Leketi, Congo

There are no condoms being sold in this village of 1500 people. Predictably, most of the people are children. Children flocking around the car to stare at the peculiar arrivals in the red car. Children staring at me sleeping in my tent. Children staring at me cooking pancakes and taking a poo. The chief asked me if I knew of an organization who would come to distribute condoms and to teach his villagers about safe sex. He lamented that the young girls were running off with just 'anybody.'

The chief of this village was a very kind man who let us camp on his yard while we waited for our tractor escort to pull a two wheel drive truck up a hill that its completely incompetent driver had managed to jack knife the truck on. We camped in Leketi for two days waiting for the tractor to arrive. We didn't really have a choice since the road would have been impassable alone.

The chief said his hospital had been washed away three years ago by heavy rains. Everyone we spoke to in the village lamented this tragedy. It seems that the government had once been able to open a hospital in this inaccessible and isolated place but that the recent war had made its repair impossible. The hospital would have to stay closed. Villagers would have to travel 100 kilometers to the nearest health center. The children being born were dying as quickly from curable diseases such as malaria. Rural health is simply too large of a goal for the besieged government. In this way, war affects every section of society, even if a battle is not being fought near.

Rural areas could seem safer than urban ones during the worst times of the war. But now after the fighting has finished, Leketi struggles even with basic necessities. Why? Because the road connecting it to the main highway hasn't been repaired in years (and certain two wheel drive vehicles have to be pulled 150 kilometers by a tractor to make it). The disrepair of the road drives the price of basic commodities up due to the cost of shipping. Leketi's only restaurant serves bushmeat caught from the surrounding forests and rotten eggs with sardines.
* posted by Tuuli at 1:17 AM  —  1 comments

Libreville, Gabon

A woman in Africa… We are told by the media that African women have no rights, need empowerment, are underrepresented. But what does this actually mean? Can a Westerner truly understand the complex social and economic status of women in Africa? I would argue that yes, but one must be careful with absolute judgments.

Why, you ask? Take for example one European NGO in Ghana who opened a brand new high-tech women's resource center with fanfare. But nobody showed up to use it, certainly not any women. What were they missing? Did they not really understand the context? Perhaps not. Perhaps Ghanaian women are happy with the rights they have. Perhaps they think that Western women who come to tell them that they must be empowered are silly.

When I embarked on this trip, I wanted my work to highlight women's issues. But as I have come to find out, writing about women in Africa can be challenging for a Western feminist. I create injustice where sometimes there might not be. Sometimes, I don’t understand all the circumstances. I don't have all the same experiences. There are certain behaviors and attitudes that I react emotionally to that are really quite normal and accepted by local culture.

For example, in Libreville I was once again challenged to understand the behavior of a large cross-section of women whose experiences are echoed across the continent: young women who have sex for money. I am hesitant to write about them because I do not want to condemn behaviors that in reality, may not be all that complicated. But I will try to explain as sensitively as I can.

Today, Libreville is filled with amazing nightclubs full of gorgeous women. "The prettiest in all of Africa," I am told. Women flood into these nightclubs to dance. They dance with their friends or if they are alone, they dance with the mirrors. They wait for men to pick them up. They make love to their reflections. The men who frequent these expensive nightclubs are French legionaries and Lebanese business owners. For them, it is not too hard to pick one of these girls up.

While many of the women that I saw in these night clubs are in the commercial sex trade, some are not. Some are local girls who live at home with their families. But most of the girls who frequent these clubs do not have other jobs during the day. Yet, as young women, they want to buy a nice dress and new shoes. They decide that to have those things, they must find a man who will give them money to help them look good. They come to the nightclubs, wait for men to pick them up, dance with them at the club and in the bedroom and collect 5000 CFA of 'taxi money' the next day. They don’t hang their heads. In fact, they look like they have a great time.

But while I accept that these women are having a good time, I wonder whether they are actually free. Are these women making positive sexual and emotional decisions? If they had jobs and other means I would say that they were sexually free, that they were enjoying themselves and having fun. But because this is the primary way that these ladies make money, I cannot believe that they are free. Many of them are choosing to have sex because of economics. Many people would disagree with my interpretation. Some would even get angry at me for placing my Western value judgments on behavior that is seen as quite normal.

The thing is, most everywhere that we have traveled in Africa, it is common for there to be an exchange of money within relationships. Girls that do not receive money after sex with a partner will come to believe that they are being treated badly. So what is it about this normal practice that I find hard to swallow?

Even while these young ladies will act as if they are truly in love, of being happy with the relationships that they engage in, ask yourself this: what are her choices? Is she truly happy with the exchange? I take the more cynical view. There are simply not enough opportunities for young women to make money. Perhaps this way of earning a little cash is better than other ways. But for me, it is leaping to the wrong conclusions to think that it is adequate. It is true that she may spend the money she makes on self-indulgent things like new clothes, hair and makeup. But this does not mean that she is squandering the money she earns. It is only natural that in a business, you invest money into your assets.

When I have spoken with workers of non governmental organizations about the status of young women, they have insisted that they are a group who is extremely vulnerable to contract HIV/AIDS. It is because they are clandestine sex workers. Many are not insisting on protection because they want to appear faithful to their partners.

