The myth of rural silence.

One of the funny parts of being in a remote tropical location is the lack of silence. I think I have grown accustomed to the silence of my home, my car, my life in general that I take for granted the lack of sounds. Here there is no lack of noise.

The symphony of sounds in a typical 24-hour cycle include:
_ungodly loud animals at night. so loud it can be difficult to fall asleep. frogs, crickets, unknown night creatures.
_the generator coming on, or going off - depending.
_the fan in our room rotating its blade and then clanging side to side.
_buzzing of mosquitos and flies.
_cell phones ringing
_swish-swishing of brooms made of palm trees brushing the leaves off the dirt paths and sweeping the veranda
_roosters crowing on the porch in the morning and from under yam leaves in the middle of rain storms
_the rain pounding
_the thunder clapping
_the power of the wind rustling through the leaves
_motors of boats whirring by
_okadas (motorbikes) chugging along the pedestrian path
_kids playing, sometimes laughing sometimes crying
_voices yelling, sometimes friendly, sometimes not so friendly
_wheelbarrows full of sand and tools bouncing along the gullies in the muddy path
...and today: the deafening sound of a chainsaw outside the glass doors of our makeshift studio space preventing me from even being able to read.

Perhaps I should invest in earplugs. Or just be grateful that I know what silence sounds like. And laugh about the fact that many people think 'rural' and assume quiet.

Celebrations: mass, graduations, goats.

Waking up bright and early, I put on my Sunday best on to attend St. Augustine's Catholic Church in Umuoba-Amam Otuocha. Well, actually I borrowed a skirt, but same same. The nine o'clock mass, which lasted for three long hours and was in Igbo was quite a cultural experience. With drumming to our right, the voices of the church rose up to fill the large hall. There were mostly women in their Sunday finest filling the pews. I don't know if this is a reflection of the general dearth of men between the ages of 16 and 60 in these communities or if men are just generally less church-going. Regardless, there were lots of women and children. The children had their own wing of the church off to one side of the altar. It seemed like a genius design to accommodate the antsy nature of children being asked to sit still for hours on end. What is even harder to describe is that the children were unattended by adults. The older one tend the younger ones, as is generally common, but I had no idea how many children there were until I turned to face them when I was walking back to my seat after the offering. At first guess, I would say a thousand kids. Easily.

The church is focused on some development projects. They have a primary school. They are working on raising money to build a new church. The drawing of the new design hangs over the altar and I am not sure how much people want the actual design that is drawn, or just the newness and the expensive cars included in the drawing. They did manage to raise almost 50 000N in the service.

After the service, we went to Dr. Chife's brother's house for a graduation celebration for two of the fellows who we are working with: Simon and Fidelis. They both just completed their undergraduate studies in economics and biology at a school in Kumasi, Ghana. The celebration consisted of us drinking beer at 11am, talking, and then eating a flavorful goat stew. After chatting for a while, I decided to step out when the conversation turned to: do you want a Nigerian husband? (I decided that I am open to the possibility if I can also potentially have a American husband, but no one was open to the idea of a wife having two husbands despite the prevalence of men having two wives here.)

When I stepped outside, some of the boys and recent graduates were playing draught, which is like a complicated checkers where pieces can go back and forth, jumps are required, and kings can move along diagonals. I lost pretty badly. But through my mistakes, I did manage to learn the rules. After getting my butt kicked, Fidelis offered to defeat my competitor to avenge my loss. He played a much better game.

It was a fun day and I really enjoyed the moments when we weren't quite sure what the appropriate social grace was so we just floundered until someone took the lead.

Ologwulogwu.

Today we went on a hike to the sacred ologwulogwo, a sacred location where water stands year-round. It is said to be the home of a deity. This deity may appear to humans as a crocodile. Or as a hive of bees. These are warnings he gives to people who are nut pure in their heart when they enter this sacred place. Although we were not warned, the deity is very cautious about who is able to enter the mystery of this land.

Five of us started out with two guides, a site map, and handheld gps. The sky was blue, but dark clouds were not far off in the distance. Having been given this adventure by Stacy, we weren't really sure what to expect when we arrived. We walked for maybe an hour, through cassava farms, tall grasses, and waist-deep puddles that are filling in the path as the rains continue. As we walked through an extra-deep puddle, the sky opened up and water soaked us from from both directions. Just after emerging from this situation we entered a glade. The landscape was dramatically different from the farm land and tall grasses where we were coming from.

The trees enveloped us and vines hung down creating a network of nature that would make a great place for fairies and nymphs to play. Although the rain continued, we were protected by the dense overhead flora. I looked down and found a yellow plastic bracelet that looked like it belonged to a child. The silence and the peacefulness of this place was remarkable. Well worth the wading and the cold pelting of rain.

