Amadou* takes in a long, deep breath, clears his throat and steps to the front of the room. He turns to look out at a familiar group of faces sitting on long wooden benches here at the Camp Penal maximum-security prison in Dakar. This is the last in a group of 150 inmates Amadou has been speaking with today. He’s tired, but remains focused.

Alassane Balde, the chief of medical staff at Camp Penal, says condoms will not be distributed to the inmates. Credit: Amanda Fortier

“I know your realities,” he begins, in his native Wolof. “I’ve slept on the same mattresses as you, eaten the same food, and showered in the same bathrooms. Today I’m here to talk to you about AIDS. What it is, how we catch it and how to prevent it.”

The prisoners are sitting up attentively. Some are smiling and look relaxed. Others have a more serious gaze, stroking their beards and twirling prayer beads round in their fingers repeatedly. For a majority of them, Amadou isn’t a stranger. Less than three years ago, he was here, living among the over 800 prisoners, serving a two-month stint.

Amadou was arrested in December 2008, along with eight other men, for allegedly “engaging in homosexual acts” – a serious crime in this majority-Muslim country. He was sentenced to eight years in prison, but the case was later overthrown when international aid groups intervened.

Today Amadou continues to work as a prominent gay AIDS activist, helping promote harm-reduction strategies throughout the country.

Senegal has among the lowest rates of HIV in Sub-Saharan Africa, at less than one percent. But the most vulnerable group is men who have sex with men (MSM), nearly 22 percent of whom are HIV-positive.

Prisons are high-risk environments for the transmission of the disease, due to the prevalence of hard drugs, violence and sexual relations. There is no mandatory testing in prison, and for those prisoners who, either knowingly or unknowingly, are living with HIV, the stresses of living in prison – including overcrowding, unsanitary conditions, and poor nutrition – mean their health is even more compromised.

Cyrille* is an HIV-positive inmate from Cameroon who is serving a two-year sentence at Camp Penal for theft. He found out he contracted the disease six years ago, when he was hospitalised for a blood clot in his leg.

Every month he goes to the Centre de Traitement Ambulatoire in Dakar for anti-retroviral treatment, which is financed by the Senegalese government. He says he is very worried about his health, because he knows of three AIDS patients who have already died, and his own doctor tells him he needs to improve his diet.

Alassane Balde, the chief of medical staff at Camp Penal, says all the inmates receive three meals a day, but many prefer to eat food brought in by family members. But foreigners who are here without family, like Cyrille, do not have this luxury and end up eating an unvaried diet of bread, butter, rice and fish, with few fruits and vegetables or dairy products.

When asked about implementing harm-reduction strategies in the prison, through either a needle exchange programme or condom distribution, Balde remains adamantly opposed. He says they do not have problems with hard drugs, and a condom distribution programme would simply not be tolerated.

“Our religion doesn’t permit this,” Balde says. “We are Muslims, and as Muslims we don’t like seeing that. There is no tolerance for this type of behaviour. It’s a taboo subject, and we don’t even talk about it.”

But Amadou points out that this is a dangerous assumption, because sex between men in prison is a reality, even though people continue to turn a blind eye.

“Everyone knows, whether we admit it or not, that there are sexual relations among men in prisons,” Amadou explains after the conference, from his home in Dakar. Since his arrest and the barrage of media attention that ensued, Amadou and his partner Cheikh* have been forced to move more than seven times, after landlords discovered their identities.

Brendan Hanlon is the chief executive at AVERT, an aids charity based in the UK. He says there is little doubt that HIV rates among prisoners are higher than among the general population.

“There is a lack of HIV prevention programmes, because authorities fear condom or needle distribution will encourage drug use or sexual activity. But the truth is, people will do these things regardless,” Hanlon says.

According to Hanlon, a study involving 500 inmates in an Ivory Coast prison found an HIV rate of 28 percent – double the rate of the general population. And in South Africa – the country with the highest number of people living with HIV in the world, at 5.6 million – between 40 and 45 percent of prisoners are HIV-positive. While no statistics are available for Senegal’s prisons, Hanlon believes the rates here would also be higher.

After Amadou finishes his talk at the prison, he asks if there are any questions. A few seconds go by before hands start to spring up. They want to know if they can catch AIDS from sharing tea, going to the barber, whether their baby will have HIV if they do, and how they know when someone is sick.

