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
Monday, March 2, 2009
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.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Community Spirit
Alright, here's a journal entry from December 19th. It's pretty personal, and it deals a lot with my hometown of Flora, Indiana, so eventhough the names and places won't be familiar, I hope the general message will come through. I'm still processing the fact that I have less than a year left in country, that I've already been here nearly a year, and that old friends have left while I'm continually meeting new friends and strengthening those relationships. This entry came about as a result of these thoughts and general worries that I wasn't accomplishing anything in my time here. Without further introduction, here it is.
Yesterday wasn't really disheartening, it was more just a reflection on what I'm doing here. The thing with Peace Corps is that we're only nominally here to develop Niger. I mean, let's face it, the average Volunteer will be confronted by a lot more problems than he/she will be able to solve in two short years. There are just too many in one of the world's poorest countries. As much as there's an emphasis on agriculture, health, and education as development sectors, I think the biggest transformation any Volunteer may accomplish here is personal. I can't even begin to measure the changes I've gone through here, the emotions that have been instantly expressed rather than deflected through distraction and buried, the growth in knowing who I am and empathizing with what others can be.
Today, I came back from the gardens and sat with my neighbor kids Razak and Uzefatu. I played a bit; I picked them up and swung them around by their arms until I was so dizzy that I fell down. They all laughed at me while I sat there with my head spinning. It's such a small thing, infinitely small, but it makes me feel good. I feel like part of a community more and more every day that I'm in village. My friend Moumouni and I had a great conversation today that reflected a lot of my changing notions of community. I told him Niger may be hard, but that in some ways, it's far easier than America. Niger has security nets in the form of family and community, strong ties that America just doesn't have enough of anymore. We don't trust our neighbors. We trust strangers even less.
I'm lucky in a lot of ways because I came from a small town. Everyone knows everyone there. It has both good and bad moments. There's support at the cost of privacy. Everyone knows everyone else's business. I wonder though, if this is so bad. Your neighbors watch over you. I think back to when I was a kid. I'd go over to my neighbor Nettie's for cookies. Across the street, Ed would have his barbecue every summer. There was time down by the creek at Sue's, the cat house, the candy lady, people and places that now exist only in memory, and perhaps only in the memory of a handful of people. What I mean is that those memories are nearly all from over twenty years ago. Times change. People move on. Flora is lucky to still have places like Payne's drug store, Ayres' hardware, Eikenberry's Fine Furniture, Stephan's IGA, Bishop's Barber Shop, Jim Allen's gas station, Parrett's meat processing. As I write these names, it strikes me how funny it is that these are all the actual names of stores in my hometown. Family owned businesses: the name of the owner and what kind of business they do.
But also, as I write all these names, I'm struck by how old all the owners are now. They're all of my parent's age, and as far as I know, none of them have anyone who's serious about taking over the business once they're gone. Much has been written about Wal-Mart, Home Depot, Walgreen's, and other big box stores, so I won't add to the wealth that's already out there. But one of the things that I said to my friend Moumouni, and one of the things that I began to understand myself as I spoke these ideas out loud, is that for all America has, all the things we take for granted that many here would marvel at, all these things that should make us happy, don't. For all America has, there are very few who are truly happy. We've sold our communities to specialization and cheap, imported crap. What happens to our communities when those very few individuals holding them together are gone? The only reason a lot of those places I mentioned are still in business is customer loyalty, and many of those customers are older than the shopkeepers. What happens when those customers are gone? What becomes of Flora, Indiana in twenty years?
There aren't any faces in our communities anymore. It's alienating. I like that I can walk around Flora and talk to the people with whome I have business. Mike Bishop, Jim Allen, the Eikenberrys, they all know me, just like Moumouni, who I buy all my cloth from in my market town, knows me. Every week I go to see him and talk with him, even if I don't have any business. He's my friend, and it's always better to buy from someone you trust. I'm not going to have a personal conversation with a Wal-Mart employee. In fact, with the type of people that typically work there, I don't think I'd want to.
