10/30/06
I’m feeling a little disappointed in myself that I haven’t spent much time lately reflecting on my experiences, how I’m feeling, journaling a little more personally. Usually I’m good at taking a step back to analyze what’s around me, look at the bigger picture, but not lately. Yet then I realize that I barely have two minutes alone sometimes to really stop and journal. My job(s) takes up all my time, including the supposed “free” time, previously known as a weekend to some, which usually ends up being a day for me, if I’m lucky. Saturday was my one day off and I went on a walk/hike with Andreia. On our way back, I saw one of the boys from the Center in Picos, whom I had met just Friday. Alarmed that he was walking around Assomada alone and knowing he was supposed to be in the Center, I told Andreia that he was an interno who probably ran away. So we stopped him, he pretended he didn’t know me, but eventually gave in and began talking to us. I asked him if he’d run away, he said yes, and so I invited him to come with me to my house, just to sit and have something to eat. He was very suspicious and kept trying to get away from us, but eventually gave in and came with us, probably because he had nothing else to do and nowhere really to go. At my house we tried to get hold of the Picos coordinator, but no one answered, so we took him to our Assomada Center, where he stayed the night until the driver could come and take him back to Picos. He’ll probably run away again. First chance he gets.
All day Sunday I spent in Praia with the youth from the CEJ of Assomada, who had an exchange with youth from the CEJ in Praia. I was asked to speak to the crowd about volunteerism, what it means to be a Volunteer, etc. and then we spent the afternoon hanging out, playing games, listening to a spontaneous batuque performance and brief theater the youth decided to bust out with. We ate lunch, then went to Cidade Velha to hang out with the youth there. All in all, a pretty fun day. I found a guy who speaks very good English—or I should say he found me, he was pretty anxious to practice English with someone. Apparently he’s friends with all the Peace Corps Volunteers that have been in Praia for the last few years. So that’s fun.
Today I spent all day working on a gigantic behavioral chart we are trying to make at the Center. And I mean gigantic. It’s a monster really. And we have to make two because we can’t fit all the girls on one chart. We decided to make this permanent chart that lists several activities that the girls are supposed to do every day or every week: finish their homework, attend group activities, clean their room, do their designated house chore, etc. and every day the activities they successfully complete will be checked off on the chart. At the end of every week or month we’ll add up the points and those who get above a certain number will receive some sort of prize or reward—a gift, a special trip out of the Center to do a fun activity, etc. I thought pointing out the things they do well, the things they are responsible for, would be better than pointing out the negative things they do, punishing them every time they fight or misbehave. Positive reinforcement. We’ll see if it actually works. The Center is so chaotic sometimes, I wonder if we will be able to get everyone to cooperate and participate with the chart. Because it’s getting ridiculous, the amount of crap that goes on there every day. Always something. Today a group of 7 girls tried to leave the Center to go somewhere out of Assomada—we don’t know where—probably to Praia or Tarrafal, without permission. Luckily someone saw them, they were reprimanded, sent to their rooms. Then we brought in two girls who had taken a dump on the roof, likely just to show frustration for the fact that all the bathrooms were occupied or locked up (don’t ask me why they keep the bathrooms locked, I asked the same question, and only found out that sometimes they dirty it up or horse around in it; but if you ask me a locked bathroom with little girls is only asking for mess or an accident somewhere in the Center). Usually at least once a week the girls are yelled at for pooping and peeing on the roof. Or in other parts of the Center. Such is life here in the ICM. It’s hard to know which thing to try first, which solution if any will solve all these issues. And frankly sometimes I don’t have the energy to deal with it. Other times I do, and I use that energy to do as much as I can and motivate the people around me, but then there’s those days…I guess everyone has them. You just feel desperate, like if you don’t find a solution in the next five minutes, the world’s going to explode. Irrational maybe, but anxiety nonetheless.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Rage against the machine
10/19/06
We went to Trindade to see Zelda today, and brought a few of the girls from the Center, in our attempt to show some sense of solidarity. I’m not a psychiatrist; I know only the basics of abnormal psychology and psychopharmacology. But seeing Zelda brought so many doubts and questions into my head about the use of medication for mental illnesses, questions that were already there before. Sometimes they can be very useful, even imperative for the safety of the individual and those around him/her, and sometimes it is effective in reducing a great deal of anguish and mental pain. Yet at the same time it so often changes the person, makes them lose a part of themselves, so that the person you now see isn’t who you would recognize before. Seeing Zelda was like seeing someone transferring back and forth between two different worlds, one we were in and one we couldn’t see or understand. She was very subdued, obviously on some type of sedative, and her cognitive abilities were severely decreased. I don’t know what meds they have her on, but I was starting to doubt their effectiveness, as instead of eliminating her need to cry, pace, and moan about wanting to die, the meds just made her do the same things with 10% of the energy, as though she was in the same amount of anguish but less able to express it, expressing it in a dreamlike state where her moves were sluggish and her mental capacity much slower. She appeared often confused, slipping back and forth between moderate clarity and profoundly sad confusion. She cried that she wasn’t crazy but yet they had put her in a place where she’s surrounded by crazy people. She begged for the girls to stay, grabbing her hands and telling them she didn’t want to be there. At that point I wasn’t sure it was a great idea for them to be there, seeing the fear in their eyes; they had never seen someone behave like this and probably weren’t quite sure how they were supposed to respond, so they sat quietly, not a word, but trying to be supportive. I think on some level it helped: though she didn’t have the capacity to express it, I think she was glad to know people loved her and hadn’t forgotten about her here in the institution. And so eventually we left, promising to come back with more girls to visit from the Center the next time. I feel as though I’m on my toes a bit to see how her situation progresses, if being in the institution will make it worse and she’ll sink farther into herself, or if somehow eventually the medication will bring her back to us. I miss the old Zelda.
* * *
On a fairly different note, I felt the need today to express my distaste for being a girl. There are often days or moments when I feel this way, just as frequently as I remember that I love being female. But today was one of those days when I wanted to hide the blonde hair and blue eyes, or find some way to evade the blatant catcalling, whistling, and elevator eyes that look you over from top to bottom. The catcalls I can ignore, the “psssciuuuu” sound I can walk right past without looking as I’ve learned to do—which is unfortunate, considering if someone I actually know tries to get my attention, I’d probably end up inadvertently ignoring them. What gets more annoying is the few times you find yourself trapped with the guy who’s asking all about you—your name, where do you live (which I never say, except for “here in Assomada”), can I come see you, do you have a phone number—and then throws out his desperate attempt for more with the “you are so beautiful” and “you have beautiful eyes” and all the other blah blah blahs. Today I went to my favorite coffee spot and was dismayed to see that in place of the nice girls who normally work there were two young men, immediately stoked to see the blonde foreigner, and looking me up and down, pulled out their best moves. The “you have beautiful eyes” comment came out twice, and then the second young man asked me to take him to America with me. “I’ll fit in your suitcase!” Haha, cute, we can all have a nice giggle about the bring-me-to-America gag, but sometimes I want to kick the boys in the shins. I think it wouldn’t be so bad if some of these guys didn’t just ooze testosterone and overwhelming self-confidence. Like they’re just the shit and it’s a game to see who’s suave enough to land the white girl. Most of the time I don’t care, I can remain good-natured about it and cut it off when it gets to the point of absurdity (which usually takes about 12.3 seconds)—after all, what’s the point of spending all your time frustrated or defensive? You can’t let it get to you. But in the same breath, I’m hoping that my continual presence here will show them that I am here to work, not play (in the tourist sense of the word), so that eventually they will leave me alone. One might hope that after a year or two of me walking the same route, going to the same places, they might get sick of the catcalls and whistles. One might hope.
10/21/06
We took half of the girls from the Center on a little hike today to a place nearby, just on the outskirts of Assomada. I chose a small hike as kind of a “test run” to see what the girls could handle, figuring they would tire easy, especially considering the lack of exercise they’re accustomed to getting. Any excuse for them to get outside is a good thing. I think it went pretty well, all things considered. The group that went today ended up being all of the younger girls, which makes it crazier but in my opinion more funJ (they’re easier to entertain). We packed a snack, a ton of water, made sure the girls were ready with some kind of footwear (the best we could get was flipflops for most of them, which didn’t matter because they ended up taking them off halfway there anyway—barefoot’s the way to go in Cape Verde), and headed on our way. And it was just as you’d expect an excursion like this to go with a group of 6-11 year old girls; the youngest ones tired quickest and required a little extra help and encouragement, the older ones bounded off ahead, racing to see who got there first. We took a ton of pictures, which hopefully I’ll be able to include in the post—altogether more than 60 pictures were taken, as you can’t take a picture of one girl without the others screaming “me next!!” or “now me and the goat!” or “now me eating my yogurt!” or whatever random shot they can conjure. On the way back down, a small group of girls ran ahead while we were distracted with the younger ones and got so far ahead we didn’t know where they were. We finished the hike and went to look for them, freaking out that they had run away (which wouldn’t have been too unlikely), but found them waiting at the end of the main trailhead. Phew. Other than that minor scare, it was a good time. We didn’t have stop for the girls to rest at all, only stopping frequently for girls to veer off to the side, drop their pants and squat to take care of their business. So much easier than taking kids on excursions in the States. I had flashbacks of working at camp and going anywhere with the kids, constantly hearing “I have to go potty!” every five minutes, which meant arranging someone to walk with them to wherever the nearest restroom was. No one has to hold their hand here, they know what to do. And no “accidents” this way. I really did feel like I was back in camp again as a counselor, the same concept of group management, constant headcounts, dealing with the occasional whiners, etc. It was really fun, almost forgot I was in a different country for a minute, except for the language thing. And so it was a pretty good day, hopefully they all had fun too. I think they were just thankful for an excuse to get out and run around outside of the Center for an afternoon. Hopefully we can make this a regular thing.
