America...O sweet sweet America I was wrong about thee. I used to think we had organizations like the FDA (Food & Drug Administration) for the sake of bureaucracy but I've come to realize I was so wrong. As I sit in an African hospital, for the second day trying to pinpoint were exactly I picked up the parasite that is causing this horrible intestinal infection, I realized I've never had an intestinal issue before but then again I've never eaten outside the jurisdiction of the FDA either (with limited exception). Think about this, we have shows come on occasionally that investigate the kitchen's of the food places we eat, with some alarming images at sports stadiums, but who ever gets sick from the food they eat if it isn't related to some sort of allergy? Hardly anybody.
Some of you are already thinking, "well this one time," or "my so and so got sick" but let's be real here having an upset stomach, diarrhea, indigestion, or heartburn doesn't qualify as sickness. Most of those things are preventable because often times you know what sorts of foods don't agree with your insides. Getting sick is like missing work because you're laid up barfing and you've got a fever from some sort of food poisoning or in my case an INTESTINAL INFECTION. Something for which I'd make a trade for an upset stomach or some heart burn. So lets not qualify some petty discomforts for "sickness".
So why do we rarely ever have a concern regarding the foods we eat if we don't have some sort of allergy or pre-existing condition that has us concerned with our diet? THE FDA!!! They have so regulated the food industry down to the minutia that there has to be some considerable break downs or just a straight up disaster for you to need to ever worry about the food you eat. From the food we grow, to the food we feed our livestock, from the way we deliver our foods, to the way we cook them, to the way we list their contents, and on and on it goes. Their are so many checks and balances in the food industry that getting "sick" has nearly completely been removed from the equation.
We can talk all we want about pesticides, preservatives, MSG, and whole slue of other things but the truth of the matter is you've got little to fear. When your life expectancy is 10-20+ years greater than that of your African counterparts its in large part due to the way we safeguard our food supply. People here in Africa often live with some sort of dormant sickness that flares up, now and again, that is connected to the foods they've eaten. Parasites are everywhere from food markets, to living livestock, to restaurants, and on the list goes. I've been told since I got sick that it's part of life in Africa to deal with this sort of thing off and on throughout the year (perhaps with less severity than my case but severe diarrhea, vomiting, fatigue, etc). Whether it's Malaria or a food related illness just be ready for it cause it's going to happen again while you're in Africa.
So ... it's day two in the Hospital and who knows how many days I've been sick and I honestly couldn't tell you where I picked up this parasite. There are just too many places it could have come from. The village, the local restaurant Nid, the American Club, food eaten at the house, or half a dozen other places. All I know is that I now live with great respect and in great comfort in the States because of the FDA. I don't have to wonder if I'm going to get sick or if I'll need to visit a hospital in the near future. I can eat and enjoy my food with my only thoughts being on a "more healthy" alternative, the fat content, or the calories. Wow, big worries there! THANKS GOD FOR THE FDA!!!
Monday, June 13, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Sick of Sick
You haven't been sick until you've been sick overseas in a 3rd world country, probably more so in Mali. In America you can call up your doctor get a prescription, sleep in an air conditioned environment, and just enjoy the many amenities of comfort. Not so in Mali. If you're in Mali you really don't want to go see a doctor unless you REALLY have to. First of all it costs an arm and a leg and second most of them probably can't accurately tell you what's wrong with you because they don't have the same abilities to test you as in the States. Then add to that the fact that your ability to get yourself more comfortable, as you try and get well, just simply isn't possible.
I'm not on here to blog a spiel of complaints but instead I find myself re-examining how different and difficult life can be in some very immediate ways we often probably wouldn't think about. Plus I'm not just any old sick I'm down and out. Its hard to sit up and type so I'm doing this in installments, resting and then returning again and again. I ache all over, I'm on the verge of a fever, I visit the bathroom VERY regularly, I sweat continuously because of the temperature in the house, I constantly feel like I'm going to throw up, and I've got a headache splitting my brain wide open as I try not to barf up the liters and liters of water I'm drinking to try and stay hydrated. I've lost so much water that when I flex it looks like I've been hitting the gym regularly. Again I'm not complaining but I find myself reflecting because I realize how fortunate still I am.
