Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Murphy’s Law still applies, even way
over here in Mali. Today is Tuesday, which means it’s baby-weighing day at the
CSCOM, so I had to get my act together reasonably early this morning. I decided
not to bother with an alarm since Moose has been getting me up so early. But
not only did both of us make it through the entire night without getting up, we
also slept in an extra half an hour till 7:30! Luckily time isn’t too much of a concern in Mali: basically
it meant I had less time to read before leaving.
It was a busy day for baby-weighing,
and Bakary, Yacouba, and I worked till about 4, Yacou and I taking a quick
lunch break. We had about 65 women come, plus 5 pregnant women. The mothers
come to get their babies’ childhood vaccinations: tuberculosis and polio at
birth, diptheria/typhoid/whooping cough 3 times in the first 5 months (plus
polio each time), Vitamin A at 6 months, and yellow fever/measles at 9 months.
The pregnant women come for tetanus shots. We also weigh the babies before they
get their vaccinations - technically for purposes of growth monitoring, but
unfortunately my CSCOM doesn’t seem to do a whole lot with the information, which
is something I’d like to change eventually.
I like baby-weighing days because it
gives me a sense of purpose, a legitimate job to do. I help weigh the babies
and I record all the demographic, weight, and vaccination info on various
documents. I don’t like baby-weighing days because it can be a harsh reality
check, one that makes me feel really useless in the big picture. Compared
against their age, the babies’ weight are categorized into three zones: healthy
(green), somewhat malnourished (yellow), and severely malnourished (red). The
trend tends to be most in the middle range, then the good range, with the
fewest being in the bad range. But those in the bad range can be
heartbreakingly bad. We had very few red zoners today, but one near the end of
the day really got me down. I weighed a 13-month old baby who was the minimum
weight for a healthy 3-month old. I pointed this out to my co-workers, but they sort of just made a
joke to the mom and brushed it off. I don’t like giving mothers advice myself
because I know they don’t take me seriously. Even while doing my standard,
every-Tuesday job of recording the babies’ weight, I often have to repeatedly
ask the mothers what their child’s weight was because they’re too busy laughing
at the fact that I spoke Bambara to actually answer me (keep in mind I don’t
really know most of these women; I’m slightly less entertaining to people I
actually know). But I couldn’t just let this case go, it was too extreme. So I
told the mother: “Your baby is too small. His nutrition is really bad. He needs
to eat more.” And of course, there’s always the excuses: “I don’t have any
breast milk.” (She breast-fed him 2 minutes later on her way out). “Well he’s
over 6 months old, he needs to be eating other foods, like porridge, fish, meat
sauce, vegetables. These will help him grow.” “He doesn’t eat anything.” It’s a
losing battle. And it breaks my heart that this baby is legitimately in danger of
dying and I felt like I was the only one who cared.
Now, to be fair, I truly do not have a
good enough grasp on language and culture for any of my perceptions to be
considered fact. But it is how I see things. And I want this to change before I
leave. At the very least, I want there to be a standard set of advice that we
give mothers like this. I want to be able to provide them with moringa leaves.
I want them to follow up with us, or us to follow up with them. This is one of
my goals, but unfortunately, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and chronic
malnutrition won’t be cured overnight by one Peace Corps Volunteer.
On a happier note, the last baby I
weighed was 8 months-old and the minimum healthy weight for a 22 month-old! Not
obese – just a fat, happy baby! I LOVE fat, happy babies! I have a “Fat, happy
baby!” song I sing to them. (That’s pretty much the song). This boy was so
adorable, he just couldn’t stop smiling! (Until he got 3 shots, that is). And
he’s also proof that it’s quite possible to raise a healthy, well-nourished
child in my village, even if you don’t
have a lot of money or resources.
I went home as soon as we’d finished
with the last of the paperwork, expecting to find a hungry dog waiting for me.
Instead a found a dog who was just returning from a day-long outing with Alima,
full belly included. I love that girl! I kicked the kids out for an hour of
rest and reading, and then they came over and we planted the moringa seeds together.
The seeds had to soak overnight last night, so today I showed the kids how to
plant the seeds, and they took over the rest of the bags. Ala ka falεn ɲumana: May they grow well!
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| Sidiki |
Chores came next, and of course the kids grouped around for the daily
spectacle of Michelli Washes Dishes. Again, I had a rinse-water helper. Alima took
off with my bike and Moose for awhile again, so he’s been passed out basically
all night. Once dark hit, the kids played cards outside my door; but after the
oil in my lamp ran out, everyone except 11 year-old Sidiki left to go home to
dinner. Sidiki is one of my favorites: he has a huge crush on me and he’s so
sweet, much less rambunctious than his other brothers. Since it was just the
two of us, I gave him the rest of my dinner to finish and then asked him a
question I’ve been wondering for a long time: why don’t he and his brother
Amadou go to school? For awhile I assumed it was because their family didn’t
have enough money: school can be expensive and they have a lot of kids, whom
I’m sure they need to help them do work. But I recently noticed the 5 year-old
coming home with a school bag. So why don’t the older two go? Sidiki told me he
used to go to school but he dropped out in 3rd grade because his
teacher hit the students (which in theory is illegal in Mali, but who's going to enforce it?). In 3rd grade kids are about 8 years old.
Sidiki is yet another example of Mali’s horribly failing education system: here
you have an extremely bright child who did
have the opportunity to go to school (terrible as the education system may be),
and he dropped out by the age of 8 so he wouldn’t get beaten. Like I’ve said in the past, I
could rant for days about the education system here. Apparently that teacher
has since moved to San, but Sidiki’s done with the idea of school, and Amadou
never even bothered. Hopefully Solo, the 5 year old, will have a better
experience. And at the very least, Sidiki can write his name.
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| My bed outside |
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