Guinea: Stories of Early and Forced Marriage in Conakry

Young girl practices carrying a stuffed animal on her back,
the same way that women carry children on their back. 

I can count the number of times I’ve said "I love research" on one hand, but after eight weeks in Guinea, I'm proud to say: research can be such a powerful tool. It can be a systematic way of collecting stories, of learning about people’s experiences, of creating a platform to share the voices of many that often go unheard. 

Throughout my summer, I’ve been meeting with stakeholders from local NGOs, women's groups, and other members of the community to understand some of the problems that women in Guinea are facing, and they’ve shared a long list: female circumcision (also known as genital cutting/mutilation), divorce, lack of jobs, early marriage, and the list goes on. As I started my doctoral research on child marriage in an African context, I wanted to take a step back and challenge myself to be open, not only to look for an answer to the questions that I have but to seek out the questions I didn't even think to ask.

I interviewed one woman - let's call her Kadijah* -  who shared her current life hardships as a victim of what she called forced marriage. Though she was married at the age of 25, an age in Guinean culture, she shared, where she could no longer say she wasn't ready to marry, her family had made the arrangements. The marriage resulted in her postponing her university education - she was proud to share how she was able to complete it - but now, she is unemployed, as she could not find a job, and stays at home to raise her young children. Although she believes her husband could be a good partner, she experiences maltreatment from her live-in mother-in-law, which makes her current marital situation extremely difficult and discouraging. 

There was another woman - let's call her Mariama* - who was married off at the age of 16. Now, her story was one of great luck, as she described; her family arranged a marriage and more than two decades later, she considers it a success. She has several kids, all of whom are doing well, all of whom have had more opportunities than she has, and she had more than her mother. She’s happy in her marriage - describes her husband as a good man - and although, as I later learned, she is the second of two wives, her education, intellect, and courage have helped her secure, in her words, "a good marriage." 

These are just two snapshots of stories women have been generous enough to share with me, glimpses into parts of their lives that - many described - they'd never talked about before. Unfortunately, most of the stories so far have been more like Kadijah's, or, even worse, have been laced with stories of repeated verbal and physical abuse. Even just to think about the intimate details some have shared is heartbreaking, and yet, these are the experiences that these women, and hundreds like them, live every day. 

There have been two positive aspects that have emerged repeatedly in the first handful of interviews, which I believe are worth highlighting here. First, the women that I've interviewed thus far have looked at their children as their successes, regardless of the experiences of their marriages. They've shared that this is related to cultural norms and expectations: a young woman is supposed to marry and produce children. Many illustrated how their children's lives are somehow better than their own, whether they married at a later age, or had the opportunity to complete schooling regardless of gender. Second, the women I have interviewed thus far have shown a lot of strength. Only one woman cried briefly during her interview, despite the various horrific tales that left me and my assistant teary-eyed. A few have also become advocates, working for local organizations where they are able to help educate other women about their rights or health. 

I can't put into words what this experience has been like, starting to delve into this private space of thoughts and experiences of women in this community. And I can't explain how incredibly fortunate I feel that these women have adopted me into their lives, that they trust me to learn from their pasts and to share my interpretation of these messages along. And although my time in Guinea for this summer has ended, it has become increasingly clear that my relationship with this country, and with some of the incredible women I've been fortunate to meet here, is only just beginning.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the women who generously volunteered their time to participate in multiple interviews. I am truly grateful. 

Guinea: "Get Your Hair Did" - Conakry Style!

Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve spent a lot of time speaking with women to understand their experiences and how they influence their health and well-being. They’ve shared of all sorts of challenges – ranging from circumcision and forced marriages to finding a suitable husband or making sure they look “jolie.” Of the many challenges shared, I found some I could personally relate to. The one I want to share with you today – the one that makes me both smile and, sometimes cringe, and always seems to come up no matter where in the world I am – is our desire, as women, to look a certain way. And sometimes, that starts with hair…

Whether I’m in Michigan, or Boston, or 4000 miles away on the African continent, getting my hair done is always an adventure. I have find someone who can do the style I like, I have to find a day that I can go to do it, I have to explain it in a language that could be understood, and whether in the U.S. or here in Conakry, I have to negotiate the price! The first time I did my hair here in Conkary, I had two women come to the house. We had to wander around my neighborhood, trying to find all the items that we needed, and then I had to just do one of the two styles they were familiar with since that’s what they were skilled at doing. So the second time, I decided to venture out into the neighborhood to see if I might have better luck on my own. I found a little salon – an unassuming little shop not wider than a king-size bed. There were two women in there, watching some dramatic Telenovela. There was a single mirror, no sink, and I was beginning to wonder what this experience would bring.  