10/23/06
If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Things don’t really ever settle down in the Center, and instead situations and conflicts just continue to build until you can cut the tension with a knife. Right now the tension between the mães and the older girls who just returned from suspension is the primary focus of all of our attention, as it’s worsening to the point that something needs to be done. The mães don’t trust the girls and treat them very poorly, and so the girls act out in response—of course—and the mães then don’t allow them to leave the Center to be with friends, run errands, go to mass, or just walk around town, which is the one thing the girls want to do. It’s this escalating cycle that no one seems willing to stop: each side steps up the aggression in response to the other and neither wants to be the one to back down. And what infuriates me is that the mães are acting more childlike than the 13-year-olds—who shouldn’t have to be the ones to act as the “bigger person”. Who’s the adult here? It would be easy for someone to come in and say “Well these are ‘bad’ girls, hopeless cases, they need to be disciplined”, etc. but it’s just not true. These girls are good girls who truly want badly to succeed, to be given a chance. They recognize that this is their last opportunity for a decent life, but want to be treated with respect and so when they don’t receive it, they respond as they’ve learned to: with fighting words. They learned very early on that human interaction is marked by aggression, violence, and disrespect, and so they come to the Center (which exists for the sole purpose of protecting them) where they are met with the same exact thing. It’s killing me to watch this all happen, like a play being acted out, not knowing which act will come next. No one’s really listening to the girls, to what they want, and so they feel cheated, unimportant, reinforcing that they are “bad seeds”. Treated like shit in the Center, stigmatized in the community, no proper family to go to. And the problem is that the mães don’t just act like this with these older girls, they are aggressive and fierce with the younger girls as well. They attack them, scream at them, yank them by the ear, drag them across the room, etc. For little unimportant reasons! I understand that the manner of discipline here in Cape Verde within families may be different, it may be existent within the culture that if a child is out of line, it is acceptable to use a minimal amount of force to correct the behavior. I am almost willing to accept that, but not here in the Center. Not at all, it’s just not acceptable. These girls come from the worst situations you can find, from environments full of conflict, abuse, aggression, negligence, and absolute lack of structure or guidance. And so the Center was created to protect these girls, to provide a safe place out of the home so that they can have the opportunity to get an education and to live in safety. For no other purpose but this. And instead they are met with aggression, blame, misunderstanding, disrespect, and apathy. Simply put, the mães that work here are only present because they need money and need some kind of job, and this happened to be available. That’s it. They don’t really care to be here, they often don’t even seem to like kids at all, and yet here they are working in a center for girls who need even more attention and care than the average youth, someone who understands their situation and is sympathetic and prepared to handle it, none of which these mães are. How does this work??
I have been spending a decent amount of time with the girls this week and last week, and have been developing a good relationship with them (particularly the older girls), built on trust and communication. And really all I did was let them talk while I sat and listened. I didn’t have an answer for the situation, felt pretty helpless actually, but I let them express their frustrations and believed them. That’s a big thing for them: no one believes what they say half the time, or it is normally just turned back on them. And so while I take everything they say with a grain of salt (they are young, not quite emotionally mature yet, and they have been known to say a mean word or two in frustration with the mães—they’re teens), I also see that their side needs to be heard. The new president of the Fundação (which funds the Center) and I talked with the older girls on Saturday after our hike with the younger girls, and they spilled all the frustrations they had been having, the things that had been going on in the Center when we’re not there. Then today they did the same with Ercília. The “tecnicas” (those of us with formal education and titles: myself, Ercília, Andreia, and Ivete) met in Andreia’s office and discussed the awful situation of what has been going on with the mães, how they’ve been neglectful, how they often respond in a childlike manner, all the things I mentioned above. We were all in agreement, and were very passionate about the fact that this could not continue in the Center, and if their behavior didn’t improve, we’d have to make an effort to have them released from their positions (which isn’t as easy as it is in the States: you can’t just say “you’re fired” and they leave then and there). I felt satisfied at least that the girls had a team of advocates, people who were trying to look out for them. So we decided to have a meeting as soon as possible with all the mães and the older girls to get things cleared, see if we could come to some sort of resolution. Not with the best results, I have to say, though I’m not sure what they were expecting to take place. It was basically just a shouting match, more or less, with a few brief moments of calm finger-pointing. The part that was hardest for me to sit through was watching two grown women screaming at the tops of their lungs at these young girls, practically jumping out of their chairs at them. I understand they're frustrated, it's not easy to deal with, but there's no excuse for acting like a child throwing a tantrum. I would expect it from 8 13-15 year old girls, but not from grown women. I expected the other adults present to be equally dismayed and perhaps to have said something regarding their behavior or need to treat the girls with more respect. But instead the meeting was spent for the most part telling the girls they needed to behave better, show the mães respect, and then spend some time thinking about what they are doing to make the mães so upset, write it down, and come up with a way to ask for forgiveness. It's such bullshit. They're not going to genuinely feel sorry for anything if no one gives them the respect of standing up for them. The mães never had to ask for forgiveness for treating the girls like shit. I'm frustrated, and I'm not sure how to deal with it. It's starting to look like nothing will be done with the mães, no attempt to discipline them or send them packing. Instead it will be the "wait and see" game to see if they calm down and magically change their disposition and feelings towards children. Maybe I'm just too pessimistic, maybe things will calm down and get better and they'll benefit from the workshops we are planning, but I still don't think it's right to completely ignore some of the abuses that are taking place. So I have to just take a deep breath and start thinking about how I can retain the respect of the mães who may remain there for awhile longer while still maintaining my role of youth advocate. That said, I need to quit journaling for now, it's getting me frustrated.
We went to Trindade to see Zelda today, and brought a few of the girls from the Center, in our attempt to show some sense of solidarity. I’m not a psychiatrist; I know only the basics of abnormal psychology and psychopharmacology. But seeing Zelda brought so many doubts and questions into my head about the use of medication for mental illnesses, questions that were already there before. Sometimes they can be very useful, even imperative for the safety of the individual and those around him/her, and sometimes it is effective in reducing a great deal of anguish and mental pain. Yet at the same time it so often changes the person, makes them lose a part of themselves, so that the person you now see isn’t who you would recognize before. Seeing Zelda was like seeing someone transferring back and forth between two different worlds, one we were in and one we couldn’t see or understand. She was very subdued, obviously on some type of sedative, and her cognitive abilities were severely decreased. I don’t know what meds they have her on, but I was starting to doubt their effectiveness, as instead of eliminating her need to cry, pace, and moan about wanting to die, the meds just made her do the same things with 10% of the energy, as though she was in the same amount of anguish but less able to express it, expressing it in a dreamlike state where her moves were sluggish and her mental capacity much slower. She appeared often confused, slipping back and forth between moderate clarity and profoundly sad confusion. She cried that she wasn’t crazy but yet they had put her in a place where she’s surrounded by crazy people. She begged for the girls to stay, grabbing her hands and telling them she didn’t want to be there. At that point I wasn’t sure it was a great idea for them to be there, seeing the fear in their eyes; they had never seen someone behave like this and probably weren’t quite sure how they were supposed to respond, so they sat quietly, not a word, but trying to be supportive. I think on some level it helped: though she didn’t have the capacity to express it, I think she was glad to know people loved her and hadn’t forgotten about her here in the institution. And so eventually we left, promising to come back with more girls to visit from the Center the next time. I feel as though I’m on my toes a bit to see how her situation progresses, if being in the institution will make it worse and she’ll sink farther into herself, or if somehow eventually the medication will bring her back to us. I miss the old Zelda.
* * *
On a fairly different note, I felt the need today to express my distaste for being a girl. There are often days or moments when I feel this way, just as frequently as I remember that I love being female. But today was one of those days when I wanted to hide the blonde hair and blue eyes, or find some way to evade the blatant catcalling, whistling, and elevator eyes that look you over from top to bottom. The catcalls I can ignore, the “psssciuuuu” sound I can walk right past without looking as I’ve learned to do—which is unfortunate, considering if someone I actually know tries to get my attention, I’d probably end up inadvertently ignoring them. What gets more annoying is the few times you find yourself trapped with the guy who’s asking all about you—your name, where do you live (which I never say, except for “here in Assomada”), can I come see you, do you have a phone number—and then throws out his desperate attempt for more with the “you are so beautiful” and “you have beautiful eyes” and all the other blah blah blahs. Today I went to my favorite coffee spot and was dismayed to see that in place of the nice girls who normally work there were two young men, immediately stoked to see the blonde foreigner, and looking me up and down, pulled out their best moves. The “you have beautiful eyes” comment came out twice, and then the second young man asked me to take him to America with me. “I’ll fit in your suitcase!” Haha, cute, we can all have a nice giggle about the bring-me-to-America gag, but sometimes I want to kick the boys in the shins. I think it wouldn’t be so bad if some of these guys didn’t just ooze testosterone and overwhelming self-confidence. Like they’re just the shit and it’s a game to see who’s suave enough to land the white girl. Most of the time I don’t care, I can remain good-natured about it and cut it off when it gets to the point of absurdity (which usually takes about 12.3 seconds)—after all, what’s the point of spending all your time frustrated or defensive? You can’t let it get to you. But in the same breath, I’m hoping that my continual presence here will show them that I am here to work, not play (in the tourist sense of the word), so that eventually they will leave me alone. One might hope that after a year or two of me walking the same route, going to the same places, they might get sick of the catcalls and whistles. One might hope.
