Closed

I closed the door to my hut for the final time, after what felt like a lifetime (more or less a week) of saying my final goodbyes to my village, the surrounding villages, my friends and my family. The week prior I began feeling this pressure from the village of a need to throw a party for my final farewell, sounds like barrels of fun, I know, but the reality is, it is more of a headache than anything else and although it would be a party for the one and only me, I would be tending to the needs of all the village. However, I was saved by the recent birth of two babies in my family. Therefore, we threw a grand baptism. Exhausting, as all these festivities are, it was nice to have an occasion to properly bid farewell to all.
Descending the mountain for the last time, I was reminiscing about all the good times and nearly choked on my papaya when I realized the duration of my time spent here-2 full years. Is the Katie Moore, I asked myself, who skiddishly boarded the South African Airways plane back in 2008 still the same one? Naturally, people change throughout the course of time and I must have changed drastically considering the circumstances. Well, physically, my hair is a bit longer, my skin darker and dirtier and my feet, well let's just say they suffered the most. Beyond physicalities, I guess I don't really know the answer to that question and the only sure test will be for you to see when I return home.
All I know is what I've learned, what I've seen and what I've experienced. I asked for an adventure, and boy I got one (be careful what you wish for.)
I felt heartbreak when I unexpectedly was evacuated and realized very quickly when I arrived in Senegal that not only had I left my heart in Guinea, but most of my motivation as well. At first, I was not happy about my move to Senegal. I hated that the only way to get to my site was to RIDE MY BIKE up a mountain and once I got there was hit with the reality that my family was not only poorer but bigger and my work partner was no longer a strong, confident woman, but a tall, very confident, typical Senegalese man. All of these realities nearly pushed me over the edge of that mountain until I saw a sign hanging on the door of our regional house in Kedougou. It was a quote by Confuscious that goes "Wherever you go, go with all of your heart." I knew when I boarded that plane to Guinea, I went with all of my heart. But did I when I transferred to Senegal? No. A
Around that time, four months into my service in Senegal, things began to change. I accepted that fact that I could not go back to Guinea and no things would never be the same. I realized that I needed to embrace this experience and live in every moment because one day (like today) it will all feel like a dream.
I spent all the hours of the day (and into the night) learning and speaking Jalunke and Pulaar with family and made lifelong friends in the village (like that tall very confident Senegalese man) who helped me start projects and showed me the beauties of living on a mountain like waterfalls and views from tops of mountains. Sure, I had some bad days (well project collapse, being bit by a scorpion, having a fever of 103) but learned that the best method to coping with change is to smile and always laugh (they don't think white people smile enough) and know that the greatest lesson of all is knowing you know absolutely nothing.
Let's just say that I cried in agony all the way up that mountain and cried in bittersweet sentiment all the down and didn't stop until about two days ago.
I've closed the door to my hut, closed my bank account, officially CLOSED MY SERVICE, and today will close this blog. However, my experience in West Africa will always remain open for sharing to those who are interested to hear. Thank you for your neverending support, your letters and your kind words.

My address has changed. I live in Dakar, Senegal now. You may contact me through my email.

Ciao!

Katie Moore
Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV)
Guinea/Senegal 2009-2011

STOP SIDA!!

Stop SIDA!

December 4th, I celebrated two years in West Africa.

It 2008, I came with no expectations. I did, however have this subconscious idea that everyone in Africa lived AIDS. I’m sure I shared this notion with lots of other Americans (and anyone in fact who does not live in Africa), but I do believe that is my job now as an experienced worker to inform others that this is a horrible myth. Just like I came to West Africa to share a different culture and mentality and possibly change behavior, I will return to the US with the same goal in mind. An exhange, quoi, if you will, and there is no other time like the present to begin.

The HIV/AIDS rate is Senegal 0.7 percent. Percent wise, there are more people living with HIV and/or AIDS in Washington, D.C. than there are in the entire country of Senegal. However, due to the rapid growth of gold mining and the region of Kedougou slowly becoming a transient city when the international route it sits on will one day be the gateway to Bamako, Mali (if they ever finish that bridge), the increase of prostitution continues to soar as we literally watch how rapid Kedougou grows each week, and given that prostitution rates and the number of HIV/AIDS cases go hand in hand, we sadly watch how more cases pop up and the region of Kedougou is now calculated to have 1 in 10 inhabitants infected with HIV.

Although there is a great difference in numbers between a city and a village, it is important, however, to educate those on the disease and teach prevention methods to avoid it becoming a plague. This is what we did on December 2 in my village in honor of World AIDS Awareness Day. On the calender, WAAD is marked on the 1st of December which fell on a Wednesday this year. However, in my village, the weekly market day falls on a Thursday, so we went for market day in hopes of a better turnout.