I find myself thinking about the fact I'm lucky to be able to run to a fridge and grab another 1.5 L bottle of CLEAN water (I've almost drank 4 today). How lucky I am to have Tylenol, Advil, Pepto-Bismol, and a bed that sits up above the ground. People die every year here in Mali from what I'm dealing with...especially children. They get sick, they catch a fever, and they get dehydrated in a matter of hours, and before you know it they are either worse for drinking unclean water, or they die from other causes related to their illness (often times cause their is NO doctor or hospital near by or they couldn't afford one anyways). All I have to do is BUCK UP and ride it out as uncomfortable as it is here. So I've got nothing to complain about cause I'm not dying...but then again think again before you start to gripe cause you're a 5 minute drive from somewhere that would save the lives of many people each year...not a hospital...a GROCERY STORE.
I'm not on here to blog a spiel of complaints but instead I find myself re-examining how different and difficult life can be in some very immediate ways we often probably wouldn't think about. Plus I'm not just any old sick I'm down and out. Its hard to sit up and type so I'm doing this in installments, resting and then returning again and again. I ache all over, I'm on the verge of a fever, I visit the bathroom VERY regularly, I sweat continuously because of the temperature in the house, I constantly feel like I'm going to throw up, and I've got a headache splitting my brain wide open as I try not to barf up the liters and liters of water I'm drinking to try and stay hydrated. I've lost so much water that when I flex it looks like I've been hitting the gym regularly. Again I'm not complaining but I find myself reflecting because I realize how fortunate still I am.
I find myself thinking about the fact I'm lucky to be able to run to a fridge and grab another 1.5 L bottle of CLEAN water (I've almost drank 4 today). How lucky I am to have Tylenol, Advil, Pepto-Bismol, and a bed that sits up above the ground. People die every year here in Mali from what I'm dealing with...especially children. They get sick, they catch a fever, and they get dehydrated in a matter of hours, and before you know it they are either worse for drinking unclean water, or they die from other causes related to their illness (often times cause their is NO doctor or hospital near by or they couldn't afford one anyways). All I have to do is BUCK UP and ride it out as uncomfortable as it is here. So I've got nothing to complain about cause I'm not dying...but then again think again before you start to gripe cause you're a 5 minute drive from somewhere that would save the lives of many people each year...not a hospital...a GROCERY STORE.
Friday, June 10, 2011
I ka kϵnϵ? Tɔɔrɔ tϵ.
So I've officially been here in Bamako, Mali for two weeks and one day. I've gotta say it's quite hard to believe that I've actually not been here much longer because it feels like I've survived at least a month's worth of happenings. It has been full of ups, downs and the like. This post is all about some of the happenings I've experienced since I got here and I'm dedicating this post to my Grandfather John L. Tackitt who past away while I was here on May 30th. I love you Grandpa...I've noticed the stars are shinning brighter as of late <3.
Well, phew...I don't even know where to begin. From the moment I arrived this country was trying to take advantage of the fact that I was "white" which meant that I wasn't from here, thus, I must not know what the rules, customs, and costs of things are...etc.After I landed I headed through customs on my way to get my bags and as I'm picking up my bags from the terminal a gentleman comes up to me, on my way towards the airport exit, and he asks me if I have receipts for all the things I've brought into the country because if I didn't I was going to need to pay tax on everything I had just "imported" into Mali. I was beyond suspicious and had to work really hard to get this guy to leave me alone. It wasn't until I finally got outside that he moved on to the next "sucker" to be. I wish I could say that the attempts to take advantage of the"Toubabou" or "white men" ended there but it hasn't.
I've had taxi drivers try to charge me two and three times more than I should have been charged. In fact that happened tonight when I was trying to get home from a restaurant. I said to a taxi driver who was trying to pick me up, "Ne be taa Baco-Djicoroni ACI, Soyatt station kϵrϵfϵ. O ye joli ye Bamanankan na?" It took about 15 seconds for him to realize I don't want the price in French since I can only understand it in Bambara which by the way is pretty uncommon. If you're a "toubabou" then you, with few exceptions i.e ME, speak French and have little or no understanding of the ethnic language Bambara. So once he realized it he smiled, laughed and greeted me in Bambara only to then ask me if I spoke Bambara well...when I said "Ne te se Bamanankan kosebe," he said ah "donin donin" meaning just alittle. Once we had an understanding he proceeded to say he wanted "Kϵmϵ saaba" or CFA 1500. I immediately replied "O ka ca!" Too much!!! He laughed and said well it's late at night and it's busy in Bambara. I told him "Barika, kϵmϵ." He proceeded to ramble on and I couldn't understand him and he just looked at me and I said "Kϵmϵ...Ne bena do wϵrϵ nini," which was me giving my final offer of CFA 500 or I was going to find another taxi. He spit off some sentence and opened the door for me to get in. I smiled and said to myself "Thats right this isn't my first rodeo."
