Breastfeeding

The other day I was sitting with one of my good friends in village, Takko, who is in her early 20's, and her 5-month old baby, Aminata. We were shelling peanuts under the shade of the mango tree in her compound before she had to start preparing lunch. Aminata is slightly underweight for her age so I wanted to incorporate the subject of exclusive breastfeeding for the first six months into the conversation. While talking about Aminata, I told Takko that I was breastfed for the first 6 months exclusively. I then explained what foods I was fed in addition to breastmilk after six months of age and up to two years. With my hands, I motioned how large I was, but she did not believe me.

Many women here believe that women in America feed infants formula instead of breast milk, which they believe is better for the baby. When something is bought, it is often seen as being of better quality than something available for free. I explained that the majority of women in America actually breastfeed and she was very surprised. Most women in the Gambia breastfeed, but will add water and other foods before the child is six months due to a lack of knowledge.

Remembering that I had pictures of me as a baby, I ran to my hut, grabbed my photo album, and brought it back to Takko. She laughed and laughed at my very chubby baby pictures. One specifically, I am in the sink at Keene Farm being bathed by my dad. The picture does an excellent job showing all of my large rolls. Many other villages came to see what Takko was laughing at. They peered over our shoulders to get a glimpse of the picture and couldn’t believe it was me as a baby. This was also a really neat moment because it allowed me touch upon gender roles in America and how they differ from the gender roles in Gambia, which are incredibly strict. Childcare is the task of women here so to observe my father bathing me in the photograph was very intriguing for them. I went on to explain that my dad cooks, cleans, and does laundry. They thought this was very funny as these are strictly female activities. Through the laughter, I was hopefully I able to get the point across that men are capable of doing these tasks. My most effective work here will be based on conversations and interactions like these between friends where we exchange information and stories and build trust and respect by learning from each other.

This is Aminata with her father, Saidu.

Bubble Wrap

In one of the generous and amazing packages I received while at site, bubble wrap was included. I remembered how much I used to and still do enjoy popping the small pockets of air. I brought the plastic sheets out into the compound hoping the kids would discover the same satisfaction of hearing and feeling the clicks underneath the weight of your feet. They were wary at first. The concept of mail is unfamiliar to the children so I had a hard time explaining the purpose of bubble wrap. But once I demonstrated how to pop the bubbles, they quickly laid the plastic sheets on the dirt and began jumping and dancing on them. Once deflated, they used the plastic sheets as head and waist wraps displaying their new items around the village. They definitely enjoyed their bubble wrap experience and I had a great time watching them play with this new and strange thing.

Nursing Homes

I was talking with my host dad and mom in our compound after dinner a few nights ago about family systems here and in the US. My father asked about my family and specifically about my grandparents. He was very impressed with my grandmother's age and health. He asked if she lived in the same compound as my family in the US. I explained that she lives by herself in a house in a different state. They were taken aback. “Ndeer cuddi makko he hai goto kono oo?” (In a house by herself?) they kept asking, seeming rather alarmed. “Eyi” (Yes), I replied, “But family is always visiting and live close," I explained. This seemed to lessen their anxieties slightly, but they were still concerned. The idea of someone living alone, especially an older person, is very foreign to them. The compounds here are living entities. Within their fences, compounds house family members across generations. This system is one of strength, support, and security. The older individuals depend on the younger individuals for their physical labor, childbearing, and income generation. The younger generation depends on the older generation for decision making, advice, childraising, and social ties.

Feeling adventurous, I then attempted to explain nursing homes.
“Suudu money he mawbe hewbe” (Many old people live in large houses with many other old people), I explained.
“Are they related?” they asked. (This conversation continues in Pulaar, but I will leave out the translation.)
“No,” I replied, “many do not know each other.”
“Are they sick?”
“Sometimes,” I said.
“Where are their families?” they asked concerned.
“Some visit, some do not,” I explained.
"Who takes care of them? Who cooks lunch and dinner?"
"There are people that work at these homes who cook, clean and take care of them, like my mom. She is a nurse at one of these homes."
"The old people must be sad there - no children, no family, no life."
"Yes," I said. "Many times they are."

This then gave me the opportunity to explain what I think is a great aspect of Gambian culture: how elderly are cared for, respected, and incorporated into society. They are not isolated, disregarded, and medicated as is often the case in the states.

Here people always ask me about America and express their desire to get a visa and live there. Their fantasy of America is solely an image of wealth and easy living. While praising America, they always criticize and depreciate Gambia by saying that it is an ugly, poor, and unpleasant place to live. It is hard to explain that life in America is not always as easy as they think. This conversation on nursing homes was one instance where I was able to express serious admiration for their culture and I hope they were able to recognize this difference and appreciate it as well.

Time

The topic of my anthropology senior seminar class was time. We studied many different aspects of time, the most relevant now being the experience of time. My personal experience of time in the village seems to be time as a constant flow. The day is continuous and not broken into appointments or scheduled commitments. I think about the future to some degree mainly when I am thinking about my work but it is never overwhelming and I do not find myself becoming absorbed or entangled by it. Because I am constantly learning (language, culture, how to cultivate groundnuts, peoples' names, etc.), I am very aware of and involved in the present moment. In this way it is similar to being in a constant meditative state. It is so refreshing and invigorating, but also very tiring.

