En Famille

Until I came to Senegal, I had lived alone for nearly 30 years. Sharing meals usually meant I was in a restaurant with a friend or on a weekend visit to the country or at home in the Midwest with my family.

Here in Senegal, my ritualistic standing-in-the-kitchen-eating-whatever-I-bought-at-the-deli is undergoing re-programming. At Chez Cretin-Oliveira, we share breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Breakfast is Nescafe and fresh baguette with butter and jam, most recently homemade apricot and raspberry from Nathalie’s mom. We discuss the day’s agenda briefly. We laugh at Seal’s silliness. And then, Nathalie grabs Seal and his backpack, and they head off to pre-school and work.

Lunch--around 1 pm—is a sitdown whenever Nathalie and Seal get home. Ieta and Suzette prepare lunch-- usually fresh fish, salad and veggies—and they sit with us. We’ve had a really full table for two weeks because Nathalie’s sister Janette has been visiting from Switzerland….six adults, all sharing their lunches with Seal, who just moves from person to person, eating the parts that he likes. It’s a mini-UN…French is dominant with some English translations for me and side conversations between Paul, Ieta and Suzette in Woloff.

Dinner is always leftovers from lunch, which is fine with me because the fish is too wonderful to believe. We eat when we get around to it, usually sometime after 8. We catch up on the day, laugh at Seal, laugh at Paul (who is the world’s biggest flirt), talk about the world news (which is my job) and then clean up. Around 9:30, the table is clear, everybody else is on their way to bed. I sit down to write.

It’s none of the “ex” words: not exciting, not extravagant, not expensive. But it sure is nice.

"...no great wonder..."

The Hospital of Hope has not been like any project I’ve ever worked on. I’m not talking about the glaringly obvious differences, like it’s in Francophone West Africa, has Swiss origins, will serve a population that has such extreme health needs that a pharmacy often substitutes for hospital emergency care. Beyond these differences, there’s something about this project that is subtle and magical.

Consistently, since I committed to volunteer for the hospital, I’ve experienced it in small and large ways, and again today, there it was…the magic. As Nathalie and I drove home from a meeting this afternoon, we looked at each other and smiled…and agreed: There’s something about this project.

It doesn’t need to be pushed. It flows. It keeps moving in the direction it needs to go. When I started thinking about an international volunteer assignment, a mutual friend introduced me to Nathalie. When we needed the funding to establish an account with our US fiscal agent, suddenly, there was the donor. When we began talking about financial sustainability, I was introduced to a former Fortune 500 CEO who’s now focused on health care and wants to help us develop the business model for transitioning from philanthropic support to revenue generation. When we weren’t making progress with the title transfer for the land, the mayor resolved the problem by giving us a different, larger, better, more centrally located site for construction. When we needed a 3D elevation, my architect friend in New York volunteered to render the design.

As we have begun to discuss how we get the community involved with the hospital so that they feel it is theirs, we were introduced to a business consultant whom I had hoped might—in the best possible scenario-- give us some ideas and or even models for how to undertake this work. But she had a bigger and better idea…much bigger and much better: She is bringing her consultancy onto the project—pro bono. Together, we are going to work on strategies for fundraising, communications, community engagement and organizational development. It’s a significant boost we need right now. And there’s more. Several times, the same names have surfaced as “people we need to meet,” and no surprise, she knows all of those people and wants to introduce us.

Coincidences? Possibly. As Plutarch wrote: "It is no great wonder if in long process of time, while fortune takes her course hither and thither, numerous coincidences should spontaneously occur."

Proponents of ancient Vedic spiritual and other mystical teachings insist that there is absolutely no coincidence in the world. Everything that occurs can be related to a prior cause or association, no matter how vast or how minute.

I agree with that. And I also believe in magic.

Day 26: Animal Farm

Over Mother’s Day weekend, we welcomed a new member to the family!

Say hello to Janette, born on Saturday morning. She arrived just in time to replace Albert, who was probably her father. Albert became a wedding present on Saturday afternoon.

