Musings from Meagan's Stranger

So - as promised by my lovely special lady - a guest post! Similar in concept to a guest host on a talk show, expect a column that is interesting in its perspective novelty, but ultimately leaves you looking forward to the return of the regular.

A note on the post title - in Africa amongst those who know Meag, I was referred to mostly as Meagan's 'stranger,' such as "Ah, your stranger! How are you?" I was never really sure if the use of the word stranger was meant to convey anything specific, but it seemed friendly enough, so Meagan's stranger I became.

The story of my week - likely a very condensed version of the story of Meag's seven weeks - is one of observation, questions and ultimately satisfaction in a truly interesting experience.

Stepping onto the Banjul airport tarmac for the first time, the first thing one notices is the heat. 98 degrees (Fahrenheit) and humid. The Brit next to me comments that he 'is already sweating,' though I think he was sweating on the plane, so that's not really saying much. But hot it is.

Herding into the terminal, which seems to be a monument to the Jammeh Administration (in power since a 1994 coup), one is immediately struck by the Gambian military presence. There are men with guns everywhere. I braced myself to be hassled a bit by the passport/visa clerk; she did not even look at me as she took my passport, stamped it and waved me into Africa.



The baggage claim process took a REALLY long time. I learn throughout the week that, unlike we Americans, who tend to take pride in our drive to expedite everything, Gambians operate with a bit more deliberation. I grab my backpack and walk confidently through Customs - again without hassle from the machine gun-toting military guys (I consider a smile and a nod as I pass, then decide not to tempt fate - instead going with the solemn, straight-ahead stare of a man who knows where he is going). Visible through the exit doors at this point - the long-lost, friendly face of one Meagan Basilius!

We exit the airport and make way to our waiting driver and transport (a pickup truck belonging to the National Beekeepers' Association, for use by Mondo volunteers when not in use for carrying bees and honey), which carries us to the coastal town of Fajara. En route, as Meag fills me in on where we are and where we are going, I am struck by how well she has gotten her arms around this very foreign place in her short time here. Not surprising - you all know Meag - but both impressive and, in that moment, comforting.

Our first two nights are spent at the Leybato Restaurant/Hotel in Fajara. Having been to the restaurant a few times before (its private tables are right above the beach, overlooking the waves), Meag knows the proprietor and most of the staff. Our room is clean enough and affords the constant sound of ocean wind and waves. There is a mosquito net above the bed - a reminder of the ever-present (though less so in the current, dry season) threat of malaria. A couple of pics from our hotel:




Fajara is in the middle of a few small tourist enclaves. Like other touristy places around the world that are surrounded by relative poverty (think Costa Rica or Mexico), it has its share of locals trying to extract as much tourist wealth as they can. Sadly for the sake of cultural exchange, the intensity of those trying to sell you things or get Meag to marry them is very high. After the fifth or sixth thirty-second dialogue that ends with a firm 'we're really okay, thanks,' you find yourself striving not to connect with anyone you pass.

The Gambia is the one of the poorest countries in the world, with an average annual income of about 8,000 Dalasi ($400 US), and the contrast between haves and have nots is most transparent in the tourist areas. This is a source of fairly regular discussion between Meag and I during my week there. Our hotel for those first two nights, while by no means fancy, is 1,000 Dalasi per night. Even something as simple as a Coke - a mere 50 Dalasi - is a significant luxury for most Gambians. Without getting into the obvious series of thoughts and questions that this raises in the mind of the concerned visitor/volunteer, we do spend a fair amount of time thinking about what defines a good life and being thankful for that which we take for granted back home. Whether or not our relative wealth and materialism makes for a better life, the shrinking world brought about by the internet and satellite TV leads Gambians (especially young Gambians) to think that they want everything that we have. In some ways I want to read them all some Thoreau ("Simplify, simplify, simplify!") and explain that there is a downside to our materialism, but that too seems presumptive. Anyway, I said above that I was going to avoid the unending, circular discourse in which this always seems to terminate, so let's move on.

On Sunday morning (day three of eight for me), we have breakfast at Leybato (included with our room - hard-boiled eggs, french bread and butter, jam, orange juice, nescafe) and hire a taxi to take us to Makumbaya (Meag's village - about 45 minutes away). The taxi-hiring process is similar to all significant purchases in The Gambia, in that it is all about the barter. Every bartering experience involves some amount of guilt, as we consider how much more the money means to the person selling the good/service than it does to us, and hope that the seller is smart enough to price the good/service such that they are actually making a profit. Ultimately, we talk the driver down from an initial offer of 600 Dalasi ($30) to 300 Dalasi ($15) to take us to the village. Interestingly along the way, it becomes apparent that our driver is not exactly sure where Makumbaya is located. Meag knows most of the turns from her gellah gellah experiences, but it not 100% sure either. After a few seemingly random turns into dirt alley-ways (all ultimately correct) and a couple of stops to consult with locals, we reach our destination successfully.