In the end, we lose our sense of self, our sense of purpose, and our sense of worth. That Wal-Mart employee doesn't care about me, and I don't care about him/her. When we're confronted daily by people who don't care about us, people who see us only as a face, or worse, a body, we lose a little bit of our humanity. no wonder so many are depressed, anxious, and unhappy these days. No wonder we have a new drug every day for symptoms that you didn't know you had. When I look at all I've lost in America, and all that I've gained coming here, or even just traveling about, I marvel at the deep hurt so many people feel in the modern world. All the wonders that we've experienced with technology, and I don't know if we're any better in spirit.
This isn't meant to sound alarmist or depressing, these are just thoughts I've had recently as I've had time to myself to sort through all the noise that's slowly been filtered out after nearly a year away from home. It's interesting to talk to the Volunteers who are closing their service and going back home after over two years away. Many are afraid they won't know how to handle themselves in America again. If they'll be able to readjust to the constant movement inherent in modern life. The longer I'm here, the more I worry about my own ability to readjust.
Yesterday wasn't really disheartening, it was more just a reflection on what I'm doing here. The thing with Peace Corps is that we're only nominally here to develop Niger. I mean, let's face it, the average Volunteer will be confronted by a lot more problems than he/she will be able to solve in two short years. There are just too many in one of the world's poorest countries. As much as there's an emphasis on agriculture, health, and education as development sectors, I think the biggest transformation any Volunteer may accomplish here is personal. I can't even begin to measure the changes I've gone through here, the emotions that have been instantly expressed rather than deflected through distraction and buried, the growth in knowing who I am and empathizing with what others can be.
Today, I came back from the gardens and sat with my neighbor kids Razak and Uzefatu. I played a bit; I picked them up and swung them around by their arms until I was so dizzy that I fell down. They all laughed at me while I sat there with my head spinning. It's such a small thing, infinitely small, but it makes me feel good. I feel like part of a community more and more every day that I'm in village. My friend Moumouni and I had a great conversation today that reflected a lot of my changing notions of community. I told him Niger may be hard, but that in some ways, it's far easier than America. Niger has security nets in the form of family and community, strong ties that America just doesn't have enough of anymore. We don't trust our neighbors. We trust strangers even less.
I'm lucky in a lot of ways because I came from a small town. Everyone knows everyone there. It has both good and bad moments. There's support at the cost of privacy. Everyone knows everyone else's business. I wonder though, if this is so bad. Your neighbors watch over you. I think back to when I was a kid. I'd go over to my neighbor Nettie's for cookies. Across the street, Ed would have his barbecue every summer. There was time down by the creek at Sue's, the cat house, the candy lady, people and places that now exist only in memory, and perhaps only in the memory of a handful of people. What I mean is that those memories are nearly all from over twenty years ago. Times change. People move on. Flora is lucky to still have places like Payne's drug store, Ayres' hardware, Eikenberry's Fine Furniture, Stephan's IGA, Bishop's Barber Shop, Jim Allen's gas station, Parrett's meat processing. As I write these names, it strikes me how funny it is that these are all the actual names of stores in my hometown. Family owned businesses: the name of the owner and what kind of business they do.
But also, as I write all these names, I'm struck by how old all the owners are now. They're all of my parent's age, and as far as I know, none of them have anyone who's serious about taking over the business once they're gone. Much has been written about Wal-Mart, Home Depot, Walgreen's, and other big box stores, so I won't add to the wealth that's already out there. But one of the things that I said to my friend Moumouni, and one of the things that I began to understand myself as I spoke these ideas out loud, is that for all America has, all the things we take for granted that many here would marvel at, all these things that should make us happy, don't. For all America has, there are very few who are truly happy. We've sold our communities to specialization and cheap, imported crap. What happens to our communities when those very few individuals holding them together are gone? The only reason a lot of those places I mentioned are still in business is customer loyalty, and many of those customers are older than the shopkeepers. What happens when those customers are gone? What becomes of Flora, Indiana in twenty years?
There aren't any faces in our communities anymore. It's alienating. I like that I can walk around Flora and talk to the people with whome I have business. Mike Bishop, Jim Allen, the Eikenberrys, they all know me, just like Moumouni, who I buy all my cloth from in my market town, knows me. Every week I go to see him and talk with him, even if I don't have any business. He's my friend, and it's always better to buy from someone you trust. I'm not going to have a personal conversation with a Wal-Mart employee. In fact, with the type of people that typically work there, I don't think I'd want to.
