US Victory

I was the only person in Dakar cheering for the American team. Or at least that’s the way it felt…and sounded.

This afternoon, when I dropped by the little grocery down the road, the owner had a one word greeting for me: “GHANA!” He was smiling but he and the other 10 guys hanging around waiting for the game to start were sincere. They wanted Ghana to win. The US was between them and the win they wanted for Africa.

I watched until mid-way through the overtime. Then I joined Nathalie and Paul for dinner. I didn’t have to sit in front of the TV to know what was happening. The cheers from the restaurant next door told the whole story. When the overtime ended, I knew Ghana had won. And I knew what I had to do. I had to go to the store and congratulate the guys.

They were all on the street. As I passed, each one yelled out “GHANA!” and laughed and waved. And each time, I laughed and responded “Felicitations!” At the store, the owner gave me a big grin and handshake, which is a remarkably friendly gesture for a Muslim male.

This loss actually felt like a victory for me. It's all about perspective. Just like life.

Caring First

Today was my follow-up visit with Dr. Santos. Paul and I raced downtown in the late Friday afternoon traffic, hitting snarls of cars, horse carts and scooters. Are traffic jams universal on Friday afternoon? [ I know where everyone in New York goes on Friday afternoon from early May until late September. But where are they going in Dakar? Are there also traffic jams in Acra and Capetown and Khartoum?]

I arrived at the office, a little breathless, a little late and apologizing in my oh-so-flawed French. When I walked into Dr. Santos’s office, he smiled and quietly asked, “How are you feeling?” What followed was a 20 minute conversation that included 3 minutes of health and 17 minutes of everything else. On the health side, he encouraged me to consider making some dietary changes. On “everything else”, we discussed family…mostly his three boys in university in Paris, Nice and New York starting next fall, being 58 and wondering what happened to the past 35 years, traveling and how intimidating it can be, being happy in what you do. He is a lovely man. We exchanged email addresses so that I can send him information about the hospital. And then we wished each other good health.

The grace note to the experience was that when I checked out, there was no charge for the visit. This really is the health CARE!

Move Me!

Last night, Nathalie and I braved the heat and humidity to attend an outdoor dance event at the French Cultural Institute. I’m glad we did. It was the first culture I’ve experienced since I left New York nearly three months ago. That’s a long stretch to be without.

The dance was an homage to Maurice Bejart by the company Jant-bi de Germaine Acogny. The dance itself was brilliant. Performed at the highest technical expertise by three masterful men, it defied gender definition. It pulled me into the rhythm, demanded my attention, made me forget the day’s frustrations.

It was just downright wonderful being in the audience, sharing the experience of beautiful expression. The mosquitoes had gone to feast on someone else. The humidity evaporated. The air cooled. The house was full. We were sitting under a nearly full moon, which bathed the audience and stage in spectral white when the lights were dark. That would have been enough for me. But the evening concluded with a fantastic presentation to the choreographer, Germaine Acogny, who received the medalle de Commandeur des Arts and des Lettres from the French Ambassador.

It was a perfect evening for her and a perfect evening for me.

Making Friends

June 22, a good day for several reasons. First, the human comfort factor (my own personal response to the National Weather Service’s “heat index”) is way up. The humidity is gone. The temperature has dropped. The wind is blowing, as it should near the sea. Suddenly, the air is refreshing and cool again. I don’t expect it to last as the rainy season is approaching. But if I just focus on this lovely evening, the cool, moving air is enough to call it a good day.

But there’s more. This morning, the intrepid trio—Nathalie, Paul and I--met with USAID Senegal’s health division. There was a moment in the very engaging discussion when I almost laughed out loud. I was flashing back to high school debate competition and my box full of quote cards, many of which came from USAID sources. And here I was 40 years later, sitting in a USAID office in Dakar, discussing the need for, the cost of and the potential financing scenarios for the Hospital of Hope.

We got good information but we didn’t get money, And worse, if there is something worse than that, we got discouraging words about the potential for construction capital from any governmental agency, whether US, EU or anywhere else in the developed world.

