Sojourn to Saladou

The Fourth of July was awesome—much fun was had and many, many beers were consumed. We had a potluck, which included a pig that had been artfully slaughtered and prepared by fellow PCVs. It’s always such a pleasure to eat meat that isn’t mainly bone.

As I write this, I am sipping cooled water from a plastic baggie labeled “pure and legendary mineral water,” listening to music on Pandora online radio. I was supposed to be on the mailrun ride up to Kankan today, but I had a little breakdown in front of the Peace Corps doctor. It was eventually my friends that decided that I was not fit to head back to Mandiana, and I’m grateful to them that they recognized this and were so decisive for me. I’ve been sick in this country for almost seven months now with no cure in sight, and I’ve hit a wall. Hopefully I demonstrated this effectively by crying for like three straight hours. So I’m still here in Conakry, and we’ll see what happens.

There are a few things I neglected to write about due to time constraints and the number of volunteers jostling for the four computers here, but I have this room all to myself now, so I figured I’d fill you in.

On June 24th, I went on my first outreach trip. As volunteers, we’re supposed to work in our communities and also in areas surrounding them. The head of the DPS had to make a visit to Saladou, an outlying pre-fecture (which is roughly the equivalent of a county) in Mandiana state to settle a dispute in one of its health centers. There was space in the car, so I leapt at the chance to do a little outreach work. Saladou is on the border with Cote D’Ivoire and it was quite the adventure to get there.

For example, one hour into the journey, we had to cross the Sankarane river. Now, because this is Guinea, there was no ferry to shuttle our large SUV-truck to the other side. All I could see was a pirogue (canoe), but the DPS staff didn’t seem bothered at all. When I asked Mr. Le DPS what we could possibly do with a canoe, he said “Pas de probleme!” My thought: What on earth could transport this huge car across a river so large and apparently deep?

Well, my internal musing was soon ended when a middle-aged man came floating down the river in another pirogue, guiding it along using a long pole.

This man moved his pirogue next to the existing pirogue and hopped onto our shore, grabbed two large planks of wood and sat them atop the two parallel pirogues. He then secured them with pieces of fishing net he found lying on the riverbank, and motioned us onto this flimsy watercraft.

You guessed it, all the Guineans hopped back into the car while I just stood there shocked.

One other guy with a long pole showed up, and we and our several tonned vehicle were guided safely across the river, with a man pushing our craft across the river with a pole on each side of the watercraft.

Djameelah (my translator) smiled at me and said “Il y a les crocodiles ici!” (There are crocodiles here!). She often says stuff like this to get a reaction out of me. I usually respond with comments that just make fun of hers, such as, “Well, in America, we ride crocodiles across rivers. We don’t have fancy boats like this one.” She just laughs.

Once on the other side of the river, we drove for another six hours through the beautiful bush. About two hours into this scenic ride, we ran over a squirrel. In America, one might say “sorry, squirrel!” and keep driving. In Guinea, apparently, one stops the car and runs to the squirrel to inspect if it’s in good enough condition to eat. This squirrel was in A-OK condition, and the man who hopped out asked if anyone had a knife on them so that he could cut out the dead squirrel’s innards. Of all people, Djameelah rifled through her purse to pull out a knife with a seven inch blade! She actually carries this knife with her at all times, for occasions such as these. Oh, Guinea.

When we finally arrived in Saladou, the health center wasn’t ready to receive us, which meant the village elders hadn’t yet congregated to have this meeting with us. So, we traveled further east to the last village before the Cote D’Ivoirian border. Like most Guinean villages, there wasn’t much to see, so we all clambered out of the car and searched for a good place for me to give my malaria sensibilization. We settled on a tea house (read: wooden shack with a fire to heat water for the tea) and then corralled villagers over to it. It turns out that the group of fifty or so men was mainly refugees from the still unstable northern regions of Cote D’Ivoire. So I thought that was cool.

Usually, when I give my malaria sensibilization, at least someone in the crowd knows something about malaria. Nope. No one even knew any myths about it (many Guineans believe that you get malaria from eating mangoes). So, I enlightened them and they were so appreciative of it! Most aid groups don’t reach such outlying villages, and I felt proud that I was able to do something for this village. I doubt they’ll actually start sleeping in long sleeves and pants (no one can afford a mosquito net), but at least the information is now out there.

After the sensibilization, we returned to Saladou and located the meeting. Twenty-three of the village elders sat in wooden chairs in a circle under the shade of a huge Acajou tree. Four seats nearest to the trunk were left open, and we sat in them. All of these elders were men, and they were each dressed in their long, billowy religious clothes. It’s for moments and images like these that I love Guinea so much.

The council was mainly conducted in Malinke, but from the limited French spoken, I was able to gather the gist of what was going on. I had originally understood that the reason the DPS team had come to Saladou was to reprimand the health center chief for not doing his job. It turns out that he had been doing a little too much—the health center chief had been giving the town’s women abortions. This greatly upset the village elders because abortion is against both Guinean and Islam law. I believe strongly in a woman’s right to choose, but I kept my mouth firmly shut for the entirety of the council—it wasn’t my place to say anything. I really wanted to congratulate the poor guy that was being berated for delivering this service to women that are denied access to effective forms of birth control, education, and pretty much everything else. But I would have been overstepping my boundaries as a female volunteer. Trust me, it was hard.

We got back to the banks of the river at around ten PM and took the truly African watercraft back across to the other side. Once on dry land, the driver had the wacky idea of taking a “shortcut” through the African bush. Everyone (but me) thought this was a great idea, so we drove through grass that was eight feet tall—no trail, no stars to follow—the driver just drove. I was imagining myself sleeping in the car with these guys in this grass, lost, after driving for hours on end. But, as things in Guinea eventually do, it all worked out and I arrived safely back at my hut at midnight. Starving, I fixed up a camping meal, inhaled it, and collapsed into bed.

Other highlights:

--I’ve started praying every night with my Guinean family. It’s a really moving experience for me because it’s the first time I’ve truly felt like a part of their family. The Dad recites passages from the Koran on a sheep skin in front of myself, Fanta, and the four kids. Together, we bow on all fours and touch our foreheads to the ground just like you see in the movies. They know I’m not Muslim-- I tell them I’m Christian because Guineans really don’t respect you if you say that you don’t believe in any God. Maybe one day I'll share my true beliefs with them.

--In Kankan last week, four bats flew into our regional house, causing complete pandemonium. The women screamed, “AHHH!!! EBOLA!!!” or “AHHH! RABIES!!!” as they ran outside to evade the bats that were dive-bombing above their heads, and the men chased after these bats with…baseball bats. Alex actually hit a bat with the bat and killed it. David eventually caught the other three with a pagne (bolt of fabric) and let them free outside.