It seems that I just can't post any pictures from any of the computers I've been at recently. Everyone got a small taste of some of the stuff I've been seeing, and now there's nothing. Apologies for that. I have been seeing amazing things, I swear, but I'd like to post some pictures to really drive the point home.
Well, what can I say instead? I was in Mopti for my birthday, in Djenné, a city of faded glory from the days of Islamic empire, for Christmas, and now I'm in Mali's capital, Bamako, for New Year's Eve. It seems I've been running into Mali Volunteers all over the place lately, as everyone is moving around for the holidays. It's been great for me, as Volunteers tend to know the cheap/interesting places to eat, sleep, and see.
But this post is about something different. I could write about the old city in Mopti, or the massive mud mosque in Djenné, about the first's surge as Mali's major river port at the expense of the second, about Djenné's once glorious past as a center of Islamic learning and one of the major trading cities on the trans-Saharan routes, rivaling even Timbuktu and Agadez. But I'm not going to do any of that. Instead, I'm going to throw out some of the challenges the traveler faces in West Africa, which just reaffirm that you haven't left this part of the world, that though places like Mopti, Djenné, and Segou all have Internet access (even wireless in some places), the difficulty of moving around is still the biggest pain of West Africa.
I was told by the Volunteer in Djenné, which is a city more or less on an island, requiring a ferry service to access, that if I wanted to get out of Djenné, I'd have to get to the loading point (gare) by 7:00 am, or else it'd be really difficult to get anywhere before nightfall. So I woke up early and was there before 7. This is how the next three hours played out.
Me: Hi, I'd like to go to Segou today, so I want to buy a ticket to the carrefour (the main stop on the road outside Djenné where everyone gets buses, cars, etc.)
Ticket Guy: Why go to the carrefour? We have a bus that's leaving this morning for Bamako. It can drop you off in Segou, and it goes direct. You'll have no problems.
And it's leaving this morning?
Yes, this morning.
So I take the ticket and I sit down to wait. I've probably been waiting about half an hour when a woman getting in a car to the carrefour looks at me and says, "You need to go to the carrefour. If you're waiting for that bus, wallahi, you'll be waiting here still by tonight. Just you see, you'll still be here tonight." Well...that was ominous.
Excuse me, sir? That lady who just left said that this bus isn't going anywhere today and that I should go to the carrefour.
No, no, no, it is going today, trust me. (We walk over to the bus) See? Everything is already packed on top. We'll leave in twenty minutes. 8:00 at the latest.
By 7:40, they're taking everything off the bus.
Why are they taking everything off the bus? (Search for the ticket agent again after 20 mins of waiting.) They're taking everything off the bus. It's obviously not leaving today.
No, it will leave. They're taking everything off the bus and sweeping it. It will leave after.
You said before they loaded everything on it last night so it could leave early.
Look, I'll ask the driver. (To some random guy) Is this bus leaving today? Yes, it's leaving today. See? Just sit here and wait.
More waiting. It becomes more and more obvious that this bus is not leaving. Find the ticket seller.
Okay, give me my money back, I'm walking. (It's 30k to the carrefour and 2k to the ferry)
No! It's leaving, I swear. You just be patient.
But not now! It's not leaving this morning, and I want to leave.
It is leaving now. Not at noon, not even at ten. In a few minutes.
Bullshit! (Is what I was thinking and trying to communicate, but I don't know how to say that in French) Give me my money.
Look, I'll ask the driver again. (Some other random guy, not even the same one as before.) Oh, he said tomorrow morning.
F*** you, give me my money!
Patience, patience, we'll get a car for all of you waiting for the bus and it'll leave toute suite.
Fifteen minutes more. I talk to a French couple traveling overland through West Africa. Back to the ticket guy.
Let's go. You said toute suite.
Patience, we need five more people to fill the car.
I might actually kill you! Give me my expletive-inducing money!
The car will leave soon.
I don't want soon! I've been waiting over two hours for transport that barely exists anyway! GIVE ME MY F***ING MONEY, I'M F***ING WALKING!
It's too far!
I DON'T GIVE A GOOD GOD D***! I'M WHITE! I'LL HITCHHIKE! TOURISTS WILL PICK ME UP! ANYTHING TO GET AWAY FROM YOU!
The guy basically lied to me the entire time because he wanted more money. He knows the bus schedule and knows that every week for, I'm sure, years that the bus stays overnight on a Sunday to take people home after Monday's market. In this case, patience was not a virtue. If I'd waited, I would still be in Djenné or God only knows where. As it was, I started walking, got picked up by a really, really crappy bush taxi that was carrying goods only, not people, as I'm sure this thing would be unsafe under any conditions. There were no interior panels, the doors had to be jammed shut, they didn't close fully without a good kick, there was no starter, the guy just had to literally hot wire it everytime he wanted to start it. It had a max speed of about 10 mph, and the popping I kept hearing, I found out after about 30 mins, was the metal of the door grinding against the metal of the frame everytime we hit a bump.
But overall, none of this mattered. The car managed to get me to the carrefour, where I immediately got a bus. Though cramped in the back seat, breathing in the heat and exhaust from the engine, it got me to Segou about two hours slower than a regular bus would. However, I did meet some Volunteers on the bus, and they showed me around Segou and have helped me out a lot in Bamako. Overall, there wasn't a lot to Segou, but after a full day of travel hell, the simplicity and laid-back atmosphere of the city seemed like a god send.
So for now, that's all I want to spend on a computer. I'm off to somewhere else in Mali for a couple weeks until I'm in Ivory Coast to meet up with Emilie Ross, who was the first Volunteer in Tanka Lokoto, my village in Niger. We'll have a lot of stories to trade I'm sure, but until then, I'll see what other adventures I can have.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Celebrating a Quarter Century while Hiking Le Pays Dogon
No pictures this time around because I forgot my camera cord in my backpack. It's a shame, because as beautiful and interesting as the area around Banfora was, I think Dogon Country just blows it away. In fact, it probably eliminates the competition in all the rest of West Africa, but I can't make that claim until I visit the rest of West Africa. Dege dege as the Dogon say. That's moso moso to all you Zarma speakers or slowly slowly for everyone else.
To get to the Bandiagara Escarpment (where I hiked with Eli and Lauren for four days and nights), we had to start at 4:45 am to catch a bus from Ouagadougou to Ouahigouya. From there, we waited around a few hours for a bush taxi to Koro, and a few hours later, we grabbed another bush taxi for Bankass, our starting point for Dogon Country. Overall, it was a full day of traveling or waiting, but it was all worth it when we caught a view of the Bandiagara Escarpment while on the road to Bankass. Traveling through the Malian countryside, you're surrounded by plains, grasses, and trees of the Sahelian variety. In short, it looks exactly like Niger. Then, suddenly, your gaze moves to the west, and a 500m cliff face just seems to appear out of the middle of these vast, unbroken plains and stretch to the horizon. It's a 150km-long cliff that looks like someone just gashed the ground and pulled up solid rock.
The hiking is amazing. Let me say this now: I had giardia for the entire trip, and I still thought it was amazing. The trip. Not the giardia. I've had worse giardia, but anytime you think you're going to pass out while climbing onto the roof where you're sleeping in the pitch black...ya, not a great feeling. This echoes a friend who went to Dogon Country and realized he had malaria. Despite the horrible symptoms, they could not overpower the magic of Dogon Country. By the way, I don't mention it like I should, but we slept on the roof of the Dogon houses. An amazing view of every star in an ink-black sky, and mornings at sunrise? I don't think you can feel anything other than peace as you watch color slowly bleed into a brightening sky.
The Dogon are an amazing people. There's been a lot of research done on the Dogons in anthropological and archaeological sources, so I'll leave the heavy work to anyone really interested. The Dogon people came to the Escarpment around the 15th Century, where they met the Tellem people, who were already living there. The Tellem allowed them to settle but said the Dogon were not allowed to cut the trees or eat the fruit. The Tellem were a very small people, only about three or four feet, but they possessed powerful black magic which allowed them to fly. This explains the vaults, small houses in the rock which are completely inaccessible today but which the Tellem used to store their most prized possessions. An explanation more likely than flight (or very advanced climbing gear) is that this area was at one time much rainier, which allowed vines and other plants to climb the cliff face, allowing climbing access for some pretty scrappy people. Whatever the explanation is, it still takes a pretty brave little guy to climb up the 300m to where some of these vaults have been secured into the cliff face.
I'll skip ahead a little now. The Dogon eventually broke their word and began cutting the trees, so the Tellem left the Escarpment, never to return. The Dogon, holding tight to their animist beliefs in the face of repeated aggression from Islamic empires such as the Malian and Songhai, built their houses at the very base of the cliff, making them nigh-impregnable. Thus they maintained their distinct culture down to the present day. In the past fifty years or so, most of the Dogon have moved down to the plain, and many have taken up Islam or Catholicism. The only thing assaulting the Dogon these days are hordes of tourists, which has actually helped the Dogon in that they haven't suffered the loss of their younger generations to better opportunities in the big cities or elsewhere in Africa, America, or Europe. They no longer live at the base of the cliff, but all the old houses and granaries are still there, and their culture, strangly, has been somewhat preserved by the tourism industry. There's actually a reason for the Dogon to continue speaking their language, performing their ritual dances, and remembering their past, and that reason is because they've found a market among Westerners.
I could go on and on about the people we met, some of the breathtaking scenery we saw, and the even more breathtaking cliffs of which we peered over the edge. However, all of it is just words, and pictures paint a thousand words or more, so I'll try to post some in the near-ish future. I'll also try to post more about this amazing place, but honestly, I'm having such a hard time keeping up with the places I'm going that it's going to be very difficult to go back and rehash the places I've been.
For example, right now, I'm in Mopti, the Venice of West Africa. It's spread out over three islands at the confluence of the Niger and Bani rivers and is probably the biggest river port on the Niger. Everyone and everything on the river seems to move through Mopti, and as a result it's very hectic and colorful. However, hectic is not what I wanted for my birthday yesterday, so Eli, Lauren, and I chose a nice bar down by the water at sunset to while away the time and watch other people be hectic. After, we met up with our Dogon guide, Moumouni, for another beer, and I began to hatch some plans about possibly trying to get to the Festival in the Desert in a couple weeks. We'll see how that goes. Overall, it wasn't much activity by way of birthdays, but zipping through the streets at the end of the night on the back of a motorcycle, I could only think of how happy I was. I'd hiked out of Dogon Country in the morning, made it to Mopti by the early afternoon, and was drinking beers by the river in the Venice of West Africa by sunset. All with two great friends alongside me. Of course there are more people I wish could have been there, and they know who they are, but I couldn't ask for a better end to a great day.
To get to the Bandiagara Escarpment (where I hiked with Eli and Lauren for four days and nights), we had to start at 4:45 am to catch a bus from Ouagadougou to Ouahigouya. From there, we waited around a few hours for a bush taxi to Koro, and a few hours later, we grabbed another bush taxi for Bankass, our starting point for Dogon Country. Overall, it was a full day of traveling or waiting, but it was all worth it when we caught a view of the Bandiagara Escarpment while on the road to Bankass. Traveling through the Malian countryside, you're surrounded by plains, grasses, and trees of the Sahelian variety. In short, it looks exactly like Niger. Then, suddenly, your gaze moves to the west, and a 500m cliff face just seems to appear out of the middle of these vast, unbroken plains and stretch to the horizon. It's a 150km-long cliff that looks like someone just gashed the ground and pulled up solid rock.
The hiking is amazing. Let me say this now: I had giardia for the entire trip, and I still thought it was amazing. The trip. Not the giardia. I've had worse giardia, but anytime you think you're going to pass out while climbing onto the roof where you're sleeping in the pitch black...ya, not a great feeling. This echoes a friend who went to Dogon Country and realized he had malaria. Despite the horrible symptoms, they could not overpower the magic of Dogon Country. By the way, I don't mention it like I should, but we slept on the roof of the Dogon houses. An amazing view of every star in an ink-black sky, and mornings at sunrise? I don't think you can feel anything other than peace as you watch color slowly bleed into a brightening sky.
The Dogon are an amazing people. There's been a lot of research done on the Dogons in anthropological and archaeological sources, so I'll leave the heavy work to anyone really interested. The Dogon people came to the Escarpment around the 15th Century, where they met the Tellem people, who were already living there. The Tellem allowed them to settle but said the Dogon were not allowed to cut the trees or eat the fruit. The Tellem were a very small people, only about three or four feet, but they possessed powerful black magic which allowed them to fly. This explains the vaults, small houses in the rock which are completely inaccessible today but which the Tellem used to store their most prized possessions. An explanation more likely than flight (or very advanced climbing gear) is that this area was at one time much rainier, which allowed vines and other plants to climb the cliff face, allowing climbing access for some pretty scrappy people. Whatever the explanation is, it still takes a pretty brave little guy to climb up the 300m to where some of these vaults have been secured into the cliff face.
I'll skip ahead a little now. The Dogon eventually broke their word and began cutting the trees, so the Tellem left the Escarpment, never to return. The Dogon, holding tight to their animist beliefs in the face of repeated aggression from Islamic empires such as the Malian and Songhai, built their houses at the very base of the cliff, making them nigh-impregnable. Thus they maintained their distinct culture down to the present day. In the past fifty years or so, most of the Dogon have moved down to the plain, and many have taken up Islam or Catholicism. The only thing assaulting the Dogon these days are hordes of tourists, which has actually helped the Dogon in that they haven't suffered the loss of their younger generations to better opportunities in the big cities or elsewhere in Africa, America, or Europe. They no longer live at the base of the cliff, but all the old houses and granaries are still there, and their culture, strangly, has been somewhat preserved by the tourism industry. There's actually a reason for the Dogon to continue speaking their language, performing their ritual dances, and remembering their past, and that reason is because they've found a market among Westerners.
I could go on and on about the people we met, some of the breathtaking scenery we saw, and the even more breathtaking cliffs of which we peered over the edge. However, all of it is just words, and pictures paint a thousand words or more, so I'll try to post some in the near-ish future. I'll also try to post more about this amazing place, but honestly, I'm having such a hard time keeping up with the places I'm going that it's going to be very difficult to go back and rehash the places I've been.
