THE Headline

[Top Headline in The Gambia’s Daily Observer www.observer.gm on Wednesday, February 21, 2007, reflecting international reaction to the top news story since our arrival (Please Note: This is not intended as my own opinion but the entire Daily Observer story, verbatim.)]:

Jammeh Aids Cure Real…Sky News** is Wrong

Sky News’s report on the President’s herbal cure for HIV was full of misinformation, lies and absurdities. Sky’s Africa correspondent, Emma Hurd, questioned the efficacy of the President’s cure on the apocryphal grounds that there was no evidence for it. This is an obvious falsity because patients were treated after having been diagnosed first by a qualified medical practitioner. And the results were also clinically confirmed by qualified medical personnel. The marked increase in the CD4 counts of the patients could not have been cooked up even by the most imaginative enthusiast.

It was simply out of churlish cynicism that the Sky report dared to suggest that the President and our Department of Health would put our lives at risk by concocting a bogus remedy. The idea that few in the country dare doubt the cure is quite simply based on ignorance.

One should therefore wonder why Sky News manufactured false information to discredit the God-given cure for Aids, which President Jammeh has already adequately demonstrated. It is false for Emma Hurd to claim that the U.N. has warned of the dangerous consequences of President Jammeh’s curative gifts. Which UN organization has made this statement? It was not mentioned in the Sky news report. The WHO is the UN organ responsible for health and this organization has not yet made any pronouncement on the matter. The Sky news statement is therefore false. The report is definitely written with a view to damage and not to authenticate. This is the cheapest form of reporting, not expected from Sky news. President Jammeh’s claim that he has treated dozens of Gambians with traditional medicine, succeeding where modern medical science has failed, is a living truth. There is ample evidence based on western scientific verification methods, through laboratory tests conducted by medical professors at the faculty of Medicine, Cheikh Anta Diop University, Dakar, Senegal, that patients who were tested Hiv positive prior to commencement of treatment were again tested after the treatment and the results showed that the virus became undetectable. That is to say the virus can no longer be seen, which in layman’s language and to the patients affected, the disease has been conquered. What other proofs are people still asking for? President Jammeh does not have to convince anyone that he has been given the gift and knowledge to cure Aids. And he does not have to explain to anyone the secret of this gift and knowledge to cure Aids.

The statement by Fadzai Gwarazimba, the UNDP coordinator in the Gambia,^^ quoted by Emma Hurd, is irresponsible and most unexpected from a UNDP resident representative as her statement is not based on any perceived sexual behaviour pattern by people of this country. In fact her statement is not only absurd but infantile, as it assumes that once the cure for aids has been found, there would be increased promiscuity. This is poor reasoning.

Gambians and all other people of hope should welcome this development in our country. Africans should be proud that an African is using African knowledge to cure the diseases and ailments of people, no matter what race. President Jammeh will cure anyone with Aids, be he black or white, because his knowledge is a gift to humanity at large. We must wake up to the fact that the pharmaceutical industry, who control the major seats of power around the world will not be happy with President Jammeh’s gift and knowledge to cure Aids, as there are billions of dollars attached to research, to find a western medicine to cure Aids and to sell existing and ineffective drugs to fight Aids. Indeed this little country called The Gambia with its gifted leader has now become the biggest threat to the interests of the multi-national drug companies, who may even have shares in Sky news. We would therefore not be surprised that Emma Hurd is promoting the interests of the multi-national drug companies, who hide behind the name of western medicine to peddle their useless drugs.

Gambians and many more people will continue to go to President Jammeh to be cured of the disease that is de-populating most countries in Africa today. The people who were cured are living evidence of President Jammeh’s success.

**Sky News is a popular British news service, after BBC.
^^After this story was published, the UNDP representative was deported from the Gambia.

Female Lawyers Association of the Gambia – Launching a FLAG-ship

Female Lawyers Organizing Board

“It is justice, not charity, that is wanting in the world” (remarks of Gambian female judge).

On Friday evening I was invited to attend an elegant event in a posh hotel with some of the best-dressed women in the Gambia, who also happen to be brilliant and savvy. This was the launch of the Female Lawyers Association of the Gambia (FLAG). I’ve been involved with various initiatives advocating women’s rights and currently serve on the Board for the Chester County Fund for Women and Girls (http://www.ccwomenandgirls.org/) helping women’s lives locally. The Chester County, PA Fund is an active member of the international Women’s Funding Network, so it was a great place to share common experiences.

The Gambian event served as a demonstration of two important, but contradictory trends I’ve been observing: on one hand, women hold an impressive share of the seats of power, and on the other end of the spectrum, many Gambian men are openly polygamous, female genital mutilation is commonly practiced, and the majority of women generally remain much less educated, poorly paid, and stuck in traditional, back-breaking roles.

Among the notable women in attendance were the nation’s Vice President, the Secretaries of State for Communications, and for Education, the President of the Gambian Bar Association, members of the Supreme Court, the immediate past Speaker of the Parliament (the current Speaker also is a woman, but was not in attendance), and many prominent female attorneys who are active in their field and also in a variety of businesses in the country and throughout Africa. Also noteworthy was the attendance of prominent men, mostly there to lend quiet support. From husbands who lead some of the most notable banks, communications organizations, consultancies and businesses in the country to the Chief Justice, judges, and senior members of the Bar, there to support their female colleagues. The U.S. Ambassador attended, sitting without any special VIP status in the audience – like the other men, silently supportive.

I kept thinking that if I had just landed and gone straight to that event, not knowing anything else about the country or the rest of Africa, I would think “This place is like a paradise! The people are so poised, eloquent, elegant, educated, concerned and wanting to be of service to their nation. Everyone seems genuinely friendly, interested in each other, and there is such a high degree of warmth and human connection. And to top it off, the weather is perfect; the food is good and the atmosphere gorgeously appointed.” What more could one want?”