Makumbaya feels like 'real' Africa, and is a series of compounds (a couple of buildings with a big yard and, usually, a fence or wall along the adjacent dirt road/path) that total maybe 500 people. In the center of town there is a mosque, a market (where one can purchase fish and chicken and vegetables) and a small store that sells assorted, often canned sundries. Additionally, as noted by Meag in previous posts, there are farm animals everywhere. A few pics:








As we walk through the village towards Meag's compound, it is apparent that she has built rapport with Makumbaya's residents, as everyone is excited to see her and her 'stranger.' Also, there is much discussion of the state of the nursery project, which (again as noted by Meag previously) is on hold today due to two deaths in town. As we stop to talk with the carpenter and the man coordinating the masons and the artist, I note how well Meag keep things moving forward ('so, can the masons work tomorrow and Tuesday?') while respecting Gambian pace and culture. It is also apparent that those involved in leading the project on the Makumbaya side really respect her presence and appreciate her focus on getting the work completed. A few pics that Meag has taken of the nursery and the work so far (ALL pics available on my flickr site - see link below):









Meag's compound seems to be about average for the village. While there is no abundance of anything (many mouths to feed and only a few people working outside the compound), everyone generally seems happy and healthy and well-fed. The children LOVE Meag. As she has noted previously, the adults generally do not seem to give the kiddos too much attention, other than yelling at them occasionally in the local language. Meag is especially taken with Fatou Saar, who has an infectious smile and giggle. Everyone is also excited to meet me ("Joyson! Joyson!"), which is very nice. A few pics and videos of the compound's residents, including Meag's beloved Fatou (if you look at all of the pics on flickr, you will note that there is no shortage of Fatou pics):










Jeneba (one of the women of the compound and one of its few fairly fluent English speakers) made a special meal for Meag and I (really delicious, though aside from chicken and rice, I have no idea what it was), and I had the opportunity to meet Ebrima (compound owner, Mondo Gambia Country Manager and a really nice man), have attaya and sweet milk and play with the kiddos. Meag noted that, aside from the disappointment of not getting anything done with the nursery, it was nice that I saw a pretty typical compound day - lots of sitting and talking and taking life in. A few more pics:








The next morning, we went to Meag's school, where she taught a jolly phonics lesson and gave a spelling test to one of her sixth grade classes. As the classroom observer and spelling test grader, I observed a few of Meag's comments first-hand: The kids are very respectful and enthusiastic to learn, but their skill level is all over the board, with some obviously getting the material pretty well (though not perfectly), and some way, way behind. The high scorer was obviously very proud of himself when recognized by Meag - similar to the way the adults of Meag's compound interact with the children, I am not sure that parents and others at home reinforce doing well in school, so the kids seem to respond well to Meag's encouragement. A few pics from Makumbaya Basic School:






After leaving Meag's school, we hopped on a gellah gellah to Brikama. The ride made me remember that my legs are very long. In Brikama, we went to Meag's tailor to pick up some African outfits that she had made, then went and purchased some fabric and got one made for me. We also stopped at a busy Internet cafe, where Brikama youngsters were excited to talk with me about America and give me their email address so that 'maybe we can become friends.' Brikama is very much the non-touristy Gambian city, and was very interesting to experience (albeit very hot). Pics from Brikama:







Finally, late in the afternoon we took a bush taxi to what turned out to be our final place of lodging - the Sandale Eco Resort. Unbeknownst to us, it is not actually open yet (construction continues) but has a few lodges open for guests who don't mind a (very nice) work in progress. I could go on and on about Sandale, but will summarize here: On the south Gambian coast near the town of Kartong (recently connected to the rest of The Gambia via paved road), Sandale is meant to represent the future of sustainable, locally beneficial tourism. Its employees are nearly all Kartunkas (residents of Kartong), it shares its profits with the village, and, while currently owned by a British couple (Morris and Jerri - super-nice, inspiring couple), ownership will pass to the village in 25 years. In addition, it is truly eco-friendly (no green-washing here) - solar-powered electricity and hot water, all local materials, limited cement (cement production contributing 10% of all carbon dioxide emissions world-wide), local food, sustainable timber - I could go on and on. Truly impressive. As it turned out, it was also even more luxurious than it is supposed to be - for our last three nights, we were the only guests, meaning that the entire staff was focused only on us (a little uncomfortable at times for two people not used to being 'served'). Upside on the individual attention was the ability to really get to know and converse with the staff, learning about their lives and their hopes for the future. A few key learnings: (1) While each is paid relatively well (1,000-2,000 Dalasi per month), they often have to support 15-20 men, women and children in their compounds, so their earnings do not go very far (a bag of rice for 6-8 runs 700 Dalasi per month); (2) From an ethnicity perspective, they tend to identify more with their tribes than with the nation of The Gambia (recall that the African states were defined by the colonizing nations in line with their interests, in most cases bisecting the true form of African organization, the tribe); (3) While nearly everyone with whom we spoke would like to be more sustainably wealthy than they are, they do not tend to think in terms of goals the way we westerners do, so questions about how they are going to accomplish that (invest in a business, irrigation wells and ditches for their land, etc.) tend to be met with little/no response; and (4) Consistent with that which we've read about Gambian culture, they place extremely high value on relationships and the well-being of family and friends.

