Festival Eid al-Adha or Tabaski (West African version) or cibsi in Songhoy is the Festival of the Sheep, commemorating Ibrahima's willingness to sacrifice his son Ishmael. It is only in the Judeo-Christian tradition we read the story of Abraham and Isaac. I have a translation of Genesis in Songhoy, and mentioned to Aliou the verses say Ibrahima nda aruizo badja foloko or "Abraham's only beloved son" with which Aliou found fault because Abraham did father two sons. He asked me why the Bible does not follow the story of Haggar and Ishmael more closely. If we knew that somehow I think there would be a little more peace in the world...
This year I decided to fête with La Famille Dicko because of the tensions with my family currently (the children destroyed my trees, yes those planted in honor of Rakietou, and have repeatedly strewn trash all over my courtyard while treasure hunting...so I've locked off my section of the compound including the pump). The family was amused when I showed up early I had already gotten all suppay (one of the few Songhoy words with p in it...borrowed?) or dressed up. Zubbu only put on her fancy clothes for 30 minutes to take pictures and then it was back into a simple pagne in order to work. I regreted putting my indigo on so early, cause I was already turning purple by 10h.
We killed the requisite sheep mid-morning. I held little Bebe back so she wouldn't see the twitches and the blood spurting. The sheep was lain to rest on the BBQ grill Aliou fashioned out of fencing and mud bricks while the skin was stretched as a prayer mat. The process is slightly sickening, but at least every part of the sheep is used. And by "used" I mean eaten. The family let me cook a spaghetti sauce for lunch because the sheep meat (other than flash-fried liver) wouldn't be ready until the evening meal. It was amazing. But Dave and I were aghast that Zubbu and Aliou only "understood" the sauce upon adding liver sauce to it. Seriously! I put red wine (left over from the Italians), fresh basil (grows wild at the hospital) and eggplant from the garden in the sauce. Plus Dave whipped up some garlic bread using spices sent from home. We gorged. Even after sheep-organ munching mid-morning. I spent the night because I really hadn't the energy to get myself home. Too much meat.
The next morning our marinara was still leftover and we had it for breakfast. There was sheep meat with mustard on the side later on. Much to my horror however, and probably the cause of my severe stomach ache later, Dave and I found fried sheep pellets in amongst the meat. The piece of mis-cleaned intestin was found and Mamata just popped it into her mouth. Mmm...HepA...mmm...
Now time to curl up into a tiny ball cause I have never known such pain as this.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Seeds of Hope
Only twelve girls came to the morning's lesson--but they actively participated. The rest had gone to get their hair done for the upcoming festival. Oh priorities. At least 30 showed up to basketball practice in the afternoon. It was happy moment seeing them in their jersies and shoes doing drills already:
My garbage cans are being noticed too. A PeaceCorps staff member came through and commented on how maybe one day Ansongo can be clean? A local standing nearby us said "It's in God's hands." I refuse to accept Inch'allah. Refuse. It is in your hands; it depends on you to work. Here is our team of collectors (Association Gaham Baani) in front of the donkey carts (the children just couldn't be convinced to not be photographed) as well as a market area near the river that is well, trashy:
I am amused I can distinguish by sound when my bucket is ready to be removed from underneath the pump. It comes at a trickle...
Friday, December 14, 2007
West Africa Wins Again
I forget if I've previously introduced my dear readers to the concept of "WAWA" (said in a Debbie Downer sort of voice). You see, when transport goes awry or one gets slammed with amoebas and giardia at the same time, one says, "WA-WA."
So when during the big vaccination campaign where President Bush's Malaria Initiative nets would come to Mali, but somehow they didn't come to the three northern-most regions, all I could think was WAWA.
Some say it was the Southerners who bouffed the Northern nets. Others say the nets were sent months ago intended for the campaign but the CSRefs misunderstood and already gave them out. Needless to say, many Songhoy and Bela and Peulh and Tamacheq were frustrated about being forgotten. Again. WAWA.
At least, upon sharing notes with other Southern volunteers, we didn't have the problem of mothers essentially killing their children. They would come back each day of the week-long campaign with the same children, present them for treatment (polio, de-worming, VitA, and measles) and get a net. They'd do this each day--until obviously their poor child's immune system and stomach couldn't take it and they died. Too much of a good thing. WAWA.
I enjoyed my role in the campaign of educating the mothers on what their children were receiving. They particuarly enjoyed my graphic demonstration of wiping a babies behind and then washing ones hands with soap. It is a shame more of the hospital staff chooses not to do educational demos; is it shyness? They're all very outgoing in daily life, but when it comes to speaking out...silence. Then of course many of them are cynical as well; saying for behavior change it takes generations. WAWA.