Having lived for 20+ years in a fifth-floor walk up…no possibility of co-habitating with a pet, I’m really enjoying the experience of the animals that populate our life here in Dakar. Two turtles live on the terrace outside my bedroom. Two white rabbits live on our rooftop terrace. I’m guessing we’ll have a whole bunch more, based on the bad-boy bunny behaviors we witnessed this afternoon. The rest of the livestock live at Mami and Papi’s. There, Paul has two pairs of gorgeous prize-winning chickens, a fantastic Brama breed and a smaller Chinese variety. And then, there are the six sheep, of which Janette is the latest.

Day 25: Moon and Mom

It’s 4:30 a.m. in Dakar. I just came down from our rooftop. I planned to rise early anyway. I wanted to see the crescent moon and Jupiter, which are lined up in the eastern sky. The sky is perfect this morning. It’s clear. The air blowing off the Atlantic is fresh. The tide must be coming in because the surf is crashing mightily.

It’s Mother’s Day. I wish I had a photo of Elsie that I could share. I don’t. Instead, I’ll post this one of Nathalie and Seal, which was taken a couple of days ago when we went for a walk along the rocky coast of our neighborhood.

It’s been fun and provocative for me to live with a 15 month-old. Seal's in the stage of his life where everything is interesting (in particular, electrical outlets), every action is mimicked (especially dancing and sweeping), everything can be eaten or at least put in his mouth (most recently, tomato slices) and many behaviors require reinforcement or correction. It’s also been fascinating to live with Nathalie and to observe first-hand the mother-child relationship. Many of Seal’s impressions of the world start with Nathalie's reactions to his exploration. She gives him space to explore, to touch, to taste, to engage…always ready to pull him back from the brink but also ready to let him find his own way.

Today, as I’m thinking about moms in general, and mine in particular, I’m more aware than ever that my physical resemblance to my mother may be more than skin deep, that my relationship to the world may—and probably does—reflect my own mother’s affinities and fears. I don't recall how much space there was to fall, get dirty, take chances, make mistakes and wander when I was growing up, enough that when I left at 18, I didn't look back or go home for a long time.

I once asked Mom why she and Dad didn't ask us to come home for visits or holidays. Her response surprised me: "I didn't want you to come back because I didn't think there was anything here for you."

As always, lots to think about.

Day 23: Breakthroughs

Today, I want to share news about the hospital.

This afternoon, we met Mayor Mar Douf and Assistant Mayor Mamadou Gueye of Bargny. It was a breakthrough. Even without a perfect understanding of the rapid-fire French that characterized the meeting, I could discern that the hospital has been the subject of some political play. Exactly what, no one was saying. But one thing was absolutely clear: the mayor really likes the hospital project, so much that he offered a new—and apparently better--tract of land, much more centrally located within town. After Nathalie’s compelling presentation that included an overview of the need, the services and the progress we’ve made in fundraising, what politician wouldn’t jump on this band wagon?

We also had an engaging and exciting discussion with the executive director and senior staff at Trust Africa, a foundation that seeks to strengthen African democracies, business enterprises and resources for development. What makes Trust Africa different is that it’s the only nonprofit working to build Africa that is actually led by Africans. It’s connected to the most powerful funders in the world. Although Trust Africa’s objectives don’t presently focus on health projects, the team’s response to the Hospital of Hope was nothing but positive and energetic. They not only liked the values that support the hospital, but also the way we want to work within the community of Bargny. We left the meeting with new allies, with connections to governmental and philanthropic funders and with the promise of ongoing support and collaboration for our efforts to build programs aligned to Trust Africa’s objectives.

It was a very good day for the Hospital of Hope.

