How can I go back after all this?

So much has happened since the last time I updated that I really should be updating via multiple posts, but the time I have at this internet café in conjunction with the imminent possibility of power cutting out on me (as it usually does) have persuaded me to keep it to one post-- as short and simple as possible.

Christine and I went to Toubab Dialaw last weekend, a seaside town that only partially reflects the meaning of its name. It is far removed from Dakar enough to not be overrun by too many Toubabs, but also close enough to still offer hotels and restaurants. We basically splurged on food while there-- buying and eating everything we've been missing over the last few weeks with no shame: spaghetti, omlettes, candy, chocolate, fruit juice, wine, etc. I even had bread with cheese one morning-- it was really exciting at the time. The hotel we stayed at at 12,000 fCFA (~6 dollars) a night had a shower AND a toilet AND a mosquito net--- what more could we have asked for? Ontop of all these pleasant surprises, it felt just as it was described in the guide book-- like a Tolkien village.

After I came home (yes, Sébi is home now) from the weekend retreat, the pace of life seemed to pick up ten fold. Now that Palu season is just about over every other illness that was apparently lying dormant all that time, decided to show up at the clinic. Some highlights include a girl with warts/callouses all over both her hands, a kid almost projectile vomitting on me had his mother not back handed him in anticipation, a girl with a severe gum infection (even though no one here is trained in dental health, we still treated her by injecting amoxicillin into her gum), another girl who had an eye infection eating into her iris, a woman who bled the color violet, and an apparent outbreak of anemia. That was all Monday and Tuesday.

On Wednesday, I guess the entire town decided that it had no health issues-- except for one grandmother. She came in, had a consultation, and was given injections of novalgen. On her way out, she collapsed, perhaps fainted, and then in her half conscious state started to vomit all over herself. To all the student advisors at Grinnell, this is where your SA training would come in. Ndiaye, one of the nurses/ the guardian of the clinic, put her in the safety position while she continued to vomit. He then got hydrocortisone, mixed it with water, injected it into her, and thankfully, stabilized her enough to stop the vomitting. After I left the clinic Wednesday, I went home and was surprised ambushed by my host sisters who decided that with a baptism the next day, it would be a great day to braid my hair. My hair is now in micros.

Thursday after work, I attended the Muslim baptism from 1pm to 10pm. It apparently didn't end until 2am. I showed up with my hair braided, in a traditional Senegalese outfit that my host sister lent me, and with the fear of god in me because my sisters told me that I would have to dance Sereer infront of everyone. The baptism itself, was... not really a baptism. It was really a fashion show for the mother, and the baby who was supposed to be baptized just slept tucked away in a room where no one could see him. I expected 40 or so people to be there. When I got there, there was a tent and maybe over a hundred people. We ate lunch at 3pm, and after, all the old ladies danced Sereer. It was pretty awesome, especially because I wasnt the one in the middle of the crowd being gawked at. Between then and dinner, a woman read out the entire gift registry. This in conjunction with the two parade-like entrances in which the mother came in (without the baby whos baptism it was) went all the way until dinner at 8. After dinner, it was just pure dancing until the end of the night. Thankfully, there was no toubab spectacle that night.

Yesterday is the reason for this blog title. My supervisor and I were sitting in the consultation room when we heard a car screech. Not until someone ran in and told us was it confirmed that someone was hit by a car. I jumped up from where I was sitting and ran out with everyone else. NDiaye was already there with her. She was maybe 15 or 16, lying on the ground, crying as blood spewed out of her mouth. Her legs were in a tangle and her teeth were knocked out. Gendarmeries showed up on the scene really quickly, made everyone back up and give her space. They let me stay by NDiaye's side, probably assuming I was a doctor or capable of helping because I had the health clinic's smock on. There in the middle of the national highway, they used a fulaar and cardboard boxes as a stint. I wasnt paying close attention to what it was, but I think Ndiaye injected Valium into her as well. The Gendarmes chalked the area around her, and she was carried off into the shade on the side of the road. It took the police 15 to arrive, and the ambulence 30+. Im no doctor, but from what I gather, I think she suffered only from a fractured leg, loss of teeth, and a couple scrapes and bruises. Apparently roughly every two weeks an accident like this happens-- the last two taking the leg of a girl and the life of a mother.