In the afternoon, I made my way over to the school to discuss why the 6th grade teacher was refusing to attend my HED sessions. The school director is being difficult--"interest" here means cash. The NGOs of yestertear began a trend of paying people as incentives. And now they are dependent on such payments. No such thing as volunteering here. I got flustered when he started going off on the US and my work: "Volunteering. That's easy for you. You have everything over there." All I wanted to say to him was "If you'd work for more than what you get paid you'd have everything too!" But instead I nodded and told him, "Yes it is difficult here." WAWA.
So when during the big vaccination campaign where President Bush's Malaria Initiative nets would come to Mali, but somehow they didn't come to the three northern-most regions, all I could think was WAWA.
Some say it was the Southerners who bouffed the Northern nets. Others say the nets were sent months ago intended for the campaign but the CSRefs misunderstood and already gave them out. Needless to say, many Songhoy and Bela and Peulh and Tamacheq were frustrated about being forgotten. Again. WAWA.
At least, upon sharing notes with other Southern volunteers, we didn't have the problem of mothers essentially killing their children. They would come back each day of the week-long campaign with the same children, present them for treatment (polio, de-worming, VitA, and measles) and get a net. They'd do this each day--until obviously their poor child's immune system and stomach couldn't take it and they died. Too much of a good thing. WAWA.
I enjoyed my role in the campaign of educating the mothers on what their children were receiving. They particuarly enjoyed my graphic demonstration of wiping a babies behind and then washing ones hands with soap. It is a shame more of the hospital staff chooses not to do educational demos; is it shyness? They're all very outgoing in daily life, but when it comes to speaking out...silence. Then of course many of them are cynical as well; saying for behavior change it takes generations. WAWA.
In the afternoon, I made my way over to the school to discuss why the 6th grade teacher was refusing to attend my HED sessions. The school director is being difficult--"interest" here means cash. The NGOs of yestertear began a trend of paying people as incentives. And now they are dependent on such payments. No such thing as volunteering here. I got flustered when he started going off on the US and my work: "Volunteering. That's easy for you. You have everything over there." All I wanted to say to him was "If you'd work for more than what you get paid you'd have everything too!" But instead I nodded and told him, "Yes it is difficult here." WAWA.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Fatebenefratelli vini Ansongo
The arrival of a team of Italian doctors (optometrists) has made my life more difficult (litterally everyone and their aging, blind mother has been at the hospital since Saturday) but oh so more delicious.
Yesterday I managed to make rounds to all of my ongoing projects: teaching HED class for two hours in the morning, dealing with garbage-collecting project coordinator who is somewhat untrustworthy and very difficult...sewing with the women, observing basketball practice, and greeting. Always greeting.
In between all these actvities I helped the Italians deal with the very same project coordinator who is difficult. He had them calling him "the president." Because he is a president of a 12 member association. Right. The Italians wanted a photo-op giving spaghetti to children in town and requested "the president" to have 30 kids ready. Of course 100 showed up and it was insane. O tried to help on crowd control, needless to say the Italians were frustrated. But still gave "the president" cash. For his rent and his association and for school children who can't afford the fees. Why do I get embarrassed when I witness stupid development? You think "the president" will use these Euros for what the Italians want him to use it for? No. He's barely managing our project funds and I have him on a very tight leash. This is a local who has lost a job for skimming off the top, bouffing we say.
I still got good Italian coffee and Christmas cookies. And an invite to dinner later. I had to do my radio show first (Songhoy/French now to reach a bigger audience) and though exhausted made it over to the guest housing at the Ag offices for an amazing Italian dinner. They brought over a chef from Rome with them!! We had risotto, bruschetta, prosciuto with cheeses, wine and bread. The publicist who spoke English was hilarious. We the volunteers and the consultant asked if we could keep the chef. They all laughed, but he was flattered Americans liked his food. Did we ever! The table was cleared for coffee and homemade Italian biscuits. Made by one of the doctor's grandmas. Really. My teammate even got a cigar. There are ways to do development and there are ways to do development.
This whole team is funded by an NGO (Fatebenefratelli or the "Do Gooders Brotherhood") and the Italian Airforce. In a word, efficient intervention (other than the lack of judgement or research on local contacts..."the president" would have been my LAST recommendation to help them with organization. But they didn't ask me...) Everything they needed was brought with them. In two teams, Gao and Ansongo, they completed 750 cataracts surgeries and 2000 eye exams in 2 weeks. Aliou's father and mother came, and though the old man's eyes were uncorrectable, his mother could once again see clearly out of both eyes after the surgery. Pretty amazing. Zubbu received antibiotics for floaties she had been seeing on the surface of her eyes. The Italians loved all the children and cried bambino! bambina! while playing with them. Maman got some nice clothes as did Bebe. People were crazy about getting the cadeaux, it just shows you how desparate people are. Precious few ever have opportunities for treatment like this.
