Improvements

It rained nearly every night during my last two weeks in Boghe. Each morning, the pools of standing water grew, vibrating with newborn mosquitoes, until most homes had malarial lakes where their yards had been. In some homes, rocks, concrete, bricks, and tires were littered through the water as stepping stones, in others, they simply walked through it. Leaving the only raised, paved road, one entered a maze of water and refuse that had to be patiently navigated, but even the most careful efforts usually ended with at least one foot ankle deep in the brown sludge. The rainy season had arrived and rather than bringing relief from the hot season, it simply made it worse—more humid, more mosquitoes, more flies, more trash, and more smells.

The night after Swearing In, we had a party at a small hotel in Kaedi. Earlier that afternoon, a strong storm passed over and dropped water in a biblical way before continuing east, up the Senegal River towards Mali. By the time we reached the hotel, standing pools of water had to be carefully avoided to reach the outside ballroom/dance floor. There was no moon, no lights, no one had thought to bring a flashlight and the ground, wet or dry, looked the same. All night, volunteers were slipping and falling into the foul smelling water. Although the rain had stopped hours ago, the water continued to rise throughout the night, flowing in from the swollen banks of the river. When I left around midnight, I rolled my pants up and sloshed through the water to the SUV waiting on the road, the driver unwilling to risk bringing the vehicle any closer. Passing by the hotel two days later, I noticed the water was even higher, even though it hadn't rained anymore.

This flooding occurs every year during the brief rainy season. Everyone knows it's coming and everyone has ten months to prepare for it—to install pumps, improve drainage, raise land, build retaining walls—but nothing is done. I made this observation to another volunteer, who pointed out that there are so many things standing in the way of such work—no equipment or technical knowledge, no private industry or government support, and, of course, no money. I made the argument that the desire to improve living conditions was what created these missing elements—technical knowledge is gained through trial and error, the investments made build an industry, jobs, and market. It seems most inventions and infrastructure are the result of a desire to make life safer, easier, and more comfortable.

Obviously, I'm simplifying a complicated process. Consider what flood control efforts have done to the Mississippi river—radically changing the river's natural course, leaving the Gulf Coast and huge watersheds vulnerable to storms, and sinking New Orleans ten feet below sea level. None of these consequences were considered, or even imagined, when all the various flood control projects, small and large, local, state, and federal, were put into place all along the length of the river. Each project identified one issue, or a small set of issues, such as seasonal flooding of Missouri farms or navigability for barges along a bend in the river, and successfully resolved those issues. Over time, the unintended consequences of each individual project have combined to create major environmental issues for which there's no simple solution. Perhaps, living with two months of flooding each year isn't such a bad option, at least until we're able to understand problems, solutions, and consequences on a large enough scale, but I'm glad I don't have to live beside the Senegal River until then.