For example, right now, I'm in Mopti, the Venice of West Africa. It's spread out over three islands at the confluence of the Niger and Bani rivers and is probably the biggest river port on the Niger. Everyone and everything on the river seems to move through Mopti, and as a result it's very hectic and colorful. However, hectic is not what I wanted for my birthday yesterday, so Eli, Lauren, and I chose a nice bar down by the water at sunset to while away the time and watch other people be hectic. After, we met up with our Dogon guide, Moumouni, for another beer, and I began to hatch some plans about possibly trying to get to the Festival in the Desert in a couple weeks. We'll see how that goes. Overall, it wasn't much activity by way of birthdays, but zipping through the streets at the end of the night on the back of a motorcycle, I could only think of how happy I was. I'd hiked out of Dogon Country in the morning, made it to Mopti by the early afternoon, and was drinking beers by the river in the Venice of West Africa by sunset. All with two great friends alongside me. Of course there are more people I wish could have been there, and they know who they are, but I couldn't ask for a better end to a great day.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
On the Road in Burkina Faso
Not a very imaginative title, I know, but guess what? I just found out that you can add pictures on this website. So now you can all stop going to my facebook page to check stuff out, and I can make my posts a lot more pertinent to my travels. I'll warn you right now: this is all going to seem very cool and exotic. I have to admit, it kind of is. I'm in Burkina Faso's capital Ouagadougou right now, and eventhough it's kind of a calm, slightly boring capital, just the name alone I think wins it points for originality. I've officially been out of Niger for about a week now, and I've been hopping from city to city, visiting Volunteers, and helping with any Agriculture related projects that I might have any experience with.
Ouagadougou and Bobo Dioulasso are the two biggest cities in Burkina Faso, and while I've met a lot of really cool Volunteers, there wasn't really much to distinguish them from Niamey. I'd spent over two months stuck in Niger's capital, so I needed a break from cities. I found it in Banfora.
Banfora is Burkina's tourist Mecca. To be honest, there isn't a lot to see in Burkina according to the guide books, but Peace Corps Volunteers are always a good bet to see the really cool stuff. In Banfora, I stayed with a Volunteer named Brad and got to visit two of the coolest geographical sites in the area. I'll get the names later when I update this post, but the Domes are about 15km from Banfora, which I managed to get to with a rented bike. Evidently, they are only one of two sites in the world where the erosive forces have worked to create these entirely unique rock formations. From the nearby waterfalls, you can hike along Banfora's main water supply to the Domes, and you have a great view of the local sugar cane fields.
Unfortunately, that's all I have time for right now. I'm heading up to Mali and Dogon Country bright and early tomorrow morning, so I'll be out of any contact for quite a while. Hope everyone's safe and enjoying the holiday season. I'll be spending it in Mali, where there's no snow, but at least I don't have to deal with the cold. I'm sure I'll have some amazing pictures in the next post, but until then, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. - Sterling
Ouagadougou and Bobo Dioulasso are the two biggest cities in Burkina Faso, and while I've met a lot of really cool Volunteers, there wasn't really much to distinguish them from Niamey. I'd spent over two months stuck in Niger's capital, so I needed a break from cities. I found it in Banfora.
Banfora is Burkina's tourist Mecca. To be honest, there isn't a lot to see in Burkina according to the guide books, but Peace Corps Volunteers are always a good bet to see the really cool stuff. In Banfora, I stayed with a Volunteer named Brad and got to visit two of the coolest geographical sites in the area. I'll get the names later when I update this post, but the Domes are about 15km from Banfora, which I managed to get to with a rented bike. Evidently, they are only one of two sites in the world where the erosive forces have worked to create these entirely unique rock formations. From the nearby waterfalls, you can hike along Banfora's main water supply to the Domes, and you have a great view of the local sugar cane fields. 
Now that I'm no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer, I have no restrictions on any kind of stupid thing I want to go off and do in the African countryside. So what did I do? I rented a moped and took it 50km into the bush to see the Sindou Peaks.
Let's just put it out there: I've never driven a moped before. I've always wanted a motorcycle, but I've also harbored a secret fear of them. No more. It was so much fun. Granted, I did almost crash it into a fruit stand, but once I got away from town, away from the goats, children, and fruit stands, I really had the laterite road all to myself. It meant that I was coated with fine red dust by the end of my trip, but what a feeling.
The Sindou Peaks are a chain of rocky spires that extend from the city of Sindou. There's really no other way to describe them other than fantastic, as in, I thought I was on the set of some Hollywood fantasy film. I honestly expected a Muppet to jump out from behind the rocks. Maybe Hoggle would lead me to the castle of the Goblin King. If you understand that reference, then more power to you. But seriously, doesn't this look like a place where you'd find faeries?
Unfortunately, that's all I have time for right now. I'm heading up to Mali and Dogon Country bright and early tomorrow morning, so I'll be out of any contact for quite a while. Hope everyone's safe and enjoying the holiday season. I'll be spending it in Mali, where there's no snow, but at least I don't have to deal with the cold. I'm sure I'll have some amazing pictures in the next post, but until then, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. - SterlingSunday, December 6, 2009
Leaving Niger
This one is hard to write, but it's been a long time coming. How do you sum up two years living in the bush in Africa? How do I even sum up the last month, when those of us Northern Tillaberi refugees became grouped with a whole new set of refugees from an expanded terror threat. In case you haven't been diligently following Nigerien news. Here's the official word on what's been going on lately:
https://www.osac.gov/Reports/report.cfm?contentID=110469
To see how this plays into the larger picture of AQIM and all the fun they've been having across the Sahel, focusing on events that have occurred during my service, go to these places:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7798571.stm
http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSLP155404
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/8080447.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8373821.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8381200.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8385559.stm
Wow. I didn't realize how frightening a picture that paints until I put them all together. My village was about 100km give or take from the border with Mali where the French national and the European tourists were kidnapped. However, throughout my entire service, I never once felt as if I were in danger. Someone with an outside perspective could call me naive or worse, but I think it says more about my community and the place I live. I firmly believe my villagers would have done anything to shelter and protect me had the occasion ever arisen.
Looking back, the week I had at my post seems like a positive, real risk. Would I do it again? Definitely. I hold no regrets. At least I was allowed to say goodbye. After the attempted kidnapping of embassy staff in Tahoua, a capital city much farther from the border than my village, the entire region was evacuated of all Volunteers. Many of them had no idea they would never be allowed back to their villages when they got the call to consolidate in Konni. As dangerous as it was, I know that I needed to see my villagers again, and sometimes, when something is that important, you just have to take a few chances.
I'll leave that. There's too much involved in the decisions made by individuals in any given circumstance to really examine them closely. Especially in a situation as extraordinary as this. Overall, I think Peace Corps' response was well managed and assessed all risks responsibly. I won't say anymore in part because of those who've decided to leave due to the security reasons and for those who will be staying on in very trying circumstances. The worst part of my entire second year living under travel restrictions was the uncertainty of the situation on a day-to-day basis. I was sure after the British tourist was executed that I would be evacuated from my site. I was allowed to stay, but it did underline how quickly things could change. That uncertainty will inform their entire service, but I'm confident those who have stayed will weather through it.
And now I'm leaving Niger. I have my visas for Mali (the non-dangerous part) and Burkina Faso ready and I'm heading out the door. This blog has been a pretty good representation of my service, but it can't cover even one percent of the emotions I've felt, the trials I've been through, the friendships I've made, and the rewards I've been given. If none of these kidnappings had happened, I can confidently say I would be staying another year. However, I can't really complain about that. One of my best friends in country (who also spent a full year under travel restrictions in Northern Tillaberi) said to me once that living alone in the bush, over a hundred kilometers from any other American, working with limited resources within our communities was closer to the "romantic" idea everyone has of Peace Corps, which is pretty cool. And throughout all of this, I've learned that Allah provides. I'm not saying things aren't meant to happen for one reason or another, or that things always turn out okay. However, when those two paths diverge in the wood, they lead to endless other possibilities and endless other divergences. That's just the route life takes, and it's better to appreciate what's on your own path, rather than wonder at what you'd missed.
I'll be keeping this blog going throughout the remainder of my time in West Africa, so keep checking for my whereabouts and to see what adventures I've had. Much love to everyone at home. I know there are some worried about me, but I hope that worry is tempered with excitement for all that I hope to experience in the coming months.
Irkoy m'ir cabe cere!
https://www.osac.gov/Reports/report.cfm?contentID=110469
To see how this plays into the larger picture of AQIM and all the fun they've been having across the Sahel, focusing on events that have occurred during my service, go to these places:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7798571.stm
http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSLP155404
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/8080447.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8373821.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8381200.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8385559.stm
Wow. I didn't realize how frightening a picture that paints until I put them all together. My village was about 100km give or take from the border with Mali where the French national and the European tourists were kidnapped. However, throughout my entire service, I never once felt as if I were in danger. Someone with an outside perspective could call me naive or worse, but I think it says more about my community and the place I live. I firmly believe my villagers would have done anything to shelter and protect me had the occasion ever arisen.
Looking back, the week I had at my post seems like a positive, real risk. Would I do it again? Definitely. I hold no regrets. At least I was allowed to say goodbye. After the attempted kidnapping of embassy staff in Tahoua, a capital city much farther from the border than my village, the entire region was evacuated of all Volunteers. Many of them had no idea they would never be allowed back to their villages when they got the call to consolidate in Konni. As dangerous as it was, I know that I needed to see my villagers again, and sometimes, when something is that important, you just have to take a few chances.
I'll leave that. There's too much involved in the decisions made by individuals in any given circumstance to really examine them closely. Especially in a situation as extraordinary as this. Overall, I think Peace Corps' response was well managed and assessed all risks responsibly. I won't say anymore in part because of those who've decided to leave due to the security reasons and for those who will be staying on in very trying circumstances. The worst part of my entire second year living under travel restrictions was the uncertainty of the situation on a day-to-day basis. I was sure after the British tourist was executed that I would be evacuated from my site. I was allowed to stay, but it did underline how quickly things could change. That uncertainty will inform their entire service, but I'm confident those who have stayed will weather through it.
And now I'm leaving Niger. I have my visas for Mali (the non-dangerous part) and Burkina Faso ready and I'm heading out the door. This blog has been a pretty good representation of my service, but it can't cover even one percent of the emotions I've felt, the trials I've been through, the friendships I've made, and the rewards I've been given. If none of these kidnappings had happened, I can confidently say I would be staying another year. However, I can't really complain about that. One of my best friends in country (who also spent a full year under travel restrictions in Northern Tillaberi) said to me once that living alone in the bush, over a hundred kilometers from any other American, working with limited resources within our communities was closer to the "romantic" idea everyone has of Peace Corps, which is pretty cool. And throughout all of this, I've learned that Allah provides. I'm not saying things aren't meant to happen for one reason or another, or that things always turn out okay. However, when those two paths diverge in the wood, they lead to endless other possibilities and endless other divergences. That's just the route life takes, and it's better to appreciate what's on your own path, rather than wonder at what you'd missed.
I'll be keeping this blog going throughout the remainder of my time in West Africa, so keep checking for my whereabouts and to see what adventures I've had. Much love to everyone at home. I know there are some worried about me, but I hope that worry is tempered with excitement for all that I hope to experience in the coming months.
Irkoy m'ir cabe cere!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Leaving Tanka Lokoto
I’ve been in
As anyone can see from my past blog entries, I took some vacation a couple months ago to go out east, almost all the way to
So there were plenty of reasons not to go back to village. In addition to the external threats, I also had some work of my own to do. I waited three weeks in
But being out of village, for lack of a better term, sucks. It’s difficult to emphasize this point enough, and I don’t expect anyone who hasn’t lived the life to understand what it feels like. I was forced to leave my small community without any chance to say goodbye or to close the work I had been doing. I felt like a refugee. Living in
The embassy wasn’t happy. I’d pushed and pushed to go back to my village, and after a month, I think I’d created such a headache that everyone was just tired of me. They gave me one week. It was more than I’d expected, but there were a few stipulations. I could tell no one I was leaving for my village or that I would be living there at all. That included Peace Corps staff, Volunteers, and even my own villagers. The only people that knew I was on this “secret mission” were the acting country director, the Peace Corps security officer, and the embassy’s Regional Security Officer. I had to check in via text twice a day, morning and evening, to confirm that I hadn’t been kidnapped. Finally, I couldn’t tell anyone in my village what day I would be leaving them forever.
And so I left for village November 3rd. This entry could be much longer than it actually will be. I’ll try to be concise and cut out all the personal, sentimental things and get right to the heart of the matter. My villagers were amazing for the week I was at home. Though my house was dirty and dilapidated, my hanger had nearly collapsed, my garden had died, and my cat ran away, I didn’t care. I was just so happy to be back.
But it was a stressful week. I spent most of my afternoons (when I usually napped during my service) packing up my house. My mornings and evenings I spent on specific missions to spend as much time as possible with everyone I knew and loved in village. At night, my favorite little kid, a four-year old named Razak (who I call attakurmizo, Zarma for a sprite or faerie) would come over, refuse to leave my side, and eventually fall asleep at my house. I’d carry him home and we’d repeat the same pattern the next day. I know I said I wouldn’t get sentimental, but he was a rock star the whole week.
I’m so glad the embassy allowed me to return for even just a week. I was afraid I wouldn’t have even an afternoon. The first night I was back in village, bandits killed a soldier and a merchant in Baleyara, the major market town about 22km from my village. It was the second such robbery in two months. The first had been a carjacking in which two merchants were robbed and murdered. It didn’t really worry me, but I’m sure it drove the embassy up the wall. I’m pretty sure my villagers would do everything they could to protect me and knowing that, I never doubted my safety in village for the one week I had.
I’ll be here in
By the time I had finished the small loop at my maigari’s house, there wasn’t a dry eye anywhere. The women covered themselves with their shawls and refused to make eye contact while I said goodbye. My best friends, both men and women, couldn’t bring themselves to walk out to the road with me. That was okay. I heard them crying; I understood. Even my village chief, a man who’s seen a lot and had to say a lot of goodbyes to loved ones in his 65 years, had that husky voice that usually means tears are close. It’s always hard to see an old man cry.
So much for not getting sentimental. Now I’m back in
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Solo Traveling and the Desert City (Part 2)
The trip out to Diffa required a stop in Zinder. From Dosso, Zinder is typically a 12-hour bus ride. From Zinder, it's seven more hours on broken tarmac to Diffa. There aren't any bus companies that will ply the route from Niamey to Diffa direct. I didn't mind the stop though. It gave me some time to see friends I hadn't seen in months, and Zinder is just a great city to kill a few days. It has some beautiful architecture in the old quarter, and, if you ever need a diversion, you can visit the cookie factory. Thirty or so women making honey and shortbread cookies everyday. It's awesome, but that's beside the point. I stopped off in Zinder and caught a bus out to Diffa at the "what am I doing up this early?" crack of dawn.
As a result, I missed the first half of the trip out to Diffa. It was still early, and I wasn't really concious. The road changed that. It's an old highway, and, while I hear they're going to repair it soon, it's in a pretty dire state. I was fortunate to get such a rude awakening though, as the ride out to Diffa was beautiful. The desert encroaches a bit further south than the rest of the country, which means that instead of subsistence agriculture, you're dealing with subsistence pastureland. Plains stretch to the horizon and are dotted with acacia trees that have all been grazed up above the level of hungry camels. It reminded me a lot of how I feel Kenya or Ethiopia must look: dry savannah interspersed with short, scrubby acacias. If you've ever been to Montana or maybe the Dakotas, they might look pretty similar. And the horses. These were the first horses I'd seen in country that actually looked healthy and well-fed. And why not? You could conceivably ride a horse for days in that landscape, camp under the stars, and never have to worry about food or anything else really. I don't deny I was dreaming of such things, despite the fact that I've never ridden a horse, nor do I have the money to buy one.