In the end, we lose our sense of self, our sense of purpose, and our sense of worth. That Wal-Mart employee doesn't care about me, and I don't care about him/her. When we're confronted daily by people who don't care about us, people who see us only as a face, or worse, a body, we lose a little bit of our humanity. no wonder so many are depressed, anxious, and unhappy these days. No wonder we have a new drug every day for symptoms that you didn't know you had. When I look at all I've lost in America, and all that I've gained coming here, or even just traveling about, I marvel at the deep hurt so many people feel in the modern world. All the wonders that we've experienced with technology, and I don't know if we're any better in spirit.
This isn't meant to sound alarmist or depressing, these are just thoughts I've had recently as I've had time to myself to sort through all the noise that's slowly been filtered out after nearly a year away from home. It's interesting to talk to the Volunteers who are closing their service and going back home after over two years away. Many are afraid they won't know how to handle themselves in America again. If they'll be able to readjust to the constant movement inherent in modern life. The longer I'm here, the more I worry about my own ability to readjust.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Madly Trying to Update All that I've Done Here
Okay, so here's a little more from my adventures in early December. The Saturday after Thanksgiving in Niamey, I traveled down to Dosso region to see my friend Jyoti, a health Volunteer working in a village along the river. I left early that morning, but evidently not early enough, as I missed my bus down to Margu, a crossroads along the road to Dosso where I had to meet Jyoti and a bush taxi for an exciting 120k trip down a laterite road. Missing my bus meant that we missed the first truck and had to wait until mid-afternoon. The bush taxis in this area are basically open backed trucks that are meant for "goods only," as is clearly stated on paint from when these trucks ran in the developed world. In Niger, they pack goods, people, and farm animals all into the back of the truck and go rocketing through the countryside. It's an amazing, though scary, way to see the landscape, enjoy life, and "relax" while you contemplate what a great run it's been (and praying it continues).
That night, Saturday, we stopped in a major town along the road where Peace Corps has a small transit house. This particular area of the country is painful for transportation, and it often takes Jyoti seven to twelve hours to travel from her village to her regional capital, so Peace Corps established a house in this larger city for Volunteers to stop off and rest along the way, oftentimes because cars stop for the evening in this particular city. It was an uneventful stay, and in the morning we hopped on the early bush taxi to take us the rest of the way to her village.
Unfortunately, about five kilometers down the road, I realized my phone had fallen out of my pocket and we had to get out and start the long walk back. Along the way, we met some Nigeriens on foot. I told them what had happened with my phone and why we were walking back while Jyoti was calling it just in case we heard it. As we were standing there, one of the Nigeriens heard it ringing (or "crying" as the Zarmas say) less than twenty feet from where we were standing. Talk about luck. We'd already walked past it without noticing. It's a simple story, but one that was full of coincidence to me, so back off.
We walked all the way back to the transit house, waited a few hours, and made Jyoti's village by late afternoon. After resting and burning most of the day, her neighbor Carrie, a Volunteer posted about 8k away, just happened to stop by and chat with us. Because both Carrie and Jyoti live alongside the river, they co-own a boat to make trips up and down the river and into Parc W, the national park that runs through Niger and Benin and is host to a variety of species, including elephants, hippos, lions, monkeys, baboons, and parakeets. The next day, Monday, Jyoti's best friend in village, Alfa, took us out on the river and into Parc W. Jyoti's village is located in one of the most beautiful places in Niger. She literally has the park and the river in her backyard. That day, we went deep into the park on her boat with Alfa paddling us the whole way. Over the course of several hours, we saw various birds, including green parakeets and white cranes, several monkeys, and a family of baboons playing in the trees. The trip lasted nearly six hours, with a pause for Alfa to collect firewood and traditional medecine near an immense baobob deep in the park. Check out my facebook profile if you want to see some of the pictures.
