Maps, Malaria Booths, and Moringa

The Kolda work zone has been ablaze with work these past couple months, and I'm going to brag about it.  Back in May we did a world ma tournee.  My co-coordinator, Jenny Cobb, led our valiant team from village to city.  We gridded out sections of the wall, then drew on a world map with chalk, and painted it in.  My favorite art, apart from giving the gift of education, or at least a new talking point, was mixing the colors.  Our natural artist, Jim Courtright, was very particular about his continents, and did a wonderful job.  He has since begun work for a future African map tournee, which has created large metal stencils for: stay tuned.




Around the same time we began doing malaria market booths as art of World Malaria Month.  We each went to different markets and sent the morning talking to people about roer net care and repair.  We used the Networks cards, which provide detailed descriptions and picture, to start discussions.  We set it u as a game, where market goers would select three cards, read and answer the questions.  Correct answers and enthusuastic participation were rewarded with mint flavored candy.

I met some of the women from my village while we were doing this activity again last week.  "Come over and lay," I harassed them.

 They dutifully obliged their toubab, but before I could help them pick out cards, one of the women was shuffling through the cards and explaining in detail how to take care of her net.  This was odd because the cards were in French and she can't read.  It was only while I was trying to comprehend her raid ulaar that I remembered she had participated in a previous round of Networks sessions... three years ago.  Amazing!

And finally, a moringa production scheme has gotten underway in the village of Santancoye.  This is where my assigned health post is, and also where my closest sitemate, the aforementioned Jenny Cobb, is an agroforestry volunteer.  Last week we planted a garden of about 260 trees.  Once the trees have grown about waist high, we will cut them to ensure they don't grow higher and harvest their leaves.

Moringa is amazing because of it's high vitamin content.  This is especially amazing in regions that don't have access- financially or mobility-wise- to meals high in nutritional value.  Our plan is to train the community health workers at the Santancoye ost in moringa powder production.  This requires stripping the tree of its leaves, drying them in the shade, ounding and sifting them into a fine powder, and then selling the idea to the community.  We would like to start by giving bags of powder out to the mothers of malnourished children with verbal and written instructions on how to produce moringa powder on their own, and then perhaps start selling it on the chea to other community members.  This, of course, is all for the future.

Conversational Pulaar

I've got less than a year left and I've realized I've never fully discussed my local language.  So here it is! The low down on Pulaar.

The language we speak down south is broadly know as "Pulaar" but can be broken into several different types, and in Senegal we have Fulakunda and Pullofuta.  They're only slightly different, and for the native speaker only slightly different; it's like an American speaking to a Brit or an Australian, slightly different yet they can mostly understand each other.

I learned Fulakunda during training, as the majority of Pulaars in Kolda are Fulakundas.  What a lovely surprise it was to find out that my immediate village would not be Fulakunda, but a mixture of Pullofutas, Bambarans, and Mandes.  The good news is that everyone speaks Pulaar, the bad news for 2013 Kim was that it was Pullofuta Pulaar.  It was a bit of an adjustment at first, but that's exactly what those first couple months were for, and once my village realized that I knew more Fulakunda words than Pullofuta words, they'd either switch to Fulakunda when speaking to me or yell the Pullofuta word at me until my brain remembered it.  Both techniques worked.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, greetings are especially important in all Senegalese cultures.  The first thing you do when you see a person is greet them, and exchange that can last for 2-100 back and forths.  Some Westerners find this annoying, but I find it wonderful.  What an easy way to make people happy!  And the best part is you can repeat the same greeting and even throw in some"Ca va?" and you're golden.

Here is a typical morning exchange with a neighbor:
Me: Walle-jam! (Good morning, or literally, sleep in peace)
Them: Jam toon! Tana finani? (Peace only! Good morning, or literally, you woke up?)
Me: Jam toon! Hono bimbi o? (Peace only! How's your morning?)
Them: Jam toon! Hono bandu ma? (Peace only! How's your body?)
Me: Jam toon! (Peace only)

Now this conversation can go a lot of different ways.  My favorite way it can go is just pointing out the obvious.  Senegalese people love to point out this obvious.  This is another cultural quirk that some people find annoying and I really love.  Again, less work for me during a conversation.  I can be doing anything, reading, pulling water, sitting, etc, and someone will inevitably ask.  "Oh, you're reading?" "Yes, I'm reading."  "Oh, you're eating?" "Yes, I'm eating."  "Oh, you're pulling water?"  "No, I carry full buckets of water around on my head for exercise." "Oh Aissatou, you're so funny!"