“Bonjour,” I said to the women, as we began the customary greetings of asking how each other and our families were doing. “Can you do these styles for my hair?”

“Of course,” they said, and they got right to work.

They took out my braids, a process that would have taken me several hours on my own. They washed my hair, complete with a little scalp massage, using a portable hair washing contraption and heating up a bucket of water. They went searching the neighborhood to buy the necessary hair products to do the style I wanted. And then we sat for the next four hours together, as I learned little bits of the local language of sousou and talked about their lives, while they “tressed” my hair again.

Before: Time to take out the braids...

During: The most ingenious portable hair
washing contraption!

After: Voila!

A few things stuck out to me as I sat in the little wooden chair in this salon. First, I thought how ingenious the women were, learning a trade as a way of making money when times were hard. Sometimes, I feel that as a member of the middle-class and of a Western society, I find it easier to pay for something like getting my hair done (because I can afford to), rather than learning how to do it myself, and I truly valued their spirit and self-reliance. Second, I was amazed how much could be done with so little. My hair could be scrubbed clean without a traditional sink. A work of art (which I believe hair can be) could materialize from a shop the size of some peoples’ closets.

And finally, I was yet again struck by the hardships that some women face here. Both women were quite young, certainly not older than me, and yet they each had a child – one 6 years old, one 8 years old. They were never married, received no help from the children’s fathers, and had to do “everything,” one woman described, to survive when her parents had – for one year – thrown her out of the house after the pregnancy. When I asked if I could buy a snack nearby, they said, “In this neighborhood? No. It’s only expensive restaurants. We haven’t eaten all day.” And so they sat in a salon from morning to night – one of the women had to rush out after 9 pm to give a client a massage (which the salon also offers) – and I’m sure she couldn’t have reached home before 11 pm or later.

Overall, “Get your hair did- Conakry-style” was a success, and I’ve found a hairdresser for my next trip back to Guinea. And I left with yet another reminder that being a woman never seems to be easy. 

Sierra Leone: A Little Self-Care in Freetown

It was approaching Week 6 of my time here in Guinea, and I realized I needed a break. The constant pursuit of research approval, my intense attempt to dive-in to my local setting, and the heavy conversations I was having about life for young women were beginning to affect me. Recognizing that my spirit (and patience) was being worn down, I knew it was time to address the "buzzword" of international development and global health work, the word that too many people say but rarely make the time to do: self-care.

Self-care, as the University of Kentucky defines,  is comprised of " any intentional actions you take to care for your physical, mental and emotional health." It's that thing you know you need to do because you think you're too busy to take time for yourself, to stop, to breathe, to take a break. "Self care isn't just important," Kristin Wong of LifeHacker writes, "It's crucial."

I agree.

My own go-to for self-care - in addition to exercise, a nice glass of wine, and a hearty salad -  has always been a change of scenery. And although I was more than 4000 miles and more than a day of flying away from home, I knew what I had to do. I had to get out of Conakry for the weekend and decided to visit one of my best friends in the neighboring country of Sierra Leone.

Like Guinea, Sierra Leone is a predominantly Muslim West African country. Its population of nearly 6 million is half the size of Guinea's 12 million, and it, furthermore, differs as a former English (rather than French) colony. Sierra Leone's history is distinct in many ways: the country suffered a 12-year civil war that ended in 2002 and was hit hard by the 2014-15 outbreak of Ebola. Getting to Freetown was a bit of an adventure - I found no flights and felt completely unsure about attempting public transportation. Instead, I was driven to the border (or almost to the border, followed by some negotiation with the Guinean military about letting the driver actually take me to the customs/border patrol building), and Jenn met me with her driver there.

Heading out of Guinea.

Some of the bumpy Guinea Roads.

Me and Jenn at the border!

Hittin the streets of Freetown. 

Freetown!

My weekend in Freetown was calm and relaxing, with lazy days, good books, and even better company. We spent time in a cafe (that even had bubble tea and to-go cups!), had dinner and drinks along the beach, and went shopping in the local market, where I tried my hand at negotiating inexpensive goods down even further.

Jenn taking shots of a stylish Sierra Leonean man. 

