Mosque Sex Education

Mosque Sex Ed – Profiling ‘Abdullah’ – Christmas –New Year

Christmas greetings from Darfur! Here is another update from Darfur for you to read while you nibble on the leftovers from your Christmas feast.

Sex Education in the Mosque
A couple of months ago I got an unusual request from some community elders. I was invited to visit the local mosques during Friday prayers to talk to the men about sexual health!

How did this come about? Well, as part of my regular teaching sessions with the medical assistants we had been talking about sexually transmitted infections (STIs) and the alarmingly high rates we have detected in the local area. This is particularly concerning because of the damage one particular STI (HIV/AIDS) has done in other parts of Africa. HIV/AIDS is not widespread here currently, but the social stigma regarding condoms and ignorance of sexual health combined with the population displacement and conflict make Darfur a perfect place for a catastrophe. This got one of our older medical assistants thinking, and after talking to some local imams and sheiks he came to me with the idea of having sex education in the mosques!

We brainstormed some ideas together and came up with a 20-minute presentation about nutrition, hygiene and sexual health. Unsurprisingly there are some things I cannot say. For example, I cannot say ‘condoms’ - so instead I say that there are ‘ways of preventing sex infections are available at the hospital’. There are other things I can only say in a particular way. For example, I cannot talk about ‘birth control’ or ‘preventing pregnancy’ - but I can talk about ‘family planning to space children’. The final draft seemed rather simple and quaint to me, but the old medical assistant assured me that it would be great.

Our first talk was three weeks ago, and proved an interesting test case. I dressed up in my best jaalabia (robe), tagia (cap) and markoub (leather shoes) and headed for the Friday prayer gathering at the nearest mosque. After prayers finished the imam announced a special talk by the khawadji doctor from Australia. I took my place at the front with my translator and surveyed the crowd with some trepidation. Two hundred faces looked at me with serious curiosity. I raised both my arms with a hearty Asalaamu alaykum and, having received an encouraging reply, launched into my talk.

All was going unremarkably until I got to the bit about sex, at which stage a murmur ran through the crowd. Then one of the old men sitting closest interrupted my translator to make some comments of his own. Uh oh, did I say something wrong? The attention level was certainly increased. I started talking again and got through the talk without major incident. But as I said thank you and went to sit down a crowd of smiling men crowded around me. They were all holding out their hands to shake, saying thankyou and wishing peace and blessings upon me. I realised with some relief that the talk had been very well received and the interruptions were just to clarify some important points. [The audience particularly liked the Quranic references I slipped in and my (very bad) attempts at speaking Arabic]

Since then I have visited two other mosques with the same message and the effect is filtering all around town. Men chat about it over tea and at work, women talk about it as they collect water and look after their kids. This has all been a very pleasant surprise and it seems my old medical assistant was exactly right about what sort of message to deliver (and how to approach the socially sensitive bits). Next week is my grand finale at the big mosque in the northern IDP camp. It holds a couple of thousand people for Friday prayers so will be quite an experience!

Profiling ‘Abdullah’
Abdullah Mohamed Abdukareem, 4-year-old boy, who has lived his entire life in one of Niertiti’s IDP camps.

Abdullah’s family left their village in 2004 and came with hundreds of others to Niertiti to find safety. His parents only planned to stay until the attacks against villages stopped and it was safe to go home. They had no idea that four years later ‘home’ would still be in the cramped confines of an IDP camp.

Abdullah was born in the shadowy confines of his family’s camp hut. His grandmother (an experienced birth attendant) guided his mother through labour, tied and cut the cord, then cleaned them up and wrapped them in a blanket. It was the rainy season and Abdullah’s mother remembers lying on the bed with her newborn baby watching water leak under the UNICEF tarpaulin and run down the wall. A pot of water boiled on the wood fire in one corner. Their entire possessions were bundled against the opposite wall. At that time their one-room mud hut was home for Abdullah’s three siblings, mother and grandmother (his father was seeking work in a nearby town). I am sure Abdullah’s mother wondered what sort of world she was bringing her newborn son into.

Abdullah spent much of his first year slung on his mother’s back as she went about her daily work. Every day she would trek down to the river to collect water, and then carry it back up. Later on water pumps would be installed which meant she only had to walk a few hundred metres. Once a week Abdullah’s mother would go to the forest to collect wood with the other women and return with it bundled high on their heads. They also wove grass baskets and table mats which they could sell at the market. Once a month they would cue up and collect food rations from the World Food Program (WFP). Every household was issued with ration cards which they would show when they came to receive their portion of grain, oil and beans. Ration cards were valuable and Abdullah’s mother had heard that some people had got more than one while some others had missed out. But everyone she knew had a ration card and they guarded them closely.

