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!

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

Culture and the Balance of Emotion

29 October 2008
3:10 pm

It's cool and at least somewhat heartening how quickly things can turn around. The past few days I've been pretty down and listless. It's a form of laziness, but it's also been just a complete apathy to working, socializing, or even moving, and I have to admit it's been hard. Without any American neighbors close by, I've had no one to talk to about any of this, so it just continued for several days. But, with one or two small things, I've realized that a great day can be ruined, or a bad day can turn out really good. Last night was better. I went over to my neighbor Djodi's house to chat, as I occasionally do. I got over there and one of the guys was messing with his phone. Now, there isn't an electronic in Niger that doesn't suffer horribly, but this phone was a true piece of crap, even by Nigerien standards. It look like it was about five years old, it was missing its keypad, the screen didn't work, and the clock said it was 14h00 rather than 10 pm. The best part about this is he was trying to fix the clock from memory of how to run through the settings.

So everyone was getting a big laugh out of this guy's phone. One of the biggest came when it nearly died and he told us he'd charged it that morning. I asked him where he'd gotten such a terrible phone:

"Did you find it on the side of the road?"

"No, why?"

"Because it looks like someone got frustrated with it and chucked it out the window of some bush taxi."

Now Nigeriens love a good burn. They love it even more when the white kid who is still learning the local language can join in and torch a guy in Zarma. He told us that he'd dropped it in water, which none of us much understood as it's hard enough to even find water in this country, let alone find enough to ruin your phone. I told him he'd be better off using a rock, and after the clock reset itself to 2:37 am, I picked up a rock, pretended to make a call, and said, "It's for you, a brand new phone. It's much better than the one you have now. Just make sure to keep it charged." This, of course, caused an uproar as this poor guy just couldn't catch a break. An important lesson: in Niger, if you think you're going to get off light with something ridiculous (i.e. a bad haircut or a broken-down phone), think again. They are merciless, not in a mean way, just that they love to laugh, and people do a lot of ridiculous things here.

After we calmed down a bit, we talked about the stars. One of the greatest things about Niger is the lack of electricity means there's almost no light pollution from cities and towns. On clear nights, you can see the Milky Way and all the stars in the sky. I found an Audobon Society star guide here, and I've been learning the constellations. I told them about the Pleiades, and how the Polynesians believe that they used to be one bright star that boasted of its brilliance so much that the gods threw Sirius, the dog star, at it and shattered it into the pieces we now see. The younger guys didn't know the stories, but Seydou, an older man, knew them all, and I have to admire him. He told all of us that the Zarma equivalent of the Pleiades were called "Gorndariaze" - the hen and her chicks. When it's crests the sky, in mid-October, the rains are over and won't come again until next year. It's a connection with nature that we just don't have in America anymore. He doesn't seem very bright, but that's because he never had any schooling. He didn't even learn to write letters until he was 28 and living in Cote d'Ivoire. Everything that he lacks in academic learning, he makes up for in experience and age.

Sworn-In and Ready to Go

It's been a long nine weeks, but on Friday evening the Agriculture/Natural Resource Management 2008 stage was sworn in to full service as Peace Corps Volunteers (PCV). This wasn't some small affair, ba kayna (not at all.) The soiree, if you will, occurred at the Ambassador's house, a sprawling semi-mansion across the street from the American Embassy. Truly, it pays to spend your entire life in the civil service. In attendance were most of the 140 PCVs in country, the entire staff of Peace Corps Niger, most if not all of Niger's government ministers, as well as the major media in Niger (ORTN, BBC, Voice of America, and Radio France). In all the ceremony took a little over an hour, and after weeks of intensive language training, I'm proud to say that the three speeches given by our stage were widely considered some of the best many had heard in years.

I was one of those speakers, giving a five minute speech entirely in Zarma. I'd post it here, but I doubt anyone would know how to read it. (Except there do seem to be quite a few people randomly interested in this little site, so maybe RPCVs would know.) It was a pretty stressful week considering all the partying we had to do. Monday we had our party for our language formateurs, Tuesday we had a barbecue as a meet-and-greet the new stage, Wednesday we had our host party family (which was ridiculously fun), Thursday we had an auction in Niamey for the Gender and Development fund, and Friday we had swear-in. It was very difficult to find time to write a speech, but after I did, I was promptly told by the formateurs that it was not cross-culturally appropriate whatsoever for such a grand ceremony.

