Sunday, December 7, 2008
A Short Reprieve
Sorry everyone who has been following my blog. I've been in a strange state the last few weeks. I've had a really really good week traveling down in Dosso to visit a friend who lives along the river right across from Parc W, which is a National Park shared between Benin, Burkina, and Niger. It was an amazing time, but I haven't been able to process any feelings about post, the trip, life in general, or the time of year and the changes that I've been undergoing. I'm going back to post today (nda Irkoy ba [God willing]), so I'll try to write and think up a few longer posts. I'll be back in in under a week as my sister stage is swearing in on Friday. Hard to believe that it's already been nearly a year, and that soon I'll only have a year left in country. In other news, Cimsi or Tabaski, whichever name you prefer, is tomorrow, so there will be a big fete, everyone will kill a goat and feasting will occur everywhere. It's a two day holiday, so hopefully I'll be recovered enough by Thursday to process everything and write a few posts that are meaningful or at least mildly interesting. Hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving and isn't too stressed about upcoming Christmas holiday type time places. Right now my grip on the English language is tenuous, and it's slipping through my fingers like sand. Fun stuff!
Monday, November 10, 2008
A True Democracy
After speaking with my dad on the phone, I realized what an opportunity I had to speak a little about what a victory for Barack Obama and his ascendency to the office of President means to Peace Corps Volunteers, Africa, and people in general. Before I continue any further I would like to state that these opinions don't necessarily reflect my own, but those who I have talked to in village and in Niger. Nor do they at all reflect the views of Peace Corps or any other organization.
For Peace Corps, Obama has promised to double the size of Peace Corps by 2011, increasing our funding and the amount of Volunteers. Bush made the same promise eight years ago, so let's hope that this is followed through this time. Like everything else that Obama championed, this move stands for hope. It hearkens back to a time when America was seen as the philanthropic democracy, a place where anyone could succeed and do good in the world. There are so many links, real and imaginary, between Obama and Kennedy that I won't go into them here, but I will say this: if America has squandered this capital of political goodwill on costly wars and perceieved imperialism, we can gain it back by serving and sharing in other cultures. And for me, Peace Corps has provided this tenfold.
This idea of democracy is also integral for the world and Africa especially. I was in Niamey the day before the election, and a taxi driver, who must have been somewhat traveled or educated because he knew English, told me that Barack Obama could never be president in America. He said a black man could never be president. "Look at the pictures," he said, "white, white, white, white. Obama will never be the first black president." Well here we are. This election was historic because it represented so much for an entire continent. It lifted people up, gave them an ideal, destroyed cynicism. African leaders must now be responsible to their countries and their people as the citizens of Africa believe anyone can overcome any challenge and succeed. They now have many more expectations for their leaders. And not just Obama has put forth this change. With election violence in Kenya and Zimbabwe, McCain's concession speech gave many Africans a model for proper political behavior which we may hope to determine future election protocal here in Africa. Acknowledging defeat and proclaiming unity is an example of the democratic spirit America represents in the world.
My villagers have spoken a lot about France and America, about their differences and how these differences are reflected in our current political situation. The French, according to my villagers, came to niger and taxed people who'd been living in the same place for generations. They created artificial divisions among the people, mistreated everyone, and generally brought all the trappings of colonialism to Niger. The Americans, on the other hand, brought development and aid to millions who needed it. With Obama's election, they see the old America resurgent. They see an end to a war in which so many have died. They see diplomacy returning and conquering the rhetoric that has dominated the past decade, and they see America as a true democracy, a place where everyone is equal, something they hope Niger and all of Africa can one day attain.
And that's the greatest gift of this election: hope. It's something that American has stood for for years, in theory and somewhat variable practice. I can't believe how strong the reaction has been in my community to an election thousands of miles away. Strangers stop me in the bush to offer congratulations. Everyone listened to the election results even deep into the night. To see so many people happy about something one would expect to have such a small impact on their lives is unreal. To be American, which I've always taken for granted, is suddenly a lot more meaningful.
For Peace Corps, Obama has promised to double the size of Peace Corps by 2011, increasing our funding and the amount of Volunteers. Bush made the same promise eight years ago, so let's hope that this is followed through this time. Like everything else that Obama championed, this move stands for hope. It hearkens back to a time when America was seen as the philanthropic democracy, a place where anyone could succeed and do good in the world. There are so many links, real and imaginary, between Obama and Kennedy that I won't go into them here, but I will say this: if America has squandered this capital of political goodwill on costly wars and perceieved imperialism, we can gain it back by serving and sharing in other cultures. And for me, Peace Corps has provided this tenfold.
This idea of democracy is also integral for the world and Africa especially. I was in Niamey the day before the election, and a taxi driver, who must have been somewhat traveled or educated because he knew English, told me that Barack Obama could never be president in America. He said a black man could never be president. "Look at the pictures," he said, "white, white, white, white. Obama will never be the first black president." Well here we are. This election was historic because it represented so much for an entire continent. It lifted people up, gave them an ideal, destroyed cynicism. African leaders must now be responsible to their countries and their people as the citizens of Africa believe anyone can overcome any challenge and succeed. They now have many more expectations for their leaders. And not just Obama has put forth this change. With election violence in Kenya and Zimbabwe, McCain's concession speech gave many Africans a model for proper political behavior which we may hope to determine future election protocal here in Africa. Acknowledging defeat and proclaiming unity is an example of the democratic spirit America represents in the world.
My villagers have spoken a lot about France and America, about their differences and how these differences are reflected in our current political situation. The French, according to my villagers, came to niger and taxed people who'd been living in the same place for generations. They created artificial divisions among the people, mistreated everyone, and generally brought all the trappings of colonialism to Niger. The Americans, on the other hand, brought development and aid to millions who needed it. With Obama's election, they see the old America resurgent. They see an end to a war in which so many have died. They see diplomacy returning and conquering the rhetoric that has dominated the past decade, and they see America as a true democracy, a place where everyone is equal, something they hope Niger and all of Africa can one day attain.
And that's the greatest gift of this election: hope. It's something that American has stood for for years, in theory and somewhat variable practice. I can't believe how strong the reaction has been in my community to an election thousands of miles away. Strangers stop me in the bush to offer congratulations. Everyone listened to the election results even deep into the night. To see so many people happy about something one would expect to have such a small impact on their lives is unreal. To be American, which I've always taken for granted, is suddenly a lot more meaningful.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
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!
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
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!
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!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
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
"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
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