We reached Diffa a little after noon, and while I didn't take a long time to explore, I did get to see some beautiful marshlands. Diffa used to be close to Lake Chad, but environmental degradation, repeated drought, and climate change have all had noticable differences on the size of the lake. Diffa, though, is an important wetlands for migratory birds, and the flood plains around the city teem with life during the rainy season. I, however, was anxious to get on to N'guigmi, so I hopped a Land Cruiser bush taxi that afternoon, and, after six excruciating hours in cramped quarters, I arrived at night in the desert.
The trip took six hours, and N'guigmi is only 120km from Diffa. I'll let you imagine what the "road" was like. It's been a long time without any repairs, and with big trucks hauling from Nigeria to Libya, it's taken quite a beating. My bush taxi didn't even use the road for the majority of the trip, and after we passed Kabelawa, we left the road all together, shooting through the desert on paths only the driver knew. This of course takes a dramatic environmental toll on the desert, as eventhough it is a vast sea of sand, it's held in place by short grasses. When the trucks and Land Cruisers tear through the desert (as they have to in deep sand), they rip up the grasses and churn the earth into vast washes of deep sand. Desertification at its finest. We got stuck in one of these churned up chunks of "road," around 8:00 at night. I was not looking forward to spending the night in the desert, but I must say, the moonlight reflected from the pure, white sands reminded me a lot of a quiet winter night at home and looked quite comfortable. We managed to dig ourselves out, which was probably a bit better, as I'd completely forgotten the danger from snakes and scorpions in the desert.
We finally made it to N'guigmi around 9:00 at night, and I somehow managed to wrangle a place to stay. I still have no idea how I managed this. One minute I was talking to a shop owner and the next I was installed in a project rest house with air conditioning and a shower. Not too shabby for the first fifteen minutes in town.
N'guigmi feels like a city at the end of the earth. There's only one main paved road through a provincial town that gleams white from the desert sands. I'd like to say I did more than just take a few bush walks in the desert. I'd like to say I hooked up with a camel caravan and got to see the Grande Tal, an enormous sand dune that stretches over 30km from end to end and 2km across. In reality, however, these things cost money, money I didn't have. The bush walks were beautiful though. The white sand is as fine as powdered sugar and is peaceful and calm at night and deadly during the day. The temperature was well over 120F (48C) during most of the day, and this is during the rainy season. I could not imagine living there during the hot season.
Perhaps the most interesting thing about the city though is the diversity. N'guigmi is forty-odd kilometers from the Chadian border, and they deal with Nigerian currency so much that within minutes I was carrying the Nigerian naira, the West African cfa, and the Central African cfa. The people were also a mix: Zarma gendarmes, Arab traders, Toubou herders, Kanouri farmers, and Hausa merchants. And one white guy. The most common question I got from all groups?
"What are you doing here?"
I'm seeing the desert!
"...Why?"
Seems the thing that can best unify Africa is the realization that white folks are just plain crazy.
Anyway, this has turned into a long post, and I didn't mean it to be. I had an amazing time out in the Diffa region, and I definitely plan to go back, despite the pain of travel and the stresses of being in such a remote location. It's beautiful, and I can't stress that enough. This trip was my practice backpacking trip, and I loved it. I think I'm finally ready to get started on the serious stuff come December.
As a result, I missed the first half of the trip out to Diffa. It was still early, and I wasn't really concious. The road changed that. It's an old highway, and, while I hear they're going to repair it soon, it's in a pretty dire state. I was fortunate to get such a rude awakening though, as the ride out to Diffa was beautiful. The desert encroaches a bit further south than the rest of the country, which means that instead of subsistence agriculture, you're dealing with subsistence pastureland. Plains stretch to the horizon and are dotted with acacia trees that have all been grazed up above the level of hungry camels. It reminded me a lot of how I feel Kenya or Ethiopia must look: dry savannah interspersed with short, scrubby acacias. If you've ever been to Montana or maybe the Dakotas, they might look pretty similar. And the horses. These were the first horses I'd seen in country that actually looked healthy and well-fed. And why not? You could conceivably ride a horse for days in that landscape, camp under the stars, and never have to worry about food or anything else really. I don't deny I was dreaming of such things, despite the fact that I've never ridden a horse, nor do I have the money to buy one.
We reached Diffa a little after noon, and while I didn't take a long time to explore, I did get to see some beautiful marshlands. Diffa used to be close to Lake Chad, but environmental degradation, repeated drought, and climate change have all had noticable differences on the size of the lake. Diffa, though, is an important wetlands for migratory birds, and the flood plains around the city teem with life during the rainy season. I, however, was anxious to get on to N'guigmi, so I hopped a Land Cruiser bush taxi that afternoon, and, after six excruciating hours in cramped quarters, I arrived at night in the desert.
The trip took six hours, and N'guigmi is only 120km from Diffa. I'll let you imagine what the "road" was like. It's been a long time without any repairs, and with big trucks hauling from Nigeria to Libya, it's taken quite a beating. My bush taxi didn't even use the road for the majority of the trip, and after we passed Kabelawa, we left the road all together, shooting through the desert on paths only the driver knew. This of course takes a dramatic environmental toll on the desert, as eventhough it is a vast sea of sand, it's held in place by short grasses. When the trucks and Land Cruisers tear through the desert (as they have to in deep sand), they rip up the grasses and churn the earth into vast washes of deep sand. Desertification at its finest. We got stuck in one of these churned up chunks of "road," around 8:00 at night. I was not looking forward to spending the night in the desert, but I must say, the moonlight reflected from the pure, white sands reminded me a lot of a quiet winter night at home and looked quite comfortable. We managed to dig ourselves out, which was probably a bit better, as I'd completely forgotten the danger from snakes and scorpions in the desert.
We finally made it to N'guigmi around 9:00 at night, and I somehow managed to wrangle a place to stay. I still have no idea how I managed this. One minute I was talking to a shop owner and the next I was installed in a project rest house with air conditioning and a shower. Not too shabby for the first fifteen minutes in town.
N'guigmi feels like a city at the end of the earth. There's only one main paved road through a provincial town that gleams white from the desert sands. I'd like to say I did more than just take a few bush walks in the desert. I'd like to say I hooked up with a camel caravan and got to see the Grande Tal, an enormous sand dune that stretches over 30km from end to end and 2km across. In reality, however, these things cost money, money I didn't have. The bush walks were beautiful though. The white sand is as fine as powdered sugar and is peaceful and calm at night and deadly during the day. The temperature was well over 120F (48C) during most of the day, and this is during the rainy season. I could not imagine living there during the hot season.
Perhaps the most interesting thing about the city though is the diversity. N'guigmi is forty-odd kilometers from the Chadian border, and they deal with Nigerian currency so much that within minutes I was carrying the Nigerian naira, the West African cfa, and the Central African cfa. The people were also a mix: Zarma gendarmes, Arab traders, Toubou herders, Kanouri farmers, and Hausa merchants. And one white guy. The most common question I got from all groups?
"What are you doing here?"
I'm seeing the desert!
"...Why?"
Seems the thing that can best unify Africa is the realization that white folks are just plain crazy.
Anyway, this has turned into a long post, and I didn't mean it to be. I had an amazing time out in the Diffa region, and I definitely plan to go back, despite the pain of travel and the stresses of being in such a remote location. It's beautiful, and I can't stress that enough. This trip was my practice backpacking trip, and I loved it. I think I'm finally ready to get started on the serious stuff come December.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Solo Traveling and the Desert City
Back from vacation and ready to get back to my village. I've been backpacking around Niger for over two weeks now, seeing a lot of my fellow Volunteers that I haven't seen since I went back to my restricted village in terror alley. It was great to see so many of my friends and to catch up, as well as to have some time to myself to explore. When my service is over in December, I plan on doing a big backpack trip through West Africa, so this was the warm-up for that future event. It was a lot of rough roads and beautiful scenery, but luckily I always had the Peace Corps to fall back on for places to say and villages to visit. If you're truly interested, get your map out and follow my trip!
I started in the Konni/Tahoua region and a visit to my fellow stage-mates Justin and Kathleen. They live near Tahoua, just off the road to Keita. I'd been there before, but the dry season can't compare to the end of rainy season in terms of landscape. Few people know that the Sahara used to be covered in greenery; before the climate changes, the Sahara was forested and had large lakes with plenty of game for the people that lived there. You can see the remains of these vast lake beds near Tahoua. Justin and Kathleen's village is built on the downward slope of a hill that was obviously once the shores of one of these vast inland seas. It's apparent from the fossil remains embedded in the layered rock.
The Regional Representative of the Konni/Tahoua region, who knows the area probably better than any other Volunteer, had given me a tip when I stopped in Birni N'Konni: "Take the laterite road from Madaoua to Tahoua. It's the most beautiful part of the country." So, since I was up near Tahoua, I decided to take his advice. Let's put this in perspective though. I didn't know the schedule for market cars, I don't know the local language (Hausa), and I'm alone. If there's not potential for adventure there, I don't know where you'd find it. The road isn't paved; it's a laterite (red, rocky clay) road the entire way through some pretty magnificent scenery. The truck that I caught to Keita took us along a ridge line that overlooked two valleys filled with gallery acacia forests. Honest to God. Forests. It's something I haven't ever seen in this country.
The road, where it existed took me to Keita in the romantic ideal everyone has of Africa: teetering on the edge of hills where the road has been washed away and is partially collapsed, through three feet of water for half a kilometer, and bumping along at high speeds holding on to the roll bars of an open-backed truck. I'd already seen some amazing scenery by the time I hit Keita. I was assured by a someone waiting near the tasha that the car continuing on to Bouza and Madaoua was on its way. Two hours later, I'd fallen asleep in the middle of town and told that there were no cars going anywhere for the rest of the day. Evidently there was a market in a small bush town along the road to Madaoua and, as a result, there would be no other cars. Great. So I started hoofing it out of town. What choice did I have really? Here I was in a mid-sized Hausa city in the middle of nowhere without any other Volunteers posted nearby. I got picked up by a guy going to the small bush market, and he assured me that if I sat at the gendarme post he'd take me to I could get food and water and a car would eventually come by.
He dropped me in the middle of nowhere. I mean the absolute middle of nowhere. If you've ever been on the backroads in Indiana during the summer, you've inevitable pulled up to an intersection in the country with cornfields on all corners and a view to every horizon for all your trouble. Replace the corn with millet and you've got my hang-out spot for the rest of the afternoon. The gendarmes, when we pulled up, just looked at me like, "What on earth are you doing here?"
The nice thing about Niger for us Zarma speakers is that most of the military/gendarmerie will, at some point in their service, live in or around Niamey, which means they'll pick up at least a little bit of Zarma. It's required for the military to finish high school, which gives them an education far better than the average Nigerien. So if they don't by chance know Zarma, I can get by with my French. Anyway, I spent the afternoon with two gendarmes in the middle of nowhere just hanging out until a truck pulled up just in time to save me from incoming rains. The truck belonged to the local cell phone company, and they gave me a lift all the way back to Konni. I'd survived my early jaunt.
From Konni, I went back to Dosso and on to Kiota, a small city near Birni N'Gaoure. Kiota would be fairly unremarkable if it weren't for a famous religious leader who calls the city home. The Sheik of Kiota is one of the most famous Islamic leaders in West Africa. People come from from as far as Ghana and Senegal on the major holidays to receive his blessing. I was there for Id al Fitr, the end of Ramadan, and because I had the Peace Corps hook-up, I met the sheik and received his blessing for the new year. I definitely needed it for the next few days, when I traveled solo out to Diffa and N'guigmi, the desert cities of eastern Niger. It felt like going to the end of the Earth. I will continue this story in another blog post. Look for it in the next few days.
I started in the Konni/Tahoua region and a visit to my fellow stage-mates Justin and Kathleen. They live near Tahoua, just off the road to Keita. I'd been there before, but the dry season can't compare to the end of rainy season in terms of landscape. Few people know that the Sahara used to be covered in greenery; before the climate changes, the Sahara was forested and had large lakes with plenty of game for the people that lived there. You can see the remains of these vast lake beds near Tahoua. Justin and Kathleen's village is built on the downward slope of a hill that was obviously once the shores of one of these vast inland seas. It's apparent from the fossil remains embedded in the layered rock.
The Regional Representative of the Konni/Tahoua region, who knows the area probably better than any other Volunteer, had given me a tip when I stopped in Birni N'Konni: "Take the laterite road from Madaoua to Tahoua. It's the most beautiful part of the country." So, since I was up near Tahoua, I decided to take his advice. Let's put this in perspective though. I didn't know the schedule for market cars, I don't know the local language (Hausa), and I'm alone. If there's not potential for adventure there, I don't know where you'd find it. The road isn't paved; it's a laterite (red, rocky clay) road the entire way through some pretty magnificent scenery. The truck that I caught to Keita took us along a ridge line that overlooked two valleys filled with gallery acacia forests. Honest to God. Forests. It's something I haven't ever seen in this country.
The road, where it existed took me to Keita in the romantic ideal everyone has of Africa: teetering on the edge of hills where the road has been washed away and is partially collapsed, through three feet of water for half a kilometer, and bumping along at high speeds holding on to the roll bars of an open-backed truck. I'd already seen some amazing scenery by the time I hit Keita. I was assured by a someone waiting near the tasha that the car continuing on to Bouza and Madaoua was on its way. Two hours later, I'd fallen asleep in the middle of town and told that there were no cars going anywhere for the rest of the day. Evidently there was a market in a small bush town along the road to Madaoua and, as a result, there would be no other cars. Great. So I started hoofing it out of town. What choice did I have really? Here I was in a mid-sized Hausa city in the middle of nowhere without any other Volunteers posted nearby. I got picked up by a guy going to the small bush market, and he assured me that if I sat at the gendarme post he'd take me to I could get food and water and a car would eventually come by.
He dropped me in the middle of nowhere. I mean the absolute middle of nowhere. If you've ever been on the backroads in Indiana during the summer, you've inevitable pulled up to an intersection in the country with cornfields on all corners and a view to every horizon for all your trouble. Replace the corn with millet and you've got my hang-out spot for the rest of the afternoon. The gendarmes, when we pulled up, just looked at me like, "What on earth are you doing here?"
