Susan E. Greisen's Blog, page 9

Clan Chiefs and the Midwife

In Part III, Liberia the First Months, Chapter, Indigenous Midwives I explain how the head midwife, Bendu, wanted the midwives to begin charging families $1.00 for delivering their babies. I had just completed a midwifery course with eleven other midwives and supplied them with a starter delivery kit to improve birthing sanitation. Before this could be done, we needed to gain approval from the clan chiefs. Below are excerpts from the book.

…The following day Bendu, Peter (our clinic assistant), and I met with Chief Manuel (left) and Chief Ahmadou (right), each wearing their chief’s gowns and caps. During the fifteen minutes of official greetings, I never dreamt my teaching could garner such attention from the clan chiefs.

Bendu began the discussion, “Chief Manuel and Chief Ahmadou, Younga Ti teach us good, good things for the midwives to help da mothers and babies in the Zor Clan. She give us things to make the mothers and babies safe.” She displayed her midwifery kit as the example. “Dis box cost $1.00 from Sami’s store. We beg you ya, to make it known to the clan dat the midwives want $1.00 for every baby born by midwife. Dis money will go to buy more for the midwife box. I beg you ya.” She bowed her head in respect.

“Yes, Chief Manuel and Chief Ahmadou, I think dis is a good, good plan-o,” Peter elaborated.

Chief Manuel and Chief Ahmadou leaned and whispered to each other briefly as the three of us sat across the table. Then Chief Manuel replied, “Chief Ahmadou and I think dis is a good, good plan. Tomorrow all baby born by midwife must pay $1.00 or in food for dis service.”

Pleased with the decision, I only hoped asking for some form of payment would not be a barrier to care. Once the midwives learned cause and effect regarding my teachings, maybe each could save just one baby or one mother. And if they did, I had succeeded.

Some weeks after the training, Bendu reported the midwives were using their supplies and most families were either paying for their services with money or in kind. The midwifery kit gave the midwives prestige. More importantly, it provided safer deliveries, what I had been striving for.

I welcome your reply comments below or click on the applause icon if you choose. Check out my Book tab if you are interested on where to find my book.

Side note: 50 year-old photos pertaining to my memoir emerge. Thanks to Mike Hohl, a Peace Corps Volunteer from 1968-70 in Sanniquellie near my village of Zorgowee, sent me this photo of the clan chiefs in my Zor Clan. Mike also was the person responsible for building the clinic and school in my village. What a treasure to discover this photo that I never had. I am now honored to share it with you today with the story that speaks to the beginning of a change in healthcare in Zorgowee. (The real names of the Liberians have been changed.)

Truth

If I ever wanted to be mentioned in another author’s book under a specific chapter, I would want it to be entitled “Truth.” My developmental editor, Laura Kalpakian, author of nearly 20 books with numerous awards, mentioned me and In Search of Pink Flamingos as an example in her chapter called Truth. Her newest book, Memory into Memoir: A Writer’s Handbook, explains that speaking one’s truth doesn’t always have a good outcome. Here an excerpt from her book.

From the Chapter, Truth:
The memoir offers up private truths….They are open to discussion, contention, dissension. Within families, sometimes a good deal of discussion, a lot of contention, and much distension.
In writing In Search of Pink Flamingos, Susan Greisen,…told ….her deeper story of a young woman torn between the need for parental approval and the need to find her own path. Her parents emphatically did not approve of that path, and they let it be known….Greisen created a harsh picture of (her father’s) beliefs, his values, his words and actions. When finished writing the book she sent it to her brother; she wanted him to know what she had said about their father. The brother’s ringing endorsement of her portrayal permitted her to move forward with publishing.

Sometimes speaking the truth can be difficult and even painful. Even though my life experience with my parents was somewhat different from my brother’s, he never denied my feelings or the events I experienced. I am forever grateful for his steadfast support. I acknowledged Bob in my book with this excerpt.

From Acknowledgments in my Memoir:
The actual publishing of my book hinged on one individual who has known me the longest. My brother, Bob, validated my truthful account of our family history and my own experience. He told me without solicitation, “Release it to the world.” Because of his unwavering acceptance, you hold my memoir in your hands.

Another added bonus! Kalpakian placed my name alongside other greats in the industry in her section called “Works Mentioned.” I couldn’t imagine my name in the company of renowned authors such as Anthony Bourdain, Virginia Woolf, Ulysses S. Grant, James Baldwin, John Steinbeck, Charles Dickens and so many others including Mark Twain. Although I am not an avid reader and may not have learned from many of these writers, what I do have is the skill of channeling my heart and soul. But above all, I speak the truth. Something we all need now in this fractured world.