Tuesday was market day in Jyoti's village. Going to a bigger bush market like Baleyara or Jyoti's market town really makes me appreciate my smaller bush market, which is a bit crowded at the worst of times and peacefully tranquil at best. We didn't spend a long time at market, but it was enough time to realize that Dosso river towns have far more options in every way than Tillaberi region mesa towns. Jyoti has fresh bananas and guava this time of year, which right there beats anything I could ever possibly imagine in my markets. If it weren't for the Baleyara bread (best in country!), I don't know how I'd make it here. Jyoti's market is an anomaly in Niger, but Hausa land, being closer to Nigeria does get some good food from time to time. My problem is that I'm so far north that fruit and vegetables of any kind are a real luxury at times. After market, and burning away the hot afternoon hours, we built garden beds in her concession, which was a big reason for me to go. It was a cross-sector learning exercise. I taught her about gardens and planting, and in return she, as a health volunteer, showed me around her health hut and the local doctor's office nearby.
We went down to a neighboring village the next day to visit the local doctor's office. The difference in Niger between when Jyoti has (a health hut) and what this town had (a CSI) is that a CSI is staffed, whereas a health hut is, quite literally, just a building where they keep medical supplies, kind of like a big first aid kit, usually staffed by someone who only works when needed.
This was perhaps one of my favorite days of the visit to her village. We walked to the road to get a car, and decided to wait at the gendarme's station. A gendarme is like a military police officer, they work with customs officials and monitor the roads throughout Niger to control traffic and keep peace. One of the gendarmes, a Fulan, was originally from my area. He had served in my market town and knew all the people I knew. He was remarkably intelligent in the Nigerien capacity for subtle knowledge of local languages. He was completely fluent in Zarma, Hausa, Fulani, and French, and knew enough English to communicate with us if we got tired of Zarma. He told us all about the different posts he'd had in Niger, including some where other Volunteers I knew are currently serving. But perhaps one of the most interesting things we talked about was how this gendarme's grandfather had been a storyteller, and how he knew all the Zarma stories, which are a lot like our folk or fairy tales. We talked a lot about the conflict between modernity and tradition and how storytelling was really becoming a lost art form, being abandoned for cell phones and bad action movies from the 1980s. He said that his grandfather used to gather all the children around him at night to tell stories, but with electricity and television, no one was interested in the old stories anymore. The goal, he said, should be trying to find a balance between the old traditions and the convenience of modernity.
We visited the CSI and met Jyoti's doctor friend Indi. After an amazing afternoon that included lunch, a look at the CSI, and naps, we returned to Jyoti's village to plant her gardens and explore the surrounding hamlets. Wow, I wish I could type everything that happened, but there just really isn't time and this is probably getting boring. I'll fast-forward a bit.
My last day in village, Jyoti's friend Alfa took us out on the river again to a French tourist encampment at the foot of a large mesa. It was a nice ride and a great hike, but the best part was the ride back. About half an hour into the return journey Alfa stopped paddling and said "Ce beeri, i ka ga nyum" (The elephants have come to wash). Sure enough about a quarter mile down the river (Nigerien eyesight and hearing is ridiculously good) we heard a great crashing in the reeds by the river's edge. Drawing closer, we came upon about six or eight elephants bathing at the river's edge. Being in the boat meant that we could get within fifty meters of them and just watch as they bathed, tossed mud, and played in the river. I've never been that close to a wild animal that big, and it was truly one of the most awe-inspiring events of my life.
That's all for now. I'm returning to post tomorrow and I have to pack and go to sleep. These last few days in Niamey have been hectic, what with a new stage swearing in, an old stage closing their service and leaving country, a mid-service medical exam, and site installations. I can't believe I'm already nearly a year in, with only a year left until my time here is up. It's gone so fast, and I've heard the second year is even more of a whirlwind.
Kala suuru. I guess we'll see how it goes. Until next time. Irkoy m'ir cabe cere.
That night, Saturday, we stopped in a major town along the road where Peace Corps has a small transit house. This particular area of the country is painful for transportation, and it often takes Jyoti seven to twelve hours to travel from her village to her regional capital, so Peace Corps established a house in this larger city for Volunteers to stop off and rest along the way, oftentimes because cars stop for the evening in this particular city. It was an uneventful stay, and in the morning we hopped on the early bush taxi to take us the rest of the way to her village.