Day 22: Enterprise

Yesterday we went back to the Grand Yoff Market to buy fabric for duvet covers. To my uneducated eyes, the market is chaotic, dusty, loud, unorganized, unsophisticated, congested with people, cars, horse carts, livestock, noisy with honking, hawking, amplified prayers, haggling. Stalls after stall after stall, each averaging less than 100 square feet, display every possible kind of merchandise: sneakers, foam rubber pads, hair products, car parts, cigarettes, chickens, cookies, soap powder, cell phones, batteries, fabrics, Barack Obama underwear, Muslim Barbie. Every possible thing you could need is there…except Diet Dr. Pepper.

What’s not visible is the second level of enterprise. In the alleyways, wide enough for two people to pass are shops 10 feet deep on each side. These are sewing factories. The passageway hummed like a hive. The machines were manned, and I intentionally choose to use the word “manned”, by boys and men, whose age ranged from pre-teen (at least based on the absence of facial hair that would be my guess) to 20 or 25. Depending on the level of their skill, they were either piecing together traditional garments for men and women in vivid fabrics or they were performing complicated finishes with trim.

This was my first exposure to any kind of local business enterprise, organized according to the local culture. It reinforced a growing awareness that business transactions are taking place all around me. By the standards of New York or Amsterdam or London, where a decent lunch now costs $10 or 8 Euros, these are micro-transactions…maybe as little as 25 cents or as much as $4. Margins in Senegal are slim. The difference between a good day and a bad day may be the cost of four tomatoes or a six-pack of Coca-Cola or a pack of cigarettes. But everyone is hustling to earn enough to feed their family, pay the rent, send their kids to school, buy the inventory that they will sell the next morning.

I haven’t seen anything that looks like lazy. At the fish market, for example, there are young men who sell heavy-duty plastic bags for transporting multiple purchases weighing as much as 10 or 12 pounds. And then there are boys who carry the bags. Other young men run errands for the men and women who own the stalls. Moms have babies on their backs and toddlers at their feet.

Everyone is ready to work.

Day 21: La Marche (The Market)

A couple of days ago, I mentioned the supermarche (For those of you who are fluent in French, please forgive the absence of accents.) that reminded me of home with its big wide, sparkling clean aisles and tidy shelves of branded goods from Unilever, Procter and Gamble, Kraft, Nestle, General Foods. You know the names.

Yesterday, we went to the OTHER market, the street market where Senegalese locals shop. It’s a sensory experience: sight, smell, sound overload! Staying alert is critical, and not just for pickpockets, which are fairly common. Keeping one's eyes open is the only way to void stepping into “it,” whatever “it” might be.

I love the market! It’s a visual feast: red, yellow, white, green, purple, orange. Carefully stacked vegetables and fruits, intended to invite the eye and a purchase. My favorite is the lettuce, fanned into a lush, circular arrangement.

The sounds are commercial as well as community…lots of banter between neighboring vendors, between customers, between moms and kids (Moms do yell in all cultures!), as well as between customers and merchants. The slightest interest—a second glance in the direction of a display, for example—results in inquiries and vociferous encouragement to purchase. Two or three sellers will converge simultaneously, each with a special offer.

By necessity, merchants are hyper-vigilant about opportunities to sell. In an economy where the average income is slightly more than $100 per month, the difference between a good day and a bad day is marginal and may be a single transaction.

The smells are robust. I think that’s an apt, if modest, description. In the late afternoon, when the air is still, the odors are strongest and float above their source. Some are pleasant, like the sweet fragrance that lingers above a massive pile of hibiscus or the mélange that emanates from a display of spices. Others are frankly overpowering, like the strange fishy smell of dried calamari or the rot that floats above the burst bag of chicken innards lying in the street.

What I am most aware of while following Paul through this commercial maze is that the human constitution can tolerate much more of the un-sanitized, un-hygienic than we might want to believe. It’s not that flies, mosquitoes, open-air markets, dust, mangy dogs and open sewerage should necessarily be a part of anybody’s life. Obviously, health improves when risks are managed, when there are vaccinations and means for simple hand washing.

The point is that the human system has an amazing capacity for tolerance. Sanitary is nice--and it’s an artificial standard created by the manufacturers of products that sanitize. But necessary? I don’t think so.