Feel free to comment in the REPLY space below.

Old Boyfriend Resurfaces

Oh yes, the young and restless – I was 19 and Steve, 24. We met in the Virgin Islands at the Peace Corps training in 1971. I was heading to Liberia and he was on his way to Niger. A brief encounter…well because, I was spoken for – pearled to my high school sweetheart. But as time progressed, Steve and I remained in contact.

Read below while I am on a plane heading to Niger to visit Steve 18 months later.

Excerpt from Part VI – West Africa – Chapter, Air Maybe
Steve and I corresponded by mail since our meeting in the Virgin Islands during my Peace Corps training many months ago. The Peace Corps had hosted a couple of chaperoned parties intermixing the male and female trainees. At one party, Steve flirted with me. I informed him, right off, that I was spoken for and he said he understood. Blond like Doug, I found him intriguing, sweet, and very smart. His dad was a TV producer in L.A. One evening at our Dorothea Beach training camp the two of us sat on the beach when he turned my chin and our lips gently met. I turned away quickly as a small voice told me to do, but as the night progressed, Steve missed his transport back to his camp. My roommate Linda and I hid Steve in our room and he spent the night on the floor between our beds. The following morning, our supervisor, Ms. Picket, knocked on our door, came in, and summoned only me to a meeting before breakfast in the dining room. Just as she left, I saw Steve’s feet sticking out from under my bed. Surely, I would be in big trouble now.

In the next paragraph you will learn if I fell from grace and suffered Mrs. Picket’s wrath. Also in the following chapter, Deportation, you will discover if I ever made it to Steve’s village in Niger.

Fifty years later I receive an email from someone who had read my book and contacted me through my website. OMG, STEVE!!! We had lost contact over the years. Yes, I had changed his name in my memoir to protect the innocent. However he knew immediately, those chapters in the book were about him. Here is what his email said.

“Sue – Huge congratulations on your book, simply the best “Peace Corps book” I’ve ever read and one of the most heartfelt memoirs I’ve seen. You deserve every award and accolade that has come your way. The moment I started reading, it’s as if 50 years simply disappeared and I was once again that 24-year-old setting off on the adventure of a lifetime.

As you described landing at Robertsfield, I was once again feeling the sense of awe and excitement that came from the plane doors opening in Dakar and smelling that unique African atmosphere of wood smoke, open sewers, new spices and for Dakar, the salty ocean. Then on to Ouagadougu for a meal stop where I first encountered brains – thanks, but no thanks – and finally Niamey where it felt as if I had stepped into a blast furnace when the doors were opened.

Your descriptions of going to Zorgowee mirrored my arrival in Gazoua where my partner, Jon, and I were the first and only whites to ever live there. We, too, were treated to a welcoming banquet as the guests of honor, and I will never forget our hosts lifting the pot lid to uncover a complete sheep’s head bubbling away. The eye balls and brains were a hard “no thanks” but Jon and I upheld the graces by finding meat to pick from the skull.”

Steve and I proceeded to have a 2.5 hour phone call a week later. So much ground to cover and so many fond memories to share. Steve is happily married with two wonderful children living in Maine. At one point in his life we lived only 32 miles apart, as the crow flies, when he and his family lived on San Juan Island and I in Bellingham, WA.

My book just keeps on giving and my heart is warmed by the outpouring of accolades and love given to me by so many of you. Thank you from the bottom of the heart.

Best Peace Corps Memoir – 2020-21 BOOK AWARD

Friday, August 13th was my lucky day. I was camping on the Olympic Peninsula when I drove to access cell phone reception to check the ferry schedule. My first email was a “Hurray!” from one of my sage counsels. Here is what I read: Peace Corps Worldwide has selected In Search of Pink Flamingos as the Best Peace Corps Memoir of 2020-21. I sat in shock. Alone. I wanted to cry, scream, yell, laugh, or something. But instead I looked into the rain forest and felt thankful for being recognized for all my hard work. The meaning of my story had reached a broader audience.

As I sat in my car I thanked all of you, my readers and fans. Without your glowing reviews and comments, this Peace Corps award and my earlier CIBA award would have never happened. You helped my book get noticed and spread the word among your friends and family. You hosted me in your book clubs, interviews, and classrooms. And for that I am truly grateful. The seven years I spent writing this personal account of my life was worth every minute.

