Update from Matam

Call me romantic, call me inspired, call me a lazy American, but my favorite thing to do in Matam is ride around in our air-conditioned car and watch the scenery outside. God must have heard my laziness/romanticism, for we spent the better part of the workweek riding around finding small villages and hamlets for my project.

Day 1: We stopped by the office and picked up a sheet listing 30 villages, one of which (as pointed out by Andrea’s Senegalese counterpart, Latsouk) was named “Peru.” Despite my lame pleas, we did not end up in Peru, but instead went to another village whose name I cannot remember nor did I copy down. I know, great investigation skills.

After some navigating around cows and asking half a dozen confused people where our mysterious village was, we stumbled upon our desired hamlet and spent the next hour and a half talking to various people of the hamlet to gather quantitative data. Being two foreigners and two Senegalese, we managed a fine audience of dumbfounded adults who masked their interest as best as possible, and dumbfounded kids who made no effort whatsoever to mask their interest. But no matter, we got the data needed out of the short interviews.

Day 2: Japan’s philanthropy runs in mysterious ways, not limited to agriculture development in the middle of Senegal. I have no profound comments to make of this endeavor; the reason I mention this is because in our first hour of driving around on day two, we went by pasture land that was restored by the Japanese. Day two consisted of asking more people along the street for directions to a very small and largely unknown hamlet. Fortunately for us, we found number 13 (he was wearing a shirt that said “13”) and pointed us in the right direction. Said hamlet had a current population of two: one adult and one kid. The kid of course wearing a “New York” t-shirt, but suffice to say that “We’re American” is all the information most people need, and we didn’t get to have a laugh about the coincidence of the shirt locality.

The luck of the week continued, because the adult was able to direct us to the village center, where we found a few people capable of translating directly from the local language to French, so all of us could understand, but the results of the survey were less than encouraging. When asked what happens when someone who is migrating by foot falls very sick, our guy more or less answered, “Well you know…whoever dies, dies; whoever lives, lives.” The rest of the interview followed in similar fashion.

Day 3: We were told we’d be going to an even more remote location than the previous two, so I decided the occasion called for full-length pants. Unfortunately, the only location that got to see my pants was the car. Mysterious hamlet was so mysterious that it took us a full 2.5 hours to determine that it was currently uninhabited and only accessible by foot. We did manage to get some pictures of the neon grass up close, and convince our driver that his services should remained unpaid on our part. Andrea also got a marriage proposal by a 15-year-old boy. Last I heard, that’s a no go.

So on to the weekend! On Friday night, we were informed that we’d be attending a conference for World Population Day. The conference was planned to start at 9 AM, but this translated to anytime between 9 AM – Sunday, but being the good Americans and Senegalese we are, we woke up to be on time for the 9 AM start time. At 11:20 AM, the conference officially started, and the next few hours proceeded with a blur of two local languages interspersed with French words and some snoring on the part of the audience.

On Sunday, I was feeling slightly ill, and was greeted with a torrential downpour of rain as my saving grace. I opened the door, looked to my left, and saw Andrea thoroughly drenched and smiling. Obviously, the solution pick-me-upper was getting soaked, so I stormed outside in full force, fully clothed, and ran as fast as possible to the edge of the pavement before I realized I couldn't see anything and was experiencing a sensation that is utterly foreign at this point: being cold. Sure enough, I feel a million times better after the brief run, and that night, fully enjoyed comfortably wearing JEANS in 77 degree F (23 degree C) weather. Hallelujah!

Below is a picture of Andrea and her binome, Latsouk:




-Mala

Kolda

The third leg of our in-field research mission has brought us to Kolda, within the Cassamance Region of Senegal. The region of Kolda has been stabilized, and military presence is significantly less relative to other areas of the Cassamance. Kolda is refreshing, green, and lush.. and a nice change after almost a month spent in the steamy desert of Tambacounda. In Tambacounda, life was restricted - and the days planned according to the heat. The climate here in Kolda is tropical, the scenery jungle-like, the ambiance tranquil, and the people very calm, warm, and grounded. Our residence is walled within one grand village, filled with wonderful families, curious children, and life - simplified. The evenings allow for long walks through the village, exchanging with families in the region, taking in the scenery, and learning... Living in Kolda for the past two weeks has brought me internal peace, restored my creativity, and already connected me with people very special to my heart. 

The group with Governor Seck of Kolda

The view from the terrace at our residence. 

Tambacounda, part deux

Muttons trying to keep cool in the shade

When it rains in Tambacounda... 

    

A trip to a village, Gambi, far removed - to visit health posts. We had to drive through a forest for 30 minutes to reach the village, of only a little over 300 inhabitants. 

