Check.It.Out
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Re-Blogging About Baby Mamas
A fellow volunteer posted some pictures of my Baby Mama's closing ceremony.
Friday, August 12, 2011
The End Involved Many Pans
Written on August 11th, 2011
Two weeks ago, on July 29th, I held the closing ceremony for my Yow Yaay Yaay (You are the Mother) health competition, fondly referred to by me as Baby Mamas. Since then a perpetual feature of my To Do list has been writing a blog entry about it but for some reason I have met this task with reluctance. The end of this project met me with a mix of emotions--joy, pride, elation, sadness, completion, achievement and finality. It seems to me that since the beginning of my service I had been thinking about this project--this health competition--I really wanted to do it but I wasn't quite sure how to do it or if I would be able to pull it off. It took many months of thinking, planning, chatting in village and personal reflection for me to come up with a plan and project proposal. From there I had to hope that the money would come and that all my planning would pay off. I had constant moments of frustration and doubt, when things didn't go as expected or counterparts didn't do what we had agreed they were going to do I definitely wondered why I was doing all of this. Luckily though in those times of doubt I was able to remind myself that this was a project I really wanted to do, a project that I was capable of doing and that the hiccups encountered along the way were to be expected when trying to do a project like this in The Gambia.
Somehow though it all came together. On May 13th we had the opening ceremony and the ball started rolling from there. Over the next three months myself and my counterpart, Papa Sam, were able to teach six health lessons--each lesson taught twice--for a total of twelve sessions. The turnout was amazing, 120 women enrolled and an average of 85 women attending each class. I often felt I needed to pinch myself to remind myself that it was actually happening and the pieces were really falling into place. We finished our last lesson in the nick of time at the beginning of July as the first rains started to come (making it so the women spend every spare moment in the fields).
After that I engaged in a flurry of activity in order to get everything set for the closing ceremony which needed to be held before Ramadan started at the beginning of August. Preparations included going to Banjul and dropping over D 7,000 (a fortune here--about $300) on prizes and then figuring out how to get them all back across the river and up to Kerr Jarga, a definite exercise in Gambia skillz, good thing I had a strong Gambian women along for the ride. Another day found me buying 25 kgs of flour, 30 eggs and 11 kgs of sugar in Barra. Set rental and invitation letters, I felt like I was preparing for a very large Gambian wedding. The night before the big day I was so excited I had trouble going to sleep. I woke up in the morning and had so effectively delegated all the program tasks that I didn't really have much to do. I was given the task of bagging chapati (doughnut holes) which meant I basically ate myself into a chapati stomachache.
By the time 3:30 rolled around (the program was supposed to start at 4 pm) myself and the 8 PCVs that had come to support me/witness the festivities made our way to the skills center to find all of the women already assembled (THEY WERE EARLY!!!!!!!!) in their fanciest clothes. That's when I knew this was a big deal. Of course even though the women were early the set was 2 hours late so we didn't start until closer to 6. Despite the late start the program really was everything I had hoped for and imagined. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say it was a celebration of the women's achievements and what they had learned in the lessons. Unlike many Gambian programs it stayed focused on the women and not on the guests who had come for the free food. 15 women presented some amazing dramas about the lesson topics and after the dramas they all received certificates and prizes (soap, attaya, OMO, mosquito coils, fabric, bowls, kettles, buckets and pans). They all accepted their prizes graciously and the fear I had that people would complain about not all getting big prizes was unfounded. And then all of a sudden it was dark and all the women went home to cook dinner and Baby Mamas was over.
The next day I woke up happy and relieved and proud of the effective and successful project I had done. I'm not usually one to heap praise upon myself but in this case I pretty much kicked ass. I set this project as a goal for myself in my service and I actually achieved it which is not something all volunteers can say they have done. I achieved this by involving the community and I empowered a lot of women in my village to make better decisions about their health and the health of their families.
Coupled with all this joy and feeling of accomplishment is the realization that this is the beginning of the end. With five months left I realize I still have a way to go but having been at this for 21 months so far 5 months just doesn't seem like a ton. Now that I've finished Baby Mamas I know I'll leave here with the feeling that I accomplished something and was able to help in a small way but that realization goes hand in hand with the fact that I'm leaving and that this experience is coming to a close. Knowing that I'll be leaving a family I love dearly, friends from whom I draw constant inspiration and a country that has taught me so much I can't help but feel a little mournful. But when I feel sad I just think about all those women with their shiny new pans, buckets and knowledge and I can't help but smile.
Two weeks ago, on July 29th, I held the closing ceremony for my Yow Yaay Yaay (You are the Mother) health competition, fondly referred to by me as Baby Mamas. Since then a perpetual feature of my To Do list has been writing a blog entry about it but for some reason I have met this task with reluctance. The end of this project met me with a mix of emotions--joy, pride, elation, sadness, completion, achievement and finality. It seems to me that since the beginning of my service I had been thinking about this project--this health competition--I really wanted to do it but I wasn't quite sure how to do it or if I would be able to pull it off. It took many months of thinking, planning, chatting in village and personal reflection for me to come up with a plan and project proposal. From there I had to hope that the money would come and that all my planning would pay off. I had constant moments of frustration and doubt, when things didn't go as expected or counterparts didn't do what we had agreed they were going to do I definitely wondered why I was doing all of this. Luckily though in those times of doubt I was able to remind myself that this was a project I really wanted to do, a project that I was capable of doing and that the hiccups encountered along the way were to be expected when trying to do a project like this in The Gambia.
Somehow though it all came together. On May 13th we had the opening ceremony and the ball started rolling from there. Over the next three months myself and my counterpart, Papa Sam, were able to teach six health lessons--each lesson taught twice--for a total of twelve sessions. The turnout was amazing, 120 women enrolled and an average of 85 women attending each class. I often felt I needed to pinch myself to remind myself that it was actually happening and the pieces were really falling into place. We finished our last lesson in the nick of time at the beginning of July as the first rains started to come (making it so the women spend every spare moment in the fields).
