the bandage. I couldn’t believe it. In the lower left side of her abdomen there was a gaping hole. It looked like somebody had opened her up for surgery, changed their mind, and left it like that. The wound must have been 6 inches long, and over an inch wide. When the bandage came off, the room immediately filled with the smell of rotting flesh. I could see right into her belly, but the flesh was grey and obviously very infected, rotting. It looked torn, like the infection had eaten holes further into her. It was horrifying, and combined with the smell, I thought I was going to puke. I backed out of the room.

As it turns out, the woman had a small sore or boil in that area some time ago. One person said two months, another said last year. She had hid it from everyone, including her husband. Over time, the small problem had turned into this monstrosity – something that would surely need surgery and lots of drugs to heal. She had gone to the doctor, who wrote her an order to go to the hospital in Tamba, but she didn’t go. She continued to do all the work a Senegalese woman does, suffering God knows how much, and didn’t tell her husband.

Finally, the day I saw it, we called the husband in. And yes, he had no idea. This woman had this huge, open, infected, rotting wound in her belly, and no action had been taken.

Was she afraid to tell her husband, the one who makes all the final decisions for the family, because she didn’t want him to get angry? It costs money to go to Tamba. Treating the original problem would have been simple and cheap, but now treatment will cost them a fortune. And she had let herself suffer for all this time. I could hardly believe the stupidity of the situation, but that’s an American view. This is one of the first real illustrations I’ve had here of women and healthcare, and the problems there.

She went to Tamba, or at least her husband said she would. I never heard her speak a single word.”

A couple months ago, I remembered this incident and asked my host dad what had happened. So here’s the story: Her husband did not take her to the hospital. He made her try traditional medicine for a long time. When that failed to work (surprise!) he finally took her to Tamba – but by that time it was too late. She was sent back to her parents’ village, where she died soon after.

I have some new questions: Did the husband really not have a clue? Is it possible to live with someone and not realize that they’re rotting inside? Did he just ignore it? Was he just really reluctant to spend money to take her for treatment? Sure, I don’t know the whole story here. Maybe I’m being too cynical. But after living here for a year, and hearing numerous stories like this, usually with the same ending, it’s hard not to be. Laziness, superstition, false information, and ignorance lead to so many easily preventable deaths. Sure points to the importance of health education in village. But deep-held beliefs, such as trust in traditional medicine and distrust of modern medicine (and unwillingness to spend money) are not easily shaken.

On a much brighter note – I will (inchallah) be in America in a month! I’ve been thinking about little else for quite a while. I keep making lists, usually about what kind of food I want to eat there. It’s a great way to pass the time in village. My last list was 46 items long; I counted. I’ll spare you the entirety of the list, but here are a few highlights: Sushi. BBQ tri-tip and roasted red peppers. Latte. Salad. Summer squash soup. Chili. Panini. BURRITO. Thai food. Pho, Etc, etc.

Here’s another list I made in village:

Future Blog Post Titles

“The peanut in Senegal: Its many faces; also, get used to it”

“Sheep or human?: The art of differentiating screams in the night”

“Arguments for ‘The Water Method’”

“SPAM and its growing role in PCV food culture”

“Social customs surrounding care packages”
“The vague reassurance of wearing a bike helmet on public transportation”

“Pigs: everywhere, and yet no bacon”

“’I have good catch’: PCVs’ worrying loss of their native language”

“We’re expected to integrate, but aren’t meant to hit children?!: Guilty thoughts I may or may not have had”

“Signs it’s time to leave village (see above)”

“Toddlers, knives, and fire: village parenting techniques”

“Dirt: all over, all the time” (also: resignation)

Til next time.

Becky's guest post

So I’ve sat down many times and attempted to write this guest entry, and writer’s block has struck me each time. Part of it is fear of sounding boring, as I lack the entertaining and witty writing style that Anne seems to naturally possess. (note from Anne: she’s being modest and is a great writer!) Another part of it is a fear of not doing justice to my experience in Senegal, or to the people there. And, perhaps, another part is nostalgia, for each time I try to write about an experience there I want to recall every intricate detail, and I hardly think Anne’s audience (you) would appreciate me going into elaborate detail about my mosquito bites and the crazy olfactory experience I had in Senegal. So, I have decided, at last, to write about my top 10 experiences or memories from my time with Anne in Senegal. This is by no means a list of must-sees or must-dos, but instead is a list of what stands out to me the most from my time visiting my friend of more than 20 years in the country that has been and will be her home for at least another 15 months or so. As a quick background before list, I am a second year law student in the States, and this was my first trip to Africa. I have known Anne for almost 22 years, and couldn’t resist the opportunity to visit her while she was in Senegal. (note from Anne: Becky is awesome)