True beauty is a feeling. In the midst of poverty and destitution, I have found astounding beauty that is, raw, untainted, and free… strong eyes and a gaze full of force and strength, surrounded by an aura of African gold.

The last two weeks in Tambacounda were nothing short of an emotional roller coaster. Research and interviews conducted in the field lead to a daily, sometimes hourly turnover of stories, and realities, that continued to haunt me in my dreams. My research partner, Antoniette, and I spent a week working at the Tambacounda Regional Hospital in the maternity ward. Tambacounda Regional hospital serves the entire region of Tambacounda (the largest region in Senegal) and has extremely limited staff, i.e. only 2 general surgeons.  We spent our time uncovering records, hunting down statistics, interviewing doctors,coordinators, surgeons, mid-wives, and also interviewing the reason of our study – women who have been hospitalized during delivery for obstetrical complications.

 The rooms in the maternity ward are very small, and there are usually five women, or girls,  to a room, whom have just given birth, or experienced a problem with delivery. The there is no AC, it is over 100 degrees outside, and even warmer inside the rooms where there is no air circulation. There are not enough cribs to sustain the amount of women that deliver at the hospital. In the delivery room, after a baby is delivered, he is placed on an open table, resembling a desk in a science lab, in the center of the room, with the other babies of the hour, unattended (except for me, somewhat frantic, constantly running back to make sure they were still on the table and not experiencing anydifficulties). In the maternity rooms, some new born babies lay on the floor, wrapped in a piece of cloth, on a plastic mat because there are not enough cribs. Attending nurses are few and many areas of the hospital are pure, chaos. Although I did notice that African, perhaps Senegalese babies, rarely cry. They are relatively happy, curious, and excited. Welcome to the world…

Inspiration

 Dr. Millogo, head surgeon Tambacounda Regional Hopital

Madame Aja Diop, President Regionale de la federation desassociations feminines du Senegal

Meeting with the Governor of Kolda

The group in Kolda had the opportunity to speak with the Governor and his staff yesterday about reproductive health in the region. See below!

Kolda is heating up

We are finishing up our second week in Kolda here and things are starting to heat up, both methodologically and meteorologically! We arrived pleasantly cooled-down after our time in Tamba. It rains every few days in Kolda which tends to keep us rather cool, but today is rather hot.

My binome Oulèye and I are moving along well with our research and are eager to start the next (and most exciting!) phase of the IFP: data analysis. We will conclude our surveys of youth this week. After all is said and done we will have spoken with 70 youth, either through focus groups or individual interviews, in Mbour, Tambacounda and Kolda. We are starting to notice some definite trends with regard to gaps in the CCA's strategies to raise awareness amongst out-of-school youth, most notably the so-called advanced strategies, which are events carried out in remote quartiers and villages, where behavior change is most critical to reducing early pregnancy and STI/HIV/AIDS infection rates. We've also noticed that many youth and community leaders say time and again that the responsibility for reducing the number of early marriages, early pregnancies, and early sexuality in general falls on the shoulders of their parents, yet there is no ostensible awareness-raising strategy for top-down behavior change at the head of household level. Early marriage rates in Tambacounda and Kolda are especially high, largely due to poverty, but also linked to certain socio-cultural tendencies in these communities. A concerted effort to increase dialogue with parents about alternatives to early marriage and early sexuality in general would likely yield dramatic changes.

We are excited to start analyzing our data in full to confirm whether these initial impressions hold true. Only time will tell!

Kolda

We arrived in Kolda last week and we really like it. We are living a bit outside town in a center for women that was built by the government. The center is in the middle of a village. It is really quiet and peaceful, and the family who runs it is wonderful. We also love the UNFPA expert, Cheikh Ba! He has been so supportive of our work, and he is great to work with. The driver, Sidi, is also a lot of fun. He loves introducing us to his African music, and we are having fun teaching him English phrases like, "What's up?!"

Work is going well. I interviewed a lot of young people last week about their knowledge of HIV and reproductive health. My binome and I went to a mechanic shop, a beauty school, a couple of wood worker shops, and a tire shop to talk to young apprentices who have dropped out of school. There are a lot of HIV awareness activities in the town, but I am seeing that the activities aren't really translating into significant behavioral changes. There is a really strong culture of early marriage and early pregnancy, so the research has been incredibly interesting.