10/21/06
We took half of the girls from the Center on a little hike today to a place nearby, just on the outskirts of Assomada. I chose a small hike as kind of a “test run” to see what the girls could handle, figuring they would tire easy, especially considering the lack of exercise they’re accustomed to getting. Any excuse for them to get outside is a good thing. I think it went pretty well, all things considered. The group that went today ended up being all of the younger girls, which makes it crazier but in my opinion more funJ (they’re easier to entertain). We packed a snack, a ton of water, made sure the girls were ready with some kind of footwear (the best we could get was flipflops for most of them, which didn’t matter because they ended up taking them off halfway there anyway—barefoot’s the way to go in Cape Verde), and headed on our way. And it was just as you’d expect an excursion like this to go with a group of 6-11 year old girls; the youngest ones tired quickest and required a little extra help and encouragement, the older ones bounded off ahead, racing to see who got there first. We took a ton of pictures, which hopefully I’ll be able to include in the post—altogether more than 60 pictures were taken, as you can’t take a picture of one girl without the others screaming “me next!!” or “now me and the goat!” or “now me eating my yogurt!” or whatever random shot they can conjure. On the way back down, a small group of girls ran ahead while we were distracted with the younger ones and got so far ahead we didn’t know where they were. We finished the hike and went to look for them, freaking out that they had run away (which wouldn’t have been too unlikely), but found them waiting at the end of the main trailhead. Phew. Other than that minor scare, it was a good time. We didn’t have stop for the girls to rest at all, only stopping frequently for girls to veer off to the side, drop their pants and squat to take care of their business. So much easier than taking kids on excursions in the States. I had flashbacks of working at camp and going anywhere with the kids, constantly hearing “I have to go potty!” every five minutes, which meant arranging someone to walk with them to wherever the nearest restroom was. No one has to hold their hand here, they know what to do. And no “accidents” this way. I really did feel like I was back in camp again as a counselor, the same concept of group management, constant headcounts, dealing with the occasional whiners, etc. It was really fun, almost forgot I was in a different country for a minute, except for the language thing. And so it was a pretty good day, hopefully they all had fun too. I think they were just thankful for an excuse to get out and run around outside of the Center for an afternoon. Hopefully we can make this a regular thing.
10/23/06
If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Things don’t really ever settle down in the Center, and instead situations and conflicts just continue to build until you can cut the tension with a knife. Right now the tension between the mães and the older girls who just returned from suspension is the primary focus of all of our attention, as it’s worsening to the point that something needs to be done. The mães don’t trust the girls and treat them very poorly, and so the girls act out in response—of course—and the mães then don’t allow them to leave the Center to be with friends, run errands, go to mass, or just walk around town, which is the one thing the girls want to do. It’s this escalating cycle that no one seems willing to stop: each side steps up the aggression in response to the other and neither wants to be the one to back down. And what infuriates me is that the mães are acting more childlike than the 13-year-olds—who shouldn’t have to be the ones to act as the “bigger person”. Who’s the adult here? It would be easy for someone to come in and say “Well these are ‘bad’ girls, hopeless cases, they need to be disciplined”, etc. but it’s just not true. These girls are good girls who truly want badly to succeed, to be given a chance. They recognize that this is their last opportunity for a decent life, but want to be treated with respect and so when they don’t receive it, they respond as they’ve learned to: with fighting words. They learned very early on that human interaction is marked by aggression, violence, and disrespect, and so they come to the Center (which exists for the sole purpose of protecting them) where they are met with the same exact thing. It’s killing me to watch this all happen, like a play being acted out, not knowing which act will come next. No one’s really listening to the girls, to what they want, and so they feel cheated, unimportant, reinforcing that they are “bad seeds”. Treated like shit in the Center, stigmatized in the community, no proper family to go to. And the problem is that the mães don’t just act like this with these older girls, they are aggressive and fierce with the younger girls as well. They attack them, scream at them, yank them by the ear, drag them across the room, etc. For little unimportant reasons! I understand that the manner of discipline here in Cape Verde within families may be different, it may be existent within the culture that if a child is out of line, it is acceptable to use a minimal amount of force to correct the behavior. I am almost willing to accept that, but not here in the Center. Not at all, it’s just not acceptable. These girls come from the worst situations you can find, from environments full of conflict, abuse, aggression, negligence, and absolute lack of structure or guidance. And so the Center was created to protect these girls, to provide a safe place out of the home so that they can have the opportunity to get an education and to live in safety. For no other purpose but this. And instead they are met with aggression, blame, misunderstanding, disrespect, and apathy. Simply put, the mães that work here are only present because they need money and need some kind of job, and this happened to be available. That’s it. They don’t really care to be here, they often don’t even seem to like kids at all, and yet here they are working in a center for girls who need even more attention and care than the average youth, someone who understands their situation and is sympathetic and prepared to handle it, none of which these mães are. How does this work??
I have been spending a decent amount of time with the girls this week and last week, and have been developing a good relationship with them (particularly the older girls), built on trust and communication. And really all I did was let them talk while I sat and listened. I didn’t have an answer for the situation, felt pretty helpless actually, but I let them express their frustrations and believed them. That’s a big thing for them: no one believes what they say half the time, or it is normally just turned back on them. And so while I take everything they say with a grain of salt (they are young, not quite emotionally mature yet, and they have been known to say a mean word or two in frustration with the mães—they’re teens), I also see that their side needs to be heard. The new president of the Fundação (which funds the Center) and I talked with the older girls on Saturday after our hike with the younger girls, and they spilled all the frustrations they had been having, the things that had been going on in the Center when we’re not there. Then today they did the same with Ercília. The “tecnicas” (those of us with formal education and titles: myself, Ercília, Andreia, and Ivete) met in Andreia’s office and discussed the awful situation of what has been going on with the mães, how they’ve been neglectful, how they often respond in a childlike manner, all the things I mentioned above. We were all in agreement, and were very passionate about the fact that this could not continue in the Center, and if their behavior didn’t improve, we’d have to make an effort to have them released from their positions (which isn’t as easy as it is in the States: you can’t just say “you’re fired” and they leave then and there). I felt satisfied at least that the girls had a team of advocates, people who were trying to look out for them. So we decided to have a meeting as soon as possible with all the mães and the older girls to get things cleared, see if we could come to some sort of resolution. Not with the best results, I have to say, though I’m not sure what they were expecting to take place. It was basically just a shouting match, more or less, with a few brief moments of calm finger-pointing. The part that was hardest for me to sit through was watching two grown women screaming at the tops of their lungs at these young girls, practically jumping out of their chairs at them. I understand they're frustrated, it's not easy to deal with, but there's no excuse for acting like a child throwing a tantrum. I would expect it from 8 13-15 year old girls, but not from grown women. I expected the other adults present to be equally dismayed and perhaps to have said something regarding their behavior or need to treat the girls with more respect. But instead the meeting was spent for the most part telling the girls they needed to behave better, show the mães respect, and then spend some time thinking about what they are doing to make the mães so upset, write it down, and come up with a way to ask for forgiveness. It's such bullshit. They're not going to genuinely feel sorry for anything if no one gives them the respect of standing up for them. The mães never had to ask for forgiveness for treating the girls like shit. I'm frustrated, and I'm not sure how to deal with it. It's starting to look like nothing will be done with the mães, no attempt to discipline them or send them packing. Instead it will be the "wait and see" game to see if they calm down and magically change their disposition and feelings towards children. Maybe I'm just too pessimistic, maybe things will calm down and get better and they'll benefit from the workshops we are planning, but I still don't think it's right to completely ignore some of the abuses that are taking place. So I have to just take a deep breath and start thinking about how I can retain the respect of the mães who may remain there for awhile longer while still maintaining my role of youth advocate. That said, I need to quit journaling for now, it's getting me frustrated.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Humble me Lord
10/18/06
Today I realized that right now—being here in Cape Verde—is the first time I have really felt like an adult. I may have been independent, self-sufficient, and responsible in the States during college and grad school, but never did I truly feel like an adult, for some reason. Maybe there’s something about being in school that muddles your identity a bit: you’re not really an “adult” while you’re still a “student”. Or maybe it was the continual eating of top ramen and other assorted processed and boxed foods you can eat in front of the TV that inhibited me from entering the adult world. Or the lack of any real substantial job. I never really felt like I could say “I feel like a real grown-up” (though who says that anyway?) But today for some reason I feel like suddenly I’ve become some kind of official adult. As I was preparing the mop bucket to mop the bathroom and my bedroom, I realized that I have been carrying out pretty much all the activities an “adult” would by American standards. I clean the house regularly, I shop for all my food (which I’ve done before, but never have I bought food that requires much actual cooking), I am learning to cook, I have a real job that does serious things, and I am looked to as a person with a certain level of responsibility—people come to me for things, holy crap—, all of which one might consider part of adulthood. I realized I now have the pleasure, for the most part, of being looked on as someone who accomplishes things, rather than someone who is on their way to accomplishing things. Because of course in our culture (and in many others), that’s how we view it: not until you’re an “adult” are you really doing much noteworthy, other than requiring a lot of patience or tolerance from the exceedingly gracious adults, the very same who continue to chant that “children are the future.” Adolescence is merely “playtime”, or “preparation time” for when you really start to matter. Hey, kids are great at meeting whatever expectations we give them. Okay, so I’m being a little sarcastic and maybe a bit cynical, but really all this is to say the confidence that was lurking somewhere in the corners of myself that was waiting for an invitation to emerge has suddenly snuck out. I’m confident. Imagine that! No longer the student who’s perpetually and humbly learning the ropes, but the teacher who’s teaching with authority. And of course this is false, I’m always learning and not always effectively teaching, and it’s not all the time that I’m confident: I still feel like a child sometimes with my language, I still have a ways to go in earning the trust and respect of some of the workers in the ICM, and still have somewhat of a place to earn within the CEJ. But in a lot of ways, I’m striking out on my own, taking responsibility, making my place here in my new surroundings. And it feels even better than I’d hoped.
