Journal of a PCV Parent Cont. Dogon Part 2

Dogon Children
As we traveled through the Dogon climbing cliffs, hiking through Millet fields and walking through villages, children constantly accompanied us. This was a joy and a sorrow. The children of the Dogon were open to visitors, curious and playful. They were our eyes into village life. We would always pay homage and cola nuts to the village elders, the women would tolerate us and patiently teach us what we expressed interest in, but the children wanted contact. They loved Zach’s hairy blonde arms and would vi for a chance to hold our hands. Many were healthy and full of mischief (more on that later), some were opportunistic and looking for handouts of bonbons or trinkets (a pesky habit made worse by tourist) some however looked at you with vacant eyes and distended stomachs. Some had festering eyes and sores, runny noses or deformities that could have been prevented. It was hard to be a tourist, walking through the village and holding hands of children who wanted the contact but did not smile back. Hard knowing that you were not bringing them anything that could help. I know there are organizations trying to help with deworming and immunization programs, but without proper nutrition practices, health is a precarious thing. Childhood is a tough milestone to get over in West Africa. There are many organizations trying to take on this task. I began to realize that “drops in a bucket” are important. On to the mischief: One day after descending the cliffs at dusk, three giggling girls came out of a millet field to show me something they had made. It was getting hard to see but I bent down to look and cupped the “toy” and tried to tell them through signs that it was nice, “good job! Show it to Lauren and Marissa.” The next day Lauren asked me if I had seen what they had shown us. I said yes but I didn’t know what it was. She said they had speared live cockroaches and were trying to scare us! UGHH! (However they must have thought that I was very brave!) That was not the only joke played on me by West African children. I was also locked in a latrine one day and I had to laugh as I heard them giggling, but I did shake my finger at them (in perfect West African disciplinary stance) when I finally was released. The pictures that I share are mostly of the lucky children. I did not photograph the sick children but you have seen them on posters. They are real. Support the organizations that do help. Read Dancing Skeletons by Katharine Dettwyler