Clap your hands!

It’s Saturday. Paul is on his way to Guadalupe for a concert with Ismael Lo, with whom he has played for 12 years. Without Paul’s steady and maternal presence, we are a household without restraint. He not only keeps a watchful eye on Seal, but he also makes sure we eat healthy…fresh fish, salad with lots of tomatoes, fresh aubergine or zucchini and a starch of some sort at least five days a week. On Sunday, Mami takes care of lunch, which is also usually fish, and one day a week we have beef.

Leading up to Paul’s departure, Nathalie and I threatened to eat pizza, fried chicken and peanut butter-jelly sandwiches while he was gone. We even talked with Ieta and Suzette about how to prepare these all-time cholesterol toppers. And this morning, we went to the supermarche to stock up on various bad-diet items. In particular, peanut butter because we are serious about transgressing Paul's strictly enforced healthy habits.

Senegal being an exporter of peanuts, we were giddy about our intentions to be break the fish regimen.

But, in the land of peanuts there is no peanut butter!

No Jiffy…no Peter Pan…no Chiekh Touba (which is what the local brand would be if there were a local brand)…no smooth or crunchy, no low sodium or low fat! How can this be? Even the Europeans and Americans living here, who number by the thousands and have lots of kids, even they do without!

So we reverted to plan 2 and had hamburgers….good old fashioned burgers on buns with sesame seeds…burgers with sliced tomatoes, lettuce, grilled onions with ketchup. And of course, we had French fries because Ieta makes fantastic fries. No golden arches over our villa at Virages…just a good old All-American lunch.

And a good old American idea that something needs to change in the peanut butter import/export business.

Donnez-moi cinq!

Yesterday on my college chum Ann’s FaceBook page, she posted a photo of her new grandchild. Reading the flood of joyful and excited comments from other FB friends, I was delighted for Ann. This is one lucky kid!

Her post also made me think about the dimension that has been added to my own life simply by living with Seal, my 17 month-old pal.

Unexpectedly, I find myself completely captivated by this miniature diplomat to the world.

I’ve made two contributions to Seal’s development so far, much to the delight and consternation of his parents. The first is “Donnez-moi cinq!” which some of you will recognize as the classic street greeting: “Give me five!” He slaps my hand and laughs…I laugh. Everybody laughs. The second is our “great ape” act, in which we both scratch and hop and shriek like chimpanzees being teased with a banana. It never fails…it stops a tantrum, it stops adult conversation, and it would—I believe--stop traffic!

But there’s another part of living with Seal that I treasure. His very being has awakened sleeping aspects of my character. His dependency extracts my desire to make his life happier and easier with a drink, a snack, a game, a song. His vulnerability makes me willing—perhaps for the first time—to put aside my to-do list for someone else's needs. His consistent good cheer makes grouchy old adults like me smile and be a little bit goofy.

And what do I get from this unanticipated love affair? I get a shy smile when I come down for coffee in the morning. I get to hear him say something that we all agree sounds like “Stephanie”. I get to be amazed at his inability to hold a grudge for longer than three seconds. I get to share my dinner, giving him the best parts. I get to walk slowly and be interested in everything along the way. I get to learn the subtle difference between what’s fun and what’s scary. I get sloppy, wet kisses whenever I want them, but always before we go to bed.

I get to be a little more human.

Big Oooops!

What’s that old aphorism about the bluebird of happiness being in our own backyard? Well, I missed my own bluebird yesterday. In the midst of all the web connecting and Dakar family hugging and kissing that was going on, I failed to make good on a promise to call my brother Doug…my very own big brother, whom I adore!

Doug and Karen, my off-the- chart wonderful sister-in-law, are in the very late stages of preparing to move from Kansas City to Colorado. Today, the money was handed over, which is the point of no return.

On Friday, the radically downsized Blackwoods head west after 10 years + in KC. While this is not their first move, nor is it even their third or fifth in nearly four decades of being a family, it’s big. Moving is big whenever it happens and whatever the change.

And I forgot to call. I’m so sorry I let you guys down.

Here’s my shout out to Doug and Karen: Good luck! Drive safely. Make cookies to make friends. Senegal à Denver = 6 hours! Be happy in your new home.

I love you!

Only Connect

I’m thinking about how much pleasure I get from all the connections that come in an average day, like today:

· Meeting with the consulting firm that is going to work with us on the Hospital of Hope project…It’s nice to be the conduit for developing this working relationship, which feels like it could also lead to friendship.

· Another lengthy email from one of my cousins…an exploration of our differing perceptions of family history.

· A long conversation with Nathalie about work, career, discrimination, politics and how much it really matters.

· Connecting with an old friend from New York who is currently facing some career changes that are uncomfortable…It’s nice to be called out of mentoring retirement to offer encouragement and support.

· Listening to my friend from the toy store lament that her web-based boyfriend wasn’t everything she had hoped he would be and she was finished with him.

· Seal’s giant-sized smile and unsolicited kiss for no reason…or at least none that he could tell me about.

· A thought-provoking business-focused conversation with a friend from Amsterdam and my realization that there is something miraculous about even having a friend from Amsterdam.

· A surprising and very welcome FaceBook message from the lovely and wonderful Mr. Subaru.

· A kiss and big hello from Paul when he came home from rehearsing in preparation for a tour to Morocco and Guadalupe.

· Dinner with Nathalie, Paul and Seal…a moment to wind down from the day and be equal parts grateful, silly and contented.

