Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Recovery

If you yourself don’t rest, your body forces you to do so. I finally went to the regional hospital to get an ear check-up. All cleaned up and now on new stronger antibiotics and a strict regime of rest and dust-free surroundings (meaning I have locked myself in our computer room watching the HBO series Weeds which though is entertaining the premise is hardly believable). Bébé called not to ask how my ears were doing but when I was coming back. After how this weekend went I’m not sure I want to go back! Sunday I was at the hospital before 7 am to make porridge for the kids, weigh them, check vital signs, and give them morning medicines. With the mothers, I like to take my time; this morning it ended up I didn’t get outta there until past time to go to church. Tried to find Competent to do the Radio show at 10am, but he was no where to be found. I went home and found my tenda complete. Now I can sleep outside, on ground level (safe from sand storms and rebels) without worrying about rain. I gave Zubbu what I bought in market for dinner and told them I see them later. Rested for all of 30 minutes, showered, and went back to the hospital for the 13h feeding. I graduated both of the severe cases into the transition phase, so if all goes well, they could be released Thursday in time to catch transport out to villages after market. The annoying part was that one of the moderates was the Kwash’s cousin and the sisters wanted to leave together that evening. Just when Ibrahim was getting better! Marasmus is obvious, but Kwash, once the swelling goes down, it is difficult to convince parents their child still needs to treatment. There exists a serious imbalance in their metabolisms and electrolytes, protein processing etc. (Bébé informed me once I left for Gao they did leave. Everything is paid for and they even had people in town to care for them…it makes me sad). Sunday afternoon Bébé finally showed up. The weekends pose a problem—any day we could have sick kids, and the staff is unwilling to follow the protocol—meaning milk every 3 hours, porridge twice a day, medicines and their given times, and patience enough to speak with the mothers about the state her child is in. I told Bébé it is up to her to do the rest of the work for the day or explain it to the Sage Femme on guard. I get to Zubbu’s (mind you this is 4pmish now) and sat for all of 5 minutes when I woman came into the courtyard to show me her sick child. It’s nice people come to me seeking help, but it is sad they have no faith in the health care system. I walked the mother to the hospital because Bébé said since it is Sunday she refuses to check the child in “Can’t it wait until tomorrow??” Some health CARE…the woman had to prepare her things to stay with the child at the hospital so it turned out after I registered the kid and gave her her first dose of antibiotics, they went home. Bébé took the opportunity of my presence to leap at the chance of an evac from Outtagouna. In other words, money. I explain to the nurse the form to fill out for the evening--tracking the treatment and how the kids take to the supplements--and go back home. The nurse doesn't think the way things are now in terms of staffing the program will advance. We need a separate guard schedule for Nutrition. Really, I don't want another death due to negligence on our part!

At least I went home to a fantastic meal made by Zubbu. Ouijila-like sauce but with potatoes. Tué, the old man, joked he hadn't had potatoes since independence. Ha. 

So, in Gao, aside from earning sympathy points for having survived two visits to the regional hospital and remaining nosocomial illness free, I am resting and catching up on recent care package DVDs amassed at the PC house. Woo.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

Fway??

I was up before 6am despite my ears to work at the Nutrition center. Plus, a volunteer is here from a neighboring village to plant moringas. While dodging various demands (Alhouss wants garden help, Bébé too as soon as they saw the fencing for the trees; Fadi wants a live fence and Ablo is still maneuvering his way out of responsibility), I kept up with the cases at the Nutrition center. With the additional two moderates, one whose mom honestly said she doesn’t sleep under the net they got at the CSCOM, I was busy trying to get the twins to eat. And convincing the kwash he can’t eat! He was practically sticking his hand into the bita pot—but he needs to level out his salt before he can go off the rehab mik F75. One of the twins refuses F75, plumpy nut and bita. So I proposed an SNG, but the doctor refused to place it (does he even know how?) This is why I want to go to nursing school—so I don’t feel so damn helpless. When I debriefed with the matron who stayed the night, she said the kids drank their respective milks. But the cups were still on the tray the way I left them the evening before, when usually the mothers collect them in a bucket in their room with the kids...