“Can I get tested right now?” asks one of the younger inmates openly. Others nod in agreement. Amadou looks satisfied.

“If MSM are promoting these types of prevention activities for the health of the whole community, they must be saluted and encouraged,” he says. “This work is not for ourselves, but for everyone. But how many people dare to send out that message? Because this is really what we need.”

A large-scale voluntary testing programme at the prison is expected to start in the coming months. Meanwhile Amadou and his AIDS-awareness organisation will continue to speak at other prisons throughout the country.

* Not his real name. Published under an agreement with Street News Service.

Think hand washing can’t be fun? Think again. In Senegal, a unique water system offers people an easy, cheap and environmentally friendly way to wash their hands frequently, reducing the spread of hand-borne transmittable diseases.

Students learning how to use the canacla: 30 seconds of hand washing while singing and dancing. Credit: Benoit Vanhercke

It is recess at Clair Soleil elementary school in Dakar. Young boys and girls are chasing each other around in over-sized, faded blue vests, playing in the sandbox, kicking up dirt and pushing their classmates on swings. It is just another school day in what could be any other schoolyard around the world. And then he walks through the front gates.

The kids go wild. Like a celebrity, Dr. Benoit Vanhercke is swarmed by an onslaught of children, who jump up and down and start clapping their hands in tune with a song they have obviously sung countless times before.

It has not been that long since Dr. Benoit, as he is known to the children, paid a visit to the school, and yet the kids are ecstatic. They lead him over to three colourful wrought-iron boxes that are filled with water and hang from a mosaic-tiled wall. A young girl named Anta grabs a small bar of brown soap and lathers up her tiny hands with suds. A classmate pulls up and down on the lever three times and a shimmering line of water comes shooting out. The kids cry out with laughter. “Canacler”! Washing up has never been so fun.

Canacla is the name of the unique ceramic and wrought-iron hand fountains that are popping up in schools, restaurants, hospitals and even outside mosques throughout Dakar. Its name is derived from the word “canari”, which refers to the earthenware jugs commonly used to store water in many parts of Africa, and “clapet” the French word for “valve”.

It is the brainchild of Dr. Benoit’s eldest son, Jacques, who one day pulled his father aside, and with a finger in the sand drew out the design for a system that could help Africans around the continent overcome issues of water scarcity and hand-borne transmittable diseases, while reducing environmental impact, using local resources and employing local artisans.

“I had been mulling over this problem for 30 years,” admits Vanhercke, a retired Belgian doctor who specialises in tropical disease and has been working throughout Africa. “I wanted to address issues of public health and sanitation in Africa in a way that is convenient, cheap and good for the environment.”

The Canacla system may possibly offer such a solution. According to Vanhercke, because the canaclas are strategically placed in convenient places, people do not need to think twice about washing their hands “at the right moment”. But they also have to make lathering a conscious act. Dr. Benoit says it takes 30 seconds to correctly free the hands of the bad bacteria.

“But the water doesn’t stay running at this point,” says Vanhercke as he scoops up a chunk of Marseille soap and begins vigorously rubbing his hands together. “Normally we use up to three litres of water every time we wash our hands,” he explains. “The amount of water it takes to wash with the canacla is 30 times less than with a tap. This is important because it means water conservation, but it also reduces the overall cost and is more hygienic.”

When his hands are rinsed, Vanhercke shakes them about in the air and brings them up to his ears as he quickly rubs his fingers together. A squeak, squeak sound rings out.

“The sound of happy hands,” he says letting out a big grin.

The kids follow suit, each passing the soap around and taking turns lifting the lever. They dry their hands in the air flecking drops at one other. Leonie Sadio, assistant director at Clair Soleil, looks on in approval. She says since they brought in the five canaclas, in 2007, she has already seen a change in the kids’ habits.

“For us, the main issue is educational,” says Sadio. “Today we talk a lot about sustainable development and water plays an integral part in this process. The lack of water in Africa is a problem that we have to tackle, and one of the ways we can do this is by educating them about the importance of water conservation. It’s also about hygiene, and if we start them young they have a greater chance of continuing these habits when they are older.”

* Published under an agreement with Street News Service.