Even while I think that the practice of monetary exchange is hurtful to women in general (the men will always be seen as providers), I am trying to understand it. I think that to outright condemn this practice would lead me to completely miscontextualize the status of women in Africa. It is a common and accepted practice. It is even arguable that in the West, women receive gifts, dinners and sometimes even money in relationships. Should I accept that this is a cultural peculiarity that will not change? Should I accept that this is a gratifying way to make money? Should I accept that this practice is actually empowering to women who have no other means of earning income?

The more I think about it, the more I believe that accepting this behavior as a part of culture that should be respected as is, would be a greater wrong. It is not that having sex is harmful to young women (any woman can choose who she will or will not have sex with and under what circumstances). But relying on money that is exchanged during sex as a way to generate income is risky. What if the partner insists on unprotected sex? What about pregnancy? What about the future? Will these women still be doing this at 40? Of course not, they will have been replaced by younger, prettier girls. I have also been told that being labeled as one of these girls can be very damaging. Many African men that I have spoken to say that they consider the young women who frequent nightclubs as 'putes.'

I find it sad that many women from all over West and Central Africa flock to Libreville to chase a dream for a better life, because I think it would be very difficult to find it in these nightclubs. A woman in Cameroon told me a story of a friend who moved to Gabon in search of work. She had intended to trade goods and set up a little business. This friend had come back with no money, having prostituted herself in Libreville for two years. She was broke and depressed. She had not been able to save anything during her time in Gabon. Her community members knew that there are few options for work for young girls in a foreign country. Everyone guessed that she must have been having sex for money. If this is the fate of these young girls, I cannot believe it to be a happy one.
* posted by Tuuli at 1:05 AM  —  2 comments

Douala, Cameroon

From the moment we arrived in Douala, tired from the long dusty road and the infuriating police check points during which the Stingray and its passangers mired in a perpetual series of temper tantrums, we knew everything was going to be OK. This is because Francois Happi, a wonderful stranger, a friend of a friend decided to take us under his generous wing and meet us at the city’s entrance. We waited until the cursory greetings and formalities were done with (about two minutes) and then launched into an illustration of our ginormous task list of car repairs, the need to meet with HIV/AIDS organizations, how much we needed internet café and telephone communications and our never ending banking problems. Francois merely said: “No problem. I will help you do all of those. I am on vacation for the next week. I will arrange everything.” Seriously?

Francois did not let us down. True to his word, we immediately sped off to a party being thrown for people living with HIV at the SWAA community center and clinic. Our faces red from dust and slick with sweat from the outrageous humidity that is characteristic of Douala, we crashed the party and were soon sipping on our favorite drink, Pamplemousse (grapefruit juice) and talking to the women who ran the organization.

Francois made everything this easy. He drove us around town ceaselessly to cross items off our task list. The car repairs were the hardest to solve. The repairs turned into a week-long ordeal during which Francois’ trusted mechanic scratched his head and insisted that the car was fine while we tried to explain in broken French how it was not acting ordinarily. Eventually with patience and a lot of test runs, the Stingray decided to expose its secret ailment (which turned out to be small) and be cured by the mechanic’s trusty hands.

Francois also set us up to speak with an organization who is working on providing much needed HIV education and awareness projects to the people of Douala. SUNAIDS, an organization run almost entirely by people living with HIV had been solicited by Douala prison’s doctor to coordinate HIV education and testing of inmates. We were hosted for a remarkable visit to the prison, marking the first time that I had set foot in a prison in Africa.

My work within the jail system in San Francisco prepared me for what we encountered. As Nate and I walked through the prison gates and into the courtyard which housed at least 800 prisoners, I did not feel the least bit nervous despite recognizing that the set up here would be considered a sizeable security risk in the States. The female guard told us to stay close as we walked across the yard of inmates towards the prison’s clinic. Hundreds of eyes followed. In front of the clinic was a man who had a serious infectious disease on almost half of his body. He lay in the shade and did not look up.

The prison doctor (the only one for the city and the only doctor enlisted to provide the entire state’s prisoners with HIV education) was an amicable man who talked about his work with a sense of justified magnitude that I admired. Compared with San Francisco whose jail conditions are exponentially better, the work that this doctor had cut out for him was substantial. With a limited budget for medicines, he spent his days in a perpetual state of frustration, drawing on a strength and conviction that I have previously only ascribed to missionaries.

I had anticipated that the inmates would be indifferent about knowing their HIV status. But upon spending five minutes conversing with a group of four peer educators that had were trained to provide counseling and education to the entire prison population, I began to understand that the program was working exceptionally well. The peer educators ran weekly workshops and periodic sensitizations for the whole prison about HIV. There were no other services or programs in the prison, except for a religious service run by a local church. As a result of these efforts, the prisoners were extremely enthusiastic about getting tested. The numbers of tests performed were staggering. Each week, fifty inmates lined up to complete the tests, fifty being the number of tests available through the grant. I thought this was very impressive.
* posted by Tuuli at 1:02 AM  —  0 comments