A Fete for All

So I've decided to cheat a little bit and steal entries from my journal. I've come into Niamey and broken my exile because we had to write our reports for this trimester to send to Washington, and I was told I really had no option in the matter. So here I am, and here are a few of my entries.


30 September 2008 7:42 pm

Today marked Id al Fitr, the celebration ending Ramadan, and it was one of the best days I've had yet in country. First, let me say that this was the cleanest I have ever been or may ever be in village. I shaved, trimmed my hair, and scrubbed myself down for the festivities. I'm so glad I did too. I wore my outfit from swear-in, a long, dark green, embroidered African complet. It's the first time my villagers ever saw me in it. They were impressed, but I couldn't hold a candle next to some of the stuff they had. See pictures on facebook if you're interested. Everyone was decked out in his/her finest. Even the kids were scrubbed and in clean, non-tattered clothes. That was a shock to say the very least. It was like I was in a different place. A place that wasn't one of the world's poorest countries.

Okay, so the morning began with a walk to the edge of town. I thought we were going to the big mosque in the neighboring village, but as I looked back down the road, I knew that the mosque couldn't hold the hundreds that were walking to pray. We turned off the road at the edge of the village and onto a path through the bush. We walked a bit to a large section of field that had been cleared for the occasion. The sun was out and it was hot, but we rolled out the prayer mats and the alfa (a religious leader) of my neighborhood led the prayer. I did pray with my villagers, in the front row between a very old Fulan and a very small boy. I didn't know what I was doing, and it was nerve wracking, but I don't think my villagers minded that I followed their lead and faked my way through the service.

After the big prayer, we walked back to the village chief's compound and basically feasted. Many of the men were singing prayers the entire way back. There was so much food, and everyone in town was there. My neighbors Djame and Abu gave me two full pots of macaroni. I ate so much I had to spend most of the afternoon sleeping it off.

The best part of this holidy was how communal it all was. My friend from market, a cloth seller, actually thought to call me just to say "Kay Yesi" (Happy New Year). My counterpart Adamou's little girls came and visited me all by themselves. They're very cute and I couldn't believe they thought to come by. He called the next day from Ivory Coast, where he is doing migrant work as an animal trader. His daughters had on their matching outfits and their mother had braided their hair with bright, colorful beads. I didn't have any change (the typical small gift you give children who wish you a happy New Year), so I gave them some peanut M&Ms and took their picture. This was one of the most integrated and loved I've ever felt in my community. It was my best day so far in Niger. Only two more months until I get to do it all again for Tabaski!

A Note from My Journal

22 September 2008 7:11 pm

I went out exploring my market town (pop. 6000) and discovering the things I should have discovered six months ago. I went to the mayor's office, saw the big mosque, and visited the doctor's office.

The lokotoro kwaara (lit. "doctor's house"), which I just assumed was a school when I first saw it, was a sad sight. The walls were cracked and dirty, it didn't have electricity, and it had only a few taps for running water. Posters from former awareness campaigns hung in the hot, fly-infested waiting area. About twenty people were waiting to see the infirmary workers, two of them and one trainee, but no certified doctor. At least I can say that these workers didn't look overwhelmed.

The hardest part about being there was seeing the children. I suppose children are the main clients due to Niger's sheer number of them and the expense of drugs/treatment. Most adults probably wait it out, for better or worse. But even the children are forced to wait until their condition is severe. One child there looked so emaciated and pathetic that it's a wonder he made it to the doctor.

When I think about the contrast between the poorest of the poor developing countries and what I know of Westen services, I can't overcome the gulf of difference. I lost my phone a few weeks ago. When I went to the police station in Niamey, I felt like I'd been transported back to Mexico in the 1930s. It was like a movie. Concrete walls with chipped, faded paint, no doors, no electricity, red-ink rubber-stamped paper affadavits, goats in the courtyard, a flag bleached by the sun after who knows how many years. I mean I'm surprised there is even enough money for a flag. And it's not like the workers can do much about it (I guess they could get rid of the goats). They just have to keep going and do the best they can with what they have. No wonder there's so much corruption. WHy shouldn't a civil worker skim a little extra when they're powerless to affect change? I don't condone it, but you have to expect it.

