Negligence

Irkoy se! For God’s sake! Another petit poids case, Sayédi died in the night, at 23 days old. The mother just didn’t have enough milk with one breast dysfunctional (Cancer? Abscess?), and had been giving him goat’s milk which probably provoked the diarrhoea. He had a fever, and wasn’t breathing properly. He was accepting the rehab milk well, so I had been worried about under which criteria we’d be releasing him once healthy—he wasn’t breastfeeding. Typically a case under 6 months or under 3kg is released once they gain weight on breast milk alone. Evidently the Sage Femme who had slept over at the maternity left the Nutrition center to deliver a baby. And because not enough staff actually sleeps at the hospital or are willing to come in when there is a crisis—no one sat to monitor Sayédi after he drank his milk. He probably died of heart failure. But who knows without the proper monitoring equipment here?

I barely slept in the night. There was too much wind moving my skeeter net around. Once I moved inside, I just sweat. And I have strange training déjà-vu with the new grass mats I got for my tenda construction and the BF soap—both of which I used when I first got to Mali.

I went to Gao and came back in the same day. I was so exhausted and I swear my legs were swollen. But, it was a productive visit. Got care packages from the parents (THANKS!!) and chatted with a teammate over dègè (creamy millet drink) while waiting for the Internet to open. We gave up, and went over to 8ème to visit Pedro, Bébé’s husband. To get directions, I went to the CSCOM (where Sophie works) and helped Aissata, who used to be with ACF, with her cases. Four kids: 2 Rabietou’s, a Fatoumata, and an Aoudou. Fatoumata was a classic kwash complete with candidosis and moon face; Aoudou had quite the fever—a recovering marasmus. One of the Rabietou’s was a petit poids case, which I recognized from an account told by an ACF doctor: the mother died in child birth because the CSCOM staff wanted to go home at noon and told her that she should come back later. They overlooked the fact it was a placenta previa (when the placenta presents first instead of the baby’s head). She hemorrhaged to death at home—luckily they were able to save the baby through C-section at the hospital. Yalaayan! Is it a coincidence “to neglect” is yalaa in Songhoy, which means “to God” in Arabic? Songhoy borrows heavily from Arabic. So does that mean when you leave things up to God you neglect them?? The CSCOM’s doctor gave me directions to Pedro’s house. After asking people where the CSCOM was twice, and a school kid and then two ladies at Bella bugu who demanded 100F for their services, I found the house. Pedro was pretty ill—I greeted the family and him, though I’m not sure he recognized me—and this is the husband of my closest colleague in Ansongo. They said it was hypertension—but why not take him to the hospital only a 1km away to check? Back at the CSCOM I discussed his case with Aissata and Sophie who both thought he should go to the hospital—it easily could be a heart attack or stroke! But the doctor who examined him said it wasn’t worth the trouble, he’ll be fine. Negligence even in the face of means—Pedro is quite well off, relatively. He could easily afford the treatment. That night, I get a call from Bébé saying he is in a coma in the hospital. But she is still convinced it is witchcraft and not a treatable illness—someone is jealous because he has done so well for himself.

I made some market purchases, had a cold coke at Source du Nord, complete with an amusing conversation about President Bush and whether I would vote for Obama. Sadly, back at the PC house, the gas ran out as I was trying to make a box of Mac n Cheese. Tear.

Back in Ansongo, my Bazi Haousa girls, well, all five of them, came to class but were all shy cause we started talking about reproductive health. Saturday afternoon, Zubbu and I and two other members of the Association walked all the way to Djéfilani and back. It was a good meeting and I trust the women will implement the project well. They are paying into the Associations caisse and are easy to talk to. I really think there is a difference as soon as you leave the town limits of Ansongo. The air is lighter, there’s birdsong on the wind, and more people want to work and contribute to their own betterment.

Walking back Zubbu was saying how her back hurt. "Mine too!" I say, “That’s what 17 years of dance does to ya!” Turns out Zubbu did traditional dance—like what I saw in Gao for the Semaine Régionale. She was always the person put in front so others could watch her steps. I knew there was a reason I liked her ☺

My teammate found the corpse of Vess, his cat. Sad. It was totally the ornery old neighbor who killed Vess. The PCV in Tassiga came up and we made French fries. Yum.