Regarding magic...

One of the most mysterious and most often discussed (by foreigners) aspects of life on Hispaniola is the practice of voodoo and other forms of spiritualism not commonly seen in Wisconsin. I have made no formal study of these beliefs, but I have heard plenty of stories and made some observations. First of all, it doesn't seem to be a formal religion in the same sense as the Catholicism or Pentecostalism that I see every day in my community. It's more like a set of folk beliefs that get kind of mixed in with the christianity. The beliefs touch many parts of life, and while some are clearly silly stories told to children, others are taken very seriously. Here is a scattering of examples...

I am told that one can sell their soul to the devil in exchange for wealth and prosperity. When you make this deal, the devil sends a spirit called a “baca” to watch over your property. There is a landowner in my site whom it is said has made such a deal. Children are told that if they steal fruit from his orchards, the “baca” will eat them. I never tried stealing his fruit, so I can't speak to the truthfulness of this one.

Kids are also told stories about witches who fly and can take the shape of animals. One of my friends swears to me that he once saw, late at night, a creature that had the head and torso of a woman, but the body of a donkey. Apparently witches like to eat little children (there is a theme here).

There are other kinds of witchcraft, though, that are taken more seriously by local adults. I know a teenager whose dad had a disagreement with a local practitioner of “brujaria” (witchcraft). This person did something to give the kid a terrible stomach ache that would not go away. The family ended up having to pay this “witch doctor” a large amount of money in order for him to remove whatever was causing the pain. They say it worked.

The most common practice of folk beliefs, though, seems to be in the brewing of herbal cocktails to cure any number of ailments. This is something I never figured out completely, because some brews seem to be considered just medicinal and others are considered magical. I never tried anything magical, but my host mother would make me medicinal teas whenever I had anything from the sniffles to diarrhea. The teas would be made with an assortment of local fruits, spices, leaves, and flowers. The ingredients and boiling procedure are always very specific, and the results are both delicious and satisfying.

Magical brews, I am told, move beyond treating simple diseases into things like inducing euphoria, causing one to fall in love, or enslaving the drinker's will to that of the brewer. I have never seen these in action. The consequences of misusing one of these drinks, though, can be dangerous. A few times when neighbors have had unexplained illnesses, I am told that it's because they chose to drink a magical brew that was made incorrectly.

It would be easy to scoff at these things, and say that they are just stories made up by uneducated people to explain the world. Perhaps it is all nonsense. Or maybe the world is a more mysterious, multidimensional place than cynical American suburbanites choose to believe. I hesitate to automatically dismiss a lot of these stories. My neighbors may lack formal education, but experience has taught them an awful lot about agriculture, engineering, and even medicine (those herbal teas really DO work). A man was once dying of prostate cancer, totally unable to urinate. He took a mixture of honey and some local tree root, and immediately felt better. Ten years later he is still alive and completely cured. Maybe education isn't everything. I leave you to draw your own conclusions.

Regarding relief...Day 2

(I am currently at a hospital on the Haitian border, aiding the earthquake relief effort for about a week. These are my stories.)

What a day. I experienced a lot. I carried stretchers to operating rooms. I watched a medical helicopter take off. I had to scrounge to find food so that hungry people could have at least one meal today. I heard poor, homeless, injured refugees singing praise to Jesus at the top of their lungs. It was a full day, and I feel tired, frustrated, encouraged, satisfied, pessimistic and also excited about the world. Let's just say that I am learning a lot.

It all started when I got up at about 6 AM, to get ready for the early morning meeting with the team of translators. We assigned them to specific shifts in designated parts of the hospital. Apparently a lot of these guys have been working 24 hour shifts, following doctors around to translate their conversations with the patients. Not easy work. The translators are physically exhausted, emotionally drained, and are getting absolutely no compensation for doing a pretty important job. We have started making sure they get extra food at meal times to try to keep them happy. This meeting is the last specific event I remember from today. I am tired, but things also operate in such a whirl wind of activity that all that manages to stay in my head is a series of pictures, impressions, ideas and feelings.

The patients are mostly here with limb injuries. Almost everyone has either had an amputation, or is in traction. It is not easy to see, especially the little kids. It seems that most of them were just in their houses or at school when the quake hit, and the walls came down. It is encouraging to see them getting very good care, though. We have operating rooms, physical therapists, psychiatrists, 24 hour nursing attention and lots of other medical amenities that would not otherwise be available to these folks.

That being said, it is certainly NOT the mayo clinic. The patients are in crowded, dusty tents on thin worn out mattresses. They get fed twice a day with food donated by the local government. Lunch is a pile of greasy rice, and dinner is about half a cup of very liquidy oatmeal. Not exactly the kind of food that is ideal for someone recovering from a traumatic injury. There is no TV, AC, yummy hospital food, or caring relatives coming to visit. Each patient is allowed to have one or two family members staying with them. They have no connection with the people back in Haiti.

My job, besides coordinating the translators, is to do whatever I can to help out with the logistics of running this place. We volunteers do a lot of the dealing with local Dominicans. We are responsible for getting the food delivered and served every day. We serve as the cultural go betweens. It is not easy at all. American doctors like things the way they like them. In a situation like this, though, you have to work with what you have. Dominicans can be equally stubborn. I am learning a lot about international disaster relief strategies, but I won't bore you with that talk today.

