A day in the life
More like an hour in the life, because this one hour of my
day yesterday encompassed so many of my troubles...
Home-visit to one of my delinquent Care group women (hasn’t
been coming to meetings). Questions on malaria. Was unable to answer, after
asking 3 times, what are the signs of Malaria. What causes Malaria: Flies. In
her defense, she didn’t come to the Malaria session.
Ok, go to Amida’s house. On my way there, I see two children
(one of them hers) pooping on the ground out back of her house, right next
to their latrine.
“Hey, Amida. How’s it going? There are two children pooping on the ground outside of your compound.” She starts telling me that children age 1-2 can’t go into the latrine, that they’re too small (false), but that all the older kids go in the latrine. Both of the children were over 2 years of age. “How old is your second daughter, 4 or 5?” “Yeah” “That was her pooping out back.”
Child walks in with pants down. Amida asks her if she pooped on the ground, scolds her, and then tells her to go wash up. Then, I literally get to watch the cycle of disease in the next 5 minutes. In the Muslim fashion, the child takes a water kettle and rinses off her bum with her hand, no soap, then pulls up her pants and runs straight over to her mom, and leans over in her lap/arms. She gets back up after a minute and starts playing with the youngest child, picking up objects around the compound and throwing them at each other. Things go from her hands to her baby sister’s (with the dirt floor in between) and finally to the mother’s hands when she takes the object next in line to be thrown out of her child’s hand.
She is, while this is happening, serving food for sale to the general public. Also, just as a side note, there is an epidemic of cholera going around, and this lady is a trained Community Health Worker.
Of course, there is no movement on her part towards a good hand-washing; sensibilization time. Although, as I’m talking, I realize, it’s not that this woman hasn’t heard this before: she received hygiene training as a Community Health Worker, she’s been sent to a Peace Corps-run Women’s training and literally, in this past week, the Red Cross has been going around to all the houses talking about the cholera epidemic and necessary hygiene. At some point, there’s nothing else you can do if people don’t want to change.
“Hey, Amida. How’s it going? There are two children pooping on the ground outside of your compound.” She starts telling me that children age 1-2 can’t go into the latrine, that they’re too small (false), but that all the older kids go in the latrine. Both of the children were over 2 years of age. “How old is your second daughter, 4 or 5?” “Yeah” “That was her pooping out back.”
Child walks in with pants down. Amida asks her if she pooped on the ground, scolds her, and then tells her to go wash up. Then, I literally get to watch the cycle of disease in the next 5 minutes. In the Muslim fashion, the child takes a water kettle and rinses off her bum with her hand, no soap, then pulls up her pants and runs straight over to her mom, and leans over in her lap/arms. She gets back up after a minute and starts playing with the youngest child, picking up objects around the compound and throwing them at each other. Things go from her hands to her baby sister’s (with the dirt floor in between) and finally to the mother’s hands when she takes the object next in line to be thrown out of her child’s hand.
She is, while this is happening, serving food for sale to the general public. Also, just as a side note, there is an epidemic of cholera going around, and this lady is a trained Community Health Worker.
Of course, there is no movement on her part towards a good hand-washing; sensibilization time. Although, as I’m talking, I realize, it’s not that this woman hasn’t heard this before: she received hygiene training as a Community Health Worker, she’s been sent to a Peace Corps-run Women’s training and literally, in this past week, the Red Cross has been going around to all the houses talking about the cholera epidemic and necessary hygiene. At some point, there’s nothing else you can do if people don’t want to change.
So then, one of the chief’s wives walks into the compound,
the deaf-mute one. Through her Kotokoli mime language (as there’s no sign
language for Kotokoli as far as I know) she explains to the women she just got
back from a funeral (8th one in the past week I’ve heard of in my
village). They get to miming and Amida is like, “Your braids are getting kinda
old, you want us to redo your hair tomorrow?” “Not yet, I’m gonna leave them in
a little bit longer,” and she covers the edges of her hair with her veil. Then
the old lady mimes, complete with a dick gesture, “If you don’t fix your hair
soon, your husband isn’t going to give you any penis!” They laugh, and the
chief’s wife says (mimes) that she doesn’t want any, she didn’t even want any
the last time and points to the 6 month old baby on her back.
My chief is about 85 years old with 4 wives, reportedly a mistress and I would guess near 50 children.
My chief is about 85 years old with 4 wives, reportedly a mistress and I would guess near 50 children.
She leaves the compound and we go back to talking. “Where are the women going to deliver, now that our health clinic is closed?”
About 3 weeks ago, the midwife in my village, and
my primary work partner, up and quit her job. Then she left for lomé. The male nurse subsequently had a
motorcycle accident, breaking a leg and his hand, keeping him from work, not
that it mattered too much to the women, as he can’t deliver babies or treat
women at all, this being a traditional Muslim village. And the pharmacist left
about 2 months ago to be married off, which would be the last of the 3 people
normally working at the clinic. So now, everybody knows that our clinic is
closed indefinitely.