10. People find out your marital status at lightning speed: One of the first questions asked of me upon entering Senegal (besides “Do you want some money? It’s good. Black market.”) was “Are you married?” followed quickly with some variation of “Do you want/need a husband?” At first I was taken aback, but after a while I just expected it to come up in any conversation with a Senegalese person. Answer it as you like, it doesn’t really matter. The only reason that this stands out to me is that within 3 minutes of talking to someone in Senegal, they would know my marital status, while it took me a month or two before I realized one of my friends in law school was married and had been for 5 years. I’m not sure if that says more about law school interactions and my attention to detail or more about Senegal, but there you have it.

9. You better be quick at simple math: Our primary form of transportation in Senegal was in taxis. If you can’t calculate the exchange rate quickly in your head, you’ll probably end up getting ripped off (a) because you’re a tourist and (b) because you couldn’t figure out that you had been ripped off until it was too late. People make fun of law school students for being bad at math, and as a whole, it’s true, we suck at math. My time in Senegal reawakened that part of my brain that hasn’t been accessed in a while, and it took me longer than I’d like to admit to get used to doing quick arithmetic in my head. You’ll probably still get charged more because you’re a tourist, but if you can catch the disparity upfront you’re more likely to be able to negotiate them down to a lower price.

8. High school French will only get you so far: I’d like to say that I was pretty fluent in French. In fact, I was commended for my impeccable accent and pronunciation. However, after not having spoken French for at least 4 years, and not studying it for over 6, I found myself wondering if I actually remembered any French at all. Part of it was actually forgetting my French, but another part was the fact that African French is quite different from French French. The pronunciation is different, the syntax can be different, and inflection as well. Overall, I could get my point across, but I did get made fun of (good-heartedly) for my pronunciation. Getting my point across in Senegal became an exercise in my garbled French (or Franglish if I was really struggling), hand gestures, and some attempts at charades that generally seemed to garner more laughs than understanding.

7. Patience certainly is a virtue: I live in New Orleans, where things happen at their own pace, but Senegal certainly took this to a whole new level. All I can say is, go with the flow, and you’ll be fine. Things will get done (usually) and worrying about it isn’t going to get you anywhere. Sit back, grab a good book and a Fanta, and enjoy the ride. Patience came in handy many times during our trip. If you get impatient, you won’t enjoy yourself, and you’ll just be grumpy. No one likes a grumpy person. Patience got me through a transportation strike and a sept-place ride from hell (including 2 flat tires, 4 tire changes, and a grumpy driver). If patience is not a virtue that you possess, Senegal will either break you completely or force you to develop that much needed skill. It’s worth it. J

6. You will leave Senegal with at least one new name: Before going to Anne’s village, she told me that I would be given a Senegalese name, and she mentioned that it would be probably one of four names that are quite common (Mariama, and I 3 others, which I can’t remember right now). However, when we were stuck in her regional city of Tamba during the transportation strike, I was named by a Pulaar woman selling fabric at the market. She named me Adamatoulai, after herself and her daughter. Adamatoulai is the feminine version of Adama, which is Senegal’s version of Adam (as in Adam and Eve). Once in Anne’s village, I was named Mariama Savanne, after one of Anne’s host moms (and one of the four names Anne said I would likely be given). Incidentally, Mariama recently gave birth, and her child was named after Anne’s American mom, which is super sweet. I like both my new names, and they’re a special thing I brought home with me that I didn’t have to worry about fitting in my carry on luggage.

5. Stop complaining about stupid things: Seriously. Your soy latte doesn’t have enough foam? Get over it. Stop complaining. It doesn’t matter! Unless you have been to a developing country, it can be easy to get caught up in the minute details of American life, like coffee shops and parking spots and designer jeans. Heck, even if you have been to a developing country it can still be easy to get caught up in these kinds of things. But really, these things don’t matter, these things won’t make you happy, and complaining about this stuff make you sound rather silly. In Senegal, you’ll see people with nothing (granted, you’ll also see people driving Range Rovers there) who are happy, and who aren’t worried about what their butt looks like in their new $200 jeans.