For the first time I am frequently viewed as an expert (of course I don’t consider myself one…though when does one really become an official “expert”?), a feeling I’m not accustomed to. This whole week I’ve been administering surveys during interviews with the girls to ascertain their interests and feelings within the Center, as though I’m someone official with authority. And yesterday while I was at the CEJ, a man came to see me (how he knew who I was or why I was there, I have no idea), asking if he could speak with me. Paulo (the CEJ director) ushered me into the “big chair” at the desk in his private office, as though it were my own office, and the man asked if he could make an appointment to see me. I asked what for, not understanding who he was or why he needed me, and he explained he just wanted to talk. About what? He looked a bit surprised and responded “About life, problems, things I’m dealing with.” And I started to realize he basically wanted a counseling session with the local psychologist—me. So maybe that will be a part of my duties, maybe that’s how my presence is being explained throughout the community, despite my attempts to explain the concept of appropriate credentials that exists in the States. So I’m settling into it. I’ll be one of the town psychologists. And one of the town social workers. And maybe activity coordinator for the ICM. And possibly babysitter slash cool foreign girl who hangs out in the Center. And now the beauty of Peace Corps Community Development Youth Mobilizer and all the vast inclusivity the title holds is being revealed: I will be entrusted with helping the youth in Assomada in whatever way, shape, or form that comes. Huh. Sometimes the freedom is glorious! Scary as hell, but glorious.
* * *
I thought I should update on what happened with Zelda, the girl I wrote about last week. After the first night in the hospital, I went back early in the morning to check on her, see if she had woken up, how she was doing, and just be a familiar face so she didn’t have to wake up alone in the hospital with a bunch of strangers. I spoke with the doctor, who said he would prefer her to stay there all weekend with someone familiar with her at all times, as she wasn’t in an appropriate condition to go back to the Center. When I saw her she was calm, but after a while she became agitated again, probably as soon as she started to realize they weren’t going to let her leave. So I stayed with her for a few hours, waiting for someone from the Center to show up so I could explain the situation. After awhile, two mães showed up, I told them what the doctor said, made sure that they would rotate out so that someone was always there, and then I left for the afternoon. Zelda stayed in the hospital all weekend, and on Monday, as planned, they took her to Praia to see the psychiatrist to get the official word on what should be done with her, as we still weren’t entirely sure. The doctor decided she should be institutionalized, even though she was underage, as there wasn’t really another feasible option. So to our helpless dismay, she is currently in Cape Verde’s only institution for people with severe mental disabilities—among the adults with schizophrenia and the like. And hopefully she will be cared for there better than she might be in a different place, but the idea of institutions makes me sad anyway: it’s like a final dumping place for the people society can’t (or won’t) properly take care of. And I know sometimes it’s necessary, but still…I don’t know what the conditions of Cape Verde’s institution are, or how it is viewed by those in the community, and I suppose I should consider it lucky that they even have one, but if I can assume it is like many mental institutions throughout the world, it makes my heart hurt to picture Zelda there. Or anyone for that matter. In a perfect world, no one would have to suffer from mental illness, or if they did, they would find the loving and supportive environment they needed so that they didn’t become neglected or stigmatized. I’m sure this sounds more negative than it needs to: the situation isn’t as bad as it could be, and not all people with mental illnesses are treated like refuse. But it is largely misunderstood, throughout the world. Compassion requires a lot of energy.
Today I realized that right now—being here in Cape Verde—is the first time I have really felt like an adult. I may have been independent, self-sufficient, and responsible in the States during college and grad school, but never did I truly feel like an adult, for some reason. Maybe there’s something about being in school that muddles your identity a bit: you’re not really an “adult” while you’re still a “student”. Or maybe it was the continual eating of top ramen and other assorted processed and boxed foods you can eat in front of the TV that inhibited me from entering the adult world. Or the lack of any real substantial job. I never really felt like I could say “I feel like a real grown-up” (though who says that anyway?) But today for some reason I feel like suddenly I’ve become some kind of official adult. As I was preparing the mop bucket to mop the bathroom and my bedroom, I realized that I have been carrying out pretty much all the activities an “adult” would by American standards. I clean the house regularly, I shop for all my food (which I’ve done before, but never have I bought food that requires much actual cooking), I am learning to cook, I have a real job that does serious things, and I am looked to as a person with a certain level of responsibility—people come to me for things, holy crap—, all of which one might consider part of adulthood. I realized I now have the pleasure, for the most part, of being looked on as someone who accomplishes things, rather than someone who is on their way to accomplishing things. Because of course in our culture (and in many others), that’s how we view it: not until you’re an “adult” are you really doing much noteworthy, other than requiring a lot of patience or tolerance from the exceedingly gracious adults, the very same who continue to chant that “children are the future.” Adolescence is merely “playtime”, or “preparation time” for when you really start to matter. Hey, kids are great at meeting whatever expectations we give them. Okay, so I’m being a little sarcastic and maybe a bit cynical, but really all this is to say the confidence that was lurking somewhere in the corners of myself that was waiting for an invitation to emerge has suddenly snuck out. I’m confident. Imagine that! No longer the student who’s perpetually and humbly learning the ropes, but the teacher who’s teaching with authority. And of course this is false, I’m always learning and not always effectively teaching, and it’s not all the time that I’m confident: I still feel like a child sometimes with my language, I still have a ways to go in earning the trust and respect of some of the workers in the ICM, and still have somewhat of a place to earn within the CEJ. But in a lot of ways, I’m striking out on my own, taking responsibility, making my place here in my new surroundings. And it feels even better than I’d hoped.
For the first time I am frequently viewed as an expert (of course I don’t consider myself one…though when does one really become an official “expert”?), a feeling I’m not accustomed to. This whole week I’ve been administering surveys during interviews with the girls to ascertain their interests and feelings within the Center, as though I’m someone official with authority. And yesterday while I was at the CEJ, a man came to see me (how he knew who I was or why I was there, I have no idea), asking if he could speak with me. Paulo (the CEJ director) ushered me into the “big chair” at the desk in his private office, as though it were my own office, and the man asked if he could make an appointment to see me. I asked what for, not understanding who he was or why he needed me, and he explained he just wanted to talk. About what? He looked a bit surprised and responded “About life, problems, things I’m dealing with.” And I started to realize he basically wanted a counseling session with the local psychologist—me. So maybe that will be a part of my duties, maybe that’s how my presence is being explained throughout the community, despite my attempts to explain the concept of appropriate credentials that exists in the States. So I’m settling into it. I’ll be one of the town psychologists. And one of the town social workers. And maybe activity coordinator for the ICM. And possibly babysitter slash cool foreign girl who hangs out in the Center. And now the beauty of Peace Corps Community Development Youth Mobilizer and all the vast inclusivity the title holds is being revealed: I will be entrusted with helping the youth in Assomada in whatever way, shape, or form that comes. Huh. Sometimes the freedom is glorious! Scary as hell, but glorious.
