Several months ago elections were held throughout Senegal. Following the campaigns, newly-elected officials held annual budget planning meetings (called PLD, Planification Locale de Development). These meetings are long, drawn-out, rarely productive and have no real impact on the actions or spending of the government.
During this same election cycle, the Communitaire Rurale is chosen within each commune. The Communitaire Rurale is sort of like a capital city only on a much smaller scale. The villages are chosen by the President of Senegal without ever visiting the area, and is usually based on where he has family throughout the country, not strategic, facts-based decisions.
The former and current Communitaire Rurale of the commune of Dabo (my road town) is Dialembere. Dialembere is located on the very edge of the boundary of the commune, has no health poste and is where the President's cousin coincidentally lives. Geographically it makes no sense for Dialembere to be the Communitaire Rurale. So this year my village, geographically located in the middle of the commune, with a health poste in the process of completion and the full support of nearly every village in the commune, actively campaigned and petitioned to be elected the Communitaire Rurale. Not surprisingly, Dialembere retained its title and my village was and is STILL not happy.
So when the newly-elected President of the Communitaire Rurale came to my village to facilitate the mandatory PLD one month after elections, he was met with hostility, no cooperation and finally left without so much as formally beginning the meeting.
The people in this country have so few options to stand up for themselves. Particularly a village deep in the bush whose population is largely illiterate and poor. Not only did they stand up for themselves, but continue to do so today, months after elections were finished. I was incredibly proud of their determination and character. We all knew nothing would change, but they were making a statement.
And now it is being used against them.
A refusal to do the annual PLD meeting means that that village forfeits its status as a recognized village essentially. It can't receive any government money. This is usually not a big deal because government funds rarely make it out to the people for whom it is intended. But we are building a health poste. It is a medical facility that, once completed, will and must be supported by the Ministry of Health to pay salaries. So now, the big cheese Medical Man in Kolda is threatening my village that he will not support the health poste until my village gives in, says they are sorry for protesting the assignment of Dialembere as Communitaire Rurale and agree to do the PLD.
Here are just a few of my concerns:
1. The PLD doesn't really even matter. Even if they do comply, the meeting will be a disaster and my village will be slighted in their rightful alllocation of funds (that won't ever be seen anyway).
2. If they threaten my village with withholding the funds for the doctor's salary before he has even arrived, what's to say they won't threaten them with the exact same thing whenever they want something from my villagers or any of the villages in the commune for that matter?!
3. The President of the Communitaire Rurale is a bad man. He is greedy and untrustworthy and vengeful. My village is very leery of him and for good reason. If my village was to agree to their terms and let him facilitate the PLD, he would make them beg. And I am sure that one of two things would happen: 1. My head would explode or 2. I would hit him. Hard.
As you can see, I am in a very difficult position. I was basically given an ultimatum to pass on to my village: give in or give up the health poste. And I struggled for almost a week before I got the courage and conviction to even tell them the problem, let alone make a suggestion. I was having serious moral and ethical concerns. The reality is that they should probably just give in, play by the book and be quiet because no matter how long they hold out, it is only hurting them. The likelihood that anything tangibly positive will come from this is beyond unlikely. But how could I possibly advise them to give up? Who am I to say that their protest is not worth it? And since when do I ever do anything the easy way?!
When I finally called a meeting to discuss the concerns, I was literally shaking. I kept my sunglasses on the whole time even though we were in the shade so they wouldn't notice me constantly glancing at my trembling hands. I talked them through the entire situation and at the end, when they asked me my opinion, I apologized before telling them to give up. I secretly hated myself.
And then they changed my entire world.
They asked if I might be able to set a meeting with the head of the Ministry of Health in Kolda. THEY wanted to speak with him! Are you serious?!?!? This is a culture known around the world as non-confrontational and suddenly an illiterate, powerless, informal group of farmers felt it was appropriate to knock some sense into one of Senegal's elite medical professionals... I LOVED IT! Absolutely!
I don't know why I ever doubted them. They have been the most honest, respectable people throughout this whole process. Now, I recognize that I am going to have to lie to get this meeting set up - this is a man who could not possibly lower himself to speak with villagers. And I recognize that IF I can set up the meeting, he will be irate when the six of us show up. And I also recognize that if he doesn't throw us out in the first five minutes, we may piss him off royally and ruin any future opportunity for compromise.
