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. 

Guinea: Learning More About Life for Women (and How to Live) Here

This week, I decided to channel my inner-D.I.V.A. and throw a little caution to the wind. I sent emails I normally wouldn’t send as I tried to get in touch with anyone, anywhere who could help me navigate a little more smoothly here. I asked people forward and upfront questions about things I was genuinely curious about. I communicated with all three of my research advisors and admitted that all wasn’t perfect. I even took a shared taxi multiple times, crammed in the back seat with three other people. A little more initiative was just what I needed to feel capable after last week.

Had to stand on the side of the road and wave my thumb
to catch a little taxi. 

One of the highlights of this week was a visit to Jpheigo, another NGO doing some interesting work in maternal and child health. I learned about some of their gender-based project initiatives around Conakry, including a community-based sensitization that uses pictures to engage in conversation about social and cultural norms. Binta was such an excellent teacher and talked me through all of the different scenarios of different types of violence women face. Among the most problematic of the many forms she shared: lack of schooling, early marriage, and female genital cutting.  

This picture really stood out to me: It's a
scene where a mother beats the daughter and
tells her to finish dishes before she goes to
school, while her younger brother heads off
to school on-time with his friends. This, and
other pictures, are used to spur conversations
about norms and practices in the communities.

What I think was most interesting about our conversations was not what I learned – many of the things were not new to me – but was how, in the office, it created a buzz and conversation. We ended up talking with two male coworkers’ about their perception of the challenges girls face, with another older woman in the office about her daughter’s experience. It brought to life, for me, not just the textbook version of the problems that occur here – consistent with some of my own preconceptions from the background research I did – but even among more educated individuals how engrained cultural practices can be and how open some individuals can be to talking about it. 

A depiction of the perceived roles of women and
men. The woman, on top, gathers firewood, cooks,
cleans, gets water, cares for the man, and tends a small
garden, all while taking care of the child on her back.
The man manages the food, the farm, stays in the
big house (while the wife/ves are in the back huts),
owns livestock, and can hold a position as religious
leader. 

And aside from work, I made a little time for fun this week, exploring my neighborhood and going to a soccer game (by myself) on a whim. I was one of the only females, which was a little alarming, but I quickly made a friend who later gave me a tour of his neighborhood. 

Wandering my neighborhood, a juxtaposition of
pot-holed dirt roads, small concrete homes, and
high-rise apartment buildings. 

In front of the 28 September Stadium.

The mostly male crowd starting to fill in.

Hafia, one of the clubs from the outskirts of Conakry, makes
the only goal of the game against Kaloum, the team based
downtown. 

Me!

It was a little overcast and a little rainy but seeing the grande pirogues – the large, wooden fisherman canoes – was actually breathtaking. I caught a nice sunset at my favorite I-can-go-by-myself-if-I-need-to hotel lounge, which was much more lively following Ramadan.

Walking through Landrea with my new friend, Boubakar.

Fishing boats! 

So, although last week was a really rough one personally, it really challenged me to put myself out into Conakry in different ways in Week 4. And I have to say that some of the conversations I had – whether with Boubakar who shared that getting to know new people makes life richer, or with the Mariam duo, who came to braid my hair, who are young women themselves, or with Alexandre, a PhD student abroad whose academic capability reminded me to push myself a little further and why academia can add value to the world – taught me just a little more about life here. 

An asterisk: 
I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention how the events of the last few weeks have also been playing in my mind and settling into my heart. The atrocities in Orlando, Baton Rouge, Minnesota, Dallas - the unnecessary and unjustified loss of the lives of Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, law enforcement officers, and to many others to name -  and the violence that has been apparent in the rest of the world of late mélange with my personal struggles and perspectives here. For now, as I continue to process, my thoughts and prayers go out to all who are affected.  

Guinea: A Note on Gender, Identity, and Positionality

It was my third week and all was going well. I was feeling comfortable and secure in my housing in record timing.  I’d made some valuable connections, or so I thought. And the handful of folks I had spoken with about my research seemed intrigued with the ideas I presented. When all was going so smooth, I should have known it was time it was time for... a breakdown.

I had mine in the middle of a small, side-of-the-road copy and printing stand. I can still recall the depth of frustration radiating off of me as I desperately tried to print the translated version of my research protocol. I was supposed to have met with a contact from the Ministry of Health that morning and then deliver my documents to someone on the ethical research committee, but in my attempt to help a young man out that morning, I got stuck in traffic and was running very late. Three and a half hours later, as I sat sweating in the outdoor shop's corner, the guy was still trying to print and copy my research materials. When he had the audacity to stop my project and start making copies for a man who came in hours after me, I snapped. And when my Ministry contact raised his voice at me on the phone to tell me I’d messed up, I cracked. Every moment that I had just tried to let slide came to me in that instant, and instead of calmly accepting the different mode of business and different mindset in a different country, I opened my mouth to protest and instead cried. Instead of making my appointments as planned, I came out $60 lighter (I didn’t even have the stomach to keep arguing over the absurd price I was given) and very, very upset.

Needless to say, my grand plans for the summer came to halt this week and I had some really important opportunities to reflect. Sure, I had a chance to visit Ignace Deen Hospital, a legacy of Guinea’s colonial past, where I took a brief tour of the large and well-constructed facility to learn about the specialties they’re able to offer. 

Sure, I learned more about the local research ethics committee, as I sat in on a week-long Introduction to Ethical Research class for medical professionals.

But the most important lesson I learned this week was not about Guinea after Ebola or healthcare infrastructure. As I thought of every interaction that day, from the way I was treated at the copy shop to the manner that I was spoken to on the phone, I kept thinking: What if I was older? From Guinea? White? A man?

I was reminded this week that being a woman here (among other things) is hard. Whether it’s the off-handed comments made on a daily basis, like my driver, for example, often yelling “oh, must be a woman driver” when someone cuts him off in the crazy Conakry traffic, or whether it’s the way in which some professional’s hand lingers on my shoulder for just a little longer than feels appropriate to me, let alone in a predominantly Muslim and religious country, I have become hyperaware of how I am perceived and how this can really impact the work I seek to do. It’s not the first time I’ve reflected on how my own identities – as a foreigner, as a young(er) person, as a Black woman – can play a role. But I’ll tell that being so far away from home and having that reminder, of joining the club of women all over who experience difficulties because of who you were born to be, is hard. And it hurts.  

Over the past few days, I have thought a lot about my own positionality, or, in non research terms, how I am viewed in my current context and the social forces that allow me to occupy that place. I am more aware than ever that I’ll need to learn to navigate that over my next few weeks here in order to make more progress in my exploration. But I also can’t help but think that these revelations not only impact the person I will be here, as I already realize I smile a little less and interact a little less freely. These revelations will also influence a major goal for my summer project: understanding the experiences of young women here. 

I share all of this not because I hope it makes for a good story and certainly not because it’s easy for me to talk about. But in the few conversations I’ve had, where I’ve heard similar stories that resonate, I can’t help but think: maybe we all need to talk about this. Maybe we need to be a little more okay acknowledging the ways in which we’ve been shaped by our environments, and how operating in different environments can be really hard. Maybe we need to talk more about not just about respecting different cultures but about understanding how gender and our identities can, and do, play such an important role.