Checked in on the tree planting and saw Aliou about bricks to protect them from goats; then, went off to the school to teach. Naturally, there was the teacher’s strike and the students weren’t coming. Back at the hospital I met a Moor who wanted me to look at his sick kid. An old man stopped me to look at his wife with a cavity. At about the same moment, I was telling a Bella man through a translator in Songhoy to bring his kid on Monday for weighing and vaccinations, the ACF film crew came to speak to me about HIV/AIDS…speaking to me in French. The Moor was switching from French to English (he’s a guide and even works with PCVs in Mauritania) and it turns out the Bella guy actually speaks English. Fway?? All this with my plugged up ears. I did the consult with the Moor’s kid, ran off to get my keys, prepped the milk and tried to convince the mother of the twins to stick it out this time even if it seems her son doesn’t like any of the rehab foods—eventually he will get used to one of them and we can get him better. I baby-sat for the nurse’s son while she went to deliver a baby. Finally I got away for lunch—you make yourself available and people take advantage! 

During lunch, we listened to entertaining stories of witchcraft. Back at the hospital, the mothers told me the matron who said she had made the milk actually hadn’t—so I was right to be suspicious. Even telling the Sage Femme Maîtresse I don’t think will make a difference. We made the evening’s bita and milk and I explained the preparations to this evening’s nurse. Went to check up on the Moor family—they had bought the meds I recommended, so I explained dosages and went over to Bébé’s to explain my troubles. She was very tired and outright told me she was ready to quit. We’re finally getting children into the program and the maternity staff is just neglecting them. I appreciate those who do help—but don’t they know I find out when they lie about work they haven’t actually done? Good work will be rewarded. There is a concept of tiyaabu here—kind of like karma. But I don’t know what has killed it at the hopsital. I feel if you are in the health profession, you should want to help people.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Exhausted with a capital E

Ami, grace à Dieu, came to help me at Nutrition. We weighed 41 babies and gave out 8 rations of flour—meaning there were 8 babies needing their mothers informed of the program, drugs allotted and given rendezvous. Both people from the village I visited with PC came! I was so happy the CSCOM successfully referred them. We didn’t finish until well past 2pm and it was easily 40°--Aliou guessed 43°. That’s 110°F!! The office was disgusting when we were done. Afterward, I cleaned it all up with bleach and demanded people take off their shoes. We really need mats in the hallway to keep the dirt out. Zubbu was annoyed I only came for food and then when right back to the hospital for feedings. I was so tired I couldn’t even stay after dinner for my favorite kind of bita: wheat serri. But my ear is leaking brain juice and the antibiotics are helping but I hate going to the pharmacy so much. At least a woman there agree with me when I called the Pharmacist to his face an aruzey kaŋ moñey ga kogu hala a man ti moso. Basically, he's a bit of a jerk.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Comfortable?

Went on a site-development visit with PC to see if we can put a volunteer there this fall. It is a beautiful village situated up above the river a bit. Sandy, so a bike will be useless, but the Chef at the CSCOM is a motivated woman. It was her conduct during the nutrition training in January that convinced me we should put a volunteer with her. The ASACO president, who manages the people who run the finances of the CSCOM, may prove to be difficult; but, was impressed that I whipped out the proverb “a stick thrown in the water won’t become a crocodile” when explaining in Songhoy how to treat the future volunteer. I feel that though I help on missions like this, I also cause problems because I am white—the host family said they’d be expecting help if they were going to host the PCV. But the Chef at the CSCOM and the matron who worked with me during her schooling at the hospital reassured me they would protect the PCV from the village ☺

I went all the way to Gao with the PC to visit Bébé and Pedro at the hospital. He is finally getting treatment that he needs. But the stroke has rendered his left side paralyzed and him speechless.

