Int'l Women's Day and Birthday, Hooray!

I enjoy the fact that the word for "celebration" is hooray in Songhoy. So one can exclaim Hooray! at a hooray. I know, I'm a linguistic dork.

I had a wonderful birthday celebrating International Women's Day. I woke up at 5:30am and managed to actually find breakfast. Tried to locate where they were playing the football match--it wasn't until 7:30 women began to show and even then only Sympatique ladies came, La Santé totally did not represent! So we scrimmaged until the sun got too hot--about 30 minutes. I assisted a goal, but because the event was for the ladies, why be in spot light? Too bad this caused townfolk to pester me for the rest of the day..."Hey look, there's Mariam. SHE didn't make a goal this morning..."

Went over to Bébé's to quickly shower and to suppay (dress oneself up nicely) for the Conference. It was a shame despite the work of the President of the Promotion of Women, Children and the Family; the attendance at the conference was low. And considering the keynote speaker she found—an official with the Circle Government—who droned on in French, no wonder the 34 women nodded off, chatted, bowed heads and glazed over. He did make some interesting points including the lack of female representation in the government (the fault of whom? The women he made it sound like); that there is seed money at the commune level to support women’s groups; there are savings and loan banks who can help women start a business; and above all, women need to understand they cannot sit around and wait for development to come to them. They need to seek out partners! True!

My talk on "HIV/AIDS and its implications for Women" speech in Songhoy was well received. I got a few laughs when I said they shouldn’t let young girls accept money from men. Funny? Um…not really! It probably just made them uncomfortable. Ami from the Radio Soni, who was acting as MC, asked for statistics (which later even when I made a request for cases in Ansongo at the CSREF I never got my anwser). We have to make people understand that it is a threat in Ansongo and people must protect themselves from SIDA. The Chef of Badji Haousa made incredibly irresponsible comments: First, men lord over women even though there is no man without woman it is through man that women will develop. And in terms of the low representation in government—it is the fault of the women for not getting on counselor lists for local elections (Responding to Ami’s other comment that men go out in the middle of the night with their turbans tied and formulate the lists without a single woman present); then he went on to talk about SIDA saying the only way to insure it doesn’t impact you and your family is to be faithful to Islam. For Islam forbids adultery. He condemns those who use condoms—“les preservatifs sont des histoires”—condoms are nonsense. I flashed Aliou a meaningful look (he was there filming and taking pictures). I got agitated and wanted to respond—but he is a Chef. It should have been one of those in attendance to speak up—the conference was for them afterall. And I didn’t want to cause a scene…so I am culpable in the communal silence of the women. Then not a single woman made a question or comment—only the attendees who were men spoke. Later, Aliou told me he wanted to respond and most of his card-playing buddies agreed the Chef was one crayon short a box. He goes “See, this is why we are underdeveloped. Everyone just accepts what is said by the authorities.”

The Sympatique women and I went over to Ana Bocoum’s for a delicious fish zamey. I heart fish zamey. And I got to eat with the takamba band. Yummy but spicy doonu too (a millet-based drink made with finely ground millet, milk, and spices). Went with Zubbu to their place to relax and get ready for the hooray. I had on the blue 8 Mars complêt, blue earrings and necklace, blue sequined shoes and blue underwear. Zubbu laughs and says even my eyes match! She gave me some traditional perfume and kohl for my eyes. Then put on the finishing touch of one koyrahiri for my forehead. Needless to say I got a lot of attention going to and at the hooray. “Mariam! Your outfit is crazy-nice! Eh, Mariam! Nice beads!” The sympa ladies got things started and I went into their dance circle to praise their style—you make an inside loop and wave money over their heads. Someone put a miafu—head scarf—on me and even 5000F in my beaded koyrahiri. They liked my style! I had to dance with La Santé and made people happy that the anasara knows how to takamba. There isn’t much to it beyond swaying and undulating ones arms like the heat waves rising off the dunes beyond the river (it was a beautiful setting along the Niger in the town square).

After the hooray we ran over to the butchers to se if the meat was done—I had ordered a whole sheep for my party. There was some misunderstanding and after going back to Bébé’s to bring trays to carry the sheep and couscous (baked inside the sheep as it roasts). We plated and 12 of the women from the hospital came. We chatted and had some soda and then they left. Then the men came—two doctors, the lab tech, the sanitation tech, and two guys I know from church. Amazing how it worked with the men-women split (almost as if it had been planned that way) and that there was enough food for everyone. Fadi generously gave me some perfume and the doctors blessed me in Bamana. Amiiiiina! Then I went back to Zubbu’s taking them their sodas and part of the sheep, had some seri (rice cereal), and a great conversation about SIDA with Tapshirou as he walked me home. He had lots of questions about transmission and prevention. I went home exhausted but felt great about the day. Hooray!