After that I engaged in a flurry of activity in order to get everything set for the closing ceremony which needed to be held before Ramadan started at the beginning of August. Preparations included going to Banjul and dropping over D 7,000 (a fortune here--about $300) on prizes and then figuring out how to get them all back across the river and up to Kerr Jarga, a definite exercise in Gambia skillz, good thing I had a strong Gambian women along for the ride. Another day found me buying 25 kgs of flour, 30 eggs and 11 kgs of sugar in Barra. Set rental and invitation letters, I felt like I was preparing for a very large Gambian wedding. The night before the big day I was so excited I had trouble going to sleep. I woke up in the morning and had so effectively delegated all the program tasks that I didn't really have much to do. I was given the task of bagging chapati (doughnut holes) which meant I basically ate myself into a chapati stomachache.
By the time 3:30 rolled around (the program was supposed to start at 4 pm) myself and the 8 PCVs that had come to support me/witness the festivities made our way to the skills center to find all of the women already assembled (THEY WERE EARLY!!!!!!!!) in their fanciest clothes. That's when I knew this was a big deal. Of course even though the women were early the set was 2 hours late so we didn't start until closer to 6. Despite the late start the program really was everything I had hoped for and imagined. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say it was a celebration of the women's achievements and what they had learned in the lessons. Unlike many Gambian programs it stayed focused on the women and not on the guests who had come for the free food. 15 women presented some amazing dramas about the lesson topics and after the dramas they all received certificates and prizes (soap, attaya, OMO, mosquito coils, fabric, bowls, kettles, buckets and pans). They all accepted their prizes graciously and the fear I had that people would complain about not all getting big prizes was unfounded. And then all of a sudden it was dark and all the women went home to cook dinner and Baby Mamas was over.
The next day I woke up happy and relieved and proud of the effective and successful project I had done. I'm not usually one to heap praise upon myself but in this case I pretty much kicked ass. I set this project as a goal for myself in my service and I actually achieved it which is not something all volunteers can say they have done. I achieved this by involving the community and I empowered a lot of women in my village to make better decisions about their health and the health of their families.
Coupled with all this joy and feeling of accomplishment is the realization that this is the beginning of the end. With five months left I realize I still have a way to go but having been at this for 21 months so far 5 months just doesn't seem like a ton. Now that I've finished Baby Mamas I know I'll leave here with the feeling that I accomplished something and was able to help in a small way but that realization goes hand in hand with the fact that I'm leaving and that this experience is coming to a close. Knowing that I'll be leaving a family I love dearly, friends from whom I draw constant inspiration and a country that has taught me so much I can't help but feel a little mournful. But when I feel sad I just think about all those women with their shiny new pans, buckets and knowledge and I can't help but smile.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Aaduna Si Dafa Rey
A Guest Blog by Ndeye Rohey Jassey (Courtney Sherman)
Written July 2011
It has been just over a month since I returned from The Gambia. Some days it feels like I was there just a few moments ago. There is no possible way to fully capture, with words, my experience because Gambia became a part of my soul on June 17th, 2011.
Without a doubt the best moment was seeing my dear friend's face. I will never forget the stir of emotions in the pit of my stomach as I raced through the immigration process, to be able to exit the confines of security, and run to my long lost sister. Despite some very sun bleached hair, slender figure, and tan skin, she was my same old Lindsey; the one that I laughed and cried with. The time we had lost together, since her departure to Africa, seemed to disappear in an instant as she opened her arms to me and the flood gates of our happy tears opened. There are few times in my life that I have felt complete happiness and this moment was one of them. As we embraced each other, I felt that great feeling of being at home, really at home, like the feeling you get when you plop yourself down into a chair that you have sat in your whole life and no other chair seems to feel as good or right.
I had finally made it Africa.....to this day, I still cannot believe that I went to Africa, but I did and now I feel like I can do anything, or at least try anything......once. Something about the smiling coast, as the Gambia is refereed to as, gets under your skin and conjures up a strength, or for me, a confidence, that I never knew I had, but now realize was just waiting for the opportunity to make its appearance.
Of course, Gambia is hot, very hot and when I was there, quite humid, but you realize rather quickly that your body can handle a lot more physical stress then you would have thought. Though my cloths throughout the trip were permanently in a state of moistness, I never felt more comfortable in my own skin. I felt very welcome in the Gambia. Strangers greeted me, and Peace Corps volunteers, especially those close to Lindsey felt like they had been life long friends. As I write this, a wolof phrase keeps coming to mind, Jamma rek, (Peace only.) I found my inner peace in Africa. The gentle and kind nature of the people was refreshing and the pace of the day suited me. There are many people that have absolutely nothing in the Gambia, but remain happy. The Gambian people seem to have an inner happiness that many Americans struggle to find. I think that it comes down to the idea, that they are all happy to be alive, to be given a chance to be a part of something on this planet, and realize that its a gift. The Gambians that I had the pleasure to meet and spend time with, left deep impressions on my heart.
I would not have had the opportunities to experience these relationships had it not been for the unwavering support of Lindsey Green. I have always known that Lindsey, (Ramatoulie) is an amazing woman, but seeing her in action, as a PCV member was incredible. She has become a part of her village, not just a volunteer, but a sister, a daughter, a friend to many. She has, as many said, become a Gambian! Her wolof is amazing to hear and allows her the ability to communicate in a way that I was quite jealous of. The wollof language is beautiful. Throughout my short eight days, I longed to be able to absorb all that was taught to me. I continue to learn new phrases and practice and hope to impress Ms. Green someday with an entire conversation in wollof. We shall see....What I love about this journey is that Lindsey and I will always have Africa; that no matter where we end up or how much time passes, I will never forget this time I have been so graciously been awarded.
