Too Beautiful a Night - 13 October 2003

     On October 3, 2003 in the village of Goundaga, Senegal,
the night was the most beautiful that I have seen in my
entire life. I mean the sky was crystal clear, the stars
were twinkling and it included a half-moon. It was starting to
change from the rainy season to the dry season. During the
rainy season it was quite rare to get a cloudless sky and in
fact we didn't see the stars a whole lot.

     Usually every night I eat in the back of my hut with
my village counterpart (named - Demba Balde) at about
9 o'clock. What I usually do is place my plastic chairs
out in the back an hour earlier and just sit back and
watch the sky and listen to the sounds of the village.
Like usual Demba arrives and we sit and start talking.
About 15 minutes later Demba's wife (Fatumata)
arrives and says that the child of the next door family
is sick and needs medicine. We don't have much other
than antibiotics, bandages ... etc. But we head over
there and we see this 3 week old baby being held by
this matron from the other village. We can
see that the baby has a fever (and they had the baby
covered in a quilted blanket) and is breathing a little
labored. So the lady opens the blanket and I almost
dropped as all I saw on the baby was a covering of
these little pus spots and I mean covered. Ok ... what
do you do with bandages and antibiotic cream? Well,
we knew to uncover the baby to cool him off. So we do
that ... tell them to give the baby water (even though it is
not recommended here because the baby could get
diarrhea ... etc.) but the baby wasn't nursing. So ... we
leave to get treated water ( I have some in my hut ).
As we walk out I tell Demba "let's go to the health
clinic I have money we can buy whatever we need".
He says that it is Friday night and that the nurse that
is the only one capable, is not there. Also that there is
no way to get a vehicle up there at this time of the
night (it is almost impossible in the day time as the
road has been washed out by the rains). If we took
a charrette it would take about 2 hours and still ...
no one would be there. We could go to the big hospital
but that would be about a 6 to 7 hour journey.
Also, we would have to override the village matron,
which may have big ramifications later on.

   So Demba says all we can do is wait till tomorrow
and we can see what we can do. But in the meantime,
we bring the treated water back and the matron gives
him (named Boubacar also) a tablespoon of water. A
minute later the baby made a little better than subtle
convulsive move and I knew that wasn't good. After the
drink the matron moved the baby to lay him down and
as she did his head just dropped back like there was
no life and his big black eyes were vacant. I will always
remember those eyes. So we leave ... as there is nothing
more that we know to do.

    As I walked away I just thought - Lord ... gives us this
one night ... give us a chance. It was a numbing period
before I went to sleep.

    The next morning at 7 a.m. Demba comes to the door and
says that at 1 p.m. little Boubacar died. We just sat
silently in my hut for a half hour and I have to say that it
was the first time in my life I had not one thought.

    What we did was go to the village/city (1000 people)
and had to cancel a soccer game that we had scheduled
for that day. I then went to Tom's (Peace Corps Volunteer)
village to talk. But before that I gave Demba some
money to buy some good food for the family. Like meat, onions,
rice (meat is a rare thing) oh yeah ... also beans.

    I was really taking my time going back to the village as
I felt like I needed to chill a little. But at about 2 in the
afternoon I return. I am not feeling any better than in the
morning when I left. As I get back in the village I see that
life is just going along ... I am like devastated and the
people are just going on with life. I had to think a little
... why is it like this? And I came up with this ...
The people in the village only know that children die
and people die of malaria and that there isn't a lot
of money to go to the doctors or if they have a little
they keep it for food.

    And in there lies the reason why I was so affected
by little Boubacar's death. I know different ... I know there
is a such thing as 911 ... I know that there are staffed
hospitals and health coverage and all the other things
that made seeing little Boubacar die so frustrating.
It is hard to live in a moment of helplessness.

    Yes, there are many things that probably could have
been done and things that should have been done earlier.
But when the resources aren't quite there and the money
and the education and the feeling that there is something
that can actually be done  .... ?????