I know.

Ramadan: Year 2

For my faithful readers out there, you might remember 2013 Kim was not a huge fan of Ramadan.  In my defense, I was hungry.  Last year I had a certain expectation: to be fed.  Sure, I was fed, but one small bowl of white rice and maggi at 10 am split between me and 5 children isn't going to tide me over all day.

This year I had no such delusions.  While, I didn't go as far as purchasing that gas stove that would be so useful, I have been eating.  Aside from the bread I can buy in village every day, and the fruit I can get in Kolda, my beautiful, wonderful, generous mother sent me an amazing care package that has gotten me through this week and I am trying to make last another 2 weeks. It's not that the amount of food in the package is insufficient, it's just that I get very bored sitting around waiting for people to want to move again that my stomach inevitably fakes a rumble and gives me an excuse to munch on those white cheddar Cheese-Its I love so much.

But what's an average Ramadan day? As per usual, I leave my hut at 8:00am on the dot.  I wait around to see if I'll be served breakfast.  Sometimes they've already eaten, sometimes there's no leftover rice, and always I have to guess.  I don't love eating rice for breakfast to begin with, so for the past couple days I've just been eating in my room.  A baguette from the day before and some honey, maybe an apple and a granola bar, breakfast changes.  Then, inevitably, once I'm done Ramatou will barge into my room with a big bowl of rice and 4 kids trailing behind her, triumphantly announcing breakfast, and I have to stomach a spoonful or two of rice for politeness sake.

Once breakfast is eaten I'll try and do some socializing.  "Try" being the key word.  What actually happens is I wander semi-aimlessly around my village looking for people to talk to.  I've been semi-successful.  Everyone's tired, even in the morning, and don't talk much and automatically gravitate to a place they can lie down.  When this happens I go home and try and con Soso and Oumou into hanging out with me, and this always turns into Oumou making my hold Aissatou while she does something.  I wouldn't mind this as much if she peed on my less.  Once relieved of Aissatou, I seek shelter in my room.  I'll read, listen to a podcast, and at some point make myself a beautiful lunch (yesterday I ate 5 chocolate chip cookies and I cup of powdered milk. Score.).

So yes, I'm eating.  But there's something missing again this year: people.  I miss my friends, I miss conversations not formed around fasting (and my lack thereof), I miss working, and I miss drinking tea. T-minus 2 weeks until I get my village back! In the meantime, book recommendations are welcome.

Jam tan,
Kim

Don't Tell Me What to Wear, Teach the Boys Not to Stare

During my most recent trip back from Dakar, I passed the trip in peace while listening to podcasts.  One of these in particular, BBC World News, had an interesting story revolving dress code.  In America, this story would probably not gotten my attention. Middle school dress codes? Boring. But after living in Senegal for a year the underlying issues between these American girls' situation and the Senegalese middle schoolers in my village are undeniable. It's about women's rights. 

For those of you who are unfamiliar, here is the link to the BBC News Article.

A couple months back, I was sitting with my good friend Amadou Ba. Despite being a Ba, he's a good guy.  I'm good friends with his wife, and he takes an active role in the community, especially in helping the women with their school and financial projects.  So I was surprised when he told me about his most recent meeting at the local middle school.  The parents and teachers had a meeting to enforce a dress code on girls.  

Now these girls would be asked to wear a traditional skirt and head scarf to school every day.  This meant no jeans.  In the same case as these American teenagers, boys and male teachers alike found the clothing these girls were wearing to be distracting.  

This, to me, seemed ridiculous.  "Amadou," I said, with a bit of incredulity in my voice. "Why?"

Amadou explained to me that it was to protect the girls.  If a girl is attractive and dressed "provocatively" in tight fitting clothing, they are more likely to be approached sexually by a fellow student or even a teacher.  Then they get married or get pregnant.

