I came in this week to take care of some financial business. I had forgotten that the CYE/MCD/CHA Volunteers are closing their service this week, so everything has been hectic. The usual forms to sign, people to see, final reporting, etc. In short, all the fun you could ever imagine with paper-trail bureaucracy. They've been at the computers like LCD-addicted mice, and their stress is palpable and contagious. I realized pretty soon that it's only about 3 1/2 months until I'm going through the same thing. Just a little more than 15 weeks to go.
Like I've said in other posts, I'm not happy that I'm leaving. If I had the option, I would probably stay in village because I don't feel as if my work is done yet. But, you have to move on sometime, so it is what it is. I had to sit down with a calendar to chart how my work will be affected over the next few months, and what I discovered is that I have very little time left. Between trainings and work in Niamey, my time is limited to less than nine weeks at post. It's also pretty chilling to realize that with all the work of closing and reporting service, once the new kids are testing out their new sites in the week-long live-in, I'll be packing up my house and probably losing my mind. It's hard to leave any place you've lived for a number of years. But when that place is so outside your perceived normal life, and when your neighbors are the warmest (literally and figuratively), kindest people you've ever had, the transition, I think, is even harder.
My work will necessarily have to start winding down. It's Ramadan now, which means it's impossible for most of the villagers to do anything. You'd be surprised how little energy you have when you don't eat or drink all day in a landscape like this. Or maybe you wouldn't. It's not very hard to imagine, but I can assure you, it's worse when you actually experience the fast. I fasted fully for two days, but because of farming and work, I'm down to an unhealthy weight already, so I'm done now. I felt like my heart was going to just give up if I didn't eat and drink. Plus, while the villagers don't have to work, my projects are at a kind of critical stage where I have to start transitioning them to the village. (I guess I don't have to work either, but sitting around thinking about how I'd like to drink some water is not why I came to Peace Corps.)
I wish I could say more at the moment. It's been a tough, anxiety-filled week for a lot of people here, and I think I've picked up a lot of that. I need to be back in village so I can begin sorting through my next few months and hopefully organize it into something productive. It seems spending so much time in village has made me useless in normal, Western situations. I can only really ever organize myself when I'm alone and at post, and I don't want to even touch on my eating or sleeping habits. (Let's just say I doubt I'll be too productive at home sleeping 12 hours a day.)
Well, that's really all for now. I usually post some stuff from my journal, but I didn't bring it along this time. I might try to do another post before I leave for post tomorrow. Kala Tonton
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Work, Work, Work
Alright, so I know I haven't been very good at posting lately. Let me offer this up as excuse. In the two months since my last post, I have been out of my village a total of ten days. That's not a lot for most Volunteers, and in fact, the responses I've been getting all seem to revolve around the amazement that I was out that long. Indeed, I only came in to do a session for the new stage and because I had run out of money, food, and a bit of sanity.
So what have I been doing in that time? Well, it's rainy season, so the work has really started. We planted in late May, but the rains didn't come again for three weeks, so everything died. Not a great thing when food stocks are already low to lose all your seed. I came in to Niamey in mid-June for a Perceptions workshop with bureau staff and other Volunteers, and the rains came. My villagers planted in my absence, including my fields, which mysteriously more than doubled in size. I had to ask where it began and ended, and the answer I got just shows the different culture of hand farming compared to any others. But first, a tangent.
We met a couple guys in Benin who were traveling West Africa overland from Cameroon to Senegal. One of them stopped by Niger and came up to visit me. As we walked through the fields, he noticed that the fields were an irregular patchwork of shapes all over the countryside. I recounted the dialogue I had with my friend Seyni as to how my fields were distributed:
"So, you start at this tree, and you follow this rock line. It's 75m to this clump of trees. Once you hit these trees, you go on a diagonal back and around until you reach this tree."
"Which tree? This tree?"
"No, this tree here, the one with all the thorns."
"The little bush? Not the big tree?"
"No, not the big tree. This little bush. Then it comes over to these trees, takes a diagonal toward the ox cart path, but doesn't reach the ox cart path. It comes to this rock here and then back to the dry creekbed."
"Wait, rock? Which rock?"
"This rock."
"Which? This?"
"Yes, this rock. How do you not understand. Out of all the rocks in the field I have chosen this one to mark the field."
"And if someone moves this rock?"
"Don't get smart."
Okay, so it's not an exact, verbatim reenactment, but it may be excused through the translation. Anyway, the original point of this story was to emphasize that my field size more than doubled in one fell swoop. As a result, I spent fifteen days in the field, from 8 am to 6 pm by the time I'd walked there and back. That was only the first weeding as well! When I go back to village tomorrow, I'll start again on the second (and hopefully final) round of weeding before harvest.
In the meantime, I've also started the school garden project which some of you may have been contacted in regards to donating money. For everyone who did, thank you very much! For those who didn't, don't worry, there may be another project in the short future to donate to if you so desire. I collected all the supplies in mid-June, held several meetings with the babas (the kids' fathers), and have been gardening with the kids for almost a month now. They're coming on a completely Volunteer basis (because of their fieldwork during rainy season), so I get anywhere from fifteen to over forty kids at a session. There are some adults that help out, but again, according to the work they have to do, sometimes I get four adults to help, sometimes there aren't any. As you can imagine, one 24 year-old kid with forty-plus kids under fourteen can be a bit of a handful. Actually, it's like trying to round up all the animals after a circus fire. But we get along. So far we've had lessons on building garden beds, composting, and soil. When I go back we'll transplant and do lessons on natural pesticides and nutrition. The group leaders, who have their own positions within their own organization, have had a few more responsibilities and a lot more lessons. I've worked with them about managing their teams, keeping track of members, and general accounting for their own money. Every week, all the kids are expected to bring 25 cfa (about a nickel) to add to the caisse. This money goes to buy seeds and manure, and when they sell their vegetables, they should be able to make a small profit for each member. That's the hope anyway. The reality is yet to be seen.