But they want to use their voice. They want to explain their position. They want ownership of this project and control of their own destinies. And I certainly can't advise them against that. It is possible that this health poste will not open during my service, if at all. This is a reality I am loosely accepting. But if and when it does, it will have been done the RIGHT way. It will have been a group effort marked by honesty and determination. I no longer feel guilty for telling them to give in - I think it was my obligation. And it is my pleasure to help them do the exact opposite.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Third Time's the Charm
There is a well-documented and equally well accepted phenomenon known as "Africa Time". What it means is that people are free to be late, hours late, with hardly any acknowledgment, let alone consequence. As you might imagine, this drives me batty! You see, I inherited a genetic disorder from my mother in which I am always at least 10 minutes early - can't help it, and I get flustered when I am not. Being exposed to Africa Time has perhaps in some small way relaxed my obsession, and it has certainly forced me to find ways to deal with it.
Since the very first meeting I held in my village I have had a rule that I will wait one hour for people to show up. If they don't arrive within that window, I will not be mad (most of the time), but I will also not wait any longer. I am happy to reschedule the meeting, training or whatever it is another day, but the opportunity for that day is gone.
For 20 months in village, I was not let down once.
But that all blew up in my face two weeks ago when I tried to hold a training for the health extension workers that will work at the health post when it is finished. Not once, but twice I waited one hour and not once, but twice only half of them showed. They were mystified when I eventually got angry - not at their tardiness, but their lack of commitment.
(Please allow me to stand on my soapbox for a moment). The likelihood of this facility failing is astronomical. More than half of all health postes in this country are non-functional. The other half only stay open because NGOs pump money into them. Even if we manage to get it open, fully stocked and supported by the government, corruption, greed, poor economy and disinterest are all factors that WILL close it down in no time. If these people are not 1304957890% committed to fighting for this thing everyday, it will not last. And I only have four months left in this country. I have a very short amount of time to prepare these people and I absolutely don't have time to reschedule the same training three times.
There, I'm done. Stepping off my box now.
So I told them if they organized a training on their own and told me about it I would come, wait one hour and if it happened a third time I would no longer work with them (which was a TOTAL bluff). But it worked.
Two days later, everyone was present within 15 minutes of the set start time. We had an amazing training. They participated. They understood. My pulaar was awesome. They understood my pulaar. And we had a very honest talk about their responsibilities. Which they totally accepted. The only way I could have been more thrilled is if it'd happened the first time.
So we have come to an understanding. I made my point. I only cursed Africa Time four or five (hundred) times and said the Serenity Prayer about 49587 times more than that. I'm still working on the serenity part. Whether this thing opens, and whether it remains open is out of my hands at this point. But it is reassuring to know that they understand its success is within theirs.
Since the very first meeting I held in my village I have had a rule that I will wait one hour for people to show up. If they don't arrive within that window, I will not be mad (most of the time), but I will also not wait any longer. I am happy to reschedule the meeting, training or whatever it is another day, but the opportunity for that day is gone.
For 20 months in village, I was not let down once.
But that all blew up in my face two weeks ago when I tried to hold a training for the health extension workers that will work at the health post when it is finished. Not once, but twice I waited one hour and not once, but twice only half of them showed. They were mystified when I eventually got angry - not at their tardiness, but their lack of commitment.
(Please allow me to stand on my soapbox for a moment). The likelihood of this facility failing is astronomical. More than half of all health postes in this country are non-functional. The other half only stay open because NGOs pump money into them. Even if we manage to get it open, fully stocked and supported by the government, corruption, greed, poor economy and disinterest are all factors that WILL close it down in no time. If these people are not 1304957890% committed to fighting for this thing everyday, it will not last. And I only have four months left in this country. I have a very short amount of time to prepare these people and I absolutely don't have time to reschedule the same training three times.
There, I'm done. Stepping off my box now.
So I told them if they organized a training on their own and told me about it I would come, wait one hour and if it happened a third time I would no longer work with them (which was a TOTAL bluff). But it worked.
Two days later, everyone was present within 15 minutes of the set start time. We had an amazing training. They participated. They understood. My pulaar was awesome. They understood my pulaar. And we had a very honest talk about their responsibilities. Which they totally accepted. The only way I could have been more thrilled is if it'd happened the first time.