Pics from the very relaxing Sandale and the nearby village of Kartong (including a scheduled football-viewing event featuring the hometown football club of a London friend):












So that is my Gambian experience. As I hopefully conveyed a bit in my musings above, The Gambia (like most of Africa, I imagine) presents many contrasts that cause one to think through big-picture issues. I feel very fortunate for the exposure and the experience - truly life-enriching and perspective broadening.

I close with a couple of pics of Meag and I and a couple of pics for my full-moon-appreciating friends in Santa Cruz; the link to our set of Gambia pics on my flickr account is below that. Thanks for reading and hope this finds you well.

Jason







http://www.flickr.com/photos/jasonjschultz/sets/72157604212276292/

i'm back in serrekunda to work on some nursery projects that involve computer work (contracts, schedules, guidelines, etc) and to pick up a bit more cash from the bank, though i've just remembered today is a holiday here, so i may not have any luck exchanging money. in any case, a few moments for the weekend update, mostly written in my journal, but transcribed here for your reading pleasure!

yesterday i was back on site for the nursery work and the familiar faces were there, shoveling, sitting, sweating, shouting - slowly slowly transforming the house into a nursery and the six foot pit into a toilet. i am thankful for the tetanus shot i had before i left for all the rusted iron corrugate and old nails laying around. i've not broken a sweat on this project - i sit with my pad of paper and use the time to think and plan - nodding and congratulating on their work accomplished. and every so often, they shout at me 'fatou sarr' (my gambian namesake) - to make sure i am ok on my own, they don't want me to be lonely. they know i've only five sundays left and i've told kebba, the man who (mostly) seems to be directing things on site (though he's not really broken a sweat yet either) that i'd like the work done in the next two sundays - so that i can commission the artist to work the week of april 7. if that happens, i'll be on track to finish this project. time will tell.

it's interesting to watch their interactions on this project. they look to me for the big decisions because i hold the purse strings - but otherwise, all decisions are made by committee. democratic, yes. efficient? not entirely. a project manager's nightmare. for example, they spent the morning digging around the toilets so that cement blocks could surround the pits for reinforcement - but half way through, after having mixed the cement with water which would soon harden, they realized that they needed to let the earth dry before they could proceed. so for 20 minutes, we sat under the tree, drinking attaya and shouting/talking at each other. it takes a village committee, i suppose. but things are happening. the windows are built and in place, and i think by next sunday we should be able to whitewash the inside and outside to prep for the real paint the following week. and i've got the carpenter working on the benches and tables. i'm very excited.

i spent the first weekend on the site attempting to manage things and hurry the process along. 'should we go get the cement so it's here when they need it?,' 'is the carpenter working on the doors right now?,' 'is there anything those men [standing around] could be doing right now?' ... but i've since relaxed because there are some times when the gambian way is really the only way. when my intentions, however well-meant, are just not the way to get things done. so meagan's hat comes off and fatou wraps her headscarf and sits patiently in the shade.

ebrima said to me last night that he wanted to name the nursery 'meagan's nursery' ... i am honored if slightly embarrassed at the thought, but told him that it really isn't mine, and emphasizing that the donations have really come from all of my friends and family around the world. so another THANK YOU ... but this time ... with another request. any creative souls out there who can think of a name for the nursery? let's hear them! i'll have to get mondo's name up there somewhere, but i think we might have room for a catchy name or a tag line. (though could certainly be happy with 'friends of makumbaya' nursery project) anyway, let me know!

in other weekend news ...