    So ... during the day Boubacar's father comes to thank
me for giving the food and he came with someone else
because he couldn't speak and the other guy says that
the father wanted to say thank you. Also another thing
that I have held off to mention is that 2 months ago, this
same father's 2 yr old son died of malaria.

    I had a hard time looking him in the eye as I felt that
as me being from the developed world ... I felt guilty that
people there have a lot and the people here don't have
quite as much.

    But my opinion of that night was that it was too
beautiful a night to die ... for anyone to die for that
matter. I know that the world doesn't stop ... but I know
that the mind can be a powerful thing and I don't want
to believe that there was the death of a little child from
Africa on that beautiful night.

   So instead ... I am going to think this ...

Little Boubacar did what any curious child would
do ... he left to touch the stars and walk hand in
hand with Mr. Moon and that he just lost his way
back home.

Paul
Senegal
West Africa

Sometimes the good guys win - 25 Nov 2003

    If you remember the story click here of little

Boubacar the 3 week old baby that

died on that beautiful night. We have

learned since then that he died from

an infection.

    To help prevent this from happening

again I have told the people that in the

US it is the custom to bring mother and

baby to the doctors after 2 weeks for a

check up. Of course the people here

aren’t apt to do it and a lack of money

is usually part of the problem. Also a

need to instill in the people that it is

something that should be done is

necessary.

    The custom here is that a week after

a baby is born (7 days exactly) they have

a naming ceremony called a ‘deneboo’.

Where they kill a goat and people may

give presents.

    There were 2 babies born on the

same day. So I told the parents that

I would give them money for the deneboo

only after they brought the kids for their

checkups.

    They did and it was a good thing that

they did as both babies had the same

infection little Boubacar had. The cost

of the antibiotics was about $8.35 and

they didn’t have the money. So I ended

up lending it to them which is really

more like a gift. A lot of people in the

development gig would call this

unsustainable. But I figure you can’'t

sustain anything that is dead.

    Yesterday as we were shucking a

mound of corn for storage and after

shucking for about 4 hours I look over

and see one of the babies (a girl) as

she’s laying on a mat with her mother

just making noises and kicking her arms

and legs as healthy as can be.

    It made me sit back in my chair put

my hands under my chin and think of the

last line of Louis ‘Satchmo’ Armstrong’s

1925 song. “ And I say to myself what

a wonderful world Ohh Yeahh”.

Paul

Senegal

West Africa

Man re-hydrates then impersonates the Energizer Bunny - 25 Nov 2003

   A major part of Ramadan is the fasting

that goes from about 6 a.m. till around

6:30 p.m.. There is no food or beverages.

It is pretty hot here and you can see by the

afternoon people are pretty washed out. I

can say through my own experience ( I am 

also fasting) that going without food is not 

anywhere as difficult as going without water.

   Mr. Amadou Diao, brother of the 'Jackass 

who ate the corn' post's Demba usually passes 

by my hut in the afternoon to chat. After 2 weeks

into Ramadan, Amadou drops by, literally, I

mean he is tired and has about zero

energy. In our Peace Training we are taught about

oral re-hydration salts and if we don’t have

that we can make a mixture of sugar, salt in a

liter of water as a basic solution. I had been

preaching about making the mix and

drinking it every night when we break the

fast. No one was taking heed so I decided

to make a pail ( about 14 liters ) of this

mixture. So I told Amadou to come by

after the fuduro (name of the prayer time

that breaks the fast). I gave a liter of the

mix and after an hour he tells me he is

feeling pretty good. Also his headache

has gone away (one of the first symptoms

of dehydration).

    Next day he comes by in the afternoon,

he arrives at the usual time 3 p.m. 

but this time he is on his bicycle and he

has his axe and machete and says that

he is going out in the bush to cut some wood.

It was really a remarkable transformation. I saw his

wife later on and she asked what I gave

Amadou to drink. She said she hasn’'t seen him

this energized since their wedding night.

    Since then the word has gotten out and

almost the whole village is on to the mix.

At the health center in the nearest town

there are people from other villages lining 

up for intravenous. But with the miracle 

re-hydration mix in Goundaga we have 

people going out to cut wood.