So we have come to an understanding. I made my point. I only cursed Africa Time four or five (hundred) times and said the Serenity Prayer about 49587 times more than that. I'm still working on the serenity part. Whether this thing opens, and whether it remains open is out of my hands at this point. But it is reassuring to know that they understand its success is within theirs.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Let's Get Some Perspective
The heat we experience in this country is unreal. For most of the year I can't brush my teeth without working up a full sweat. But Senegal is entering the "cold season." I have been sleeping in sweatpants and a hoodie. In just a few weeks we will be able to see our breath in the morning and I will have to take my bucket bath before dark or it will just be too cold.
My closest neighbor told me that the other day she woke up in the morning and was so cold that she rushed to put on socks and shoes. She then glanced at the thermometer on her wall which proclaimed the current temperature was... 77 DEGREES! She laughed out loud.
That's right, we are practically rendered immobile by a 77 degree morning. In our defense, that is a solid 30-40 degrees cooler that what we are used to. If it dropped from 80 to 40 degrees in Lincoln, I imagine there'd be some complaining... Last year I went home for Christmas in a blizzard. How I survived the temperature shock is still baffling. It all goes to show that the human body is incredible, Africa is hot and everything is relative.
My closest neighbor told me that the other day she woke up in the morning and was so cold that she rushed to put on socks and shoes. She then glanced at the thermometer on her wall which proclaimed the current temperature was... 77 DEGREES! She laughed out loud.
That's right, we are practically rendered immobile by a 77 degree morning. In our defense, that is a solid 30-40 degrees cooler that what we are used to. If it dropped from 80 to 40 degrees in Lincoln, I imagine there'd be some complaining... Last year I went home for Christmas in a blizzard. How I survived the temperature shock is still baffling. It all goes to show that the human body is incredible, Africa is hot and everything is relative.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Add It to the List
I make lists. I make a lot of lists. I have been known to rewrite lists to make them look better and I will even admit to writing a task down on a list for nothing more than the satisfaction of then, immediately, crossing it off. Lists keep me sane. And post-its make it all possible.
I have carried over my compulsion for list making into the Peace Corps... some may even say it has escalated. Several shapes, sizes and colors of post-its made the trip with me to Senegal and they have served me well thus far (despite decreased stickiness due to unhealthy amounts of humidity and heat). I continue to color code and compartmentalize my life here.
Most of my friends and family back home have come to accept and embrace my affinity for and addiction to my planner, post-it combo. It took my new friends here some getting used to, but I think they too have come to accept it for fear of what I would be like without it:)
But the secret is out... now even my villagers have noticed!!
There is a man in my village named Ibrahima Balde. He works at the village level disbursing scholarships to kids at the elementary school through World Vision. He is educated, can read and write in French and he is even able to write in fairly impressive English. He is one of my main go-to guys, always helpful and very astute.
The other day I happened to be walking into my hut to grab something when I heard my name being called. I turned around to find Ibrahima charging up as though he was a man on a mission. I got excited. It was then that he pulled from his pocket a partially used, single stack of yellow sticky notes. For me. He was almost giddy with pride. And I was utterly confused. Had I missed something in translation?
Nope. Somewhere, at some point, Ibrahima came across a stack of post-its and wouldn't you know it? He thought of me! I am sure he was in Kolda at the World Vision offices or in my road town at the health poste and asked if he could have the random, lonely stack sitting on someones desk. But he knew that I would love them - and I do. I remain slightly alarmed at the transparency and predictability of my habits (I suppose that's why they're habits). However, it was also incredibly refreshing to have been here long enough and to be good enough friends with someone for them to instantly think of me when presented with office supplies (the true way to my heart - oh, how I miss Office Depot!).
I have carried over my compulsion for list making into the Peace Corps... some may even say it has escalated. Several shapes, sizes and colors of post-its made the trip with me to Senegal and they have served me well thus far (despite decreased stickiness due to unhealthy amounts of humidity and heat). I continue to color code and compartmentalize my life here.
Most of my friends and family back home have come to accept and embrace my affinity for and addiction to my planner, post-it combo. It took my new friends here some getting used to, but I think they too have come to accept it for fear of what I would be like without it:)
But the secret is out... now even my villagers have noticed!!