Lobster dinner with a nice view of the ocean. 

Gina's Cafe!

Yes - Starbucks' style!

Local Bookstore. 

Outside the Market. 

Inside the market. 

It's hard to fully explain what felt different between Conakry and Freetown. Freetown seemed somehow a little more grand and more Western - streets had names (that were known and used), the architecture was distinctly different (somewhat the influence of the British and Nova Scotian influence in the 17th and 18th centuries), the roads in the main town and to the border were paved and smooth (a direct contrast to the very bumpy journey on the Guinea-side of the border). I enjoyed looking at the differences in fashion too; clothes were crafted from the same materials but I saw shorter dresses, styles I would wear in the U.S crafted from local fabrics. Freetown wasn't "better" than Conkary but it was fun to get away and experience something a different and new.

The Fabrics!

The fashion.

Tried on some cute dresses too!

Bumped into a classmate (from Boston) unexpectedly! 

An old wooden board house - one of the cool
architectural features throughout Freetown.

Most importantly for me, my time in Freetown was a complete break and a great reminder of the value of self-care. I was allowed to shut-off my mind, to read for fun, to chat about everything from the type of work I want to do in the future to my desire to dive back into fashion this Fall. It was just the medicine I needed - the perfect weekend of self-care - to feel rejuvenated about the work I'm just starting to do in Guinea.

Forecariah, Guinea, on the way home.

Guinea: It’s all about the tapalapa

Me and Mettre, a craftsman who has his shop
at La voile de marie. Despite that the area has
been largely abandoned since 2008, he maintains
his shop and, when the lone visitor comes by, is
so positive! Of course I had to buy some items
(and didn't even have the heart to bargain).
This is true inspiration. 

Only a few weeks left here in Guinea and I have to say my head, and my heart, are full! Whether chatting with women about the hardships of life here for them, or taking in the breath-taking yet abandoned "la voile de marie" waterfall, I’m really starting to see this country, and parts of the culture, in a very different light.

Me with two of the women of Muffa, a
community-based microfinance group.

La voile de marie (veil of the bride).

This past week started with a meeting at FITIMA, a foundation that supports handicapped children and women, where I learned about some of the problems young women in Guinea face. I, then, spent four days back in Kindia, a tranquil contrast to Conakry life. I had a chance to interact with seven community-based organizations from across the country and learned about the ways in which they’ve been engaging communities to improve utilization of health services across Ebola-affected areas. I also had a chance to visit the health facilities that HC3 is renovating, and was amazed to learn that through strong relationships, oversight, and integrity, they were able to renovate an entire facility for half the cost that a multilateral organization paid to renovate a single room!

Diyare and Cellou, two Amnesty ambassadors, and me.

New friends during the workshop in Kindia.

Health Center before. June 2016.

Health Center After. July 2016.

I’ve learned that language and food are two important keys to any culture, and so I spent time this week trying to engage more with both. Beyond French, I started to learn some basic greetings in Malinke, one of the many local languages, which garnered a lot of laughs from my new friends. I ate rice, feuille de patates (boiled sweet potato leaves that make a spinach-like dish), sauce arachide (peanut sauce), Konkoé (a delicious smoked fish stew), funion (tiny couscous-like dish made of millet, which they served with an okra gumbo I have no intention of eating again)…I went with the flow when we went to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, where I gorged on pâte de maïs  (thick corn mashed potato-like porridge) and an array of delicious sauces. I savored one of the most delicious salads I’ve had in long time, made from the fresh vegetables of the fertile Kindia region. And I discovered the local bread, tapalapa, a dense, clay oven-baked staple, which has changed my no-carb ways!

The restaurant. Seriously. 

Sofi and Bobo digging in!

Me and Dr. Daffe.

So good!

Yum! (And I didn't get too sick...)

Perhaps the most special moment, one that showed me the potential of Guinea and reminded me that corruption doesn’t have to be part of an “African” culture, was meeting the Mayor of Kindia, a man who spent 14 years abroad before returning to Guinea. He shared with us a strong vision for a different “Africa” – where the people, not foreigners, lead change. 

When I was invited to share remarks, I was amazed that French flew earnestly:

I’m here because I believe in Africa, I shared, My family is Nigerian. There are a lot of problems there. Maybe one day I’ll work there. But for now, I spend a lot of time all over Africa including this country that I don’t yet know because I hope to use the tools that I have to illuminate problems. It’s not me who can change it but I can help bring it to light for leaders, like you, who can lead change.