After talking with the infirmiere of the heath post and 13 community health volunteers in the region who were all on board we looked toward the helping hands of local non-governmental organization for financial support. Thanks to partners like World Vision and ANCS, Alliance National Contre Le SIDA (a USAID subcontracted organization) we received funding for our Stop SIDA activities along with 4000 condoms and 50 t-shirts.

We started the morning off by showing a film on STDs and SIDA to the college students, however, most of the village came and participated.  We gave out over 500 red ribbons and educated them on it significance.  After the film the community health volunteers and matrons (as well as myself) put on a skit about testing and acceptance followed by a radio crochet we posed questions to the community and rewarded great responses with gifts (soap, milk powder, oil, etc, t-shirts).  Throughout the entire day, we had team come from Kedougou to do free, voluntary HIV testing.  The hospital district of Kedougou donated female condoms and we educated women on their usage.  We also asked the OBGYN from Kedougou to come up and do consultations (we tested all pregnant women who came in for consultations).  All in all, we had over 100 tested and gave out 4000 condoms.  We also gave out t-shirts to the top college students of each class and participants of the activity.  

Although we had some issues with microphones (hence the megaphone in the photos), the activity was a success.  We held a meeting with all the officials of the village prior to the activity.  At this meeting, the village formed a VIH/SIDA committee supervised under the infirmiere.  This committee decided they will continue to do this activity every year, so hopefully each year will improve.  The communitee health volunteers, infirmiere and myself are now putting together a report for the committee to follow next year.  It is basically an outline of what worked and what didn't.  I am very pleased about the outcome (over 500 people from not only my village but surrounding villages as well) and the participation from village officials and members of the health community.  People are still wearing their ribbons around town

JUNGLE LOVE

Welcome to the jungle, we've got fun and games.....

I live in a land where nature reigns without a throne, but a throne she does not need. She is the rain that turns bare land into a thinck jungle of vines and grass as tall as hills overnight. She's the swarm of flies that feed on the wounds of puppies and leave them to die or, even better, a troop of ants so nombre that to the uncautious eye is nothing but a shadow, until of course you step on that shadow and within seconds find yourself stripping in your family's yard screaming in defeat. How bizarre they are. So bizarre at how they can barracade you from entering your house, or even better, rapidly taking over your hut that all you can do is run. Could you imagine if she did have a throne?

However, there is something perhaps more powerful and cunning than nature-the hand of the man. My host father beat one of his two wives so hard that you could hear her from the tops of the mountain, according to other members of my family. Why, you ask? She was tired. Meanwhile, he spends all the day perched on his throne of bamboo. He is also giving his 14 year old daughter away in marriage to a man who lives in Kedougou. I'm sorry, but do we consider a girl at that age to be a woman,or WAIT, isn't that illegal? Yes, to all of the above. One of the brothers in my family has three different families scattered around Senegal. He hasn't returned to see his family in my village in a year, a year where he left them no money to put his son in school or pay for the delivery of his child, that the wife suffered from complications while trying to deliver her child on the floor of their hut. Not that she would go to the health post anyway, too stuck in her traditional ways. "Yes, the floor looks like a good place to have my child." Or even better, a woman who came to the health post, clearly having suffered from a beating because she refused to sleep with her husband.

In fact there are many things that strick me as completely insane and wilder than mother nature. Our water pump broke and needs of repair, but of course there is a problem with money. The mayor held a meeting and asked for each family and functionner to donate 2 mille CFA to help repair the project. There was so much huffing and puffing about the expense,you would think that a price of something related to a hundred thousand dollars was asked. But wait; do they huff and buff when they spend that on tea and cigarettes? Absolutely not. Still in the traditional mind state and yet at the same time aren't afraid to hold out a wanting hand to the white lady.

I've also discovered that when the lights go out at night, idle hands become busy. La vie c'est la nuite ("the night is the life," according to a neighbor) Everyone, man and woman has a lover on the side. They share everything-food, clothing, beds, SPOUSES! My neighbor's best friends came to me the other day and said, "Hey Fatou, Adramine is going away to Kedougou, guess who's going to be taking his place in the bed tonight next to Assatou?" Great. Thanks for the info.

I've realized that my little village, is in fact, is just like the rest of the world. There's more to that toothless, sing-songy, hello...mischief and a hidden story, or maybe not so hidden. My words of wisdom-walk cautiously, carry a big stick and don't be SO naiive-it's a jungle out there.

Allah Jabataa

The well project is complete, finished...failed.