I also was impressed by the frankness of the comments, even among the nation’s most visible leaders. For example, the Chief Justice (a man) said: “It’s about time [for the female lawyers to organized in this way.] Our heritage as West Africans is of matrilinear inheritance … Let us face reality, ours is a polygamous society… We must think about the women … come up with a good set of laws. We want to be counted as a nation with women who are dynamic, women who can make us proud…”

Then, the Vice President, who also serves as the Secretary of State for Women’s Affairs and has worked on women’s development for many years, challenged the group in a lengthy and impassioned speech: “Men should realize that if women are troubled, they are not free themselves…. The most important development in the world is the empowerment of women.” She talked about harsh realities that society doesn’t want to admit to, like marital rape and other instances of domestic violence. “We hide behind religion, tradition and culture to justify our actions.” She acknowledged that the government can declare certain rights, but the real test is how these will be carried out in daily life – starting with the ways we socialize our children, with double standards shown boys versus girls.

The vision of the FLAG organization is: “to procure changes to the laws of The Gambia for the protection and wellbeing of women and children in respect of the elimination of violence against them, freedom of expression and education thus enabling women’s potential for contribution to effective participation in the development process of the country.” They will accomplish this through various activities involving research, advocacy, free legal advice offered through mobile legal aid clinics, networking with like-minded organizations, and providing an open forum for discussion of matters affecting women and children.

After the speeches and official launch of the organization, a most interesting thing occurred: the senior (male) member of the Bar Association stood up and pledged 10,000 dalassis (about the equivalent of $360, but a very large sum for here). This started a process where so many others stood up and offered generous pledges, ranging from 1,000 to 50,000D. Even for the most seasoned individuals in the audience, this impromptu fundraising of several hundred thousand dalassis and in-kind donations like free air-time on the radio took everyone by surprise.

Now that FLAG is off to such a great start, the big test will be the staying-power and the impact such a capable and high-minded group can make.

Hardship Myths

Grocery Store: Peanut Butter & Jelly Aisle

I’ve had some responses of concern that maybe I am exposing my children to too much squalor and hardship – pushing them to have a “Third World” experience. I want to clarify a few points about our living conditions. This is not so much to defend against those who think things might be “disgusting” (that word has been used a few times), but more to clarify that we are not sacrificing martyrs toiling in the belly of Africa. Granted, this is the life of privilege, and we are well aware of that; but frankly, we also have that in the U.S. and so do most of the people reading along on the blog.

The days start with a lovely sit-down breakfast, with either eggs or porridge or French toast made with the local baguette called “tapalapa” or even whole-wheat pancakes along with seasonal fruit (papaya, oranges, grapefruit) and great coffee. Sherry and Bozorg wake up extra early to prepare all of this themselves. We continue to be well-fed for the rest of the day.

There are various competing grocery stores not too far from home, carrying all variety of products: Arab juices, Chinese sauces and trinkets for the kids, Japanese soup mixes, Indian ready-made foods, American cereals, French jams, Vietnamese rice, Thai peanut sauce, English Cadbury’s chocolates (along with Belgian, German, and American chocolates and candies), and the list goes on. As I do at home, I have steered clear of buying Pringles and Snickers, but they’re available here. In one of the groceries, they get a good deal of their supply from Costco in the US, one of the small home goods shops specializes in Ikea stuff, another has house wares from JC Penney and similar department stores. For buying toiletries, it’s so convenient it’s almost boring, as the store shelves are dominated by American brands like Colgate, Pantene, Noxema and Always. Of course, if you want a much more authentic African experience, you can purchase yours in open-air markets where their brands are usually either Arabic or Chinese.

If you enjoy shopping in Dollar Stores, there’s plenty for you here. From more upscale grocery stores to the market stalls there is an abundance of usually-Chinese made stuff that you might find in a Dollar Store – and maybe even cheaper. They’re part of the selection everywhere. Granted if you have a specific item in mind, it might be harder to find – like cream cheese, which the rest of the world calls “Philadelphia”– but it makes the conquest, or the process, that much more fun.

There are lovely restaurants here, too. Mostly they cater to Europeans or the more adventuring Americans. We have eaten out just a few times – much less than if we were in Philly. One of the really positive things I have noticed about our kids here is that they are well aware that with the amount we spend for a family meal in a restaurant -- with prices comparable to or less than US restaurant costs – we could probably feed a local family for a year. One day Sophia (age 3) and I went out to the beach and I offered to get her food at the restaurant on the beach. “No, no mommy. Let’s just go home and eat what we have there.” Even she didn’t feel quite right to spend the money unnecessarily.

So, yes, we are extremely privileged and fortunate and we are not suffering when it comes to food, shelter and many other things. Such conveniences are not available in village settings, or to the average Gambian – and these are some of the happiest people around. But if you’re coming from a US income level and are used to a certain standard, you won’t be completely deprived. The global economy reaches all of us…

Old Woman

Friends from the village

One unexpected visitor this past weekend in the village was Yai-Siet Badjie. Yai-Siet roughly means “Old Woman” in Wolof. Noone knows her age or will even try to guess it. On her national i.d. card under her age, it says “old woman.” She was talkative and funny, and even spontaneously danced for us. She took off her headscarf – a rarity – and showed me her full head of white hair. I found out after she left us that she serves as the village funny-person. This is not a clown, but someone who goes around to make people laugh and this is now her vocation. Through their hardships and daily routine, she lightens things up. If you don’t have a TV to entertain you, this is where to get your laughs.

Speaking through a translator (my brother-in-law) she told us some of the highlights of her life, starting with her happy childhood. She says she was so hefty that everyone called her “tourist,” as all tourists are quite well fed. She lost all this weight after having her 10 children, feeding them and keeping them alive. At one point in her life she was a uniformed police officer and later was a traditional dancer for foreigners. She says she earned so much money dancing she couldn’t even count it. Back in the day, she fell in love with two different men. Her father wouldn’t allow her to marry either of them, as they were not of their village or Jola tribe. In their tradition, which continues today, the father “owns” his children and has every say about their futures until they marry. As she explained: “This is the tradition and it will continue until the end of the world.”

So, with the first man her father arranged, she had five children, and then he died. Then, as is the custom, she was given to marry her husband’s brother and she bore another five children. Then he died. After all this bad luck with men, she vowed to “retire” from ever being with another man, and has stayed true to this promise for many decades since. Her own daughters had gone to the metropolis of Dakar, Senegal to work, but when it was time for them to marry, the family arranged the marriages and have been back in their village ever since.