This weekend, we took a trip to Ziguinchor, which is on the Casamance River. We went to a cool market at the Center for Artisans, and we had some great food. Now, it is pouring rain and we are wondering if our sept place is going to make it back to Kolda today. :)

Matam des beaux arts

Hello All,

I've somehow reharnessed my artistic side, and decided to post a few pictures I've done so far. You can click on my blog if you'd like to read more about my experience thus far.
Cheers,

Mala

Grand Mosque

Sandstorm

Statue on the Corniche in Dakar

Second week in Mbour

Last weekend I sought some respite and made the short trip to Saly for a couple of days. It was nice to get out of my dusty house, and to have electricity throughout the day, thanks to the hotel’s generator. It was also nice to have some time alone, something I take for granted as an American. You never realize how precious your time alone is until it is usurped from you for days on end! The hotel was dead as can be—there were about 5 other people staying there, and most of them were old French people. Needless to say, I didn’t make many friends, but it was nice to read my book and chill by the sea. I also ate pasta a couple of times, which was a welcome change from fish and rice…not that fish and rice aren’t tasty as well, but variety is key. I also had some cocktails! Alcohol had become a distant memory.

These birds at the hotel were very assertive and invasive, and wanted to eat my peanuts. They freaked me the hell out, to be quite frank. (I have a modest phobia of birds).





On Monday our faculty supervisor, Madame Dial, came from Dakar. She has been an ENORMOUS help, and is an invaluable guide for us methodologically. We refined our survey on Monday, paring it down, and changing the wording so it would give us the most effective feedback from the youth surveyed. Since Mme Dial arrived, our days became much longer. We’ve been working 10 hour days, with about an hour lunch break. This has largely contributed to our productivity, but it’s also exhausting given the heat, and the dust, and the repetitive and transitory nature of surveying in the field.

On Tuesday, after we felt our survey was ready for a second round of testing (Oulèye and I had done some pretesting last week), we entered the questions in Sphinx, a program that facilitates survey implementation and data analysis. It was interesting trying to learn this software as I went along—it is of course in French, and I’m not exactly an expert at French UI terminology, so navigating was a little rocky at first, but we finally got the survey the way we wanted it. Since we have no printer at the house, we had to export the survey to a file format that would be supported in an internet café in order to print. Unfortunately, Sphinx does not have the handy feature of directly exporting the survey format to a Word or PDF file. We were able to save it as an XPS file. From there, we had to copy it into Microsoft OneNote, a program I am completely unfamiliar with, but which seems to be a lame guise by Microsoft to propagate file formats unsupported by anyone but PC users, thereby aggrandizing their hegemony to an ever greater extent… Anyway from OneNote, we could then copy and paste into Word. This whole process, of course, was not intuitive, and was only accomplished after a brief bit of freaking out (mostly on my part) and worrying that all the work we had done to enter the questions in Sphinx would be for naught. We finally saved the Word version of our survey to a pen drive (un clé USB) and went on the hunt for a locale where we could print and photocopy the survey.

Mbacke suggested a place we could go to that would take care of both of those needs. It was potentially the most run down building I’ve been in since my arrival in Senegal. I am not being facetious when I say there was a phone booth in there that appeared to have been constructed in the early 1950s. There were salamanders crawling all around, and the paint was chipping off left and right, the place was covered in filth, flies everywhere, and there was no lighting, save the dim glow of the stone-age computers sitting on a rickety table. The personnel there were at first averse to connecting Oulèye’s clé USB to the computer, since they had to pull the whole setup out to find the neglected USB port. After some negotiating, they agreed to do so. Unfortunately, the computer did not recognize her clé. We moved to the other computer, only to find that it would not open the folder in which our document was to be found. After some finagling, we convinced the man working there to allow us to take the internet cable and hook our laptop up directly so as to email the file to ourselves, and then print from their computer there. No dice. We could not get an internet connection to the laptop. At one point, a salamander crawled across Oulèye’s foot and she ran screaming from the cavelike building, practically knocking me over as she fled, and inciting Mme Dial to run screaming after her. I sat there, nonplussed by the salamander frenzy, on an overturned, rusty can of paint, sweating from the computers’ radiant heat, stressed as hell that after over 2 hours of our best efforts, we could not get this forsaken survey printed. I finally convinced Mme Dial and Oulèye we needed to find a functional internet café if we were going to get anywhere with all this.