So it's been a lot of time in the village, and a lot of pressures with new language and new responsibilities. I applied to extend in Niger (sorry for all of you who've been asking me if I'm home yet), but I was not chosen for the position. As I can't stay in my village due to the kidnappings almost six months ago, I will probably be forced to leave in December. I can already tell it will be hard, as it's hard to leave almost any place you've lived and loved for two years. You may rejoice that I'll be coming home, but you'd be mistaken again, as I'll be traveling around a bit beforehand. I promise I'll come home eventually, but just how long I stay there is up in the air. I have nothing in the works, but, you know, once you've started wandering, it's kinda hard to quit. Anyway, again apologies for not posting in quite a long time, but it's been a busy time in Niger for me lately. Even now, I have to cut this short so I can go buy some equipment for the school garden and meet with my supervisor to discuss small projects I can do in my remaining five months at post. Until then,
Kala Tonton!
So what have I been doing in that time? Well, it's rainy season, so the work has really started. We planted in late May, but the rains didn't come again for three weeks, so everything died. Not a great thing when food stocks are already low to lose all your seed. I came in to Niamey in mid-June for a Perceptions workshop with bureau staff and other Volunteers, and the rains came. My villagers planted in my absence, including my fields, which mysteriously more than doubled in size. I had to ask where it began and ended, and the answer I got just shows the different culture of hand farming compared to any others. But first, a tangent.
We met a couple guys in Benin who were traveling West Africa overland from Cameroon to Senegal. One of them stopped by Niger and came up to visit me. As we walked through the fields, he noticed that the fields were an irregular patchwork of shapes all over the countryside. I recounted the dialogue I had with my friend Seyni as to how my fields were distributed:
"So, you start at this tree, and you follow this rock line. It's 75m to this clump of trees. Once you hit these trees, you go on a diagonal back and around until you reach this tree."
"Which tree? This tree?"
"No, this tree here, the one with all the thorns."
"The little bush? Not the big tree?"
"No, not the big tree. This little bush. Then it comes over to these trees, takes a diagonal toward the ox cart path, but doesn't reach the ox cart path. It comes to this rock here and then back to the dry creekbed."
"Wait, rock? Which rock?"
"This rock."
"Which? This?"
"Yes, this rock. How do you not understand. Out of all the rocks in the field I have chosen this one to mark the field."
"And if someone moves this rock?"
"Don't get smart."
Okay, so it's not an exact, verbatim reenactment, but it may be excused through the translation. Anyway, the original point of this story was to emphasize that my field size more than doubled in one fell swoop. As a result, I spent fifteen days in the field, from 8 am to 6 pm by the time I'd walked there and back. That was only the first weeding as well! When I go back to village tomorrow, I'll start again on the second (and hopefully final) round of weeding before harvest.
In the meantime, I've also started the school garden project which some of you may have been contacted in regards to donating money. For everyone who did, thank you very much! For those who didn't, don't worry, there may be another project in the short future to donate to if you so desire. I collected all the supplies in mid-June, held several meetings with the babas (the kids' fathers), and have been gardening with the kids for almost a month now. They're coming on a completely Volunteer basis (because of their fieldwork during rainy season), so I get anywhere from fifteen to over forty kids at a session. There are some adults that help out, but again, according to the work they have to do, sometimes I get four adults to help, sometimes there aren't any. As you can imagine, one 24 year-old kid with forty-plus kids under fourteen can be a bit of a handful. Actually, it's like trying to round up all the animals after a circus fire. But we get along. So far we've had lessons on building garden beds, composting, and soil. When I go back we'll transplant and do lessons on natural pesticides and nutrition. The group leaders, who have their own positions within their own organization, have had a few more responsibilities and a lot more lessons. I've worked with them about managing their teams, keeping track of members, and general accounting for their own money. Every week, all the kids are expected to bring 25 cfa (about a nickel) to add to the caisse. This money goes to buy seeds and manure, and when they sell their vegetables, they should be able to make a small profit for each member. That's the hope anyway. The reality is yet to be seen.