One of her sons is in the military and has served in Darfur as a peacekeeper. He is back now, living at the army barracks. All but one of her sons has gone through school (probably through the sixth grade), but none of the daughters did. The son who did not complete elementary school eventually became the village chief. Trying to get at what her actual age might be, I asked her what the age of her oldest child was. She replied: “I don’t know my own age, you think I’d know how old my child is?!”

I also asked her what did she think was the biggest difference between now and when she grew up (I was thinking she might talk about pre-independence and about technological change). She responded without hesitation: “Now the girls in town (the village) are all getting pregnant so young; before we never were.” As she sees it, they “hook up” at schools with other kids or even with the adults there. She described there is much promiscuity as well as rape. She also said that in the early days there was less sickness, though she wouldn’t call any of the disease people have now AIDS. Then she described a village ceremony when an NGO came with great fanfare distributing condoms. “They threw me a whole box of them and I threw it right back at them. What do you think I’m going to do with these condoms?” In all our conversation, the only word I understood without a translator was “condom.”

Peace Corps Volunteers

Erika and Josh

Sara in her Tabaski dress

The first time I gave a thought to this tiny country in Africa was when my college roommate from Pasadena, California had been accepted to Peace Corps in the Gambia. Twenty years later I’ve met old friends of my UCLA pal in this nation where everyone seems to be no more than 1-2 degrees of separation away. Currently in the Gambia there are 90 Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs – I don’t know what the official acronym is, but I’ll use this). We met three of them this weekend up-country.

In some ways, these recent college-grad volunteers were everything you’d think a PCV should be: “roughing it” without electricity or running water, learning the local culture and speaking the language (Mandinka or Fula or Jola or Wolof, depending on the location), developing close bonds with their host family or community, carrying out meaningful work for their local community, good-natured, wanting to make a difference in the world. The similarities pretty much stopped there, as each of the three possessed such a different background and perspective, making the persona of the PCV come much more alive through their diversity. It fascinated me that they each had different “favorite” things about their time in Africa, but all shared their biggest challenge: re-adjustment. What will life be like when they return home so changed, but the people around them have not changed, and really have no idea what they’ve been through?

ERIKA:
I was first in contact with Erika, as she works in the regional hospital that I needed to visit for a project I was looking into (more on that in a later post). She is a native of Northern Idaho and was a computer programmer for a municipal police department in Washington State. In the Gambia she developed a database for managing the large regional hospital’s caseload. She loves her “Gambian family” like her own family. She is a devout Catholic and they are Muslims, which gives her a whole different respect for the religion than she ever thought she could have. She hopes she can go home and dispel some of the myths that prevail in the US around Muslims. After a two year term, she’s down to her last month of service.

JOSH:
Josh graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a degree in East Asian History and additional studies in Spanish – very useful for working in the West African bush, where he is an agro-forestry worker (?!). A girlfriend convinced him to go to Philadelphia with her after graduation, where they broke up a week later. In his nonchalant way, he explained how this was the best thing that happened to him. He started working for Americorps in North Philly with Habitat for Humanity, and the Peace Corps position came through. He accepted to go to the Gambia, though he didn’t know anything about the country, other than its location. He now lives less than half a mile from the Senegalese Casamance border, where there has been a civil war for many years. Josh reassures: “but if they didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t even know there was a border there, let alone a civil war.” During his brief Peace Corps training period Josh learned skills he’s trying out in his village, from making soap out of local ingredients (but the marketing was not successful) to beekeeping (still going), introducing soy beans (a failure: the variety would work well in Ohio, but not in this climate), and most recently, on reforestation for the timber industry and on cultivating orchards of mango, cashew and avocado (this seems to be going well). He wants to pursue these areas when he returns to the US and applies to grad schools.

SARA:
Sara comes to Africa from Appalachian Kentucky, near the Tennessee border. She was a Robinson Scholar, receiving a full-ride to the University of Kentucky and is the first person in her family to attend university. Both of her parents are truck drivers. Sara says “My mom is my best friend.” Her family encouraged her to stick it out in rural Africa: “After a few months I thought maybe I should go back home, but my family really helped me to stay. My mom and sister write me letters every week and support me so much.” Sara teaches computers and helps in the library at the rural elementary, middle and upper schools: “Since there is no electricity most of the time, I find other ways to be useful; that’s how the library work started.” She had just returned from a two-week vacation in Mauritania, where she “hung out in the desert and ate camel meat and just talked to local people. Even meeting the Europeans was a highlight of my trip, as we don’t see many of them where I come from, either.” When we met her, she arrived wearing a bright locally made dress: “all the women in my village got these made to match for Tabaski [a major celebratory Islamic holiday]; today when I walked out of my hut my “sister-in-law” was also wearing hers.”

Up-Country Weekend

New friends up-country


Sophia awaits lunch preparation by Mrs. Jallo

Late last night we returned from spending two days away. Just 2.5 hours away by car, half the route was paved and the other half was a bumpy and dusty and being-built road (which really isn’t that bad: the driver needs to pay careful attention to the potholes and construction detours and the conversation is either curtailed because of all the energy it takes to talk over the noise of the rocky road, or we simply need to talk louder!). In some ways it felt like another world, in others, we jumped right in to the routine and felt at home.

We knew we were heading to rustic conditions, similar to camping, and we were fortunate to have a roof over our heads, mattresses to lay on, and places to hang the mosquito nets. We decided to forego taking city food and eat whatever the locals ate. We did, however, take plates and cups, as the local custom is for everyone to eat from one big bowl or drink from one cup. We had a busy program with the kids. We were taking workbooks for a literacy and moral education program to a group of middle-school aged girls from the village. They were the children of friends of friends; so, when we arrived, they were waiting for us and eager to begin the class.

The family at the center we visited prepared wonderful meals for us both days. This was a big splurge for them, as the meal, a typical Gambian favorite dish, called “benechin” included fish, vegetables and rice, cooked slowly together over a fire. The family’s meal might have been plain rice and salt on a typical day. This was like a feast for them. We have eaten benechin (and domoda the second day, which is a peanut-sauce stew, another Gambian specialty) many times since our arrival and like it. My girls, however, aren’t used to seeing little whole fish in the pot -- eyes, bones and all (benechin can be made with any kind of fish or other meat). While Layla said she was “scared” of this fish and it was “the boniest fish I’ve ever seen in my life;” her cousin Amelia, who has grown up here, said “I couldn’t get enough; I even chomped on the bones.”

