So I found a rather large rubber band hanging around my hut
a few weeks ago and decided I didn’t want it.
I strolled on over to my mom and informed her. She was quite happy to take it off my hands
and when I asked what she was going to do with it she demonstrated, by putting it
over my younger sister’s head and using it as a belt. That’s creative re-purposing for you.
The mother of the two malnourished twins I wrote about a little
while ago is still living in my family’s compound. The first time I saw her after returning from
vacation she was only carrying one of them.
I asked where her other child was.
She repeatedly put her palms together like she was praying, tilted her
head sideways and laid her head to rest on her hands. I asked if he was sleeping but she kept
repeating the motion indicating that I hadn’t gotten it quite right. He died.
He died while I was home, presumably because of malnutrition. She said he would not eat the nutrition
loaded moringa powder I suggested. I
didn’t know what to feel. Upset? Angry? Frustrated? Just plain sad? As with other similar events I have written
about, I really didn’t know this child well.
So what struck me most was the injustice of it all. There is a health post in my village that
gives away free high calorie bars to malnourished children. Free.
All his mom had to do was walk 200 yards to the Health Post. Why didn’t she? I don’t think she didn’t care, because she
now has several of the high calorie bars for her other son. I don’t think she didn’t know, because I told
her. I think she didn’t understand. So many Senegalese don’t view sickness the
way we do. They’ve been sensitized to
understand that malaria is a problem…but malaria comes and goes, or kills,
quickly. They can see the
connection. It’s so much harder to see
the connection between malnutrition. The
same thing goes for STDs, and even family planning or pre-natal health. I’m going to blame the educational system here
again, as I often do, because it doesn’t teach students to comprehend. It teaches them to memorize, instead of
think. So it isn’t surprising they
struggle to understand an abstract concept with no easily visible cause and
effect.
Moving on. I brought
back obscene amounts of lipstick, eye liner, hand cream, etc. (Thank you Aunt Carol, Mrs. Cubit, Mom and
Mandy!) The women in my village LOVE
it. And I’m also getting a kick out of
it because now as I am just walking around village I see so many highly
make-uped faces. It’s really funny! The little kids have been having a blast as
well.
The girl who I have now mentioned twice in previous entries
(she was married, sent to another village, and then returned, only to be
dragged back) is now back in my village for good. Apparently she kept running away so her
husband gave up. He appears to have done
so graciously in the end. The money that
was exchanged was unexchanged and if the baby is born (she is pregnant) they
will meet again to discuss its future.
Why, you may ask did she think her new village was so bad? Her husband was just fine…there just weren’t
enough young people in her new village.
While I was sitting with my moms cracking peanuts the other
day 6 donkeys came stampeding through our compound. The funny part wasn’t necessarily the herd of
donkeys, but the fact that my family (and I) didn’t react at all. I asked whose donkeys they were, and my mom informed
me that they belonged to a village about 1k away. I was really hoping a disheveled donkey
herder would come dashing through our compound but I wasn’t that lucky.
I was sitting with my friend’s host mom and older sister a
few weeks ago. His mom started to pray,
then turned abruptly to his sister and said, “O I forgot I have to take my
shirt off.” I thought this was an
interesting preparation for praying. She
continued to change into a new shirt.
She then explained to his sister that she had been wearing it since the
day before. I figured this was why she
needed to switch, but then she continued on to explain that the baby had peed
on her yesterday, and she couldn’t pray with dried pee on her shirt. Duh.
Since my service is winding down, I decided I needed to get
serious about collecting money for my projects – namely the money for the women’s
garden. It was pretty much a mob shake
down. The two mob bosses (the two women’s
group presidents), the fast talker (one of the president’s sister wives) and
the intimidator (clearly that was me) walked from house to house collecting
money. We actually succeeded in collecting
almost all the money and I’m going to attribute that success to my
terrifyingness.
It actually makes me feel kind of mean, making everyone pay
up for the garden. Yes, before we started
the project I made it clear they would have to pay. But because they took so long to pay, I
fronted the money. So now, all the money
I collect from them goes straight to me, and I really don’t need it as much as
they do. The problem is, they are more
likely to use the garden if they have contributed financially to it. I have decided to take the money and then
secretly re-invest it in the garden. So I can sleep at night…or not.
One night in my hut I awoke to a scruffle. I’ve been a wee bit paranoid sleeping lately
(I think my malaria meds are getting to me), so I jumped up and frantically
shone my headlamp around my hut. What I
found was not, in fact, the ax murderer I was expecting but a mouse chasing a
frog. They disappeared from view and the
mouse returned a bit later dragging the dead frog. Seriously!? I thought mice ate cheese (I never considered
the possibility that there is no cheese in Thiewal Lao). I never knew they were such ruthless hunters.
I think working as a volunteer here must be similar to being
a parent…except I’m not taking care of children, I’m taking care of fully grown
adults. They come to me when they have
disputes and expect me to solve them. It
gets frustrating being asked to constantly solve the problems of adults. Kids are one thing, but adults should be able
to face the responsibility. The problem
is I really can’t solve many of their problems, they have to. It’s a frustrating predicament which I feel
acutely some days and not at all other days and is probably largely responsible
for all the times when I’m the one acting like a child, and my Senegalese
friends are the ones taking care of baby-adult me. Yes…I’m a hypocrite.
I had a moment of integration a week ago. I waited literally all day, by the side of
the road, for a car that never came and I
didn’t even care. I felt so
Senegalese J And since I am now so wonderfully integrated
I decided to stop tolerating the amazement that people express when they see me
doing household chores. Example – “Wow
Jenaba, you can do dishes?! You can get water from the well!?” Yes…as a matter of fact I’ve been doing
dishes for a while now and I pull water every day. How exactly do they think we
do dishes in the US? (we don’t always have a dishwasher J)
One of the women in my village was beaten by her husband. The village was a bit disapproving of the
incident which made me happy, but there still wasn’t much being done about
it. I asked the woman how I could help
and she asked me to talk to her husband.
So I did. I was a bit nervous,
but I think it went well. I asked why he
hit her and he said she talked back. We
talked about it for a bit and I don’t think I changed his mind, but I think he
will think about it a little more in the future. It felt good to chat about it.
And now for the most awesome moment of my February (thus
far). While waiting in the garage to
head back to my village I saw a woman with twins. But what really struck me was her thumb. She had one thumb that split at the joint, so
she had two tips on her thumb complete with two fingernails (one for each
tip). Seeing as I only have half a thumb
I got really excited! I got the woman’s
attention, and then before I could say anything else she tried to give me one
of her children. I respectfully declined
and then showed her my thumb and asked if she would give me one of her extra
thumb tips (this is a little bit more acceptable here than in the US). She appreciated that joke. I then asked if I could take a picture of our
thumbs together. She said sure, but I
would need to pay her…two dollars! Lets
summarize, she was willing to give me one of her children for free, but a photo
of our thumbs together was gonna cost me.
I was willing to pay about twenty-five cents…so I am going to have to
live the rest of my life without the double thumb, half thumb photo.
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