4. Quiet does not really exist in Senegal: The quietest place in Senegal was our hotel room for the first couple days, and there you could still hear people yelling down on the streets or hoof steps on the pavement. I slept like a baby there compared to elsewhere in Senegal. I can’t tell if my restless sleep in Senegal was due to jet-lag or to the noise, but I’d wager a bet it was a noise. When I would point out the blood-curdling screech coming from somewhere near the Tamba house, Anne would just say “What noise?” I guess the constant cacophony of sounds is something you get used to, but I had a hard time blocking out the noise of what sounded like a goat meeting a very unhappy (and prolonged) end. Even in Anne’s village, which has no roads, electricity, or running water, there was always something going on. In every place we visited, the call to prayer would sound regularly, and in Tamba it seemed to be a competitive sport to see how long (and how atonally) someone could yell on for.  

3. Come hungry, leave happy (unless you order Chinese food): Senegalese food is delicious. You have to try Thieb, a national specialty, and you must try Yassa (poulet if you can). I wasn’t the biggest fan of Thieb, except from one place in Tamba, but Yassa was delicious and I will be hounding Anne for a recipe. Also, if you are the guest of a Senegalese family, they will feed you until you pop. I have never been offered so much food in my life, and I found myself in several food-induced stupors post-mealtime in Senegal. Hamburgers in Senegal, while bearing only a slight resemblance to American hamburgers, are delicious and possibly worse for you than any burger I have ever encountered in America (but I’m sure there’s a heart-attack hamburger somewhere in Texas). Same goes for Fatayias, which contain similar ingredients to burgers, but with pastry instead of a bun. Delicious but super unhealthy. Unfortunately, the worst meal I had in Senegal was also my last. Anne and I ordered some Chinese food in Dakar before my 1:00AM flight, and what I got looked like gumbo but tasted nothing like it. It was disappointing, but overall, my culinary experience in Senegal was very good. I even brought back some peanuts with me, which were meant to be gifts for people, but they never made it out of my house. J

2. Wax fabric is the only souvenir you need to bring home: Senegalese fabric is gorgeous. It is vibrant, creative, and even quite strange (dismembered fingers featured in quite a few designs). Go to the markets, buy yourself several yards of fabric, and you’ll be a happy camper. You can get pagnes or pretty much anything you can think of made for you, or you can just take the fabric back home with you. I wish I had checked bags with me on my trip, because I easily could have taken a whole suitcase of fabric back home with me. I want to decorate my house with the fabric, put it on the walls, and make pillows and sheets and bathrobes made out of it. It is just gorgeous and colorful and unlike anything you can find in America. If you do manage to find something like it in American, it will probably be many times more expensive. I wish I had brought back more fabric with me, but I was limited to a carry-on bag, so I think I did pretty well for myself.

1. Good friends are awesome: I have been friends with Anne for pretty much my entire life. We’ve lived apart for quite some time, but whenever I see her it is like no time has passed at all. A friendship like this is something to cherish, and if it means visiting them in some strange country, do it. I would visit Anne anywhere on Earth. I would go to the Arctic just to hang out with her, and I’m not such a big fan of being cold. If you have a friend who is living in some distant country, go visit them! It’s a great chance to see your friend and it could likely be a once in a lifetime opportunity to see a country where you actually have someone who knows the ropes a little bit. Granted, I would have been perfectly happy just hanging out with Anne in Senegal, but I also got to see a good deal of the country, which for me was just the icing on the cake of getting to see my best friend. If you have a friend in the Peace Corps, I would jump at the opportunity to go visit them. You’ll get to meet other volunteers (and all the volunteers I met were awesome) and you’ll get to see your friend’s life in that country, which no matter how hard you try you cannot even begin to imagine without having been there. Plus, it’s nice for you PCV friend to have someone back home who knows exactly what she means when she says _______.

So, there you have it. This list is by no means exhaustive. It doesn’t even mention our experience buying and transporting chickens to Anne’s village, or the crazy smells we encountered, or the dirt and trash, or the children, or the mindboggling transportation system, but it’s the best I can do for now. Law school steals far too much of my attention, and has currently inflicted me with some kind of shoulder ailment that makes typing uncomfortable, but I am happy to write this instead of reading the 200 pages I am supposed to. I haven’t ruled out writing another guest post, but I think Anne will have the final say in that matter. J