The nice thing about Niger for us Zarma speakers is that most of the military/gendarmerie will, at some point in their service, live in or around Niamey, which means they'll pick up at least a little bit of Zarma. It's required for the military to finish high school, which gives them an education far better than the average Nigerien. So if they don't by chance know Zarma, I can get by with my French. Anyway, I spent the afternoon with two gendarmes in the middle of nowhere just hanging out until a truck pulled up just in time to save me from incoming rains. The truck belonged to the local cell phone company, and they gave me a lift all the way back to Konni. I'd survived my early jaunt.
From Konni, I went back to Dosso and on to Kiota, a small city near Birni N'Gaoure. Kiota would be fairly unremarkable if it weren't for a famous religious leader who calls the city home. The Sheik of Kiota is one of the most famous Islamic leaders in West Africa. People come from from as far as Ghana and Senegal on the major holidays to receive his blessing. I was there for Id al Fitr, the end of Ramadan, and because I had the Peace Corps hook-up, I met the sheik and received his blessing for the new year. I definitely needed it for the next few days, when I traveled solo out to Diffa and N'guigmi, the desert cities of eastern Niger. It felt like going to the end of the Earth. I will continue this story in another blog post. Look for it in the next few days.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Time for Vacation (again)
I'm running out of time in Niger. My service ends soon, and my final few months in village will be spent trying to transition my school garden project to the community and the Association des Parents et Eleves. It may not be as impressive as digging a well or building a school, but it is an important project and may be harder than actually starting the school garden. I want the thing to continue long after I'm gone, and the only way to do that is to get the adults in the community excited about it. If I came back in five to ten years, I would want to see that garden still going strong, hopefully with the children doing most of the organization and work.
The next few months before my service ends are packed. I have training for Volunteer trainers, the GRE, and my COS conference at the end of October. I'm training the new Volunteers in early December, and I have a few weeks of vacation to burn up in the meantime. I definitely need the vacation. It's been a long few months since my last one. From the end of hot season through all of rainy season, I've been farming, building rock lines, gardening on my own, and organizing a school garden with elementary/primary school students.
This time of year is one of two that agriculture/environment Volunteers can take vacation. We're allowed whenever we want, but really there's too much work that needs to be done in cold and rainy seasons. However, because I don't have a lot of time left in Niger, I've decided to take the next few weeks to travel around and see all of those in my stage I haven't seen in months. (That's basically everyone out east because of my restrictions.) I'm actually on vacation now, but I'm spending a few days in Niamey to watch the Bears/Packers season opener tomorrow. I've seen two Superbowls in country since I came, and that's all I've gotten of football. I excuse myself this one time.
I wish I could post more, but there isn't much going on right now. I've been farming and gardening and generally trying to avoid everything to do with Niamey. It's a great town, but it's got a lot of baggage that goes with it when you're a bush Volunteer. So that's pretty much it. I'll try to post something happy and uplifting and seemingly amazing (to everyone who doesn't see camels, scorpions, or millet everyday) sometime in the near future. I've been so bad about providing updates I feel like I owe it to all of you. But, until then,
Kala Tonton
The next few months before my service ends are packed. I have training for Volunteer trainers, the GRE, and my COS conference at the end of October. I'm training the new Volunteers in early December, and I have a few weeks of vacation to burn up in the meantime. I definitely need the vacation. It's been a long few months since my last one. From the end of hot season through all of rainy season, I've been farming, building rock lines, gardening on my own, and organizing a school garden with elementary/primary school students.
This time of year is one of two that agriculture/environment Volunteers can take vacation. We're allowed whenever we want, but really there's too much work that needs to be done in cold and rainy seasons. However, because I don't have a lot of time left in Niger, I've decided to take the next few weeks to travel around and see all of those in my stage I haven't seen in months. (That's basically everyone out east because of my restrictions.) I'm actually on vacation now, but I'm spending a few days in Niamey to watch the Bears/Packers season opener tomorrow. I've seen two Superbowls in country since I came, and that's all I've gotten of football. I excuse myself this one time.
I wish I could post more, but there isn't much going on right now. I've been farming and gardening and generally trying to avoid everything to do with Niamey. It's a great town, but it's got a lot of baggage that goes with it when you're a bush Volunteer. So that's pretty much it. I'll try to post something happy and uplifting and seemingly amazing (to everyone who doesn't see camels, scorpions, or millet everyday) sometime in the near future. I've been so bad about providing updates I feel like I owe it to all of you. But, until then,
Kala Tonton
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Time Just Keeps Moving Along
I came in this week to take care of some financial business. I had forgotten that the CYE/MCD/CHA Volunteers are closing their service this week, so everything has been hectic. The usual forms to sign, people to see, final reporting, etc. In short, all the fun you could ever imagine with paper-trail bureaucracy. They've been at the computers like LCD-addicted mice, and their stress is palpable and contagious. I realized pretty soon that it's only about 3 1/2 months until I'm going through the same thing. Just a little more than 15 weeks to go.
Like I've said in other posts, I'm not happy that I'm leaving. If I had the option, I would probably stay in village because I don't feel as if my work is done yet. But, you have to move on sometime, so it is what it is. I had to sit down with a calendar to chart how my work will be affected over the next few months, and what I discovered is that I have very little time left. Between trainings and work in Niamey, my time is limited to less than nine weeks at post. It's also pretty chilling to realize that with all the work of closing and reporting service, once the new kids are testing out their new sites in the week-long live-in, I'll be packing up my house and probably losing my mind. It's hard to leave any place you've lived for a number of years. But when that place is so outside your perceived normal life, and when your neighbors are the warmest (literally and figuratively), kindest people you've ever had, the transition, I think, is even harder.
My work will necessarily have to start winding down. It's Ramadan now, which means it's impossible for most of the villagers to do anything. You'd be surprised how little energy you have when you don't eat or drink all day in a landscape like this. Or maybe you wouldn't. It's not very hard to imagine, but I can assure you, it's worse when you actually experience the fast. I fasted fully for two days, but because of farming and work, I'm down to an unhealthy weight already, so I'm done now. I felt like my heart was going to just give up if I didn't eat and drink. Plus, while the villagers don't have to work, my projects are at a kind of critical stage where I have to start transitioning them to the village. (I guess I don't have to work either, but sitting around thinking about how I'd like to drink some water is not why I came to Peace Corps.)
I wish I could say more at the moment. It's been a tough, anxiety-filled week for a lot of people here, and I think I've picked up a lot of that. I need to be back in village so I can begin sorting through my next few months and hopefully organize it into something productive. It seems spending so much time in village has made me useless in normal, Western situations. I can only really ever organize myself when I'm alone and at post, and I don't want to even touch on my eating or sleeping habits. (Let's just say I doubt I'll be too productive at home sleeping 12 hours a day.)
Well, that's really all for now. I usually post some stuff from my journal, but I didn't bring it along this time. I might try to do another post before I leave for post tomorrow. Kala Tonton
Like I've said in other posts, I'm not happy that I'm leaving. If I had the option, I would probably stay in village because I don't feel as if my work is done yet. But, you have to move on sometime, so it is what it is. I had to sit down with a calendar to chart how my work will be affected over the next few months, and what I discovered is that I have very little time left. Between trainings and work in Niamey, my time is limited to less than nine weeks at post. It's also pretty chilling to realize that with all the work of closing and reporting service, once the new kids are testing out their new sites in the week-long live-in, I'll be packing up my house and probably losing my mind. It's hard to leave any place you've lived for a number of years. But when that place is so outside your perceived normal life, and when your neighbors are the warmest (literally and figuratively), kindest people you've ever had, the transition, I think, is even harder.
My work will necessarily have to start winding down. It's Ramadan now, which means it's impossible for most of the villagers to do anything. You'd be surprised how little energy you have when you don't eat or drink all day in a landscape like this. Or maybe you wouldn't. It's not very hard to imagine, but I can assure you, it's worse when you actually experience the fast. I fasted fully for two days, but because of farming and work, I'm down to an unhealthy weight already, so I'm done now. I felt like my heart was going to just give up if I didn't eat and drink. Plus, while the villagers don't have to work, my projects are at a kind of critical stage where I have to start transitioning them to the village. (I guess I don't have to work either, but sitting around thinking about how I'd like to drink some water is not why I came to Peace Corps.)
I wish I could say more at the moment. It's been a tough, anxiety-filled week for a lot of people here, and I think I've picked up a lot of that. I need to be back in village so I can begin sorting through my next few months and hopefully organize it into something productive. It seems spending so much time in village has made me useless in normal, Western situations. I can only really ever organize myself when I'm alone and at post, and I don't want to even touch on my eating or sleeping habits. (Let's just say I doubt I'll be too productive at home sleeping 12 hours a day.)
Well, that's really all for now. I usually post some stuff from my journal, but I didn't bring it along this time. I might try to do another post before I leave for post tomorrow. Kala Tonton
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Work, Work, Work
Alright, so I know I haven't been very good at posting lately. Let me offer this up as excuse. In the two months since my last post, I have been out of my village a total of ten days. That's not a lot for most Volunteers, and in fact, the responses I've been getting all seem to revolve around the amazement that I was out that long. Indeed, I only came in to do a session for the new stage and because I had run out of money, food, and a bit of sanity.
So what have I been doing in that time? Well, it's rainy season, so the work has really started. We planted in late May, but the rains didn't come again for three weeks, so everything died. Not a great thing when food stocks are already low to lose all your seed. I came in to Niamey in mid-June for a Perceptions workshop with bureau staff and other Volunteers, and the rains came. My villagers planted in my absence, including my fields, which mysteriously more than doubled in size. I had to ask where it began and ended, and the answer I got just shows the different culture of hand farming compared to any others. But first, a tangent.
We met a couple guys in Benin who were traveling West Africa overland from Cameroon to Senegal. One of them stopped by Niger and came up to visit me. As we walked through the fields, he noticed that the fields were an irregular patchwork of shapes all over the countryside. I recounted the dialogue I had with my friend Seyni as to how my fields were distributed:
"So, you start at this tree, and you follow this rock line. It's 75m to this clump of trees. Once you hit these trees, you go on a diagonal back and around until you reach this tree."
"Which tree? This tree?"
"No, this tree here, the one with all the thorns."
"The little bush? Not the big tree?"
"No, not the big tree. This little bush. Then it comes over to these trees, takes a diagonal toward the ox cart path, but doesn't reach the ox cart path. It comes to this rock here and then back to the dry creekbed."
"Wait, rock? Which rock?"
"This rock."
"Which? This?"
"Yes, this rock. How do you not understand. Out of all the rocks in the field I have chosen this one to mark the field."
"And if someone moves this rock?"
"Don't get smart."
Okay, so it's not an exact, verbatim reenactment, but it may be excused through the translation. Anyway, the original point of this story was to emphasize that my field size more than doubled in one fell swoop. As a result, I spent fifteen days in the field, from 8 am to 6 pm by the time I'd walked there and back. That was only the first weeding as well! When I go back to village tomorrow, I'll start again on the second (and hopefully final) round of weeding before harvest.
In the meantime, I've also started the school garden project which some of you may have been contacted in regards to donating money. For everyone who did, thank you very much! For those who didn't, don't worry, there may be another project in the short future to donate to if you so desire. I collected all the supplies in mid-June, held several meetings with the babas (the kids' fathers), and have been gardening with the kids for almost a month now. They're coming on a completely Volunteer basis (because of their fieldwork during rainy season), so I get anywhere from fifteen to over forty kids at a session. There are some adults that help out, but again, according to the work they have to do, sometimes I get four adults to help, sometimes there aren't any. As you can imagine, one 24 year-old kid with forty-plus kids under fourteen can be a bit of a handful. Actually, it's like trying to round up all the animals after a circus fire. But we get along. So far we've had lessons on building garden beds, composting, and soil. When I go back we'll transplant and do lessons on natural pesticides and nutrition. The group leaders, who have their own positions within their own organization, have had a few more responsibilities and a lot more lessons. I've worked with them about managing their teams, keeping track of members, and general accounting for their own money. Every week, all the kids are expected to bring 25 cfa (about a nickel) to add to the caisse. This money goes to buy seeds and manure, and when they sell their vegetables, they should be able to make a small profit for each member. That's the hope anyway. The reality is yet to be seen.
So it's been a lot of time in the village, and a lot of pressures with new language and new responsibilities. I applied to extend in Niger (sorry for all of you who've been asking me if I'm home yet), but I was not chosen for the position. As I can't stay in my village due to the kidnappings almost six months ago, I will probably be forced to leave in December. I can already tell it will be hard, as it's hard to leave almost any place you've lived and loved for two years. You may rejoice that I'll be coming home, but you'd be mistaken again, as I'll be traveling around a bit beforehand. I promise I'll come home eventually, but just how long I stay there is up in the air. I have nothing in the works, but, you know, once you've started wandering, it's kinda hard to quit. Anyway, again apologies for not posting in quite a long time, but it's been a busy time in Niger for me lately. Even now, I have to cut this short so I can go buy some equipment for the school garden and meet with my supervisor to discuss small projects I can do in my remaining five months at post. Until then,
Kala Tonton!
So what have I been doing in that time? Well, it's rainy season, so the work has really started. We planted in late May, but the rains didn't come again for three weeks, so everything died. Not a great thing when food stocks are already low to lose all your seed. I came in to Niamey in mid-June for a Perceptions workshop with bureau staff and other Volunteers, and the rains came. My villagers planted in my absence, including my fields, which mysteriously more than doubled in size. I had to ask where it began and ended, and the answer I got just shows the different culture of hand farming compared to any others. But first, a tangent.
We met a couple guys in Benin who were traveling West Africa overland from Cameroon to Senegal. One of them stopped by Niger and came up to visit me. As we walked through the fields, he noticed that the fields were an irregular patchwork of shapes all over the countryside. I recounted the dialogue I had with my friend Seyni as to how my fields were distributed:
"So, you start at this tree, and you follow this rock line. It's 75m to this clump of trees. Once you hit these trees, you go on a diagonal back and around until you reach this tree."
"Which tree? This tree?"
"No, this tree here, the one with all the thorns."
"The little bush? Not the big tree?"
"No, not the big tree. This little bush. Then it comes over to these trees, takes a diagonal toward the ox cart path, but doesn't reach the ox cart path. It comes to this rock here and then back to the dry creekbed."
"Wait, rock? Which rock?"
"This rock."
"Which? This?"
"Yes, this rock. How do you not understand. Out of all the rocks in the field I have chosen this one to mark the field."
"And if someone moves this rock?"
"Don't get smart."
Okay, so it's not an exact, verbatim reenactment, but it may be excused through the translation. Anyway, the original point of this story was to emphasize that my field size more than doubled in one fell swoop. As a result, I spent fifteen days in the field, from 8 am to 6 pm by the time I'd walked there and back. That was only the first weeding as well! When I go back to village tomorrow, I'll start again on the second (and hopefully final) round of weeding before harvest.