When I returned to my group campsite an hour later, I shared the news with my colleagues, a group of return Peace Corps volunteers from the Seattle area. How fitting to celebrate with fellow volunteers. Plastic cups of wine and beer bottles clanked as we basked in my moment of glory.

Click on this link to read the whole story. Feel free to leave a comment at the bottom of this link in the Leave a Reply box. This will connect to even more readers.

The Thomas Paine quote is my mantra: “The world is my country, all mankind is my brethren, and to do good is my religion.”

Best Peace Corps Memoir – 2020 BOOK AWARD

Friday, August 13th was my lucky day. I was camping on the Olympic Peninsula when I drove to access cell phone reception to check the ferry schedule. My first email was a “Hurray!” from one of my sage counsels. Here is what I read: Peace Corps Worldwide has selected In Search of Pink Flamingos as the Best Peace Corps Memoir of 2020. I sat in shock. Alone. I wanted to cry, scream, yell, laugh, or something. But instead I looked into the rain forest and felt thankful for being recognized for all my hard work. The meaning of my story had reached a broader audience.

As I sat in my car I thanked all of you, my readers and fans. Without your glowing reviews and comments, this Peace Corps award and my earlier CIBA award would have never happened. You helped my book get noticed and spread the word among your friends and family. You hosted me in your book clubs, interviews, and classrooms. And for that I am truly grateful. The seven years I spent writing this personal account of my life was worth every minute.

When I returned to my group campsite an hour later, I shared the news with my colleagues, a group of return Peace Corps volunteers from the Seattle area. How fitting to celebrate with fellow volunteers. Plastic cups of wine and beer bottles clanked as we basked in my moment of glory.

Click on this link to read the whole story. Feel free to leave a comment at the bottom of this link in the Leave a Reply box. This will connect to even more readers.

The Thomas Paine quote is my mantra: “The world is my country, all mankind is my brethren, and to do good is my religion.”

Fulani Woman, Liberian Woman

I am an occasional poet. Unexpectedly, stanzas flow from my brain, to my hand, to the keyboard. I took a poetry class recently that helped me create these two pieces that I want to share with you. Both reflect stories written in my memoir. The first poem of Fulani Woman helped to write the second one, Liberian Woman. The word strength was the connection.

Fulani Woman

55 pounds of pure deep red mahogany
Born from a tree trunk and
Crafted by a Malian wood carver,
I carried Fulani Woman carefully
On the plane from Liberia.
She did not wear a seat belt.
A camel hair blanket protected her.
She rested at the bottom of my
feet during the 14-hour ride.

The bare-breasted, life-size bust
Of Fulani Woman wore nothing
But a beaded necklace.
Five inches above her head
Stood a coiffed plaited
Cockscomb of hair
Lined with a band of silver coins
She is regal
…………..I am humbled
………………………..Honored to have her.

Now resting in a prominent
Place in my home
Fulani Woman emanates
The essence of grace,
…………………………….Elegance,
……………………………………..and strength
Of all African women.

Liberian Woman

Liberian Woman emanated
Pure strength as she
Walked by me every day.
I observed her for two years
In our village of Zorgowee.
Could I be that strong
To bear
………….12 children,
…………………..only 5 living?
Each breast fed until
Her next pregnancy.

Liberian Woman delivered
her babies on an earthen floor.
Risked her life with multiple
Pregnancies while carrying
Firewood or buckets of water
On her head. Tilled the
Fields with one baby on her
Back and one in her belly.

Liberian Woman was one
of three wives and a mistress.
I don’t think I could do it.
She didn’t have a choice.
Her life in Zorgowee
Was destined.
I did my best as a
Peace Corps health volunteer
to help Liberian Woman
To live
………….prosper
…………………..and be healthy.

The Priceless Goatskin Handbag

Why is the value of an object not fully appreciated until its gone?

When I returned from my three years in the Peace Corps, I had many artifacts and memorabilia. But with retirement and downsizing in my future, I began to unload some of my treasures that I had kept for almost 50 years. One was a goatskin handbag that I purchased for about $3 in Bamako, Mali in 1972. I proudly carried it on my West Africa vacation that included a riverboat journey up the Niger River. The memories of that adventure are as vivid as the ornate silver inlay on that door in Timbuktu.

About 8 years ago I parted with many artifacts at my garage sale including my goatskin handbag. The $10 in my hand was a meaningless reward for that handmade gem that carried my soul across West Africa. I was left with mixed emotions – happy with more space in my closet, yet empty with only this photo as a treasured memory.