By the time Abdullah turned two, life in the camp had improved. His father had found some business trading items at the market. He had also added another room to the hut and fixed up the leaky roof. Abdullah’s mother was kept busy looking after her 4 children. Water pumps had been drilled, pit toilets were dug and areas had been built for washing clothes. There was a new hospital. And the camp population had grown to over 8,000 people.

When Abdullah was four he was brought to the hospital for the first time. He had a high fever and cough and had been complaining of pains in his head and neck. His father had just brought him home after a two-week trading trip out of town. At first his mother thought he had picked up another minor infection. But when she saw him getting sicker in the evening she decided to take him to a doctor. He was looking very sick when he arrived at the hospital and examination showed signs of meningitis. A sample of CSF was taken and the quick-test confirmed meningitis. Antibiotic treatment was started immediately and he made a full recovery over the next 5 days. Fortunately this turned out to be a sporadic case, but after a meningitis outbreak last year (which claimed many young lives) we were all on alert for another epidemic.

Abdullah is now back to playing marbles in the dirt, wrestling with his playmates, chasing chickens and throwing rocks at the donkeys. In the next year or two he will start school. But beyond this his future is uncertain. There is still no possibility of his family returning to their village – a village he only knows through stories. For Abdullah, the IDP camp is his home and will remain so indefinitely. But he has lots of friends living nearby, plenty to explore, a secret hiding place (perfect when he gets in trouble), and a khawadji doctor who might have some dried dates for him today.

Christmas in Darfur
I didn’t really expect much from Christmas this year. Darfur is a long way from family and friends and the people here are mostly Muslim. But while there were no gaudy decorations in the streets, no carols playing in the shops and no extra wads of junk mail in the letterbox, Christmas did not pass unnoticed. In fact, this Christmas has been the most multicultural and multifaith Christmases I have ever celebrated.

The MSF team here is mostly made up of local Darfuris. However, many of the doctors, medical assistants and nurses are from other parts of Sudan, as well as France, Japan, USA and Ethiopia. As we are all living and working together away from our wives, husbands and children we become something of a surrogate family to each other. This was particularly noticeable on Christmas Day. As the sun rose over the Jebel Marra mountains Christians and non-Christians alike rose early to pass around Christmas greetings. Many of the Christians dressed up in their best (and loudest) African dress and headed off to church. A visiting preacher put on a great service, with singing and dancing from many different tribes. Then a feast was prepared and we all shared Christmas in our home away from home.

As we ate we talked about our families back home. Sara, a nurse from south Sudan, told of her own 4 children and the 3 orphaned nieces and nephews she had also taken in. Her eyes welled with tears as she described the joy and pride she felt when she last saw them. They were healthy and going well at school – thanks to the money Alice earns and sends back to them regularly. Andrew, an 80-year-old medical assistant from south Sudan, told me of his life as a guerrilla fighter during the southern resistance movement (including training in Israel!). His children are all grown and scattered around Sudan – and even one in Sydney! Simon, a medical assistant from south Sudan, told me of his wife and 3 children. He gave an aching-heart sigh as he told me of speaking to them on the phone today. It will be another 2 months before he sees them again. Dr Abdulatif is recently married and gave cute love-struck smile when I asked about his habibi.

As I sat among this beautiful bunch of people I thought of the diverse and amazing lives they have all led and the unlikely circumstances that have brought us to Darfur. Here we are working in imperfect harmony to provide health services to people in need. And while we are all driven by different motivations, I was reminded of the simple dreams that we all share. Dreams of peace, health and happiness for our families, friends and communities. It was then I recognised the Christmas spirit was as strong as ever. Here was a spirit of gratitude for the lives we have had, the love we have shared and the relationships that give it all meaning. Here was a spirit of hope for a better future, where everyone can enjoy peace regardless of race, religion or any other artificial segregation.

Happy New Year!
I hope 2008 has taught you plenty and left you with many beautiful memories. It has been a phenomenally memorable year for me! May 2009 see you rise to new challenges, grow closer to friends and family and play a part in making the world a more just and friendly place.