In the meantime, I've also started the school garden project which some of you may have been contacted in regards to donating money. For everyone who did, thank you very much! For those who didn't, don't worry, there may be another project in the short future to donate to if you so desire. I collected all the supplies in mid-June, held several meetings with the babas (the kids' fathers), and have been gardening with the kids for almost a month now. They're coming on a completely Volunteer basis (because of their fieldwork during rainy season), so I get anywhere from fifteen to over forty kids at a session. There are some adults that help out, but again, according to the work they have to do, sometimes I get four adults to help, sometimes there aren't any. As you can imagine, one 24 year-old kid with forty-plus kids under fourteen can be a bit of a handful. Actually, it's like trying to round up all the animals after a circus fire. But we get along. So far we've had lessons on building garden beds, composting, and soil. When I go back we'll transplant and do lessons on natural pesticides and nutrition. The group leaders, who have their own positions within their own organization, have had a few more responsibilities and a lot more lessons. I've worked with them about managing their teams, keeping track of members, and general accounting for their own money. Every week, all the kids are expected to bring 25 cfa (about a nickel) to add to the caisse. This money goes to buy seeds and manure, and when they sell their vegetables, they should be able to make a small profit for each member. That's the hope anyway. The reality is yet to be seen.
So it's been a lot of time in the village, and a lot of pressures with new language and new responsibilities. I applied to extend in Niger (sorry for all of you who've been asking me if I'm home yet), but I was not chosen for the position. As I can't stay in my village due to the kidnappings almost six months ago, I will probably be forced to leave in December. I can already tell it will be hard, as it's hard to leave almost any place you've lived and loved for two years. You may rejoice that I'll be coming home, but you'd be mistaken again, as I'll be traveling around a bit beforehand. I promise I'll come home eventually, but just how long I stay there is up in the air. I have nothing in the works, but, you know, once you've started wandering, it's kinda hard to quit. Anyway, again apologies for not posting in quite a long time, but it's been a busy time in Niger for me lately. Even now, I have to cut this short so I can go buy some equipment for the school garden and meet with my supervisor to discuss small projects I can do in my remaining five months at post. Until then,
Kala Tonton!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Back in Niger and Missing Ghana
Made it back safely to Niger for all of you who were worried/concerned/mildly interested. It was a long haul from Kumasi in Ghana back to Niamey, especially as we didn't overnight in Ouagadougou like we should have. Instead we took a bus from Kumasi and had to wait for four hours in Bolgatanga on the Ghana border because the crossing isn't open at 2 am. We got into Ouaga around noon and were assured by a bush taxi driver we could get to Niamey that night. So we went, but around 5 pm, he stopped in a random little town, told us we needed a military escort from Fada N'Gourma that had already left. Evidently there are bandits on the road west of Fada, and escorts only run at specific times. So he left us in the small town and told us to wait for a bus. Really great guy in the end...except that we waited until midnight (over six hours) for a bus to come along. It was the Abijan to Niamey direct, and, interestingly, it's been running nonstop for 4000 years. It was packed to the gills with people and luggage, and we ended up displacing a few people to sit on the floor. Most of the Zarmas I know go to look for money in Côte d'Ivoire (where you'll find Abijan, the main coastal city, for you Geography majors), so the only people going from Abijan to Niamey are a bunch of poor Zarmas returning in time for rainy season. The bus went about an hour down the road to Fada, where we had to get out and wait until 6 am (about four hours total) until we could get the military escort. One would think with a two hour lead, we would get into Niamey earlier than any buses direct from Ouaga, and we might have, if we hadn't had to wait for three hours at the border to pass through customs. I think that was longer than all the combined wait we had at all the customs depots in our entire trip, and our bus even greased the wheels to the tune of about 75,000 cfa ($150) to the customs agents. I refused to pay this bribe, but evidently it's pretty common at the Ouaga/Niamey road customs depot. By the time we'd gotten back to Niamey we'd been on the road a total of 46 hours. That was almost two days without a shower, without any real meals, and almost no real sleep, so needless to say we were pretty glad to get home.
But why start at the end when I can start in the middle? I haven't said anything about Ghana, and that was, after all, a big chunk of our trip. Last time I updated, we were in Hohoe, in the Eastern Region, and we were finishing up the hiking/nature part of our trip. Mary wasn't feeling well in Hohoe, so Jyoti and I went out on our own to Mt. Afadjato and Wli Falls. Mt. Afadjato is Ghana's highest peak at 885m. There's actually a higher point nearby, but because of the relation of its base to its peak, I guess whatever that one is named isn't actually considered a mountain. The hike was tough, taking about two hours, with a rock scramble/climb near the peak, but once we were at the top, the view was beautiful. In one direction, we could see out over the mountains back into Togo, and in the other, we could see all the way to Lake Volta. We had a picnic on the top and ended up back in Hohoe that night. The next day, we went out to Wli Falls. These were nice, but I preferred Akloa Falls in Togo. The Wli Falls are much better set up for tourists, with bridges across streams, wide, well-kept trails, and even trash cans. Trash cans! Irkoy beeri. We should have taken the longer hike up to the top of the falls, but we didn't have the time as we were late leaving Hohoe. It was a beautiful day for hiking, and the falls were lovely, but the coolest thing about the area around the falls is the bat population. There were literally thousands of bats hanging off the cliff during the middle of the day with a few flapping through the mists from the falls whenever they decided they needed to change position.
On the 7th of May, we left Hohoe for Accra at the ungodly hour of 4 am. It actually turned out a little better because it allowed us the full day in Accra, and let me tell you, Accra demands a full day, or in our case three. We were blown away by this city. Compared to anything else we've seen in West Africa, it's like a fully developed, Westernized city. The streets are clean and paved, there's barely any trash on the streets as a result of pretty tough litter laws (litter laws!), and everywhere you look there are modern buildings and brand new cars.
We stayed in Labone, which is where the Peace Corps Volunteers can get a discount on certain hotels. Labone is within walking distance of Osu, where all the ex-pats dine and shop and generally try to avoid the people whose country they inhabit. I'm being a little harsh, but I've developed a generally low opinion of ex-pats. Why live in a country if you just want to shop, eat, dance, and play in areas that look exactly like America or Europe? The main ex-pat supermarket looked like a European chain, where you could get Western perks like Pop-tarts (!), salami, energy drinks, and high-end chocolates like Cadbury and Toblerone. Everything is overpriced because these places, and restaurants and such like them, cater to tastes and desires of places literally a world away. Anyway, we didn't take too much advantage of these places as they were out of our price range. Mary and I went to a trivia night with some Ghana Volunteers at a Champs Sports bar. I don't think there was even one Ghanaian in that restaurant. It looked exactly like a sports bar you'd find in an American mall. It was kind of unsettling. The third day we were there we went to an Irish pub in Osu, and, again, it was like being a world away from Africa.
Our second day in Accra we decided to take a break from the city at the Aburi Botanical Gardens, about an hour outside Accra in the surrounding hills. The gardens were a British invention and house a ton of species from all over West Africa in a classic British hill station set up. Old colonial houses and manicured lawns are the order of the day, but it was more interesting than a traditional botanical garden because it was filled with oddities such as the strangler ficus, a parasitic tree that grows around, envelops, and eventually kills other trees. The one we saw was over one hundred years old. It enveloped its host around 1937, and so, now that the tree is dead and has rotted away over the years, it's left the strangler ficus with a hollow trunk, like a cylindrical tube stretching into the sky.
Our last day in Accra, we decided to hit the markets, and went to the capital's main shopping centre (no, not the mall, eventhough there is one. Yes, a MALL in Africa). Makola Market takes up several city blocks of Accra, but because we went on a Saturday, it stretched out even further on all sides with people hawking fish, fruit, vegetables, shoes, watches, and basically anything else you could ever want. I'm convinced if you searched long enough between the pig's feet and the used electronics, you'd find the Holy Grail. We moved on from there to the National Cultural Centre, where they aggressively sell crafts of every sort from drums to batik, kente to carvings. I think most tourists get taken for a ride, but I found that it is possible to get a few good deals as all the shopkeepers sell remarkably similar things, and they've got to make a living. I don't think I paid more than half their original stated price for anything they sold.
Alright, I need some lunch, so I'll post again later, but while I'm thinking about it, I've got to go on a discourse about Ghanaian food and drink. That night, after the market, we went to an Irish pub where they had Castle Milk Stout on tap. This has now become one of my favorite beers. It's way better than Guiness (at least any Guiness I've had since being in the UK), and, like everything else in Ghana, it's cheap. The beers alone were reason to come to Ghana. From Star to Castle Milk Stout, Stone's to Gulder, every single beer I tasted in Ghana was better than any single beer I'd ever had in Niger. The food consisted of staples like yam and cassava, but their sauces and sides are the tastiest I'd had in a long time. From red red (a spicy bean dish) to palaver sauce (spinach and spices), everything goes well with a side of roast chicken, and it can all be found on the street for less than $3. I'm kind of worried to go back to Nigerien hawru tomorrow night.
But why start at the end when I can start in the middle? I haven't said anything about Ghana, and that was, after all, a big chunk of our trip. Last time I updated, we were in Hohoe, in the Eastern Region, and we were finishing up the hiking/nature part of our trip. Mary wasn't feeling well in Hohoe, so Jyoti and I went out on our own to Mt. Afadjato and Wli Falls. Mt. Afadjato is Ghana's highest peak at 885m. There's actually a higher point nearby, but because of the relation of its base to its peak, I guess whatever that one is named isn't actually considered a mountain. The hike was tough, taking about two hours, with a rock scramble/climb near the peak, but once we were at the top, the view was beautiful. In one direction, we could see out over the mountains back into Togo, and in the other, we could see all the way to Lake Volta. We had a picnic on the top and ended up back in Hohoe that night. The next day, we went out to Wli Falls. These were nice, but I preferred Akloa Falls in Togo. The Wli Falls are much better set up for tourists, with bridges across streams, wide, well-kept trails, and even trash cans. Trash cans! Irkoy beeri. We should have taken the longer hike up to the top of the falls, but we didn't have the time as we were late leaving Hohoe. It was a beautiful day for hiking, and the falls were lovely, but the coolest thing about the area around the falls is the bat population. There were literally thousands of bats hanging off the cliff during the middle of the day with a few flapping through the mists from the falls whenever they decided they needed to change position.
On the 7th of May, we left Hohoe for Accra at the ungodly hour of 4 am. It actually turned out a little better because it allowed us the full day in Accra, and let me tell you, Accra demands a full day, or in our case three. We were blown away by this city. Compared to anything else we've seen in West Africa, it's like a fully developed, Westernized city. The streets are clean and paved, there's barely any trash on the streets as a result of pretty tough litter laws (litter laws!), and everywhere you look there are modern buildings and brand new cars.
We stayed in Labone, which is where the Peace Corps Volunteers can get a discount on certain hotels. Labone is within walking distance of Osu, where all the ex-pats dine and shop and generally try to avoid the people whose country they inhabit. I'm being a little harsh, but I've developed a generally low opinion of ex-pats. Why live in a country if you just want to shop, eat, dance, and play in areas that look exactly like America or Europe? The main ex-pat supermarket looked like a European chain, where you could get Western perks like Pop-tarts (!), salami, energy drinks, and high-end chocolates like Cadbury and Toblerone. Everything is overpriced because these places, and restaurants and such like them, cater to tastes and desires of places literally a world away. Anyway, we didn't take too much advantage of these places as they were out of our price range. Mary and I went to a trivia night with some Ghana Volunteers at a Champs Sports bar. I don't think there was even one Ghanaian in that restaurant. It looked exactly like a sports bar you'd find in an American mall. It was kind of unsettling. The third day we were there we went to an Irish pub in Osu, and, again, it was like being a world away from Africa.
Our second day in Accra we decided to take a break from the city at the Aburi Botanical Gardens, about an hour outside Accra in the surrounding hills. The gardens were a British invention and house a ton of species from all over West Africa in a classic British hill station set up. Old colonial houses and manicured lawns are the order of the day, but it was more interesting than a traditional botanical garden because it was filled with oddities such as the strangler ficus, a parasitic tree that grows around, envelops, and eventually kills other trees. The one we saw was over one hundred years old. It enveloped its host around 1937, and so, now that the tree is dead and has rotted away over the years, it's left the strangler ficus with a hollow trunk, like a cylindrical tube stretching into the sky.
Our last day in Accra, we decided to hit the markets, and went to the capital's main shopping centre (no, not the mall, eventhough there is one. Yes, a MALL in Africa). Makola Market takes up several city blocks of Accra, but because we went on a Saturday, it stretched out even further on all sides with people hawking fish, fruit, vegetables, shoes, watches, and basically anything else you could ever want. I'm convinced if you searched long enough between the pig's feet and the used electronics, you'd find the Holy Grail. We moved on from there to the National Cultural Centre, where they aggressively sell crafts of every sort from drums to batik, kente to carvings. I think most tourists get taken for a ride, but I found that it is possible to get a few good deals as all the shopkeepers sell remarkably similar things, and they've got to make a living. I don't think I paid more than half their original stated price for anything they sold.
Alright, I need some lunch, so I'll post again later, but while I'm thinking about it, I've got to go on a discourse about Ghanaian food and drink. That night, after the market, we went to an Irish pub where they had Castle Milk Stout on tap. This has now become one of my favorite beers. It's way better than Guiness (at least any Guiness I've had since being in the UK), and, like everything else in Ghana, it's cheap. The beers alone were reason to come to Ghana. From Star to Castle Milk Stout, Stone's to Gulder, every single beer I tasted in Ghana was better than any single beer I'd ever had in Niger. The food consisted of staples like yam and cassava, but their sauces and sides are the tastiest I'd had in a long time. From red red (a spicy bean dish) to palaver sauce (spinach and spices), everything goes well with a side of roast chicken, and it can all be found on the street for less than $3. I'm kind of worried to go back to Nigerien hawru tomorrow night.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Gone to Togo
Alright, been a little while since my last update. The towns we stayed in in Togo had bad Internet and French keyboards. I don't know which one is worse. I'm in Ghana now, back in the realm of English keyboards, so I can update everyone on my trip.
In my last post, I was in Natitingou just about to travel into Somba/Bétammaribé country. We met up with two guys named Evan and Josh who are traveling around West Africa. The started in Mauritania and flew to Cameroon and have basically been going from Peace Corps Volunteer to Peace Corps Volunteer, doing some service work and generally hanging out with people in their villages in Mauritania, Cameroon, and Benin. We went out to Boukoumbé, a village about an hour west of Natitingou down a dirt road through the mountains. Being with some guys who've been crashing at Peace Corps houses, what did we do? We crashed at a Peace Corps house! We met up with a Volunteer in the area, though I can't give her name or post because of Peace Corps security reasons. She got us in touch to sleep in a Somba house out in the bush. Let me just say, this was one of the coolest things I've ever done. It was about a two hour hike through the mountains, and because the rains have already come to Benin (still over a month away in Niger), everything was green and beautiful. The best way to describe the landscape would be to describe the Shire from Lord of the Rings. These great mountains and rolling hills hide mini-castles dotted throughout fields of corn and yam. Because we're so used to castles built on the scale of large European fortresses, it seemed like the fortresses surrounded by gigantic baobob trees should have housed numerous little people ready to defend their Lilliputian homes. Pictures will go up on facebook when I've returned to Niger. There's really not a good way to describe them that will do justice to our sleeping conditions that night.
