Dondin, Dondin

In late February, a team from peacecare came to Senegal for the second time during my service.  peacecare is a new organization that works on sustainable global health initiatives by pairing academic institutions with Peace Corps Volunteers.  Saraya is their pilot site, and it has been great to be a part of this project, which is to create a comprehensive cervical cancer prevention program.  Until this trip, the efforts had been focused on training midwives and nurses to do VIA (Visual Inspection with Acetic Acid) to detect precancerous lesions at the village setting and to train lower level health workers about the issue of cervical cancer in order to ramp up project communication potential.  (Check out my blog from their September visit if you're interested in learning more: http://www.lineoverthee.blogspot.com/2012/10/peacecare-and-disease-that-sits-in.html )

This trip was particularly exciting because the team was bringing Cryotherapy, a simple treatment method appropriate for the treatment of most precancerous cervical lesions that involves freezing the lesion with Carbon Dioxide.  It is considered the most practical treatment method for low resource setting.  Previously, to get treated for precancer, you had to go all the way to Tambacounda (four hours and a prohibitively expensive trip away), so bringing the equipment to Kedougou and training a doctor and two midwives here to use it was a big deal.

Making sure the equipment works after the long trip down to Kedougou.

The head midwife at the Kedougou hospital practices identifying whether a lesion is appropriate to be treated with Cryotherapy.

Practicing cryotherapy on sausages before moving to actual cervices. 

Dr. Tracy Irwin, an OB/GYN at University of Illinois-Chicago who is a leader in the peacecare organization posing with Dr. Aziz  Kasse, the leader in cervical cancer in Senegal. It was a huge honor for Dr. Kasse to come all the way down to Kedougou to attend the cryotherapy training and really validated what a big step this was toward protecting women's health.

Peacecare has its own blog, and team members are asked to contribute on each day of a trip.  Representing Peace Corps and wanting to be very honest about what development work is like on the ground, I wrote the following:

A fellow Peace Corps Volunteer in the Saraya district recently told me that she wants to get a tattoo of the Malinke phrase “dondin, dondin”.  As for myself, if I didn’t have this phrase tattooed into my brain, I think I might go crazy with the continual challenges and frustrations of development work.  What, you may ask, is this magical phrase that allows an Americans in Senegal to keep it together?  It is simple: little by little. 

If you ask any member of this trip how they expected these weeks to go, none of us could have predicted the bumps in the road that we ended up encountering.   One of the three trainees we had selected to learn cryotherapy (and arguably our first pick due to her leadership in the project thus far) was summoned by the Ministry of Health at the last minute to lead a week-long training in another region.  Even though we had found thirty women who had tested positive for precancer during previous VIA screenings and had arranged for them to be treated during the training (ten for each trainee, the requirement for certification), only two cryotherapy procedures were performed.  Some women were false positives, some had precancerous lesions too large for cryotherapy, some had chosen not to wait until the training and had gone to another region for treatment, and some simply did not come.  As a result, we were not able to certify anyone in cryotherapy.   Upon arrival in Saraya for Quality Improvement (QI) meetings, we learned that not only were some of the key midwives absent, but so was everyone else who had started the QI process last year.

Hurdles of this magnitude, not to mention the fact that the arrival of the peacecare team coincided with an early beginning of the hot season and temperatures above 100 degrees, are frustrating, discouraging, overwhelming.    Having now been in Senegal for nearly a year, I have become quite familiar with these kinds of obstacles that pop up and hinder the progress of my progress.  While I was not expecting the specific issues that have arisen during this trip, I would have been shocked if nothing of the sort had come up.  Such is the nature of development work.  If it were easy, the whole world would be the first world.  It can be so easy to get discouraged when your hardest work does not produce the results that you had hoped and planned for.  That is where “dondin, dondin” comes in. 