We operate one day at a time, doing what we can to help the people in front of us. Right now it is unclear whether this place will turn into a long term care center. No one knows. We all work hard, and sleep is hard to come by. I am pooped. I will turn in soon, and try to write something more story-like tomorrow. I appreciate the prayers.

Regarding illness...

A few weeks ago I woke up with what looked like mosquito bites on my arms and knees. I didn't think much of this, and just assumed I had been lax in my application of bug spray on the previous day. We have a lot of mosquitoes. But they weren't mosquito bites. The spots multiplied, turned bright red and started itching like nothing else.

My plan was to just see how things unfolded, since seeking medical attention means at its easiest climbing a high hill and scrambling to get cell phone signal, and at its most difficult travelling all the way to the capital to see the doctor. So I just kept doing what I was doing. I've never really liked going to the doctor anyway.

At some point during all this I inadvertently scratched a little too hard at the spots on my knees, and some local bacteria decided to take up residence in the nice little wound and start having children. So on top itchy red spots I now had knees that were starting to spout yellow pus. It was at the point that I developed fever and nausea that I finally listened to my increasingly irritated girlfriend, and agreed to call the doctor.

The doctor wasn't happy with me. She made me come to the capital, loaded me up on antibiotics for the infection, and sent me to a dermatologist for the rash. Diagnosis: Poison Ivy. I couldn't believe it. All this trouble for a little bit of poison ivy (which I didn't even know they had in this country!).

I was struck again by how fortunate I am to have the safety nets that I do. It wasn't that rare a medical problem. Anyone could brush up against poison ivy or get an infected cut. But none of my neighbors have access to the healthcare that I do. There are people in the world dying every day from simple infections or diarrhea or other easily preventable or treatable conditions. It's not right.

In which Tim comments on Swine Flu...

I logged onto the web today to check email, and I was bombarded with messages from friends and family asking me about this swine flu that seems to be all the rage in America right now.  I promise, my health is fine.  I have no pig related illnesses. 

I deal with pigs all the time.  I chased one out of my yard this morning.  I've never gotten sick from them, although I see how one could.  If I spent my time handling pigs at close quarters (which many of my neighbors do) and neglected to wash my hands (which is common around here) I would expect an illness much worse than a little bit of flu.  Pigs are dirty and rude.  Any illiterate Dominican peasant could tell you that.  They are not at all like the fluffed up little things you see in movies like "Babe".  America seems shocked that these animals could be carrying disease.  

We shouldn't be surprised when we consider the fact that we make these animals live packed together in cement boxes, wallowing in their own feces and eating food that they were never meant to eat.  And when they get sick, we pump them full of antibiotics, killing weak viruses but possibly allowing stronger ones to thrive.  I am no scientist, but this sounds like an ideal situation for the evolution of new forms of disease.

I guess I don't see what the big deal is with the pig fever.  This thing is all over the news, but fewer than 500 people have gotten sick.  I think only one person has died.  When was the last time you read a news story (or a twitter post, for that matter) about the 15 million children who died of hunger last year?  Maybe we should talk about that instead.  Or maybe it would just make us feel bad about ourselves.  It's not quite as exciting as sick pigs.

Regardless of how uncomfortable we may be in talking about it, world wide deaths from AIDS, tuberculosis, malaria, and good old starvation are many.  Let's tone down the talk about the pig flu and start solving the real problems.

In which Tim moons his community, and learns some local medical techniques...

This entry is a sequel to the last one, regarding the significant injury I sustained to my fanny whilst trying to celebrate carnival.

I returned to my community still black and blue, and walking a little bit crooked. I would have liked to go for a ride on my horse, but that idea was laughable given my inability to sit down on a regular chair without wincing (let alone a saddle).

My neigbors were sympathetic to my pain, apologizing for the bizarre behavior of their fellow countrymen. Sitting at my house on the evening of my return, I described the bruise to one of my buddies. He asked to see it. I was in the privacy of my own home, so I saw no problem with pulling down my pants and letting him take a look. I did, and he let out a yell of surprise upon viewing the thing. He yelled out the door to a few other guys hanging out next door "Hey, come check this bruise out!" So then I had about six Dominicans ogling my bottom.

It was no big deal in and of itself. But I had no idea what kind of a can of worms I had opened. Over the next few days, as I visited the various families in communities, people frequently asked to see my injury. Gossip spreads fast around here, and I guess everyone had heard that I had quite a shiner to display. So everyone wanted to see it, and not knowing what else to do, I obliged him. So now half the community has seen my butt. The response is always amusing. Lots of yelling and sympathy. But I am not sure if they are more amused by the site of my pale heiny, or by the massive bruise. Who can tell.

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On a related note, my girlfriend Kim was sustained similar injuries during our carnival (mis)adventure. She returned to her site, and her neigbor offered her a medicine that was guaranteed to cure the bruise quickly. It was a mixture of aloe and snake guts, topped off with a chicken feather.

Kim told me about this on the phone, and I thought it was bizarre. I went and told my host family about it, expecting them to agree that it was a very strange remedy. Instead, my host mother looked at me with a straight face and said "Yes, that is a very good remedy. Would you like me to make you some? I don't have any snake right now, but I am sure we could find some!" I declined, and left the conversation wondering why after a year in country these things still shock me.