creature comforts

I can say confidently that I think it takes about a month to settle in someplace. This was true for me in Europe both times I travelled there, and in London when I studied there. It was time to go when I had finally figured out how to Do It there. This is how Im feeling as my time here winds down --that I have just started to figure it out, and now its nearly time to go.

We havent had consistent electricity much this week, which eats into my ability to keep you, gentle reader, apprised of my (mis)adventures here and for this I apologize. I had also run out of money and, with the nearest ATM a 45 minute cab ride away (that I was told would cost me the equivalent of 80 dollars US), I feared my blogging days in Africa were over. However, electricty has returned (for now) and my mother was able to wire me money via Western Union which I managed to pick up through a series of comedic errors and blind panic and now I am flush with more CFA than I could possibly spend in the remaining 4 days here. So Im going to spend an hour on the internet, which costs about 15 cents in US dollar, and try to make a dent in the wad of smelly cash I have (seriously, i feel dirty touching the bills here. They are positively grimy) burning a hole in my long Senegalese skirt.

To get you up to date, I have now caught 9 babies on this trip and assisted on 11, which is shy of the number I had hoped to participate in but is also a totally reasonable and respectable nuumber if regarded on its own and from underneath the shadow of my expectations. I dont know if Ill be able to attend any more births before we leave as our preceptor (the midwife in charge) has to leave at dawn tomorrow, leaving us on our own until Monday when we leave. Without her, I dont know what our clinic schedule will be like, which is disappointing. Nevertheless, looking back over the past weeks, I feel like Ive learned a lot and while I would have loved to spend more time and get more experience, Ive also been grateful to have the quiet time Ive had here, since I have very little of it at home. In our off hours, Ive torn through 3 books and would have devoured more if Id thought to bring any, slept more than I have probably slept in the last year in total, and have probably lost some weight. If nothing else, this was a good enforced vacation and Ill return home recharged for the crazy life I have made for myself.

I have so much to share and the little things dont always fit into the larger entries I feel like writing when I sit down to write, so Im going to do the equivalent of a sitcom writers lazy trick and give you an episode of flash backs. So here are some vignettes of experiences Ive had here to entertain and astound you!

One of our first days here, it became clear that our names were really hard for the Senegalese to pronounce, especially Heathers. The Senegalese tend to name their babies the same traditional names here so we have met many Fatous and Haddies and Bintous. The matrones decided we needed Wolof names and named each of us after one of themselves. A month earlier, when Chris and I had gone to the public health office for my travel vaccines, he had been reading through an introduction to Wolof culture and told me he wanted to give me a Wolof name. He chose one that I couldnt pronounce and, looking over his shoulder, I told him I wanted to be called "Penda". So fast forward to my first week in Senegal and the Matrones are naming us and laughing and Haddie points and me and exclaims "PENDA!" And, strangely, more than anyone elses it has stuck and is what Ive been called the entire time Ive been here. It amuses the people we meet to no end when I tell them "Penda la todo" which is Wolof for "my name is Penda" and they point to me and say "youre Wolof!" I answer readily to Penda, and really like it, especially since its exactly what I would have named myself.

Serguy, our driver/ambulance driver claims to be in love with me. He speaks very little French so our communication with him is often ridiculous and totally ineffective. He seems to love English words though and often says "OKAY! NICE!" in response to things we say, even if it makes little sense. He pronounces "nice" with an "sh" so its "ni-sh" which I find particularly amusing and we have adopted it as a joke that gets us all laughing around the compound. One morning, Serguy was in a particularly festive mood and we taught him the word "extreme" which he then tacked on to the end of "okay! nice!" and had me and Tara in stitches with his pronounciation and enthusiasm. In fairness, the Senegalese equally amuse themselves with our attempts at their language. For the past two nights, I have entertained our hosts with my attempts at the Wolof words for knife, fork, and spoon, and especially the word for "small spoon." They think its hilarious. Anyway, driving us around, Serguy will often declare "Penda! I LOVE you!" which elicits giggles from everyone in the car except me, and when I say "no, get over it! I am married!" (the only safe response in Senegal) he clucks and shakes his head and wags his forefinger at me in the Wolof way of telling me in no uncertain terms that I am incorrect.