While watching the Liverpool v. Chelsea game, I chatted with a friend about how I’ve changed since coming to Mali. I feel like my faith has grown. I appreciate things more. I see the world differently. I enjoy being around kids—or least have established patience sturdy enough for any child no matter how annoying or how sick he/she is. This patience also means I can stand Malian transport. I take more time for people here. He asked particularly about how I thought my faith changed. It has grown because Muslims ask me difficult questions more often. When surrounded by people who agreed with you it is too easy to become comfortable.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Men. Ugh.

If Peace Corps has taught me anything, it is not to generalize. MOST Malian men I can’t stand. SOME however are my good friends. And I have learned to deal with harassment by joking right back. The pharmacist (I have two nasty ear infections) was hitting on me saying we should talk. As I was standing in front of the pharmacy, a young road worker grabbed my arm and so I yelled after him “He! Wo manna boori!” The men sitting around actually agreed with me that this sort of conduct is unacceptable. The Pharmacist goes, yes, you see I didn’t even shake your hand. But then when goes to give me my change, it was short 40F. “Won’t you come back for it?” Ha. Abada! At the hospital I was working on the chart of systematic treatments amidst "Competent" (radio animator) singing love songs to me and the Chef asking if I’d go to the alfaga so I can marry a koyraboro. "Or is it that you don’t like black people?" Gah. The sarcastic “Yes, I’m so racist I decided to work in Africa for three years” is usually lost on them—but I did get a good laugh outta me slyly implying I have a koyraboro I like. The Chef goes, “Well yeah, you already tie a musor on your head.” To which I respond, “Ay si tuubi wullah!” But I won’t be converting!

Dijo actually came to help with baby weighing this morning. No new malnourished cases (I know they exist they just don’t come to the hospital). I burned my beans for dinner and was frustrated the Sudafed and other components of my drug cocktail kept me awake.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

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.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Busy weekend

Despite it being a Saturday, I got over to the Hospital early so Bébé could head to Tassiga to visit her sick father. I lingered at Nutrition knowing my Health-Ed class would probably be canceled. At least I’ve hung up all the guides based on the National Protocol to help staff with the treatment of malnourished kids. Low and behold, the school director called me to say there was a meeting at CAP and I couldn’t teach. We’ve had only 7 sessions since the start of the school year. I see now that working with the jeunesse directly would have been better—they’re considering scratching the whole school year and making everyone re-take it due to strikes and lack of testing. The teachers refuse to correct students’ work, which only compounds the problem—the students have no desire to do the work!

At least I was productive at home treating my skeeter net for a new season of blood sucking.

Lunch was zumbu hawru or the part of the corn that comes off in pounding. So, essentially koyraboro do eat whole grain, just in parts. We discussed a woman who is cursing Zubbu. She has taking much too much interest in Zubbu; the woman will follow her and even grab her in market. Zubbu thinks it is this witch who is responsible for her illness. 

We died laughing when the old man from Koussoum, Toué, did an impression of Arabs. And then one of two cats getting it on…riiight…

I went back to the hospital in the afternoon and noticed 4 oil canisters were gone. 3 people have keys to our storeroom. I pray Bébé is staying honest—if not, how will we be able to nail the Chef? He passed by without greeting, clearly avoiding me after the tension over the PAM donation. 

I went to the bball court to give the “elite 8” (the most motivated girls) new jerseys and shorts.

Spent a little time preparing Sunday’s radio show (which never happened because they just had to sweep out the radio during our health show!!) and then got ready for the theater production that the youth performed in Gao. It was even better—probably more relaxed being in front of their friends and family only.