It wasn't a bad experience it was actually good for me but it helps me reflect on the growth I've had in even just a short time here. I went from knowing absolutely none of the languages here to arguing with a taxi driver about how much I was going to pay for a ride home in just two weeks. To me that is huge! When I first got here I had alittle bit of culture shock from being in Morocco and only hearing and seeing Arabic and French and actually getting ripped off pretty good twice. The loneliness there was intense towards the end of the day. After a good night's sleep I was over it but it only took five days to hit a much more intense, depressing, and very oppressive culture shock here in Mali. The city is in chaos on the streets...you wouldn't believe what the traffic is like. People constantly coming up to your window begging for money or food while others are constantly trying to sell you stuff. It happens 10 fold to me because I'm a toubabou and in their minds I must be rich and have money to burn. Again I must also speak French which they try and talk to me in. I felt very lonely and out of the loop because I couldn't communicate with people and I was super stressed out by all the madness I was living around and in.
The transition came when I went to a village that was 2+ hours away to the east. Things were peaceful out there and the people were very friendly and understanding of my situation. I got to work on my Bambara and I learned a ton and spoke a fair amount after just 2 days in the village with some friends and a Malian named Bartholomew who spoken some broken English but we could communicate. We taught each other language during our time together. For him it was English and for me it was Bambara. It was an amazing weekend with great people which helped me break through the culture shock, language barrier and "grew a set" culturally enough to start venturing out into Bamako to engage this community and culture. The ups have been great and the lows have been depressing but its been a mixture that has forged growth and progress. I've got 10 more weeks and I know I'll look back and think that I've grown so much more than I would have imagined.
Stay tuned...K'an bϵn.
Well, phew...I don't even know where to begin. From the moment I arrived this country was trying to take advantage of the fact that I was "white" which meant that I wasn't from here, thus, I must not know what the rules, customs, and costs of things are...etc.After I landed I headed through customs on my way to get my bags and as I'm picking up my bags from the terminal a gentleman comes up to me, on my way towards the airport exit, and he asks me if I have receipts for all the things I've brought into the country because if I didn't I was going to need to pay tax on everything I had just "imported" into Mali. I was beyond suspicious and had to work really hard to get this guy to leave me alone. It wasn't until I finally got outside that he moved on to the next "sucker" to be. I wish I could say that the attempts to take advantage of the"Toubabou" or "white men" ended there but it hasn't.
I've had taxi drivers try to charge me two and three times more than I should have been charged. In fact that happened tonight when I was trying to get home from a restaurant. I said to a taxi driver who was trying to pick me up, "Ne be taa Baco-Djicoroni ACI, Soyatt station kϵrϵfϵ. O ye joli ye Bamanankan na?" It took about 15 seconds for him to realize I don't want the price in French since I can only understand it in Bambara which by the way is pretty uncommon. If you're a "toubabou" then you, with few exceptions i.e ME, speak French and have little or no understanding of the ethnic language Bambara. So once he realized it he smiled, laughed and greeted me in Bambara only to then ask me if I spoke Bambara well...when I said "Ne te se Bamanankan kosebe," he said ah "donin donin" meaning just alittle. Once we had an understanding he proceeded to say he wanted "Kϵmϵ saaba" or CFA 1500. I immediately replied "O ka ca!" Too much!!! He laughed and said well it's late at night and it's busy in Bambara. I told him "Barika, kϵmϵ." He proceeded to ramble on and I couldn't understand him and he just looked at me and I said "Kϵmϵ...Ne bena do wϵrϵ nini," which was me giving my final offer of CFA 500 or I was going to find another taxi. He spit off some sentence and opened the door for me to get in. I smiled and said to myself "Thats right this isn't my first rodeo."
It wasn't a bad experience it was actually good for me but it helps me reflect on the growth I've had in even just a short time here. I went from knowing absolutely none of the languages here to arguing with a taxi driver about how much I was going to pay for a ride home in just two weeks. To me that is huge! When I first got here I had alittle bit of culture shock from being in Morocco and only hearing and seeing Arabic and French and actually getting ripped off pretty good twice. The loneliness there was intense towards the end of the day. After a good night's sleep I was over it but it only took five days to hit a much more intense, depressing, and very oppressive culture shock here in Mali. The city is in chaos on the streets...you wouldn't believe what the traffic is like. People constantly coming up to your window begging for money or food while others are constantly trying to sell you stuff. It happens 10 fold to me because I'm a toubabou and in their minds I must be rich and have money to burn. Again I must also speak French which they try and talk to me in. I felt very lonely and out of the loop because I couldn't communicate with people and I was super stressed out by all the madness I was living around and in.
