Dancing out malaria

I had a very interesting encounter the other day in my village. First off, let me just say that very few things happen in the day-to-day life here to make any specific day that memorable. For instance, the other day a man in my family got engaged making the woman and children have a little drumming dance party for an hour. We are still talking about it 3 days later.

The other big event that occurred was a doctor's visit to speak about malaria. I was informed about this occasion two days beforehand and was quite intrigued. Upon the day of his arrival I was excited to finally have something on my schedule for the day! At around 4 pm I followed children who were collecting plastic chairs and bringing them to a central area of my village by the road and underneath a massive baobab tree. I found a group of toddlers watching 3 men set up large speakers which they had hooked up to an antiquated music mixing table. Intrigued, I sat down to watch.

I was soon joined by members of my possy who began to do the typical mid-day hair braiding and gossip. After about 45 minutes of this, with no doctor in sight nor musical distraction, I was getting pretty antsy. Eventually the Senegalese popular music that to me sounds like a weird loud electronic noise but to them sounds like an invitation to shake their hips began. As confused as I was by this unexpected dance party, it did work to draw a crowd. Within minutes the crowd grew to about 150 gawkers, hoping to see someone other than a 5 year-old make a fool of themselves dancing. 

(Eventually an American song was played and I successfully embarrassed myself to the entertainment of everyone by singing out loud and shaking around.)

Before delving into details on the “malaria expert's” speech, I will go briefly into something that I have observed in my village and find fascinating- the culture of dance here. First off, as I found in Ghana and lets be honest, this is true with African Americans as well, people here can DANCE! The Jaxanke style consists of hunching over slightly and flapping your arms with a slight bend at the elbow as if one is preparing to take flight. In the meantime, one's feet are stomping to the rhythm of the drum beat (that is usually produced by banging two sticks on a bucket) and one's buttock impressively protrudes upwards. Some days, for the amusement of others I have attempted to reproduce this odd ostrich-like dance that they somehow make look attractive. My performance has resulted in lots of laughs and me looking like I pulled my back muscle and am having arm spasms.

Other than the unexpected style of Senegalese dance, the gender and age dynamics of society really come out with dance. I only once saw a male and female approach each other in the dance arena and it was a husband and wife. EVERYONE talked about how scandalous it was after. At least in the light of day, men and women are completely segregated in the dancing and social area. The men have a circle and the woman have another area, several feet away. These unspoken rules extend to the youth as well making discourse across sexes very mysterious to an outside observer.

So going back to malaria. The doctor from Dialacoto (the bigger town 2km from me) did show up resulting in an immediate scramble to assemble the microphone. After about 15 minutes of the screeching noise that a microphone makes when it is too close to a speaker, people realized the simple truth that when standing farther from the speaker, the horrendous sound does not occur, thus allowing the doctor's discussion to commence.

He started by reading off a paper in French that summarized some basic info about him coming here and malaria season. The fact that he began in French baffles me as it was an immediate trigger for people to not pay attention as 90% of the crowd present does not speak French. The celebrated doctor did switch over to Jaxanke but not quickly enough to stop girls from resume their hair braiding, women to resume their gossip and little boys to resume their wrestling matches. 

After a short 2 minutes, he handed the microphone over to two 16 year-old boys from my family who led the rest of the discussion. While my Jaxanke comprehension is not spectacular, from what I gathered they continued to emphasize the severity of the malaria, reminding the crowd that people die from this illness and to go to the hospital when one feels ill. 

I was impressed with how people took the initiative to generate this discussion on malaria. I had certainly not expected for this sort of domain to be present and was unable to decipher who organized and funded it. My apathy was extended towards the youth who made a dedicated but failed attempt at drawing the crowd's interest by asking questions and occasionally turning the music on for a few seconds. 

Through the gossip and chit-chat they continued to read out of their notebooks, emphasizing the need to protect the pregnant woman and children from malaria. This is a common misconception about malaria, it is a disease that pregnant mothers and children alone need to protect themselves from. So far, I have observed that this misconception is generated due to the fact that pregnant woman alone can receive a free mosquito net free of charge from my health clinic. While this can be viewed as a good program because it ensures that they obtain the net, it also communicates the message that they alone need to sleep underneath the net. My family even goes so far as to put the 5 month old baby under the net during the day in 110 degree weather, with no mosquitoes in sight because of the fear of disease.

 But with that said, I do not think that giving free nets to everyone is the answer as so many NGOs and international organizations have done because this sends the message of, 'oh they are free, I can get one anytime, I will use it to cover my garden because a new one will come next year'. In truth, I have seen more nets on plants then sleeping people. 

Ok so enough of my net rant, going back to the malaria discussion. After another 40 minutes of utter frustration, I too was getting antsy and contemplating leaving when I heard 'Fanta Mamayo!!!' come through the speakers. All I could think was 'oh crap, I am going to have to embarrass myself again in front of all these people by speaking in Jaxanke!' So I nervously made my way up to the microphone. The one benefit to being the white tobab, even if my language sucks, is that everyone did shut up for a second to see what I had to say. While I wished I had reviewed my malaria vocab, I was able to spit out the importance of sleeping under a net and that the mosquitoes with disease come out only at night (something most people here do not know). I reminded people to go to the hospital when ill and come to me with questions! Phewwww!

While none of that was ideal, being able to watch and participate in the half dance, half discussion was a good motivator and learning lesson for me when I try to hold my own causeries. I learned several things: 

First off, the smaller the better and dividing people according to age is key.

Secondly, the simpler, the better. People here to not like to pay attention.

Thirdly, looking official with papers, notes and diagrams gives people the impression that you are really legit and they loveeee that!

Lastly, they do like hearing some music played and see a white person dance!