Last Monday marked the last day that I was on anti-malarial medicine. The first two months of taking Mefloquine were rocky; however, I did manage to normalize in the last two months. Because I shamelessly embrace my passion for research, I will go more into the describing this interesting experience(/experiment if you count my peers on the program as the controls).
During the months of September and October, I experienced bipolar-like transitions in temperament, dizziness the first few days after taking the medicine, and was plagued by a feeling of dread (like I had never experienced before in my life mostly in unconscious states such as during sleep or during monotonous activities). To describe the mood changes, I would say that they were similar to what I experienced when on birth control-- extreme highs and lows. That said, it is possible that the emotional imbalance resulted either, one, as my body's sensitive response to chemical change, two, the always possible direct result of Mefloquine, or three, other (what I feel are less likely) causes such as culture shock, climate, etc. Furthermore, the dizziness experienced usually the first few days after taking the medicine can be described as light headedness, lethargy, and occasionally also accompanied by nausea. I believe that the climate of Senegal during these two months made it very difficult for an outsider like myself to stay hydrated, and I also think that it is a possibility that Mefloquine may have exasperated that problem. If dehydration was not the cause of my dizziness, then I would say that I cannot think of any other reason other than Mefloquine by itself that caused this side-effect. The last symptom that really stood out while I was on this anti-malarial drug, the feeling of dread, was (is) arguably the most severe. It first manifested itself before I even left for Senegal. As I mentioned in one of my past entries, I would wake up either from vividly gory dreams or from the feeling of dread. As time progressed, the dreams subsided and the feeling of dread during sleep as well. However, occasionally (emphasis on the low frequency of this), I would find myself routinely walking home at night experiencing intense pangs of fear like that a little child would from the imaginary monster beneath its bed. I suppose that it is fairly relevant to state that this was something new to me as I usually take nighttime strolls and have been known to go exploring around foreign cities by myself-- therefore, I don't feel like the excitement of this experience directly caused it in any way. It is always a possibility, however, that something about Dakar or Sebikhotane really got underneath my skin and spooked me-- but whatever that may have been, I was not conscious of it as I consciously believed both environments to be extremely safe and the people hospitable and friendly.
The possible side-effects of Mefloquine just about completely disappeared during the months of November and December. Coincidentally, November and December were the months that I spent in Sebikhotane. I would also say that of my study abroad experience, this was the time I enjoyed most. This is possibly due to the fact that my body adjusted to Mefloquine. Or perhaps, I just liked the independence and more personal experience of the country experienced during my internship phase in Sebikhotane. Even more, the more mellow weather may have been a huge influence in this uplift in overall experience.
Any more last words on Melfoquine.. Let's see... It was fairly annoying how the pill would dissolve almost the very second you placed it in your mouth-- the taste of it was fairly baking soda-ish/ not pleasant. Also, to anyone filling any prescription: pay attention to what youre prescribed and what they actually give you. I didn't notice until I got to Senegal that they only gave me a 3 months supply and if you include the pre- and post- dosages, I needed 4 months worth. Luckily, my friend switched off Mefloquine while there and gave me what he had left which was more than enough.
Hope this recap helps all those debating whether or not to take Mefloquine. Feel free to email me if you have any questions :) sheudoro@gmail.com
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
When in Senegal...
On the second to last Thursday in Senegal I sent out a mass text message to just about all the participants on my study abroad program with the question, "how well do you know about MLK Jr and the Civil Rights Movement?" I sent the desperate text after leaving my usual cyber cafe in Sebikhotane... Half way through checking my email that afternoon, a man approached me where I was sitting at my computer and spoke to me in English. With my
minutes running, he introduced himself as the teacher of the English course at the school. In our conversation, he talked about how he was so pleased to be able to talk to an American as not all Americans he's met before were so open and willing to converse. Shortly after that, he asked me to give a speech to his English course the next day.
Just as quickly as he gave his proposal, I refused it. I told him I had work the next morning at the health clinic and that it was my last weekend with my family at Sebikhotane, and therefore, I had no time. As if he could read right through me, he appealed directly to my conscience and told me that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity that his students could learn about the civil rights movement of the United States from the lips of an American-- especially now right after the election of Barack Obama: "the idol and paragon of all people of color". I told him that I don't know enough about the Civil Rights Movement to give a speech on the topic. He then guilted me with his disbelief that an American wouldn't know the story of Martin Luther King Jr and the history of the Civil Rights Movement (dates, locations, and everything) by heart . He assured me that I could speak to the class in English and that I would walk out with time to spare to get to work. Not wanting to be the mean American that many Senegalese claim to envision of those who inhabit the United States, I finally gave in to his "offer".