Then Friends of Liberia (FOL), a non profit organization, held an auction of treasures collected from those who lived and worked in Africa. My heart skipped a beat, when low and behold, there was a handbag – just like mine.

Memories flooded my mind of that famous journey: when I was nearly abandoned by the riverboat in Timbuktu, flew on a plane with an open cook fire, escorted by two soldiers with AK47s as they deported me from Niger, and so many other adventures. Without hesitation, I snatched up that precious handbag…for just $35.

I have displayed it as it should be – in its museum-like shadow box. It has found its home in my Internationally-decorated office. I guarantee you, I won’t let this one go!!! Its priceless.

From Dream to Reality

It’s one thing for your friends, family, and colleagues to like your book. But it is another when the critics/experts select it for an award. I didn’t actually understand what I was applying for in April of 2020, just a few days after my book was published. I thought it was a local reviewing Award Organization. I was tickled to know that my book had moved from the slush batch, to the long list, to the shortlist, to the semi-finalists, and to the finalists. However, during the award ceremony I learned that the Chanticleer International Book Awards (CIBA) is truly International. The reviewers/judges are from throughout the US, Canada and the UK with entries from all over the world. It was only at that moment that I understood what my competition was for my category of narrative non-fiction/memoir. The Journey Award seeks a true compelling story that weaves the tales of travel, adventure, and life experiences while overcoming trauma and adversity. I am honored and humbled to win FIRST PLACE (a blue ribbon) in my category. It was a dream to be acknowledged to a broader audience. That dream has become reality.

Thank you to all my supporters. Feel free to make comments below in this blog.

Finalist for Memoir Book Award

CIBA (Chanticleer International Book Awards) announced that In Search of Pink Flamingos has moved from a semi-finalist to a finalist for the 2020 Journey Book award for non-fiction or memoir. Winner will be announce on June 5, 2021. Thank you for your support and I welcome your comments below.

Malaria, the Killer

News Release 23-Apr-2021 / University of Oxford

https://www.eurekalert.org/pub_releases/2021-04/uoo-mvb042221.php

Anopheles MosquitoMalaria vaccine becomes first to achieve WHO-specified 75% efficacy goal

Researchers from the University of Oxford and their partners have today reported findings from a Phase IIb trial of a candidate malaria vaccine, R21/Matrix-M, which demonstrated high-level efficacy of 77% over 12-months of follow-up.

When I arrived in Liberia in 1971 as a Peace Corps volunteer, malaria was one of the leading causes of childhood death.

***

Here are excepts from my memoir about how malaria impacted me and my village during my two year stay.

Part V, Gowee, My Village, Chapter, Mortality and Morbidity.

In September 1972, I entered in my diary, “three babies died in our small community today.” Before coming to Liberia, I had never known of a baby or young child who died. In Gowee, infant mortality remained heartbreakingly commonplace. Not all deaths or their causes could be confirmed, with sketchy data collection coming from nearby walk-in villages. Most likely the death rate was even higher due to under-reporting. Malaria, dysentery, measles, respiratory infections, and malnutrition were some of the main causes of mortality in the Zor Clan. “The starving children in Africa,” as my mom used to say at the dinner table, rang true that day. Due to the high infant death rate, a mother often had up to twelve pregnancies with only five living children. With the unavailability of birth control, pregnancy was easy to achieve. Staying alive was not.

…Despite my compulsion to prevent malaria, I contracted the parasite three times in my two short years. My blood tests confirmed I had contracted three of the four types found in West Africa: Plasmodium vivax, P. ovale and P. malariae. Plasmodium falciparum, which affects the brain, is the deadliest, and the only one I did not contract. All Peace Corps homes had screened windows, but when traveling to areas where I did not have that luxury, I used the dreaded mosquito coil, a form of incense that smoldered throughout the night, releasing a stench of caustic smoke to ward off the insects. Nonetheless, screens and mosquito coils had failed me. Luckily, my three bouts of malaria were successfully treated and placed in remission. Only after leaving a malarial area, can the final medication be given to fully kill the parasite. (After I left Liberia, the mutation of the parasite made the current treatment of chloroquine ineffective and a new medication was prescribed.)

***
Even today over 270,000 children globally die every year of malaria. This vaccine news is overdue and will improve the healthcare dramatically once implemented.
I welcome your comments in the reply/comments section below.