Living Conditions

Let's be real the living conditions were much better then I imagined.  My mud hut is clean, and there is a SM hut as well.  The SM hut is used for socializing because it isn't allowed elsewhere. (Of course you can hang out outside as well). Men only go into a women's hut to have sex, and vise versa. The only reason mixed company is allowed in the SM hut is because it it on the compound (hospital grounds). 

There are 11 people total in my house family.  I don't know all of there names yet because I don't speak enough french or the local language, Nansurae (I probably slaughtered the spelling), to ask. I'm also too much of a punk.  I know enough to get my intent across, however, I get nervous when I speak in French. All I say is goodmorning, how are you, I'm fine, and thank you to them.

There is the cutiest three year old in my family.  She calls me Shanniecey all the time.  She seems to like me well enough but is also scared of me.  Every morning she would chant my name twenty thousand times and wave to me. Once in a while she will come to me and say "Ca Va?" and shake my hand but she is always nervous when she does it. (Ca va means how are you).

The rest of my host family kids just look at me and smile. They are very polite and seem like wonderful kids, but I can't talk to them.  Every morning for breakfast they give me the seat of honor (a small table and seat by itself) while they sit on a bench and watch me eat.  

Everyone here stares at the nasalas. From my understanding nasala is a derogatory term that means white person of something similar to that.  Horror stories are told to the kids about how the nasalas will come and kill them if they misbehave. That's why many children are scared of us. 

The hospital has been trying to refute that stereotype by their actions but it is very hard.  The only way to get the point across to Tchadians is by yelling and scaring them.  Tchadians tell the hospital staff the just hit the kids, but no one ever does.  The furthest they will go is scare the child into listening. I can tell that everyone hates how they have to yell at times, yet there seems to be no other way to communicate with Tchadians. That is how they are raise; that's all they know. 

Walking around the village seems to be a parade.  Everytime we go out the children chant nasala and follow us to wherever we are headed. We can't walk anywhere without someone screaming nasala. Even when we are driving in the truck the children will run after us, trying to grad the back of the truck. They never listen to us when we tell them to stop.  Experiences like this gave me a small glimsp of what the hospital staff were saying. 

One of the kids grabbed onto the truck and was dragged a bit. We stopped the car not wanting to hurt the child, but more jumped on. We told them to stop and they all let go of the truck.  As soon as we started driving they ran after us again.  It was a game to them. They felt that if they could catch the truck they were faster then the car. Everyone wanted to be known as the fastest person. 

We put the truck into reverse acting like we were going to run them over and the children scattered.  Quickly shifting to drive we sped off.  The kids weren't able to catch the car and we got away. Apparently, stuff like that happens all the time.  Even when nasalas are riding motos. A child my reach out and grab the handle bars of the moto and the driver will have to make a choice. Drag the kid or fall.  Most everyone has Tchadian tattoos (battle scars) from falling; no one wants to hurt the children.