Even for our almost-Gambian cousin, this was a very different environment. But, overall, each of the girls really adapted to the environment. The first day was marked by probably the hottest weather we’ve ever encountered in our lives, where about five minutes outside in the mid-day sun and dry air was about anyone could take. So, we simply spent more time in the ample shade of the cashew trees, or indoors, which, even without a/c, was significantly cooler than outside. There was no ice or cold drinks, as there was no refrigerator on site (or any other electric powered appliances). On the second day our host got everyone baobab ices (the popsicles in the plastic baggies) which were doubly appreciated, and we drank lots of room-temperature bottled water. For showers, we had our choice of a bucket bath or using the disposable hospital wipes my sister-in-law packed for us “just in case.”

The girls chose the latter option, since termites had chewed through the door of the room in which they would bathe, and “no way” were they going to get undressed having another girl stand guard at the door. The latrines in a separate enclosure also took getting used to. As Amelia said, “we got lots of exercise; going to the bathroom was great for developing our leg muscles.”

Despite these minor adjustments, the girls really had a good, memorable time. Our hosts had obviously gone to great lengths to ensure our comfort, including outfitting one of the latrines with a toilet-like fitting, covering the windows of the cabin with new curtains, getting the solar-panels to pump water to the sink and to turn on a light bulb in the cabin where we were to sleep, and of course, making special food for us.

Before we arrived, the girls dreaded “being bored” in the village and wanted to stay at home as there were some parties of classmates this weekend. I was relieved to realize that once we set out for the trip, and especially, after meeting the other kids their age, my girls no longer used the B-word (boring) and took things with a good sense of humor. So soon after arriving they made friends with the local girls and also felt useful with the class. They realized that the girls their age had a reading level closer to a second-grade level. Just a couple hours into their program with them, they began to see results: the local girls began picking up the pace of their reading and were able to answer more questions and engage in more discussion. By the end of the weekend, they were developing skits together and teaching each other songs. Friendships were developed which made it difficult to leave – we didn’t take off until over two hours later than we had planned.

Another very positive experience was meeting three Peace Corps volunteers posted in the vicinity. They set a great example of embracing life in the relatively primitive environment. More to come about them and a few other aspects of the weekend in the next post

Dancing to Youssou N'Dour

Youssou N’Dour-In Style

It is 3:45 a.m. as I write this and we’ve just come home from the Gala Night for the Gambian Independence Day celebration, featuring international icon and UNICEF cultural amabassador, Youssou N’Dour. We live just over a mile away from the venue and until a moment ago I could still hear the music blaring from the concert.

One of the platinum sponsors, a non-governmental healthcare organization, had two extra tickets that they offered to us and I was delighted to have the chance to hear Youssou in a more intimate concert. (This was a benefit for “Operation Save a Baby” and “Women Empowerment”.) We thought we wouldn’t go too early for the dinner and program, so we arrived close to 10 pm for what was advertised to start at 8 pm. Dinner was served close to midnight and was followed by a few warm-up bands, by the young woman who sings and raps the jingles for mobile phone operator, performing all their campaign commercials, then power point videos on large screens about the two big sponsors, the telephone company and the cell phone operator.

These were followed by a fashion show of two local designers, with 30-40 different dresses modeled by all shapes and sizes of gorgeous women. This was fitting with the setting. I have never seen such an array of styles, bling, and formalwear worn by both men and women. The women in particular were stunning. The range of hairstyles could fill a book, the gowns (90% were in long evening dresses and most of these were in the West African style) had so much pizzazz, and nothing was spared on accessories (including matching shoes and headdresses) or make-up. In comparison, with my black flouncy beaded silk blouse and black skirt, moderate heels and the fanciest jewelry I brought with me for the trip, I looked like such a plain Jane. But it was a smorgasbord for people-watching.

Finally, at 1:55 a.m. the headliner came on. I expected loud cheering, whistles, the usual build-up for a super-star, but it did not happen. I don’t think it was because the crowd was too sleepy. They just don’t do that. It seemed to be more like a homecoming. Youssou N’Dour is a Senegalese of the Wolof ethnic group. Wolof is the dominant local language spoken around Banjul, and while he has hits in French and other languages, the entire concert was in Wolof. About half the audience of about 1,200 people came to the front of the stage and danced and sang along, enjoying the pop-flavored traditional music and the large band in the background, playing instruments ranging from the traditional kora and African drums to the electrical guitar and keyboards.

Youssou N’dour’s music appeals to audiences across all ages, economic levels and ethnic backgrounds. He will give two more concerts this weekend for Independence Day, both filling the national stadium.

Now it’s past 4 a.m. and I must get up in about two hours as we are going up-country for the weekend…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Anthem

This weekend is Independence Day weekend in the Gambia. It is the 42d year since Independence. Monday is a national holiday. We’re celebrating by going up-country with the kids, for a more rustic experience. I thought this would be a good opportunity to share the Gambian national anthem lyrics with you. If you Google it, you can also hear it sung. My favorite is when the 3-year olds in Sophia’s class begin their song medley with this:

For The Gambia, our homeland
We strive and work and pray,
That all may live in unity,
Freedom and peace each day.
Let justice guide our actions
Towards the common good,
And join our diverse peoples
To prove man's brotherhood.
We pledge our firm allegiance,
Our promise we renew;
Keep us, great God of nations,
To The Gambia ever true.

Healing Powers

The woman I met in the Brikama market selling medicinal herbs and helping with healing


Selling traditional herbs for healing and health

Here in the Gambia, the idea of choosing what type of healthcare one wants takes on a totally new life. There are neighborhood clinics, diagnostic centers, one large hospital in the capital, several regional hospitals outside the urban area run by the government, and of course, traditional healers. The country’s President continues to make national and international news as he is shown healing AIDS and asthma patients using traditional herbs and faith.

I was fascinated during a trip to the regional market in Brikama to spend some time speaking with a woman who trades in traditional herbs. I found out that women’s work is to supply the herbs (women are the “gatherers,” after all) and sell it on the market. Men do the healing. This particular elderly woman, estimated to be around 70 years old (few people know their exact age) sometimes also takes on “man’s work” and gets into the practice of healing. To supplement the work of the herbs, most people, particularly children and new-borns, wear beads or bones or stones in the form of a necklace or belt, known as jou-jou’s to ward off evil spirits.