The publicist's impression of Mali, a snapshot, was interesting. He thought there couldn't possbily be any malnutrition in Ansongo. "There is such a variety of produce in the market," he said, "and sheep and goats and cows for meat and milk. People must eat well." I had to be frank. I have seen too many children die of malnutrition in areas of perceivable abundance to know his observations were shallow. I told him maybe this seems like a typical African country where sometimes the pain, suffering and poverty are hidden. I've said before how I think malnutrition is a quiet killer. He agreed Mali was typical, but just couldn't understand how with the river and such a market there are problems with hunger. Another had him translate his ideas on how he thought the paved road to Ansongo and onto Niamey from Gao was a waste. Little do they know this road is an artery of development. An oppotunity for Ansongo, the bread basket of the Gao Region, to more cheeply send their produce to larger markets. Yes, only one or two trucks and a few cars pass a day. It's mostly the donkeys who use the road currently. But there's potential. Not a waste but an investment.
These doctors came to give physical sight. I hope they learned to see a little more clearly as well.
Yesterday I managed to make rounds to all of my ongoing projects: teaching HED class for two hours in the morning, dealing with garbage-collecting project coordinator who is somewhat untrustworthy and very difficult...sewing with the women, observing basketball practice, and greeting. Always greeting.
In between all these actvities I helped the Italians deal with the very same project coordinator who is difficult. He had them calling him "the president." Because he is a president of a 12 member association. Right. The Italians wanted a photo-op giving spaghetti to children in town and requested "the president" to have 30 kids ready. Of course 100 showed up and it was insane. O tried to help on crowd control, needless to say the Italians were frustrated. But still gave "the president" cash. For his rent and his association and for school children who can't afford the fees. Why do I get embarrassed when I witness stupid development? You think "the president" will use these Euros for what the Italians want him to use it for? No. He's barely managing our project funds and I have him on a very tight leash. This is a local who has lost a job for skimming off the top, bouffing we say.
I still got good Italian coffee and Christmas cookies. And an invite to dinner later. I had to do my radio show first (Songhoy/French now to reach a bigger audience) and though exhausted made it over to the guest housing at the Ag offices for an amazing Italian dinner. They brought over a chef from Rome with them!! We had risotto, bruschetta, prosciuto with cheeses, wine and bread. The publicist who spoke English was hilarious. We the volunteers and the consultant asked if we could keep the chef. They all laughed, but he was flattered Americans liked his food. Did we ever! The table was cleared for coffee and homemade Italian biscuits. Made by one of the doctor's grandmas. Really. My teammate even got a cigar. There are ways to do development and there are ways to do development.
This whole team is funded by an NGO (Fatebenefratelli or the "Do Gooders Brotherhood") and the Italian Airforce. In a word, efficient intervention (other than the lack of judgement or research on local contacts..."the president" would have been my LAST recommendation to help them with organization. But they didn't ask me...) Everything they needed was brought with them. In two teams, Gao and Ansongo, they completed 750 cataracts surgeries and 2000 eye exams in 2 weeks. Aliou's father and mother came, and though the old man's eyes were uncorrectable, his mother could once again see clearly out of both eyes after the surgery. Pretty amazing. Zubbu received antibiotics for floaties she had been seeing on the surface of her eyes. The Italians loved all the children and cried bambino! bambina! while playing with them. Maman got some nice clothes as did Bebe. People were crazy about getting the cadeaux, it just shows you how desparate people are. Precious few ever have opportunities for treatment like this.
The publicist's impression of Mali, a snapshot, was interesting. He thought there couldn't possbily be any malnutrition in Ansongo. "There is such a variety of produce in the market," he said, "and sheep and goats and cows for meat and milk. People must eat well." I had to be frank. I have seen too many children die of malnutrition in areas of perceivable abundance to know his observations were shallow. I told him maybe this seems like a typical African country where sometimes the pain, suffering and poverty are hidden. I've said before how I think malnutrition is a quiet killer. He agreed Mali was typical, but just couldn't understand how with the river and such a market there are problems with hunger. Another had him translate his ideas on how he thought the paved road to Ansongo and onto Niamey from Gao was a waste. Little do they know this road is an artery of development. An oppotunity for Ansongo, the bread basket of the Gao Region, to more cheeply send their produce to larger markets. Yes, only one or two trucks and a few cars pass a day. It's mostly the donkeys who use the road currently. But there's potential. Not a waste but an investment.
