Friday 12 June – Day 80

I’ve been brought to tears this afternoon. Admittedly I am starting to get emotional about leaving Africa a week today, though I am looking forward to getting back to the UK for a while, and then returning here in the autumn Inshallah. But that wasn’t why I was so upset.

Yesterday I was happily taking some pictures of kids in the yard of the compound I’m staying in. Especially photogenic was a pretty little girl cuddling a teddy tight to her chest. Her face portrays her as a disconnected child, older than her years; one who has seen much suffering before her time. I thought she made a great picture, but didn’t really notice all that her face had to show until later when I was looking through the digital images on the screen on my camera in the evening. I really felt for her and wished there was something I could do to help.

When I ask a friend why she is looks so sad, he concluded that she probably comes from an unhappy home - getting beaten. I’d heard a harrowing personal account from an adult before, of having been beaten regularly at home as a child. I wouldn’t like to guess at the prevalence, but from what I have heard it is not that uncommon.

This afternoon I heard a little child crying, one of the girls, no more than 5 or 6, that comes to the felt-tip drawing and writing sessions I’ve been doing this week. I went up to her to see what was wrong and try to comfort her, and I saw she had a line of broken skin on her shoulder and a little trickle of blood going down her back.

She went off still crying, desolate, into a room. I followed thinking I might be able to do something to help her and either bring iodine and a tissue to her, or get her to come to my room for me to clean up her back. As I turned back to my room hoping she’d follow, her mother came out with a long strip of something, shouting. Now I knew where she had got the wounds from, as she was getting a few more.

They say it’s a small step from hitting an animal to hitting a child. I have seen both here. I don’t know which came first, but if you experience being beaten yourself you are less likely to think twice about doing the same to another. So the cycle continues. Cruelty to children is not peculiar to Africa by any means. I really want to do something to give these kids a better chance in life than the one they are likely to have.

Later… My friend had a chat with the girl’s mother and she said she had been naughty. The friend doesn’t like that kind of ‘system’ and the mother says she doesn’t either, so won’t do it. I later saw the girl again and she fell asleep on my lap. I laid her down on the bed as she stayed there conked out for a couple of hours until I thought she wouldn’t sleep well at night if she didn’t wake up soon.

We saw that she has lots of wounds all over her legs, which the flies love, making them infected. She’s not the first child I’ve seen with lots of wounds. The young kids here are always running around, climbing up trees and sitting in the sand. But if you try to put a plaster on them it falls off after a few minutes because they’re moving about so much.

We all had fun after that, making animal noises, cat, dog, chicken and goat, and playing at being animals. They liked the dog best – sticking their tongues out and waggling their bums! They’re great fun. And want to lend a hand all the time – bringing umpteen mangos again, helping with the washing and throwing the water out and so on. They’re good kids.

Even later still… How frustrating! I finally got the report I’m working on for the assessment at a stage where I could email it as a draft to Rachel, Great Uncle Fred and my mum to their information as a work in progress. And I wrote a few emails ready to copy and paste into my hotmail account and send.

But… as we get near to the centre of Dianna, the garrasoto, market and school, all at the crossroads where the road to Abene meets Dianna, the man from the Internet café tells us that there’s no network connection, no internet now. He says it’s off in Abene too and as far as Kafountine and Diolulu, the nearest towns in each direction.

But on the walk back in the dark I learnt how to say hello to shop keepers. I had been saying kasumei, but that’s Jola language. Most shop keepers are from the Fula tribe and speak the Fula language. They don’t speak much Mandinka, even though they live here in a predominantly Mandinka area. When I speak to some shop keepers in Mandinka they don’t understand and stay silent. So I’ve learnt tanala – hello in Fula. They then reply jantuum.

I found tanala difficult to remember. But I’ve come up with a mnemonic to help me. The vowel sounds are all the same (aa), and the consonants are the same as the English word tunnel, t-n-l. Easy to then remember tanala! Why are most shop keepers Fula? Are they really more business minded than the Mandinkas?

My friend’s neighbour in Gambia is visiting friends and family in Dianna. She’s here chatting now. She’s tired after walking all the way from Kartoum in Gambia today. It’s not that long a distance, but there’s also no bush taxi service from there to here. There’s a religious event taking place this weekend in each village. The Imam’s eldest son is going to read the Korán to his father in front of the whole village and lots of others by the sound of it. Apparently people have travelled from Bignona, Dakar and Gambia especially.

I saw a few of them on my walk through the village this evening to go to the internet café. I wished I had changed from my African print dress, matching tikoo (headscarf) and vest top into something more Islamic, a full compileto, full African dress with a top that would cover my shoulders. But I still had good chats with several African women, in Mandinka.

I’ve got a meeting first thing in the morning at my house. A last chance to prepare the team for presenting the action plan and results of the assessment to the Chiefs of the three villages when we meet with them on Sunday afternoon to ask for their support. We’ll go through the detail we didn’t have time for at the end of the last team meeting on Wednesday as it was getting dark.

It’s difficult as the night is a lot darker here. There are very few street lights. It’s easier to see when the moon is full. I really don’t like the nights here too much. I am at a disadvantage as local people have much better eye sight in the dark than me. I prefer to stay at home. It’s fine if you have good lighting in your rooms. If you haven’t you are reliant on torches and candles. Not very comfortable night after night, but you get used to it. Electric lighting is so much more reassuring.

We’re really cramming the assessment team meetings in now as this is my last week effectively. I really don’t want to make any plans for meetings for next week if I can help it. I need the time to take any last photos I need to, say goodbye to people and head up to Gambia for the last few days before flying out from the capital of the Gambia, Banjul. It’s the nearest airport, being in the south of Senegal here, very far from the capital, Dakar.

I wanted to visit it while I was here, but I’ve concentrated on the nearer area. Next time. There’s a lot to be done next time!

Cockroaches! I really can’t stand them. Revolting. They come out at night. Another reason not to like the nights here! I won’t use the African toilet in the night as you can see them crawling up and down the walls inside the pit that is under the ‘roof’ of the hole you stand on. The crawl about inside, around the hole you stand on either side of, all over the place. Yuck. Not for me. I much prefer a bucket! I lived with cockroaches in my old basement flat in Toledo, Spain, and trod on a few by accident in the night or early morning.