In the photo, the herbs she is sitting with in her area of the market are (in Mandinka language), from left to right:
* Konkutu-mandingo: used for chest problems (probably breathing, asthma issues). This, as with the others, is boiled in water and drunk like a tea. It tastes extremely bitter, so it is advisable to add sugar.
* Kinkiliba: for stomach and general body care as a preventive medicine.
* Jamba-Kataw: these big leaves are used for blood adjustment, which means those people with conditions like anemia (very frequent here) should take this.

There was no local consensus over whether or not these actually work, but the general opinion is that since the elders endorse it, the herbs should be taken. With all the advances in modern medicine and the introduction of various providers (often supported by outside donor or voluntary agencies), she doesn’t think this has adversely affected her business. People still buy the herbs at the same frequency they did years ago. Nonetheless, her income is miniscule. She earns 10-12 Dalassis per day, or 30 – 40 CENTS per day. With this sum, she buys rice and food to feed ten people in her compound. She explained that her husband died many years ago and so she supports the family (I could not ascertain if others in her family help out, but I suspect they do, at least to some extent).

Then, a few stalls away from her patch on the ground, we came upon a marabout, a traditional healer (and sometimes, a spiritual leader). This particular one did not command the level of respect that many village marabouts do. In fact many of the women selling groundnuts nearby treated him as if he were crazy, and wanted him to stay away from them. The man was demonstrating that he drinks BATTERY FLUID and various other toxic acids. As a result, his tongue is dyed completely black, he has few teeth remaining, and they also are black, and he had a wide-eyed look of someone high on something illegal (but I’m not sure what!). Our Gambian guide, the respected trader, tried to convince me the guy is the “real deal” with real powers, but ladies selling the groundnut seemed to have a good deal of logic and wisdom on their side. Most marabouts command considerable respect and carry an almost noble air. This one did not, and I was advised to not publish his photo, for fear of offending the more respected marabouts in communities all over the country.

The Great Baobab

Harvesting the fruit of the great Baobab tree

The Baobab has shed its leaves in the dry season but it is still a favorit gathering place for friends.

Tasty Baobab fruit sold in the market

One of the most powerful symbols of the Gambian landscape is the majestic baobab tree. The massive tree lives for centuries and is believed by locals to have a spiritual power. The baobab looks like it stands upside-down, and has been replanted, as the branches resemble roots. To me, the actual roots look like a bulging, complex system of veins. Since it is the dry season now, the huge trees are devoid of leaves, but they have a unique fruit. The picture above shows a resourceful boy who has climbed to the top of a baobab to gather the velvety, brown, ripe pods. Yesterday I tried the baobab fruit for the first time in the market, where it is sold out of large barrels in rough pieces, with the pod taken off.
With a Gambian friend who owns a shop in a busy market and a wonderful American friend who introduced us, we simply picked off one of the loose white pieces from the barrel and popped it into our mouths. It tastes sour and a bit creamy, with a big pit in the center, and some say it's like a warm sherbet. I was stunned to find out that this is the source of tartaric acid (as in cream of tartar). As if the fruit weren't enough use from the tree, some of the trees contain water in their trunks which can be tapped during dry season, and the bark can be used to make rope. The baobab also provides a home to many of the country's famous array of birds.
Layla happened to try a baobab ice at school yesterday for the first time and really liked it. [These are like popsicles, but the frozen juice is simply sealed in a small (about the size of a small fist) plastic bag and they're carried around and sucked on.]

PS: Happy Valentine's Day! Here's something to ponder: "When you love, let it be with a ray of infinite love!" (from the Baha'i writings)

Books on my nightstand: I

I’m about two-thirds through Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town, by Paul Theroux. It’s a thought-provoking travelogue by a prolific writer who’s put off returning to Africa for 30+ years, when he was a Peace Corps volunteer and then a university instructor in East Africa. As he sees it, the Africa he returns to is more cynical, disease-ridden, chaotic, tree-less, and barely hanging on, compared to what he remembers in the hope-filled days of new independence, but it still holds an almost mystical magic for him. His run-ins and observations of the do-gooders in the aid community are particularly interesting to me.

He is bitterly critical of those well-funded aid workers who keep their distance from what’s going on through their shiny white Land Rovers with signage of their international organizations blazoned on their sides. He points out that with so much money poured into African economies through various grandiose programs, why haven’t the Africans (in places like Malawi and Zambia) stepped in and taken matters into their own hands to sustain the projects? Where is the positive benefit from all these programs and funds? Would it be better in the long-term if they just leave? It seemed that almost every aid worker refused to give Mr. Theroux a ride in their comfortable vehicles – even when he most desperately needed it – so his disdain toward them and their detached form of charity only increases.

He records many social and cultural observations that resemble what we’re seeing, from the double-edged sword of the tourism industry to markets flooded with well-intentioned second-hand clothing that was meant as a donation to the needy but ended up in a trader’s hands, for sale in piles at local markets (this is the clothing he chose to wear on the trip to stay inconspicuous).

His reunions with old friends and colleagues from his time in Africa in the 1960’s, as well as with other sincere Africans he randomly meets, are the most heartening. These encounters are the most authentic, sometimes humorous, and also, tragic. They seem to tell the flip-side of the African story. The one where the hope lies.

WHAT?!

This weekend I posted (actually, my dear husband posted for me, since low bandwidth in the Gambia makes it hard to upload info onto the internet) the photo of the billboard showing the soldier and the condom. It’s just before the “Dreamgirls” entry with the Bratz cake, in case you missed it, and is titled “Funded by the US Department of Defense”. The first time we saw that we said “what?!”, stopped, turned around and looked at it again. Imagine driving down Lancaster Ave or Roosevelt Blvd. (or…insert your most traveled street here) and seeing that as one of the most prominent (among very few) signs. It also shows how prevalent the issue of AIDS in Africa is, even in a country with a comparably lower incidence of the disease. What was your reaction to this sign and the US Department of Defense funding of it?

Here in local news, every night we watch the President curing AIDS and asthma patients with secret herbs and the Quran. This is making international news. I’ll share more on that tomorrow...