So it's been a lot of time in the village, and a lot of pressures with new language and new responsibilities. I applied to extend in Niger (sorry for all of you who've been asking me if I'm home yet), but I was not chosen for the position. As I can't stay in my village due to the kidnappings almost six months ago, I will probably be forced to leave in December. I can already tell it will be hard, as it's hard to leave almost any place you've lived and loved for two years. You may rejoice that I'll be coming home, but you'd be mistaken again, as I'll be traveling around a bit beforehand. I promise I'll come home eventually, but just how long I stay there is up in the air. I have nothing in the works, but, you know, once you've started wandering, it's kinda hard to quit. Anyway, again apologies for not posting in quite a long time, but it's been a busy time in Niger for me lately. Even now, I have to cut this short so I can go buy some equipment for the school garden and meet with my supervisor to discuss small projects I can do in my remaining five months at post. Until then,
Kala Tonton!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Back in Niger and Missing Ghana
Made it back safely to Niger for all of you who were worried/concerned/mildly interested. It was a long haul from Kumasi in Ghana back to Niamey, especially as we didn't overnight in Ouagadougou like we should have. Instead we took a bus from Kumasi and had to wait for four hours in Bolgatanga on the Ghana border because the crossing isn't open at 2 am. We got into Ouaga around noon and were assured by a bush taxi driver we could get to Niamey that night. So we went, but around 5 pm, he stopped in a random little town, told us we needed a military escort from Fada N'Gourma that had already left. Evidently there are bandits on the road west of Fada, and escorts only run at specific times. So he left us in the small town and told us to wait for a bus. Really great guy in the end...except that we waited until midnight (over six hours) for a bus to come along. It was the Abijan to Niamey direct, and, interestingly, it's been running nonstop for 4000 years. It was packed to the gills with people and luggage, and we ended up displacing a few people to sit on the floor. Most of the Zarmas I know go to look for money in Côte d'Ivoire (where you'll find Abijan, the main coastal city, for you Geography majors), so the only people going from Abijan to Niamey are a bunch of poor Zarmas returning in time for rainy season. The bus went about an hour down the road to Fada, where we had to get out and wait until 6 am (about four hours total) until we could get the military escort. One would think with a two hour lead, we would get into Niamey earlier than any buses direct from Ouaga, and we might have, if we hadn't had to wait for three hours at the border to pass through customs. I think that was longer than all the combined wait we had at all the customs depots in our entire trip, and our bus even greased the wheels to the tune of about 75,000 cfa ($150) to the customs agents. I refused to pay this bribe, but evidently it's pretty common at the Ouaga/Niamey road customs depot. By the time we'd gotten back to Niamey we'd been on the road a total of 46 hours. That was almost two days without a shower, without any real meals, and almost no real sleep, so needless to say we were pretty glad to get home.
But why start at the end when I can start in the middle? I haven't said anything about Ghana, and that was, after all, a big chunk of our trip. Last time I updated, we were in Hohoe, in the Eastern Region, and we were finishing up the hiking/nature part of our trip. Mary wasn't feeling well in Hohoe, so Jyoti and I went out on our own to Mt. Afadjato and Wli Falls. Mt. Afadjato is Ghana's highest peak at 885m. There's actually a higher point nearby, but because of the relation of its base to its peak, I guess whatever that one is named isn't actually considered a mountain. The hike was tough, taking about two hours, with a rock scramble/climb near the peak, but once we were at the top, the view was beautiful. In one direction, we could see out over the mountains back into Togo, and in the other, we could see all the way to Lake Volta. We had a picnic on the top and ended up back in Hohoe that night. The next day, we went out to Wli Falls. These were nice, but I preferred Akloa Falls in Togo. The Wli Falls are much better set up for tourists, with bridges across streams, wide, well-kept trails, and even trash cans. Trash cans! Irkoy beeri. We should have taken the longer hike up to the top of the falls, but we didn't have the time as we were late leaving Hohoe. It was a beautiful day for hiking, and the falls were lovely, but the coolest thing about the area around the falls is the bat population. There were literally thousands of bats hanging off the cliff during the middle of the day with a few flapping through the mists from the falls whenever they decided they needed to change position.
On the 7th of May, we left Hohoe for Accra at the ungodly hour of 4 am. It actually turned out a little better because it allowed us the full day in Accra, and let me tell you, Accra demands a full day, or in our case three. We were blown away by this city. Compared to anything else we've seen in West Africa, it's like a fully developed, Westernized city. The streets are clean and paved, there's barely any trash on the streets as a result of pretty tough litter laws (litter laws!), and everywhere you look there are modern buildings and brand new cars.
We stayed in Labone, which is where the Peace Corps Volunteers can get a discount on certain hotels. Labone is within walking distance of Osu, where all the ex-pats dine and shop and generally try to avoid the people whose country they inhabit. I'm being a little harsh, but I've developed a generally low opinion of ex-pats. Why live in a country if you just want to shop, eat, dance, and play in areas that look exactly like America or Europe? The main ex-pat supermarket looked like a European chain, where you could get Western perks like Pop-tarts (!), salami, energy drinks, and high-end chocolates like Cadbury and Toblerone. Everything is overpriced because these places, and restaurants and such like them, cater to tastes and desires of places literally a world away. Anyway, we didn't take too much advantage of these places as they were out of our price range. Mary and I went to a trivia night with some Ghana Volunteers at a Champs Sports bar. I don't think there was even one Ghanaian in that restaurant. It looked exactly like a sports bar you'd find in an American mall. It was kind of unsettling. The third day we were there we went to an Irish pub in Osu, and, again, it was like being a world away from Africa.
Our second day in Accra we decided to take a break from the city at the Aburi Botanical Gardens, about an hour outside Accra in the surrounding hills. The gardens were a British invention and house a ton of species from all over West Africa in a classic British hill station set up. Old colonial houses and manicured lawns are the order of the day, but it was more interesting than a traditional botanical garden because it was filled with oddities such as the strangler ficus, a parasitic tree that grows around, envelops, and eventually kills other trees. The one we saw was over one hundred years old. It enveloped its host around 1937, and so, now that the tree is dead and has rotted away over the years, it's left the strangler ficus with a hollow trunk, like a cylindrical tube stretching into the sky.
Our last day in Accra, we decided to hit the markets, and went to the capital's main shopping centre (no, not the mall, eventhough there is one. Yes, a MALL in Africa). Makola Market takes up several city blocks of Accra, but because we went on a Saturday, it stretched out even further on all sides with people hawking fish, fruit, vegetables, shoes, watches, and basically anything else you could ever want. I'm convinced if you searched long enough between the pig's feet and the used electronics, you'd find the Holy Grail. We moved on from there to the National Cultural Centre, where they aggressively sell crafts of every sort from drums to batik, kente to carvings. I think most tourists get taken for a ride, but I found that it is possible to get a few good deals as all the shopkeepers sell remarkably similar things, and they've got to make a living. I don't think I paid more than half their original stated price for anything they sold.