    

As far as I know Amadou is still going

and going.

Jackass that ate the corn - 25 Nov 2003

    A week ago early in the morning

while I was watering the garden Mr.

Demba Diao walked by like usual and

as is the custom of the Pulaar people,

greeted me with a cheery good morning.

Fifteen minutes later he comes storming

back and he wasn't very happy. Every

morning he walks out and inspects his

corn and watermelon fields. What had

happened during the night was that a

donkey got loose and ate a whole bunch

of his corn. Here, from August till January

everyone has to keep his animals on a

rope or under control. This is dictated

by the village Jarga (chief in the Pulaar language). 

The reason being to protect the crops.

    Well Demba my counterpart comes back, very

unhappily and says "A donkey ate a

whole section of corn in my field".

the whole village is up in arms as no

one knows or wants to admit which donkey

it was.I was perplexed to understand how he

knew it was a donkey. He said he could

tell by the droppings ... there were donkey

droppings and not cow or goat deposits.

What happens if they know who was

the bonehead who didn't tie up the animal

properly then they are responsible for

the damage. Till this day no one has

come forth with any information to the

where abouts of this jackass who eats

other people's corn in the night.

    Here is the description, face of a

donkey, gray complexion with a black

stripe running over the back from front

leg to front leg. Also about 4 ft. tall and

probably answers to the word 'baaba'

which means donkey in Pulaar. I would

imagine that it has a pretty big stomach

seeing as there was a lot of corn missing.

If you have any information regarding the

whereabouts of this corn-eating jackass

please call us at 1-800-Goundaga. We

can't give you any reward money cause

the jackass ate the corn he was going

to sell. But it would make Mr. Diao happy

and lay to rest the mystery.

House cleaning - 11 November 2003

Hello,

    Another 2 weeks and other stories ...

***** Twilight Zone/House Cleaning *****

    I live in a round hut with a grass roof in a
compound of 9 houses. In Africa it seems that
houses are set in compound style.
    My house is actually kind of nice as I have
placed some pictures on the wall and the
place is pretty cool on the hot days. It is
home.
    But ...
    I haven't been living alone ... I have had
company for about 2 months ... yup ... the
type of company that doesn't want to go
away ... yup again ... FROGS.
    When I lived in El Salvador I also had
guests of the frog type ... a little family of
about 5 frogs that would hop out at about
6 at night and return at daybreak. They
weren't really that bad ... it was kind of cute
to watch the Central American frogs ... it was
kind of like Ozzie and Harriet. As the little
family would hop out at night to go eat ... etc.
    But here ... it is a little different ... about
2 months ago I noticed a couple of frogs
hopping out of the house at night and figured
... it was like the Central American experience
and that I would have a few frogs.
    It didn't happen that way as after a month
it looked like there were 30 frogs coming and
going. Of course it ultimately hit a point where
there had to be at least 80 frogs in my hut.
    The last straw was when I got up in the
night and stepped on one (kind of a spongy
feeling under foot) ... that is where the lines
where drawn.
    So, the battle began ... the next day I started
taking everything apart and let me tell you ... they
were everywhere. Almost everything I touched jumped.
I am fasting for the holy month of Ramadan
and I am hungry, thirsty and hot. So  after about
an hour I clean up half the hut. In the afternoon I
start on the other side. This was the worst side
and actually took an hour and a half to evict the
little moochers. They were hopping everywhere.
    Everything seemed great till ... night time.
Here they come again ... I usually sleep with
my back door open and I even closed it to hopefully
prevent them coming in. Didn't work as in the middle
of the night I did a flashlight search and saw them
all over the place. What it was was the door of the hut
has an opening large enough to let about 5 in
at a time. So I get up ... place rags in the crack and
figure things are going to be OK. About 15 minutes
later I hear this scratching at the door. It was a real
freaky noise. I get up ... put on the flashlight ...
and see in the crack of the door the frogs stacked
3 high trying to get in. The creepy part was
watching the top frog with one eye and a hand
reaching through the crack. I thought that this
was like one of the horror movies.I opened the
door and there was about 20 frogs trying and
waiting to get in. I took my broom and I thought
that I was shoveling crap against the tide as as I
evicted 1, 3 others sneaked in. Finally after an
hour it was under control.
    So next night I am sitting in the back yard
with my counterpart Demba and the frogs start
coming back again. Each one that enters I chase
down and kick them out. Then Demba says
" Ado jogii lamndam" ... do you have salt?
So he takes the salt and throws it in the corners
under the bed ... etc. He says " watch this" ...
I'll be damned but the frogs entered and then
came hopping out like the had 4 hot feet.
I mean that they flew out of there. We sat
there for 2 hours not saying a word and just
watching the action. I guess that is stuff
one does when there is no TV or electricity.
Watching a frog control system in action
... salt.
    I just sat there thinking that if I was in the
developed world I would have gone to Home-
Depot and bought some high tech laser guided/
collateral damage proof/environmentally friendly/
low impact frog eviction system.
    Needless to say I was tickled to see that
about 4 cents worth of salt did the job just fine.