Unfortunately, about five kilometers down the road, I realized my phone had fallen out of my pocket and we had to get out and start the long walk back. Along the way, we met some Nigeriens on foot. I told them what had happened with my phone and why we were walking back while Jyoti was calling it just in case we heard it. As we were standing there, one of the Nigeriens heard it ringing (or "crying" as the Zarmas say) less than twenty feet from where we were standing. Talk about luck. We'd already walked past it without noticing. It's a simple story, but one that was full of coincidence to me, so back off.
We walked all the way back to the transit house, waited a few hours, and made Jyoti's village by late afternoon. After resting and burning most of the day, her neighbor Carrie, a Volunteer posted about 8k away, just happened to stop by and chat with us. Because both Carrie and Jyoti live alongside the river, they co-own a boat to make trips up and down the river and into Parc W, the national park that runs through Niger and Benin and is host to a variety of species, including elephants, hippos, lions, monkeys, baboons, and parakeets. The next day, Monday, Jyoti's best friend in village, Alfa, took us out on the river and into Parc W. Jyoti's village is located in one of the most beautiful places in Niger. She literally has the park and the river in her backyard. That day, we went deep into the park on her boat with Alfa paddling us the whole way. Over the course of several hours, we saw various birds, including green parakeets and white cranes, several monkeys, and a family of baboons playing in the trees. The trip lasted nearly six hours, with a pause for Alfa to collect firewood and traditional medecine near an immense baobob deep in the park. Check out my facebook profile if you want to see some of the pictures.
Tuesday was market day in Jyoti's village. Going to a bigger bush market like Baleyara or Jyoti's market town really makes me appreciate my smaller bush market, which is a bit crowded at the worst of times and peacefully tranquil at best. We didn't spend a long time at market, but it was enough time to realize that Dosso river towns have far more options in every way than Tillaberi region mesa towns. Jyoti has fresh bananas and guava this time of year, which right there beats anything I could ever possibly imagine in my markets. If it weren't for the Baleyara bread (best in country!), I don't know how I'd make it here. Jyoti's market is an anomaly in Niger, but Hausa land, being closer to Nigeria does get some good food from time to time. My problem is that I'm so far north that fruit and vegetables of any kind are a real luxury at times. After market, and burning away the hot afternoon hours, we built garden beds in her concession, which was a big reason for me to go. It was a cross-sector learning exercise. I taught her about gardens and planting, and in return she, as a health volunteer, showed me around her health hut and the local doctor's office nearby.
We went down to a neighboring village the next day to visit the local doctor's office. The difference in Niger between when Jyoti has (a health hut) and what this town had (a CSI) is that a CSI is staffed, whereas a health hut is, quite literally, just a building where they keep medical supplies, kind of like a big first aid kit, usually staffed by someone who only works when needed.
This was perhaps one of my favorite days of the visit to her village. We walked to the road to get a car, and decided to wait at the gendarme's station. A gendarme is like a military police officer, they work with customs officials and monitor the roads throughout Niger to control traffic and keep peace. One of the gendarmes, a Fulan, was originally from my area. He had served in my market town and knew all the people I knew. He was remarkably intelligent in the Nigerien capacity for subtle knowledge of local languages. He was completely fluent in Zarma, Hausa, Fulani, and French, and knew enough English to communicate with us if we got tired of Zarma. He told us all about the different posts he'd had in Niger, including some where other Volunteers I knew are currently serving. But perhaps one of the most interesting things we talked about was how this gendarme's grandfather had been a storyteller, and how he knew all the Zarma stories, which are a lot like our folk or fairy tales. We talked a lot about the conflict between modernity and tradition and how storytelling was really becoming a lost art form, being abandoned for cell phones and bad action movies from the 1980s. He said that his grandfather used to gather all the children around him at night to tell stories, but with electricity and television, no one was interested in the old stories anymore. The goal, he said, should be trying to find a balance between the old traditions and the convenience of modernity.
We visited the CSI and met Jyoti's doctor friend Indi. After an amazing afternoon that included lunch, a look at the CSI, and naps, we returned to Jyoti's village to plant her gardens and explore the surrounding hamlets. Wow, I wish I could type everything that happened, but there just really isn't time and this is probably getting boring. I'll fast-forward a bit.