Alright, I need some lunch, so I'll post again later, but while I'm thinking about it, I've got to go on a discourse about Ghanaian food and drink. That night, after the market, we went to an Irish pub where they had Castle Milk Stout on tap. This has now become one of my favorite beers. It's way better than Guiness (at least any Guiness I've had since being in the UK), and, like everything else in Ghana, it's cheap. The beers alone were reason to come to Ghana. From Star to Castle Milk Stout, Stone's to Gulder, every single beer I tasted in Ghana was better than any single beer I'd ever had in Niger. The food consisted of staples like yam and cassava, but their sauces and sides are the tastiest I'd had in a long time. From red red (a spicy bean dish) to palaver sauce (spinach and spices), everything goes well with a side of roast chicken, and it can all be found on the street for less than $3. I'm kind of worried to go back to Nigerien hawru tomorrow night.
But why start at the end when I can start in the middle? I haven't said anything about Ghana, and that was, after all, a big chunk of our trip. Last time I updated, we were in Hohoe, in the Eastern Region, and we were finishing up the hiking/nature part of our trip. Mary wasn't feeling well in Hohoe, so Jyoti and I went out on our own to Mt. Afadjato and Wli Falls. Mt. Afadjato is Ghana's highest peak at 885m. There's actually a higher point nearby, but because of the relation of its base to its peak, I guess whatever that one is named isn't actually considered a mountain. The hike was tough, taking about two hours, with a rock scramble/climb near the peak, but once we were at the top, the view was beautiful. In one direction, we could see out over the mountains back into Togo, and in the other, we could see all the way to Lake Volta. We had a picnic on the top and ended up back in Hohoe that night. The next day, we went out to Wli Falls. These were nice, but I preferred Akloa Falls in Togo. The Wli Falls are much better set up for tourists, with bridges across streams, wide, well-kept trails, and even trash cans. Trash cans! Irkoy beeri. We should have taken the longer hike up to the top of the falls, but we didn't have the time as we were late leaving Hohoe. It was a beautiful day for hiking, and the falls were lovely, but the coolest thing about the area around the falls is the bat population. There were literally thousands of bats hanging off the cliff during the middle of the day with a few flapping through the mists from the falls whenever they decided they needed to change position.
On the 7th of May, we left Hohoe for Accra at the ungodly hour of 4 am. It actually turned out a little better because it allowed us the full day in Accra, and let me tell you, Accra demands a full day, or in our case three. We were blown away by this city. Compared to anything else we've seen in West Africa, it's like a fully developed, Westernized city. The streets are clean and paved, there's barely any trash on the streets as a result of pretty tough litter laws (litter laws!), and everywhere you look there are modern buildings and brand new cars.
We stayed in Labone, which is where the Peace Corps Volunteers can get a discount on certain hotels. Labone is within walking distance of Osu, where all the ex-pats dine and shop and generally try to avoid the people whose country they inhabit. I'm being a little harsh, but I've developed a generally low opinion of ex-pats. Why live in a country if you just want to shop, eat, dance, and play in areas that look exactly like America or Europe? The main ex-pat supermarket looked like a European chain, where you could get Western perks like Pop-tarts (!), salami, energy drinks, and high-end chocolates like Cadbury and Toblerone. Everything is overpriced because these places, and restaurants and such like them, cater to tastes and desires of places literally a world away. Anyway, we didn't take too much advantage of these places as they were out of our price range. Mary and I went to a trivia night with some Ghana Volunteers at a Champs Sports bar. I don't think there was even one Ghanaian in that restaurant. It looked exactly like a sports bar you'd find in an American mall. It was kind of unsettling. The third day we were there we went to an Irish pub in Osu, and, again, it was like being a world away from Africa.
Our second day in Accra we decided to take a break from the city at the Aburi Botanical Gardens, about an hour outside Accra in the surrounding hills. The gardens were a British invention and house a ton of species from all over West Africa in a classic British hill station set up. Old colonial houses and manicured lawns are the order of the day, but it was more interesting than a traditional botanical garden because it was filled with oddities such as the strangler ficus, a parasitic tree that grows around, envelops, and eventually kills other trees. The one we saw was over one hundred years old. It enveloped its host around 1937, and so, now that the tree is dead and has rotted away over the years, it's left the strangler ficus with a hollow trunk, like a cylindrical tube stretching into the sky.
Our last day in Accra, we decided to hit the markets, and went to the capital's main shopping centre (no, not the mall, eventhough there is one. Yes, a MALL in Africa). Makola Market takes up several city blocks of Accra, but because we went on a Saturday, it stretched out even further on all sides with people hawking fish, fruit, vegetables, shoes, watches, and basically anything else you could ever want. I'm convinced if you searched long enough between the pig's feet and the used electronics, you'd find the Holy Grail. We moved on from there to the National Cultural Centre, where they aggressively sell crafts of every sort from drums to batik, kente to carvings. I think most tourists get taken for a ride, but I found that it is possible to get a few good deals as all the shopkeepers sell remarkably similar things, and they've got to make a living. I don't think I paid more than half their original stated price for anything they sold.