A tactic that Peace Corps and many NGOs in the area are taking is teaching the girls to say no, or teaching them that their bodies are not worth the clothes, the cell phones, the little presents that men might give them.  And I like to think this is working.  But what about the boys? Are we teaching the boys that just because you find a girl attractive doesn't mean you have the right to access their body?  

So I feel little sympathy for these boys who are distracted by leggings, just as I feel little pity for the men who find jeans provocative.  They're going to come across many attractive women who dress nicely throughout their lives, and it's better to learn earlier rather than later how to respect women.  

"It’s a lot like saying that if guys do something to harass us, it’s our fault for that." -Sophie Hasty, 13 

Camp Pictures

I could write a book about how much I loved camp, and I probably write a pretty lengthy blog at some point, but for now here are some wonderful pictures! Enjoy!

How to Deal with Utter Failure

So we're going to talk about something uncomfortable, embarrassing, and something people don't necessarily like to talk about, especially when it come to themselves: failure.  It's taken me a while to write this post for the reasons listed above, but I feel more comfortable talking about it now, and I think it's because I've finally got a plan.While I've experience more failure and below averageness in the past year than I experienced in the first 22 years of my life, it hasn't hit me as hard as I thought it would.

We'll start with the less embarrassing of the two anecdotes:

 At camp I was in charge of organizing the First Aid session.  No problem, I've been a lifeguard for years; I'm literally a professional.  Give me a First Aid guide and we're all set. Done. We'll just write it out, give it to the local nurse (who should know this stuff) and everything will be just peachy.
Problem 1: I don't speak French. Problem 2: She lives 30km away and I'm really busy. Problem 3: Advising people to call 911 and seek medical attention ASAP is just not realistic. Nor do I want to teach anything super heavy like CPR or setting a bone.

First Aid with the Community Health Worker

 Problem 4 arrived on the day of.  The nurse who was supposed to come was really sick, bedridden with an IV, and couldn't make it.  We managed to get another health worker to agree to come.  The session was due to begin, and she was no where in sight.  We had a schedule, even if this is Senegal, so I thought it'd be a great idea to start the session.  Problem 5 arose fairly quickly after that: no one knew what I was talking about.  Apparently the difference between heat cramps, heat exhaustion, and heat stroke do not translate.  We got through the Heimlich maneuver and heat illnesses before I gave up and had my French speaking toubabs try.  Around this time our health worker friend arrived; a woman had gone into labor and she had been busy doing her job.  How can you be mad at that?  So she picked up where we left off and even backtracked a little to cover stuff that wasn't exactly working when we did it.

I felt like a failure.  Why was I not more prepared? Why didn't I review my language skills beforehand?  Why was I not more energetic, engaging, connecting? Did the kids even care?  I spent the rest of the afternoon in a funk, kicking myself over and over again.

The upside of this failure is that is wasn't a complete failure.  Every night we did small group debriefs.  What did you like today, and what didn't you like?  Did you learn anything interesting and new, or was the day a wash and you were totally bored?

"I really liked First Aid today," piped up one kid.

I looked at him like he had 3 heads and a tail. "Really? Why?"

He then recited everything we had gone over that day, which was awesome because that meant he was actually paying attention, and shared a personal story.  "Now I know how to take care of myself." He pulled up his pant legs to show his shins.  "You see all of these scars?  Whenever I had a wound before, I would put dirt in them because I thought that would make them heal more quickly.  Now I know that is not good, and I should wash with soap and water until it heals."

Putting dirt in his wounds aside, this made me feel really great.  Even though it wasn't me responsible for making the kids understand, it meant the session wasn't a total failure: the kids had learned something. The rest of the kids piped up too, regurgitating information and sharing more stories, chipping away the big block of embarrassment in my chest.

It only got better from there.  Theatre, a terrifying and life ruining pastime in American schools, is a beloved pastime and wonderful teaching tool in Senegal.  For one of our last sessions we split up into our small groups and each picked a topic the camp had covered and prepared a skit.

WHAT?