Of course, I still find the traffic here excruciating; our 2-hour journey took 6 due to poor roads and poorer driving. Of course, I struggle with the juxtaposition of power and poverty; I sipped on four bottles of Moet & Chandon (compliments of a very wealthy friend of a friend) at a club while watching young women look for sugar daddies, a normalized form of income, I’m told. But it’s this sentiment – that I can use my current tool kit and the platform that I have to raise the voices of so many here – that continues to keep me sustained. And in a world that seems to be spewing more hate and destruction than I've experienced in my lifetime, that little sentiment of hope and belief that, however small, I can make a difference is just what I need. 

Guinea: Finding my Guinean Family

What’s the biggest difference I’ve noticed between being in Guinea and being in the U.S.? It might surprise you that it’s not really the food, or the cost of housing, or the night life – I can buy delicious hamburgers, rent a US$3000/month apartment, or go out to club where people are dressed to the nine’s down the road from my house. 

Hamburger a la Conakry, Guinea.
(Complete with a fried egg on top!)

What has stuck out to me the most over the past weeks, and perhaps the root of the past weeks’ problems, is the importance of family and a sense of community.

This past week was all about immersing myself a little more, to assemble what might become my “Guinean Family.” I spent several hours volunteering for Remed 2016, an intensive week-long 42-hour public health writing workshop for medical school students at Gamal Abdul Nazeer University in Conakry. The students, who were all at different places in their medical training, were completing a thesis as part of their training, and the workshop was an opportunity to mentor them on how to turn their research into a publishable article. Although mentoring these students in French was a little challenging, I found the experience really rewarding. It took me three years to learn how to publish my first article – which recently came out, I am ecstatic to share – so I was happy to support others in learning from my experiences.

A beautiful mosaic in front of University Gamal Abdul Nazeer.

The full group!

Me giving feedback to a small group on their final presentations. 

The mentors.

Moussa, one of the mentees I've been working
closely with, and myself.

I attended a session at the 5^th Annual West African Social Action Forum, which proved to be a most unexpected yet informative experience. 

A booth on preventing gender-based violence.

As I was looking at booth in the Expo Space, waiting for the person who worked there to arrive, a group of young men noticed me looking at an educational picture book that showed different forms of violence against women. When they asked me about the book, and I realized no one else around, I didn’t want to miss the educational opportunity so I attempted to explain. 

One picture, in particular, led to a fascinating conversation about the role of religion, cultural norms, and what we consider in the advocacy world to be violence against women. This picture symbolized submission, which some of the boys actually said was a form of respect, but by the end of conversation, with the assistance of an older man and woman who overheard part of our conversation and intervened, at least one of the young men realized that norms can be changed, and that they can take part in that change. 

To make the moment even better, the Minister of Social Action came by the booth right as we finished this conversation, so I had a brief opportunity to meet her as well.

Panel discussion with the Minister of Social Action on
women, conflict, and violence. 

I spent some time again with HC3, attending a workshop and a national research survey training, learning more about their unique models of health facility capacity building in the aftermath of Ebola. I really appreciate the ways in which they engage with communities throughout Guinea, and plan to help them write about some of the innovations their pioneering here.

And perhaps most meaningfully, I met with a group of women from a small women’s microfinance and empowerment group to learn more about their communities and their lives. Each came dressed in colorful clothing, their heads covered with a scarf, one with a baby on her back. They were so willing to share their incredible stories of hardship and of triumphs, and to help me think through how I might deepen my understanding of the challenges young women here face.

Each of these interactions revealed to me a little more about life here, but it was really the personal connections that helped energize me this past week. Whether it was passing the morning’s with Alexandre, a medical doctor and current PhD student who was excited to connect me with the University’s emerging public health program…Or finally moving around the town with the company of Sebastian and Wesley, two lively New Yorkers who are currently calling Conakry their home…Or Cady and Mariam, two young Guineans that I’ve enjoyed chatting with from time to time…I’m starting to see how to make this place a little more like home. 

When it rains and the driver says he can't come...
You have to make moves yourself!

Our makeshift drumming session chez famed drummer
Pap Kouyate. 

Being “independent” here is not as easy as it is back in Boston, and, in fact, I’ve found that it makes the experience here a little less rich. But the sense of community I’m starting to find, and the people who are warmly welcoming me into their lives, have helped to start to create my Guinean family.