Later that afternoon, being Friday, were vaccinations. No babies had time to pee or puke up on me this time, though, as I didnt actually get to spend much time weighing babies as I usually do. NDiaye pulled me into the "salle de soigner" where I played the role of nurse and he, doctor. Our first case was a 12 or so year old boy who looked like he got part of his head burned and then something smashed into it afterwards. I helped hold him down while NDiaye took a razor to his head and scraped off the hair around the wound and then all the extra skin in the way of the open wound. Then, NDiaye proceeded to put five stitches into his head which required the help of two others to hold the boy down. I dont know why he didn't get valium like the girl did earlier in the day.. maybe because the pharmacy was already locked.

Then the minute the boy was off the table, a girl came in with a nasty welt on her shin. It was clearly an infected cut. NDiaye first took a syringe and injected amoxicillin into the cut, but that resulted in a jet stream (quite literally) of pus squirting out of the other side of the wound. It took three grown men to hold her down while NDiaye cleaned up the wound like he had the other time-- dosing a long bandage with alcohol and literally stuffing it into the wound (Happy Thanksgiving, btw).

Unruly skirts and the Maternity Ward

This morning started off as I attempted to speed walk across the sand to get to the health clinic. I dont know if you've ever tried speed walking on sand, but it doesn't really work in your interest-- so basically, i was the stupid Toubab kicking sand in all directions. I was in a rush because for whatever reason, I thought that our site visit from the program would be at the house, only to get a call telling me to get to the clinic because they had been waiting for me. I found out after this morning that if be necessary, it is possible to get to work in 15 minutes by foot, and still manage to also greet (some) people along the way.

We had our review and such, discussed the fact that everythings fine and that Im still alive, which I guess is good. Waly said his words and my internship adviser gave his-- including a comment that I was a bit timid which is not the first time someone has said that about me in Senegal. I guess for one reason or another, I have become more reserved over this past year, if not significantly quieter than who I was a dozen of months ago. Not to mention that my wisdom teeth growing in has probably also decreased the number of words that come out of my mouth. Maybe the change is good, maybe not. On verra.

After that was over, I walked over to the maternity ward where Im working this week. On the way, two trucks full of Toubab (most likely American) soldiers passed me. It was pretty funny to see all their heads turn to stare at the Asian. I was probably as surprised to see them as they were to see me.

At work, no one showed up for an hour. This is kinda how the maternity ward functions... all the patients are (literally) huddled in a room before I even get there each day. The administrators (nurse, midwives, etc) don't come into until, well, from what Ive observed... whenever they so choose to. Needless to say, its pretty slow there because I dont do much, but I guess that doesnt mean that I don't learn a lot from observation. In fact, each patient when they come in, instead of getting their temperature taken as they all do at the main poste de santé, gets a pelvic exam. So basically, Ive seen way more of the Senegalese woman's body than I'd ever intended to. Also, did you know it only costs roughly 10 dollars to give birth there?

After work, I ran and caught a Njiangjia (refresher: old bus significantly overoccupied) to Rufisque (for 200fCFA) where I needed to get money from the ATM (BICIS). On the way there, I had a nice conversation (as best as I could) with a woman, a four year old girl, and some guy in Wolof and Sereer. The guy kept trying to convince me to be his third wife and I kept thinking of excuses to decline. "I dont have time marry because Im a student," "I dont cook well", and "I already have two husbands" were just some that I came up with.

The njiangjia trip back was pretty uneventful. When we got to Sébi, I signaled to the guy to stop so I could get off. As I hopped off the bus, I felt something pull me back. My skirt got caught on an old peice of metal randomly sticking out of the bus. Thankfully, I was wearing underwear; yet, my ass was still in everyone's face. For this super conservative culture (at least concernign the lower half of the body).. that was a major league no-bueno. Im pretty positive that walking away from the bus, the Senegalese who got a sneak peak underneath my skirt were far more embarassed than I was.

a day in the my life at Sebi

What have been I up to?

Well, every other day my host brother and I make lime-ade by picking twelve or so limes from the lime trees in the backyard and hand squeezing them. We occasionally collect so much that we freeze our reserves and enjoy frozen lime flavored ice the next day.

In the course of ONE month, Ive been sick more times than I usually am in one year (which is a lot because my immune system is known to be a piece of shit). First, before Touba Couta I had that freak of nature 24 hr super high fever . Then, before leaving for Sébi, I had that Palu scare which ended me up in the "hospital". A week after being in Sébi, I came down with the flu, and am currently still battling it. As of the beginning of last week, my wisdom teeth decided that it was about the time to let me know that they were growing in.

Each day after work, I walk 20- 40 minutes home (depending on how many people I have to say salutations to) and eat lunch with the family. After lunch, we all lounge around the living room and eat frozen Bissap (a type of juice here), which is by far one of the highlights of my day. It usually is just enough to cheer me up from all the verbal harassment I take from the guy I work with at the pharmacy.

