Interviews and more interviews

All this past week, I was in Bois du Lance conducting interviews with mothers whose children are receiving Medika Mamba from Meds & Food for Kids. Some of the children have recovered in the expected amount of time, and others are showing “insufficient weight gain” by programmatic and world standards. Following one such interview, the woman’s husband climbed a coconut tree so that Juslie (translator), Cherfulis (trusty guide), and I could refresh ourselves before walking through the mountain on our way to speak with another mother. It turns out that no amount of water carried in a backpack is enough for three people walking up, around, and down a mountain for 6 ½ hours. (Thursday was a long day—6 am to 5 pm. It included 2 hours of driving to the bottom of the mountain, 2 ½ hours of interviewing, and 6 ½ hours of climbing up and down). Fortunately there were the coconuts and ample guava along the way to keep ourselves hydrated. We also ate peanut-butter and honey sandwiches, but they weren’t nearly as satisfying as the guava.

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A few more things about Thursday’s adventure in data collection:

-Juslie and I did our best to entertain several children while their mother was focused on speaking to us. I held one while he drew absent-mindedly on my clipboard. Juslie held a baby that kept trying to nurse through her t-shirt (by way of explanation, this baby belonged to a neighbor—we weren’t preventing the baby’s access to its best form of nutrition just so I could do the interview. Eventually, the baby’s mother came to feed it something better than Juslie’s t-shirt.)

-During another interview, one of the children heard me saying the word “Mamba”. This particular child is still in the program, and as such, still has Mamba at home. She started yelling “Mamba Mamba Mamba Mamba Mamba Mamba Mamba Mamba Mamba” until her older brother (about 7 years old) scooped some into a cup for her. The kids love the Mamba.

-I’ve lost my voice. The sore throat began on Monday evening and stayed with me for four days. This definitely was not the week for such maladies. Oh well, right? By Thursday, my voice was nearly gone and I wonder if it sounded more soothing than usual, because the last woman I interviewed appeared exceptionally comfortable (even though she didn’t have a clue what I was saying until Juslie translated).

-When we came down from the mountain, Juslie looked up and said, “I’m looking at that mountain and thinking that I can’t possibly have climbed it. I know I did, though. A spirit must have overtaken me.”

-As is often the case, my presence causes a stir. About halfway up the mountain, one little girl saw me and ran screaming towards familiar looking faces. She had mistaken me for a zombie; this sort of thing happens not infrequently.

-One man, carrying multiple machetes at his side, stopped Cherfulis in an attempt to bargain for me. He wanted Cherfulis and Juslie to “Give me that white person.” In the city, the hopeful bargainers are usually on tap-taps. This was the first such experience I’ve had with a man wielding at least five machetes. I knew enough to shake my head and keep walking. Each time the three of us have traversed the rivers, all the folks washing themselves, their clothes, and their mo-peds have done their best to negotiate with Cherfulis and Juslie so that everyone might make money off me—you know, share the profits. As best I can, I understand and see that the poverty here is so extreme, and that I represent the possibility of some sort of escape, however temporary. But, I must admit, after these events happen over and over again, I being to feel tired and a bit guarded.

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One more thing. I’ve decided to do my best to separate working and living environments after this experience. If I have any say, I’ll never ‘work’ from ‘home’. It turns out to be rather difficult (as I have stated before) to live (eat, relax, read for pleasure, brush your teeth, take your medicines, bathe, etc) in the same place where one completes professional activities (a.k.a. ‘work’). This is made even more difficult by the fact that the same room where one sleeps also serves as the office where one stores all research data and fiddles with it when one is not out collecting it. While realizing the good fortune (and even convenience) of my situation, I must note that it has proven challenging. For instance, when am I done ‘working’ for the day? And, when I’m not sleeping, am I supposed to be ‘working’? Everything I see is a trigger for me to ‘work’ even at 9 pm. Maybe this is not too distinct from the sage advice to not s*** where one eats. Interestingly enough, we wash (and sometimes store) our dishes in the bathroom sink between the shower and the toilet.

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As long as Hurricane Dean continues on its current path, I will depart from here next Friday, August 24th. There is so much to finish between now and then, but I am certainly excited to go home.