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!

Peace Corps Parties and Exile

I came into Niamey last week to plan the barbeque for the new stage. There were three of us working on a party for 120 some people, so needless to say, it was a bit stressful. It came off without too much of a hitch. A few people got sick probably because someone didn't bleach their vegetables. If I had to take a guess that's what it'd be. You can get away with eating unbleached veggies after you've had a half dozen stomach ailments, but it's generally a better idea just to take the extra time.

I also helped a bit with the Gender and Development auction and after-party. The after-party was ridiculous. There is nothing like a party in Peace Corps Niger. We are all so isolated and so deprived of "American" fun in village that we tend to let loose a bit when we're all together for big events like swear-in. It began to pour rain during the middle of the party, so what did we do? We danced in the rain. Why not? When the storm knocked the electricity out, we turned on headlamps and flashlights. A couple of people from team Tillaberi broke out their djambes (an African drum) and started playing. We had a real drum circle going once we added pots and pans from the kitchen. You'd be amazed the sound you can get from a spoon and a cheese grater. The electricity eventually came back on, but once you've got a good beat going, I don't think it's right to stop. So we just turned the lights off and kept going.

Friday the new stage swore-in. It's a bit strange no longer being the new kids. We're sophomores now. We've got some experience and we're starting up projects. We're the ones that they all think know so much, and I guess we do in some ways. We know the best places in Niamey, where to go for food, and generally what's going on.

This is a bit disconnected, but bear with me. Saturday was supposed to be my first full day of relaxation after the barbeque, GAD auction, and clean-up from both events. We were able to go to the Ambassador's house and use her pool. We played Ultimate Frisbee in her backyard and even had enough people for a tournament. I'm still sore four days later. The day was great, until my phone fell out of my pocket getting into a taxi. So I lost that. I also broke my glasses. If July was my sickness month, and August was my mental month, I worry to think that September might be the month where all my stuff breaks. I hope this doesn't sound too negative. I'm trying to take it all in stride. I'll be very Zen by the time this is all over. I'm trying to go back to post today, if Allah wills it. I feel a bit cursed right now, so I fully expect I'll return home to see the smouldering ruins of my house. I'll walk through the charred foundations while my maigari says, "Oh that was burning for four days, we just couldn't do anything about it. Kala suuru." I just hope my cat has survived.

So now I'm going on self-imposed exile until probably Halloween. I do not want to come back into Niamey for a while. I've just been out of my village so much recently that I feel like I'm losing touch. It's Ramadan, so it's a good time to just hang out at the mosque and joke around with my villagers. Unless I get hit with amoebas, bacteria, giardia, a bruised brain, or a whatever other things could go wrong, I shouldn't be in until the end of October. I hope all of you are well, please don't expect any mail/updates/etc. until then.

Kala han fo!