I have found that most of what being a Peace Corps Volunteer consists of is adapting to un-ideal situations.  Additionally, I have found that doing that requires a dondin, dondin approach, taking on one thing at a time and making slow but steady progress forward.  This peacecare team has done an extraordinary job of this. 

An action plan has been created to liaise with the gynecologist in Tambacounda (four hours from Kedougou) in order to complete the cryotherapy training procedure.  He has accepted to do this, and logistics will soon be in the works.  The days initially intended for meetings with key personnel turned into productive strategic planning conversations between volunteers and the visiting peacecare team.  Marathon meetings at the end made up for time lost during the week when key local personnel came back from their travels.  An action plan has been created for concrete next steps and meetings with those who did not make it back in time.  Dondin, dondin.  Adapt and take action.

As we move forward with the project, which is so comprehensive, it is easy sometimes for me to start feeling dizzy as I think about facilitating all of the moving parts.  But, again, dondin, dondin.   Day by day, things get done.  In Malinke greetings, when someone asks you how work is going, the appropriate response is, "Mbaxan (I'm on it), dondin dondin."

We just finished creating our action plan with Dr. Ndiaye—assurance of completion of cryotherapy for at least one trainee who started, training of all of the midwives in the region who have not yet been trained to do screening, preparing an aggressive communication plan, carrying out a prevalence study, integrating quality improvement into the program, writing a report for the Ministry of Health, working to integrate cervical cancer into routine reproductive health care.  It’s a lot.  It makes my head spin.  There will be obstacles.  There will be a lot of obstacles.  But dondin, dondin, we will move forward toward the goal of a sustainable and comprehensive cervical cancer prevention program in Kedougou.

                                                                                                                                                                                      

A Mother's Recollection, Part II

Back in Kedougou, we walked through the market as Annē and Pat shopped for the needed ingredients for the big celebratory dinner the next day in Saraya. The temperature was definitely getting warmer, and we knew it would be even warmer in Saraya. I was very thankful that we had had gradual increase in temperature to get used to the heat. Leaving Kedougou, we saw fewer trees and began to see more of the gravity tables used for processing gold mined in the area. I could tell I was getting a little nervous as I started to practice again the Malinke phrases that Annē had given us.  Annē has a gift with languages, but unfortunately, she didn’t get it from her parents.  I knew from reading Annē’s blog how important greetings are, and in the truck Pat and Annē explained more things about the greetings to us, but I still had no idea how hard it would be to remember everything until we entered their village and plunged in.  We were truly entering into their world now. 

            

We dropped off out luggage in their hut and quickly looked around their home, but Annē felt we needed to meet their family and get our Malinke names.  However, to get to their family’s compound, we had to cross through their neighbors’ compound.  The greetings began.  I cannot imagine how it must have been for Annē and Pat as they learned the order of the greetings on their own and trying to remember everyone’s name.  Ritt and I had the two of them telling us what to say next. When we had talked with Annē before on the phone, sometimes she would speak briefly to others in Malinke.  Now we could really listen to them conversing in this dialect.  Finally, we walked into the Cissokho compound, and we met the parents, Sadio Tigana and Ibrahima Cissokho, who Annē and Patrick are named after, and other family members. Each new person we met, we started the greetings anew, but now we added our names. Ibrahima named us after his parents, Makhamba Singhora (the same name he gave to Kara) and Sambaly Cissokho.  After we left their compound, we walked some more and greeted some more. There is no rushing here. It was wonderful watching the villagers greeting Pat and Annē. Saraya cares about the two of them. We went to the tailor’s to pick up our fancy complet and boubou outfits Annē had made for us; it truly was going to be a big celebration.  