* * *
I thought I should update on what happened with Zelda, the girl I wrote about last week. After the first night in the hospital, I went back early in the morning to check on her, see if she had woken up, how she was doing, and just be a familiar face so she didn’t have to wake up alone in the hospital with a bunch of strangers. I spoke with the doctor, who said he would prefer her to stay there all weekend with someone familiar with her at all times, as she wasn’t in an appropriate condition to go back to the Center. When I saw her she was calm, but after a while she became agitated again, probably as soon as she started to realize they weren’t going to let her leave. So I stayed with her for a few hours, waiting for someone from the Center to show up so I could explain the situation. After awhile, two mães showed up, I told them what the doctor said, made sure that they would rotate out so that someone was always there, and then I left for the afternoon. Zelda stayed in the hospital all weekend, and on Monday, as planned, they took her to Praia to see the psychiatrist to get the official word on what should be done with her, as we still weren’t entirely sure. The doctor decided she should be institutionalized, even though she was underage, as there wasn’t really another feasible option. So to our helpless dismay, she is currently in Cape Verde’s only institution for people with severe mental disabilities—among the adults with schizophrenia and the like. And hopefully she will be cared for there better than she might be in a different place, but the idea of institutions makes me sad anyway: it’s like a final dumping place for the people society can’t (or won’t) properly take care of. And I know sometimes it’s necessary, but still…I don’t know what the conditions of Cape Verde’s institution are, or how it is viewed by those in the community, and I suppose I should consider it lucky that they even have one, but if I can assume it is like many mental institutions throughout the world, it makes my heart hurt to picture Zelda there. Or anyone for that matter. In a perfect world, no one would have to suffer from mental illness, or if they did, they would find the loving and supportive environment they needed so that they didn’t become neglected or stigmatized. I’m sure this sounds more negative than it needs to: the situation isn’t as bad as it could be, and not all people with mental illnesses are treated like refuse. But it is largely misunderstood, throughout the world. Compassion requires a lot of energy.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
10/13/06
My head is swimming, I’m not sure how to start or if my words will come out “right”, but I’ll give it a shot. I haven’t journaled all week because it’s been a pretty tiring roller-coaster week, one that has ended on quite a downer. In the Center it’s been one thing after another, and this week it has mainly revolved around one girl, Zelda, who has been suffering from severe clinical depression. Although to be honest, I think there’s more to it, there’s more going on inside her mind than depression. She is battling demons we can’t see or understand, and these demons are blocking everything else out, taking pieces of her away until we can’t recognize her.
All the time I’ve been here I’ve found her to be a sweet girl who happens to be ridden with a profound sadness that displays in her lack of social interaction with the other girls, frequent crying, and a look in her eyes that you can’t really describe in words. At the same time, you can see the hope pop out of those eyes, crying for some type of salvation. From the first day I saw something different in her, something that was reaching out, needing something but at the same time rejecting it. She slips in and out of these states, between hope and the occasional smile, and the fitful tears and refusal to cooperate. One minute she’ll be fine, asking us to take her on a walk with us, the next she’s practically mute, gazing off into a world we can’t see or imagine. She has been on medication for her depression for over a month, and at first it seemed to be helping, but the last week has gotten much worse. She began to suspect that they were putting medicine in her drinks, and began refusing to drink anything, so she hasn’t been taking her medication this past week. I don’t know if I can say that is really the reason for what has happened the last 3 days or not, but I’m sure it doesn’t help. On Wednesday, things got worse than the normal agitation and crying. She escaped from the Center in the morning and ran to Ivete’s house, but then fled once she came to the door. She eventually came back to the Center and began throwing fits, threatening to commit suicide several times (they had another suicide scare before she went on the medication), working herself into such a frenzy that she passed out, her eyes beginning to tremor. So they took her to the hospital, where the doctor suggested she be taken to the psychiatrist for further consultation. We were already planning to go to her scheduled consult the next day and it wasn’t possible for us to go that day, so we brought her back to the Center, where the roller coaster continued. For the most part she was under control, only having the occasional crying fit and what looked like momentary lapses of consciousness while she was sitting down. It was as though her brain would shut off and she was semi-catatonic, not responding when you called to her or shook her to get her attention. The environment in the Center having so many girls and so few workers to look after Zelda was not optimal for her, so between Ivete, Ercília, Andreia, and I, we tried to keep her occupied and took her outside when we could. During the afternoon I was put on suicide watch, to stay with her and make sure she didn’t run away, or try to jump out the window. I decided to bring her by my house to find a deck of cards to try and teach her a new game, and to just get some fresh air. She was having one of her good moments, so I had hopes that she was improving and some time out of the Center would do her good. But when we got back and I tried teaching her card games, I realized that her state of mind was someplace beyond what I was seeing in front of me. She couldn’t understand basic instructions I was giving her, and she would frequently lose concentration and start staring into space again. I could see her getting worse, and then she starting getting agitated, talking about how the girls in the Center were making her mad, that she didn’t want to stay there, that she would run away again, just wait and see. One of the monitoras took over the “suicide watch” as it was getting late and I had to return home. The next day, yesterday, we went to Praia with her to have her psychiatric consult. There is only one psychiatric hospital in Cape Verde, and it holds about 30 people. All adults. So he wouldn’t admit her because she was underage, plus he didn’t feel it would be an appropriate place for her (I agree, institutionalization is a pretty ugly thing, especially for kids to experience), so he told us to just monitor her situation and let him know on Monday how she was doing. When we got back, things just got worse. She began severe crying fits, not just with tears, but with forceful screaming and pacing back and forth. She continued like this for awhile, having brief moments of calm, and then starting up again, screaming the same few phrases over and over again, not responding to anyone who would talk to her. I really don’t think she even heard what people were saying some of the time, she was in her own world of misery, fighting those demons that were ripping through her mind. That night, she had several more attacks (for lack of a better phrase, and really they were like panic attacks), trying twice to open the window and climb on the ledge to jump off (from the second floor), though the mães reached her in time. So the mães, particularly the one in charge of her, didn’t sleep at all, having to restrain her and watch her like a hawk. It continued through most of the night, and then resumed this morning. She had been crying and screaming for so long, she hardly had the voice to continue yelling, and her whole body had broken into a cold sweat. She paced and wandered throughout the whole Center, mães and monitoras following close behind to try and calm her down, pull her away from the windows, etc. Having all the girls there making noise and playing around was just agitating her even more. We were in such a tough situation, because really there was no option, nowhere to send her, nothing we could do to help. We couldn’t send her home to her mother because of her terrible family situation, we couldn’t institutionalize her, none of us could take her home, and she showed no signs of getting better or relenting. We had to go to Picos to meet with the President of the ICM during the day (which was a whole other journal entry in itself), so we left her with the mães, only to return and find the situation hadn’t changed. No one was able to control her, so finally Ivete, Andreia, and I decided to take her to the hospital to see if they could give her some kind of sedative. It was so painful, the whole experience. Watching her in such torment, not being able to help. As we approached the hospital, she began screaming “I’m not sick! Why are you taking me to the hospital? Please, I’m not sick!” We consulted with the doctor, who suggested she stay there overnight with a sedative in her system so she could try and get some sleep. She was struggling so forcefully that several nurses had to drag her kicking and screaming into the room where they restrained her hands to the cot and gave her the sedative. It was one of the hardest things for us to watch, we all felt like we were somehow betraying her. She just kept yelling “Tia! Tia! No!” (Tia is what they call those of us who work there, it means aunt and is meant as a term of endearment to help the Center feel more like a family). She was so miserable, and we felt like we were causing it. Just handing her over to a bunch of strangers who were suddenly dragging her across the floor and giving her shots. So unfair, no one should have to experience it. But at the same time, we knew it was the only thing we could do, our only option. We don’t have the resources at the Center to care for that kind of problem, and we have all the other girls to worry about as well. It was just so awful seeing her tied up to the cot, struggling and looking at us with those despairing eyes, asking “Why?” I have no answer. I don’t know why.
I think the hardest part isn’t seeing it all happen, or being shocked by such suffering or such a situation, because in part it is what I expected to see, the kinds of things I studied in college to work with in the future. It’s the frustration of not having any options, not having the kinds of resources we could use at home in the States. There’s nowhere to send her, no one to care for her, and no one who really knows how. The people in the hospital weren’t really sure what to do with her or what was wrong. Several times in the last few days we (meaning those of us “in charge” at the Center) would sit in Andreia’s office talking about what to do with the situation, and no one really knew what to say. And they looked at me, and I had no alternative, didn’t know what to tell them, didn’t know what the options were, if there were any. No magic wand, very little to offer. And they understood, no one expected it. But helpless nonetheless. And so tomorrow I am coming to the Center to bring a movie and popcorn for the rest of the girls to enjoy, just to provide a brief distraction from the craziness that has them all preoccupied and a scared. Small little pleasures are better than nothing sometimes. Still somewhat helpless though.
The strange thing is that even though I am sad and frustrated to see this happen to a girl I cared a lot about, I have a weird sense of calm and separation about it. I have done what I can, but there’s a limit. She’ll be in the hospital tonight, hopefully will get some rest, and we can see what will happen tomorrow. And the next day, and the next. I am somehow encouraged that even though there are moments like these when you can’t do anything, there are other moments when you can. And you draw a sketchy line between work and home, where your heart can stay with the people that need it, but your mind has to stay separate. Is that right, or am I heartless?
My head is swimming, I’m not sure how to start or if my words will come out “right”, but I’ll give it a shot. I haven’t journaled all week because it’s been a pretty tiring roller-coaster week, one that has ended on quite a downer. In the Center it’s been one thing after another, and this week it has mainly revolved around one girl, Zelda, who has been suffering from severe clinical depression. Although to be honest, I think there’s more to it, there’s more going on inside her mind than depression. She is battling demons we can’t see or understand, and these demons are blocking everything else out, taking pieces of her away until we can’t recognize her.