My last day in village, Jyoti's friend Alfa took us out on the river again to a French tourist encampment at the foot of a large mesa. It was a nice ride and a great hike, but the best part was the ride back. About half an hour into the return journey Alfa stopped paddling and said "Ce beeri, i ka ga nyum" (The elephants have come to wash). Sure enough about a quarter mile down the river (Nigerien eyesight and hearing is ridiculously good) we heard a great crashing in the reeds by the river's edge. Drawing closer, we came upon about six or eight elephants bathing at the river's edge. Being in the boat meant that we could get within fifty meters of them and just watch as they bathed, tossed mud, and played in the river. I've never been that close to a wild animal that big, and it was truly one of the most awe-inspiring events of my life.
That's all for now. I'm returning to post tomorrow and I have to pack and go to sleep. These last few days in Niamey have been hectic, what with a new stage swearing in, an old stage closing their service and leaving country, a mid-service medical exam, and site installations. I can't believe I'm already nearly a year in, with only a year left until my time here is up. It's gone so fast, and I've heard the second year is even more of a whirlwind.
Kala suuru. I guess we'll see how it goes. Until next time. Irkoy m'ir cabe cere.
Monday, December 15, 2008
A Trip to Remember
I have to give a little bit of time to one of the best/worst things about service in Niger: malaria medication. There are three types for PCVs in Niger: malarone, doxy, and Mefloquine. The most effective, and thus the one used by most PCVs, also has the most interesting side effects. This post is the Mefloquine nightmare, I hope you enjoy.
I could talk a little bit about my cluster curse, a legendary series of bad luck events that have hit my cluster and resulted in my near-total isolation in Niger for most of my service. For those of you who don't know, Volunteers are posted in clusters within a few kilometers of one another to assist in work and support in a foreign land. My cluster has unfortunately been decimated by a rash of bad luck: early terminations, medical evacuations, problems with village posts, and the occasional "wack-evac," a medical separation based on mental health issues. As a result, for most of my service, my closest neighbors have been 30k away or, when they're gone 120k, a five hour odyssey to the capital Niamey. With the new stage swearing in this week, I'm finally getting new neighbors, and I will no longer be one of the most isolated Volunteers in country.
Unfortunately, the cluster curse nearly hit again. I have two new neighbors, and one of them was accidently dosed with Mefloquine. She spent a horrifying week unable to sleep for three days. To give some kind of reference, Mefloquine is an anti-malarial prophylaxis that causes strange dreams among everyone that takes it, some rare cases of extreme anxiety, and has been known to make everyone a bit crazy at time. We take it once a week, and my new neighbor, Annette, took four at once, and managed to keep them down. Everyone in Niger was horrified to hear about a four pill dose of Mefloquine. The only thing it could be compared to was a mythical story about a stagere who was given weekly Mefloquine instead of daily Doxy and took it for 12 days in a row before he had to be medically separated and sent home for psychiatric treatment. Now, just to clarify, I don't know if this story is true, but it's one of the great legends of Peace Corps Niger.
The best/worst part of this drug is the intense, vivid, long dreams it gives you. While on Mefloquine, I can remember a few dreams, the weirdest of which I'll share. I remember I was at a book signing with my college professor Jim Fisher. It was a book I had written, and he asked me, "Well what do you think about all the Jews?" I looked around and saw a lot of rabbis in different technicolor outfits. Instead of black robes, hats, and shawls, they were wearing a variety of reds, oranges, blues, and greens. For some reason, that I still cannot explain and probably will never be able to, there was a phone that wouldn't stop ringing. I didn't want to answer it because it was in the toilet. Not just in the bathroom, but in the toilet.
In another, I remember thinking that I wanted to steal some green peppers growing in an orchard. In the dream, these peppers were the size of my head and grew from palm/bamboo type trees. It took me about eight waking hours before I remembered that peppers don't grow on trees.
