Vaccinations in the Brush

Today, I went with Irene and the vaccinator, Bakary, to a neighboring village to register and vaccinate the newborn babies. I decided that I would not be overly ambitious to do any sort of education animation this first time around, so I tagged along just to observe. Only 10k away, I thought the bike ride would not be difficult- but in the blaring sun, over rocks, crevices, hills and rivers, I struggled to keep up with Irene and Bakary, who were leading the way on a motorcycle. The landscape however, was breathtaking. Down here in the farming valleys, I suppose that this is the most beautiful time of year. At the end of the rainy season, everything is green, and I have trouble imagining the red-dust covered Africa that has been repeatedly described to me.
The vaccinations at the small maternity went quickly. Though we were practically finished before noon, a harsh and windy storm rolled into the valley. I thought the rainy season was over, but this was one of the biggest storms I had ever seen. So we went inside the maternity to wait it out. For hours upon hours I sat inside the slowly flooding small maternity. I’m truly in the middle of nowhere. With no signs of letting up, I watched as the rains turned the dirt roads into rivers, glanced at my bicycle, and seriously questioned if I was going to be able to make it back to Dombila that day.
I’ve learned though, in situations such as this, worrying is completely useless. So, with nothing much else to do, I took a nap, and chatted with the others in the maternity.
Irene is different
I was hanging out in a room with two men- a middle aged, attentive and engergic one, and an older Muslim, wrapped in blue robes and a turban. The middle-aged man asked me how I was going to vote in Novemeber. I’ve been asked that question before, and by now I know that it is always a polite opening to segway into a conversation about Barak Obama. Once I admitted that I was voting for him, we had a fantastic conversation about politics and world issues. The quiet Muslim sitting in the corner said nothing for a while until finally he looks at me and asks: “Are there cows in America?”
I almost burst out laughing. Yes, there are cows in America. A huge smile took over his face. “Oh wonderful! I am a cow herder. I love cows.” Good Lord, I thought, where the heck am I right now?
The rain finally let up, but the roads were still flooded. We were able to slowly ride back to Dombilia, and I returned covered in mud. I got ready for my run with Shaka, but my host mother said we shouldn’t go. “It’s too wet out there- you can run tomorrow morning.” Something my mom at home would have said. I wasn’t going to argue though, I had certainly had my workout that day.