All the time I’ve been here I’ve found her to be a sweet girl who happens to be ridden with a profound sadness that displays in her lack of social interaction with the other girls, frequent crying, and a look in her eyes that you can’t really describe in words. At the same time, you can see the hope pop out of those eyes, crying for some type of salvation. From the first day I saw something different in her, something that was reaching out, needing something but at the same time rejecting it. She slips in and out of these states, between hope and the occasional smile, and the fitful tears and refusal to cooperate. One minute she’ll be fine, asking us to take her on a walk with us, the next she’s practically mute, gazing off into a world we can’t see or imagine. She has been on medication for her depression for over a month, and at first it seemed to be helping, but the last week has gotten much worse. She began to suspect that they were putting medicine in her drinks, and began refusing to drink anything, so she hasn’t been taking her medication this past week. I don’t know if I can say that is really the reason for what has happened the last 3 days or not, but I’m sure it doesn’t help. On Wednesday, things got worse than the normal agitation and crying. She escaped from the Center in the morning and ran to Ivete’s house, but then fled once she came to the door. She eventually came back to the Center and began throwing fits, threatening to commit suicide several times (they had another suicide scare before she went on the medication), working herself into such a frenzy that she passed out, her eyes beginning to tremor. So they took her to the hospital, where the doctor suggested she be taken to the psychiatrist for further consultation. We were already planning to go to her scheduled consult the next day and it wasn’t possible for us to go that day, so we brought her back to the Center, where the roller coaster continued. For the most part she was under control, only having the occasional crying fit and what looked like momentary lapses of consciousness while she was sitting down. It was as though her brain would shut off and she was semi-catatonic, not responding when you called to her or shook her to get her attention. The environment in the Center having so many girls and so few workers to look after Zelda was not optimal for her, so between Ivete, Ercília, Andreia, and I, we tried to keep her occupied and took her outside when we could. During the afternoon I was put on suicide watch, to stay with her and make sure she didn’t run away, or try to jump out the window. I decided to bring her by my house to find a deck of cards to try and teach her a new game, and to just get some fresh air. She was having one of her good moments, so I had hopes that she was improving and some time out of the Center would do her good. But when we got back and I tried teaching her card games, I realized that her state of mind was someplace beyond what I was seeing in front of me. She couldn’t understand basic instructions I was giving her, and she would frequently lose concentration and start staring into space again. I could see her getting worse, and then she starting getting agitated, talking about how the girls in the Center were making her mad, that she didn’t want to stay there, that she would run away again, just wait and see. One of the monitoras took over the “suicide watch” as it was getting late and I had to return home. The next day, yesterday, we went to Praia with her to have her psychiatric consult. There is only one psychiatric hospital in Cape Verde, and it holds about 30 people. All adults. So he wouldn’t admit her because she was underage, plus he didn’t feel it would be an appropriate place for her (I agree, institutionalization is a pretty ugly thing, especially for kids to experience), so he told us to just monitor her situation and let him know on Monday how she was doing. When we got back, things just got worse. She began severe crying fits, not just with tears, but with forceful screaming and pacing back and forth. She continued like this for awhile, having brief moments of calm, and then starting up again, screaming the same few phrases over and over again, not responding to anyone who would talk to her. I really don’t think she even heard what people were saying some of the time, she was in her own world of misery, fighting those demons that were ripping through her mind. That night, she had several more attacks (for lack of a better phrase, and really they were like panic attacks), trying twice to open the window and climb on the ledge to jump off (from the second floor), though the mães reached her in time. So the mães, particularly the one in charge of her, didn’t sleep at all, having to restrain her and watch her like a hawk. It continued through most of the night, and then resumed this morning. She had been crying and screaming for so long, she hardly had the voice to continue yelling, and her whole body had broken into a cold sweat. She paced and wandered throughout the whole Center, mães and monitoras following close behind to try and calm her down, pull her away from the windows, etc. Having all the girls there making noise and playing around was just agitating her even more. We were in such a tough situation, because really there was no option, nowhere to send her, nothing we could do to help. We couldn’t send her home to her mother because of her terrible family situation, we couldn’t institutionalize her, none of us could take her home, and she showed no signs of getting better or relenting. We had to go to Picos to meet with the President of the ICM during the day (which was a whole other journal entry in itself), so we left her with the mães, only to return and find the situation hadn’t changed. No one was able to control her, so finally Ivete, Andreia, and I decided to take her to the hospital to see if they could give her some kind of sedative. It was so painful, the whole experience. Watching her in such torment, not being able to help. As we approached the hospital, she began screaming “I’m not sick! Why are you taking me to the hospital? Please, I’m not sick!” We consulted with the doctor, who suggested she stay there overnight with a sedative in her system so she could try and get some sleep. She was struggling so forcefully that several nurses had to drag her kicking and screaming into the room where they restrained her hands to the cot and gave her the sedative. It was one of the hardest things for us to watch, we all felt like we were somehow betraying her. She just kept yelling “Tia! Tia! No!” (Tia is what they call those of us who work there, it means aunt and is meant as a term of endearment to help the Center feel more like a family). She was so miserable, and we felt like we were causing it. Just handing her over to a bunch of strangers who were suddenly dragging her across the floor and giving her shots. So unfair, no one should have to experience it. But at the same time, we knew it was the only thing we could do, our only option. We don’t have the resources at the Center to care for that kind of problem, and we have all the other girls to worry about as well. It was just so awful seeing her tied up to the cot, struggling and looking at us with those despairing eyes, asking “Why?” I have no answer. I don’t know why.
I think the hardest part isn’t seeing it all happen, or being shocked by such suffering or such a situation, because in part it is what I expected to see, the kinds of things I studied in college to work with in the future. It’s the frustration of not having any options, not having the kinds of resources we could use at home in the States. There’s nowhere to send her, no one to care for her, and no one who really knows how. The people in the hospital weren’t really sure what to do with her or what was wrong. Several times in the last few days we (meaning those of us “in charge” at the Center) would sit in Andreia’s office talking about what to do with the situation, and no one really knew what to say. And they looked at me, and I had no alternative, didn’t know what to tell them, didn’t know what the options were, if there were any. No magic wand, very little to offer. And they understood, no one expected it. But helpless nonetheless. And so tomorrow I am coming to the Center to bring a movie and popcorn for the rest of the girls to enjoy, just to provide a brief distraction from the craziness that has them all preoccupied and a scared. Small little pleasures are better than nothing sometimes. Still somewhat helpless though.
The strange thing is that even though I am sad and frustrated to see this happen to a girl I cared a lot about, I have a weird sense of calm and separation about it. I have done what I can, but there’s a limit. She’ll be in the hospital tonight, hopefully will get some rest, and we can see what will happen tomorrow. And the next day, and the next. I am somehow encouraged that even though there are moments like these when you can’t do anything, there are other moments when you can. And you draw a sketchy line between work and home, where your heart can stay with the people that need it, but your mind has to stay separate. Is that right, or am I heartless?
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Como nós venceremos?
Today I made my first house visit to a family that was reported as being neglectful and has requested two of their infants be sent to the ICM emergency center in Praia. We picked up two nurses in the hospital where one of the infants with severe malnutrition is being cared for, and we all went driving to the interior to find this house to see the family and their conditions. When I say driving I mean off-roading in a tiny beat-up truck (which incidentally broke down once we returned to Assomada) and hitting my head on the roof or door frame every few minutes. We went as far as we could go by car, and then all got out and continued our trek by foot. So we hiked up--straight up--through the corn, wondering where in the world this house actually was. Of course this was at the height of the day temperature-wise, so I'm sweaty and greasy, but nonetheless excited that I've been able to accompany them on this house visit to see what the conditions of the children going to the centers are really like. And what an image I received. Once we finally reached the "house", it turned out to be a one and a half room shack with two beat-up and dirty beds, and not much else. No kitchen, no latrine, not really much of anything. And 11 people live there. Eleven, 8 of which are under the age of 6. There are two women, sisters, who live there with all their 8 combined children, and apparently they both have mental problems. Neither of them have jobs, except for the 3 agricultural months when they attempt to grow corn. When we arrived no one was there, and a neighbor informed us that the sisters had been gone for at least a week, leaving the children to fend for themselves, and who were currently dispersed among their neighbors' houses to find whatever food they could. The fathers were of course unknown (with a different father for each child), and the only person stable enough to care for the children is their 80-year-old grandfather, whose health is quickly failing and who has no job. Quite the situation for these poor children. And really, this is a situation common for the children we find in the ICM centers. So I was able to see firsthand what it looks like, how they live. It's different from reading it in all the files I'd been poring over last week. And so hopefully these two youngest infants will be lucky enough to enter into the Emergency Center in Praia where they'll be looked after by someone. Unfortunately for the rest of the 6 children, there will probably be little that can be done, no more space available.
I have too many thoughts right now to really clarify them while I sit at the internet cafe, so maybe I'll work on journaling them later. But today was just a heavy day. Not anything I didn't expect, and not really anything I haven't seen before (I remember having quite the similar experience walking through homes in rural Nicaragua that were very reminiscent), but tiring nonetheless. In the afternoon after we got back to Assomada, we had meetings with some of the 6 girls who returned to the Center from their suspension that I mentioned earlier (the 6 who had tried to poison the mães). Tensions are so high in the Center right now, and there's a lot of very visible stress for the coordinator/social worker, psychologist, and mães. One of the girls is already trying to start trouble and is getting into fights at school (she just arrived yesterday), and the mães won't talk to anyone during the meetings because they're so upset that the girls were allowed to come back. They're scared (with good reason) that the girls will try to pull a similar act as before, and so of course they don't trust the girls. Which isn't a great environment for them to come back to. Doomed to fail before they walked in the door. So what do we do? Do we request they all get expulsed? Or do we tell the mães to suck it up and open their hearts to these girls who will continue to find the road their lives our on become more difficult? No one is quite sure what will happen, but the mood is very tense and solemn. To add to it, there are two more girls coming back from a different suspension on Monday. Should be fun. In any case, there shouldn't be four mães taking care of 35 children 24 hours a day. It's too much. And so I am continuing to seek out what should be done, where is the root of the problem? Do we seek out the money to hire more people or more mães? Do we seek for more people to be actually educated enough to work as qualified mães? Do we give the troubled girls another chance? How many chances? Do we implore the mães to change their attitude and try to help the girls instead? All things I don't yet have answers to, but that will hopefully come to be resolved soon enough. In the meantime, I'll continue to process and will have more to write later. In the meantime, any thoughts?