Care at any Cost

Although health care reform has been pushed off the front pages by BP’s oil spill in the Gulf, the subject is on my mind. I don’t have health insurance. It was an intentional decision. But it puts me in a category that is a little like being gay: Nobody talks about it in polite society. And certainly if you are, you shouldn’t admit it!

I am more than happy to be an example of why reform is necessary. Look, our business’s policy was up for renewal at the end of November, which was around the same time that Arthur and I decided to dissolve the agency. I already knew that I was leaving the country to live in Senegal starting in the spring. There just didn’t seem to be any point in taking out a policy for four months, especially as I knew it would have no value once I left the country.

Further assurance (if not insurance) was that I would be living with an M.D. and that health care in Senegal is completely affordable. As Nathalie has explained to me, an emergency room visit costs on average about $15 but there is a fee for virtually every medical item that is used in a diagnosis and treatment, i.e., every syringe, every gauze pad, every alcohol wipe, every test, every single item. OK, paying for everything that's used is not so different from the US system, here, .the price is undoubtedly lower because there's no insurance covering multiple mark-ups as supplies work their way through the distribution channel.

A marked difference in care in Senegal is that before a physician undertakes a procedure, the patient or a patient’s family member may be dispatched to the pharmacy to purchase all the supplies that are required for diagnosis and treatment.

I naively asked: “And what if the patient has no family member or is too sick to go get supplies or has no money?"

In her matter-of-fact Swiss fashion, Dr. Cretin replied, "They just might die.”

This brief and enlightening discussion opened my eyes to just how challenging it is for Coumba's mother and grandmother to care for her (See post from 5/14.). Daily, the work that we’re undertaking at the Hospital of Hope—to provide comprehensive, affordable, accessible care—becomes more relevant, more real, more urgent.

Steinbeck

I'm re-reading Grapes of Wrath, inspired by my friend Ricky Ian Gordon's opera, which had its premiere at Carnegie Hall right before I left for Senegal. I think I'm re-reading it. Wasn't it required reading in high school or college literature? It's like a fresh read for me...as was Of Mice and Men and Lord of the Flies and Brave New World.

This quote in Robert Demott’s introduction invited me pause: …Steinbeck discovered…the most heroic action was to learn to be present in the here and now, and to inhabit the “wherever” as fully and at once as possible.

Here and now...as fully as possible.

Heart Attack

Yesterday we drove to St. Louis, which was a little more than 3 hours each way, including the bio breaks under the baobab trees and stops to buy mangoes and melons.

All the guidebooks remark on St. Louis’s architecture, which is distinctly French colonial. It reminded me of New Orleans. (You can check my FaceBook page for photos.) The city has a large water front, because it is built both along the mainland and on an island in the bay. It’s pretty in a disheveled but promising sort of way that’s characteristic of developing countries.

But we weren’t in St. Louis for sightseeing. Nathalie was checking on the welfare and health of two young women—Coumba and Socadou--whom Nathalie met seven years ago when she was volunteering at a dispensary in St. Louis. Now 10, Coumba has epilepsy and is developmentally disabled. She is not able to see, speak or walk. She hears…and in fact, her face erupts with joy when she hears music or a familiar voice, like Nathalie’s. Before she began taking medication, Kumba was suffering from 20 or more seizures every day. For the past year, she has been seizure free.

In all respects, Coumba is dependent on Penta, her mom, and the family of women who surround her. Although financial resources are limited, they seem to have love in ample supply because Coumba’s sister Fagouda, who is eight, and her brother Papa Moussa, who is two-and-a-half, are happy, healthy, energetic, smart kids. Much to my delight…and dismay… Fagouda’s French skills far surpass mine. She happily demonstrated how well she could read, even correcting me when I tried to read along with her.

We also met Socadou, who is now 15 and a beautiful, thriving young woman. Seven years ago, she was a scrawny kid who was slowly dying of a congential heart defect. Although her first surgery—at birth—was successful, she needed another. And Nathalie--with her unfailing determination to help--secured the support of a French medical group called Terre des Hommes, who flew Socadou to Paris for that critical second surgery. The photo tells the story…Socadou is healthy, and she was overjoyed to see Nathalie.

This visit to St. Louis was not one from the guidebooks. We spent our time in a small, single-room home with Coumba, her mother and grandmother and aunts and siblings. We strolled to the market to buy a fan, so that the hot, rainy days ahead are bearable. We feasted on a fish, rice and vegetable dish that thrilled my taste buds but clearly taxed the family’s food budget. And then, Paul and Nathalie negotiated with a local builder to repair Penta’s home before the rainy season arrives in July, and the inevitable leaks become intolerable.

The drive home was long, but it gave me time to think about the day. In St. Louis, I had seen despair and happiness in the same home. I had experienced poverty and generosity in a family with very little but an instinctual willingness to share all they had. I witnessed Nathalie and Paul as a team. Their humanitarianism, which is committed to social change, is profound and humbling.

Nathalie does not just solve problems. She sees the people with the problems. She helps them…she stays with them…she continues to support them. Yes, Nathalie is paying for Coumba’s medication and ongoing medical care, providing money for her diapers and clothes, rebuilding the house, counseling and support Penta about Coumba’s care.

But it’s Nathalie’s strength and commitment that gives them hope. I saw Coumba’s face light up when she heard Nathalie’s voice. I saw Penta’s dancing eyes and radiant smile when she opened the car door and reached out to embrace Nathalie.

This is the change that Ghandi spoke and wrote about. This is being the change that we want in the world.