Walking back Boniface, one of our guides, sang a Nigerian folk song to us the whole way. The melody was about a how a son should listen to his father and how no one should ever tell a lie. His voice was hypnotic. By the time we returned home I was mesmerized by the experience. I am not sure whether it was the deity or the singing or the walking in the cold water, but I felt a deep calm in my soul.

The concept of the deity in the ologwulogwu makes me wonder how these traditions arise. I have no doubt that the place we went is connected to something deep and mysterious. You could feel it. The air was warmer, and things got quieter. Sometimes I think that people set up shrines to honor great mystery. Other times I think the shrines alert you to natural phenomenon that warrants caution: beehives, crocodile homes. These things are indeed a source of great mystery, but there is also a social need to protect people from potential dangers. It seems that many traditions and cultures develop spiritual beliefs that protect people, such as health laws in judeo-christian beliefs which seem outdated when we have things like running water and sewage or food handling practices that are outdated with modern technology. Protection in this way is a practical form of spirituality. I wonder how these traditions will be incorporated or modified to adapt to the new city that will be built in these locations.

Oguwuyo Community Event

Today we had an open forum for people from the community to come and see the site and discuss ideas for development. The boat brought about 20 people from Otuocha in the morning. After a tour of the fish farm and brick factory, which are the first of the two seed projects that are underway, we broke up into groups to discuss various topics.

As part of the health group, we discussed our visions for the overall health of the future Anam City and asked people what they believed were the most pressing health concerns and their hopes for the future health centre. I was grateful to have such a strong group of presenters and moderators with me: Nuzrat, Nkiru, Fidelis, and Michael. They each explained their understandings and contributions and translated between Igbo and English. I was very inspired and took some wonderful video clips that hopefully I will be able to post when I return. After rotating through the three different groups, we all gathered to plant an Iroko tree and take group photos. Then, it was lunch time. Everyone returned to the Chife estate where we drank malta, ate jollof rice and fried chicken, and generally mingled. Afterwards, we watched a video and then broke into small groups to again focus on various activities. In the health group, we acted out the most important features of going to a clinic: 'what does it look like to get loving, personal care from a practitioner?' It was funny to see people act like they had malaria, and they did a convincing job that mimicked almost exact presentations we had seen earlier.

Overall, the event went well and it was really inspiring to get such great input from the community.

Nothing is Routine in Nigeria.

I have started to settle into a a pattern here, well at least a daily pseudo-routine. I wake up sometime before eight to eat breakfast of oatmeal, eggs, and toast before we start work at nine. I do some form of work or group discussion until lunch, work some more until evening, then dinner, followed by more work or a presentation or a movie, then I go to bed sometime before two.

Okay its not much of a pattern. It involves a lot of sitting in the studio, sitting at the dining room table, and being at a computer.

The weekly schedule follows something like this: Mondays we pow-wow and get a clear schedule of what we are doing or discuss any events, strategies, goals and assignments for the week. We have pin-ups on Wednesdays and Fridays, which is fun to get to see what everyone is working on. Various fellows usually come on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Then Saturday we take a tour of an Anam region.

This all being said, everything must be decided in the moment depending on factors that change frequently: the weather, who is around, the boat's availability, security, etc. I am having lots of opportunities to practice flexibility and adaptability to the timing and scheduling of Nigeria.

Esteemed Elders.

I am constantly humbled by the health and status of the elders in Anam.

Every culture relates to their elders differently. In Anam, as is true in most of Nigeria, and probably most of Africa, the elders are revered for their wisdom of experience and are cared for by younger members of their family if they are not able to live alone. Children are like the insurance plan to make sure that someone will care for you in the future. For many of the elders in the community, they never need to cash in on this insurance plan as they are healthy and independent well into old age.

The elders make all of the most important decisions in the community. Anam has an elder council that is composed of the oldest men from the eight different Anam communities. This egalitarian system has a long history of consensus making and democratic process to make decisions. They advise and endorse plans by younger members of the community. They bring justice in a culture where it is hard to imagine life without corruption and lack of legal recourse. They are the authority that everyone must be accountable to and the voice that has the final say.