I have too many thoughts right now to really clarify them while I sit at the internet cafe, so maybe I'll work on journaling them later. But today was just a heavy day. Not anything I didn't expect, and not really anything I haven't seen before (I remember having quite the similar experience walking through homes in rural Nicaragua that were very reminiscent), but tiring nonetheless. In the afternoon after we got back to Assomada, we had meetings with some of the 6 girls who returned to the Center from their suspension that I mentioned earlier (the 6 who had tried to poison the mães). Tensions are so high in the Center right now, and there's a lot of very visible stress for the coordinator/social worker, psychologist, and mães. One of the girls is already trying to start trouble and is getting into fights at school (she just arrived yesterday), and the mães won't talk to anyone during the meetings because they're so upset that the girls were allowed to come back. They're scared (with good reason) that the girls will try to pull a similar act as before, and so of course they don't trust the girls. Which isn't a great environment for them to come back to. Doomed to fail before they walked in the door. So what do we do? Do we request they all get expulsed? Or do we tell the mães to suck it up and open their hearts to these girls who will continue to find the road their lives our on become more difficult? No one is quite sure what will happen, but the mood is very tense and solemn. To add to it, there are two more girls coming back from a different suspension on Monday. Should be fun. In any case, there shouldn't be four mães taking care of 35 children 24 hours a day. It's too much. And so I am continuing to seek out what should be done, where is the root of the problem? Do we seek out the money to hire more people or more mães? Do we seek for more people to be actually educated enough to work as qualified mães? Do we give the troubled girls another chance? How many chances? Do we implore the mães to change their attitude and try to help the girls instead? All things I don't yet have answers to, but that will hopefully come to be resolved soon enough. In the meantime, I'll continue to process and will have more to write later. In the meantime, any thoughts?
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Como terra seca precisa de chuva
10/2/06
Today the ICM psychologist, Ercília, came back from vacation, so I got to meet and talk with her a bit after waiting most of the day for her to finish meeting with Andreia. She is sooooo great! I couldn’t imagine a better person to work with, she’s so patient and kind, intelligent, insightful, and compassionate. Six girls who were on suspension for trying to poison the “mães” that work there are coming back tomorrow, so we had a meeting with everyone altogether to talk about expectations and concerns. As the mães ranted about these “horrible” girls and how disrespectful they were, how ashamed they were to work there, Ercília stepped in and proved to be a beautiful advocate for these neglected and battered girls, who now find themselves on the destructive path they were taught to travel. She spoke eloquently and fervently, acknowledging that it’s a tough job that the workers do, but that we are these girls’ last hope, that it is our responsibility to serve them and provide an example of someone who doesn’t give up on them. So that they won’t want or find reason to behave that way towards the mães. She explained that their lives are vastly different than those of the workers, that they won’t ever have to think about some of the things these girls have thought about or gone through. Ercília said the things I had been thinking all along and had started to wonder if anyone else thought about. So I think we’ll get along just fine.
It’s frustrating to see sometimes the attitudes and the apathy that the mães (temporary live-in mothers who take care of the girls in the Center) and monitoras (people in charge of activities during the day) have towards working with the girls. I’ve only been here 3 weeks and don’t know what their experience is, and thus can’t really judge (though I suppose I am even by saying this), but from what I see many of them don’t respect the girls, aren’t warm with them, hardly even seem invested in them most of the time. And these girls need someone to be invested in their lives. It’s not an easy job, probably one of the more difficult ones, which is why you need strong and understanding (and hopefully compassionate) individuals that truly desire to work here. Which seems to be more difficult here simply given the employment situation in the country—there are no jobs to be had, so you take what you can get regardless of how much you like or dislike it or have any interest or passion for it. This is not to say that Cape Verdeans are not compassionate people, just that feeding your family has to come first. I hesitate to say that it’s an issue of lack of education of the ICM workers, because I’ve seen plenty of illiterate people work fantastically with special needs children and children in general, but I think the lack of any job training or basic knowledge in the area of social sciences has an effect here. They don’t have a clear understanding of why the girls behave the way they do or how to respond when they act out. I’d like to think that with a little training they might acquire a bit more patience and understanding. Here’s hoping, anyway. You definitely wouldn’t find that in the States, or probably other countries that have the luxury of higher education for the majority of their population and jobs once they finish—they won’t just let anyone off the street come and work with traumatized youth. But as I mentioned earlier, even those who become educated in social sciences here in Cape Verde don’t want to work in stressful environments with little pay that require substantial sacrifice. So often the few people who are qualified for the job don’t want it. Nonetheless, it was very encouraging to see Ercília, Ivete, and Andreia’s reactions and their beliefs about the whole situation in the Center—the girls have a good team of advocates fighting for them, whether they know it or not.
Sometimes I wonder if they’re too invested: maybe this is a cultural thing, but I’ve noticed (and have been told several times) that they (the psychologist, social worker, and director) will often take one of the girls home with them for a day or a weekend, staying at their personal home and being taken care of by these women and their husbands/boyfriends/etc. This would be pretty inappropriate, or at least worrisome if not taboo, in the States where we draw very finite lines between personal and private lives. Here that line is generally pretty fuzzy. And we talked about that in length during training, and I’ve noticed it in other cultures as well, but I honestly didn’t think it would carry over into this type of situation. Mixing work and personal life is one thing, but erasing the lines completely is another. Part of my concern is that the girls will first of all fight over getting to go home with you (because you can’t just bring one with you, they will all want to be next and they notice when you pick favorites, which is Bad News Bears) so that you eventually have to bring all of them to your house, and likely more than once as they’ll begin to expect regular trips. And second of all, that they’ll become too attached and may eventually develop the expectation that you’ll “keep” or adopt them as your child—false hopes unless you plan on adopting 35 Cape Verdean girls. Another concern is for your own sanity, being able to keep a private space for yourself that clearly delineates between stress and concerns at work and your own needs and coping mechanisms, which shouldn’t include feeling sorry for the girls and trying to “save” them. In this line of work, you can’t ignore your personal needs and de-stressors. And so when I first heard Andreia talk about taking the girls home with her, I worried that they’d expect the same from me and would soon start asking to come home with me. Which they did. Starting the second week. Now most of the girls have asked with eager eyes when I’ll be bringing them home to my house. Today a girl wrote me a card telling me she thought of me as her mother and asked when she’d be able to come over. Yikes, red flag! I’ve explained to all the girls that I have a housemate who doesn’t want a lot of strangers coming to stay at the house and wouldn’t permit the girls to stay over, which the girls seem to have accepted as a reasonable answer, though I’m to let them know the minute he leaves for the weekend or goes on vacation. And I spoke with Ercília about it, expressing my concerns, and she reaffirmed the lines that must be drawn and suggested that when I do have an empty house and the desire to give the girls a treat, I could bring a group of girls over just for an afternoon, instead of singling one girl out, to do a group activity. So maybe sometime I can bring them over to bake cookies or something when Nick’s not home. That could be fun, and easily manageable and something that another Assomada PCV said she’d be willing to collaborate on. So we’ll see, but I definitely don’t want to get caught in the trap of bringing every crying distraught girl home with me. Unfortunately I can’t save the whole world, not even one girl at a timeJ.
10/3/06
Today will be a short entry, just to say that today I showed Andreia my action plan that I mentioned earlier with all the needs I saw and my ideas for projects to address those needs. She read it (which is a start, at least she understood more or less my self-fabricated Portuguese) and was notably impressed by my creativity and “global” approach, which I really can’t take much credit for, because many of the ideas and projects are things that are done in the States and have been done around the world. Things that just haven’t quite made it to Cape Verde. And so I see the real reason I’m here: to spur on thoughts and creativity in bringing about the change that they know on some level they need, but don’t have the time or perspective to focus on yet. Sometimes it helps to have someone from the outside come in to remind them of things they may have gotten used to. Which is not to say that all the things I notice or want to do are necessarily right or perfect or even feasible, but at least I can remember my reason for being here and why I’m so happy to be doing this work. Next up will be making a timetable for all these projects and ideas so that they don’t remain pipedreams, and that I don’t get too sucked into island time. But before that I need to resolve this “lets split Courtney into three different people” dilemma that my various bosses are having. The ICM is where there is the most need (probably obvious since it’s all I talk about), which already has to be split up between two centers, one of which I will only be able to go to one day a week, but the CEJ director is asking that I come there two days a week, and possibly on the occasional Saturday. That leaves two days for the Assomada ICM Center, not enough time to accomplish what I’d like to accomplish, or to be there when they need me. I’m afraid once we’re all in the room together (which will happen tomorrow morning) they may actually each grab an arm and pull simultaneously in opposite directions until I no longer have limbs. Plus I got asked to help out at the high school and possibly teach English at the primary school, so the available days of the week are quickly fading. Oh well, I’m sure time will work itself out as it always does. If I’ve managed to juggle jobs, full grad school class-loads, and research internships at the same time, I’m sure I can do thisJ. At least all of the jobs here are integrated more or less, or at least all related to youth. So it’ll be enjoyable work. And hopefully I’ll have two arms with which to write an update after tomorrow.