We walked into the street, where I was swarmed by no fewer than 5 men seeking some sort of alms for a Muslim religious organization… I wish I knew which group they belong to. Maybe someone can tip me off? They’re the guys that walk around with the pictures of who I assume (maybe wrongly, ignorantly?) to be the Cheikh from Touba around their necks and little yellow bowls for their collection. We finally made it to an internet café, and of course, right after we stepped inside, the power went out for its requisite second time of the day. This place had a generator, however, so we were in luck. We were able to open our file there, and get a printed copy, but not without going through three different printers, because they were so low on toner. We finally got to the photocopying stage, and made 30 copies of the survey. At this point we were famished. We went home and had a (typically) leisurely lunch. By the time we left the house, it was 6:00 pm and we hadn’t administered a single survey. We walked down the street from our house to a woodshop atelier, where we found a few teenage apprentices wrapping up their work for the day. We got two interviews out of the encounter, though one kid was embarrassed and ducked out about half way through the survey. I don’t think we’ll use the data from those two kids, but they were valuable for re-testing our questions.

The next day I made the necessary changes to the survey after having done those tests and we generated our new survey and went back to the internet café to print out copies of the updated survey. We also made copies of our informed consent, which was so graciously translated by my very own, McElroy Translation in Austin. I cannot emphasize enough how many grueling hours of translation work this saved me! And I’m sure the end product is infinitely better than anything I would have drafted. Oulèye agreed we would use the form for each encounter, and so far it has been going well; we are assigning participants a number, and only asking for their initials as an indication that they have been told their rights as participants in the study.

We were ambitious and productive and were able to survey 6 people that day. Each survey takes about 30 minutes, but the duration varies depending on the youth’s ability to engage with us. We thought we would try to get some female participants since at this point we had only spoken to young men. I had seen a street with a few tailors on one of the main roads, so we had a taxi drop us off there. We went by the first couturier and met the chef there, Sophie. She told us her young apprentices were working, but if we came back at 5:00 we could interview some of them. We walked on and found a hair salon down the street, where there were about 5 girls hanging out on the porch. They all met our sample requirements, and they were all willing and able to do the survey. These were, in my opinion, some of our best surveys yet, since the sample was procured completely randomly, and they weren’t affiliated with the CCA in any way, and they were engaged with the study. After the hair salon, we walked back to the tailor and surveyed a few more girls. Our sample is so far fairly diverse—we’ve had a mix of socio-economic backgrounds, neighborhoods, marital statuses, etc. (though we haven’t had any non-Muslims or youth with children yet.) We decided to try to find some boys after that, and surveyed two more young men on the street. All in all, Wednesday was the most productive, satisfying day I’ve had since I got to Senegal.

Today we had scheduled two focus groups: one was with a group of young male artists, and another with a group of female couture apprentices. We met with the boys first at the CCA. I got the impression they had been coaxed to talk to us, and they were hesitant to say anything negative. They were, however, very informed as far as STIs, HIV/AIDS, unintended pregnancy, contraception, etc. are concerned. But I have my doubts as to whether this type of sampling—that is, using contacts through the CCA, will compromise the integrity of our data. I think I much prefer to go out and find kids in the community as we happen upon them. All the same, we are using a snowball sample, and we pretty much take what we can get with regard to participants, as long as they meet our target population requirements. In the afternoon, we went to the market to meet the girls in their sewing workshop. This group had a very low awareness/knowledge level of STIs, contraception, etc. We must be careful not to influence their answers at all during the survey, but I feel compelled to see if we can dispel some of the seriously misinformed notions about STDs after the survey is done… I want to talk to Oulèye about this before we do our next focus group. After the second group, we did one more semi-structured interview and called it a day.

Maktar of UNFPA in Dakar informed me I will be going back to Dakar before I go to Tamba this weekend. He suggested I stay at my binome’s house on Saturday night. I feel/felt very uncomfortable asking her if I could do this, and what’s more, I know her house is crammed with children and grandchildren, and I’m not even sure I would have a place to sleep. Oulèye and I are to arrange our own transport to Dakar (I’m a little uneasy about this, since I’m not sure how to go about it… apparently we are to take public transit, since a private car will be too expensive, but I am afraid for the security of my luggage on a big bus or car rapide type vehicle…). In any case, we were told by UNFPA to go back to Dakar on Saturday and we will leave early Sunday for Tamba with Senghor. However, Oulèye wants to go back to Dakar Friday night to spend more time with her family, and I’m not about to stay in this house alone for a night, so I guess I have to go back on Friday, too. That means 2 nights in a hotel in Dakar, which is going to cost me over $100.00. I’m not jazzed about this.

In any case, it will, of course, be nice to have some time alone before I make the long voyage to Tamba, where I’ll be greeted by 112 degree weather (so I’m told!) and some very different (and more difficult?) working conditions that what I’ve been dealing with in Mbour. All in all, I’m excited to see Tamba, to embark on our second study locale, and to reunite with some of my beloved New Schoolers!