When I sat down to write this piece, I contemplated describing the details of our travels, but really I would rather keep those memories close to my heart and with the others that experienced them with me. So, rather then write a synopsis of the events that occurred during my amazing journey, I hope that my love for the Gambia is conveyed and felt from all that have had a chance to read this.
All I can say, at this point, is that going to Gambia is like meeting your soul mate. You are left feeling.....complete. I thought that when I wrote this entry, I would go on for pages, but my heart and mind struggle to express the impact this journey has had on me. I recently learned a new phrase that in this moment, as I write this, seems to be fitting, so I will leave you with it:
Aaduna si dafa rey.....The world is very big.
Peace and love to all of you,
Courtney/Ndeye
Written July 2011
It has been just over a month since I returned from The Gambia. Some days it feels like I was there just a few moments ago. There is no possible way to fully capture, with words, my experience because Gambia became a part of my soul on June 17th, 2011.
Without a doubt the best moment was seeing my dear friend's face. I will never forget the stir of emotions in the pit of my stomach as I raced through the immigration process, to be able to exit the confines of security, and run to my long lost sister. Despite some very sun bleached hair, slender figure, and tan skin, she was my same old Lindsey; the one that I laughed and cried with. The time we had lost together, since her departure to Africa, seemed to disappear in an instant as she opened her arms to me and the flood gates of our happy tears opened. There are few times in my life that I have felt complete happiness and this moment was one of them. As we embraced each other, I felt that great feeling of being at home, really at home, like the feeling you get when you plop yourself down into a chair that you have sat in your whole life and no other chair seems to feel as good or right.
I had finally made it Africa.....to this day, I still cannot believe that I went to Africa, but I did and now I feel like I can do anything, or at least try anything......once. Something about the smiling coast, as the Gambia is refereed to as, gets under your skin and conjures up a strength, or for me, a confidence, that I never knew I had, but now realize was just waiting for the opportunity to make its appearance.
Of course, Gambia is hot, very hot and when I was there, quite humid, but you realize rather quickly that your body can handle a lot more physical stress then you would have thought. Though my cloths throughout the trip were permanently in a state of moistness, I never felt more comfortable in my own skin. I felt very welcome in the Gambia. Strangers greeted me, and Peace Corps volunteers, especially those close to Lindsey felt like they had been life long friends. As I write this, a wolof phrase keeps coming to mind, Jamma rek, (Peace only.) I found my inner peace in Africa. The gentle and kind nature of the people was refreshing and the pace of the day suited me. There are many people that have absolutely nothing in the Gambia, but remain happy. The Gambian people seem to have an inner happiness that many Americans struggle to find. I think that it comes down to the idea, that they are all happy to be alive, to be given a chance to be a part of something on this planet, and realize that its a gift. The Gambians that I had the pleasure to meet and spend time with, left deep impressions on my heart.
I would not have had the opportunities to experience these relationships had it not been for the unwavering support of Lindsey Green. I have always known that Lindsey, (Ramatoulie) is an amazing woman, but seeing her in action, as a PCV member was incredible. She has become a part of her village, not just a volunteer, but a sister, a daughter, a friend to many. She has, as many said, become a Gambian! Her wolof is amazing to hear and allows her the ability to communicate in a way that I was quite jealous of. The wollof language is beautiful. Throughout my short eight days, I longed to be able to absorb all that was taught to me. I continue to learn new phrases and practice and hope to impress Ms. Green someday with an entire conversation in wollof. We shall see....What I love about this journey is that Lindsey and I will always have Africa; that no matter where we end up or how much time passes, I will never forget this time I have been so graciously been awarded.
When I sat down to write this piece, I contemplated describing the details of our travels, but really I would rather keep those memories close to my heart and with the others that experienced them with me. So, rather then write a synopsis of the events that occurred during my amazing journey, I hope that my love for the Gambia is conveyed and felt from all that have had a chance to read this.
All I can say, at this point, is that going to Gambia is like meeting your soul mate. You are left feeling.....complete. I thought that when I wrote this entry, I would go on for pages, but my heart and mind struggle to express the impact this journey has had on me. I recently learned a new phrase that in this moment, as I write this, seems to be fitting, so I will leave you with it:
Aaduna si dafa rey.....The world is very big.
Peace and love to all of you,
Courtney/Ndeye
Sunday, July 10, 2011
(Good??) Grief
Written on June 29th, 2011
Today I went to my first funeral. Up until now I have avoided them because I don't like to go to funerals in America, let alone the Gambia, and Yaay Amie and Yaay Sarjo told me that it was ok that I don't go. Yesterday though when I heard that Bai Jassey(my counterpart and close friend)'s father had died I knew that I needed to overcome my fear/dislike and go to my first Gambian funeral. Usually they bury people here as soon as possible but since Baay Matar died in Kombo yesterday afternoon they had to transport the body back to Kerr Jarga so the funeral wasn't until this morning.
After breakfast Yaay Sarjo and I went over to the Jassey compound. The men were sitting outside the compound under the mango tree and all of the women were sitting inside the compound. Most of the guests from other villages were sitting outside in the middle of the compound while the women from my side of the village were all in one house/behind the house cooking. Like any Gambian program food was necessary so many women had been over in the compound since early in the morning cooking. Usually I am eager to be helpful but today since I really didn't know what to expect I just sat and observed. I spent a lot of time sitting in the house with the older women from my village just reflecting and observing. We were all waiting for the body to arrive so it was definitely a tense space with people making minimal small talk etc. When people did chat it was interesting that the main thing they talked about was who was crying, how they were crying and how much they were crying. Crying is very much frowned upon here especially for adults, when an adult crys in public they are chastised and yelled at/told to stop. In America I am a bit of a crier but here I don't cry at all, I've cried in front of my host dad once and he freaked out, told me to stop and forced me to drink water. He promptly told everyone that I had cried so this public declaration of who was grieving with tears wasn't totally surprising. I was most surprised by how many different ways they had in Wolof to describe crying and how each of the descriptions were so accurate of the type of crying that I knew exactly what they were talking about even though I had never heard the vocabulary before. All this crying talk also sobered me and helped me fight the urge to cry when it arose a couple times.