While I think that generally American culture could learn to embrace the wisdom of elders more, the thing that amazes me most is the health and vitality of the elders that I meet. In Abegbu, where we met with the elders, one man was 97 - almost 98 - living alone with most of his visible teeth still in his mouth. He could recite the history of his community with all the names and dates from the time of his birth when we asked him about the history of his people. In his house, a 'younger woman' carried a bench in from the veranda. She was 89. In Otuocha, I met a woman who was 82 had malaria and was boiling leaves to treat it. She didn't want her photo taken because she was sick, but she had the most amazing smile. Two other men that we greeted were in their upper 80s and looked vital as they sat watching people pass by for the market. These are not isolated occurrences: meeting healthy, even vigorous, elders in the community. In a community where poverty and disease are rampant, where clean drinking water and proper sanitation are hard to comeby, we must ask: what are these elders doing that allows them to live such long healthy lives?

And further, how can we recreate this in the New City?

Children.

I am continuously struck by the children in Anam: the number of them, their distended abdomens, their curiosity to learn and the lack of opportunity to support their potential.

Everywhere we go, children gather. Partly the children gather because we are a spectacle of foreigners and they are curious. Partly they gather because they seem to roam in packs. One of the first days we arrived in Ebenebe we were on a site tour. There were only two children at the school because the teacher had not come that day, so they joined our walk. Then at one house there were 21 children under the age of 5 and maybe 3 women. I thought that was a lot, until we went on a trip to Iyiora where 70 kids plodded along behind us as we walked from house to house.

The kids are thrilled with the novelty of our presence and they want to be involved in what we are doing. They want to be in photos and ask for a 'snap.' They jump when the camera flashes and celebrate the completion of the photo with squeals of excitement or shy glances from behind older siblings. The older ones carry the younger ones on their backs wrapped in vibrant West African fabrics and knit caps. Their toys consist of old bicycle tires that they push with stick or the newest toy is a version of pushing a stick with two bucket lids attached like a wheel at the end. The latter reminds me of the Fisher Price push popcorn vacuum toys popular when I was a child. They smile and laugh and remind me that the joy children exude is universal and appears to exist independent of life conditions.

When surveying a 24 year old woman, she sat with 6 children, 3 of whom were hers. After the older kids got bored of watching us asking healthcare questions, they ran to a neighboring hut to play. Only her 7 month old was left playing on an empty rice bag next to her. The infant was content chewing on a leaf for a while; then she moved onto handfuls of dirt. After a few fistfuls, her mother picked her up and bounced her on her knee until she breastfed the little girl. After getting her fill and smiling the milk-drunk smiles of contentment, the girl peed her pants while sitting on the edge of her mother's lap. Unable to crawl, she simply sat there unphased by the bodily function. At another house, I met a two year old who was able to eat well with a spoon when he was fed. His abdomen was distended and his hair was beginning to thin and had a reddish hue, indicating kwashiorkor. He was able to stand with support, but he could not walk and he crawled to follow his other siblings until they picked him up to play. It is this kind of scene that devastates and motivates me. What will become of these children's futures? Will they grow up to be strong contributing members of their families? Will they grow up at all? What can we do to make this better?

In Otuocha at the chemist's office, a woman from Ebenebe came to see Juliette after her three week old had been sick for the last week. The woman reported that the baby had suffered with diarrhea and vomiting for the whole week. When the chemist listened with her stethoscope, which was lacking a membrane on the bell, she said, 'There is no heart beat', which explained the stillness and silence of the swaddled child. The worst part was that they simply wrapped the child up again and left.

Who knows why they waited a week? Perhaps they were trying herbal remedies that were not effective. Perhaps they did not understand the risk of dehydration in an infant. Perhaps they could not sacrifice the day in the field to paddle the boat for over an hour to get there. Or perhaps they came on a market day because they had to sell something before they could afford to consider getting medication for this child that was alive for such a brief time.

Unfortunately this is not an isolated situation. The chemist told me that she sees approximately five children per month who have died. Generally they come from Ebenebe or Iyiora where they have no access to health services. Usually they are the poorest in the community. Farmers living in remote areas. And they just don't have the resources they need. She told me that in April, 14 children died because there was a measles outbreak. Since then the health centre made a big push to vaccinate for measles and the numbers hover in the single digits. But the fact is that she is only one of twenty chemists, separate from the health centre, and this does not account any of the traditional doctors from the area. I am working to get an idea of the actual number through the surveys, but what is the impact that this is having on the people?

The hardest part of this experience for me was the matter-of-factness of children dying for completely preventable reasons. How many of these deaths could have been avoided with simple treatments? How many families must suffer the grief of losing a child due to malnutrition or dehydration? This should never have to be a regular part of life.

After this visit to Otuocha, I immediately began to wrestle with questions: Are we doing enough? and Are we doing it fast enough? At the same time, I know for sure that what we are doing will dramatically improve the life and the health of this community. Providing access, providing care for children, providing health education. This will insure a better, healthier future.