I’ve been in Africa for a week now. The poverty here is beyond words; you have to see it to believe it. I actually feel as if I have been transported back at least 50, if not 100 years. It is hot, and sad, and incredibly eye-opening. For instance, they don’t even have ice here, and when they do, people fight over it because they brought it from ANOTHER COUNTRY, Senegal. People ride donkeys and old bicycles to get around. Today I saw a big truck with at least 30 men on the top, and the truck broke down, and a man jumped off and popped the hood, and they continued. We are stopped daily by “Customs”, men with big guns asking for our documents and our business here.
When I got to the airport, the bus driver said, “Your people are dying, and so are ours, but from different things”, which was so profound. It is accepted to be unnecessary in the US for people to die from malnutrition or disease, but here it is happening all around and nothing can be done.
The government turns on and off water and power as they see fit. We met a Peace Corps worker today who said that the power came on right as our group came and will be shut off soon undoubtedly. There are posters asking for votes for Yayah Jammel, who was elected president recently with 90% of the vote. A shopowner, Samba, told us that they have gone without power for at least a year in the last couple years, sometimes up to 3 years. I can guarantee that I will never look at electricity, or water, or plumbing, or refrigeration, or maintained roads, or health care, or the freedom of Christianity the same.
The missionary here is great, and so is his wife Miracle. Because of Taylor, we have dodged many goats, people, and potholes on the roads to Koina. They have the three most beautiful children I’ve ever seen, Bishop, Marilyn, and Berry. Berry is my favorite, she is 18 months and is so smart and funny. They all call us “Auntie” and “Uncle” and say they missed us every day.
I am working at a makeshift clinic in a community called Koina, a round trip of 3 hours each day from Mansa Jang on the bumpiest, worst maintained road you can imagine. The door of our van has actually opened up during the trip, spilling suitcases and pills along the road…the van works sometimes and the battery terminals come unplugged several times on the trip. I see families of at least 3 people at the clinic, everyone is sick and has a fever and abdominal pain, a workup for which in the states would cost at least $500. Here, though, I treat empirically for Malaria, Worms, STD’s (in the Muslim faith men can have up to four wives and are not faithful even then), Malnutrition, Tinea, skin infections, Amebic Dysentery, Giardia, etc. etc. etc. People wait in line all day for a toothbrush and some Tylenol. The state of health is so poor, and I don’t think there is any end in sight as there is no education in place and the people are so poor. They can’t afford proper nutrition, which is paramount in health, and I have always just taken advantage of that. Even if they have money, the availability of medications is so limited. It is heartbreaking.
There is a dark spiritual presence in Koina as there is not one known Christian there. Most people are fasting so even if I have pills to treat their condition, they can’t take them. Really good Muslims don’t even swallow their own saliva. Unbelievable. When you ask why they fast, they don’t even have an answer, other than it is Ramadan. The translation is fatiguing, in fact more than once I have had 2 translators; 1 translating from English to Fula and the other translating from Fula to Mandinke. Lori and I pray over each family we see, and although they don’t understand, they are appreciative of the gesture. It is hard to know that once the handful of pills I am able to provide are gone, the patient will continue to suffer and struggle to survive here.
The people in general are very excited to see us “Tubabs”, or white people, because they automatically assume that all Tubabs have money. In the Gambia, the average income is about 25 dalasis a day, or about a dollar. And it shows.
The people in the village seem to love us Tubabs; the little kids follow us around everywhere we go, expecting toys and waiting to see the photos we take with our digital cameras, then laughing hysterically at their own appearance. Only rich people have mirrors. And shoes.
The language here is difficult, I’ve learned enough just for greetings. My typical conversation goes like this,
“Ja wali”(Good morning), or “Jamyaleh” (good afternoon) or “Ja eerye” (good evening).
“Hono banduma?” (How is your body), “Hono gorcoma?” (How is your husband), “Hono doleo?” (how is your compound?)…to which the response is always “Jam tan” (only peace). They greet saying Salam Alecum, to which you respond Alecum Salam. Women always ask “Hono gorcoma?”, to which I reply, “Me falaca gorcoma” (I don’t want a husband), and they laugh out loud. I always say at the end, “Nalenjam” or “Balenjam”, see you tomorrow or good night. "Ja Rama Bui" is also very common, or "Thank you very much".
On some level I knew the world was like this, but I didn’t choose to believe that suffering like this could occur. I had to see it with my own eyes to fully understand. It can’t be explained, and my pictures can’t tell the story of sheer desperation here. The amount of time in a day has been revealed to me, however the work it takes to live here is so much. Yesterday and today we made tega dayges, or peanut butter. The “ground nuts” we got were already harvested and peeled, and it still took us portions of two days to roast, clean, and grind the nuts. I can’t imagine how much work the whole process is. Work just to survive is incredible here; and I will never look at a jar of Jif the same. Every day we have to collect water to bathe and drink from the tap. That is if the tap is even on. We live in a compound where the doors fall off and toads and bats and rats roam freely. While the building is outfitted with a toilet, shower, and two sinks, the water pressure is so bad that none of them are functioning. I have never been so dirty in my life, but sponge bathing doesn’t seem to get the red African mud off. Even after I am clean, I just sweat again because it’s always 90 degrees.
Tonight I milked a cow. People here generally can’t afford milk, even the evaporated kind. The two men who took me there, Mustapha and Netty, couldn’t believe that we feed our cows corn! Corn is only for humans! They basically live on rice and couscous. Only rich people can afford meat.
We had church this morning with a small turnout, and a sort of cumbersome service with rough translations from English to Fula. I hope that the people of Mansa Jang will learn to look at Jesus as more than a prophet, but it is generally unaccepted here. The Muslim tradition is so strong and Christianity is not common.
Sorry if this is too random, I am practically comatose right now.
Please lift up the people of the Gambia in your prayers. They need a revival.