 The first skit was about a family who didn't want their daughter to learn and gave their ungrateful son everything.  There was an intervention, and eventually the father decided to send her as well.  Flash forward a couple years, and the son is a soccer player and the daughter is a doctor.  The children come home to see their parents, and suddenly their father is choking on a fish bone.  The son watches in shock, knowing his father is going to die.  The daughter, however, springs to her feet and performs................ THE HEIMLICH MANEUVER. WHAT? I laughed so hard.  So the moral of this anecdote is that doctors are more useful than soccer players and even when you think you fail you can still get your message across.

Now comes the harder part.  My garden is dead.  While I was away at camp, the teachers were away on vacation as well, and the students became lackadaisical with tending the garden.  One day someone left the gate open.  A donkey got in and ate it all. All of it.

It's been difficult to deal with.  There's no coming back from that.  If it's dead it's dead.  They will not get any food from this garden this year.  After a month of mulling it over, avoiding the topic, and eventually coming to terms with everything, we've got a plan.  The garden may have died this year, but it will be a more sustainable project in years to come.  Instead of putting it under school authority, we will be transferring most control to two community members.  They will be nominated by their respective chiefs, and make sure the children are maintaining the garden properly.  In return for their service they will be awarded plots in the garden for personal use.

Will this work? I think it will, but in reality I can only have faith, and say, Inshallah.


Jam tan,
Kim

Happy World Malaria Day! Show me ya SKILLZ.

Happy World Malaria Day! For those of you not in the Peace Corps circle, World Malaria Day is a day for people from all over the world to get together and share experiences, ideas, and projects they've been doing to help stop the spread of malaria.

For those of you who aren't religious readers, malaria is a parasitic disease spread by the pregnant female anopheles mosquito.  It is spread mostly at night, hence the promotion of insecticide treated mosquito nets.   I'll just summarize the most important part by saying that malaria is easily the biggest killer in Africa (yes, even over HIV/AIDS!) and the most common victims are children ages 0-5.

So how did I spend my World Malaria Day?  Inspired from my recent training with Grassroots Soccer, an organization that uses soccer to get out key messages on HIV/AIDS, women's health and rights, and, (you guessed it!) malaria, and brought the malaria curriculum to my primary school.

Grassroots is amazing for a lot of reasons, but one of my favorite things about it is the focus it places on encouragement.  Aside from snapping to show agreement, there's also something called a kilo.  This is busted out anytime someone has done or said something super amazing.  The most basic one is clapping three times on your left, three times on your right, then shouting "WOO" and pointing at the person you want to congratulate.  There are also more advanced ones,my favorite one being the Obama kilo ("YES WE CAN.")  Encouragement can sometimes be lacking, and I think it's great to have something like this incorporated in the program.  The teacher helping me out even got into it by the end!

The lesson today was focused on making the children aware that malaria is the number one killer in Africa, that anyone with a fever should go to the health post immediately, and that the best way to protect themselves is to sleep under a mosquito net every night, all year.  The core of the lesson involved a game called Bed Net Ball.  We split the kids into two groups and gave them each  a sheet and a soccer ball.  They had to throw the ball into the air, using the sheet to catch it, using communication to make sure the timing was on. We paused, read some "key messages" and resumed with a twist: the sheet represents a mosquito net, and the ball represents a mosquito.  The whole team has to throw the mosquito into the air and quickly get under the sheet before the mosquito hits the ground.  If they're not under the sheet, they're infected with malaria.  I played the health worker, and anyone who didn't make it had to run over to me and give me a high five- this represents quickly seeking treatment.

We ended with a bed net demonstration, which I made one of the girls do by herself.  She did a wonderful job and we all gave her a kilo.

We sat down with the kids afterwards.  "What did we talk about today?"
"Mosquitoes! ""Nets!"
"What about them?"... cue really long explanation on how to take care of a net and how nets stop mosquitoes.
"What else?"
"Going to the hospital!"
"Why?"
"Because if you go quickly it keeps the disease from getting really serious and painful." Perfect.

It was a really encouraging start to what I hope will be a long partnership with Grassroots Soccer (check out grassrootssoccer.org for more information).  I'll be doing three more lessons with this class, and other teachers seemed interested, so we'll see what the future holds! In the meantime, if you'd like to see what you can do to STOMP OUT MALARIA check out our website at stompingoutmalaria.org and keep reading!


(No pictures today due to lack of AA batteries, but inshallah next week I will be able to post some!)

Jam tan,
Kim