"Dreamgirls"

Not So Far From Home:

Besides a dial-up internet connection, and 24-hour news on CNN and Al-Jazeera, there are so many ways to remind us of our connected world here. Last night we watched the movie “Dreamgirls,” via a good-quality pirated DVD – the only possible way to see new movies in this part of the world. Purchasing the movie cost just under $5.

Today, my sis-in-law Sherry is busy working on a flurry of cake orders. She holds a B.S. from the University of Virginia and went to dental school at the University of Maryland. After having children she discovered her talent at making cakes – hence, her home-based Sweet Tooth Bakery. Since yesterday she finished nine cakes. Many of them are requests for characters ranging from Snow White to Kim Possible and the Power Rangers. The most popular, by far, is the BRATZ cake.

Bratz now outsell Barbie worldwide, and come complete with bedroom eyes and whory outfits. Their motto is: “We have a passion for fashion.” So, every little girl who can afford it in the Gambia, wants a Bratz cake for her birthday. This particular cake she just finished is for a Lebanese girl whose parents are strict Muslims and whose mother is covered from head to foot, but her daughter “wants nothing but the blond Bratz character for her birthday!”

Funded by the US Department of Defense

"The soldier protects the nation and the condom protects the soldier." Funded by the US Department of Defense. A sign outside a Gambian military compound.

“Crowds of Pupils But Little Else in African Schools”

A 12/30/06 NY Times article “Crowds of Pupils But Little Else in African Schools” by Sharon LeFraniere – in spite of the article’s title – offers hope about the state of schools in Sub-Saharan Africa. Though she’s reporting from Mali, the piece closely describes what we see in the neighborhood public school. Enrollments are way up and kids who had to leave school are coming back. Families place importance on their children’s education. Governments and international agencies have returned to recognizing the need for greater attention to primary schools, after a decade-plus of neglecting them. At the same time, there are few if any teaching resources; what seems like a miniscule amount ($1 per month or term) remains an out of reach fee for many families (in countries like the Gambia and many others, there is a small school fee, even for a government school); teachers are paid next to nothing; the school no longer has funds to offer meals or transportation, so children are left hungry and tired while in class; and many kids in advanced grades still cannot read. With the fastest growing segment of the population under-15 (and the fastest population growth rate in the world), the challenges of providing adequate primary education will only grow.

Islam’s Influence on the School

First grade girls in scarves

Prime location for afternoon prayer

Assembling for an afternoon prayer

One of the most important factors I saw influencing the very life of the school is Islam. As locals have told me, just two generations ago, Islam was observed in a more relaxed, more African form, and was not so ingrained in the everyday practices of the entire population. With large infusions of aid, construction of mosques at every turn, and religious education from good friends like Libya, Saudi Arabia, and increasingly, Iran, various brands of fanatic or fundamentalist Islam seem to be gaining momentum. I saw it everywhere in the neighborhood school, in very tangible ways.

More than half the girls in the first grade class were wearing head scarves. These are 6-8 year olds. Until recently, even in Arab countries the little girls did not cover themselves. This is the influence of fundamentalist clergy (the extreme case of this is Taliban policy) combined with social pressure. During class and break time little girls would awkwardly adjust their mis-fitting headscarves, even though some of them seemed to treat their scarves as a form of a dress-up costume.

When I was correcting the handwriting and mis-formed numbers, I noticed that so many of the children were writing “backwards,” from right to left. This is when I put my hand on theirs to show them how to properly form their words and numbers. Later, a respected educator told me that the preponderance of such errors is due to the intense training so many of the kids are getting at the Islamic schools, where pupils are copying the Quran (in Arabic, from right to left) – even if they don’t understand it. This training starts early and has a strong impact on the kids.

A third example of Islam’s influence was the odd half of an empty 50-lb burlap or plastic rice bag I saw so many of the children carrying with them to school. At the 1:45 break I realized what they were. The majority of the school population had assembled in the back dirt courtyard of the school, under the shade of a few large trees, for the communal prayer. The site of the hundreds of kids with those improvised prayer rugs, and joined at the front by the local imam who teaches Islamic studies (Quran memorization) at the school, both fascinated and shocked me. This is a public school, where church is supposed to be separated from state. But Quran lessons and communal prayer don’t seem to fall under that rule.

While the US is deploying its resources fighting a war on terror, cutting its international aid programs, and watching American Idol, Islam and the Middle Eastern regimes are focusing on the future battles and winning the hearts and minds of the youngest Africans.

African Public School Day 2 – No Experience Necessary

Sixth grade class of George Sambou I worked with.

African Public School Day 2 – No Experience Necessary

We spent another day at the local public school and each of us had very different experiences.

Anisa, age 11:
Anisa started off more timidly when we first arrived at the school, so the teacher she was with had her continue to grade papers and take a more passive role. At the 11:30 break she was practically begging me to leave, but I thought she seemed fine, so I told her to stick it out. Before bedtime tonight I got a better picture of her urgency to leave. Throughout the day, the young teacher she was with continuously used a piece of plastic piping to hit children if they misbehaved, gave an incorrect answer, arrived late, spoke when they should have been quiet, or anything else deemed out of line. This was so difficult for her to sit by and watch, and now she doesn’t want to go back.

Layla, age 13:
Layla must have done a good job teaching yesterday, because again, she was shown the lessons at the start of each class and proceeded to teach them. When I peeked in to see how she was doing in the afternoon, the class was doing art. With no materials to work with, she was teaching them how to make a mural with the pieces of chalk given to her at the start of class and the kids were having great fun expressing themselves on the board. Earlier, she had them playing chalkboard races to reinforce the new lesson and review past math concepts – none of which seemed to have been adequately grasped by the kids.

Me:
I was asked by one of the more outgoing teachers if I would join his 6th grade class, ranging in age from 11-15 (see yesterday’s blog entry for explanation of wide age variation in a class). When I got there, I learned that his subjects were science and “population and family life.” I’m no good at explaining electromagnetism, so I took on family life, and had about 3 minutes to look at the United Nations teachers’ guide on the chapter about adolescence. I had no idea if culturally it was o.k. to talk about subjects like the many physical changes in a mixed group of boys and girls, or sex, or how much they would even understand my English. It turned out that nothing was taboo – perhaps a result of AIDS education campaigns over so many years.