When the food was ready we all ate very soberly and not with any great relish. Just as we were starting on our bowl we heard a wave of screaming, crying and wailing so we knew that the body had arrived. We promptly all lost the urge to eat. As the group accompanying the body came into the compound many women were overcome with emotion and everyone withdrew into themselves (into different corners of the hut, sunk lower into their chairs) and wept silently. It was a very jarring experience for me to see all of the strong, older women in my village, who usually are very stoic, unless they are joking or mad, so sad and clearly contemplating so many things. If they were born in this village they probably have known this man since they were born and even if they came here through marriage he was a village elder, a prominent man in village so everyone knew him and had some connection to him. It was for me just another affirmation of how connected everyone is here. After everyone had settled down the men outside, led by the imam (religious leader for the village), started to pray and eulogize Baay Matar. I have never seen the women of my village so quiet before. Every so often someone would greet or say something to their neighbor but other than that there was no joking, no laughing, no nothing. I have never seen my village so stoic.
After about thirty to forty minutes of prayer the men formed a procession to take the coffin to the cemetary to be buried. They started wailing, "Laay laay e laay laay," and walked the coffin around the compound. Everyone stood up and the women/men who had previously been so stoic lost it--sobbing and wailing. My counterpart and friend Bai ran through the house and "cried like a woman" (quote from a nearby woman) in the backyard. Another friend was beside herself sobbing while two women yelled at her to stop crying because it was Gods will and God doesn't like it if you cry. Those two images brought me very close to tears because I felt like any comfort I would give either of them would not be able to bridge the cultural gap between us. Talk about feeling completly helpless. After the men had gone all of the women went outside to sit. We all sat in utter silence until the men came back. At that point all of the women gave a charity of 5 dalasi or more to the three widows and dispersed.
Strangely enough after all of the sadness the dispersement outside of the compound was like a social hour. Greeting people who I had not seen in months from other villages and really marveling at the sense of connectedness and community I feel for this small village, even in this moment of grief; I marveled at the sense of comfort I got from experiencing mourning with them.
Today I went to my first funeral. Up until now I have avoided them because I don't like to go to funerals in America, let alone the Gambia, and Yaay Amie and Yaay Sarjo told me that it was ok that I don't go. Yesterday though when I heard that Bai Jassey(my counterpart and close friend)'s father had died I knew that I needed to overcome my fear/dislike and go to my first Gambian funeral. Usually they bury people here as soon as possible but since Baay Matar died in Kombo yesterday afternoon they had to transport the body back to Kerr Jarga so the funeral wasn't until this morning.
After breakfast Yaay Sarjo and I went over to the Jassey compound. The men were sitting outside the compound under the mango tree and all of the women were sitting inside the compound. Most of the guests from other villages were sitting outside in the middle of the compound while the women from my side of the village were all in one house/behind the house cooking. Like any Gambian program food was necessary so many women had been over in the compound since early in the morning cooking. Usually I am eager to be helpful but today since I really didn't know what to expect I just sat and observed. I spent a lot of time sitting in the house with the older women from my village just reflecting and observing. We were all waiting for the body to arrive so it was definitely a tense space with people making minimal small talk etc. When people did chat it was interesting that the main thing they talked about was who was crying, how they were crying and how much they were crying. Crying is very much frowned upon here especially for adults, when an adult crys in public they are chastised and yelled at/told to stop. In America I am a bit of a crier but here I don't cry at all, I've cried in front of my host dad once and he freaked out, told me to stop and forced me to drink water. He promptly told everyone that I had cried so this public declaration of who was grieving with tears wasn't totally surprising. I was most surprised by how many different ways they had in Wolof to describe crying and how each of the descriptions were so accurate of the type of crying that I knew exactly what they were talking about even though I had never heard the vocabulary before. All this crying talk also sobered me and helped me fight the urge to cry when it arose a couple times.
When the food was ready we all ate very soberly and not with any great relish. Just as we were starting on our bowl we heard a wave of screaming, crying and wailing so we knew that the body had arrived. We promptly all lost the urge to eat. As the group accompanying the body came into the compound many women were overcome with emotion and everyone withdrew into themselves (into different corners of the hut, sunk lower into their chairs) and wept silently. It was a very jarring experience for me to see all of the strong, older women in my village, who usually are very stoic, unless they are joking or mad, so sad and clearly contemplating so many things. If they were born in this village they probably have known this man since they were born and even if they came here through marriage he was a village elder, a prominent man in village so everyone knew him and had some connection to him. It was for me just another affirmation of how connected everyone is here. After everyone had settled down the men outside, led by the imam (religious leader for the village), started to pray and eulogize Baay Matar. I have never seen the women of my village so quiet before. Every so often someone would greet or say something to their neighbor but other than that there was no joking, no laughing, no nothing. I have never seen my village so stoic.
After about thirty to forty minutes of prayer the men formed a procession to take the coffin to the cemetary to be buried. They started wailing, "Laay laay e laay laay," and walked the coffin around the compound. Everyone stood up and the women/men who had previously been so stoic lost it--sobbing and wailing. My counterpart and friend Bai ran through the house and "cried like a woman" (quote from a nearby woman) in the backyard. Another friend was beside herself sobbing while two women yelled at her to stop crying because it was Gods will and God doesn't like it if you cry. Those two images brought me very close to tears because I felt like any comfort I would give either of them would not be able to bridge the cultural gap between us. Talk about feeling completly helpless. After the men had gone all of the women went outside to sit. We all sat in utter silence until the men came back. At that point all of the women gave a charity of 5 dalasi or more to the three widows and dispersed.