I walked home kicking sand in all directions-- not only because its fucking difficult to walk on sand or because by then it was pitch black at night with no street lights to see the dips between sand mounds, but-- from anger. I was enraged that that man dared to use guilt to put me in such a situation and also pissed that I could be guilted to put myself in a position with which I was so uncomfortable. I didn't say hi to one person I walked past on my way home to my host family's house-- which is a huge social faux-pas in Senegal. Though, in retrospect it was probably a good decision on my behalf considering the amount of anger bubbling inside me and what could have potentially spewed out of my mouth in my broken French.
After buying a new card of credits, I called up those who replied to my text and with their help, started to write my speech. I told myself I would only spend one hour on it because it would not be fair to my family nor myself to be completely absorbed by something that really shouldn't have concerned me. When I finished, I sat in the salon with my host siblings, chatted, and watched Spanish/Italian soap operas as we usually do. Towards the end of the night I whipped out my notebook and worked on my 20-page final research paper. At that point, I was only on page twelve.
The next morning I arrived at the school at 7:45AM, ready to give my speech. In typical Senegalese fashion, the teacher did not show up until 8:10AM. I started my speech in a Senegalese manner, thanking the audience for the opportunity, then introducing myself, and then my topic. I very briefly went over the civil rights movement, then made mention of head figures like Martin Luther King Jr, Malcom X, and Rosa Parks, and proceeded to discuss what I felt was most important-- the fight for human rights by way of equality between races first. While talking, I made sure to enunciate and speak slowly, throwing in hand gestures as much as possible to help with the students' comprehension-- a few tips I personally picked up as the non-native French spe
aker and non-native Wolof-speaker in this French colonized country whose native language is Wolof.
When I finished talking, the level of the students' English was made obvious by their nervous smiles and semi-blank stares. They applauded, the teacher thanked me, and then he asked me to say it again in French. After a moment's hesitation in which I silently cursed at him in my head with every insult in every language that I knew, I summarized my ten minute long speech as best as I could in French. When I finally finished talking, I half expected him to then ask me to say it again in Wolof. Thankfully, he didn't. By this time, there were ten minutes left for me to walk from one end of the village to the other in order to get to work on time at the health clinic. Despite the teacher's promise that I would get to work on time, it seemed clear to me that I would be late for my last day at the health clinic. As I tried to grin and say goodbye to the teacher and be off on my way, he told me that I must meet the school's headmaster to let him know of my "guest appearance." As he dragged me across the national highway to the other building of the school, I decided that my fight was lost and there was no way that I would get to work on time. After meeting the headmaster, he said it was imperative that I met the village's mayor. In the process, I also met the school's treasurer, secretary, and the teacher's own cousin and brother.
By the end of that experience, I finally walked away from school fifteen minutes late for work and the words "when in Senegal"(...let a guy completely take advantage of the fact that you're American?) burned into my mind.
***(neither picture has any relevance to the experience described in this entry. The first is just a picture of two of my host brothers studying at home. The second is a photo of the Koranic school by my house.)
minutes running, he introduced himself as the teacher of the English course at the school. In our conversation, he talked about how he was so pleased to be able to talk to an American as not all Americans he's met before were so open and willing to converse. Shortly after that, he asked me to give a speech to his English course the next day.Just as quickly as he gave his proposal, I refused it. I told him I had work the next morning at the health clinic and that it was my last weekend with my family at Sebikhotane, and therefore, I had no time. As if he could read right through me, he appealed directly to my conscience and told me that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity that his students could learn about the civil rights movement of the United States from the lips of an American-- especially now right after the election of Barack Obama: "the idol and paragon of all people of color". I told him that I don't know enough about the Civil Rights Movement to give a speech on the topic. He then guilted me with his disbelief that an American wouldn't know the story of Martin Luther King Jr and the history of the Civil Rights Movement (dates, locations, and everything) by heart . He assured me that I could speak to the class in English and that I would walk out with time to spare to get to work. Not wanting to be the mean American that many Senegalese claim to envision of those who inhabit the United States, I finally gave in to his "offer".