These doctors came to give physical sight. I hope they learned to see a little more clearly as well.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Smack.
I've hit my first child.
The kid actually presented me with the switch, or birzu, to hit other obnoxious kids who were crowding at the windows of the school where I started a course on Health Education for 6th grade girls. They wouldn't listen to my polite entreaties. They laughed at my threats. So when Moussa brought my new kid-whapping stick over, I used it first on him. He was being so bold as to answer questions from the window before the girls would (they are notoriously shy). Somehow he thought providing me with the stick meant he had amenesty. Nope. Smack!
The first morning of the HED course we did a survey. At least the girls understood how to treat water and what foods had Vitamins in them. But other than that, I can see this series of courses will be very educational for them. It is all part of program funded by Peace Corps Partnership: Saturday mornings the girls aged 10-15 years will learn everything from hand-washing to nutrition during pregnancy to negotiating safe-sex and Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday afternoons they will play basketball at the youth center. They are all incredibly motivated and excited to learn! Working with youth is so rewarding! Well, as long as I always have my birzu within reach...
The kid actually presented me with the switch, or birzu, to hit other obnoxious kids who were crowding at the windows of the school where I started a course on Health Education for 6th grade girls. They wouldn't listen to my polite entreaties. They laughed at my threats. So when Moussa brought my new kid-whapping stick over, I used it first on him. He was being so bold as to answer questions from the window before the girls would (they are notoriously shy). Somehow he thought providing me with the stick meant he had amenesty. Nope. Smack!
The first morning of the HED course we did a survey. At least the girls understood how to treat water and what foods had Vitamins in them. But other than that, I can see this series of courses will be very educational for them. It is all part of program funded by Peace Corps Partnership: Saturday mornings the girls aged 10-15 years will learn everything from hand-washing to nutrition during pregnancy to negotiating safe-sex and Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday afternoons they will play basketball at the youth center. They are all incredibly motivated and excited to learn! Working with youth is so rewarding! Well, as long as I always have my birzu within reach...
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Mmm...food coma...
Gobble-gobble! Team Gao acquired 4 turkeys for the occasion and enjoyed every-last sinewy morsel.
The Peace Corps demographic remains predictably nurdy: one of the new recruits has Settlers and we played. Another PCV's parents came and they generously provided some necessary ingredients (**below). The spread was incredible and most of it was from the Gao market:
The Peace Corps demographic remains predictably nurdy: one of the new recruits has Settlers and we played. Another PCV's parents came and they generously provided some necessary ingredients (**below). The spread was incredible and most of it was from the Gao market:
- Baba ganoush and hommos**
- Turkey with homemade gravy
- Rice
- Beans
- Squash
- Greens (sauteed peanut leaves)
- Tukas (traditional songhoy dish)
- Garbanzo bean salad
- Salad (with two dressings)
- Cranberries**
- Escalloped potatoes
- Mashed potatoes (served from a bucket)
- Stuffing
- Apple tart
- Pecan pie**
- Chocolate cake**
Many calls to family and friends. The saddest was to another PCV at site eating a fruit cup alone; a fruit cup without enough cherries. Aw.
All in all it was an impressively traditional thanksgiving. But to me, Turkey isn't all about the cooking, though I love concocting deliciousness, it's about seeing family. And there was none of that on the menu. I miss them dearly. Tear.
Friday, November 16, 2007
A Tree Grows in Her Name
As I approached the hospital today, the director of the Kindergarten, with her trail of children in matching smocks pitter-pattering behind, stopped me and said she heard one of my patients, Rakietou Abdrunass, died. She was 4 months old. The photo at the left is when we released her from the hospital when she had gained enough weight to surpass the average kilos for her height.
She died of dehydration due to diarrhea. 2.1 million children a year die from complications due to illnesses which cause diarrhea.
She was seriously malnourished upon entry. We got her weight stabilized (I was helping with the feedings 8 times a day) and got to know the family. The sad thing was the mom just wouldn't listen. The dad was involved, and bought meds; but, then when we put her into "ambulatoire" mode, mom'd give the kid dirty water again and her diarrhoea would come back. The first post-release visit I did with the family, Raki was looking good. Smiling and even recognized me. It was a good day. We let them go home again with new packets of re-hab milk and scheduled another visit. 7 days later. At the rendez-vous, Raki was at a lower weight than when she first came into the program. Her face was contorted and she was crying constantly. She refused the breast and would barely take the bottled milk. She died that night. So I went home and I planted a moringa tree. Maybe it will flourished even in this incredibly unforgiving climate.
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