           

 Bringing our fancy outfits back to their hut, we had more time to see what they had done to make this home.  Pat had constructed an elaborate rigging system to hang things, even hammocks. No roof, but walls enclose their solar shower (you have to squat if you want to get any water flow from the shower nozzle) and latrine (I swear the hole is only four inches wide, but Ritt says it is six inches; Pat said they had made it wider than it originally was.  I kept thinking of all the times they have had diarrhea and how those experiences must have been).  Pat smiled when he told us it is interesting during the rainy season. They keep their clothes in trunks.  Much of their food is stored in plastic buckets to keep any little critters from getting to it.  They boil their water for coffee on a little propane stove.  In the mornings, Annē will go get water. They definitely have worked out a routine. Their electricity comes on for part of the day, so their floor fan shuts off around one in the morning.  And now the temperatures are already rising above 100 degrees. Camping can be fun for a weekend, but they truly are camping for two years.  We take so much for granted back in the States.  No wonder it was such a treat for them to be in France over Christmas and for the majority of time we were with them in Senegal. 

That afternoon, Karin, a PCV from one of the most remote Peace Corps villages in Senegal, came to their hut after biking 60 kilometers in the heat of the day.  Karen looked so hot, dressed in long sleeved shirt and long pants.  When we bicycled in 1976 through Kentucky, the temps were high 90’s and humidity almost as high, but we knew it would only be for a week or so.  We were young then.  I think you have to be young to be in the Peace Corps. 

Evening meant we would have our first communal dinner (everyone eating from the same bowl).  Women use their right hand and men spoons, but Annē and I also used spoons.  Before we left for Senegal, we knew we would have meals like this, but I do have to say it is a little unnerving to sit down for that first meal.  Pat had explained the correct way to eat--only from the area in front of you, no reaching into someone else’s area (no problem there), and leave some food (again, no problem; the bowl is huge). Rice with peanut sauce poured over it was the meal. This southeastern area of Senegal was definitely one of the poorest regions in the country.  Pat and Annē had their parents disperse the gifts we had brought over--soccer jerseys and balls from our niece Olga, jewelry from my book club, and baseball caps from Ritt’s collection, and dolls from Annē’s childhood and a thrift store. Annē and Pat had said even though these items were used, it would not matter, and it didn’t. 

After the meal, the musician arrived, playing a kora, a stringed instrument made out of a big gourd, a prelude for the next day’s music.  The women love to dance; Sadio and the other women smiled and laughed and clapped, urging each other into the circle to dance. Then when Annē joined in, the smiles and laughter increased.  I too joined in, hoping my moves might look something like theirs, but I quickly decided it really didn’t matter.  When Pat jumped in, the older ladies whooped and hollered.

 Earlier in the day, we had been invited to a Catholic get together, so after the musician left, we started walking to their place, but of course stopping and greeting others the entire time.  I made a comment to Pat that they must have to start out an hour earlier if they are trying to get somewhere, Pat answered that sometimes he rides his bike. Walking down the streets, we saw groups of people sitting outside watching the African Soccer Cup.  When we arrived at the house, it was easy to see that this home was so much fancier than other homes.   Awhile later, we asked to be excused since the hosts were still waiting for guests to arrive as Ritt and I were tired from our immersion into the Malinke culture.  Annē said she felt that she and Pat needed to return for the meal since they don’t want to affront any group (their family, the medical group, and the Catholics) in Saraya, adding that this can be a difficult and delicate balancing act at times.

The next morning, I watched Annē weave a piece of material between her fingers and remove it.  She would put that on her head and then place the filled water bucket on top of that. I knew she carried water that way, but to watch her in action is another thing.  I was impressed, especially knowing she had a ways to walk carrying that load on her head. 

     After a quick breakfast, we needed to put on our fancy clothes and get back over to the family compound, since we were the guests of honor and we were to watch the sheep (sheep look like goats in Africa), be slaughtered for the meal.  I wasn’t sure how I would react to the scene, hearing the sheep bleating, watching them cut its throat and then the blood flowing into the dirt. Ritt had experienced this years ago when he had lived with the Navajos for a short time, but I sure hadn’t.  I did fine; I was surprised, perhaps because I knew the family and friends would be having some good meat in their meal that day.  Pat said the men would cut out the liver first, skin it, then continue to cut up the rest of the animal. 