***** Ramadan and a New Respect *****

    It is the holy month of Ramadan and this is
my first experience with anything Muslim. So,
seeing as I am the only non-Muslim in the village
for about a week leading up to Ramadan I had
everyone asking me " A hodat?" ... am I going
to fast. Fasting is from daybreak to sundown
(more or less) and it consists of not eating and
the worst, not drinking. So I said "haa" ... yes
I am going to fast.
    Let me tell you ... I have a really truly new
found respect for the Muslim people and Ramadan.
Let me say it this way " it ain't easy". It is hot, and
we still work , though slower, by the afternoon I
just lay around reading and sleeping. People
lose patience and actually had 2 wives of the
same guy go at it pretty good. They brought the
bleeding one to my hut for treatment and she
had a 3 inch cut over her brow as the #1 wife
hit her with a stick but #2 wife dislocated
the elbow of #1.
    Ramadan is actually a month of Peace and
tranquility, of giving and of not speaking badly
of others. The incident above was actually the
first time anything like that happened.
Oh yeah ... the argument ... #1 wanted #2
to go get water at the well.
      I am glad that I am fasting as I can relate
to the people during the day and understand
and learn about what I don't know.
     I am not claiming to say that I know
everything about the Muslim religion but I am
learning.
    If only in the world today, with the problems
we have, people could walk a little in the
shoes of others and be able to understand and
relate to people with different beliefs.
    Maybe then we can get to the root of problems
instead of categorizing without knowing what we
are talking about.
    It is funny but I get asked about 20 times a
day if I am fasting and when I say I am, they
shake my hand and some even have said
"thank you".
    I guess there is many different paths in
this road of life ... I am learning that everyone
choses the one they want ... Peace.

Paul
Senegal
West Africa

More of what's going on - 27 October 2003

Hola;

     Again it has been 2 weeks since coming in from the
village and life as everywhere else in the world goes on.
So here are a few more stories of what has been
happening.

***** Tidda's life *****

    In the village there is this beautiful young girl
named Tidda. She is 17 and immediately when
you look at her you can tell that she is just a little
different from the other girls. She always has a smile
and she just seems to be at peace with her life.
Of course this seems like an impossibility seeing
as I don't know very many people (including myself)
that are in that pretty good category. So when one
sees Tidda it kind of makes you feel happy.

    Till one day ...

    I was out in the garden (which is near the well)
and I see Tidda come up with her bucket and I can
see by her face that she is truly troubled. So, I ask
her "Tidda how are you today?" and she responds
"fine", which I know isn't right.