The manatee, or sea cow, is a torpedo-shaped marine mammal that moves languidly through the tepid waters of the Caribbean, South America and along the coast, rivers and wetlands from Senegal down to Angola. In the late 18th century, one of the manatee’s closest and much larger relative, the Stellar Cow, were hunted to extinction. Today, the future of the West African manatee may not be far behind.

Rescuing a manatee from behind an agricultural dam. Credit: Lucy Keith

Among researchers it is often referred to as “the forgotten animal”, even though it has been around for over 45 million years. The West African manatee is one of three manatee types, which includes the Amazonian and Indian. All three appear on the United Nations red list of endangered species. While there is very little known about the exact numbers or distribution of the West African manatee specifically, they are believed to be the most threatened of the three groups and continue to be hunted illegally for their prized meat, hides and bones.

Lucy Keith-Diagne is a scientist with the U.S.-based EcoHealth Alliance and has been patiently tracking these rare creatures for over ten years.

“In Africa, they are the least studied large animal. I think part of that is they are very mysterious. They live in murky water and extremely remote places. Most people see them dead or in a stew-pot, unfortunately.”

Manatees are migratory and generally shy, solitary creatures. They are also slow breeders, mating about every two years and having only one calf at a time. Their unusual sightings have, in part, made the manatees something of an enigma. Among certain fishing communities in West Africa, they are even feared.

In Dakar, the environmental NGO, Oceanium, has been working to protect manatees along the Senegal River and in estuaries and mangroves in the southern part of the country. El Ali Haida is director and works on the ground in remote communities with the ‘thioubalo’ people – those who live by the water.

“The manatee is a very mystic animal,” says Haida. “In the villages of Casamance, the hunters must wear many different talismans and perform a ritual that can last up to two hours before they even dare to hunt the manatee.”

Mamiwata is the name given to the spirit that supposedly lives in the manatee. This spirit is always considered to be a mermaid, but according to Keith-Diagne, the interpretations of why she exists differ across countries.

“In Gabon, it is a beautiful young woman who pulls men underneath the water and takes them to her lair – never lets them free,” explains Keith-Diagne. “Basically, I think it is an explanation for fishermen who drown – they just never come home to their families. But in Nigeria, mamiwata is a very positive thing. If she catches you, she takes you to her lair and then releases you. Then your family will be prosperous for the rest of your life. And then on a totally different perspective, mamiwata is another name for prostitute in Cameroon. There are very few places though where the legend translates to the real animal, in the sense that people respect it enough not to kill it.”

The manatees are herbivores and live off over 60 different species of aquatic and semi-aquatic plants. Every day they can eat up to 15 percent of their body weight. Their biggest threats are directed hunting, unintentional trappings in nets and the construction of underwater dams. For those who actively hunt the manatees, they are driven by huge financial incentives.

“The meat from one manatee can weigh between 400 -500 kilogrammes,” says Haida. “When sold at a market in Senegal at 2 dollars per kilo, this represents a lot of money.”

In Senegal, as in every other West African country where they are found, the manatees are legally protected. Yet, a lack of law-enforcement and a poor understanding about the animal mean the number of manatees continues to decline.

Conservation efforts

Momar Sow oversees a manatee conservation project in six West African countries with the NGO Wetlands. From his experience working with fishermen across the region, he believes the social awareness about manatees differs from country to country.

“Fortunately, here in Senegal, as in The Gambia and Guinea, they have a traditional respect for these species,” says Sow.

“It is very rare to find young hunters. Most are old. In many cases, traditional pratices have not been passed down to young boys. This is lucky for us if they do not know how to kill manatees.”

According to Sow the “hot-spot” for manatee hunting is Sierra Leone. It amazes him, because it is the only country where he can find people killing manatee as if they were really cows. He says the mammals actually come right up to the rice farms to eat the farm.

“In some countries, (the manatee) is considered like a human. And yet, in some others they just do not care because of their own personal stories,” explains Sow. “You have some refugees in these places, so there the manatee is just considered a meat.”

The work of organizations like Wetlands and Oceanium has been vital to helping build awareness around this otherwise ‘forgotten animal’. Oceanium has directly helped save 22 manatees in Senegal and are working with locals to develop eco-tourism projects where tourists pay to see manatees in the wild.

Haida believes this may be the best solution in a country where people are more concerned with putting food on the table every day than protecting a rare animal for the future.

“Only when the environment allows people to make money will people have incentive to protect their environment,” he says.

* Published under an agreement with Street News Service.