Tending the ailing

Falling ill in any country is never considered a light matter. Whenever I would become ill in the States, it meant a day spend at home sleeping excessively, drinking tea or sprite, and hoping someone will feel sorry enough for me to help me feel comfortable. I would spend my time trying to figure out exactly why my body is not agreeing with me and how to alleviate my suffering as quickly as possible. Being sick in Senegal is a slightly different routine. Whereas, I’ve been fortunate enough to not have to experience true illness in Senegal, I was exposed to a situation as a sidelines spectator. Feeling helpless that I could do little to abate the condition, I had to sit back and learn that even issues such as illnesses are dealt with in another ways in different cultures.

During my last week in Tassette (my training site), my host mother fell ill. She spent a day lying in bed and the next morning my uncles took her into Thiès to admit her to the regional hospital, about a 30-40 minute trip. The regional hospital (Hôpital Régionale) is the largest facility in the area until Dakar. I expected whatever illness my host mother had must have been serious. I tried asking my family what was the matter with her, but I could never get a direct response out of anyone. The most information I could gather was very vague like “she is not feeling well” or “she is ill with malaria”. In the Senegalese culture, people do not talk about one’s illnesses in detail, not even the family. In fact, 95% of the time, people (who are not doctors) will say that anyone who is sick has sibiru (malaria). Every conclusion falls immediately to sibiru, whether or not you know the true diagnosis. I experienced this first hand when I spent a day ill off of some bad ceeb u gen or something. When people had found out that I was ill, they would ask me Naka sibiru bi? (how is the malaria?). It was clear that I did not have anything remotely close to malaria, but that’s always the diagnosis. This is so contrary to how Americans deal with illness of a loved one. In the States, you try to gather as much as information as possible about ailment. You talk to any of your friends that are nurses or doctors. You jump online and do your research. Doctors are expected to be as detailed as possible in their analysis. There is an inherit responsibility to be informed and to inform others if you can. As I still hold that cultural trait, you can imagine my frustration with these very indirect responses to my questions.

My host mother did not have sibiru. She did spent ten days at the Hôpital Régionale in Thiès due to high blood pressure and hypertension. I had to learn this information through the grapevine via my language instructor. While I was in Tassette, I did not have the opportunity to visit my host mother in the hospital. However, once I was back in Thiès, I visited her everyday she remained in the hospital. My host mother was in the salle d’urgence (Urgent Care Room) during her entire stay in the hospital. Each time I visited my mother, the room was filled with other patients and their families. There were about eight hospital beds in the Urgent Care Room. There were not any curtains dividing the patients. There was no air conditioning. There were no convenient buttons to push to call for help. There were no nurses, only a couple doctors that rotated in and out every couple hours. Patients that occupied the salle d’urgence were admitted for various reasons: broken limbs, burns, skin infections, internal problems. Patients going into surgery waited and recovered in the salle d’urgence along with a number of other patients.

The first day I visited my host mother in the hospital, I was happy to see the familiar face of one of my uncles and an older woman from our village. The second day I visited, the same uncle was still at the hospital. He was sitting outside of the hospital on a large mat with a small stove and a blanket. Over the course of 4-5 visits, I came to the conclusion that my uncle was not going home every evening after he visited his sister. He stayed the nights at the hospital, camping outside the hospital doors along with other patients’ families. As there are no nurses, the family is expected to care for their family member in the hospital for the day to day activities such as going to the bathroom, bathing, supplying food and clothing, etc. Tending to your ill family member becomes a full-time job.

I am happy to report that my host mother is no longer in the hospital and is recovering quite well back at home. The fact that I was helpless to directly assist my host mother even on the level of competence of her ailment was mind-numbing for me, but it revealed another invaluable lesson about Senegalese culture. Don’t even take the simplest assumptions for granted.