A short time later, the musician returned with a drummer playing a tamtam. Dance time again. This time more women showed up. I took my cues from Annē when I could join in with the group or with another one or two women, or even by myself.  Just like the previous evening, Sadio beamed as she danced alone, with her friends, or with Annē. Then the djembe drummer showed up with everyone excited saying the music was now complete. When the morning heated up, the dancing ended for the time being.  We went back into the shade structure where I started taking pictures of the children.  They love having their pictures taken, then rushing over to see the photos in playback mode. Watching family dynamics can be so interesting as the young ones definitely have to obey the older ones; they were constantly told to leave the shade structure if they got too rambunctious.  Ibrahima, the head of the household was very affectionate with his youngest grandson.  Women in the compound worked on preparing the meal, peeling potatoes, cutting onions and cabbage, stirring the rice and another grain.  I didn’t know if everyone would eat at the compound, but then I saw how they divvied up the portions, and soon women and children were taking dinner to different households.  Nine of us sat around our communal bowl under the shade structure. Then the dancing commenced again after our meal. 

The fourth round of dancing occurred under a shade tree with more women gathering and dressed up.  I really don’t know where the men had disappeared to; maybe they were drinking afternoon tea. Ritt and Pat and the musicians were the only males at the dancing. This time Ritt also did some solo dancing.  We were given thanks for the meal, the musicians, and the dancing.  We were told that Saraya did not go hungry that night although I know the meal did not feed everyone. 

During the earlier part of the trip, Pat and Annē had checked and written emails, texted, or made phone calls about various projects.  In Saraya, we saw more of their lives as Peace Corps volunteers. For several hours, Pat, Annē, and Karen conferred over the mercury project. For their projects, they had written grants for funding, made spreadsheets that showed the budget breakdowns, set up meetings with other PCV’s and community members, checked over surveys, entered data, reconfirmed meeting times and places, found new people to replace others, kept project money separate from their own. Before the grant writing could occur, they had to learn a new language, understand new customs, develop trust and relationships. So much mental and physical energy goes into the launching of a project and keeping one going. One also has to consider the hours spent traveling by bicycle or by sept (seven passenger) cars that usually break down or the overcrowded busses.  Then other glitches can occur; one volunteer talked about how he had the funding to build 40 latrines for his village, but most of the young men had gone off to the gold mines, so they may not get built. These volunteers have had to develop a new understanding of patience. From our short time in Saraya, Ritt and I have even a deeper respect for what they have undertaken.  Not many people can do or want to do what they are doing; it’s too hard. 

Pat with a retort, a device that traps the mercury gas when gold and mercury are burned in the processing of gold

The evening meant eating again, this time at Moussa’s restaurant (Pat’s community work partner); visiting the hospital and staff where we saw three malnourished children; going to the radio station to greet Sadio and Ibraham over the radio; and then saying goodbye. We had only been in Saraya for less than two days, so I was somewhat surprised at how emotional I got saying goodbye to Sadio and thanking her for taking such good care of Annē and Patrick. The bond of motherhood is strong. Maybe I could only speak a few Malinke phrases with her, but she is still their African mother. I probably would never see her again, yet this was the woman Annē was named after, Sadio’s namesake. I asked Annē to ask Sadio if I could give her a hug, and when I let go of Sadio, we were both wiping away tears. The emotional evening continued as we walked back to our compound only to be stopped for more greetings and good byes, and then we would be prayed over.  Like the greetings, the prayers can go on for a while, but the words were spoken with such sincerity.

We had two days of travel on our journey back to Dakar, but first we walked back over to the family compound, and again women prayed for our safe journey back home. This time only my voice cracked as we said good bye to Sadio and other family members, and they thanked us again for the wonderful meal and dancing. Karen was traveling with us as far as Kedougou, so we packed her bike in the truck as well as Pat and Annē’s bikes which we would drop off at the Kedougou PC Regional Center.  