Strangely enough after all of the sadness the dispersement outside of the compound was like a social hour. Greeting people who I had not seen in months from other villages and really marveling at the sense of connectedness and community I feel for this small village, even in this moment of grief; I marveled at the sense of comfort I got from experiencing mourning with them.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Baby Mamas!!!!
Written for Peace Corps The Gambias June Health Newsletter
Long ago when I was fresh out of training, new to my village and still trying to figure out what the heck I was going to do for two years other than sweat, eat rice and try to set the record for most consecutive boils, I read Nine Hills to Nambonkaha by Sarah Erdman, a former PCV in Cote d'Ivoire. I remember thinking a) this is a lot like being a PCV in The Gambia, b) she is much more funny and eloquent when it comes to describing her experiences than I am and c) the health competition that she does in her village sounds really f-ing cool.
So what was I to do but steal her idea and try to recreate it in Kerr Jarga, hence "Baby Mamas" or "Yow Yaay Yaay" (You are the Mother) was born. I decided that though I liked the model of the Hearth program, positive deviance and mothers learning from each other, that in my community where everyone is in each others business all the time it would be hard to run a program with such obvious benefits to the participants and limit it to ten or twelve women; a larger scale competition, incorporating the Hearth model, with incentives for participation seemed like a better fit for my village. But before I started I felt like I needed to gather more information about how community members perceived their personal health and the health for their children/family. So I invited potential counterparts and key village people (the VDC chairman, CHN, VHW, TBAs, alkali, district chief, literacy instructors and women involved in the skills center) to a village health assessment meeting. From this I was able to gain a better understanding of the health challenges faced by the community and realized that for most mothers of children under five there is a lack of basic knowledge about personal health. Not that the women are stupid--far from it--but they don't understand why things like exclusive breastfeeding or hand washing are important; additionally very rarely do people take the time to explain it to them in a way they can understand.
So from this starting point I developed a project proposal and budget, applied for a Peace Corps Partnership, begged my friends and family for money, received the money and realized, "Shit, now I guess I am actually doing this Baby Mamas thing."
The heart of Baby Mamas is six health lessons, each lesson to be taught twice, dealing with issues identified in the village health assessment, such as RCH and exclusive breastfeeding, nutrition, personal hygiene, environmental sanitation, malaria, and female reproduction and anatomy. For every lesson women attend they get two points if they are on time and one point if they are late. They also can earn points for attending RCH. Due to the women's lack of literacy I included lost of visual aids and games in the lesson plans to encourage better understanding and participation. In writing the lessons I wanted the information to focus on preventative health care and also on the women's personal health. So often they hear about how to properly care for their children but what about themselves? How are they supposed to care for themselves if they get a cut while cooking? Why should women make sure they are eating a balanced diet? And what in the world does the vagina actually look like? I wanted to give them the knowledge to make informed decisions about their health as well as the health of their children.
Once all of the lessons were written it was time to get the women actually excited to come to them. What better way to do that in the Gambia than have a program? After a few, mostly unsuccessful, village sensitization meetings we called everyone in the village for an "opening ceremony" and myself, my two host moms and a bunch of my neighbors kneaded, balled and fried twenty-five kilos of flour into panketo party favors. At the opening ceremony I gave every women who was interested and eligible a green scorecard for the duration of the competition and inshallah if they don't lost them or destroy them I'll collect them at the end to see who has accumulated the most points.
Since the opening ceremony in mid-May we've held three health lessons and we're on track to get the bulk of the lessons done by the end of June. I have been blown away by class attendance, usually around ninety women each day. My counterpart, Papa Sam, a Public Health Officer at the health center near me has been teaching the lessons and he has really embraced using games and visual aides in the health lessons. The other day at the end of the nutrition game he actually said, "That was fun." The women have learned that if they're on time they get more points so they have started actually showing up on time. Of course having ninety loud Wolof women in one room can be a bit difficult to control but slowly they are starting to embrace the four class rules, 1) listen 2) raise your hand 3) one person talks at a time and 4) work together.
So what have I learned so far?First, I've realized that readjusting expectations is healthy and necessary. I initially wanted a high level of participation for men in addition to women, sending the message that health is every ones concern, not just women's. That level of buy-in would be great but is a long way off. I've come to see that they lack of men allows the women to act more freely. They are less shy about raising their hands and speaking up; and men don't have a chance to dominate the conversation. They have taken ownership of their "school" and the lesson space as a place for them to be together and discuss things in a way that gender roles might not otherwise allow.Second, use your toubab power for good. Baby Mamas has worked because its a completely new idea and format for health education in Kerr Jarga and people know that I'm the one who has been organizing it. I used to be concerned because Baby Mamas events were always referred to as "Ramatoulie's" this or that but then I realized that labeling things in this way gave Baby Mamas a higher status than just another village program. People came and participated because it was associated with me. I think many people are still confused about how the competition actually works but they continue to come to the lessons because of the "toubab tipping point." They want to see what ridiculous thing I will do, what strange drawings I will have made on perfectly good rice bags or what Wolof word I will mispronounce. Rather than getting annoyed by the fact that I'm the butt of most jokes I am embracing this as just one of the ways I con the women in my village into learning more about health.Finally, I have learned "it will be what it will be" so just go with it, stressing out does nobody any good. All I can do is try to write good health lessons, explain to counterparts why I think health education is needed in my village, tell the women how important this information is to them, and then let the chips fall where they may. There have been lots of false starts and definitely a few failures because of this approach but for all of those there have equally been great successes. When the women realized that just because something is more expensive, i.e. sugar and bread, it doesn't mean its better for you or when all ninety women chanted "We should exclusively breastfeed for good birth spacing in Kerr Jarga" --well if that's not a Peace Corps fist pump moment I don't know what is.
With three lessons down and nine more to go we've got a lot more ground to cover, and that ground includes the vagina apron, but I'm confident that in the end the women in my village will have increased their knowledge about personal health and will have some rad, shiny new bowls, buckets and pans to show for it.