Nutrition Project

The National Head of Health Services in Mali recommends for the treatment of acute malnutrition a "pre-mix" of Corn-Soy Blend (CSB), donated by the World Food Program in most cases, sugar and oil made into an enriched porridge. But, I ask myself, why not produce a "pre-mix" locally? A women's group named "Association Naffa Djéfilani" approached me wanting to work. Considering levels of motivation here are generally low, I was intrigued. We put together a project and the Peace Corps posted it on the web. The women will add the super-enriched leaves of the tree moringa oleifera to a blend of rice and bean flours and market as "NafFarine." By installing the machinery to husk rice and pound both rice and beans into flour in a compound near a plot of land with easy water access and opportunities for rich fertilizer to grow the trees, the Djéfilani Association will package the "pre-mix" for the nutrition program at the Centre de Santé de Référence (CSRef) in nearby Ansongo and to sell in the town's market. "Naffa" is a Songhoy word meaning nourishing or beneficial. We hope to fund the machinery, fencing for the trees, tools, and packaging, NafFarine will transform local resources into a product both nourishing and beneficial to the people of northern Mali.

Solidarity

As always, the conversations I have with Aliou give me pause.

He asked me what I appreciate about the life here. I told him the lack of waste. And the support everyone gives each other--incredibly strong family units exist here. He agreed and said this "solidarity" is both and cause of and a relief to poverty. On the one hand, no one progresses because Malians are about collective-helping rather than allowing individuals to soar ahead on the socio-economic scale (generally speaking, there are always outliers). But on the other hand, it is impossible to be forgotten. You are expected to share and to support each other--few truly suffer without being able to turn to a family member or a neighbor. Even people ask for "goungouti" (the scrapings of the rice pot) to eat if they are desperate. So rarely do you wash the pots directly after the meal. Aliou, and others (including my supervisor and school director who are being difficult but I'll spare you all the details), share the idea that volunteerism requires prosperity. This frustrates me because though I understand you need to at least be able to survive, how can you develop by only doing the bare minimum? But the people who tell me this are all salaried civil servants who even "bouff" to pad their income. Aliou poured the tea, blamed the French, and told me I am lucky to be able to do what I do. True.

Progress

This is Hamil at his 3rd visit since he was released from the hospital. He is eating well (he even came to the Nutrition Center with a piece of boiled sweet potato in his hand) and his Grandmother is taking good care of him. He was crying a lot (a good sign, he is strong) and even swatted at me, the Anasara in the white coat. It was great to see such progress and we use him and his Grandmother as testimony for the other mothers who come.

Mysteries of the Niger River Festival

Ansongo hosted its first-ever international festival over the weekend. Many locals said it was poorly organized; but in fact I thought it was impressive considering they even built latrines on the festival grounds, hosted the First Lady (ATT's wife), and kept the crowds from stampeding (which happened at the Gao festival I attended last year).

I learned much about the Songhoy culture, or at leasts of aspects I had not previously been informed. Such as the woven mosquito "nets" they used to sleep under. Now this begs the question, if they used to sleep under these woven-grass "nets", why don't they anymore?

Some old women in the Badji Haousa hut who knew me as their neighbor in this northern quartier of town dressed me up in traditional Badji Haousa war-apparel. We laughed when I said all I bring is peace! Here we are in the bugu or hut holding an old leather pillow:

They also put on a short theatrical demonstration showing how people use to hide from the slave raiders. There was a large internal trade along the Niger and they explained they always knew to run when the boats came.

In the same hut there were manuscripts, including love letters from the 16th and 17th centuries; old Korans and medicinal guides. It is a shame they are not housed better because clearly they have been ravaged by termites and time.

I enjoyed all the music and dancing and colors and really thought the festival brought together Northern Nigerienne culture and local Malian culture--we hosted delegations from Songhoy speaking parts of Niger and Burkina. Our perch on top of a van gave us a great view of the camel parade and the arrival of the First Lady. I purchased a silver ring and some of my teammates got complex trunk locks fashioned in silver and bronze in the Tamacheq tradition. This photo captures what I mean by the enjoyable colors:

Rehab and a make-over

The title may sound like the recent tomfoolery of Britney Spears...but no no, I am refering to the training of nurses on how to rehabilitate severly malnourished children and improvements made to the Nutrition Center at the Ansongo CSRef. This is the mural I painted in our office:

Si vous aimez vos enfants, prenez soin d'eux et donnez leur une alimentation équilibrée

"If you love your children, take care of them and give them a balanced diet," reads the French message. But ideally, and as I've already found, the pictures mean more than the words--particularly in an illiterate population. Already we've begun weighing babies in the room rather than out in the hospital passageway and explain to mothers what sorts of foods are important for them (especially if they are pregnant) and for their kids. I'm amused when many have asked, "Mariam, why is the man leading a dog by a rope?" "It's a goat," I say. "Why does the dog have udders?" "It's a GOAT!" "Ohh...a goat. For milk." "YES!"

With patience, everything comes. The technique of rehabilitating a baby under 3kg requires the attachement of a modified IV tube next to the mother's breast to ensure as the baby suckles, it receives vitamin-enriched formula as well as breastmilk:

The danger of exclusively giving small children the Nutriset powdered milk is that the mother's breasts will stop producing. But attaching a tube and having a nurse sit by you while you breastfeed is disconcerting. The baby must be patient and continue to suckle until the suction is sufficient to pull up the milk from the cup. And I have to be patient with the mother trying to take her baby home with her. My new favorite Songhoy phrase: Gaham baani fonda, a ga waato zaa! The road to health takes time!