Ritt talks about the various aid organizations he saw on the ground in Senegal; I think I was too absorbed taking pictures, probably of baobab trees. 

 Finally on our last day in Senegal, Annē told me I probably had enough pictures of the trees. Our last two visits in Senegal were with their first host family in Mbour and then Pape’s family.  Annē warned us it would be hard to get away with just a visit and not a meal at their former host family’s home, but we were having lunch with Pape’s family.  It was different having Annē and Pat addressed by their first African names, Fanta and Solouma.  Several times, her mother Aminata said not only should we stay for a meal but also we should spend the night, a reminder of how important hospitality is to this country. 

At Pape’s home, we got to meet his children also since they were home on lunchbreak, but we only ate with Pape and his wife, having our last communal meal.  There we saw his baby boy cry at seeing a white person for the first time. Since I only know a few phrases of French and could only take part in the conversation when Annē translated, I took pictures again of the children at both places.  Knowing only English can be very limiting, but a camera speaks its own language. 

We said our goodbyes to Patrick in Thies at the Peace Corps Training Center.  Ten days had gone by so quickly; we couldn’t have asked for better goodwill ambassadors during our stay in Senegal.  The four of us had seen so much, done so much, and learned so much, but now it was time to let them get back to their Peace Corps lives full time.  Annē would accompany us to Dakar and the airport the following morning before she returned to Thies. We said good bye to Pape as we unloaded our suitcases from his truck for the last time. That night back at Cap Quest Hotel, we ate our last meal together talking and listening to the ocean.

  Our trip to Senegal was all about people--Annē and Patrick sharing their new country and home; Pape driving and smiling; their families and friends in Saraya and Mbour welcoming us and sharing meals; a celebration of dancing and eating lasting for more than a day; other Peace Corps volunteers also welcoming us and sharing some stories; our guides showing us their part of Senegal; Senegalese people resting under the shade of a tree, waiting for a bus; school children walking to school, some in school uniforms, some not; women with babies on their backs and loads on their heads still moving so stately down the road; men praying and kneeling wherever when hearing the call to prayer; women talking as they shelled peanuts; little girls sharing a new doll; children smiling for the camera; elderly folks being blinded by their cataracts; soldiers heading off to war; and Ritt and I experiencing this country that could seem so different at times and at other times giving us flashbacks of similar experiences. 

      

         

            

       

            

            

            

     

          

           

            

A Mother's Recollection, Part 1

Emerging from the Dakar airport into the dawning light, we welcomed the sight of two very familiar figures with whom we had communicated the last eleven months through emails, Skype, phone conversations, and texting.  As thankful as we have been for being able to communicate so readily with them, they still pale in comparison to being able to give Annē and Patrick long hugs in person. Those hugs were from us, other family members, relatives, and dear friends.  Worries about getting sick and eating new food, being in a very different culture, dealing with jet lag dissipated when we touched them in person. But that moment of family reverie ended when throngs (at least it felt that way) of taxi cab drivers and others surrounded us, and quickly we saw Annē and Patrick move into action. Soon they were arguing with them about a fair price for a taxi cab ride back to Cap Quest, our hotel situated very close to the airport. I immediately felt such a sense of relief knowing we had these two as capable guides for our time in Senegal; they definitely had adapted to this country of Senegal.