The transition came when I went to a village that was 2+ hours away to the east. Things were peaceful out there and the people were very friendly and understanding of my situation. I got to work on my Bambara and I learned a ton and spoke a fair amount after just 2 days in the village with some friends and a Malian named Bartholomew who spoken some broken English but we could communicate. We taught each other language during our time together. For him it was English and for me it was Bambara. It was an amazing weekend with great people which helped me break through the culture shock, language barrier and "grew a set" culturally enough to start venturing out into Bamako to engage this community and culture. The ups have been great and the lows have been depressing but its been a mixture that has forged growth and progress. I've got 10 more weeks and I know I'll look back and think that I've grown so much more than I would have imagined.
Stay tuned...K'an bϵn.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
NYC, Casablanca (Morocco) and Bamako, Mali
The thing I've learned the most while writing and blogging is that if you don't keep it short and sweet, well, you won't have much of anyone interested in reading what you write. Once they know you are a "novelist" of sorts then they won't visit your blog again. Let it be known, "novelist" is just in my blood, but I plan to "cut against the grain" and keep it read able for all of you back home and abroad who want to follow me as I spend the next 3 months (or more) in Bamako, Mali.
I left on quite the excursion just last week via a red eye flight bound for New York City's John F. Kennedy airport. My family dropped me off at the airport, I said my goodbyes, popped a couple Vicodin, checked in, and caught some of the worst sleep ever on my flight. From the moment I landed it was "go go go". I grabbed my bags, took the subway to Manhattan where my aunt lives and we headed out for an adventurous day with tons of great food, sights, and sounds located throughout the lower east side of Manhattan. The next day I got to see my family from NYC who I hadn't seen in about 4 years. We had great food and lots of fun together just catching up. I loved seeing them and hope its not quite so long before I see them again. After they left I got some more sleep and spent the final days in New York trying to rest up for the next stage of my travels.
Tuesday night I got on another overnight flight but this time I was leaving the States bound for Casablanca, Morocco in the Northwestern corner of Africa. It was by far one of the smelliest flights I've ever been on and it was almost eight hours long. I got a grand total of two hours of sleep which would eventually carry me till the time I got to Bamako, Mali a whole day later.
We landed and were shuttled by bus to the terminal where I spent the next hour or so wandering around looking for something to do. Keep in mind I anticipated spending the next 15 and a half hours at the airport. I wanted to go into Casablanca and I finally allowed the spontaneous and adventurous side of me to take over and venture out into the city alone (despite not knowing Arabic or French). I headed over to the "Currency Change" desk and asked for Moroccan Dirhams in exchange for my US currency. As I was an American girl walked up and was waiting next to me to switch over her funds to. I asked her what she was doing and where she was going throughout the day and she said into Casablanca. We began to chat and discovered we both were just on the same flight and both were headed for West Africa (her to Cameroon). We walked in search of her friend from the the flight and eventually found her.
As we walk up to her we find her Father and family friend are with her and they want to meet us. After meeting us he proceeds to invite us to their home for tea and brunch. We gladly accepted and we headed for their van. As we are driving through the city he is telling us all about Morocco and begins offering to take us around the city and show us all the cool places to visit. We again accept and head up for some fantastic food. We eventually leave and head for the city by food where we tried out some of the local fruit before catching a bus for towards the Old Medina where the vendors in Casablanca are located. He shows us all around before leading us into the Medina,buying us a gift, and making sure we have our train tickets back to the airport. After about 6+ hours together he bids us farewell along with his daughter and I'm left to explore the Medina and Casablanca with my new friend Arley who I'd met at the change station. After about 4 more hours of adventures that take us to the Habbous, the world's second largest Mosque, and into a taxi cab that ripped us off about $14 we headed back to the airport via train.
I spent the next 3 hours waiting for my flight lonely as could be. It's quite lonely when no one speaks your language and you're the weird looking foreigner whose taller than everyone, got culturally odd hair, and no language skills for the region. Eventually right before my flight was suppose to board a kid my age from Guinea started talking to me in English randomly. We talked for about 30 minutes before we lined up for the flight. At this point the flight was 30 minutes late. When I got into the line he asked me if I was sure that this was my flight because its typically a regional transfer flight to other west african countries. So we go check the board and my flight to Bamako at a different airport had been moved 10 gates down at the other end of the terminal and had been on time. At the moment we realized I was on the wrong flight I hear in Frenchy Arabicy English..."THIS IS A LAST CALL FOR A MR. NATHANIEL JAMES GARCIA, MR. GARCIA FROM JFK IN NEW YORK MR. NATHANIEL JAMES...THIS IS LAST CALL FOR FLIGHT AT523 TO BAMAKO, MALI." I say the quickest of goodbyes and I'm SPRINTING like lighting for the gate. I make and say I'm here I'm Garcia. And 4 guards at the gate start talking to me in French and I say, "No, No...I don't speak french." Everyone laughs but me and they say Welcome and Bon Voyage. I jump down the gate starts to the tarmac and jump in the bus with a French guy whose also running late. We barely make it and its off to Mali...