The doctor's office is the real issue though, from today's journey. I'd like to start working there a few days a week, if I can stand it. Maybe I can get some information on community health projects. A former neighbor once said one of his most satisfying days in country was when he helped with child polio inoculations. Even if it's just a lot of little things, at least it'd help a little bit.

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!

An African Non Sequitur

So in the process of slowly losing my mind (in a good way of course) at post, I've also become hilarious, at least in my own head. Here is a recent letter I sent my great aunt Yvonne. You'd have to know her to fully appreciate her sense of humor, but I think it stand on it's own as well.

"So I've been reading a lot. I like the issues of the New Yorker you've sent, although sometimes I feel that it can be a little pretentious, and that's saying a lot for a snob like me. So once I finish with the magazines they make their rounds. The other Volunteers seem to like them and find them entertaining. My villagers aren't that impressed. I think the pithy humor goes over their heads. They'll pick it up if Woody Allen's written something that week. They're also big fans of what's opening up off-Broadway and regret they never get into the city anymore for a night out.

I also picked up a copy recently of Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. Worst erotica ever. I start it expecing great things from the title and all I get is people stabbing heroine needles into their eyeballs. I mean I did my best to power through it, but it just wasn't coming along..."

As you can see, Africa is slowly breaking my soul. But it's okay, I just hope that the pieces won't be crushed into a fine powder by the time I leave. Much harder to put back together.

I'll post something real tomorrow. This week has been crazy, but it's mostly over now. I'll be going on exile in my village for a while, so it'll be a long post to take me out on a high.

Kala suuru

Changes

The last two months have been rough, and I'm ready for something new. It all started with the trifecta of stomach ailments I wrote about in an earlier post. My house sprung a leak, to put it nicely, shortly thereafter, which is what happens when you choose to build your house out of dirt. I had a couple pretty good weeks after that. I guess God decided that I needed some breathing space before he started razzing on me. The beginning of August brought some tough times with other Volunteers in country. We had a lot of people leave all at once. Everyone was a bit on edge. People made selfish decisions, let their judgement run away from them, and spilt a lot of bad blood.

So while July was physically trying, August's mental exhaustion nearly wiped me out. My best friend in country left last week. She was one of my closest neighbors, my closest friend, and just generally someone with whom I wanted to finish my service. My counterpart left for the Ivory Coast two days later. This is the guy who's shown me everything in my village. He helps me in the garden, watches my house, and is one of the only reasons I stayed in country after my roof collapsed. It's hunger season though, and he needs money. A lot of guys in Niger go on "exode" to look for money in neighboring countries. Niger is so poor that they must leave the country in order to do migrant work to support their families with basics like oh...I don't know food.

So in a matter of days, I've lost my closest American friend and my closest friend in village. So...dot dot dot. The new stage swears in in two weeks. When they do, I'll have been in country for eight months. In Peace Corps, new Volunteers are obligated to stay in their villages for the first two months. They can't leave, and they are meant to spend their time integrating and learning about their communities.

This past week has been a complete transformation for me. I feel like I'm starting my service over again. My plan at the moment is to spend the next two months in village, just like that new Volunteers. I need to be away from people at this point. Too much drama and too much disillusionment. The nice thing about Niger is the ability to escape. We may have lost that in America. One is too connected, has too much of a pull toward others without feeling like any part of a larger community. I hope the next couple months will be a renewal, because I need it at this point. Eight months has flown by, and I feel like I've missed a lot of it. I've been too caught up with other people's lives and business.

And it shouldn't be too hard to stay in village at this time. Peace Corps is, for lack of a better term, financially *#&$% right now. We've had to cut basic services to Volunteers. Our administration is sweating because it's gotten to a point where we might not have the ability to run any kind of successful program in country. We've lost a lot of money due to inflation, a falling dollar, and the weak economy. You can read about this all online if you look hard enough, but it gets kind of depressing.

I've posted the link to this news article. Write somebody, anybody about this. Newspapers, congressmen, your neighbor Sally.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/08/21/AR2008082103384.html?nav=rss_world

See you all in a few weeks, after that, it may be months.

Kala han fo.