Long ago when I was fresh out of training, new to my village and still trying to figure out what the heck I was going to do for two years other than sweat, eat rice and try to set the record for most consecutive boils, I read Nine Hills to Nambonkaha by Sarah Erdman, a former PCV in Cote d'Ivoire. I remember thinking a) this is a lot like being a PCV in The Gambia, b) she is much more funny and eloquent when it comes to describing her experiences than I am and c) the health competition that she does in her village sounds really f-ing cool.
So what was I to do but steal her idea and try to recreate it in Kerr Jarga, hence "Baby Mamas" or "Yow Yaay Yaay" (You are the Mother) was born. I decided that though I liked the model of the Hearth program, positive deviance and mothers learning from each other, that in my community where everyone is in each others business all the time it would be hard to run a program with such obvious benefits to the participants and limit it to ten or twelve women; a larger scale competition, incorporating the Hearth model, with incentives for participation seemed like a better fit for my village. But before I started I felt like I needed to gather more information about how community members perceived their personal health and the health for their children/family. So I invited potential counterparts and key village people (the VDC chairman, CHN, VHW, TBAs, alkali, district chief, literacy instructors and women involved in the skills center) to a village health assessment meeting. From this I was able to gain a better understanding of the health challenges faced by the community and realized that for most mothers of children under five there is a lack of basic knowledge about personal health. Not that the women are stupid--far from it--but they don't understand why things like exclusive breastfeeding or hand washing are important; additionally very rarely do people take the time to explain it to them in a way they can understand.
So from this starting point I developed a project proposal and budget, applied for a Peace Corps Partnership, begged my friends and family for money, received the money and realized, "Shit, now I guess I am actually doing this Baby Mamas thing."
The heart of Baby Mamas is six health lessons, each lesson to be taught twice, dealing with issues identified in the village health assessment, such as RCH and exclusive breastfeeding, nutrition, personal hygiene, environmental sanitation, malaria, and female reproduction and anatomy. For every lesson women attend they get two points if they are on time and one point if they are late. They also can earn points for attending RCH. Due to the women's lack of literacy I included lost of visual aids and games in the lesson plans to encourage better understanding and participation. In writing the lessons I wanted the information to focus on preventative health care and also on the women's personal health. So often they hear about how to properly care for their children but what about themselves? How are they supposed to care for themselves if they get a cut while cooking? Why should women make sure they are eating a balanced diet? And what in the world does the vagina actually look like? I wanted to give them the knowledge to make informed decisions about their health as well as the health of their children.
Once all of the lessons were written it was time to get the women actually excited to come to them. What better way to do that in the Gambia than have a program? After a few, mostly unsuccessful, village sensitization meetings we called everyone in the village for an "opening ceremony" and myself, my two host moms and a bunch of my neighbors kneaded, balled and fried twenty-five kilos of flour into panketo party favors. At the opening ceremony I gave every women who was interested and eligible a green scorecard for the duration of the competition and inshallah if they don't lost them or destroy them I'll collect them at the end to see who has accumulated the most points.
Since the opening ceremony in mid-May we've held three health lessons and we're on track to get the bulk of the lessons done by the end of June. I have been blown away by class attendance, usually around ninety women each day. My counterpart, Papa Sam, a Public Health Officer at the health center near me has been teaching the lessons and he has really embraced using games and visual aides in the health lessons. The other day at the end of the nutrition game he actually said, "That was fun." The women have learned that if they're on time they get more points so they have started actually showing up on time. Of course having ninety loud Wolof women in one room can be a bit difficult to control but slowly they are starting to embrace the four class rules, 1) listen 2) raise your hand 3) one person talks at a time and 4) work together.
So what have I learned so far?First, I've realized that readjusting expectations is healthy and necessary. I initially wanted a high level of participation for men in addition to women, sending the message that health is every ones concern, not just women's. That level of buy-in would be great but is a long way off. I've come to see that they lack of men allows the women to act more freely. They are less shy about raising their hands and speaking up; and men don't have a chance to dominate the conversation. They have taken ownership of their "school" and the lesson space as a place for them to be together and discuss things in a way that gender roles might not otherwise allow.Second, use your toubab power for good. Baby Mamas has worked because its a completely new idea and format for health education in Kerr Jarga and people know that I'm the one who has been organizing it. I used to be concerned because Baby Mamas events were always referred to as "Ramatoulie's" this or that but then I realized that labeling things in this way gave Baby Mamas a higher status than just another village program. People came and participated because it was associated with me. I think many people are still confused about how the competition actually works but they continue to come to the lessons because of the "toubab tipping point." They want to see what ridiculous thing I will do, what strange drawings I will have made on perfectly good rice bags or what Wolof word I will mispronounce. Rather than getting annoyed by the fact that I'm the butt of most jokes I am embracing this as just one of the ways I con the women in my village into learning more about health.Finally, I have learned "it will be what it will be" so just go with it, stressing out does nobody any good. All I can do is try to write good health lessons, explain to counterparts why I think health education is needed in my village, tell the women how important this information is to them, and then let the chips fall where they may. There have been lots of false starts and definitely a few failures because of this approach but for all of those there have equally been great successes. When the women realized that just because something is more expensive, i.e. sugar and bread, it doesn't mean its better for you or when all ninety women chanted "We should exclusively breastfeed for good birth spacing in Kerr Jarga" --well if that's not a Peace Corps fist pump moment I don't know what is.
With three lessons down and nine more to go we've got a lot more ground to cover, and that ground includes the vagina apron, but I'm confident that in the end the women in my village will have increased their knowledge about personal health and will have some rad, shiny new bowls, buckets and pans to show for it.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
25 Kilos of Flour Later....
Written on May 13th, 2011
Today after probably a year of working and thinking and hoping and doubting was the opening ceremony of my Baby Mamas health competition. As I had anticipated it was a busy and at times annoying and stressful day but despite the ups and downs and all the "Gambian-ess" along the way it happened and I do genuinely feel like the village is jazzed for the health competition. So though I don't usually do this I'm going to walk you through my day.