Today I did laundry and ironed clothes for the family. Can you imagine how much clothes a family near double digits has to be ironed? A shit ton, I tell you. The family I live with here uses a typical iron that can be found in the US, but my family in Dakar used a contraption in which you put heated coals into. No ironing board was used in either location. Furthermore, all clothes as Im sure many of you already knew, are handwashed. With this family in Sébi, everything is handwashed twice. And then bleached. Holy fucking god I am so tired but happy that I am done.

I have managed to introduce my snake addiction to my entire family. I am a terrible person. Why? Because now instead of lounging around and talking, we lounge and play snake. I have to charge my phone anytime its not in the hands of someone else because its almost always on its last bar of battery.

I have eaten cheb_u_jen-- fish and rice-- once every single day. I have started to day dream about McDonalds, thats how much I am missing American cuisine. But all in all, seeing that there are many families in Senegal who are living off of one meal a day, I really have nothing to complain about. I finish each meal feeling full AND don't ever feel like I ate someone else's share of food. Really, the food situation isnt all too bad. On top of it all, I eat two packets of peanuts and roughly three bananas a day. This is all food my family gives me-- all things I look forward to greatly. Also, all things I dont have to pay for (slash already did with room and board); woot!

My host brother is sitting next to me and because he asked to come to the cyber cafe with me. He has seen a computer before, and perhaps even fiddled around wiht it... but never ever in his life used the internet. I get to introduce him to it! I dont even know where to start...

Only in Senegal...

Only in Senegal:

...are there mint leaves (with no medical intent) drying in the pharmacy to be used for afternoon tea.
...while walking to work, does a guy ask you if you want to ride his donkey-- only for him to actually be sitting on a cart with a donkey pulling it.
...is there a delay in blood test results because the analyst has to go pray.
...is it okay to whip out your boobs out infront of everyone at any given moment to breast feed. Or better yet, just walk around completely topless.
...do I seriously fear getting cavities or diabetes due to the absolutely absurdly high sugar intake.
...does a coworker take you around back to show you his "goat", only for their really to actually be a goat grazing in the back of the clinic.
...do you live beneath a roof supporting 147 baby chicklings (3 died... the first ten days I am told are supposed to be most trying)
...do i live with a family unattended by parents (the dad travels all the time and the moms (theyre muslim) dont live in the house nor do they visit frequently); it feels like i have on 15-18 siblings because thats how many people are in the house all the time-- mostly friends or relatives to my older host brothers.
...am I told to give my own diagnosis/consultation when I went into the clinic sick last week. Then, after I offered my opinion, they then asked for the same concerning what I should be perscribed. (in the end, it was they who made the final shots, but still) I wanted to cry. That was Thursday. Today is Monday and I am still sick.


Just to keep it real, Sebi has been humbling and tiring, the trials probably no more substantial than Dakar-- but without a ear to listen (that understands English) when venting seems like the only solution, its a bit more tough.

Ive been learning to control my tongue each time the pharmacist (who I am shadowing) loses his temper at me because I can't understand what he's trying to say through his heavy lisp. I was really angry at first, unable to pinpoint where our communication continuously broke down, but now that Im starting to get a better understanding of the situation, Ive been steadily building upon my patience. On that same note, Ive been learning to control my temper each time I get screamed at (in the literal, all heads in the clinic turn and stare at the toubab sense) for not reading his mind, not having prior knowledge of antibiotics and vitamins (from everything from all the generic names, to their functions, their sensitivity to ages, etc), not knowing seemingly futile organization related tidbits (like knowing that the pills are in the middle shelf while the injections are on the top shelf), and random ass facts like all the villages, towns, or cities between dakar and thies (we had a good 15 min screaming session today over this in which I exhibited absolutely no self control or grace).

Much like what Mairead mentioned in her entry, womens rights have really been starting to irk me-- or more so, i guess, the lack of. I came in thinking, okay, even though I hold a progressively liberal point of view concerning women's rights, I was raised in a church environment that has prepared me for this. NO it didn't. I may go off on a rant on this some other day, but I really dont want to walk home from the cyber cafe depressed. Ill wait until Im back in the States with a veggie chipotle burrito (with tons of guac), a slurpie, and a Costco slice of pizza to buffer any feelings of melancholy.

one of those, i just want to speak english days

Today at the health clinic, it felt like everyone collectively decided that it would be shat on dorothy day. (Minus the actual shatting, though, with my luck... that is always a possibility.) It all started when one of the guys i work with decided that i should be the one to administer all iv drips, give all shots, and disinfect all wounds. after just one demonstration, he handed me the next patient to walk through the door and told me to basically stick a needle in her, a girl no older than maybe eight years old. He was in no which way joking: i stood there saying "deet deet"- no in wolof- over and over and over again, telling him that i was too inexperienced. He told me that i was here to experience new things and that this was the opportunity. We went through this exchange- with the girl watching us- for about a good six or so whole minutes until he finally realized that this girls high fever was by no means going to be reduced by my efforts.