ebrima called me on saturday morning as i was heading to the beach to tell me that another mondo volunteer had worms and could i go with them to the doctor. he was coming my way in a truck, so it worked well for me to get a lift back, and i think emily was grateful for the fellowship. unfortunately, the african way of getting rid of worms is simply to wait till you see them and then pinch them out, and there was nothing the nurse could give her. i think i've seen too many alien movies to be comfortable with that answer, but emily didn't seem to mind too much. ebrima says the worms can come from not washing sheets regularly where they land and gather and lay eggs. so i went home and quickly washed my bed linens!

then on saturday evening, the grandmother asked me if i had any medicines for jainaba's stomach which has been paining her for nearly a month now. i went in to see jainaba and found her in tears, doubled over, clutching her stomach. this was really quite scary as i'd not seen her so vulnerable before - so i ran to get ebrima to see if he could get her to a doctor. in the meantime, i also consulted the manual that came with my hiker's first aid kit - but it REALLY isn't geared towards african life, and made no mention of things like appendicitis, kidney stones or an ectopic pregnancy - my three best (though with absolutely nil medical knowledge) guesses.

ebrima was in a meeting of the village elders and i pulled him out of this so he could get her to a doctor - and he asked if i would come too, so i grabbed my bag, some money and my phone and thankfully, a gellah gellah happened to be passing at that moment. who knows how long we would have had to wait if it hadn't. no ambulances out this way. so the three of us hopped in, and bounced along the sandy roads with jainaba's head on my lap and me trying desperately to control the jolts for her. i called her husband on the way and he met us in lamin. from there, we got a taxi to a small clinic in a neighboring village. (not far off the kind you see on ER when doctor carter goes to africa, only with electricity). and from this point in the story - my frustration begins.

the nurse saw jainaba for about 3 minutes and deduced malaria and a urinary tract infection - though she has signs of neither and scribbles a prescription on a piece of blank paper and hands us a pack of anti-malarial drugs. ebrima is quiet because he is really just the transporter here, not really involved in the intimacies of the issue. and jainaba's husband has not yet arrived in a taxi that was following ours. so i question the nurse about the anti-malarials. firstly to understand when she is meant to take them, but also to understand WHY she has been given these. i tried to play it off as my not entirely understanding because of the language barrier, but in actual fact, her english was perfect. then the nurse tells me the other prescriptions they do not have but we have to get at a pharmacy (yes, on a saturday night at 9pm in africa. right.) and that one of them is paracetamol. fine - but if this is appendicitis, i don't think 500mg of paracetamol is going to do the trick. anyway, i question her again to be sure i understand that she understands. when her husband arrives, he also questions the nurse because these are the same anti-malarial drugs jainaba was given when she came in earlier that week. the nurse finally raises her voice asking me how many times she has to repeat herself and then rushes off to prayer at the mosque next door, she is late. i assume, feeling somewhat guilty about her brusque treatment, she returns from prayer and asks us what more we need her to tell us, we are still sitting there. she doesn't look at me (i've upset her) - but instead speaks to ousmann. ebrima says the questions probably made her feel bad. but at this point, i'm not so bothered about that as long as we get the attention and answers for my friend who is doubled in pain and now vomitting. no one else seems willing to speak up and she and ousmann carry on an entirely unrelated conversation that goes something like this:

she: what more can i tell you.
he: oh, no problem. no problem.
she: no, you are not satisfied.
he: no, no, you are right.
he: do you know dr yahyah?
she: yes, yes he works here
he: yes, he is my best friend.
she: ah, right.
he: we are like sister and brother then?
she: no problem. no problem.
he: no problem.
she: you are welcome anytime, anytime.

clearly an african form of apology allowing her to safe face from our interrogation. and i'd like to feel apologetic - and perhaps from a cultural standpoint, i do - but it is incredibly difficult to sit back and watch this game of medicine unfold. especially when, as it turns out, had we given jainaba the anti-malarials she was given last time, we may have risked overdosing her. still, it is not the nurses fault - there are no records of previous visits, no database of patients, no charts. we should have brought the scratch paper the previous nurse had scribbled on so that she could have seen the previous diagnosis.

but that whole experience had me frustrated beyond belief and feeling quite possibly as helpless as i ever have done. how to even BEGIN to tackle healthcare systems in africa? i feel happy about what i am doing here with the nursery but it was all put into perspective on saturday night. there are FAR bigger issues here than i can ever hope to tackle - but who will? who is? i have no idea.

it certainly made me grateful for the healthcare systems of the west. however flawed and however much we complain with or without reason, they are nothing like this. i pray that is the last time i have to see the inside of an african medical clinic. and i hope my friend jainaba is OK, though i am suspicious of the nurses diagnosis. the meds seem to work for a day or so, and then she's groaning again. anyhow, she woke feeling fine on sunday, i guess we shall see.

and now i must work ... i believe a post from jason is coming shortly!
enjoy the pictures!