I walked home kicking sand in all directions-- not only because its fucking difficult to walk on sand or because by then it was pitch black at night with no street lights to see the dips between sand mounds, but-- from anger. I was enraged that that man dared to use guilt to put me in such a situation and also pissed that I could be guilted to put myself in a position with which I was so uncomfortable. I didn't say hi to one person I walked past on my way home to my host family's house-- which is a huge social faux-pas in Senegal. Though, in retrospect it was probably a good decision on my behalf considering the amount of anger bubbling inside me and what could have potentially spewed out of my mouth in my broken French.
After buying a new card of credits, I called up those who replied to my text and with their help, started to write my speech. I told myself I would only spend one hour on it because it would not be fair to my family nor myself to be completely absorbed by something that really shouldn't have concerned me. When I finished, I sat in the salon with my host siblings, chatted, and watched Spanish/Italian soap operas as we usually do. Towards the end of the night I whipped out my notebook and worked on my 20-page final research paper. At that point, I was only on page twelve.
The next morning I arrived at the school at 7:45AM, ready to give my speech. In typical Senegalese fashion, the teacher did not show up until 8:10AM. I started my speech in a Senegalese manner, thanking the audience for the opportunity, then introducing myself, and then my topic. I very briefly went over the civil rights movement, then made mention of head figures like Martin Luther King Jr, Malcom X, and Rosa Parks, and proceeded to discuss what I felt was most important-- the fight for human rights by way of equality between races first. While talking, I made sure to enunciate and speak slowly, throwing in hand gestures as much as possible to help with the students' comprehension-- a few tips I personally picked up as the non-native French spe
aker and non-native Wolof-speaker in this French colonized country whose native language is Wolof.When I finished talking, the level of the students' English was made obvious by their nervous smiles and semi-blank stares. They applauded, the teacher thanked me, and then he asked me to say it again in French. After a moment's hesitation in which I silently cursed at him in my head with every insult in every language that I knew, I summarized my ten minute long speech as best as I could in French. When I finally finished talking, I half expected him to then ask me to say it again in Wolof. Thankfully, he didn't. By this time, there were ten minutes left for me to walk from one end of the village to the other in order to get to work on time at the health clinic. Despite the teacher's promise that I would get to work on time, it seemed clear to me that I would be late for my last day at the health clinic. As I tried to grin and say goodbye to the teacher and be off on my way, he told me that I must meet the school's headmaster to let him know of my "guest appearance." As he dragged me across the national highway to the other building of the school, I decided that my fight was lost and there was no way that I would get to work on time. After meeting the headmaster, he said it was imperative that I met the village's mayor. In the process, I also met the school's treasurer, secretary, and the teacher's own cousin and brother.
By the end of that experience, I finally walked away from school fifteen minutes late for work and the words "when in Senegal"(...let a guy completely take advantage of the fact that you're American?) burned into my mind.
***(neither picture has any relevance to the experience described in this entry. The first is just a picture of two of my host brothers studying at home. The second is a photo of the Koranic school by my house.)
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
To be a Senegalese Woman...
To be as strong as a woman living in Senegal is to...
...sweep the desert sands out of your house only to watch as your family litters all over the place and never even think of helping you clean.
...express your love to your husband while he does the same back to you and one, two, or three other women.
...find the energy to cook dinner over an propane tank, bathe the children often with
out running water, do the dishes by hand, and then tuck the kids into bed after a full day of work while your husband watches television....endure multiple childbirths and refuse to number them so that it will be easier to hold yourself together when one passes away before you
education even though you yourself have a Masters and...encourage your daughter to pursue an grin through outrageous sexual discrimination in the office so to support your family.
...watch your men shamelessly pursue Toubab (white, for the most part) women knowing that it would not be socially acceptable for you to do the same.
...without complaint, prepare for hours on end three meals a day and in place of a word of thanks, listen to complaints about serving the food too hot..
...come second to all men when Attaya is served and then without protestation clean up after the mess of afternoon tea.
...wash the clothes of everyone in your family by hand, iron it all from heated coals, meticulously fold it in Senegalese fashion, and when all the above is done, put it away for everyone while all the
men sit in the salon....find the time and will to look beautiful-- matching top and pagne, earrings, bracelets, necklace, and weave-- after a day like this.
...love your sons and husband with all your heart although the love they return is not even half as selfless or unconditional as you have showed them.
...raise your daughters to be as strong as yourself so that they can survive in a patriarchal society.
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