During our day in Dakar, we had several walking adventures--finding a working ATM, breakfast and lunch, going through the market, taking the ferry to Goree Island (a major departure site for slaves being sent to Europe and the states).  As we walked, Pat explained how strangers would probably come up to us, start talking, trying to help us, leading us to a store, a stall, but he would take care of it.  We should just keep walking and he would join us a few minutes later.  I would glance back during those encounters, and there Pat would be talking, smiling, shaking hands, but being firm that we didn’t need help and then catch up to us only to have to start again when a new stranger joined us. Walking felt good after our long journey from Montana, but it also provided our first sights and sounds of Dakar--yellow taxi cabs honking their horns, horse and donkey carts sharing the roads with motorized vehicles, busses and trucks bulging with people and goods, a few fancy cars filling up parking spaces, some women wearing brightly colored complet and men wearing boubou outfits, women and even some men balancing their loads on their heads, French or Wolof being spoken everywhere, trash littering the streets.  I was also surprised that day how we kept meeting other Peace Corps volunteers (even though Annē and Pat had told us they had traveled together from Kedougou and they were calling them on their cell phones to meet up with them); we also had the chance to meet Peace Corps volunteers’ parents. We would run into other PC volunteers in other places on our trip. 

 We had made our airline reservations to Senegal before Annē’s friend Kara came to visit them.  After Kara’s visit, Annē highly suggested that we hire a driver and car if we wanted to see much of Senegal.  For Kara’s visit, they used public transportation most of the time, and it added much stress for Annē to insure they got to certain places, like the airport on time since busses don’t run until they are filled up.  Ritt and I agreed to that (since we had rented a vehicle in Costa Rica years ago and driving on our own was stressful at times); plus we wanted Annē and Patrick to enjoy their time visiting new areas of Senegal.  Now I cannot imagine our time in Senegal without Pape, and he truly was a major factor in making this trip stressless.  As I told the others, Pape’s smile is as big as his heart.  Since Pape spoke French, Wolof, and several other dialects, I was amazed that Pape could barely read or write; however, he was sending his children to a private school to insure ththey received a good education.  By the second day, Pape started calling Pat, Playboy; in return, Pat named him, Michael Jackson; Ritt became co-pilot (co-pē-lōte) and he nicknamed Pape, Bobcat since we had given him a MSU Bobcat hat; Annē was a-nēē; and I was Momma. One of the main sounds that stays with me is Pape sounding the horn continually letting vehicles and donkey and horse carts know he was passing them, scattering free ranging goats and cattle off the road, urging people and bicyclists to move out of the way.  

Our second morning we started our adventure going to places where Annē and Pat had not visited. Our first destination was Saint Louis, a busy fishing port, north of Dakar.  Pape, our pilot, maneuvered us steadily through the snarled traffic of Dakar. Through this traffic, we glimpsed stall after stall selling goods; people walking through the traffic selling phone credit cards, water, fruit, and cookies; and people lining up to climb on the already full busses.  In the past, when I have visited Latin American countries and saw armed soldiers or police, I always got nervous, hoping I wouldn’t inadvertently do something wrong and get in trouble.  This day of travel, at police/road checks, we would be motioned to pull over, where the police checked Pape’s papers.  Annē and Pat said this was normal, but after the third time, they agreed it did seem excessive as each stop lasted longer. The fourth time, Pape was asked to get out of the car; now I was getting nervous, wondering what we would do if he was taken away.  I think my imagination was getting carried away.  We had given Pape some money, so I don’t know if he paid for some kind of papers he didn’t have or he paid a bribe, but finally we continued on with no further stops.  When we arrived in Saint Louis, large numbers of big wooden brightly colored fishing boats were also coming in with their catches of the day. Just as impressive as these fishing boats were the very long lines of trucks waiting to haul the fish back to surrounding countries.  In this fishing area, large poor families crammed the neighborhoods.

Senegal doesn’t have many road signs, but luckily Pape knew the way to the Djoudj National Bird Sanctuary not too far from Saint Louis.  We bounced and swerved as Pape drove between the main road and secondary side roads (formed when the main road was too bad). The expansiveness of unnamed roads stretching off in many different directions reminded me of many years ago when we had driven on the Navajo reservation searching for the home where Ritt stayed when he lived with the Navajos for a short while. This bird sanctuary is an important resting area for migrating birds to and from Europe. Also this park sanctuary gives local communities some needed revenue as well as the chance to practice conservation. Five thousand pelicans are born yearly.  What a sight and feeling to be in the boat as we slowly motored through huge groups of pelicans. Disappointed that the flamingos weren’t in this body of water, we were surprised when our guide told us to look up and we watched a flock of flamingos flash their pink against a vivid blue sky. 