Because I have been living in this continuous flow, I decided it was not necessary for me to be wearing a watch. The same day I took off my watch, Fatoumatta, one of my good friends in village, received a new one. Her husband bought a black Casio digital watch for her at the weekly market. She was and still is excited about it and loves to check the time. It is interesting because a watch does not serve her much purpose. She has been living under the sky for fifty plus years so she understands the movement of the sun and she has been doing about the same routine for all of these years as well. However, now she has the knowledge of time, which she, along with many other Gambians, believe is very important information to have. I think they have gleaned that awareness of and adherence to time is a characteristic of Western culture, which they see as the ultimate culture. It struck me that as I am trying to integrate further into their culture, they are also trying to assimilate to Western culture. I attempted to free myself of time and its constraints and she welcomed this new knowledge with hope and excitement.

This is Fatoumatta and her son, Musa.

The Three Month Challenge

This photograph shows the road entering my village. Dry grasses crowd the sandy road. The cow crossing the path in the distance is evidence that this is a Fula village. Fulas are traditionally cattle herders, which means they were wide in their movement across West Africa. Today, they are settled in permanent villages, but many individuals still herd cattle. Farming (rice, coos, maize), is the main occupation now.

As a PCV, during the first three months in village, you are not supposed to embark on projects or do any real "work." It is called the "three month challenge" because it is the most intensive period of cultural integration and language learning. This time is crucial to get to know the community, learn what they have and do not have, and think about what knowledge would be beneficial to their lives. We are encouraged to develop project ideas and wait to implement them until we have a better understanding and grasp of the village. The most important activity during this time is building friendships with those in the village. Without these connections and village understanding, any project would be a failure.

I have spent much of my time visiting and hanging out in all of the compounds in my village. I sit beside the women while they prepare and cook lunch and dinner attempting to communicate in my broken Pulaar. Though I tend to speak in all of the wrong verb tenses and my sentences are jumbled, I can usually get my thought across. All of the villagers have been so patient and instructive with my language. While chatting, I usually shell peanuts, cracking them against a hard stone. The women, however, never let me crack peanuts for too long because they say it will hurt my fingers. They describe how they do not want my hands to become rough like theirs. Peanuts were harvested in December and January so since I have been here, peanut shelling seems to be a never-ending activity. Once shelled, many Gambians sell the peanuts at the markets for eventual export. Peanuts are Gambia's main crop and export. Also, a significant amount of the peanuts are kept for cooking in all of the meals.

This is Porti, a village elder, cracking peanuts during the afternoon. Seated on a rice bag under the shade of his roof overhang, he grabs peanuts from the orange bucket, cracks them, and then throws them into the pile by his leg. I spend much time in his compound with his two wives and their children. He somehow knows a little English and always attempts to speak English with me, which is amazing and hilarious.

Usually when I visit a compound, an adult sends one of the kids with 10 dalais ($1 = 27D) to the small shop in village to buy attaya (green Chinese tea) and a cup of sugar. Brewing attaya is the main social pastime of Gambians. The tea is brewed in three rounds of drinking, which can last one to two hours. A small tea kettle is used with two shot glasses. Creating foam in the shot glasses by pouring the brewed tea back and forth into each other is a large part of the experience. Lots of sugar is added and sometimes mint leaves making it delicious and very strong. My father will often brew attaya three to four times a day. Gambians are addicted to attaya like Americans are addicted to coffee.

Images from the Village:

Right now, in the months leading up to the rainy season, is the time for house and compound construction. This work is only done by men. Here a handful of men from the village are helping in the compound next to mine with hut roof construction. They will soon place this on top of the round hut in the background and then cover it with dry grass.



This is my sister's son, Ebrima. He is wearing my father's hat, which my father wears all the time even in 120 degree weather. Similar to women wearing headscarves, older men wear hats for religious purposes. Ebrima and my father are very close as they spend most of the day together. Grandparents call their grandchildren their husbands or wives so my father calls Ebrima "gorko," which means husband in Pulaar. Ebrima is also my shadow when I walk around the village and I can also always bribe him with treats.




These ladies are fetching water at the pump, which is only about 50 feet from my compound. I can finally carry water in a bucket on my head fairly successfully and the villagers are impressed. My sister is carrying the bucket on the left. She is around 8 months pregnant and continues with all of the work of the compound. Pregnant women get no breaks, which leads to a high maternal mortality rate and the high rate of anemia.




This is my wife, Fatoumatta, preparing fish with Hawa for lunch in our compound. Every morning my father rises early and bikes to the river, which is about 3K away, to buy fish from the fishermen. He then bikes to surrounding villages to sell the fish from the back of his bicycle. But before he travels to the other villages, he stops in our compound and hands Fatoumatta a string of fish for lunch. She brings him a tin cup with water to drink and to splash on the fish in his basket on his bike. We exchange the morning greetings and he continues on his way. He usually returns between 11-12:00 and will immediately start brewing his attaya.



Kids in our compound dancing, which is usually an hourly activity.