Sunday afternoon, over millet-flour sifting, Zubbu and I chatted. With the canceled Health Ed classes, canceled radio shows, change of management at Radio SONI, politics at the hospital, the trash pick-up coordinator clearly hiding something, etc etc I feel like my work is going nowhere! I suppose the more you do the more likely you are to have problems, especially in Ansongo. We have a 73% abandon rate in the Nutrition program. Bébé never wants me to leave and is reluctant to fill out charts and forms etc. ACF staff feels like I can’t leave either. It’s great to feel necessary, but I feel my good example/work ethic has only been abused. Zubbu thinks the day I leave the Nutrition Center will close. Be it lack of motivation or simply incompetence of the staff, or the stubbornness of local populations, she may be right. Considering ALL free medications and even help to people who come from afar in terms of eating expenses while at the hospital, I can’t believe why we have such poor statistics. It has to be shame or distrust of the system or reliance on destiny and the will of God.

Arabs came from Aliou’s village, Gaberro, with a camel and a horse. Zubbu didn’t have enough food for them. We had to make more zumbu hawru. While we cooked, naturally we chatted. This time about rooftop sleeping and how it is dangerous because you never know when a dust storm will come. Nor do you know if rebels will attack in the night. I hadn’t heard many rebellion-era (1991-92) stories before tonight.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Gift from the American People

...Not to be traded or sold. Then why do I see the USAID oil in the market? And the PAM-donated corn-soy blended flour? Gah. 

I got many a comment on my “American” outfit today: SIDA shirt tucked into jeans to show off my cowries’ shell belt from Ghana and hair slicked back into a bun. I am amused now matter how I dress-up people are pleased. It’s all about looking put-together here.

I was so excited when I went out to the village of Djéfilani to find the petit poids case, I met the family coming into town on a donkey cart. I too can play health-relay!

I enjoyed cooking lunch with Zubbu (helping her when she is ill—it might be typhoid) and being able to write down the recipes in koyraboro senni.

I just about died this afternoon when the Chef decided to put the PAM donation intended for the Nutrition program in an old office in the exact opposite corner of the hospital from where we pass out flour and supplements. He claimed it was too much to store in the newly opened, um, EMPTY, store room for Nutrition. We’ll go through this month’s shipment in no time with the culinary demos and increases of malnourished children during “lean season” (May-October, the farthest away from harvest, the hottest months too). Will there be any accountability? ACF assures me yes, there is an ONG who follows up on PAM donations. Why PAM doesn’t do it themselves is beyond me. Thwump! "Here’s your flour that creates dependencies and discourages local production not to mention causing in fighting amongst local leaders and chefs!" We spoke with the Gao PAM rep; he washes his hands, and we only got a little sympathy from the Sage Femme at DRS (Direction Régionale de la Santé). Gah.

I enjoyed a delicious spaghetti and mango--in my underwear--for dinner. I heart hot season! Ha.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Tout sont en désordre!

Bébé and I work well together to weigh and treat the babies who come in for rehab and follow-up, but we sorely need more staff to help when say we get a pair of twins, a severe case, someone needing a weekly flour ration, and 50+ mothers with healthy babies to weigh as a check-up. Plus, everyone from the hospital comes to drink from the jar we work to keep clean and filled with treated water. I know we should share, but then why can’t they come work? Later I was écartée’d by the Sage Femme who gave everyone SIDA T-shirts except for me. And even when I asked for one, when a nurse told me there was one for me as there were for all the staff of the Maternity, the Sage Femme called the nurse a liar and refused. Bébé fought my case saying I do more work here than most staff! I got my T-shirt. Later, the Sage Femme came over to the Nutrition office to use our scissors. I asked slyly, "So isn't Nutrition a part of the Maternity?" She just laughs...but really, all this divisiveness kills me. Why must it be General Medicine V. Maternity V. Nutrition V. Doctors V. Nurses V. Pharmacy V. Workers etc etc. I fault the head doctor--he'd rather pit staff against each other to his benefit than have this hospital work for the good of the community. I am curious as to how the Gao CSREF is run. Though at any level there is confusion: We received a case to follow-up on after the child had received treatment at the Gao Hospital. The name on the Reference Card was Soumeila (a boy's name) instead of Soumeya (a girl's name), they didn't send the history of treatment, nor did they correctly take the height. Well, at any rate I don't think a child can grow 3 cm in a week's time... It was a case of brutal weaning. The mother got pregnant when Soumeya was only 7 months old. Bébé turns to me and says, "Tout sont en désordre!" Chaos!