Tambacounda

Tambacounda is the largest region of Senegal, with the smallest population, and the most problems...espeically in terms of health. The Tamba team has completely occupied a hostel-like house within the centre ville of Tamba. The 'city' is dirty, extremely underdveloped, and impoverished. Trash lines the streets, pigs enjoy the trash and the dirt, and heards of goats roam around freely. Instead of falling asleep or waking up to the sound of traffic, construction, and the drama of Wall Street, I am surrounded by the noises coming from the goats outside my bedroom window. There are few taxi cabs and cars, vehicles of transportation for many include a wooden cart pulled by a horse. 

It is hot. Without working AC the temperature in one of the bedrooms at midnight on the second night here was 97 degrees, with two fans running. A few colleagues opted to sleep on the roof. The water in the bath is hot, not lukewarm, as the sun has already heated it for us. The sun is strong, and when it is at its strongest during the day from about 1pm-3pm, or more.. everybody takes a siesta and does not work because it is nearly impossible in the heat. Thus, la vie is slow. I am used to the hustle and bustle and ambition of every hour spent in New York City - here, life sort of passes you by and the sun controls your calendar. Not to say work does not get accomplished, work just does not get accomplished right now; this is a new lifestyle that will take some adjusting to. We are well-received in the region, children are elated when we pass by, and it is exciting to learn about life so far, far away. It is pretty bizarre to be living so far removed from a large city, but somewhat intriguing at the same time. What does one do in Tambacounda? 

On the walk home from the UNFPA office.

Antoinette, my Beninoise research partner 

Safari Stories

 

The group of New Yorkers in Tambacounda , Mariam, Louise, Meghan and I, decided to venture to the Parc National Niokolo-Koba, Senegal’s major national park, which spans the distance of 9000 sq km. We departed from our residence at 6am in a pickup truck, driven by a chauffeur named Touba. The park itself was only about an hour from our residence, but driving into the interior of the park took another hour and a half. At the entrance in Dar Salam, we picked up a tour guide to navigate the safari route. The park is rumored to be home to lions, and my mind was fixated on seeing one for the first time.

The first hour and a half of our safari was blissful and enchanting. We saw different species of antelope, warthogs like Pumba in The Lion King, enormous baobab trees, exotic fruit, giant baboons, and many different species of birds. Where the hippos and crocodiles dwell, I spotted a “hiding hippo”, just his eyes and snout watching us. According to the guide, with regards to the remainder of the hippos and crocodiles, “Ils ont plongé”, they plunged [under the water]. Go figure.

 

Along the trail, the guide pointed out more antelope nearby and the driver came to a halt to take a look himself. After we were finished admiring, the driver accelerated, the wheels skidded a bit, and the truck did not budge. It had been raining the day before, and there were enormous puddles of water and quicksand like mud all along the trail. Unfortunately for us, the driver had decided to join in on animal watching in the middle of a giant mud puddle. And so began the next horrific 5 hours of our safari. At first it was rather comical, but smiles soon faded... 

We began searching the forest to gather large sticks and broken branches to place under, in front, and behind the wheels to gain traction. No go. The guide and the four of us attempted to push the car while the driver accelerated. Nothing. The driver then got into the mud, under the car, and began using his hands to dig out the front and rear axels which were also engulfed in mud.  We started to dig out the tires. We pushed again. This process lasted in entirety five hours, from about 11am – 4pm, during the hottest hours of the day, in the midst of an African jungle with giant bugs and insects surrounding so loud that my ears were ringing. The guide did not have a radio, and there are no cell phone towers within the park or even in Dar Salam at the outskirts of the park. We could not contact anyone. Besides our party, there was only one other vehicle touring the park that day, we had passed them an hour prior, and they were broken down, too. I kept watch for lions, giant baboons that were chasing our truck just 15min prior, and any other type of animal that might be threatening to our escape from this predicament. The guide had no form of defense. It was hot; we rationed water and food, and tried our best to fend off exhaustion.

By the third, fourth, and fifth hours we prayed, in every religion we knew how to pray in. The nearest guard we were aware of was more than 6 km away – and that was 6 km of walking through the territory of animals unknown. Night falls shortly after 7pm, and time was running out. By this time Touba, the chauffeur, was coated in mud head to toe. We were dirty, sweaty, petrified, and anxious. The guide, was chain-smoking and ripping down trees instead of searching for dead wood to free the tires from the mud. Slowly by slowly, each tire came loose from the mud, we dug more, we made a path of wood, and we pushed…the four of us almost at the point of tears, at last the truck was liberated! Quite possibly the most joyous Senegalese moment of the summer, thus far. 

Touba, the chauffeur, before the incident

Touba, after