I played some Heavy Metal music for our Senegalese hosts. They are really into our MP3 players and take every opportunity to have us play music for them. I was in a grumpy mood the other afternoon, working on some schoolwork, when Fodey picked up my MP3 player and asked to hear something. Mischeviously, I decided to play High On Fire, one of my favorite metal bands from Oakland, aware that it was probably exactly opposite of the kind of music he would appreciate. He put the headphones in his ears and waited expectantly and I hit play. I started laughing as I watched his face go from curiosity to confusion and them attempt to recompose himself politely. "Reggae?" he asked hopefully. "No reggae!" I cried, "HEAVY METAL!!!" he shook his his head and I laughed so hard I doubled over. Madeline, seeing the commotion came over and asked to listen too. She put the earbuds into hear ears and made a face of disgust. "He no sing?" she asked, "No, he GROWLS!" I corrected. She listened for a moment longer, her face betraying total incomprehension. "It just noise." she concluded, and I laughed so hard I was choking. Feeling bad, I changed the song to one by Justin Timberlake (a not so secret love of mine) knowing hes popular here in Senegal. Madeline and Fodey shared the earbuds and danced happily and I suppressed giggles thinking of how I wished my friends at home could have seen this introduction of Metal to our foreign friends.

We were leaving one of the clinics the day before yesterday when Jake, our preceptor, pointed out something in the road. It was a large animal, totally flattened and covered in dust, just the outline showing like the chalk marks at a murder scene. I thought it was a dead iguana and I made the appropriate sad noise for the critter and kept walking. However, returning to the clinic an hour later, I saw the animal again and realized it had not been an iguana but a rat. An iguana sized rat.

I caught a baby the other night of a first time mother who refused to labor on her back, unlike many of her more submssive Senegalese sisters, and I was really into working with her as she contorted into various positions that felt better to her, including hands and knees with her ass high in the air so that all I could see in front of me was her belly, vagina and (it must be said, quite spectacular, like the nicest Ive seen) ass. She was young and feisty and I really liked her. She gave birth beautifully to a big headed little boy who squawked right away and looked for the breast not long after. However, she tore and needed to be sutured, which I didnt feel like I could do myself and asked Nicole if she would be willing. Nicole did the best she could but got to a point with the tear where she didnt know how to finish reparing it and so we asked the Matrone on duty, Penda (my namesake) how she could finish the repair. Penda was busy wiping down the counters with The Sponge, which is the only cleaning implement Ive seen in this clinic, in the total absence of paper products here, and they soak it in bleach and soap and wipe down everything with it. Just this evening, I had already seen the beds wiped down with it, seen it used to clean out a shit filled bed pan, wipe up vomit and blood from the floor and a puddle of amniotic fluid. So anyway, Penda is wiping down the counters when we ask her about the repair and she sets down the sponge and comes over, with her gloves still dripping with sponge water and sticks her hands into the sterile field and the womans gaping vagina. I shreiked a little and then made the face youd made if youd just taken a bite of a rancid lemon and couldnt move. This is Africa. Penda happily finished the repair with her filthy gloves as I stood shocked. SHOCKED. Thank god they give everyone antibiotics is all I can say.

Lastly, I have discovered my Senegalese vice. Cafe Touba. We have shared our coffee with our hosts and they all hate it. All they drink here is dark, bitter, heavily sweetened tea and Nescafe, which us coffee snobs abhor. However, at the clinic on Tuesday morning, Haddie made me Cafe Touba which is a kind of spiced coffee with lots of sugar and powdered milk. I dont know if its base is Nescafe or not, but its got so much sugar in it and is so caffeinated, I dont care. Its AWESOME and I have had to restrain myself from walking to the little stand near our house multiple times a day to get some. It really speeds me up and leaves me with an awful headache but I love it.

The Wolof word for a white person is "Tobab" (I may be misspelling it) pronounced "Two-Bob" and we have all gotten the sense that it can be a benign term or an offensive one, depending on who says it and how. The children here are fascinated by us and stare at us and often run to shake our hands with cries of "Bonjour Tobab!" or yell it after us as we pass. We have a group of maybe 6 neighborhood kids who are often waiting for us outside our gate when we leave or come home that Ive started calling the Lollipop Guild because they are so small and so insistent on shaking our hands when we come and go that they remind me of the Munchkins from the Wizard of OZ. I mostly think its very funny when we get called "tobab" and have started calling "Bonjour Tobab!" back at them when they say it, which leaves them with a confused look on their faces. Last night Soleman taught me the Wolof word for black person, but Ive forgotten it, but am eager to try it out in response to the next sea of 2 foot tall greeters calling "Bonjour tobab!" at me. I have also taken to calling the Cafe Touba I so adore, "Cafe Tobab," which either frustrates or amuses our Senegalese hosts when I say it to them.


Sigh. So much more to tell but Im out of time. STILL no apostrophe! I cannot WAIT to come home!

xoxox L