MORE TO COME...
I left on quite the excursion just last week via a red eye flight bound for New York City's John F. Kennedy airport. My family dropped me off at the airport, I said my goodbyes, popped a couple Vicodin, checked in, and caught some of the worst sleep ever on my flight. From the moment I landed it was "go go go". I grabbed my bags, took the subway to Manhattan where my aunt lives and we headed out for an adventurous day with tons of great food, sights, and sounds located throughout the lower east side of Manhattan. The next day I got to see my family from NYC who I hadn't seen in about 4 years. We had great food and lots of fun together just catching up. I loved seeing them and hope its not quite so long before I see them again. After they left I got some more sleep and spent the final days in New York trying to rest up for the next stage of my travels.
Tuesday night I got on another overnight flight but this time I was leaving the States bound for Casablanca, Morocco in the Northwestern corner of Africa. It was by far one of the smelliest flights I've ever been on and it was almost eight hours long. I got a grand total of two hours of sleep which would eventually carry me till the time I got to Bamako, Mali a whole day later.
We landed and were shuttled by bus to the terminal where I spent the next hour or so wandering around looking for something to do. Keep in mind I anticipated spending the next 15 and a half hours at the airport. I wanted to go into Casablanca and I finally allowed the spontaneous and adventurous side of me to take over and venture out into the city alone (despite not knowing Arabic or French). I headed over to the "Currency Change" desk and asked for Moroccan Dirhams in exchange for my US currency. As I was an American girl walked up and was waiting next to me to switch over her funds to. I asked her what she was doing and where she was going throughout the day and she said into Casablanca. We began to chat and discovered we both were just on the same flight and both were headed for West Africa (her to Cameroon). We walked in search of her friend from the the flight and eventually found her.
As we walk up to her we find her Father and family friend are with her and they want to meet us. After meeting us he proceeds to invite us to their home for tea and brunch. We gladly accepted and we headed for their van. As we are driving through the city he is telling us all about Morocco and begins offering to take us around the city and show us all the cool places to visit. We again accept and head up for some fantastic food. We eventually leave and head for the city by food where we tried out some of the local fruit before catching a bus for towards the Old Medina where the vendors in Casablanca are located. He shows us all around before leading us into the Medina,buying us a gift, and making sure we have our train tickets back to the airport. After about 6+ hours together he bids us farewell along with his daughter and I'm left to explore the Medina and Casablanca with my new friend Arley who I'd met at the change station. After about 4 more hours of adventures that take us to the Habbous, the world's second largest Mosque, and into a taxi cab that ripped us off about $14 we headed back to the airport via train.
I spent the next 3 hours waiting for my flight lonely as could be. It's quite lonely when no one speaks your language and you're the weird looking foreigner whose taller than everyone, got culturally odd hair, and no language skills for the region. Eventually right before my flight was suppose to board a kid my age from Guinea started talking to me in English randomly. We talked for about 30 minutes before we lined up for the flight. At this point the flight was 30 minutes late. When I got into the line he asked me if I was sure that this was my flight because its typically a regional transfer flight to other west african countries. So we go check the board and my flight to Bamako at a different airport had been moved 10 gates down at the other end of the terminal and had been on time. At the moment we realized I was on the wrong flight I hear in Frenchy Arabicy English..."THIS IS A LAST CALL FOR A MR. NATHANIEL JAMES GARCIA, MR. GARCIA FROM JFK IN NEW YORK MR. NATHANIEL JAMES...THIS IS LAST CALL FOR FLIGHT AT523 TO BAMAKO, MALI." I say the quickest of goodbyes and I'm SPRINTING like lighting for the gate. I make and say I'm here I'm Garcia. And 4 guards at the gate start talking to me in French and I say, "No, No...I don't speak french." Everyone laughs but me and they say Welcome and Bon Voyage. I jump down the gate starts to the tarmac and jump in the bus with a French guy whose also running late. We barely make it and its off to Mali...
MORE TO COME...
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