Alright, I need some lunch, so I'll post again later, but while I'm thinking about it, I've got to go on a discourse about Ghanaian food and drink. That night, after the market, we went to an Irish pub where they had Castle Milk Stout on tap. This has now become one of my favorite beers. It's way better than Guiness (at least any Guiness I've had since being in the UK), and, like everything else in Ghana, it's cheap. The beers alone were reason to come to Ghana. From Star to Castle Milk Stout, Stone's to Gulder, every single beer I tasted in Ghana was better than any single beer I'd ever had in Niger. The food consisted of staples like yam and cassava, but their sauces and sides are the tastiest I'd had in a long time. From red red (a spicy bean dish) to palaver sauce (spinach and spices), everything goes well with a side of roast chicken, and it can all be found on the street for less than $3. I'm kind of worried to go back to Nigerien hawru tomorrow night.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Gone to Togo
Alright, been a little while since my last update. The towns we stayed in in Togo had bad Internet and French keyboards. I don't know which one is worse. I'm in Ghana now, back in the realm of English keyboards, so I can update everyone on my trip.
In my last post, I was in Natitingou just about to travel into Somba/Bétammaribé country. We met up with two guys named Evan and Josh who are traveling around West Africa. The started in Mauritania and flew to Cameroon and have basically been going from Peace Corps Volunteer to Peace Corps Volunteer, doing some service work and generally hanging out with people in their villages in Mauritania, Cameroon, and Benin. We went out to Boukoumbé, a village about an hour west of Natitingou down a dirt road through the mountains. Being with some guys who've been crashing at Peace Corps houses, what did we do? We crashed at a Peace Corps house! We met up with a Volunteer in the area, though I can't give her name or post because of Peace Corps security reasons. She got us in touch to sleep in a Somba house out in the bush. Let me just say, this was one of the coolest things I've ever done. It was about a two hour hike through the mountains, and because the rains have already come to Benin (still over a month away in Niger), everything was green and beautiful. The best way to describe the landscape would be to describe the Shire from Lord of the Rings. These great mountains and rolling hills hide mini-castles dotted throughout fields of corn and yam. Because we're so used to castles built on the scale of large European fortresses, it seemed like the fortresses surrounded by gigantic baobob trees should have housed numerous little people ready to defend their Lilliputian homes. Pictures will go up on facebook when I've returned to Niger. There's really not a good way to describe them that will do justice to our sleeping conditions that night.
The Bétammaribé people build their compounds in the middle of their fields, so there's no "town" per se, and because the children so rarely see white people, they really wanted to play. Evan, Mary, and I were happy to oblige. We danced, wrestled, and fired slingshots at imaginary enemies in the fields. We ended the day climbing a giant baobob and watching the sun set before eating dinner with a local family and sleeping on top of our own little fortress.
The next day, we hiked back to Boukoumbé and met the local Volunteer and another from Togo for market day. The market in Boukoumbé rotates every four days. This confused those of us from Niger who are used to weekly markets until we realized the true meeting point wasn't the market, but the tchouk bar. Tchoukou is the local Beninese millet/sorghum beer, and, like tea in Niger and other Muslim countries, it is the drink of choice for sitting and socializing. The market rotates every four days because it takes three full days to prepare the tchouk. The women pound the millet and water the first day. It's cooked and fermented over the course of the second and third days, and then it is served up in both dark and light varieties at the market on the fourth day. It's not too potent, but over the course of an afternoon in a hot, humid market place, just drinking bowls and bowls of it, it'll pick you up and put you on your ass.
We had originally planned to head into Togo that afternoon...we stayed another night.
The next day was entirely devoted to travel. We did a pretty good job taxi hopping from Boukoumbé back to Natitingou, from Natitingou to Djougou, from Djougou to Kétao for a customs checkpoint into Togo, from Kétao to Kara in Togo for lunch. We were doing really well getting into Kara in the early afternoon, and we thought we had it made for a trip to Atakpamé, getting in in the early evening and having a nice relaxing evening to prepare for a trip to Badou. Luck can swing any direction in West Africa, and if you believe at all in luck you know you can never name it or else you'll jinx it, especially in a place that plays so heavily into Voodoo/juju. We got to Sokodé and as we were leaving, three motorcycles and a car full of police officers pulled up and forbade us to leave. The driver got out to talk to them, and I wasn't suspicious at all until the helper jumped into the front seat, grabbed the papers and tried to hide them. Over an hour later, after the driver was taken away by the police, he returned, no doubt a little lighter in the wallet, and we continued to Atakpamé, arriving around 8:00 instead of at five as we had anticipated. Finding the Peace Corps house in the dark, down a street that barely exists and is not lit was interesting to say the least, but at that point, I felt like anybody who wanted to mug us would be pushing their luck pretty far.
In the morning we took off for Badou and visited the Akloa falls. These were spectacular falls in the mountains bordering Ghana. We spent the afternoon swimming and relaxing in the pool at the base of the falls before the three of us returned to our tiny little flop house of a room in a dirty shady bar near the motor park. Where else are you going to go if you're in West Africa and on a Peace Corps budget?
Togo was mostly a week of camping and visiting nature. We stayed three nights in Kpalimé, on the border with Ghana. It was probably one of the most touristed places we'd been yet, but we did have a great time. While out at dinner, Mary and I met a guy named "Momo," an African dancer who works at lot with Peace Corps and the American Embassy. The next day, he hooked us up, helping us out with stuff to do, places to eat, places to buy music, and new haircuts for the three of us. I re-mohawked myself, Jyoti just buzzed her head, and Mary is now the proud new owner of some dreads, courtesy of Momo's sister. We played with his neice, possibly one of the cutest little girls I've ever met and just generally had a good time hanging out with a friendly local. He took us into his home and made us feel just overall very welcome.