There is a man in my village named Ibrahima Balde. He works at the village level disbursing scholarships to kids at the elementary school through World Vision. He is educated, can read and write in French and he is even able to write in fairly impressive English. He is one of my main go-to guys, always helpful and very astute.
The other day I happened to be walking into my hut to grab something when I heard my name being called. I turned around to find Ibrahima charging up as though he was a man on a mission. I got excited. It was then that he pulled from his pocket a partially used, single stack of yellow sticky notes. For me. He was almost giddy with pride. And I was utterly confused. Had I missed something in translation?
Nope. Somewhere, at some point, Ibrahima came across a stack of post-its and wouldn't you know it? He thought of me! I am sure he was in Kolda at the World Vision offices or in my road town at the health poste and asked if he could have the random, lonely stack sitting on someones desk. But he knew that I would love them - and I do. I remain slightly alarmed at the transparency and predictability of my habits (I suppose that's why they're habits). However, it was also incredibly refreshing to have been here long enough and to be good enough friends with someone for them to instantly think of me when presented with office supplies (the true way to my heart - oh, how I miss Office Depot!).
Monday, October 26, 2009
Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde
In the Kindergarten Circus I was a tight rope walker. I had a tutu and slippers and I had perfect balance... if I do say so myself.
Now more than ever, I feel like I am again walking a tight rope between my rapidly approaching life in America and current life in Senegal. I have five months left of my service. It may sound like a long time, but it is going to fly by. Just about everyone in my stage is feeling the pressure to come up with a post-Peace Corps plan. Here's the hard part...
I have enough work to keep me more than busy until the day I leave this country. I have trainings to do, meetings to run and materials to prep, and i probably should have been done with all of them already. And at the same time I am trying to organize letters of recommendation, hammer out entrance essays and kiss my mom's feet for the amount of work I am dumping on her as my personal assistant. Finding a balance between the two worlds is becoming increasingly challenging.
Emotionally, I am all over the place. I think about America all the time, but I am geniunely excited about and proud of my work here. I worry about getting in to school while I am in the village and worry about the village while I am in Kolda working on applications for school. I miss my family back home, but I can't help but realize that I only have five more months with the people I call family here. What's a girl to do?!?! I tell myself to chill out and enjoy the time. As my best friend puts it "Savor!" Believe me, I'm trying!
In the meantime, I have a bit of a split personality - perhaps more so than usual. Things really are going well... I just have to remind myself of that more than I would like to admit. I'm actively channeling my inner circus performer and hoping my balance holds out just a little longer.
Now more than ever, I feel like I am again walking a tight rope between my rapidly approaching life in America and current life in Senegal. I have five months left of my service. It may sound like a long time, but it is going to fly by. Just about everyone in my stage is feeling the pressure to come up with a post-Peace Corps plan. Here's the hard part...
I have enough work to keep me more than busy until the day I leave this country. I have trainings to do, meetings to run and materials to prep, and i probably should have been done with all of them already. And at the same time I am trying to organize letters of recommendation, hammer out entrance essays and kiss my mom's feet for the amount of work I am dumping on her as my personal assistant. Finding a balance between the two worlds is becoming increasingly challenging.
Emotionally, I am all over the place. I think about America all the time, but I am geniunely excited about and proud of my work here. I worry about getting in to school while I am in the village and worry about the village while I am in Kolda working on applications for school. I miss my family back home, but I can't help but realize that I only have five more months with the people I call family here. What's a girl to do?!?! I tell myself to chill out and enjoy the time. As my best friend puts it "Savor!" Believe me, I'm trying!
In the meantime, I have a bit of a split personality - perhaps more so than usual. Things really are going well... I just have to remind myself of that more than I would like to admit. I'm actively channeling my inner circus performer and hoping my balance holds out just a little longer.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Mariama Lives On
To date, I can identify myself as any number of things: daughter, sister, student, teacher, graduate, dancer, licensed driver. Some of these titles required tests, interviews, even the processing of official government documents. But if you know me well, you won't be surprised when I say my most prized title is that of 'Aunt'... and I didn't even have to apply!
My nieces, Eve and Marlee, are the coolest people I know. And being away from them for two years is one of the hardest parts of my Peace Corps service. Before coming to Senegal, I was actively campaigning for supreme title of 'Coolest Aunt Ever,' which is in serious jeopardy at the moment. And while there are plenty of babies here to play with, it's just not the same.