Today the ICM psychologist, Ercília, came back from vacation, so I got to meet and talk with her a bit after waiting most of the day for her to finish meeting with Andreia. She is sooooo great! I couldn’t imagine a better person to work with, she’s so patient and kind, intelligent, insightful, and compassionate. Six girls who were on suspension for trying to poison the “mães” that work there are coming back tomorrow, so we had a meeting with everyone altogether to talk about expectations and concerns. As the mães ranted about these “horrible” girls and how disrespectful they were, how ashamed they were to work there, Ercília stepped in and proved to be a beautiful advocate for these neglected and battered girls, who now find themselves on the destructive path they were taught to travel. She spoke eloquently and fervently, acknowledging that it’s a tough job that the workers do, but that we are these girls’ last hope, that it is our responsibility to serve them and provide an example of someone who doesn’t give up on them. So that they won’t want or find reason to behave that way towards the mães. She explained that their lives are vastly different than those of the workers, that they won’t ever have to think about some of the things these girls have thought about or gone through. Ercília said the things I had been thinking all along and had started to wonder if anyone else thought about. So I think we’ll get along just fine.
It’s frustrating to see sometimes the attitudes and the apathy that the mães (temporary live-in mothers who take care of the girls in the Center) and monitoras (people in charge of activities during the day) have towards working with the girls. I’ve only been here 3 weeks and don’t know what their experience is, and thus can’t really judge (though I suppose I am even by saying this), but from what I see many of them don’t respect the girls, aren’t warm with them, hardly even seem invested in them most of the time. And these girls need someone to be invested in their lives. It’s not an easy job, probably one of the more difficult ones, which is why you need strong and understanding (and hopefully compassionate) individuals that truly desire to work here. Which seems to be more difficult here simply given the employment situation in the country—there are no jobs to be had, so you take what you can get regardless of how much you like or dislike it or have any interest or passion for it. This is not to say that Cape Verdeans are not compassionate people, just that feeding your family has to come first. I hesitate to say that it’s an issue of lack of education of the ICM workers, because I’ve seen plenty of illiterate people work fantastically with special needs children and children in general, but I think the lack of any job training or basic knowledge in the area of social sciences has an effect here. They don’t have a clear understanding of why the girls behave the way they do or how to respond when they act out. I’d like to think that with a little training they might acquire a bit more patience and understanding. Here’s hoping, anyway. You definitely wouldn’t find that in the States, or probably other countries that have the luxury of higher education for the majority of their population and jobs once they finish—they won’t just let anyone off the street come and work with traumatized youth. But as I mentioned earlier, even those who become educated in social sciences here in Cape Verde don’t want to work in stressful environments with little pay that require substantial sacrifice. So often the few people who are qualified for the job don’t want it. Nonetheless, it was very encouraging to see Ercília, Ivete, and Andreia’s reactions and their beliefs about the whole situation in the Center—the girls have a good team of advocates fighting for them, whether they know it or not.
Sometimes I wonder if they’re too invested: maybe this is a cultural thing, but I’ve noticed (and have been told several times) that they (the psychologist, social worker, and director) will often take one of the girls home with them for a day or a weekend, staying at their personal home and being taken care of by these women and their husbands/boyfriends/etc. This would be pretty inappropriate, or at least worrisome if not taboo, in the States where we draw very finite lines between personal and private lives. Here that line is generally pretty fuzzy. And we talked about that in length during training, and I’ve noticed it in other cultures as well, but I honestly didn’t think it would carry over into this type of situation. Mixing work and personal life is one thing, but erasing the lines completely is another. Part of my concern is that the girls will first of all fight over getting to go home with you (because you can’t just bring one with you, they will all want to be next and they notice when you pick favorites, which is Bad News Bears) so that you eventually have to bring all of them to your house, and likely more than once as they’ll begin to expect regular trips. And second of all, that they’ll become too attached and may eventually develop the expectation that you’ll “keep” or adopt them as your child—false hopes unless you plan on adopting 35 Cape Verdean girls. Another concern is for your own sanity, being able to keep a private space for yourself that clearly delineates between stress and concerns at work and your own needs and coping mechanisms, which shouldn’t include feeling sorry for the girls and trying to “save” them. In this line of work, you can’t ignore your personal needs and de-stressors. And so when I first heard Andreia talk about taking the girls home with her, I worried that they’d expect the same from me and would soon start asking to come home with me. Which they did. Starting the second week. Now most of the girls have asked with eager eyes when I’ll be bringing them home to my house. Today a girl wrote me a card telling me she thought of me as her mother and asked when she’d be able to come over. Yikes, red flag! I’ve explained to all the girls that I have a housemate who doesn’t want a lot of strangers coming to stay at the house and wouldn’t permit the girls to stay over, which the girls seem to have accepted as a reasonable answer, though I’m to let them know the minute he leaves for the weekend or goes on vacation. And I spoke with Ercília about it, expressing my concerns, and she reaffirmed the lines that must be drawn and suggested that when I do have an empty house and the desire to give the girls a treat, I could bring a group of girls over just for an afternoon, instead of singling one girl out, to do a group activity. So maybe sometime I can bring them over to bake cookies or something when Nick’s not home. That could be fun, and easily manageable and something that another Assomada PCV said she’d be willing to collaborate on. So we’ll see, but I definitely don’t want to get caught in the trap of bringing every crying distraught girl home with me. Unfortunately I can’t save the whole world, not even one girl at a timeJ.
10/3/06
Today will be a short entry, just to say that today I showed Andreia my action plan that I mentioned earlier with all the needs I saw and my ideas for projects to address those needs. She read it (which is a start, at least she understood more or less my self-fabricated Portuguese) and was notably impressed by my creativity and “global” approach, which I really can’t take much credit for, because many of the ideas and projects are things that are done in the States and have been done around the world. Things that just haven’t quite made it to Cape Verde. And so I see the real reason I’m here: to spur on thoughts and creativity in bringing about the change that they know on some level they need, but don’t have the time or perspective to focus on yet. Sometimes it helps to have someone from the outside come in to remind them of things they may have gotten used to. Which is not to say that all the things I notice or want to do are necessarily right or perfect or even feasible, but at least I can remember my reason for being here and why I’m so happy to be doing this work. Next up will be making a timetable for all these projects and ideas so that they don’t remain pipedreams, and that I don’t get too sucked into island time. But before that I need to resolve this “lets split Courtney into three different people” dilemma that my various bosses are having. The ICM is where there is the most need (probably obvious since it’s all I talk about), which already has to be split up between two centers, one of which I will only be able to go to one day a week, but the CEJ director is asking that I come there two days a week, and possibly on the occasional Saturday. That leaves two days for the Assomada ICM Center, not enough time to accomplish what I’d like to accomplish, or to be there when they need me. I’m afraid once we’re all in the room together (which will happen tomorrow morning) they may actually each grab an arm and pull simultaneously in opposite directions until I no longer have limbs. Plus I got asked to help out at the high school and possibly teach English at the primary school, so the available days of the week are quickly fading. Oh well, I’m sure time will work itself out as it always does. If I’ve managed to juggle jobs, full grad school class-loads, and research internships at the same time, I’m sure I can do thisJ. At least all of the jobs here are integrated more or less, or at least all related to youth. So it’ll be enjoyable work. And hopefully I’ll have two arms with which to write an update after tomorrow.
Monday, October 02, 2006
80 Cent lattes--you betcha!
This weekend I was proactive. I decided to make myself an elaborate action plan, complete with the needs I saw in the Center and various ideas I had for ways to tackle the problems, ideas for projects I had, etc. I then spent the weekend translating it into Portuguese, and am now waiting for a meeting to end with Andreia so that I can show her and we can see if I'm completely crazy or if the ideas are do-able. Hopefully this will be the first neede step to organizing myself into forming an actual job. No more waiting around, I'm going to get shit done. Hopefully. Next I plan on getting the girls' futbol game with the S. Domingos crew and the ICM girls underway, shouldn't be too hard seeing as I just did the same thing a month ago. Let's hear it for copying ideas.
Anyhow, I don't have any journals to post, just a few random thoughts I wanted to throw on the blog. Life is good, I'm feeling good today. Talked to Paige last night which always makes me feel better, and I think I'm getting better at washing clothes. So not too bad of a weekend. And this morning I tried out the coffee place Andreia told me about and she was right: excellent coffee for 80 cents. Starbucks, I love you, but top that. As soon as I teach them how to make a caramel macchiato, it'll be downhill for you:)
Okay, that's all for now, but more updates soon! Take care, everyone.
Anyhow, I don't have any journals to post, just a few random thoughts I wanted to throw on the blog. Life is good, I'm feeling good today. Talked to Paige last night which always makes me feel better, and I think I'm getting better at washing clothes. So not too bad of a weekend. And this morning I tried out the coffee place Andreia told me about and she was right: excellent coffee for 80 cents. Starbucks, I love you, but top that. As soon as I teach them how to make a caramel macchiato, it'll be downhill for you:)
Okay, that's all for now, but more updates soon! Take care, everyone.
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