    About 2 hours later her father (Amadou Diao)
come over to hang out for a while like he usually
does. I can see that he isn't very much at peace
either so I ask "Amadou, what's up ?". He starts
explaining about Tidda. What was happening was
that Tidda (Amadou's daughter) was promised to
to a man of about 40 to 45 years old. I know that in the
U.S. this is quite a sensitive thing ... but in Africa
(well ... Senegal anyways) it is typical. I knew
something was up when I saw this guy (40 to
45 year older) hanging around her house. In a
village of 300 it is pretty easy to tell who the
visitors are. So I ask Amadou " who is this guy?".
He starts by explaining the situation about Tidda
and this guy (Mamadou). It starts like this ...
Mamadou and Amadou grew up together in
the village and were inseparable as kids. Mamadou's
family still lives in the village and Mamadou is a
teacher in a private school somewhere in or near
Dakar. What had happened last year was that
Mamadou asked Amadou if he could marry Tidda and
Amadou said yes.

Well ...

Mamadou shows up and says that he wants to
get married in 10 days. Tidda ... is not happy ...
wants no part of this guy ... and it is pretty obvious
to see ... as it was written all over her face.

    Also ... to Amadou, now that the time is here, he is
definitely troubled about it. He couldn't sleep for
a few days and even though he said yes last
year, he realizes that it isn't right. Now, for a man
to think that way here in an African village is not
the norm. Usually the girl is just given away.

    So ... Amadou comes over and wants to talk
... we talked for over 2 hours and I let him tell me
what he thought. I have to say that I now respect
Amadou a lot. He doesn't want Tidda to waste her
life and he doesn't want her to not be happy and
he wants her to marry for love and to make her
own decision. This sounds like a natural easy
train of thought. For other continents and countries
it is ... but in Africa it is revolutionary. For thinking
this way Amadou is taking a bunch of flak ...
which starts from his wife (who wants her to marry the
guy so that they can get some money from him)
and she got mad and took off to her native
village for a few days. Also Mamadou's family is saying
 "you promised her, didn't you" to a childhood friend.
Added to this pressure are some of the
men in the village telliing him to just give her away.
But he is standing up to them and he told Tidda
" I haven't had money my whole life but you have
had food, a roof over your head and I have done
my best, but one thing that I can give you is the
right to make your own decision". He told me
that he's always been poor and that the guy's
money wouldn't make him happy if Tidda would
have to live her life miserably.

    So, as it goes now ... everything is held off
till next June ... He wants Tidda to go to school
and he even built a desk for her to study on ...
it actually took him 3 days of searching for wood,
nails ... etc. to put it together. Next June the guy
will return and Tidda will tell him what she wants to
do.

    I see in the papers and hear on the radio how
people throw out the word hero like it is 2 cents.
Yes, there are heros ... but is it someone who
hits a home run? ... or someone who is a multi-
billionaire? I am going to describe my interpretation
of a hero. He is a little 120 pound man, who has
nothing, lives in a village of Goundaga in Senegal
and does what he truly believes is right. Despite
all the people, customs and pressure that are against
him. Because he believes that his daughter should
have a chance at the life she wants.

    Time will tell and I will fill in you in on how
Tidda made out ... next year.

***** This could save a life *****

    I live in a section of Senegal that is
predominately Pulaar. So as each culture,
tribe, ethnic section has it's own unique
custom ... so do the Pulaars. When I was
in training in Thies a girl who was a volunteer
here but finished and was conducting a few
training sessions said. Those Pulaars have this
thing that they do when they want to make fun
of someone. So I said ( seeing as I am going to live
in a Pulaar section of the country) "what is it?".
She tells me " they tell you that you eat beans ".
I said " what does that mean?" ... she says that
it refers to people with money who pass gas. Seeing
as beans are about a dollar fifteen cents for a kilo
it is considered pricey.

    So after about 2 months we head out to check
out our sites and as we are returning to Thies after
the visit we stop at a gare in Tambacounda. A gare
is a bus/7 palaas garage. Well there are kids there
called Talibe ... Talibes are kind of a poor man's
monk. They have what they call a Marabou who is
a spiritual teacher (of the Koran) ... and the Talibes
stay at the Marabou's house and go out and beg for money
during the day. Well at the gare we stopped and
bought some cookies and of course us being Toubobs
(white people) we are swarmed by the Talibes. So
we give out cookies and there is one talibe kid that
doesn't get one. So ... he demands a cookie and
we say "sorry they are all gone". So the kid says
" a namii niebe " which means you eat beans. Boy
did we laugh and actually gave the kid some money
just for the entertainment value.