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

A handful

I watched Mama while Zubbu went to get her “head fixed” (braids and koyraboro beads weaved in). He was sleeping. Then fussing. Then pooping. After I cleaned him up, we cuddled and he quieted. I <3 style="font-style:italic;">bupbuping) and go find her. Luckily, she walked in just as I was attaching the screaming kid to my back, laughing, saying, “Eh, Mariam ni duu goy! Aru lala wo, bissimilahi!” The little guy is a handful! Still I love spending time with him as his ña hinkanto, his second mother.

At Bébé’s this evening we had kurbakurba (millet paste) and then milk with lunch’s leftover rice. She was angry with the milk vendors because they had been adding water and you can definitely tell. At least they are being entrepreneurial...

Monday, April 7, 2008

Good to be back

Alhorma cell phone communication, because otherwise I would have missed the SONEF Niamey-Gao bus to get back to Ansongo in time for baby weighings. I can’t believe the SONEF guy told me yesterday that the bus would leave from the Market when in fact it never leaves from the market but always from the 8th Quarter’s bus station. At least they phoned the driver and told him to wait for me on the side of the road. There are advantages to being one of few anasara around here…

I realized that I had been away from site for two weeks, working in both Bara and Gao. And a lot changed! When I got off the bus, I went straight to the hospital. A little girl (2 yrs old) is not getting any better even with the rehabilitation foods and we wonder if her mother is giving the food to other members of the family. It’s been since January and she isn’t gaining weight, where as other children, without serious infections, gain an average of 8g/kg/day during treatment.

My teammate’s cat disappeared; we think the neighbor murdered it.

Maman is drinking bita now and crawling.

The radio is back up and running, so I was able to finally do the show on optimal breast-feeding.

My homologue moved! This is the second time since I’ve lived here. They remodeled an old 2-story home that had been abandoned. She is a little uneasy though and I think would prefer a job in Gao. Her husband seems to spend more time there than in Ansongo anyway. At least they cooped up the chickens and made an enclosure for the sheep, irkoy beeri!

Sunday, April 6, 2008

Seeking understanding

Took advantage of being in Gao and went to church. Ibrahim preached on spiritual healing using the story of the sick man lowered into the crowd to be healed. He thinks spiritiual healing has 5 steps: 1. Frustration (the crowds, everyone wants to see a miricle) 2. Determination (because nothing is impossible with God) 3. Affirmation/confirmation—God sees your faith, your determination and therefore will heal/pardon you. 4. Confrontation: only God truly pardons because he gives us proof—we can get up and walk again when healed by God but other farces like modern messiahs and healers who claim to do the work of God don’t do anything for us—or material fixes, money can’t buy spiritual healing. 5. And when you do walk, walk on a new path—change yourself because you’ve been healed/forgiven.

This evening I had a good conversation about religion: It bothers me how divided even just the protestant church is—all I want to do is believe in God and live my life according to Matthew 25. Sharing my faith through my actions. But is this too simple? Islam demands so much more of its adherents it seems. The Malian with which I was speaking talked about the life of the prophet and the 5 tenets (believing in God as a unique God and that Mohammed is his prophet, praying five times a day, fasting during Ramadan, going to Mecca on pilgrimage if you have the means, and tithing or as they say zakat). He says it is an easy religion to understand if you just sit down and think about it. Then he asks, with what aspects do I disagree? I said 1. Polygamy 2. People who ignorantly practice without understanding even the verses they chant from the Koran in Arabic and 3) the treatment of women. He agrees with me that the treatment of women is difficult to cope with but it is more the society than religion that keeps women in an inferior position. As for polygamy he said God only blessed Kadija, Mohammed’s first wife with children. So there wasn’t jealousy between the other co-wives. He added only if you can treat your multiple wives perfectly equally should you take on up to 4. The Koran never says, take 4 wives, but insteads limits men to four. In the time of the prophet polygamy was used to strengthen tribal relations. As it was here in Africa, and there wasn’t a limit of 4. I asked him directly if he would take a second wife and he said no because he knew he wouldn’t be able to treat them equally. But he said taking a younger girl later on in life as a wife is better than just having an affair with her. I don’t understand here how society and the government allow polygamy and men still are unfaithful and cheat. 

