I had another first also on Wednesday: using a village latrine. These little rooms have no roof, so they tend to be somewhat aired out, and they do get rinsed every now and then. I made Helen go with me in order to guard the entryway. As I was doin my thang, my phone fell out of my pocket onto the ground, which was not only covered with my own urine, but that of previous users. I quickly snatched it up, but then my camera fell out of my other pocket! I had two hands full of electronics, which Helen graciously held for me so I could finish up (truest form of friendship). If I ever meet someone who can use one of these latrines without splashing urine up onto themselves and all over their feet, I probably won't believe it. Another tidbit about latrine usage (which I've mentioned before) is to do your number two business elsewhere. One of our teammates (who shall remain nameless) learned this the hard way. The teammate had a bowel movement in the latrine, and had the unpleasant experience of having to rinse it out the small drainage hole in the wall. That doesn't sound all that terrible, you might be thinking. Ah, but if the latrine were to end up getting a bit flooded and you were standing in a mixture of your own poo, urine, and the urine of others while it slowly drained, you might find it a fairly nasty experience.
Moving on from the latrine. All of us are quite taken by the baby goats that we see out in the villages. We've been informed that catching one and getting your photo with it is quite the rite of passage here. Helen and I in particular have taken a liking to the baby goats (and by liking I mean we squeal like fan girls each and every time we spot a baby goat). On Wednesday I had scoped out the goat situation upon reaching the village. I had a very small tan goat in mind to chase down when I had some free time. We had a lull in the vital parade and the little thing was right nearby. I tried, unsuccessfully, to chase it down for a few moments. One of the village women took pity on me and came over to show me how to catch them. The poor thing was terrified and crying for its mother, so I didn't get my photo op then. If you've never heard a kid bleating for its mama goat, let me just tell you that it is a terrible sound. It's LOUD. And grating. And will cause the entire crowd of people waiting at the clinic to look at you and laugh at your sad attempts to catch a baby goat on your own. (For the record, Helen and I caught it later and it was chilled out enough to take pictures with. Okay, okay, the village women caught it for us...).After a lunch of chicken, joloff rice (with tidbits of fish reminiscent of our breakfast), and soda I was hopping around taking pictures of my fellow interns and teammates doing their work. I came across a ring of our doctors and translators surrounding a girl who was writhing on the ground. Our translator Pastor Paul was speaking in their language, so I had no idea what he was saying. John was nearby and I asked him what was happening. He told me that the girl in the ring was demon possessed and that Paul, who had experience with this, was praying and commanding the demon to leave her. I learned later that the girl had entered the clinic area and Paul called over some of the team to lay their hands on her and pray for her. When they touched her, she began to writhe, her head was rolling, and she dropped to the ground and rolled down this slope, where she began writhing and flipping about in the dirt. This was when I appeared on the scene. After a while Paul and one of the other translators got the girl up the hill and into a chair. We remade the ring around her, and Paul stood near her and continued to speak. There are moments in life when things don't make sense and the only clarity I can conceive is in prayer. This was definitely one of those moments. So as I listened to Paul's commanding voice, and to our teammate Joseph say over and over "Jesus. Jesus Christ. Jesus", I prayed. After a while the girl's head began to roll quite violently. She fell out of her chair and rolled on the ground some more. I could hear Paul asking her what her name was (one of the few phrases I know in their language). Eventually she was able to stand, and walk haltingly away from the crowd. Paul told us later that he followed she and her mother to their house, and when he left her she was laughing and much better. He also told us that as he was asking her for her name she had replied with a man's name, the name of the demon, but that eventually she did respond with her own name.
The whole experience was really mind blowing for me. I feel like I'm still processing it in some ways. Our team actually had a discussion that night at Bible study about the whole situation. We talked about how Western culture wants to ascribe a logical, scientific explanation to any and all ailments that befall people. Controversially, in African culture the spiritual realm plays a larger role. People are more likely to ascribe events to a supernatural cause than those in Western cultures are. We had a lot of discussion about the pros and cons of both cultures.
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