The Bétammaribé people build their compounds in the middle of their fields, so there's no "town" per se, and because the children so rarely see white people, they really wanted to play. Evan, Mary, and I were happy to oblige. We danced, wrestled, and fired slingshots at imaginary enemies in the fields. We ended the day climbing a giant baobob and watching the sun set before eating dinner with a local family and sleeping on top of our own little fortress.
The next day, we hiked back to Boukoumbé and met the local Volunteer and another from Togo for market day. The market in Boukoumbé rotates every four days. This confused those of us from Niger who are used to weekly markets until we realized the true meeting point wasn't the market, but the tchouk bar. Tchoukou is the local Beninese millet/sorghum beer, and, like tea in Niger and other Muslim countries, it is the drink of choice for sitting and socializing. The market rotates every four days because it takes three full days to prepare the tchouk. The women pound the millet and water the first day. It's cooked and fermented over the course of the second and third days, and then it is served up in both dark and light varieties at the market on the fourth day. It's not too potent, but over the course of an afternoon in a hot, humid market place, just drinking bowls and bowls of it, it'll pick you up and put you on your ass.
We had originally planned to head into Togo that afternoon...we stayed another night.
The next day was entirely devoted to travel. We did a pretty good job taxi hopping from Boukoumbé back to Natitingou, from Natitingou to Djougou, from Djougou to Kétao for a customs checkpoint into Togo, from Kétao to Kara in Togo for lunch. We were doing really well getting into Kara in the early afternoon, and we thought we had it made for a trip to Atakpamé, getting in in the early evening and having a nice relaxing evening to prepare for a trip to Badou. Luck can swing any direction in West Africa, and if you believe at all in luck you know you can never name it or else you'll jinx it, especially in a place that plays so heavily into Voodoo/juju. We got to Sokodé and as we were leaving, three motorcycles and a car full of police officers pulled up and forbade us to leave. The driver got out to talk to them, and I wasn't suspicious at all until the helper jumped into the front seat, grabbed the papers and tried to hide them. Over an hour later, after the driver was taken away by the police, he returned, no doubt a little lighter in the wallet, and we continued to Atakpamé, arriving around 8:00 instead of at five as we had anticipated. Finding the Peace Corps house in the dark, down a street that barely exists and is not lit was interesting to say the least, but at that point, I felt like anybody who wanted to mug us would be pushing their luck pretty far.
In the morning we took off for Badou and visited the Akloa falls. These were spectacular falls in the mountains bordering Ghana. We spent the afternoon swimming and relaxing in the pool at the base of the falls before the three of us returned to our tiny little flop house of a room in a dirty shady bar near the motor park. Where else are you going to go if you're in West Africa and on a Peace Corps budget?
Togo was mostly a week of camping and visiting nature. We stayed three nights in Kpalimé, on the border with Ghana. It was probably one of the most touristed places we'd been yet, but we did have a great time. While out at dinner, Mary and I met a guy named "Momo," an African dancer who works at lot with Peace Corps and the American Embassy. The next day, he hooked us up, helping us out with stuff to do, places to eat, places to buy music, and new haircuts for the three of us. I re-mohawked myself, Jyoti just buzzed her head, and Mary is now the proud new owner of some dreads, courtesy of Momo's sister. We played with his neice, possibly one of the cutest little girls I've ever met and just generally had a good time hanging out with a friendly local. He took us into his home and made us feel just overall very welcome.
From Kpalimé we went 12k up the road to the border town of Klouto. I took my own hike with a guide through the coffee and cacao fields. It was originally meant to be a tour of the plantations, but it turned into a tour of local plants used by the artisans as natural dyes. It was very interesting, and with my mother's extensive background in fabric and dye, it wasn't entirely lost on me. It's crazy to come from the desert plains in Niger to the tropical rain forest mountains of Togo and Ghana. Whereas in Niger it's a hot, dusty silence, Togo's humid forests team with birds and insects. I didn't know it would be so NOISY. Being up in the mountains though is great. Last night was very cool and peaceful. I'd recommend Togo for anyone into music, amazing people, and crazy amounts of butterflies.
I'm in Ghana now in the town of Hohoe. We were going to go to a town about an hour away known for its kente cloth, but decided we needed to slow down a bit. There will be plenty of time for crafts when we get to Kumasi. Tomorrow we're hiking up another mountain (Mt. Afadjato, Ghana's highest at 885m) and the day after we'll be at yet ANOTHER waterfall (Wli, over 40m tall). Our hope is we'll be able to appease the nature nut with us so she won't complain when we're rumbling through Accra or lounging on the beach near Cape Coast.
Well, that's about all that I have time for right now. If it gets a little random at the end, I'd challenge you to sum up an entire weeks worth of travel in a little under an hour. After spending a few hours here, I can already tell I'm going to love Ghana. We're a little over halfway through our trip. From here, we'll be going to Accra, Cape Coast, Kumasi and then back to Niger via Burkina Faso.
Until then, bye bye Rasta man.
In my last post, I was in Natitingou just about to travel into Somba/Bétammaribé country. We met up with two guys named Evan and Josh who are traveling around West Africa. The started in Mauritania and flew to Cameroon and have basically been going from Peace Corps Volunteer to Peace Corps Volunteer, doing some service work and generally hanging out with people in their villages in Mauritania, Cameroon, and Benin. We went out to Boukoumbé, a village about an hour west of Natitingou down a dirt road through the mountains. Being with some guys who've been crashing at Peace Corps houses, what did we do? We crashed at a Peace Corps house! We met up with a Volunteer in the area, though I can't give her name or post because of Peace Corps security reasons. She got us in touch to sleep in a Somba house out in the bush. Let me just say, this was one of the coolest things I've ever done. It was about a two hour hike through the mountains, and because the rains have already come to Benin (still over a month away in Niger), everything was green and beautiful. The best way to describe the landscape would be to describe the Shire from Lord of the Rings. These great mountains and rolling hills hide mini-castles dotted throughout fields of corn and yam. Because we're so used to castles built on the scale of large European fortresses, it seemed like the fortresses surrounded by gigantic baobob trees should have housed numerous little people ready to defend their Lilliputian homes. Pictures will go up on facebook when I've returned to Niger. There's really not a good way to describe them that will do justice to our sleeping conditions that night.
The Bétammaribé people build their compounds in the middle of their fields, so there's no "town" per se, and because the children so rarely see white people, they really wanted to play. Evan, Mary, and I were happy to oblige. We danced, wrestled, and fired slingshots at imaginary enemies in the fields. We ended the day climbing a giant baobob and watching the sun set before eating dinner with a local family and sleeping on top of our own little fortress.
The next day, we hiked back to Boukoumbé and met the local Volunteer and another from Togo for market day. The market in Boukoumbé rotates every four days. This confused those of us from Niger who are used to weekly markets until we realized the true meeting point wasn't the market, but the tchouk bar. Tchoukou is the local Beninese millet/sorghum beer, and, like tea in Niger and other Muslim countries, it is the drink of choice for sitting and socializing. The market rotates every four days because it takes three full days to prepare the tchouk. The women pound the millet and water the first day. It's cooked and fermented over the course of the second and third days, and then it is served up in both dark and light varieties at the market on the fourth day. It's not too potent, but over the course of an afternoon in a hot, humid market place, just drinking bowls and bowls of it, it'll pick you up and put you on your ass.
We had originally planned to head into Togo that afternoon...we stayed another night.
The next day was entirely devoted to travel. We did a pretty good job taxi hopping from Boukoumbé back to Natitingou, from Natitingou to Djougou, from Djougou to Kétao for a customs checkpoint into Togo, from Kétao to Kara in Togo for lunch. We were doing really well getting into Kara in the early afternoon, and we thought we had it made for a trip to Atakpamé, getting in in the early evening and having a nice relaxing evening to prepare for a trip to Badou. Luck can swing any direction in West Africa, and if you believe at all in luck you know you can never name it or else you'll jinx it, especially in a place that plays so heavily into Voodoo/juju. We got to Sokodé and as we were leaving, three motorcycles and a car full of police officers pulled up and forbade us to leave. The driver got out to talk to them, and I wasn't suspicious at all until the helper jumped into the front seat, grabbed the papers and tried to hide them. Over an hour later, after the driver was taken away by the police, he returned, no doubt a little lighter in the wallet, and we continued to Atakpamé, arriving around 8:00 instead of at five as we had anticipated. Finding the Peace Corps house in the dark, down a street that barely exists and is not lit was interesting to say the least, but at that point, I felt like anybody who wanted to mug us would be pushing their luck pretty far.
In the morning we took off for Badou and visited the Akloa falls. These were spectacular falls in the mountains bordering Ghana. We spent the afternoon swimming and relaxing in the pool at the base of the falls before the three of us returned to our tiny little flop house of a room in a dirty shady bar near the motor park. Where else are you going to go if you're in West Africa and on a Peace Corps budget?
Togo was mostly a week of camping and visiting nature. We stayed three nights in Kpalimé, on the border with Ghana. It was probably one of the most touristed places we'd been yet, but we did have a great time. While out at dinner, Mary and I met a guy named "Momo," an African dancer who works at lot with Peace Corps and the American Embassy. The next day, he hooked us up, helping us out with stuff to do, places to eat, places to buy music, and new haircuts for the three of us. I re-mohawked myself, Jyoti just buzzed her head, and Mary is now the proud new owner of some dreads, courtesy of Momo's sister. We played with his neice, possibly one of the cutest little girls I've ever met and just generally had a good time hanging out with a friendly local. He took us into his home and made us feel just overall very welcome.
From Kpalimé we went 12k up the road to the border town of Klouto. I took my own hike with a guide through the coffee and cacao fields. It was originally meant to be a tour of the plantations, but it turned into a tour of local plants used by the artisans as natural dyes. It was very interesting, and with my mother's extensive background in fabric and dye, it wasn't entirely lost on me. It's crazy to come from the desert plains in Niger to the tropical rain forest mountains of Togo and Ghana. Whereas in Niger it's a hot, dusty silence, Togo's humid forests team with birds and insects. I didn't know it would be so NOISY. Being up in the mountains though is great. Last night was very cool and peaceful. I'd recommend Togo for anyone into music, amazing people, and crazy amounts of butterflies.
I'm in Ghana now in the town of Hohoe. We were going to go to a town about an hour away known for its kente cloth, but decided we needed to slow down a bit. There will be plenty of time for crafts when we get to Kumasi. Tomorrow we're hiking up another mountain (Mt. Afadjato, Ghana's highest at 885m) and the day after we'll be at yet ANOTHER waterfall (Wli, over 40m tall). Our hope is we'll be able to appease the nature nut with us so she won't complain when we're rumbling through Accra or lounging on the beach near Cape Coast.
Well, that's about all that I have time for right now. If it gets a little random at the end, I'd challenge you to sum up an entire weeks worth of travel in a little under an hour. After spending a few hours here, I can already tell I'm going to love Ghana. We're a little over halfway through our trip. From here, we'll be going to Accra, Cape Coast, Kumasi and then back to Niger via Burkina Faso.
Until then, bye bye Rasta man.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Bein' in Benin
A week into my first vacation away from Niger. It's been fun, it's been exhausting, but it feels great to get away from that heat.
We crossed into Malanville, on the border with Niger, across the river from Gaya, where Peace Corps has an education Volunteer posted. There were many clauses in that sentence but bear with me. Gaya is the greenest part of Niger. It is the furthest south and gets the most rain, so it's like paradise for most Volunteers who have never left country. As we traveled south through Benin, though, through Kandi and Parakou all the way down to Bohicon, the greenery blew everything Niger has out of the water (If Niger actually had any water, this might be applicable, but again, bear with me). From the savannah grasslands, we slowly worked our way south through the Atakaora Mountains and into dense forest and even jungle. Along the way we saw mountains of mangos, both for sale and just as trash. Benin's farmers have already started planting yams and corn, something which is still at least a month away for Nigerien millet farmers. Just from a bus ride on the main highway we could tell were in the land of milk and honey.
Our first stop was in Abomey, about ten hours south of Malanville and the Niger border. We traveled Inter City bus lines. These buses are brand new and better than anything we have in Niger. Air conditioning, padded seats, leg room, and all the poorly dubbed, bad Brazilian soap operas you could want. And who could resist "Le Retour de Beyonce" (not the singer). Like I said, milk and honey. Abomey is the capital of the old Dahomey empire. The Dahomeyans were a bloody lot. Each king had a birthright to leave a larger territory for his successor. They were constantly at war, and they did a pretty good job of things. By the time the Portugese and the French arrived, the Dahomeyans were in control of most of the country, and their power only expanded with the slave trade. The Dahomeyan empire worked with the Europeans to capture slaves. The more slaves they brought, the more guns, tobacco, and alcohol the Dahomeyans received. At its height, they were moving 20,000 slaves a year through the ports of Ouidah, Grand Popo, and Porto Novo. The kings were unbelievably brutal to their enemies and to friends who no longer entertained them. We saw torture devices, chains, cannons, and all sorts of blood and gore. King Guézo's throne was mounted on the heads of four former enemies. The walls to the fortresses were said to be painted in blood. Unfortunately, not many of these fortresses are still around. Of the twelve original palaces, ten no longer exist, and the city of Abomey is on the UN's list of Endangered World Heritage Sites. The palace in the best condition is that of King Glèlè, which boasts beautiful, though grotesque, bas-relief sculptures depicting the various torture methods employed by the Dahomey empire. He was succeeded by his son Béhanzin, the last king of the last traditional empire in Africa. The French, their colonial power growing, found an excuse in the Dahomeyan "savagery" and, with superior weaponry and tactics, defeated the Dahomeyans, despite their corps of elite fighting women, the only true force of Amazons in history.
From Abomey, we headed down to Cotonou to pick up our visas for Ghana. Cotonou is a ridiculous city. It's the busiest, noisiest, smoggiest city I've ever been too, and that includes New York and London. It seems like every third person has a motorcycle, and all are simultaneously attempting to drive them as fast as possible. We've run into a lot of Peace Corps Volunteers here, even staying a few nights in their bureau workspace, and they have been so more than helpful. They helped with our Ghana visas, found us some great food (Indian, Thai, and Lebanese, it's been so long!), and just generally were great, amazingly friendly people (as most Peace Corps Volunteers are). We took day trips out to the capital Porto Novo, which is really only the capital in name, as everything happens in Cotonou, and to Ouidah, a voodoo stronghold. The south has a lot of great colonial architecture, with Portugese, French, and Brazilian influences. Also, the Voodoo around here is very prevalent. As much as 50% of Beninois claim Voodun as their religion, though I think just about everyone incorporates it into their belief struture at least somewhat.