Action contre la faim (A French NGO) came to give a training on nutritional rehabilitation to all the head nurses at each CSCom in the Circle of Ansongo. I helped give some of the presentations, particularly pushing the use of education and counselling, since that is the large part of the work I do at the hospital. I had a great time with the ACF staff and was particularly amused by the French expat's interpretation of the local "seka seka" dance. Awesome. One evening of the week-long training I went with them to a town 30km up the road to where ACF WatSan workers were giving animations on good water treatment and water-borne illness prevention. They were actually traveling by pinasse from village to village giving the presentations. In the car-ride back, one of the ACF doctors asked me, using the French woman as an intermediary, to marry him. Though he is handsome and smart, I said a flat-out "Non." But he insisted, as did she, that I at least state my conditions. I said at first he had to fly to Seattle and ask my father's permission. He said he would bouff from ACF to buy the plane ticket. I demanded cows and camels, at least 40 head. He is Peulh, and said it wouldn't be a problem...and he'd arrange for the camels. "And I'd get all the milk I'd want?" "Naturally." He replied. I demanded he cook and clean and treat me like a queen. It was entertaining...

The last day of the training we received a petit poids (photographed above) and a severe case:

When Hamil was admitted to the program, he weighed 5kg. He is over a year old. His mother got pregnant when he was only 7 months old, and as soon as she knew of her condition, cut him off of breastmilk. No weening process at all. Women here believe if you continue to breastfeed you'll hurt the growing baby. Untrue. Early or improper weening is the cause of much of the infant deaths before the age of 5 here. I won't even get into why she got pregnant with a 7 month old to take care of...When the grandmother brought him to us, she said he was drinking some goat's milk but mostly just tradition medicines and lipton, or brewed tea. Suffice it to say the mural come in handy...Hamil was severe marasmus. He had candidosis of the mouth, sores on his lips (sign of dehydration), vomiting, and diarrhea. He was wasting away. Only after a few days of antibiotics and creams and our milk he was turning around. It was difficult at first to watch him throw up or reject everything, even just sugar water; but soon he was willingly taking the sippy cup of milk. One evening I had put the porridge on the fire for the mother of the petit poids to stimulate breastmilk production and Hamil comes crawling out of the rehab-room. He had his cup in his hand and banged it aside the cook-stove to get my attention. His appetite had retourned, and in a few days we started the weight gain program. Severe cases are fragile, and Nutriset through UNICEF has provided formula and enriched peanut paste for each stage of recovery. Despite a nagging cough, he is doing so much better and looks less like a tiny old man.

Adiza, breastfeeding above and here, clothed in a much-too large but warm outfit I had her father buy for her, was our petit poids case. I fell in love with this tiny little girl:

She is 2kg. A case of a new mother who had malaria during her pregnancy. So even at one month, Adiza is too weak to really stimulate breastmilk production and hypothermic. Slowly but surely we'll help the mom, Safo, learn to breastfeed and eat well herself and rehabilitate Adiza in the process. I've "slept" at the hospital twice recently to feed these two little ones. I was at total peace eye-droppering milk for Adiza and decided I need to seek a career in nutrition and nursing. She isn't gaining any weight yet, but looking healthier and finishing all her rehab milk. Really, she was just hungry.

I love sitting and talking with the women who gather each day to keep the patients company. We mostly chat about the "road to health" but also about witches and cooking, typical women's-circle topics. I keep thinking how difficult it really will be to leave here.

I know it is but one step; yet the first step in a lifetime committed to convincing people malnutrition is a serious affliction deserving as much if not more attention than HIV/AIDS or Polio. It's more difficult as a condition treated not simply with drugs and injections, but care and patience.

Conversion

"Eh, Mariama, ni tuubi!" Yelled a shop owner as I was leaving town on the back of a donkey cart. Some others shouted to me greetings, using "koyraboro wayo" "Songhoy woman" instead of the typical anasara. I asked later what tuubi means. In the religious sense, but also clearly cultural, it means "to convert."

The donkey-cart ride, though a cultural experience was less than enjoyable. The poor beast of burden was slow and his master was beating him mercilessly. Blood started to trickle down his backside, and on the next "thwap!" blood spurted back onto me, sprinkling my clothes and glasses with little red spots. Ew.

During our training, a few of the broussey nurses were asking me to convert in order to become a good Muslim wife. I asked why they couldn't become Christian. More blasphemous evidently for a man to leave his faith than for a woman to leave hers.

I gave the "message" on Sunday on Hebrews 4:12-16 and Mark 10:17-31. The word of God as sword judges, severing soul from spirit, flesh from sinew--or in plain terms, cutting away our vices that keep us from a God-centered life. Even good things like a job or serving others are dangerous if they are all-consuming. So it isn't only giving up your riches and following Christ but living a balanced life as an example to those around you. Sanago translated and clarified my French into Bamanakan for the rest of the worshippers. I don't think I will convert anyone over here; or for that matter if I really want to--I simply lead my life as well as I can providing a testimony through my actions. So maybe to me faith without works is nothing?