What else can I say? Allah jabataa ( Allah did not accept). Despite our many efforts working gloriously as a team, myself as well as the villagers of Timbery were unable to complete our well project. Up on the mountain beneath the mango trees and amongst the scattered boulders sticking out of the ground, there lies a well, a magnificantly beautiful well...that serves no purpose.

Back in July, our well digger hit rock that he was unable to dig through by hand. So, I asked a Senegalese friend of mine who works for a Belgian organization down in Kedougou for help. He happily agreed to help and said he would send up a machine and a digger. I gave him the cash and 4 MONTHS LATER, he arrived, took one look at my well and said, nope not possible.

WHAT!?

YES, that is what he said, and here's why. The well is a traditional well, dug by the hands of a local, not a professionally trained individual who will cost you almost 100 american dollars to dig just one meter. Therefore, it is a bit smaller than a professionally built well and the digger said that is was impossible to fit himself and the machine down in the well to continue digging. The best solution-dig a brand new well, which by the looks of my timeline, is not possible. Hopefully, the wonderful person who will replace me when I leave in two months will have a go and see success. SI ALLAH JABI (IF ALLAH ACCEPTS)

Starting projects here, there is no gurantee of success. It is up to God, if he accepts, it will happen. My American side repeats that silly cliche over and over in my head "Almost doesn't count," but to my surprise it does here. I hung my head low in defeat at our final meeting with the village of Timbery. I apologized over and over, and I was overcome with gratefulness when all I heard was nothing other than absolute appreciation for all the efforts.

I would like to send a heartfelt apology to all of the supporters of this project and many thanks for helping us make an attempt. I will say that it certainly didn't work because we didn't try, for that is all we did. We literally kept running into rock after rock. Allah did not accept, so I suppose I can't either and take defeat.

Sustainable Tree

Their eyes are somber and tired, from watching the rains fall; their hands are rough, calloused painted the color of the soil that they spend hours bent over seeding row after row of peanuts, corn and fornio. To understand and merely appreciate their dedication and work of the field, one must join them.

You know, I haven't stepped foot on American soil in over a year and half, but as I meet new volunteers and strangers who pass by, they tell me that life in America is great and wonderful, and comparitively easy to life here...almost too easy.

So, I'm taking off my white gloves, bending over, sowing my own yard and planting row after row of corn and peanuts and new trees. So far, I've blanketed my entire backyard in corn and planted nearly 300 trees around the community. At the end of the day, my hands (and feet) are blistered from my hoe and the tough ground I have up on the mountain-but I have a newfound appreciation and definition of hardwork and can't wait to see and taste the outcoming product. One day (or in a few months) the children and teachers will shade under my trees and eat wonderful, nutritous sauces from their leaves...and out of all of my projects, nothing is more sustainable than a tree!! What isn't sustainable....running water in Africa. Our forage is broken in our village, so while we are WAITING for someone to come to repair it (maybe the same man who has a machine for my well, INshallah), people are resulting back to there old ways of using creek water to drink .....the cases of severe diarrhea and stomach parasite cases have increased at the health post in just these two short weeks. So, myself as well as the doctor and the health community volunteer are going from house to house to educate villagers on the importance of using bleach in their water...sustainble, probably not, but it's education...and every little bit counts toward something.

As for other projects and "work-related" activities, the project of constructing a well in a small mountain community has been put to a hault. We've hit rock that we can't dig through with our hands...so what do we do? We do what all Africans do best...we wait...wait until the rains leave, the water table lowers and we find a nice man who has a machine (or dynamite, even better!!) to come and help us. That is the way it works here....things just take time and life is measured by the time of season.

Thinking of sustainability, i reflected on my service thus far. Where will my precense sit in West Africa after I'm gone? Good question....in a tree? on the walls, in murals, yes, sadly small things, but you know...I've accepted the fact that I'm a grassroots kind of gal...and like to do things seda, seda (small, small).

Looking back, my service was and still remains to speed by in whirlwind formation. I arrived, learned (ing) foreign languages, been evacuated from a country, nearly trampled by an elephant, and continue a different way of life. Although quite frusterating the majority of the time, and sometimes disappointing (my well project) it's quite a fantastic time and I'm learning just to live in the moment and be happy living here.

Nostalgic for America, yes, of course, but one day I will be nostalgic for this place...haha...that is funny to think about. Tomorrow, I am practicing what I preach and going to visit a waterfall that apparently changes lives...I'll keep you informed.

Hunting Hippos

The sun is setting!

The hut where I've laid all day under the brilliance of its overhead fan is a fortress from the smothering heat the hot season sends, it was time.