Now we're in Natitingou in Northern Benin after renting a car for the day with three other Volunteers. Natitingou is in the mountains, and it's beautiful here. It's so much cooler and less humid than anywhere else we've been. Today we took a day trip out to Tanguieta and then to Tanougou to see the waterfalls. The falls are just south of a major safari destination in Park Penjari, but we cannot go because of the expense. We did have a good time exploring the mountains and swimming in the pools, so despite not seeing lions or elephants, we can't complain too much. Tomorrow we'll be heading out for Boukoumbé, on the border with Togo to see the traditional houses of the Betamaribé people, also known as the Somba. They successfully defended themselves from Dahomeyan slave traders because they live spread out in their fields in fortress-like compounds. They store all of their food in granaries within the towers of their houses, so they could hole up for months without any problems. In short, they were too difficult to capture for most slavers. From there we'll cross the border into Togo, and the second week of our vacation will commence. Until then, au revoir.
We crossed into Malanville, on the border with Niger, across the river from Gaya, where Peace Corps has an education Volunteer posted. There were many clauses in that sentence but bear with me. Gaya is the greenest part of Niger. It is the furthest south and gets the most rain, so it's like paradise for most Volunteers who have never left country. As we traveled south through Benin, though, through Kandi and Parakou all the way down to Bohicon, the greenery blew everything Niger has out of the water (If Niger actually had any water, this might be applicable, but again, bear with me). From the savannah grasslands, we slowly worked our way south through the Atakaora Mountains and into dense forest and even jungle. Along the way we saw mountains of mangos, both for sale and just as trash. Benin's farmers have already started planting yams and corn, something which is still at least a month away for Nigerien millet farmers. Just from a bus ride on the main highway we could tell were in the land of milk and honey.
Our first stop was in Abomey, about ten hours south of Malanville and the Niger border. We traveled Inter City bus lines. These buses are brand new and better than anything we have in Niger. Air conditioning, padded seats, leg room, and all the poorly dubbed, bad Brazilian soap operas you could want. And who could resist "Le Retour de Beyonce" (not the singer). Like I said, milk and honey. Abomey is the capital of the old Dahomey empire. The Dahomeyans were a bloody lot. Each king had a birthright to leave a larger territory for his successor. They were constantly at war, and they did a pretty good job of things. By the time the Portugese and the French arrived, the Dahomeyans were in control of most of the country, and their power only expanded with the slave trade. The Dahomeyan empire worked with the Europeans to capture slaves. The more slaves they brought, the more guns, tobacco, and alcohol the Dahomeyans received. At its height, they were moving 20,000 slaves a year through the ports of Ouidah, Grand Popo, and Porto Novo. The kings were unbelievably brutal to their enemies and to friends who no longer entertained them. We saw torture devices, chains, cannons, and all sorts of blood and gore. King Guézo's throne was mounted on the heads of four former enemies. The walls to the fortresses were said to be painted in blood. Unfortunately, not many of these fortresses are still around. Of the twelve original palaces, ten no longer exist, and the city of Abomey is on the UN's list of Endangered World Heritage Sites. The palace in the best condition is that of King Glèlè, which boasts beautiful, though grotesque, bas-relief sculptures depicting the various torture methods employed by the Dahomey empire. He was succeeded by his son Béhanzin, the last king of the last traditional empire in Africa. The French, their colonial power growing, found an excuse in the Dahomeyan "savagery" and, with superior weaponry and tactics, defeated the Dahomeyans, despite their corps of elite fighting women, the only true force of Amazons in history.
From Abomey, we headed down to Cotonou to pick up our visas for Ghana. Cotonou is a ridiculous city. It's the busiest, noisiest, smoggiest city I've ever been too, and that includes New York and London. It seems like every third person has a motorcycle, and all are simultaneously attempting to drive them as fast as possible. We've run into a lot of Peace Corps Volunteers here, even staying a few nights in their bureau workspace, and they have been so more than helpful. They helped with our Ghana visas, found us some great food (Indian, Thai, and Lebanese, it's been so long!), and just generally were great, amazingly friendly people (as most Peace Corps Volunteers are). We took day trips out to the capital Porto Novo, which is really only the capital in name, as everything happens in Cotonou, and to Ouidah, a voodoo stronghold. The south has a lot of great colonial architecture, with Portugese, French, and Brazilian influences. Also, the Voodoo around here is very prevalent. As much as 50% of Beninois claim Voodun as their religion, though I think just about everyone incorporates it into their belief struture at least somewhat.
Now we're in Natitingou in Northern Benin after renting a car for the day with three other Volunteers. Natitingou is in the mountains, and it's beautiful here. It's so much cooler and less humid than anywhere else we've been. Today we took a day trip out to Tanguieta and then to Tanougou to see the waterfalls. The falls are just south of a major safari destination in Park Penjari, but we cannot go because of the expense. We did have a good time exploring the mountains and swimming in the pools, so despite not seeing lions or elephants, we can't complain too much. Tomorrow we'll be heading out for Boukoumbé, on the border with Togo to see the traditional houses of the Betamaribé people, also known as the Somba. They successfully defended themselves from Dahomeyan slave traders because they live spread out in their fields in fortress-like compounds. They store all of their food in granaries within the towers of their houses, so they could hole up for months without any problems. In short, they were too difficult to capture for most slavers. From there we'll cross the border into Togo, and the second week of our vacation will commence. Until then, au revoir.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Isolation and Vacation
Hello all. Apologies for the inexcusable lack of posts lately. I've been back in village hiding from the terrorists. Would you know it, the village hasn't gotten around to installing wireless yet. Lazy is what I say. Though maybe they need the electricity and the running water before they start worrying about checking their email.
I never introduced the restrictions, and for that I apologize. I actually lost the sheet that spelled them all out. What it basically comes down to is that I have to maintain as low a profile as possible. That means, to the American embassy, that I cannot leave my village more than once a month. I can go to market because it is only a kilometer away. I cannot go to any of the other villages along the road, or go to see my friends at the French government site. I'm not allowed to go north or west of the paved road, which is unfortunate because it means I cannot explore the mesas looming over my village, and I will have to find new fields come rainy season. (But I have been cleared if I farm with my villagers, which could be fun. I might take that into consideration.) Only Nigerien staff members can visit my site, and only if they take a bush taxi. No American government vehicles are allowed to go up my road. This includes diplomatic missions, Peace Corps, and USAID. In addition, no Volunteer is allowed to visit, and the two younger Volunteers, my closest neighbors were both forced to relocate villages in the Dosso region. So I am now 120km away from anyone, not allowed to go anywhere, nor allowed to see any other Americans for weeks at a time. It's just me, my village, and my villagers.
So how's it been? Surprisingly, not as bad as I had thought. My integration has skyrocketed. Indeed, it had no choice but to get better as I never see anyone else. I only speak English when my family calls or when I talk to myself (which happens disturbingly often these days. I really hope my villagers don't think I'm schizo or possessed by spirits or something). My Zarma has gotten pretty strong. I'm confident in it, and I've begun relearning French. This is a bit harder because the African accent tends to chew all the words together.
I've also started real work in village. My gardens all died while I was away because my gardener friend didn't bother to water them. I guess he thought I wasn't coming back. But I've been working with my women's group to improve their large garden, and I have also started work on a school garden. By July, I'll be teaching small children gardening, health, and nutrition. I don't know why they allowed me near children, but it's pretty hard to warp minds in a different language. Rainy season will be busy, what with the women's garden project, the school garden, and my fields.
But for now, it's hot season. It hasn't been too bad, but the seasonal calendar basically eliminates any work for an agriculture Volunteer at this point in time. If my gardens hadn't died I could still have tomatoes and peppers, but there's no use crying over dead plants. I've not been doing a whole lot. I occasionally take morning walks around Damana, but it's getting too hot for much activity. I had one run-in with heat stress which basically shut down my body's internal thermostat. Not too fun. So I've just been chillin' in the shade, visiting my friends, and chatting. I've started playing soccer with the teachers and older students in the evening. You want a workout, try playing football/soccer with anyone in a developing country. They're so freaking good. Playing in the desert is about like snorting sand, but you get used to it. Anytime a large chunk of cow sh*t can change the outcome of the game, well you know you're bound to have fun.
And now I'm in Niamey because I'm going on vacation in three days. I'm so excited. This is my first vacation. I've been in village for over a year now. (!) My how time flies. Three of us are going down to Benin, Togo, and Ghana, with a return trip through Burkina Faso. We'll escape the Nigerien heat, as all these countries are cooler because of the coast. We'll also be in the mountains, on the beach, in Ghana's lake district, Togo's coffee country, and Benin's voodoo regions. All this and slave history to boot. Don't you wish you could come along?
Well that's about all I have the patience for right now. Hope everyone out there is safe and happy. Until next time.
Sterling
I never introduced the restrictions, and for that I apologize. I actually lost the sheet that spelled them all out. What it basically comes down to is that I have to maintain as low a profile as possible. That means, to the American embassy, that I cannot leave my village more than once a month. I can go to market because it is only a kilometer away. I cannot go to any of the other villages along the road, or go to see my friends at the French government site. I'm not allowed to go north or west of the paved road, which is unfortunate because it means I cannot explore the mesas looming over my village, and I will have to find new fields come rainy season. (But I have been cleared if I farm with my villagers, which could be fun. I might take that into consideration.) Only Nigerien staff members can visit my site, and only if they take a bush taxi. No American government vehicles are allowed to go up my road. This includes diplomatic missions, Peace Corps, and USAID. In addition, no Volunteer is allowed to visit, and the two younger Volunteers, my closest neighbors were both forced to relocate villages in the Dosso region. So I am now 120km away from anyone, not allowed to go anywhere, nor allowed to see any other Americans for weeks at a time. It's just me, my village, and my villagers.
So how's it been? Surprisingly, not as bad as I had thought. My integration has skyrocketed. Indeed, it had no choice but to get better as I never see anyone else. I only speak English when my family calls or when I talk to myself (which happens disturbingly often these days. I really hope my villagers don't think I'm schizo or possessed by spirits or something). My Zarma has gotten pretty strong. I'm confident in it, and I've begun relearning French. This is a bit harder because the African accent tends to chew all the words together.
I've also started real work in village. My gardens all died while I was away because my gardener friend didn't bother to water them. I guess he thought I wasn't coming back. But I've been working with my women's group to improve their large garden, and I have also started work on a school garden. By July, I'll be teaching small children gardening, health, and nutrition. I don't know why they allowed me near children, but it's pretty hard to warp minds in a different language. Rainy season will be busy, what with the women's garden project, the school garden, and my fields.
But for now, it's hot season. It hasn't been too bad, but the seasonal calendar basically eliminates any work for an agriculture Volunteer at this point in time. If my gardens hadn't died I could still have tomatoes and peppers, but there's no use crying over dead plants. I've not been doing a whole lot. I occasionally take morning walks around Damana, but it's getting too hot for much activity. I had one run-in with heat stress which basically shut down my body's internal thermostat. Not too fun. So I've just been chillin' in the shade, visiting my friends, and chatting. I've started playing soccer with the teachers and older students in the evening. You want a workout, try playing football/soccer with anyone in a developing country. They're so freaking good. Playing in the desert is about like snorting sand, but you get used to it. Anytime a large chunk of cow sh*t can change the outcome of the game, well you know you're bound to have fun.
And now I'm in Niamey because I'm going on vacation in three days. I'm so excited. This is my first vacation. I've been in village for over a year now. (!) My how time flies. Three of us are going down to Benin, Togo, and Ghana, with a return trip through Burkina Faso. We'll escape the Nigerien heat, as all these countries are cooler because of the coast. We'll also be in the mountains, on the beach, in Ghana's lake district, Togo's coffee country, and Benin's voodoo regions. All this and slave history to boot. Don't you wish you could come along?
Well that's about all I have the patience for right now. Hope everyone out there is safe and happy. Until next time.
Sterling
Monday, March 2, 2009
Terrorism and a New Life (2)
Alright class, has everyone done their assigned reading? Good, I'll be able to continue then.
The end of January, I received a text from our Regional Representative, the Volunteer liason between the bureau and the other Volunteers in Tillaberi region. She said the entire region north of Niamey was on standfast. This means we cannot leave our villages or travel around our clusters. Wherever we happen to be when standfast occurs, be it in our village or another Volunteers, that's where we have to stay. It was a let down because I had planned to come into Niamey to attend a friend's concert, but since I couldn't go, I didn't mind a few extra days at post. Four days later, I was walking out my door when I heard my phone ringing.
"That's strange, who could be calling me?" I picked up my phone: "Mary Abrahms" (our country director). "Oh this cannot be good." (Is it ever a good thing when your boss calls you unexpectedly?)
She told me that because of recent incidents (which I still did not have any definite idea about as no news reports were covering the kidnappings), she was consolidating the Tillaberi and Baleyara clusters. What that means is that the office considered staying in our posts too dangerous and we would have to come into our regional capital (in this case, Niamey) for an unknown amount of time. Now, this is a huge step to take for a country director, and an event I didn't think I would ever really witness. We have three steps in our emergency action plan in Peace Corps: standfast, consolidation, and evacuation. We were suddenly one step away from leaving country. Mary told me to pack for at least 10 - 14 days in Niamey, perhaps longer, to say good bye to my neighbors and explain where I was going. This was big, but at the time I did not know how much this would change my service.
I said goodbye to my neighbors. I gave the key to my house to my maigari and said, "Well, I have to go to Niamey, they're afraid we're all going to get kidnapped by bandits. Haha!" He said, "No one's going to kidnap you, you don't have any money."
It was a big joke at the time, but I couldn't have known then was that I would join ten other PCVs in a meeting with the Country Director, in which she would outline the severity of the situation in Niger. The two separate kidnappings were most likely linked. The American Embassy had initiated a travel ban on the Tillaberi and Filingue roads. To put this in perspective, the only other travel ban in country is in the area around Agadez, where the Tuareg ethnic group has been in rebellion against the government for increased autonomy for nearly two years now. Our Country Director explained that she had classified information from the French, Nigerien, American, and Malian authorities which she couldn't share with us, but that the kidnappings seemed to target Westerners. The area we inhabit is basically lawless. The Nigerien government just doesn't have the resources to adequately monitor the vast swathes of mostly unoccupied desert and scrubland. In the past 7 years, other kidnappings have occurred, including a grouop of 32 European tourists in 2003 and an Austrian couple in 2007 who were ransomed for $10 million. Additionally she told us that bandits had actually robbed an entire town a few years ago, rolling in with guns on open back trucks and escaping before any gendarmes could be mobilized to help. The situation did not look good, and Mary posed a possibility that none of us expected: new villages in a different region. There was no guarantee we'd be able to return to our villages, or ever see our villagers again.