Long, Dusty Roads

I can't believe it's been a month since my last post. Time slips away like water through a sieve in the grand scheme of service. I don't know how this works because there are some days when I sleep, read, and generally hang about for hours and hours and hours on end. It's like some days never end. I've been in Niamey several times this month, but forces have conspired to keep me away from posting. The Internet is unreliable at the best of times, and I've started work on radio with friends in Gotheye and Dosso. Add to that my fields, my gardens, and general exhaustion and I've had a very full slate.

The rains did not come this month. The millet was "thirsty," as my villagers say. Then in the past four or five days we had eighty or more millimeters dumped on us. That's only a few inches, but when you're used to 350 or 400 mm for the entire rainy season, it's quite a lot. The soil just can't handle that much water, nor can the adobe houses and laterite roads. My house managed to survive this rain, surprisingly, but I was still worried that eight hours of continuous downpour would finish it, leaving me wet, dirty, and miserable in the middle of a field of mud.

My fields are definitely not the greatest, but I expect I'll do better next year. It's a lot of hard work, and when it's combined with gardening, I end most days asleep at 8:30, or earlier. My villagers don't understand this at all. Nigeriens don't sleep. They can wake up at 5:30 am for prayer call, work a full day in the fields, and still not go to sleep until midnight or later. My personal opinion is that they're all caffeinated beyond belief. When they aren't working, they're drinking coffee, tea, or chewing on kola nuts, a disgusting, bitter fruit that has more caffeine than a shot of espresso. Terrible for your teeth, but what can you do? My gardens are coming along. I have sunflowers that are producing seeds, a few tomatoes that I'm waiting to see if they'll fruit, and some watermelons that seem to only want to stretch their vines and hang out. No fruit, and I don't think I'm going to get any. It's like having a stoner roommate. Just eats all my fertilizer and contributes nothing. I'm also up to my ears in okra. I have 12 okra plants, and they're trying to make up for the watermelons lack of effort. The only problem is...I don't like okra that much to eat it three meals a day. So I give it to my villagers, who are surprised that I have okra this early, especially because lack of rain has killed just about all theirs.

I'm very sleepy right now, so I'll wrap this up. I don't know if I mentioned last time, but I have a cat now. His name is Squibbs, or Peanut, or Pip, or Butters, really whatever I feel like calling him at the time. He's near retarded, but a cute little thing none the less. We're doing very well hanging out on rainy days and sleeping when we're not eating. I guess that's all for now. Until next time. Kala han fo!

No Tractors, No Plows, No Problem!

So after returning to village, mostly healthy, I started working again in my fields this week. Now that the planting has been taken care of and a few more rains have come, everyone is in the fields cultivating. Have to kill all those weeds for a good harvest and no starvation! Having a field, I've realized, is perhaps one of the best ways to integrate in Niger. Six days a week from about 7 am to 5 pm, all the men, most of the women, and all the children old enough to work in the fields leave the village to farm. There isn't a sound except the wives and mothers who pound millet to make lunch, but even this ends around 11, when they take food to their sons, daughters, husbands, etc.

Without a field, I'd be bored out of my mind. Even more so than hot season. Hot season was just too hot to want to do anything. Rainy season is actually quite nice, but it's a lot of work. I've been waking up before dawn to walk the kilometer south to my gardens to water. I return about an hour later to eat breakfast, drink a lot of coffee, and start the 45-minute hike to my fields, which are north of my village. In all, I've determined that I walk about 10 km every day now. It's exhausting, and I usually return from the fields to eat leftover breakfast and fall asleep for 3 hours or so. Then it's up again around 5 or 6 to go out and water my gardens again. Then a bath, dinner, and bed, which by that time of the night is very welcome indeed.

We farm with a tool called a kumbu. it has a blade on the end that's shaped kind of like an arc. It's about 8 feet long with a handle on the other end. Basically, it's like a giant spade that cuts off weeds at the root. I spend hours every day in the field with a break for lunch. The heat is a killer, but you do what you can. I usually go out with about 3 liters of water, and when that runs out, I'm done farming for the day. I hear it's easier work when it's rained, but I've yet to farm after a rain for one reason or another. I'm building up some ridiculous callouses from the work, and hopefully getting a lot stronger. It's hard, but I do what I can do. If it weren't for my iPod, I'd go crazy.

If anyone wants to send me a package full of energy/granola bars, they're AMAZING for a lunch break after all that work. Clif bars are so damn tasty...