As I said, not encouraging. But not all bad either. I can safely say that we won another friend/fan for the project. The USAID officer’s support may lead us to another source. We’ll see.

On days like today, when the news is not all good…and the humidity is terrible…I remind myself that the Hospital of Hope has lots of wonderful friends. They’ve given us all the funding we have so far. They’re also building our website, translating texts, designing collaterals and strategizing about our social media campaign. We just haven’t found all the friends we need. Not yet. But we will, one introduction at a time. And we will build a hospital. Stick with us.

How sticky can it get?

The first day of summer brought first-day-of-summer-type weather to Dakar. Keeping in mind that I’ve never been in Dakar in the summer, I really don’t have a clue what the weather is like here. My internet explorations produced such annual temperature ranges as 68-86. It was a fact reported by a trusted source like Wikipedia, so why should I question it?

Question everything.

The temperature yesterday was 92; today it was 89 with 86% humidity. Maybe Wikipedia got the temperature and the humidity mixed up.

But it definitely beats Switzerland’s first day of summer, where the “real feel” of a west 51 was only a little above 40. On the first day of summer?

Can we blame BP for this? Or is it the druids dancing at Stonehenge who are responsible?

Gotta go turn on the AC and get under the covers.

Living the Reality

Yesterday I had to go to the doctor. For me, the only thing worse than going to a doctor in New York would be going to a doctor in a developing country.

As I have previously blogged, I don’t have health insurance. Knowing that I was leaving the US, I chose to take my chances because: a) I just don’t get sick very often. B) I have an enduringly strong constitution; c) I can rely on the good advice of the M.D. with whom I am living; d) I have health good luck and don’t get the stuff that other people get routinely, the colds, the bronchial infections, the flu.

But there I was in the office of Dr. Pierre Santos, general medicine and gynecology. I was surrounded by families with small children and pregnant women, most of them in traditional Senegalese dress. I was very obvious in my Capri pants and t-shirt, but I was focusing think on pain management and nothing else.

And I was in pain…lots of pain…and discomfort from the recurring gastro-intestinal problem that I afflicted me shortly after arriving in Senegal. My abdominal muscles were contracting repeatedly…pain on and pain off, pain on and pain off…for hours and hours. At times, I thought I would pass out. The experience confirms my choice to never bear a child. I am a chicken. I knew it when I was five and saw the bloody, howling birthing scene in the movie “Alaska.” The next day, I told my mom: "No kids for me!"

Dr. Santos is a compact, no-nonsense guy. He examined, diagnosed and wrote a prescription in about 10 minutes. He asked me to return next week. I was charged $35, and then I went to the pharmacy where five prescriptions cost another $35. I could not distinguish any difference between what I got in Dakar and what I would have gotten in New York. The treatment would have been the same. The only difference would have been the fee, which in NYC would have been five or six times what I paid.

In addition to feeling grateful for being restored to normalcy in a mere 24 hours, I am very aware that my $70 medical experience is out of reach for most Senegalese people. The affordable and accessible, high-quality care that we hope to deliver through the Hospital of Hope is essential. As Nathalie says, the imbalance between the developed and developing worlds can be positively affected by health care. I’m really glad to be a part of the effort to bring that care to Senegal.

Sticky and Contented

The votes are in.

Nathalie: yummmmm.

Paul (three votes): first, after he stole a bite from Nathalie’s bowl (because he couldn’t wrap his head around mango any way except fresh and cold) and licked his lips; second, when he asked for his own bowl; third, when he asked for seconds.

Stephanie –who has been jonesing for pie: yum, yum, yummed my way through a bowl and wished for a second.

Our Mango Crumble has been declared unanimously the best dessert made in this house since Nathalie and Paul moved in!

Clarification: It’s also the ONLY dessert made in this house since they moved in. A tiny detail and really unimportant.

Mango Crumble is on everyone’s lips tonight. We are firm believers that we make our own happiness.