We were encouraged to travel out east. In the past five weeks I have visited every Peace Corps region in Niger. I've been to Dosso, Konni, Tahoua, Maradi, and Zinder. I've visited Volunteers from my stage that I hadn't seen in months. It was great to travel around and see almost the entire country, but the more I traveled, the more I just wanted to go home, my home, on the Baleyara road, the place I had made my own over ten months. My area is amazing because it mixes four of the major ethnic groups in Niger: the Zarma, Fulani, Bella Tuareg, and Hausas. The area is so liberal and progressive compared to every other place I went, and in every village I visited, I noticed that many other villages had so much more NGO work than my area. I felt like if I had to leave that I would be abandoning my friends and my adoptive family. I couldn't do it. I couldn't imagine myself living anywhere else, and I would do anything to go back.
After three weeks out of our villages, Mary called us all together again and gave us three options. We could go back to our villages, with several restrictions, which I will enumerate later. We could move to a new village in a new region and basically start over again. The final option was to leave country, to take interrupted service with the hope that the situation would calm down and we'd be able to return to our villages. Five Volunteers in their first year of service decided to move to the Dosso region and take new villages. The six of us in our second year all decided to stay under restrictions that make us completely isolated and independent and nearly incapable of initiating projects that required any outside intervention.
I've decided to return back to village. It's going to be a very different, very difficult service, but I couldn't abandon my village. I came to Niger to do two years in one village, to learn and to grow from my friends and neighbors, and I could not give up on that. I'll post the restrictions soon. They're pretty tough. I can't fully communicate how stressful, emotional, and crazy this past month has been. Even Volunteers in Niger can barely comprehend what we eleven had to go through. Imagine that you were forcibly evicted from your community without a chance to say goodbye. That's only one of the issues tied up in this entire situation. God willing, I'll go back to village tomorrow. After that I will not be able to post on this blog very often. I think I'll be mailing blog entries to my dad to post on this blog. Anyone worried, I'm confident I'll be perfectly safe in my village. Like I said, there are a lot of emotions tied up in this decision to return, but I have to believe I've made the right decision, and I have to follow through with it.
The end of January, I received a text from our Regional Representative, the Volunteer liason between the bureau and the other Volunteers in Tillaberi region. She said the entire region north of Niamey was on standfast. This means we cannot leave our villages or travel around our clusters. Wherever we happen to be when standfast occurs, be it in our village or another Volunteers, that's where we have to stay. It was a let down because I had planned to come into Niamey to attend a friend's concert, but since I couldn't go, I didn't mind a few extra days at post. Four days later, I was walking out my door when I heard my phone ringing.
"That's strange, who could be calling me?" I picked up my phone: "Mary Abrahms" (our country director). "Oh this cannot be good." (Is it ever a good thing when your boss calls you unexpectedly?)
She told me that because of recent incidents (which I still did not have any definite idea about as no news reports were covering the kidnappings), she was consolidating the Tillaberi and Baleyara clusters. What that means is that the office considered staying in our posts too dangerous and we would have to come into our regional capital (in this case, Niamey) for an unknown amount of time. Now, this is a huge step to take for a country director, and an event I didn't think I would ever really witness. We have three steps in our emergency action plan in Peace Corps: standfast, consolidation, and evacuation. We were suddenly one step away from leaving country. Mary told me to pack for at least 10 - 14 days in Niamey, perhaps longer, to say good bye to my neighbors and explain where I was going. This was big, but at the time I did not know how much this would change my service.
I said goodbye to my neighbors. I gave the key to my house to my maigari and said, "Well, I have to go to Niamey, they're afraid we're all going to get kidnapped by bandits. Haha!" He said, "No one's going to kidnap you, you don't have any money."
It was a big joke at the time, but I couldn't have known then was that I would join ten other PCVs in a meeting with the Country Director, in which she would outline the severity of the situation in Niger. The two separate kidnappings were most likely linked. The American Embassy had initiated a travel ban on the Tillaberi and Filingue roads. To put this in perspective, the only other travel ban in country is in the area around Agadez, where the Tuareg ethnic group has been in rebellion against the government for increased autonomy for nearly two years now. Our Country Director explained that she had classified information from the French, Nigerien, American, and Malian authorities which she couldn't share with us, but that the kidnappings seemed to target Westerners. The area we inhabit is basically lawless. The Nigerien government just doesn't have the resources to adequately monitor the vast swathes of mostly unoccupied desert and scrubland. In the past 7 years, other kidnappings have occurred, including a grouop of 32 European tourists in 2003 and an Austrian couple in 2007 who were ransomed for $10 million. Additionally she told us that bandits had actually robbed an entire town a few years ago, rolling in with guns on open back trucks and escaping before any gendarmes could be mobilized to help. The situation did not look good, and Mary posed a possibility that none of us expected: new villages in a different region. There was no guarantee we'd be able to return to our villages, or ever see our villagers again.
We were encouraged to travel out east. In the past five weeks I have visited every Peace Corps region in Niger. I've been to Dosso, Konni, Tahoua, Maradi, and Zinder. I've visited Volunteers from my stage that I hadn't seen in months. It was great to travel around and see almost the entire country, but the more I traveled, the more I just wanted to go home, my home, on the Baleyara road, the place I had made my own over ten months. My area is amazing because it mixes four of the major ethnic groups in Niger: the Zarma, Fulani, Bella Tuareg, and Hausas. The area is so liberal and progressive compared to every other place I went, and in every village I visited, I noticed that many other villages had so much more NGO work than my area. I felt like if I had to leave that I would be abandoning my friends and my adoptive family. I couldn't do it. I couldn't imagine myself living anywhere else, and I would do anything to go back.
After three weeks out of our villages, Mary called us all together again and gave us three options. We could go back to our villages, with several restrictions, which I will enumerate later. We could move to a new village in a new region and basically start over again. The final option was to leave country, to take interrupted service with the hope that the situation would calm down and we'd be able to return to our villages. Five Volunteers in their first year of service decided to move to the Dosso region and take new villages. The six of us in our second year all decided to stay under restrictions that make us completely isolated and independent and nearly incapable of initiating projects that required any outside intervention.
I've decided to return back to village. It's going to be a very different, very difficult service, but I couldn't abandon my village. I came to Niger to do two years in one village, to learn and to grow from my friends and neighbors, and I could not give up on that. I'll post the restrictions soon. They're pretty tough. I can't fully communicate how stressful, emotional, and crazy this past month has been. Even Volunteers in Niger can barely comprehend what we eleven had to go through. Imagine that you were forcibly evicted from your community without a chance to say goodbye. That's only one of the issues tied up in this entire situation. God willing, I'll go back to village tomorrow. After that I will not be able to post on this blog very often. I think I'll be mailing blog entries to my dad to post on this blog. Anyone worried, I'm confident I'll be perfectly safe in my village. Like I said, there are a lot of emotions tied up in this decision to return, but I have to believe I've made the right decision, and I have to follow through with it.
Terrorism and a New Life
So...it's been a long time since I've updated. I've actually been around a computer all that time and not felt able to post about any of it. The last post was actually after the consolidation, but it's been too emotional a time to really cover it.
The gist is that in December the UN Envoy to Niger was kidnapped 40k north of Niamey with his friend and a driver. All the valuables were left with the car. He just seemed to disappear. Six weeks later four tourists were kidnapped 75k north of my village. They were traveling in a convoy and returning from a Tuareg cultural festival in Mali. Again, the cars and valuables were left and the Africans traveling with them were not taken.
You know what. I can't do this right now. Here's a link to the article. I'll get back to you.
http://www.niger1.com/alqaedaniger.html
The gist is that in December the UN Envoy to Niger was kidnapped 40k north of Niamey with his friend and a driver. All the valuables were left with the car. He just seemed to disappear. Six weeks later four tourists were kidnapped 75k north of my village. They were traveling in a convoy and returning from a Tuareg cultural festival in Mali. Again, the cars and valuables were left and the Africans traveling with them were not taken.
You know what. I can't do this right now. Here's a link to the article. I'll get back to you.
http://www.niger1.com/alqaedaniger.html
Saturday, January 31, 2009
One Month in One Post
Apologies. It's been quite a while since I last updated, hopefully the five posts from December can make up for it. I've been at site since Christmas, and obviously that means I've been out of touch via Internet. Right now I'm in Niamey. Some European tourists were kidnapped north of Tillaberi, and so some of us Volunteers have been brought to our regional capital as a safeguard. Let me assure any of you that might be worried, this is a precaution only. I think every Volunteer is so integrated into their community that his/her neighbors would be willing to take a bullet for them, but the surrounding areas may not be as secure. I may be updating a lot more in the next few days as I'll be in Niamey working on projects, etc. For now though, I'll just post a journal entry from about a week ago. Enjoy
It's very very cold. The wind has blown all day, completely obscuring the mesa and the dune because it carries with it so much dust. (To give some perspective, imagine living at the foot of a mountain and being unable to see it. There's so much dust, the sky is a uniform white color, and the sun is like a weak spotlight with a diffusion lens.) The only thing I've done all day is read, sleep, and listen to the wind howl. It's been glorious, and I don't feel bad about it because my cat and my maigari have refused to leave the house in this cold weather.
Without even meaning to, I've been running myself ragged for the past week or more. I've been sick, which has certainly contributed to a great deal of fatigue, and I've been holding meetings, gardening, visiting, and working throughout all that fatigue. I held a Participatory Analysis for Community Assesment (PACA) meeting with my women's group a week ago. It's a way to determine what the villagers see as their greatest needs and how those needs may be met by either the Volunteer or an organization. The meeting was long and tiresome, but it helped so much to be able to see (or hear) all the things I'd thought about communicated by my women. It lasted four hours, but even with distractions, we got a lot accomplished.
The sickness is, God willing, nearly over. It started with horribly swollen lymph nodes and a headache that kept me down for a solid day. Everytime I got up, it felt like Quasimodo was ringing the bells with a sledgehammer. That abated with some rest, but it was followed by a sore throat that kept me from speech and a sore neck that meant my head had all the mobility of a Ken doll.
I think the sickness is now over, but it's hard to tell with so much dust in the air if I'll continue to improve. The fatigue kept me sleeping nearly 12 hours a night. My social skills plummeted as I spent a large part of the day napping too. It's just a pain really. I calculated it up, and I found out that I'd had, on average, a new sickness every 6 weeks or so since I've been in country. Fun!
I road my bike 17k up the road to a French government site used to rehabilitate problem children from Paris. They are the worst of the worst, and they're given the choice of prison or Niger. Once here, they're put to work gardening, working with the local hospital, and coming to realize that their lives in a developed world, though hard, far outstrip the average in a place like this. At the site I met a man named Aurelian and a woman named Mariama, two of the teachers associated with the French site. They gave me a full tour of the project's numerous side projects. Aurelian is a Hausa from Zinder, who used to be the head at INRAN, a government agriculture agency. With the French funding, he set up a garden for 90+ families to plant potatoes during cold season for income generation and personal consumption. Mariama is a doctor, and together with Aurelian, they've set up a compound to train women in gardening techniques.
I'm convinced more and more that it's people like Aurelian, Mariama, and Hamani (the teacher who led my PACA meeting) who ultimately are the most effective elements of change. It's because they are part of their communities, a lasting part, that is dedicated to helping their communities better themselves. They know how to navigate their own waters better than an outsider ever could.
I'm kind of worried in some ways. I think I'm in real danger of becoming an active, productive member of society because of Peace Corps. Who could have seen that coming? But these development issues, the problems, and solutions actually interest me. I never thought they would, but here I am, in Africa, trying to get things started.
It's very very cold. The wind has blown all day, completely obscuring the mesa and the dune because it carries with it so much dust. (To give some perspective, imagine living at the foot of a mountain and being unable to see it. There's so much dust, the sky is a uniform white color, and the sun is like a weak spotlight with a diffusion lens.) The only thing I've done all day is read, sleep, and listen to the wind howl. It's been glorious, and I don't feel bad about it because my cat and my maigari have refused to leave the house in this cold weather.
Without even meaning to, I've been running myself ragged for the past week or more. I've been sick, which has certainly contributed to a great deal of fatigue, and I've been holding meetings, gardening, visiting, and working throughout all that fatigue. I held a Participatory Analysis for Community Assesment (PACA) meeting with my women's group a week ago. It's a way to determine what the villagers see as their greatest needs and how those needs may be met by either the Volunteer or an organization. The meeting was long and tiresome, but it helped so much to be able to see (or hear) all the things I'd thought about communicated by my women. It lasted four hours, but even with distractions, we got a lot accomplished.
The sickness is, God willing, nearly over. It started with horribly swollen lymph nodes and a headache that kept me down for a solid day. Everytime I got up, it felt like Quasimodo was ringing the bells with a sledgehammer. That abated with some rest, but it was followed by a sore throat that kept me from speech and a sore neck that meant my head had all the mobility of a Ken doll.
I think the sickness is now over, but it's hard to tell with so much dust in the air if I'll continue to improve. The fatigue kept me sleeping nearly 12 hours a night. My social skills plummeted as I spent a large part of the day napping too. It's just a pain really. I calculated it up, and I found out that I'd had, on average, a new sickness every 6 weeks or so since I've been in country. Fun!
I road my bike 17k up the road to a French government site used to rehabilitate problem children from Paris. They are the worst of the worst, and they're given the choice of prison or Niger. Once here, they're put to work gardening, working with the local hospital, and coming to realize that their lives in a developed world, though hard, far outstrip the average in a place like this. At the site I met a man named Aurelian and a woman named Mariama, two of the teachers associated with the French site. They gave me a full tour of the project's numerous side projects. Aurelian is a Hausa from Zinder, who used to be the head at INRAN, a government agriculture agency. With the French funding, he set up a garden for 90+ families to plant potatoes during cold season for income generation and personal consumption. Mariama is a doctor, and together with Aurelian, they've set up a compound to train women in gardening techniques.
I'm convinced more and more that it's people like Aurelian, Mariama, and Hamani (the teacher who led my PACA meeting) who ultimately are the most effective elements of change. It's because they are part of their communities, a lasting part, that is dedicated to helping their communities better themselves. They know how to navigate their own waters better than an outsider ever could.
I'm kind of worried in some ways. I think I'm in real danger of becoming an active, productive member of society because of Peace Corps. Who could have seen that coming? But these development issues, the problems, and solutions actually interest me. I never thought they would, but here I am, in Africa, trying to get things started.
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