Throughout the day i witnessed quite a few interesting ailments, but ill just fill you in on the two that stick out most in my mind. One guy came in with a bandage already on his foot. He needed his wound to be disinfected again, a wound which after the bandage was taken off, i found to be probably five inches long and half a centimeter wide. Apparently, his foot met the motor of a fishing boat. The second most interesting wound that i saw belonged to a girl of probably ten or so years. She had a hole on the bottom of her foot maybe the size of a dime- but with how swolen the wound was due to obvious infection, it looked like a gulfball-sized tumor. to disinfect her wound, the nurse- thankfully not me this time- took alcohol covered gauze and stuck it into the wound until you could only see an inch of gauze sticking out. Then, he pulled it all out and repeated the same procedure with a new peice of gauze. She was a trooper, she only cried- I wanted to scream the entire time.

Each week I am apparently supposed to shadow someone different- last week, it was the infirmier who did consultations- basically, the guy who played doctor. This week, im supposed to shadow the pharmicist. For whatever reason, I started off today disinfecting and refusing to setup IV drips. With maybe an hour and a half left in the day, they moved me to my actual post for the week- the closet sized pharmacy. There, all hell (in dorothy's mind) broke loose. I was given so much crap for not being able to converse in Wolof and Sereer. I kept on getting made fun of: for every word I actually was able to say in either language, they repeated back, mocking my pronunciation. When I would ask them what something meant in French, they would respond back to me in Wolof, or worse yet, Sereer. Mind you, they all speak some English and French fluently... so basically, they were giving me a hard time just to be assholes.

When it was time for me to leave, the same guy who decided it was my experiential day, stood in front of the door, refusing to let me leave. At this point, after all teh teasing and shit I put up with, all I wanted to do was cry. He and the pharmicist kept saying phrases really rapidly in Wolof, phrases I clearly didnt understand. Finally, just before I was ready to kill them, they let me walk out the door and go home.

Love for Sebi

This is why i choose to study abroad; this is the experience i thought i was going to get and the experience that i wanted.

I am not saying that i didnt enjoy myself in Dakar, its just that being with sixteen other american students in another country was not what i wanted out of a study abroad program. Now that there are really no other people for me to speak English with, i am happily on my way in improving my French, learning wolof, and also sereer-- the local dialet of the area. ive even started to learn arabic, too, so now that im a bit ahead of myself in my life plans, i guess you could say that im in heaven.

there are so many trees here, the village is truly a fruit lovers paradise; animals of all sorts including goats, chickens, lizards, pigs, etc. walk along side me as i walk to work each day at the health clinic. At the clinic is probably where i am learning the most wolof. i play the role of the nurse who takes down everyones information, who asks what is wrong, asks the follow up questions, and takes their tempertature. i know how to say all this in wolof now, and thankfully, due to the rampant use of exaggerative gestures in senegalese culture, i also understand for the most part what my patients say back to me. i now know how to say "take your top off and mount" in wolof--- in context with my own gestures, the patients understads that i mean "take your shirt off so i can take your temperature and get up on the table so we can examine you".

i diagnosed my first case of malaria on wednesday; it was a 28 year old woman. After her, i diagnosed two children, both under five also with palu; that was somehow more unsettling. the rapid tests here are funded by usaid and free for the patients; theyre really easy to use and are used really often.

thats about all i do in the clinic, get prelim information, tell patients to strip and mount, take their temperature, and administer malaria tests. the actual nurse plays the part of doctor by finishing the checkup and writing out perscriptions. oh, except for fridays; on fridays, i stay longer to assist with baby vaccinations. i got peed on by two babies yesterday. i dont like fridays.

at home, i speak in french with my host siblings and am in the process of learning sereer and arabic. they always have friends over which is a ton of fun. we have attaya two times a day, every day. i cook with my sisters and we talk about cultural differenes. late at night, i stay up talking politics with my brothers and occassionally walk around town with them as well.

im out of minutes at the cyber cafe now, ill update more later;