After one of the skits the kids did to demonstrate their grasp of the topic, the issue of domestic violence came up. To my great surprise, 100% of all the sixth graders (about 150 kids) raised their hand when asked if they have ever seen their father beat their mother, or if they’ve ever seen a girl be hit or beaten by another boy or man. (It was later explained to me that in Islam, this practice is not forbidden.) So, I took it on as my duty to try to show how such men are actually weak men, not strong ones, and maybe they can’t change their parents’ generation, but they could start with themselves. A few of the more outspoken boys raised their hands perplexed: “How is it that a man who strikes a woman is weak?” After some discussion and with the help of the capable and enlightened young teacher, we made some good progress on this fundamental issue. Then, I took it to the level of nations: imagine if a large country like America (they never say U.S.) were to throw bombs on the Gambia. The Gambia is a small and peaceful country, growing its groundnuts and fruits, taking care of its family. If America threw bombs on this innocent country, would that show its strength? Would you admire it? Would it show intelligence? Of course not…

It felt good to see something click in so many of the kids today. I feel it’s necessary to challenge them on assumptions that perpetuate hurt in their society – and I don’t believe that practices that harm women can be justified as “cultural,” worth preserving. I wonder how much of the discussion actually will make a lasting impression on these kids, and on how they respect their own bodies, and each other.

African Public School Day 1 – Every Child Left Behind?

Layla teaching her class; teacher is returning assignment books.

Anisa and her class. The man to her right is the teacher, Mr. Jatta.

Anisa grading assignments in her classroom.

I’ve come straight to the computer while the dust and heat are still fresh on my clothes. I want to be able to capture some of the colliding impressions from spending half the day at the local public school with my two older daughters. We’re tired and thirsty, but we’re also happy; this has been among the most meaningful few hours we’ve spent – ever. We had planned to stay about two hours helping in some way at the school about half a mile from the house, then head to the beach and relax, and possibly go back a couple hours another day this week. We ended up spending close to four hours and committing to coming back the next two days while Layla and Anisa don’t have classes, and forgot about the beach. They’ve even agreed to arrive tomorrow first thing in the morning – a big statement for my daughters who love to sleep in when they aren’t required to be at school. I can’t imagine they would have agreed to spend so many hours in a “service project” if they hadn’t experienced today first-hand.

The school could not have been more different from what they have seen in suburban US, or in their privileged African private school. No electricity, no toilets, no running water, no crayons, no pens, no extra anything, no well-packed backpacks, children in ill-fitting used shoes and dirty, worn-out uniforms. Not enough pencils to go around. Not enough food. Few children fluent in English, but the lessons are in English. Underpaid, overworked, tired teachers doing the best they know how. And this is one of the “better” public schools.

Originally, Layla, Anisa and I were going to take the Reading Stars program used by a wonderful organization, Greater Philadelphia Cares (www.gpcares.com) to tutor girls in literacy. But when we realized the materials have been donated only for Philadelphia schools and they are not only expensive to buy but also very bulky to ship, we decided we’d just arrive here and see where we could be useful. (This served as a good lesson in the use of appropriate technology and the limits of programs that work well in the US but might not be suitable elsewhere.) So, after a previous visit and tour to the public school in the Bijilo neighborhood/village where we live, today we walked in to the deputy director’s office and asked her to place us wherever we might be useful.

This was easy. Each class is packed with over 40 kids and one teacher, so it seemed everyone needed help. She placed us with some of her better teachers, and each of us went to a different classroom. Layla, 13, arrived in a class of 3rd graders, was shown the lesson about adding fractions and told “please teach this” while the teacher sat on the sidelines. So, on her first day, Layla – with no prior experience – taught math, reading and a science lesson until school let out at 1:45. Anisa, 11, served as a helper in another 3d grade class. It turned out that some of the kids were her age (many repeat grades, or miss so much school that they are years behind where they should be), but they all seemed so much younger, as they are physically much smaller, shyer and less advanced academically. So she corrected papers and worked with the kids who made errors on their math and writing lessons. For tomorrow, she’d like to offer suggestions about how the grammar unit could be better explained.

I helped a first grade teacher, Mrs. Bojang, who spent over two hours having kids copy a table she wrote on the board about counting by ten’s – if they had a pencil. There are no photocopied worksheets, so much time is spent copying into flimsy workbooks. The children sat patiently until their turn was called to come to the front of the room for her to write the blank table in their books to fill in. Without me there helping make more tables, it could have taken over two hours until they could even begin writing their lesson.

With the exception of about eight kids in the class, most seemed to have no idea what they were doing. They could not write verbatim the lesson on the blackboard in front of them. They seemed to make no connection between the assignment Mrs. Bojang had explained and the letters, symbols and numbers they were expected to write down. To one girl who made no progress on her work, the teacher yelled in her face: “you are a worthless girl. You never do your work.” And regarding several of the boys who seemed baffled, she just said “they don’t know anything. Their families are illiterate and they only come to school sometimes.” With so many children in the class, she needed to choose with which kids it was worth spending time on, and on a few, it seemed she needed to take out some frustration.

For each child that got about five minutes of individualized attention, the quality of their work changed dramatically. When it seemed they didn’t understand my English, I held my hand over their hand with the pencil to show them the correct way to write their letters and numbers. It was clear they were not used to such attention. Every kid in this school walks to school, some from as far as 3-4 miles away, and, as was explained to me, many are hungry during the school day. As early as age 4-5 (or younger) children are on their own at home, as the mothers leave early for work or market. The government used to provide two meals a day in the schools, but now, they say this is too expensive, so their kitchen is locked up and no more meals are given out at school. A sizable percentage of children are too hungry and tired to concentrate at school.

Within a very short time it was easy to spot so much talent and potential among these kids. But without the resources and support, do they have any chance of obtaining an adequate education, harnessing their talents, or – dare I even ask – competing in a global economy? A discussion Anisa and I had later today touched on being “born lucky.” Standing alongside these gems really forces us to think about this age-old question: why are some people born into nurturing homes and provided with great schools and a warm comfortable bed at night, and others can only dream about it?

Driving to My Heart’s Content

Typical urban street scene in the Gambia

Like many of my US contemporaries, I’ve been driving since I was sixteen, with some hiatus in college. And now, with my own family, so much of our together time is spent in the car. Consequently, our vehicles are fully-loaded for family enjoyment: maximum number of cup holders, good music, snacks, a few New Yorkers stashed behind the driver’s seat for times I’m waiting in the car for someone; but I’ve refused all requests for a DVD player.