This brings me to another English major topic in this post. I mentioned before that Zarma has very few words compared to English, some even doubling up with ideas not even remotely connected. I came to find out after writing my speech that the lack of vocabulary in Zarma also brings about a lack of subtlety. Everything is very rigidly defined and cannot be used out of context. For example, the Zarma word for "bandit" which the formateurs called me at site and meant trickster, joker, rogue, does not have the same connotation. Instead, it is a black picture of someone who drinks, smokes, steals, and kills. Nothing else. So my speech that centered on this one word quickly became a quagmire. I rewrote the speech in about 2 days with egregious amounts of help from my friend Rose and my formateurs. It came off without a hitch (that I know of anyway, it's hard to get the pacing of a speech in a language you've known for less than 2 months).

That's all for now. As our swear-in drew closer, we all realized that our time with one another was growing shorter. The Hausa speakers have left for points east. I and nine others have temporarily relocated to Niamey in preparation to meet the Tillaberi governor and other important people tomorrow. After that, we have a month of living at our post. We're not supposed to leave unless in the event of medical emergency (which let's face it, this is Niger, that's a distinct possibilit), so you won't hear any buzz on here for at least a month. I'll try to send letters home for Dad to post, but just think of me and know that I'm suffering through hot season (over 110F with zero humidity).

Kala han fo.

My First Real Post in Africa

Hello everyone. First off, I'd like to apologize for misspellings and errors as I'm using a French keyboard, which is extraordinarily different than an English. Forgive me.

Let me assure you that I am alive and well, but since the last letter I sent Dad I've had a multi-day session of what in Zarma is known as gundekar, literally "a hit to the stomach," meaning massive amounts of diarrhea. This may disgust you, but it's a serious fact of life in Peace Corps Niger that we've all had to deal with multiple times. This country messes with your sense of personal boundaries in part because your body and mind are put to such an extreme test at such a young age.

We've just finished our live-in, which is our first week in village followed by two more weeks of training. After that, we swear-in and have two years of a radically different life than the one we knew in America. I'm in the Balleyara cluster in Tillaberi, but unfortunately, since this is a public blog I cannot be any more specific than that. My village is large for an AG post, and its almost entirely Bella. These are the black Tuaregs, who, centuries ago, were the slaves of the northern Arab Tuareg. There are many issues surrounding this, but if you would like to know more, you will have to mail me for more in-depth information.

I've decided that it's going to be entirely too difficult to synthesize all that I've seen and experienced in Niger thus far, so I'll try to post themes that I've noticed, and since I am an English major, language will be my first topic. I'm studying Zarma, which is the second largest ethnic group in Niger, but I will also learn a little bit of Tamaschek because the Bellas mix the two languages.

A few things about the language, and then maybe the culture will be easier to understand.

1. There is no word in Zarma for please.

The closest one can come is to say "Irkoy se," which means "For the love of God." This can lead to several frustrations as the most common phrase from children especially is "Ay no..." or "Give me." They rarely expect you to hand things over, but it is still a major adjustment to have these demands continuously made of you.

2. The pronouns in Zarma are the same for all uses.

For example, "Ay" means "I, me, and mine." "A" means "he, she, it, his, her, its, him, and her." This means it is relatively easy to speak Zarma, but hearing it is another issue.

3. Every word in Zarma has at least two other meanings in no way related to the first.

This can lead to some fun and a lot of frustration. For example, "Ay haw haw haw ra" means "I tied my cow up in the wind," as "haw" can mean cow, wind, or to tie up. "Ay zama zama ay gonda zama" means "I won because I had a knife" as "zama" can mean knife, because, or to win. So you can see that not only can the words change, but the parts of speech and uses can change as well.

4. There is no distinction between "I want," "I love," "I like," and "I desire."

This may fall under the last point, but during our stage one of the girls tried saying she didn't want sauce and had plain rice for a week because her family thought she didn't like sauce.

5. My English is slowly deteriorating because I get so little practice.

If I start to sound strange, or use terms like "has a lot of effort" or "how's the tiredness" or "I am in health" it's because these are very Zarma ways of saying things. In addition, my maturity level has dropped tremendously, so I've learned way too many "sanniyamo" literally "zero words" that are way to inappropriate for polite conversation.


That's all I have time for now, so I'll be off. I'll finish this another time, whenever I'm in Niamey next. Don't expect another update for at least two weeks. There are many things that I want to say but either don't have time for or cannot post in a public forum, so if you want to write me, you have my address. Sorry for the long post, but you had to expect it after seven weeks off.