Bless the Rains

The Rains are BACK! Its amazing to see the transformation of the land as it transitions from dry to rainy season. During the dry season, the land becomes parched, dry, everything becomes dust, dirt, and the color brown. The land literally seems to be begging for water. Within a week of the rains starting (and the the real downpours won't even start until August!) the land changes to the most vibrant, lush green you can fathom. It becomes a different view entirely and seems to almost happen overnight. You gain a whole different respect for the song, "God Bless the Rains Down in Africa".

Rains also mean that farming season is back. Meaning, that soy is consuming my life (which is OK by me, because "Insah Allah" & as long as we keep the cows away, soon we will be consuming it! Ha, jokes!)

The soy project has entered a different phase this year. I'm still working my own field on the same plot of land as I did last year. Although, since I've got no kids working with me I am only doing 1/2 the portion. Farming is T-O-U-G-H, and I'm looking to see the end of farming season! This continues to be a pilot farm. Working it serves several different purposes. I get to learn first hand about the technique behind soy agriculture (which allows me to actually have some credibility when I am trying to teach it to others). It gives me purpose and something to fill my village days with. But, most importantly, in a village where only the Divisional Officer (a government official) and a few of the high school teachers plant soy, the field (especially with its' central location) allows people to SEE soy. To believe that, "Oh, hey! This can grow on our land? WE can do this too?" One of the best moments of soy demonstrations these past couple of months was when I was in the bush and trying to teach a mean (who had purchased soy for his personal farm) how to plant soy (you have to leave 20 cm between each pod and 40 cm between each line). When I asked him if he understood he said, "Of course, I saw the way you planted your field last year." Whoah!

Another important part of using the same plot of land is that by comparing this year's future yield to last year's past yield, I will be able to learn whether or not soy is a crop that should/can be planted twice in the same field, or whether its a crop that should rotate by year.

We've also got a couple of community farms going!

After harvest, when I explained my plans for the soy to the nurse in charge, he identified three communities where he saw a lot of malnutrition cases & where he would like me to develop soy culture. Malingara, Mbigorro, and Mberse are all 5,8, and 17 km (respectively) from Dir, but all fall under our hospital's umbrella of care. These said communities are the ones that I have been working with over the past couple of months, doing nutritional lessons and culinary demonstrations to teach them the value of soy and get them interested in it.

Mbigorro is a refugee camp, composed of about 100 individuals who fled the Republic of Central Africa 4 years ago due to persecution by opposing ethnic groups. I've been working with a group of about 15 women here, who are absolutely wonderful. One of my LEAST favorite things about being a Peace Corps Volunteer is that sometimes you have to be behind individuals nagging and nagging to make sure that things get done. These women are the absolute opposite of that, and despite the fact that they only speak dialect, whenever I tell them, "I'll be back in 5 days, you need to finish laboring this portion, or, you need to continue to weed here, or, I want to see the farm fully planted" they always get it done. It's amazing, and so motivating to understand (by their work)that this is something they WANT. Unfortunately, cows have started eating some of our soy (it's sprouted!) and unless they make a fence our work will be futile.(Cows are a huge problem, and their are MANY Agro-Pastoral conflicts in the Adamaoua) So fingers crossed that when I make my next visit to these women, their will be a fence surrounding their field!

In Malingara, it is mostly only one extended family who is working the "community farm". Of course, in an ideal world the whole village would be interested, enthused, and willing to work the farm, but alas, that's not the case. However, I've learned that development is slow slow work, and I believe that if the villagers can see one family profitting from soy, maybe next year two or three families will plant soy in their fields, and the next year, maybe two or three more...

Ironically enough, Mberse is the village that I spent the most time and effort trying to introduce an interest in soy, to very little avail. Although 3 families have taken soy for their personal fields no members of the community have stepped up to start a community farm. Although personal fields are WONDERFUL, they are difficult to follow up with monitoring, and the benefits of a community field are that they are often in places where the community (even those who are not directly involved) can SEE the field, and that visual also provides more teaching opportunities.


Although rainy season comes with its whole slieu of blessings (you no longer have to go to the well to fill up your buckest, you just put them outside! and vurrrhhhy importantly....MANGOES arrive!) It also comes with the curse of rises in malaria in the community. Things are B-U-S-Y at the hospital this time of year!

Since so many of my health related stories in this blog are heart breakers, I thought it was about time I shared one that at the end had me jumping for joy like a banshee.

Ishmael is 4 years old, and is part of the extended family that makes up my neighbors. So although he doesn't live next to me, I see him several times a week in our concession. One Thursday morning I walk into the hospital to see his mother waiting outside the consultation room with an almost un-concious Ishmael in her hands. I was shocked. I had literally seen him 2 days prior and he was FINE, Ishmael is a serious little boy, but his behavior that Tuesday was similar to how it always was. Ishmael's body was as hard as a rock, his eyes were practically yellow, he was convulsing, and his eyes were dilated and unable to follow motion. Most scarily, he smelled. Death has a way of smelling, almost as if it's announcing its impending arrival. It's impossible to describe, but you grow familiar with it, and when I do smell it, my stomach instantly drops anticipating what's coming next. The nurse in charge immediately saw him and diagnosed him with cerebral malaria, he prescribed medicines and blood transfusions, but even then (to me at least) the chances seemed so slim.

That is the scary thing about malaria in children under 5 years old. For adults, whose bodies have developed an immunity to it, malaria can range from feeling like your having a cold, to a reaallly bad case of the flu. But, for young children whose immune systems are not yet strong, malaria can kill within a matter of hours.

Ishmael followed his treatment, and on morning 4 of the medicines I walked up to the hospital to see him sitting outside and eating, (THIS was the moment where I screamed like a banshee!) Our resources at the hospital are slim, and truly we are a preventative clinic more than an emergency one. After so many illness and moments where people come in too late and don't make it, Ishmael's recovery as a (much needed) breath of fresh air. Not only Ishmael, but since the start of malaria season we have seen 2 other little goobers come in in similar circumstances and with blood transfusions and medicines, make it! It has been so neccesary to realize that lives that I have already taken as lost causes, can be saved.