I asked Amida if she’s heard anything about the search for
the new midwife.
“They’re thinking about this young girl, over here, “ and she points to a neighboring house.
“Oh, I heard they disqualified her because she wasn’t married. They were worried she would someone marry outside the village and have to leave,” (and also because they brought her in to the clinic to do some trial work and she blabbed all over the village about everyone’s health issues and drama, but I didn’t say that), “the last I heard they were looking at the girl from Benin, but she didn’t have a school record. There’s no one new?”
“No, I don’t know if they’re gonna find someone here. They’re probably gonna have to look in the neighboring villages.”
“I heard that they asked you and you turned them down?”
“I can’t go do that training, who’s gonna feed my 5 kids?”
“I get that,” not that she doesn’t have a husband who stays at home all day and another wife in the house, she does.
Then she cuts in, “I guess I could…my father’s family is in Sokodé. I could leave my children there when I go to classes, but working in the clinic here isn’t good.”
“What?”
“The sorcery in the clinic is too much.”
“What are you talking about, Amida?”
“Before you came there was an apprentice to the mid-wife who was working there and being trained to take over. Well, she was pregnant and the baby was coming to fast, and they gave her an injection, but the baby still came and they both died.”
“…there are plenty of women here who die from child birth, it’s just that a lot of women are having more babies than their bodies can handle.”
“Even when she was working there though, I remember she used to say that at her house she was fine, but as soon as she would go to the clinic, she was tired and in pain…”
“Well yeah, because the stress of working combined with her being pregnant…”
“But, it’s a curse! Go and ask the chief. He will tell you there is sorcery going on in the clinic. We go there, but everybody is too scared to work there. Even with the midwife, while she was here, her husband in lomé would get calls saying she had so many boyfriends and was sleeping around with village men, and it wasn’t true! She denied it to him, but the calls kept coming, and then it was too much and she had to leave the village.”
“That is NOT sorcery. That is called backstabbing. Why is the chief telling people the clinic is full of sorcery and why are the people here trying to hurt the person who came to help them? She left her family, her husband and her home to come and work in your village because nobody here was willing to do it.”
“…I don’t know why, it’s bad, the people here don’t care about health. Even the past 4 or 5 months that she was here, the village wasn’t paying her.”
“And you guys were surprised when she left?! You should have been preparing for a while now to have a new midwife.”
“It’s true, nobody thought about the consequences. If someone is sick and they only have 2000CFA, before they could go to clinic and get treated, but now that 2000CFA will be spent just to get to Sokodé, and then how will they pay for the medication?”
“They’re thinking about this young girl, over here, “ and she points to a neighboring house.
“Oh, I heard they disqualified her because she wasn’t married. They were worried she would someone marry outside the village and have to leave,” (and also because they brought her in to the clinic to do some trial work and she blabbed all over the village about everyone’s health issues and drama, but I didn’t say that), “the last I heard they were looking at the girl from Benin, but she didn’t have a school record. There’s no one new?”
“No, I don’t know if they’re gonna find someone here. They’re probably gonna have to look in the neighboring villages.”
“I heard that they asked you and you turned them down?”
“I can’t go do that training, who’s gonna feed my 5 kids?”
“I get that,” not that she doesn’t have a husband who stays at home all day and another wife in the house, she does.
Then she cuts in, “I guess I could…my father’s family is in Sokodé. I could leave my children there when I go to classes, but working in the clinic here isn’t good.”
“What?”
“The sorcery in the clinic is too much.”
“What are you talking about, Amida?”
“Before you came there was an apprentice to the mid-wife who was working there and being trained to take over. Well, she was pregnant and the baby was coming to fast, and they gave her an injection, but the baby still came and they both died.”
“…there are plenty of women here who die from child birth, it’s just that a lot of women are having more babies than their bodies can handle.”
“Even when she was working there though, I remember she used to say that at her house she was fine, but as soon as she would go to the clinic, she was tired and in pain…”
“Well yeah, because the stress of working combined with her being pregnant…”
“But, it’s a curse! Go and ask the chief. He will tell you there is sorcery going on in the clinic. We go there, but everybody is too scared to work there. Even with the midwife, while she was here, her husband in lomé would get calls saying she had so many boyfriends and was sleeping around with village men, and it wasn’t true! She denied it to him, but the calls kept coming, and then it was too much and she had to leave the village.”
“That is NOT sorcery. That is called backstabbing. Why is the chief telling people the clinic is full of sorcery and why are the people here trying to hurt the person who came to help them? She left her family, her husband and her home to come and work in your village because nobody here was willing to do it.”
“…I don’t know why, it’s bad, the people here don’t care about health. Even the past 4 or 5 months that she was here, the village wasn’t paying her.”
“And you guys were surprised when she left?! You should have been preparing for a while now to have a new midwife.”
“It’s true, nobody thought about the consequences. If someone is sick and they only have 2000CFA, before they could go to clinic and get treated, but now that 2000CFA will be spent just to get to Sokodé, and then how will they pay for the medication?”
Good question. Just a day in the life.
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