From Kpalimé we went 12k up the road to the border town of Klouto. I took my own hike with a guide through the coffee and cacao fields. It was originally meant to be a tour of the plantations, but it turned into a tour of local plants used by the artisans as natural dyes. It was very interesting, and with my mother's extensive background in fabric and dye, it wasn't entirely lost on me. It's crazy to come from the desert plains in Niger to the tropical rain forest mountains of Togo and Ghana. Whereas in Niger it's a hot, dusty silence, Togo's humid forests team with birds and insects. I didn't know it would be so NOISY. Being up in the mountains though is great. Last night was very cool and peaceful. I'd recommend Togo for anyone into music, amazing people, and crazy amounts of butterflies.
I'm in Ghana now in the town of Hohoe. We were going to go to a town about an hour away known for its kente cloth, but decided we needed to slow down a bit. There will be plenty of time for crafts when we get to Kumasi. Tomorrow we're hiking up another mountain (Mt. Afadjato, Ghana's highest at 885m) and the day after we'll be at yet ANOTHER waterfall (Wli, over 40m tall). Our hope is we'll be able to appease the nature nut with us so she won't complain when we're rumbling through Accra or lounging on the beach near Cape Coast.
Well, that's about all that I have time for right now. If it gets a little random at the end, I'd challenge you to sum up an entire weeks worth of travel in a little under an hour. After spending a few hours here, I can already tell I'm going to love Ghana. We're a little over halfway through our trip. From here, we'll be going to Accra, Cape Coast, Kumasi and then back to Niger via Burkina Faso.
Until then, bye bye Rasta man.
In my last post, I was in Natitingou just about to travel into Somba/Bétammaribé country. We met up with two guys named Evan and Josh who are traveling around West Africa. The started in Mauritania and flew to Cameroon and have basically been going from Peace Corps Volunteer to Peace Corps Volunteer, doing some service work and generally hanging out with people in their villages in Mauritania, Cameroon, and Benin. We went out to Boukoumbé, a village about an hour west of Natitingou down a dirt road through the mountains. Being with some guys who've been crashing at Peace Corps houses, what did we do? We crashed at a Peace Corps house! We met up with a Volunteer in the area, though I can't give her name or post because of Peace Corps security reasons. She got us in touch to sleep in a Somba house out in the bush. Let me just say, this was one of the coolest things I've ever done. It was about a two hour hike through the mountains, and because the rains have already come to Benin (still over a month away in Niger), everything was green and beautiful. The best way to describe the landscape would be to describe the Shire from Lord of the Rings. These great mountains and rolling hills hide mini-castles dotted throughout fields of corn and yam. Because we're so used to castles built on the scale of large European fortresses, it seemed like the fortresses surrounded by gigantic baobob trees should have housed numerous little people ready to defend their Lilliputian homes. Pictures will go up on facebook when I've returned to Niger. There's really not a good way to describe them that will do justice to our sleeping conditions that night.
The Bétammaribé people build their compounds in the middle of their fields, so there's no "town" per se, and because the children so rarely see white people, they really wanted to play. Evan, Mary, and I were happy to oblige. We danced, wrestled, and fired slingshots at imaginary enemies in the fields. We ended the day climbing a giant baobob and watching the sun set before eating dinner with a local family and sleeping on top of our own little fortress.
The next day, we hiked back to Boukoumbé and met the local Volunteer and another from Togo for market day. The market in Boukoumbé rotates every four days. This confused those of us from Niger who are used to weekly markets until we realized the true meeting point wasn't the market, but the tchouk bar. Tchoukou is the local Beninese millet/sorghum beer, and, like tea in Niger and other Muslim countries, it is the drink of choice for sitting and socializing. The market rotates every four days because it takes three full days to prepare the tchouk. The women pound the millet and water the first day. It's cooked and fermented over the course of the second and third days, and then it is served up in both dark and light varieties at the market on the fourth day. It's not too potent, but over the course of an afternoon in a hot, humid market place, just drinking bowls and bowls of it, it'll pick you up and put you on your ass.
We had originally planned to head into Togo that afternoon...we stayed another night.
The next day was entirely devoted to travel. We did a pretty good job taxi hopping from Boukoumbé back to Natitingou, from Natitingou to Djougou, from Djougou to Kétao for a customs checkpoint into Togo, from Kétao to Kara in Togo for lunch. We were doing really well getting into Kara in the early afternoon, and we thought we had it made for a trip to Atakpamé, getting in in the early evening and having a nice relaxing evening to prepare for a trip to Badou. Luck can swing any direction in West Africa, and if you believe at all in luck you know you can never name it or else you'll jinx it, especially in a place that plays so heavily into Voodoo/juju. We got to Sokodé and as we were leaving, three motorcycles and a car full of police officers pulled up and forbade us to leave. The driver got out to talk to them, and I wasn't suspicious at all until the helper jumped into the front seat, grabbed the papers and tried to hide them. Over an hour later, after the driver was taken away by the police, he returned, no doubt a little lighter in the wallet, and we continued to Atakpamé, arriving around 8:00 instead of at five as we had anticipated. Finding the Peace Corps house in the dark, down a street that barely exists and is not lit was interesting to say the least, but at that point, I felt like anybody who wanted to mug us would be pushing their luck pretty far.
In the morning we took off for Badou and visited the Akloa falls. These were spectacular falls in the mountains bordering Ghana. We spent the afternoon swimming and relaxing in the pool at the base of the falls before the three of us returned to our tiny little flop house of a room in a dirty shady bar near the motor park. Where else are you going to go if you're in West Africa and on a Peace Corps budget?