I woke up earlier than I wanted to--around 7 am--because for some inexplicable reason Mam Goor was wailing. I finally rolled out of bed and flowed through a little yoga while listening to Girltalk. After yoga was a quick breakfast of oatmeal with peanut butter and Gambian honey. As I was brushing my teeth at around 9 my Yaay Amie came to the door frantically urging me to hurry before the sun gets hot. So myself and my host aunt and two sisters rushed over to the skill center to pick up all the supplies to make "chapati" (which is basically a less greasy version of a donut hole). 25 kilos of flour were quickly up on my host aunts head and then deposited in our compound along with a HUGE cooking pot, two big buckets and sieve like spoon. While my moms sifted the flour I was off to the bitik for 11 kilos of sugar, a can of sweetened condensed milk and 100 sugar packets of "sucre vanile." By the time I made it back to my compound the flour was sifted and we were all sitting around in the dirt getting ready to make a quantity of "donuts" usually only associated with large bakeries. A side note on cooking here--everyone cooks basically the same ten dishes but despite that fact there is always much debate that goes on about how things should be made. I found out that this debate/argument is increased vastly with baked goods/seldom cooked items. So after much discussion and missteps, and thirty cracked eggs we were all elbow deep (and buy all I mean everyone but me because I "don't know" and "my arms aren't strong") in two large, maybe 2 feet in diameter, buckets full of dough, kneading it into a gooey, sweet blob. From there two big pots full of oil were set up over cooking fires and we set to rolling and frying our buckets of dough into small balls. It sound laborious and tedious, which it is, but it is also a ton of fun. Our compound was the place to hangout so women were coming by all morning to sit and chant and ball/fry some dough which they were at it. Kids run around playing and stealing bites, babies cry, attaya is brewed and we all sweat and chase shade because I don't know if you heard, the sun is hot. By lunch time we've taken 25 kilos of flour, 11 kilos of sugar, 30 eggs, 2 big cans of condensed milk and 10 litre of oil into three pans, two feet in diameter buckets, full of hot, greasy, sugary and delicious chapati. We all break for lunch, I hurriedly take a bath and then we form an assembly line in my house putting 4 to 6 chapatis into little plastic bags because "it is more civilized."
At 4:30 pm I rush over to the skills center. I'm only 30 minutes late for our "4 pm" meeting which means that really I am an hour and thirty minutes early. But god forbid my relatively easy morning of baked goods transition into a calm and easy afternoon meeting. A government agency has decided yesterday to have a meeting at the skills center today at 2 pm which means by 4 pm they had actually started and when people started coming for my meeting at 5 pm they were in the heart of their meeting. After a few tense moments and some needless freak outs over things like making juice and to make or not make attaya the meeting is dispersed and we set up chairs and tables at the back of the skills center. The women gathers around the table expectantly and we all sit in "civilized" silence waiting for the district chief to come. When he does show up he sticks his head out the back door and greets us all before taking his leave, which means finally at 6 pm we start.
Once the meeting had started I knew I was in the home stretch. I gave my preplanned explanation of the competition in Wolof and then our invited guests from the health center and ADWAC spoke. Afterwards everyone was given a chance to speak and the usual cast of characters added in their two sense but the most special thing (for me) was that my host mom Yaay Amie spoke about how grateful my compound is that I am here and helping them and the village. It was a big moment because Gambians are not ones to often or freely give praise, they tend to focus more on things that haven't been done (you didn't buy butter) or comparison (orange is a better flavor of juice than pineapple). So for here to praise me so publicly was really special especially because she never has said anything like that to me before. It was a very special moment for me. The big finale of the opening ceremony was giving the women their competition score cards and handing out the chapati and juice. Not surprisingly the score cards were kind of a shit show. But everyone who needed/wanted one got one. After the business part of the ceremony was finished the women gathered in a big circle and danced. Though brief (about 30 minutes) as they danced, shook their butts and flashed their thighs I could feel so much joy in the circle that it was worth all of the earlier work and frustration. The women kept exclaiming, "Look at Ramatoulie, she cannot stop smiling." and it was true.
Today after probably a year of working and thinking and hoping and doubting was the opening ceremony of my Baby Mamas health competition. As I had anticipated it was a busy and at times annoying and stressful day but despite the ups and downs and all the "Gambian-ess" along the way it happened and I do genuinely feel like the village is jazzed for the health competition. So though I don't usually do this I'm going to walk you through my day.
I woke up earlier than I wanted to--around 7 am--because for some inexplicable reason Mam Goor was wailing. I finally rolled out of bed and flowed through a little yoga while listening to Girltalk. After yoga was a quick breakfast of oatmeal with peanut butter and Gambian honey. As I was brushing my teeth at around 9 my Yaay Amie came to the door frantically urging me to hurry before the sun gets hot. So myself and my host aunt and two sisters rushed over to the skill center to pick up all the supplies to make "chapati" (which is basically a less greasy version of a donut hole). 25 kilos of flour were quickly up on my host aunts head and then deposited in our compound along with a HUGE cooking pot, two big buckets and sieve like spoon. While my moms sifted the flour I was off to the bitik for 11 kilos of sugar, a can of sweetened condensed milk and 100 sugar packets of "sucre vanile." By the time I made it back to my compound the flour was sifted and we were all sitting around in the dirt getting ready to make a quantity of "donuts" usually only associated with large bakeries. A side note on cooking here--everyone cooks basically the same ten dishes but despite that fact there is always much debate that goes on about how things should be made. I found out that this debate/argument is increased vastly with baked goods/seldom cooked items. So after much discussion and missteps, and thirty cracked eggs we were all elbow deep (and buy all I mean everyone but me because I "don't know" and "my arms aren't strong") in two large, maybe 2 feet in diameter, buckets full of dough, kneading it into a gooey, sweet blob. From there two big pots full of oil were set up over cooking fires and we set to rolling and frying our buckets of dough into small balls. It sound laborious and tedious, which it is, but it is also a ton of fun. Our compound was the place to hangout so women were coming by all morning to sit and chant and ball/fry some dough which they were at it. Kids run around playing and stealing bites, babies cry, attaya is brewed and we all sweat and chase shade because I don't know if you heard, the sun is hot. By lunch time we've taken 25 kilos of flour, 11 kilos of sugar, 30 eggs, 2 big cans of condensed milk and 10 litre of oil into three pans, two feet in diameter buckets, full of hot, greasy, sugary and delicious chapati. We all break for lunch, I hurriedly take a bath and then we form an assembly line in my house putting 4 to 6 chapatis into little plastic bags because "it is more civilized."