The latest dream that I can remember was my father visiting Niger. My father has been in a wheelchair since he was a kid, so the sand in Niger would usually present a problem for him, but he had an all-terrain wheelchair with some strange independent axle system, which enabled him to roll over rocky terrain like a moon rover. He kept explaining how to kill a goat (this was right around Tabaski) and kept impressing upon me how important it was to do it right. Then he ran me over with his all-terrain wheelchair.
This is only a small sampling, and these kind of dreams are the fun ones. They're not always like that, however. I accidentally dosed myself with two Mefloquine one horrifying day in mid-September. I didn't have a problem sleeping, in fact, it was more of a problem waking up. I took a nap, and I remember waking up and texting my friend Rose from my house in Niger. Then I woke up. My phone was across the room. Then I woke up. My cat was sleeping on my chest. Then I woke up. My cat was sleeping in a corner across the room. Then I woke up. It repeated like this for hours and hours: dreams that were not different from reality and were, in fact, dreams within dreams within dreams. It lasted for three days total, during which time I almost called our medical officer because I could not differentiate dream from reality. The only reason I didn't is because I wasn't sure if I would actually call him, or call him only in a dream. Luckily, this horror show only last three days. Any longer and I would have gone home and checked myself into a mental ward. Schizophrenia and terror for all!
I could talk a little bit about my cluster curse, a legendary series of bad luck events that have hit my cluster and resulted in my near-total isolation in Niger for most of my service. For those of you who don't know, Volunteers are posted in clusters within a few kilometers of one another to assist in work and support in a foreign land. My cluster has unfortunately been decimated by a rash of bad luck: early terminations, medical evacuations, problems with village posts, and the occasional "wack-evac," a medical separation based on mental health issues. As a result, for most of my service, my closest neighbors have been 30k away or, when they're gone 120k, a five hour odyssey to the capital Niamey. With the new stage swearing in this week, I'm finally getting new neighbors, and I will no longer be one of the most isolated Volunteers in country.
Unfortunately, the cluster curse nearly hit again. I have two new neighbors, and one of them was accidently dosed with Mefloquine. She spent a horrifying week unable to sleep for three days. To give some kind of reference, Mefloquine is an anti-malarial prophylaxis that causes strange dreams among everyone that takes it, some rare cases of extreme anxiety, and has been known to make everyone a bit crazy at time. We take it once a week, and my new neighbor, Annette, took four at once, and managed to keep them down. Everyone in Niger was horrified to hear about a four pill dose of Mefloquine. The only thing it could be compared to was a mythical story about a stagere who was given weekly Mefloquine instead of daily Doxy and took it for 12 days in a row before he had to be medically separated and sent home for psychiatric treatment. Now, just to clarify, I don't know if this story is true, but it's one of the great legends of Peace Corps Niger.
The best/worst part of this drug is the intense, vivid, long dreams it gives you. While on Mefloquine, I can remember a few dreams, the weirdest of which I'll share. I remember I was at a book signing with my college professor Jim Fisher. It was a book I had written, and he asked me, "Well what do you think about all the Jews?" I looked around and saw a lot of rabbis in different technicolor outfits. Instead of black robes, hats, and shawls, they were wearing a variety of reds, oranges, blues, and greens. For some reason, that I still cannot explain and probably will never be able to, there was a phone that wouldn't stop ringing. I didn't want to answer it because it was in the toilet. Not just in the bathroom, but in the toilet.
In another, I remember thinking that I wanted to steal some green peppers growing in an orchard. In the dream, these peppers were the size of my head and grew from palm/bamboo type trees. It took me about eight waking hours before I remembered that peppers don't grow on trees.
The latest dream that I can remember was my father visiting Niger. My father has been in a wheelchair since he was a kid, so the sand in Niger would usually present a problem for him, but he had an all-terrain wheelchair with some strange independent axle system, which enabled him to roll over rocky terrain like a moon rover. He kept explaining how to kill a goat (this was right around Tabaski) and kept impressing upon me how important it was to do it right. Then he ran me over with his all-terrain wheelchair.