Togo was mostly a week of camping and visiting nature. We stayed three nights in Kpalimé, on the border with Ghana. It was probably one of the most touristed places we'd been yet, but we did have a great time. While out at dinner, Mary and I met a guy named "Momo," an African dancer who works at lot with Peace Corps and the American Embassy. The next day, he hooked us up, helping us out with stuff to do, places to eat, places to buy music, and new haircuts for the three of us. I re-mohawked myself, Jyoti just buzzed her head, and Mary is now the proud new owner of some dreads, courtesy of Momo's sister. We played with his neice, possibly one of the cutest little girls I've ever met and just generally had a good time hanging out with a friendly local. He took us into his home and made us feel just overall very welcome.
From Kpalimé we went 12k up the road to the border town of Klouto. I took my own hike with a guide through the coffee and cacao fields. It was originally meant to be a tour of the plantations, but it turned into a tour of local plants used by the artisans as natural dyes. It was very interesting, and with my mother's extensive background in fabric and dye, it wasn't entirely lost on me. It's crazy to come from the desert plains in Niger to the tropical rain forest mountains of Togo and Ghana. Whereas in Niger it's a hot, dusty silence, Togo's humid forests team with birds and insects. I didn't know it would be so NOISY. Being up in the mountains though is great. Last night was very cool and peaceful. I'd recommend Togo for anyone into music, amazing people, and crazy amounts of butterflies.
I'm in Ghana now in the town of Hohoe. We were going to go to a town about an hour away known for its kente cloth, but decided we needed to slow down a bit. There will be plenty of time for crafts when we get to Kumasi. Tomorrow we're hiking up another mountain (Mt. Afadjato, Ghana's highest at 885m) and the day after we'll be at yet ANOTHER waterfall (Wli, over 40m tall). Our hope is we'll be able to appease the nature nut with us so she won't complain when we're rumbling through Accra or lounging on the beach near Cape Coast.
Well, that's about all that I have time for right now. If it gets a little random at the end, I'd challenge you to sum up an entire weeks worth of travel in a little under an hour. After spending a few hours here, I can already tell I'm going to love Ghana. We're a little over halfway through our trip. From here, we'll be going to Accra, Cape Coast, Kumasi and then back to Niger via Burkina Faso.
Until then, bye bye Rasta man.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Bein' in Benin
A week into my first vacation away from Niger. It's been fun, it's been exhausting, but it feels great to get away from that heat.
We crossed into Malanville, on the border with Niger, across the river from Gaya, where Peace Corps has an education Volunteer posted. There were many clauses in that sentence but bear with me. Gaya is the greenest part of Niger. It is the furthest south and gets the most rain, so it's like paradise for most Volunteers who have never left country. As we traveled south through Benin, though, through Kandi and Parakou all the way down to Bohicon, the greenery blew everything Niger has out of the water (If Niger actually had any water, this might be applicable, but again, bear with me). From the savannah grasslands, we slowly worked our way south through the Atakaora Mountains and into dense forest and even jungle. Along the way we saw mountains of mangos, both for sale and just as trash. Benin's farmers have already started planting yams and corn, something which is still at least a month away for Nigerien millet farmers. Just from a bus ride on the main highway we could tell were in the land of milk and honey.
Our first stop was in Abomey, about ten hours south of Malanville and the Niger border. We traveled Inter City bus lines. These buses are brand new and better than anything we have in Niger. Air conditioning, padded seats, leg room, and all the poorly dubbed, bad Brazilian soap operas you could want. And who could resist "Le Retour de Beyonce" (not the singer). Like I said, milk and honey. Abomey is the capital of the old Dahomey empire. The Dahomeyans were a bloody lot. Each king had a birthright to leave a larger territory for his successor. They were constantly at war, and they did a pretty good job of things. By the time the Portugese and the French arrived, the Dahomeyans were in control of most of the country, and their power only expanded with the slave trade. The Dahomeyan empire worked with the Europeans to capture slaves. The more slaves they brought, the more guns, tobacco, and alcohol the Dahomeyans received. At its height, they were moving 20,000 slaves a year through the ports of Ouidah, Grand Popo, and Porto Novo. The kings were unbelievably brutal to their enemies and to friends who no longer entertained them. We saw torture devices, chains, cannons, and all sorts of blood and gore. King Guézo's throne was mounted on the heads of four former enemies. The walls to the fortresses were said to be painted in blood. Unfortunately, not many of these fortresses are still around. Of the twelve original palaces, ten no longer exist, and the city of Abomey is on the UN's list of Endangered World Heritage Sites. The palace in the best condition is that of King Glèlè, which boasts beautiful, though grotesque, bas-relief sculptures depicting the various torture methods employed by the Dahomey empire. He was succeeded by his son Béhanzin, the last king of the last traditional empire in Africa. The French, their colonial power growing, found an excuse in the Dahomeyan "savagery" and, with superior weaponry and tactics, defeated the Dahomeyans, despite their corps of elite fighting women, the only true force of Amazons in history.
From Abomey, we headed down to Cotonou to pick up our visas for Ghana. Cotonou is a ridiculous city. It's the busiest, noisiest, smoggiest city I've ever been too, and that includes New York and London. It seems like every third person has a motorcycle, and all are simultaneously attempting to drive them as fast as possible. We've run into a lot of Peace Corps Volunteers here, even staying a few nights in their bureau workspace, and they have been so more than helpful. They helped with our Ghana visas, found us some great food (Indian, Thai, and Lebanese, it's been so long!), and just generally were great, amazingly friendly people (as most Peace Corps Volunteers are). We took day trips out to the capital Porto Novo, which is really only the capital in name, as everything happens in Cotonou, and to Ouidah, a voodoo stronghold. The south has a lot of great colonial architecture, with Portugese, French, and Brazilian influences. Also, the Voodoo around here is very prevalent. As much as 50% of Beninois claim Voodun as their religion, though I think just about everyone incorporates it into their belief struture at least somewhat.