When I arrived in my village 17 months ago, my village father's younger brother's wife (you follow that?), Djonfollo, was pregnant. I watched her go through her entire pregnancy (her first ever pregnancy) and at 8.5 months she lost the baby. It was devastating for her and made me miss my girls even more. She got pregnant very soon thereafter and has been ready to burst for a few weeks.
And nine days ago she gave birth to the smallest baby girl I have ever seen!
I had left my village to visit my closest neighbor for the afternoon. No more than four hours later I was back in my village. I barely made it past the first fence when I was informed of the baby's arrival and shuffled into the women's hut to see her.
While the baby was cute, I was much more astonished and amazed at the condition and demeanor of the mother. Please keep in mind that less that three hours prior (it could have been 20 minutes before I got back for all I know), this young girl gave birth in a mud hut 18km from the closest medical facility where she lost her first child no more than 12 months earlier. And there she was, sitting up, smiling and wondering when I was finally going to get back. Should I ever be blessed with children of my own, I have NO intention of being that calm and collected post-labor! Oh, yeah, and I was BEYOND THANKFUL I happened to be gone during the birth so I was not asked to help or dispense medical information in any way, shape or form... I am NOT a doctor!
As soon as I had a moment to process what had just happened, the real news was announced. The baby was going to be named Mariama Sabaly (that's my village name)! And they were SO SO SO SO excited to tell me! You would think I had been gone for days. The whole village had already weighed in - apparently everyone agreed this was to be the baby's name. The village Imam (religious leader) had already been consulted about it even. Who says you need cell phones and internet for information to spread like wildfire?!?
In the Pulaar culture, a person named after someone else is called their 'Tokora.' So I have now had an African baby named after me (and I am so thankful the poor thing was given my Pulaar name and not my American name - that's just cruel). Only the real kicker is that babies here are not given their names for seven days after their birth. Usually their first name is given by their father and their second name is given by their grandmother. In this instance, she was only given one name, seven days early, by an entire village. And I can't ignore the fact that neither the father nor mother was truly given any real say in the baby's name. It was a done deal.
What I will say is that I have felt like a member of my community since I got there, nothing more, nothing less. I know people in Thiewal Lao genuinely care about me. But I am a guest. No matter how well I integrate or participate in their day-to-day activities, I am still a white, educated American female who is only experiencing what they call life. But as cheesy and mushy as it sounds, and if only for the very moment when I was given a Tokora, I felt like a member of the Sabaly family. Mariama Sabaly will remain in Thiewal Lao long after I return to America and part of me is touched and comforted by that.
So I am now an American African Aunt. Every morning I greet my family and make a b-line for baby Mariama (finally someone in my family who speaks worse Pulaar than I do). I start my day by holding a beautiful baby girl. And just like in America, when the baby poops I get to hand her off to her mother.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Waterfall Wonderment
The south eastern region of Senegal is called Kedougou. It shares a border with the Guineas and is home to mountains and waterfalls unlike anywhere else in the country. Since I got to country, I had heard how phenomenal the falls were and I finally found the occasion to make the trip...
After five hours of biking in a downpour, I lost my grip and flew over the handle bars. I landed on my left knee.
I woke up the next morning to find I grew a rosy-red saddle bag from what we are assuming was a spider bite. It then spread and consumed my entire right thigh.
And we crossed the river first on a "bridge," and the second time we opted to go with the flow.
And you wonder what could possibly be worth all this hassle?
Spending two days playing in the waterfalls at Ingley, that's what!
Matt, Roxy, Kay, Annicka, Jordan and I worked hard to get there and played hard too! I can't say I'll ever make the trip back, but I am so happy I went... worth every bump, bruise and bite:)
After five hours of biking in a downpour, I lost my grip and flew over the handle bars. I landed on my left knee.
I woke up the next morning to find I grew a rosy-red saddle bag from what we are assuming was a spider bite. It then spread and consumed my entire right thigh.
And we crossed the river first on a "bridge," and the second time we opted to go with the flow.
And you wonder what could possibly be worth all this hassle?
Spending two days playing in the waterfalls at Ingley, that's what!
Matt, Roxy, Kay, Annicka, Jordan and I worked hard to get there and played hard too! I can't say I'll ever make the trip back, but I am so happy I went... worth every bump, bruise and bite:)
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