This is only a small sampling, and these kind of dreams are the fun ones. They're not always like that, however. I accidentally dosed myself with two Mefloquine one horrifying day in mid-September. I didn't have a problem sleeping, in fact, it was more of a problem waking up. I took a nap, and I remember waking up and texting my friend Rose from my house in Niger. Then I woke up. My phone was across the room. Then I woke up. My cat was sleeping on my chest. Then I woke up. My cat was sleeping in a corner across the room. Then I woke up. It repeated like this for hours and hours: dreams that were not different from reality and were, in fact, dreams within dreams within dreams. It lasted for three days total, during which time I almost called our medical officer because I could not differentiate dream from reality. The only reason I didn't is because I wasn't sure if I would actually call him, or call him only in a dream. Luckily, this horror show only last three days. Any longer and I would have gone home and checked myself into a mental ward. Schizophrenia and terror for all!
Friday, December 12, 2008
Holidays in the Sun
Well, I can finally cross off one of my life-long goals: eating sheep testicle. I'm not entirely sure if that was on the list to begin with; it certainly wouldn't be higher than say...visit Maccu Piccu or see lions in the wild, but it's at least one less thing to worry about. Last Monday and Tuesday was Tabaski in Niger, which meant the body count for unlucky sheep skyrocketed, much like turkeys in America at the end of November. Like Id al Fitr, which I wrote about earlier, we walked out to the edge of town in our very best clothes and prayed in the morning. Then we came back and feasted untill noon. For this fete every family slaughters a ram, sticks it on a spit, and slow roasts it for the entire day.
It's a fun holiday, a lot like the end of Ramadan, but with even more food, as hard as that is to believe. I stuffed myself to epic proportions, gorging myself on rice and pasta, so much food that I had to sleep off most of the afternoon, just like the last festival. But like last time, and a lot like American holidays, it's fun to see everyone decked out in their nicest clothes, going door to door wishing one another happy new year, drinking tea, visiting, and, oh yeah, butchering a ton of animals. I didn't watch any of the slaughter, but I could hear the screams of the sheep, as all of my neighbors had a sheep to slaughter. I guess the sheep get the last laugh in a way though. Because the meat is so rich and greasy, everyone gets sick the day after. So it goes.
Speaking of turkeys, though, Thanksgiving came and went a couple weeks ago, and I've yet to take the time to write about our Nigerien extravaganza. Everyone on Team Tillaberi made a dish, so there was more than enough food even with people from the new stage. Personal favorites included a very decorative fruit salad, sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows and brown sugar (only available as package food from America), Kate's Derby pie, and the mulled wine.
There will be further updates this week as I find the time. It's swear-in time for the newest AG/NRM stage, my sister stage in country. I'm getting some new neighbors, which will be great; hopefully, we'll be able to reverse the Baleyara cluster "curse," which I might write about more later. For now though, this is a very busy few days in town, with a lot to take care of, a lot of people to meet, and a lot of fun to be had greeting a new stage and saying good-bye to those who are leaving.
It's a fun holiday, a lot like the end of Ramadan, but with even more food, as hard as that is to believe. I stuffed myself to epic proportions, gorging myself on rice and pasta, so much food that I had to sleep off most of the afternoon, just like the last festival. But like last time, and a lot like American holidays, it's fun to see everyone decked out in their nicest clothes, going door to door wishing one another happy new year, drinking tea, visiting, and, oh yeah, butchering a ton of animals. I didn't watch any of the slaughter, but I could hear the screams of the sheep, as all of my neighbors had a sheep to slaughter. I guess the sheep get the last laugh in a way though. Because the meat is so rich and greasy, everyone gets sick the day after. So it goes.
Speaking of turkeys, though, Thanksgiving came and went a couple weeks ago, and I've yet to take the time to write about our Nigerien extravaganza. Everyone on Team Tillaberi made a dish, so there was more than enough food even with people from the new stage. Personal favorites included a very decorative fruit salad, sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows and brown sugar (only available as package food from America), Kate's Derby pie, and the mulled wine.
There will be further updates this week as I find the time. It's swear-in time for the newest AG/NRM stage, my sister stage in country. I'm getting some new neighbors, which will be great; hopefully, we'll be able to reverse the Baleyara cluster "curse," which I might write about more later. For now though, this is a very busy few days in town, with a lot to take care of, a lot of people to meet, and a lot of fun to be had greeting a new stage and saying good-bye to those who are leaving.
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!
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