Worm wishes

we met up with the Peace Corps to do Guinea worm and met Adam, whom I developed an instant crush on. Smart as a whip, good with the conversation, makes a girl feel good without making her feel sleazy, but maybe a little too martyrish about his role in the eradication of Guinea worm for my taste. He would be fantastic about answering questions and then suddenly he would just turn and say, you know, we have our work to do here too. It was like, okay Mr. Manic. Go about your business.

Anyway, Grade 5 antics aside, it was a cool day spent out in the field. Hotter than hell and sometimes kinda gross, but interesting and important. The tech assistant, Rebekah was really sweet and it sounds like she’s coming down to Accra for a while so hopefully we’ll see her before we all head out.

Guinea worm is slated for eradication by the end of next year, but the volunteers will be hard pressed to make it by the end of 2009, the new deadline. The communities just can’t keep it together. On paper, it sounds so easy. You just keep hanging worms out of the water and that breaks the cycle of transmission. Once the cycle is broken, you’re free. You’d have to have someone import a case before the worm returned. So, in essence, once it’s gone, it’s gone. But the communities can’t seem to keep hanging worms out of the water, partly because they’re so starved for water that once they find it, they feel like they’ve got no choice but to wade in and get some. They’ve been given filters and straws and all these other tools, but the chairman of the village flat out told us that the women don’t have time to run all the water they need through a filter. There’s a little bit of a disconnect between the water and the worm and some people have been incredibly lucky, never getting a worm even though they drink dirty water. One little boy told us his mom filters his water, yet, he told us this as he was having his worm infection tugged on and bandaged, an incredibly painful process.

Kristy, Cephas and I returned to Accra on Thursday, after Princess Cephas got over his little bus-related tantrums. First he wanted a ticket straight back, then he wanted a ticket on the luxury bus, then he couldn’t decide. He was up super-early the next morning and was huffy that we were taking our time, then he got the bus station and made a beeline to the shoe salesman and we figured that he was just rushing us because he wanted to shop. I wanted to punch him. Kristy and I got off the bus in Kumasi and went in search of a drum for Robert, but they didn’t have any I liked.

When we got home at 9:30 p.m. Molly and Prue were sitting in the living room just shooting the breeze, a cab waiting for Molly in the driveway as always. Anita came in and opened a letter from her mom that had a photocopied article concerning Ben and it made Prue go insane with rage. She is just so negative about him and JHR that it makes us all a little uncomfortable. She’s convinced he’s doing this solely for the money – what money? – and prestige and as a resume-builder. Maybe, but it’s hard to criticize someone for doing something altruistic when my own intentions weren’t exactly pristine. I mean, I’m here for professional development and so is everyone else, with the exception of maybe Anita. Everyone is here because they either needed a job or were transitioning from student to professional or from one profession to another. None of us came here just because we believe so passionately that African journalists need to be Westernized.

I was in flight mode, having to get ready to take off first thing Monday morning for Mali and needing to wrap up a few loose ends, finally check my email and again tie up some loose ends, as well as get money and find CFAs, which proved to be a bit of a challenge. I also picked up some clothes, which were hideous.

Cephas and I met up Friday afternoon and laid out our page. My shortest story yet – 750 words. Eesh!