The Children of Tsihary

A villager receives a tetanus shot at the CSB.

Rodin photobombs my picture of the neighborhood boys.

A group of kids before class at Tsihary.

Tsihary students brandish the sticks they've brought for the school cooking fires.

Purple flowers on the rice paddies north of Manambaro.

Women harvesting rice to the east of town.

Some of the posters I got for Christmas, plus the new setup I rigged for my mosquito net.

Written January 19, 2012
Manambaro

This post is dedicated to the Volunteers and staff of Peace Corps Morocco, as well as the Peace Corps Africa Transition Team.  One year ago they gave Peace Corps Niger help and comfort when we needed it most.

    The percussive CRACK outside my window could only have been a lightning strike.  There’s a seventy-foot-tall radio relay tower in the yard, the highest thing around for miles.  It was around midnight, and outside the rain was coming down in sheets.  Another CRACK startled me awake a few hours later.
    Last week a tropical depression moved through the south of the island before angling off towards South Africa.  The Malagasy Weather Service (the “Méteo”) didn’t detect it until it was already buffeting the southeast coast.  Luckily, Peace Corps staff were monitoring international reports and sent out mass texts warning Volunteers beforehand.
    My house is built like a fortress, so I’ve a lot less to fear from storm winds than the average Volunteer.  Nor is flooding a concern.  I live on a hill, and many square miles of rice paddies would have to flood before the water could even reach the foot of it.
    But the storm definitely made things soggier around the town.  In some areas there’s no other option but to wade through ankle-deep streams that have formed as water drains from one field to another.  Makes me wonder what’ll happen once we get a proper cyclone.  My Floridian mother brought me up to be much more excited than frightened at the prospect.
    This week I’ve decided to test out some of the presentation methods I’ve had in mind for the rest of my service.  I figure since my title is Health Educator, I’d better start educating.  Otherwise I might just stay inside and write letters, like during the first three months here when I had carte blanche to do nothing.
    My normal health talk at the CSB went well.  The women there who show up are mostly pregnant mothers coming for vaccines and prenatal consultations.  Instead of trying to interest them in general health subjects, I decided to talk almost exclusively about breast-feeding.  At first it seemed like they were determined not to pay attention to this foreigner, this male foreigner who thinks he knows about babies.  But after the third round of my insisting that breast milk will make their babies strong, they seemed to come around.  They still looked dubious when I said that babies don’t need coffee.
    I finished up the lecture by explaining that in order to have the best breast milk, a mother needs to eat well.  I suggested eating greens for iron and mangoes for Vitamin A.  I allowed that meat is usually pretty expensive, so beans and peanuts might be better sources of protein.  Several women looked as if, “Huh, this vazaha sorcery just might work.”
    More and more women arrived during the course of the lecture, because that day we were giving the full range of vaccinations instead of just the prenatal ones.  Unfortunately, Dr. Jean-Claude was detained by two of his superiors from Fort Dauphin who wanted to talk about malaria eradication.  So while we waited for him I decided to give another lecture, elaborating on the nutritional habits I’d talked about.
    Since there were over a hundred women there by this point and I didn’t feel like shouting, I directed my talk at Isabelle, one of the mothers who’d been most inquisitive and forthcoming during the first one.  About twenty people around us listened intently, while others eavesdropped out of curiosity.  I brought two posters from my house, with eye-catching pictures of food.  I explained about how there are three food groups: carbs, proteins, and fruits and vegetables, and one needs to eat from all of them to stay healthy.  People seemed intrigued.  But when I suggested that it’s not good to eat an entire meal of plain rice or cassava, Isabelle told me gently,
    “But we like rice and cassava.  They’re part of Malagasy culture.”  People will never stop eating meals of plain rice or cassava.  Save your breath, outlander.
    So I left the CSB with mixed feelings on my success.  We’re having a week-long polio vaccination campaign next week, so that’ll keep me busy.  It’ll also bring more people in from the surrounding villages who still don’t know me.
    The next day I got up at 4 to walk to the primary school at Tsihary with M. Dieu-Donné.  I was under the impression that the primary school (EPP) was just behind the middle school, which abuts the main road to Manambaro, not far away at all.  I was wrong.  People said afterwards that the walk to Tsihary proper is three kilometers, but it feels like five at least.
    The school is comprised of three buildings, two of which have large rusted holes in the tin roofs.  There are about five hundred students.  I ended up talking to all four classes about hand washing.  When I asked, “Who already knows when to wash your hands?”, one little girl answered, “Every Thursday.”  The oldest kids seemed to get it when I explained that even though soap costs money, it costs more for medicine if you get sick.
    Thing is, Tsihary is a bush village.  I’d guess that close on 100% of its residents are farmers, herdsmen, woodcutters, or charcoal burners.  The average income for the first three kinds of work is maybe 1000 ariary a day (50¢).  Charcoal burners do a little better.  But even the smallest bar of soap costs 150 Ar.  No one’s gonna spend money on soap when they can hardly afford to buy rice.
    As I was walking back to Manambaro I had a brainwave.  Ash!  I forgot to advise the kids that scrubbing with ash from a fire works almost as well as soap!  Oh, well.
    As much as the kids at Tsihary need help with basic health concepts, my duty is to the children of Manambaro.  As painful as it is to admit, I have to help people who have the resources to help themselves.  Being a bush village, Tsihary has rice and cattle and wood, but precious little cash.  It reminds me of Gala Beri, my site back in Niger, and it makes me despair for my chances to make a difference if I had stayed there.
    But there is hope.  Soon I’ll go speak to the director of the EPP in Manambaro and start giving health talks there.
    This morning I thought of going to Karamena to give lectures in the market, but then decided it was too far to be worth the trip on foot.  It’ll be much easier to start that once I have wheels.  I’m going into the city to pick up up Israel’s bike tomorrow, so next week transportation will be a lot easier.
    I still haven’t decided on a major project yet, but I’m starting to see how I can rack up the numbers of people whom I have talked at about health topics.  Who knows?  Maybe I can get kids to start washing their hands on Mondays as well.