    Also each on of us gets a Senegalese name and
mine is Boubacar Balde. But it seems that the Baldes
and the Diallos (another last name) have this verbal
feud going. The Diallos call the Baldes thieves and the
Baldes call the Diallos bean eaters. It is really humurous
but I have never seen anyone get fighting mad.

    To keep the theme of bean eating here, I can relate
bean eating with my most embarrassing African moment.

    Last week I was riding my bicycle back from Velingara
and I had something to eat before I left at around 2 in the
afternoon. Actually the plate was a great tasting mixture
of rice and meat. I am not used to eating meat and my
stomach was a little upset. So as I am riding back with
about 20 minutes left I am cruising along a (what I thought)
deserted stretch of highway. There was a little incline and
so I stand up on the pedals to give it a little extra effort and
all of a sudden (and to my surprise) I pass gas but with quite
a lot of noise to go with it. No sooner that I sit back on the
seat and up along side of me on a bicycle comes this
middle age guy with his 2 front teeth missing and he
is swerving all over the place because he is laughing
so hard. Man, I am shocked and embarrassed and all
I could do was say " mi namii niebe " which means
I ate beans. I don't know why I said that because
I didn't eat beans. Of course I am worried that he is
going into town and is going to tell everyone that the
Toubob passed gas. I would be easy to point out seeing
as I was the only Toubob around. But luckily he met a
friend and stopped ... I sped up to get the heck out of
there. I think I will always look around first.

    But the reason why this could save a life is that the
next time that anyone may want to give an obscene hand
gesture which could instigate some crazy road rage
incident. Instead just look the person straight in the
face and say " hey guy ... you eat beans ".


Paul
Senegal
West Africa

The Biggest Smile - 13 October 2003

     Here in the village the young girls (even though
they don't have much) do what any other young girl
would do. You know ... primp their hair ... wash their
clothes ... ALWAYS dress up ... even if they are
only going to the village over. Also, they wash up
before and after they play soccer.

     If we are going to another village to play ... they dress
up with their best dresses (which are really pagnas
--- beautiful colored cloth) ... which they wear over
their sports wear. It is really something to see ...
all the colors.

    Of course they way they dress up to leave even to
the next village makes me embarrassed to think that
I used to go food shopping on a Saturday in my not
so best sweat suit. I don't think I am going to do that
again ... seeing as I can see what a difference dressing
neatly can do for a person.

    A huge (I mean huge) part of primping is the hair ...

and here all the girls have their hair braided. Especially

on the special occasions/holidays ... etc. They are creative

which results in some intricate braiding schemes. It really is
striking to see when they're done. Also it isn't just
braiding hair, it is a social event too. In the afternoons
after lunch you can see a bunch of girls get together
sitting and braiding and talking and just spending the time.
Well there is this one young girl of about 12 or 13 who
really doesn't have a cent. And for here to get anything
is a big thing. One of the techniques that the girls use
while braiding their hair is that of adding extensions. And
the way they incorporate it into the hair is really amazing.
But ... of course ... one has to buy the extensions ... and this
girl usually doesn't have a cent to do a thing. Somewhere
in all this she gets the money and buys the hair that suffices
for the extension work. (I think that the cost of the package
was 33 cents US).

     Well her and her friends are at it for about 6 hours and I
have to a admit that it came out stunning. So she goes
" Boubacar (that's my Senegalese name) what do you
think of my hair?". I looked at it and said what I really thought
"Umo (her name) di woni weydi" ... translates to - Umo it is
beautiful. I have never seen anything like this in my life.
She hugs herself and had the biggest smile I have ever seen
in my life. I have to admit that I was really affected by this
huge sincerely happy ( I am beautiful ) smile. Her smile
was so powerful it made me feel good. It is something
to get back to basics ... back to the simple pleasures one
of the sources of true happiness.