Two weeks ago, a few of us biked the 3k out of Kedougou along the banks of the Gambia River to a spot known as the playground for the hippos who inhabit those waters. Unfortuanetly, we arrived too late. They had floated along. With all of my determination, I not only want to be a great volunteer, but I also don't want to leave Africa without seeing at least one exotic animal in her natural habitat, not behind bars at the local zoo.

One of my Senegalese counterparts who I work with in my village lives in Kedougou. For weeks now, we've discussed hunting hippos, or "gabbies" (in Pulaar) together down in Kedougou. I called him to announce the time had come, and we made the trek on our bikes once again. Along the dirt road we soared ducking around mangoes and billowing trees. We arrived at the familiar spot. He stood at the top of the hill, while I trotted down to the banks. Not even two seconds later, he whistled. I ran up the hill and, there in the distance...water was shooting up along with the perky ears of nothing other than: a hippo.

I insisted on a better look, so we ran up down the bank, searching for the best view. We finally stood on hill that overlooked them straight on. Not too close to danger, but a view visible enough to see the gargantuan creatures coming up and down for air, ears perked and making a sound related to a bellowing yawn. We stood on the banks and watched for an hour, skipping rocks and arguing over which was more life threatening; a croc or a hippo.

"Fatou, I think you should just swim over there and give them a nice pat on the head," my friend says with a smirk, "I sit and watch from here, and then we will know for sure which is more dangerous."

"Sure," I reply, "but please be sure to jump in and collect my bones after they're finished and send them back to America for me."

What a picturesque afternoon in Senegal. It's what we all dream about when we think of Africa. Adventures, sunsets and wild animals. Of course, no experience is never enough if not shared with a friend-my African friend at that!

Right to Sight

When it comes to work, its rare to have projects that land in your lap. I could spend weeks even months without a project in my view and suddenly BAM!, someone turns to you, poor little volunteer, and simply says, "I need your help." This happened to be the case two weeks ago when American eye doctors with the organization Right to Sight and Health came down to Kedougou with the goals of giving free eye consultations and cataract operations to the natives of our region.

An annual project which started a fews years ago, has proven, unlike other aid projects, has proven quite successful. Globally and locally here in Kedougou, this group of doctors have given the gift of sight to the blind and education and a way to "healthier sight."

Being a newcomer to Senegal, this was my first year working with this brilliant group. Being trained in local languages and living amongst the villagers makes us as Peace Corps qualified in the cultural respect aiding the doctors in what cultural barriere they may have to cross in working with the community.

As a health volunteer, I immediately jumped on this project. Knowing that the little Pulaar I've retained wouldn't exactly help the cause, I pressed for other angles they may need assistance with. "Well, we do need two volunteers to serve as physician's assistants in the operating room." Umm...yes please!

People who pursue the career as a physician's assistant in the western world attend school and undergo an extensive program and rotations for the ability to recieve the diploma of professional achievement. Lucky for me, Africa doesn't have malpractice laws, so I was handed this golden degree in a matter of two hours.

For two weeks, 9 hours a day,wrapped in a gown, latex gloves and a pretty flowered cap, I sterilized operating instruments, dressed the surgeons, prepared the sterile station and whatever else the surgeons needed. As the hours and days passed and I watched as cataract after cataract was ejected from eye after eye, I became completely infatuated with the work and managed by the end of the two weeks to have the whole operation memorized like the back of my hand. Of course, being in a Senegalese hospital...we did run into problems.

For example, the first day I felt like a complete idiot when I managed to drop a whole bucket of water in the operation room. Trudging around trying to clean up my accident in the operating room now a swamp, I thought they might fire me. However, they praised me for actually cleaning it up.

Also, the operating room we used was shared with the gynocologists. Needless to say, several surgeries were interrupted due to emergency C-sections that needed to be done. So, we would clear out and the operating room would turn into the labor and delivery ward. AFter a mere two hour delay, we would rotate yet again, resterilize the room and it would turn into an opthamalogist operating room. Needless, to say, not only did I get to witness eye surgery, but I watched three C-sections.

Working with surgeons is not an easy task. My hats off to those that do. I can't how many times I got yelled at for nearly contaminating the sterile station, forgetting to press the start button on the sterilizer and dropping the lens on the floor. I promise, I got better. You know those first few days of learning are the toughest. I laughed at myself...visualizing what I must look like....surgical mask, gloves, flip-flops, dirty feet and a threadbare skirt. Not your everyday nurse showing up for a day at work.

But I guess that is what my life is like....it's not your normal day at work...everyday is different.

All in all, over the course of two weeks, we completed over a hundred cataract operations. One case especially, a sixteen year old girl, who cried the whole time "NO Mussi" (in Pulaar means, "It hurts") was completely blind in both eyes. Today, she can see the streets she walks down in Kedougou. NO Mussi no more, my dear.