We continued by discussing women’s place in Islam. Women aren’t allowed to preach or to pray in front of men because of biology. The female form was created to be appreciated (hair, breasts, ass). So I joke, and what about the male form? I can’t appreciate his ass? The Malian goes “I don’t see the attraction.” Ha. He agreed with me where in seriously Islamic places there are separate hospitals for women and thus they get inferior treatment. For him there is nothing sexual even about Ob-gyn work—you are professional and don’t take account of what you see. 
He explained as well that the prophet wasn’t well educated and was a humble person so it shows God chooses anyone. And so I retort, why didn’t he choose a woman? 

So, as I write this post, I am doing the work I came here to do. Convince Americans not all Muslims are terrorists. And convince Malians not all Americans are money-grubbing capitalist war-mongers. We talked about how Christians are taught if you are wronged, you turn the other cheek. Other Malians have brought this aspect of Christianity up before so it must be written about in the Koran. I do agree that though this promotes forgiveness and brotherly love, where does it end? Islam teaches if you get slapped, you pardon. If you can’t pardon you slap back. Yet an eye for and eye leaves every man blind…well, he explained really, it is the pardoning that is the most important. So we talked about how hard forgiveness is. He says in the end God is the final judge. I tell him how yes Jesus wll come again to judge the living and the dead. So he asks, how will he judge all those before him? I said he’d give them new bodies in essence. Even if all that are left fo them are carbon traces every life ever lived is in the “book” as it were. He asked if I believed even Jews and Muslims will go to heaven. Ah, hard question. I so thoroughly having my faith challenged!

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Espionage-Health worker style

"Enjoy hell!" I texted to my teammate who lives in Ansongo with me. He texted me this morning saying he just got off the phone with the director and they are sending two PC vehicles to evacuate team Gao. I was swearing, I wanted to throw up, I even woke up James!! Tensions were rising between the rebels and the government again…so I believed him! Of course, it was April Fools. He ws proud he got me, and the rest of the PCVs around, until Sean realized what day it was. I was still shaking to go to ACF for a meeting. Now how do we get him back?

I took a tour—or as Dr. Diallo joked, I was spying—of the expat-run CSCOM in the 8th quartier of Gao. It is impressive because it is clean, the infants have everything they need (diapers, clothes, blankets, toys), and therefore it is well-frequented. But staffing still poses a problem because they don’t properly fill out charts and document the treatments they give. They do give the proper treatments—of course it helps that all the necessary drugs for nutritional rehab are available—the treatment just goes undocumented. They have a/c in the office and you have to take off your shoes to go into the maternity. As far as hygiene goes, it was really impressive for Mali. Why couldn’t all the CSCOMs be like this? Well, they aren’t financed like this one is. The rehab room for the babies had toys and beds for each baby—ah, I had resource envy compared to what we have at the CSREF in Ansongo!!! And this CSCOM is actually Gao’s CSREFs UREN instead of housing it at the CSREF because this expat has access to such great support. But now, if only they could start documenting we could see if they have fewer abandons than we do or less deaths and more recovered kids.

"'Tis the Season"

Misery by any other name wouldn't be so…

Hot
Dry
Lazy
Dust-stormy
Angry
Divorce-crazy
Hungry
Mango-licious
Beach-going
Windy
Thirsty
River-drying
Sweaty
Hippo-sightastic
Shower-three-times-a-dayful
###

Disclaimer

All tales, opinions, and attitudes are those Joanna has experienced and subsequently composed. This Blog does not reflect the ideas or policies of the U.S. Peace Corps, its employees and volunteers, at large.