After about one month of not driving, this weekend I tried it here for the first time. I waited until after Alex left, so that I could look forward to something new, and with my 16-year old nephew to guide me, got behind the wheel of a 20+ year old, 2-door, Nissan Pathfinder 4WD, no power steering, stick shift, good A/C, poor radio, seat belts in the front seat, but not in the back, gas meter doesn’t work, and no cup holders. It’s a slice of heaven and freedom.

Another sign of my sister-in-law and brother-in-law’s generosity is making this car available for me and trusting me with it. They’ve updated the insurance. I pay for gas. (Without the gauge we just estimate how far we’ve gone and how much one tank of gas takes us). They’ve also prepped me on how to behave at frequent security checkpoints: act calm, be ready with i.d. and insurance card, know where the fire extinguisher is kept, and have a small amount of cash ready just in case someone seems irritable and would want to detain me.

The real reason I didn’t start driving right when I got here is that it scared me a little. Security checks are nothing compared with the frequent wanderers onto the road: goats, cows, children with their mothers or on their own, groups of pedestrians out for a stroll enjoying the newly-paved street or highway, bicycles, donkey carts, stalled cars, speeding cars driving on the wrong side of the road passing slow cars, bumpy unpaved paths off the main streets which make up the vast majority of roads in the country, and vans full of passengers loading and unloading people anywhere they need along the side of the road. The amount of activity one needs to look out for on the paved roads makes Manhattan driving feel like a country stroll. This is compounded by the fact that my car here is not as responsive as the late-model cars I’m used to driving in the US, nor are the other, mostly patched-up cars sharing the road. Also, many of the (few) traffic lights were installed just last year, so there is a very different driving culture here.

Driving in an African city presents a great opportunity to learn about local customs and economy: who goes out on Saturday night versus a Sunday morning; what do the donkeys pull; how many large trucks are on the road and what sort of commerce are they transporting; how busy are the street-side markets and how many children do women have alongside them. It’s also shown me that the people here are generally kind, forgiving, not cursing and I haven’t seen any incidences of road rage – just relax and let the goats pass.

Trankil Montessori School

Sophia’s weekdays here (except for when daddy has been visiting – unfortunately he leaves today L) are structured around her pre-school schedule at the only Montessori program in the country. It’s located in the neighborhood of “Trankil” – spelled like this to reflect the French pronunciation of “tranquil” – in the school director’s impressive sunshine-yellow stucco home (on a dirt road). The first classroom has around twenty 5-10 year olds, with a couple of blond European children and the rest African; and the second classroom (on the other side of the house) is for the 3-4 year olds – Sophia’s age. All the children in this class are African, and two are of mixed Dutch-African and German-African descent. One little girl is South African.

Many spoke no English before coming to this school, and they all seem to get along swimmingly. At Sophia’s pre-school on Philadelphia’s Main Line, she is one of the few non-blonds in her class. Here she is the only “white” person in her class, and the beauty is that no one seems to notice or care.

This is known as the more structured pre-school in the country. Like all other school children in the Gambia, these pupils wear uniforms – sown by a local tailor, all uniforms are custom-made for each child. They arrive by 8 a.m. and dismiss at 2 p.m., everyday. They pack their lunches, which they eat at 11:30 and don’t have a snack before this. From 8-10:30 the little ones do traditional Montessori seat “work.” Afterwards, it’s songs and movement. Sophia enjoyed the fact that she knew all the songs (though some were slightly different, British and African versions) like “If You’re Happy and You Know It,” “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes,” and “Old MacDonald.” One totally new song for her, at the beginning of their long medley of about 12 songs, was the Gambian national anthem. It’s a wonderful song for any nation: about unity, justice, peace and diversity. I’ll get the words for another post. Also new was the recitation of today’s date: every child stands up and recites “Today is Thursday, the first of February, 2007” before they form a circle for songs.

While this is a school for relatively privileged children, it has no electricity. We sat observing in the classroom decorated with pictures of nature, musical notes, and children taped to the walls; and children sitting at little sets of locally-made wooden tables and chairs. During the quiet seat work time I thought that the lights were off in order to maintain the peaceful calm; but the dignified school director informed me that “no, we have no electricity here. When we need it, we use a generator.” So, during a sunny day, in a shady room, there is no need to turn on lights. This is perfectly normal; no one has a problem with this.

By 11 a.m. these adorable kids line up, shortest to tallest, to run outside. They are affectionate, with kids putting their arms around each other – especially looking out for the new girl, and picking hibiscus flowers for their teachers and classmates, some of which are for “baking birthday cakes” (a plastic bowl filled with sand, covered in the bright red flowers). While she was terrified at the thought of going to a school in this new environment, the adults and the children put her at ease and now she feels quite at home in her new school.

Convoy

Heading home after spending a lovely day exploring an eco-tourism resort (more on that in an upcoming blog entry), the four of us – dusty and hot – in the back seat fall in and out of sleep. Suddenly, we are awakened from our half nap by shocking sirens – the first I’ve heard in the Gambia – and speeding cars. Ours quickly pulls to the side of the road; so do all the other “regular” cars on the street. From the distance I can make out two bodies perched over each car with a siren (about four of them); as they get closer, I see the men on the vehicles are carrying machine guns. Then, a brand-new, extra-large black Infiniti SUV approaches, followed by another Land Rover with sirens and armed guards, and this is followed by a black Hummer stretch-limo + pick-up bed in the back of the limo. Then, another armed car + siren; and a final black Hummer, and then a whole slew of speeding, sirened, cars with ominous-looking young, armed men over their rooftops, driving wildly on both sides of the road.

We’ve just witnessed the President’s convoy. Later in the evening I heard that people and livestock crossing the street, and others in cars that didn’t pull over quickly enough, have been killed by past convoys.

The massive armed convoy belies the fact that this is a tiny and peaceful country. One historic detail that might explain such an entourage: this President was a sergeant in the army and a bodyguard of the previous President, when he staged a successful coup to oust the head of state, in 1994. He was less than 30 years old at the time, and made the Guinness Book of World Records as the youngest head of state in the world. Others within the military ranks – as recently as last month – have tried to oust the current President.