At 4:30 pm I rush over to the skills center. I'm only 30 minutes late for our "4 pm" meeting which means that really I am an hour and thirty minutes early. But god forbid my relatively easy morning of baked goods transition into a calm and easy afternoon meeting. A government agency has decided yesterday to have a meeting at the skills center today at 2 pm which means by 4 pm they had actually started and when people started coming for my meeting at 5 pm they were in the heart of their meeting. After a few tense moments and some needless freak outs over things like making juice and to make or not make attaya the meeting is dispersed and we set up chairs and tables at the back of the skills center. The women gathers around the table expectantly and we all sit in "civilized" silence waiting for the district chief to come. When he does show up he sticks his head out the back door and greets us all before taking his leave, which means finally at 6 pm we start.
Once the meeting had started I knew I was in the home stretch. I gave my preplanned explanation of the competition in Wolof and then our invited guests from the health center and ADWAC spoke. Afterwards everyone was given a chance to speak and the usual cast of characters added in their two sense but the most special thing (for me) was that my host mom Yaay Amie spoke about how grateful my compound is that I am here and helping them and the village. It was a big moment because Gambians are not ones to often or freely give praise, they tend to focus more on things that haven't been done (you didn't buy butter) or comparison (orange is a better flavor of juice than pineapple). So for here to praise me so publicly was really special especially because she never has said anything like that to me before. It was a very special moment for me. The big finale of the opening ceremony was giving the women their competition score cards and handing out the chapati and juice. Not surprisingly the score cards were kind of a shit show. But everyone who needed/wanted one got one. After the business part of the ceremony was finished the women gathered in a big circle and danced. Though brief (about 30 minutes) as they danced, shook their butts and flashed their thighs I could feel so much joy in the circle that it was worth all of the earlier work and frustration. The women kept exclaiming, "Look at Ramatoulie, she cannot stop smiling." and it was true.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Gossiping In Gambia
Written on April 21st, 2011
I am a fan of gossip. For better or worse this is a well known fact about me. When I began gossiping, in Wolof, to Gambians, this is when I knew that I had truly arrived here.
Last Saturday the Pulaar baker who rents the hut next to me came out of his house around 9 am and it was clear something was wrong. He looked up at the sky blankly and when we asked him what was wrong he didn't respond. He promptly left the compound but it didn't take long for word to get back to us that he was wandering around the village, walking around in circles, being followed by a pack of children like the Pied Piper. My host mom turned to me and very frankly said, "He's crazy now now." About an hour later he was finally escorted back to my compound by a group of men from the village. They got him into the house and quickly about fifteen people were crowding around the door, peering over each other heads trying to get a look at him. So--basically--in the span of a few hours my neighbor had gone crazy. I left soon after taht to attend a program in a nearby village but heard when I got back that he wandered about the compound all day and night. By Monday morning his older brother had come to pick him up and take him back to their home village. I haven't been able to come up with a logical/scientific explanation for what happened, maybe he took the wrong combination of traditional medicine and was on a really bad trip. But the explanation that everyone has been giving is that one of his brothers, who lives in Guinea Conakry, wanted him to come and help him farm and since he refused the brother set a voodoo spell on him. Seems just as likely an explanation as anything.
So where has the gossiping come in. I found myself telling my story to anyone who would listen, with my punch line being "Isn't that so strange!" So lets consider me publishing this story on my blog as an act of cross cultural and continental gossip.
xoxo Gossip Girl in The Gambia
I am a fan of gossip. For better or worse this is a well known fact about me. When I began gossiping, in Wolof, to Gambians, this is when I knew that I had truly arrived here.
Last Saturday the Pulaar baker who rents the hut next to me came out of his house around 9 am and it was clear something was wrong. He looked up at the sky blankly and when we asked him what was wrong he didn't respond. He promptly left the compound but it didn't take long for word to get back to us that he was wandering around the village, walking around in circles, being followed by a pack of children like the Pied Piper. My host mom turned to me and very frankly said, "He's crazy now now." About an hour later he was finally escorted back to my compound by a group of men from the village. They got him into the house and quickly about fifteen people were crowding around the door, peering over each other heads trying to get a look at him. So--basically--in the span of a few hours my neighbor had gone crazy. I left soon after taht to attend a program in a nearby village but heard when I got back that he wandered about the compound all day and night. By Monday morning his older brother had come to pick him up and take him back to their home village. I haven't been able to come up with a logical/scientific explanation for what happened, maybe he took the wrong combination of traditional medicine and was on a really bad trip. But the explanation that everyone has been giving is that one of his brothers, who lives in Guinea Conakry, wanted him to come and help him farm and since he refused the brother set a voodoo spell on him. Seems just as likely an explanation as anything.
So where has the gossiping come in. I found myself telling my story to anyone who would listen, with my punch line being "Isn't that so strange!" So lets consider me publishing this story on my blog as an act of cross cultural and continental gossip.
xoxo Gossip Girl in The Gambia
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