Saint Louis showed me that the fight against Al-Qaeda in Mali is still very real.  We saw Senegalese armed forces after a celebratory send off soon to be joining other West African forces and French forces in neighboring Mali.  Another reminder had been in Dakar, when we had had lunch at a French restaurant; our bags were searched and a security person ran a wand over us. 

From the city of Saint Louis we headed to Lampoul, an area of sand dunes, several different Bedouin camps and camels. Pape’s truck could not make it to the camp; the 4x4 truck which picked us up could not make it all the way to the camp either.  After a wild ride through hilly sand tracks, the truck stopped, and we were told we had to walk the rest of the way.  In short time, a few guys from the camp showed up to help us carry our bags. As we walked out of the trees, the sand dunes rose in front of us and at the base of the dunes were two different groups of the tents.  After getting settled in our specific tent, we waited in the shade of the trees until it cooled down for our camel ride.  The camel gets up in two stages, and by the time it is fully standing, I sat really high up in the air.  With flowing robes, I would have felt like I was in Lawrence of Arabia.  The lighting was wonderful as we crossed the dunes but hard to imagine that the Atlantic Ocean was only several kilometers away although Ritt said he could hear the ocean.  Nighttime included dinner and dancing.  Pape showed he really had the dance moves. We left early the next morning since we had a long day’s drive to Campement Hotel of Wassadou on the Gambia River. Using head lamps and flashlights, we hiked back to the truck saw they were trying to fix a flat tire.  Annē said this is more typical of travel in Senegal, but as they worked digging out the sand and trying to change tires before the sand refilled the hole, we again had wondrous lighting as the day began. 

As we got closer to our destination, the gas stations were out of gas or only allowing limited amounts.  Soon we would find out that an international car rally from Budapest to somewhere in Guinea was in the area and would be staying at the same place as us. Luckily we arrived early enough to get our huts because they had forgotten about our reservation, and the ralliers were arriving also. On a short walk from the hotel, we came upon our first baboons. Having fun watching them around dusk, we decided to go out before breakfast and see if we could find the baboons again.  At first we saw them up in the trees trying to break off palm fronds or running through the underbrush. Then our baboon show became even more fascinating as around forty baboons arrived on the trail, playing, scampering, preening, eating, leaving and coming back. During this morning walk, we also heard the hippos making their loud low noises, so we hoped we would see them on our boat ride.  However, by the time we did get on the river the day was warming up, so we only saw the partial heads of two, but we sure had heard them calling earlier in the morning. 

             Our last day before we arrived in Annē and Pat’s village of Saraya took us to a quick stop at the Kedougou Peace Corps Regional Center to make lunch, and then we headed to Ségou from where we would hike to Dindéfélo Waterfalls.  Pat and Anne have hiked to this waterfall and others in the area, only their mode of travel to the trailhead are their bicycles on a road with a gradual grade but filled with huge potholes and then jutting out rocks towards the end of the road. (Kara, hats off to you for making it on a bicycle.) This is an area of chimpanzees, but we only thought we perhaps heard them as well as some local women washing their clothes in the creek. That evening at the Ségou Campement we met some volunteers with the Jane Goodall Institute who were studying the chimpanzees in the area, and Pat was able to talk with the region’s coordinator about their Roots and Shoots environmental education program for young people. The morning we left, Pape pointed out the highway to Guinea; a dirt road with the similar jutting rocks  and such a steep grade that passengers got out and walked the hill to make it easier for trucks to make it up the incline. 

To be continued...

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