The kneejerk is to claim that terrorists are mentally ill.
I wasn’t able to arrange any interviews. The doctors in the Senegalese mental hospitals were defensive, fearful that I would paint a bad picture of conditions, or busy. The assurances of the State Department staff who were helping me didn’t sooth this naive patriotism or persuade them to give me half an hour, but I learned a little. There’s no social security in Senegal, so the mentally ill either rely on the care of their family or begging. I didn’t see many people who struck me as being afflicted on the streets (unlike London and Paris), so I assumed that they had been assimilated into the crowd and received care of sorts from other dwellers of Dakar’s streets.
The luckier among the mentally ill receive support from their families who send them to mental institutions where they receive treatment in the form of psychotropics. These help as long as the money holds out — a familiar story to those of us who remember the dark days before Obamacare. I can’t tell you about the conditions in the hospitals; so, I don’t know if they followed the best standards of care or if they were dank prisons where patients were chained or locked into padded cells.
Mental illness is recognized even in the more remote and traditional areas, which refutes the myth that people in Africa regard people living with schizophrenia and bipolar disorder as holy. Instead, they are ostracized and feared — as they have always been, even when they have found a niche as shamans.
Most of the mentally ill disappear into the mass of people walking the streets of this city. They are ignored and forgotten, their symptoms shrugged off which is not the reverence of the myth makers. There’s rumor of an American in one of the suburbs who is in episode; there is no retrieving him and taking him home, however, because he will not come into the embassy for evaluation.
If I stayed around, I might see more; time is running out, however.
She wanted to know which of the women sitting next to me — Lynn and an Australian woman living in Geneva — was my first wife and which was my second wife.
I’ve been in three time zones this trip
I’ve gotten two jobs in London — or it is the same job?
Why am I doing this? I don’t want to go mad.
This article stakes out my position and makes a stand for what I believe.
The opposition to Murphy’s Law has made some strange bedfellows, but I am not willing to get into bed with just any of them.
Blaming and denying the victim are calculated to avoid responsibility.
The arguments of stigma are often cited as reasonable, but a closer examination shows that they are flawed.