Now we're in Natitingou in Northern Benin after renting a car for the day with three other Volunteers. Natitingou is in the mountains, and it's beautiful here. It's so much cooler and less humid than anywhere else we've been. Today we took a day trip out to Tanguieta and then to Tanougou to see the waterfalls. The falls are just south of a major safari destination in Park Penjari, but we cannot go because of the expense. We did have a good time exploring the mountains and swimming in the pools, so despite not seeing lions or elephants, we can't complain too much. Tomorrow we'll be heading out for Boukoumbé, on the border with Togo to see the traditional houses of the Betamaribé people, also known as the Somba. They successfully defended themselves from Dahomeyan slave traders because they live spread out in their fields in fortress-like compounds. They store all of their food in granaries within the towers of their houses, so they could hole up for months without any problems. In short, they were too difficult to capture for most slavers. From there we'll cross the border into Togo, and the second week of our vacation will commence. Until then, au revoir.
We crossed into Malanville, on the border with Niger, across the river from Gaya, where Peace Corps has an education Volunteer posted. There were many clauses in that sentence but bear with me. Gaya is the greenest part of Niger. It is the furthest south and gets the most rain, so it's like paradise for most Volunteers who have never left country. As we traveled south through Benin, though, through Kandi and Parakou all the way down to Bohicon, the greenery blew everything Niger has out of the water (If Niger actually had any water, this might be applicable, but again, bear with me). From the savannah grasslands, we slowly worked our way south through the Atakaora Mountains and into dense forest and even jungle. Along the way we saw mountains of mangos, both for sale and just as trash. Benin's farmers have already started planting yams and corn, something which is still at least a month away for Nigerien millet farmers. Just from a bus ride on the main highway we could tell were in the land of milk and honey.
Our first stop was in Abomey, about ten hours south of Malanville and the Niger border. We traveled Inter City bus lines. These buses are brand new and better than anything we have in Niger. Air conditioning, padded seats, leg room, and all the poorly dubbed, bad Brazilian soap operas you could want. And who could resist "Le Retour de Beyonce" (not the singer). Like I said, milk and honey. Abomey is the capital of the old Dahomey empire. The Dahomeyans were a bloody lot. Each king had a birthright to leave a larger territory for his successor. They were constantly at war, and they did a pretty good job of things. By the time the Portugese and the French arrived, the Dahomeyans were in control of most of the country, and their power only expanded with the slave trade. The Dahomeyan empire worked with the Europeans to capture slaves. The more slaves they brought, the more guns, tobacco, and alcohol the Dahomeyans received. At its height, they were moving 20,000 slaves a year through the ports of Ouidah, Grand Popo, and Porto Novo. The kings were unbelievably brutal to their enemies and to friends who no longer entertained them. We saw torture devices, chains, cannons, and all sorts of blood and gore. King Guézo's throne was mounted on the heads of four former enemies. The walls to the fortresses were said to be painted in blood. Unfortunately, not many of these fortresses are still around. Of the twelve original palaces, ten no longer exist, and the city of Abomey is on the UN's list of Endangered World Heritage Sites. The palace in the best condition is that of King Glèlè, which boasts beautiful, though grotesque, bas-relief sculptures depicting the various torture methods employed by the Dahomey empire. He was succeeded by his son Béhanzin, the last king of the last traditional empire in Africa. The French, their colonial power growing, found an excuse in the Dahomeyan "savagery" and, with superior weaponry and tactics, defeated the Dahomeyans, despite their corps of elite fighting women, the only true force of Amazons in history.
From Abomey, we headed down to Cotonou to pick up our visas for Ghana. Cotonou is a ridiculous city. It's the busiest, noisiest, smoggiest city I've ever been too, and that includes New York and London. It seems like every third person has a motorcycle, and all are simultaneously attempting to drive them as fast as possible. We've run into a lot of Peace Corps Volunteers here, even staying a few nights in their bureau workspace, and they have been so more than helpful. They helped with our Ghana visas, found us some great food (Indian, Thai, and Lebanese, it's been so long!), and just generally were great, amazingly friendly people (as most Peace Corps Volunteers are). We took day trips out to the capital Porto Novo, which is really only the capital in name, as everything happens in Cotonou, and to Ouidah, a voodoo stronghold. The south has a lot of great colonial architecture, with Portugese, French, and Brazilian influences. Also, the Voodoo around here is very prevalent. As much as 50% of Beninois claim Voodun as their religion, though I think just about everyone incorporates it into their belief struture at least somewhat.
Now we're in Natitingou in Northern Benin after renting a car for the day with three other Volunteers. Natitingou is in the mountains, and it's beautiful here. It's so much cooler and less humid than anywhere else we've been. Today we took a day trip out to Tanguieta and then to Tanougou to see the waterfalls. The falls are just south of a major safari destination in Park Penjari, but we cannot go because of the expense. We did have a good time exploring the mountains and swimming in the pools, so despite not seeing lions or elephants, we can't complain too much. Tomorrow we'll be heading out for Boukoumbé, on the border with Togo to see the traditional houses of the Betamaribé people, also known as the Somba. They successfully defended themselves from Dahomeyan slave traders because they live spread out in their fields in fortress-like compounds. They store all of their food in granaries within the towers of their houses, so they could hole up for months without any problems. In short, they were too difficult to capture for most slavers. From there we'll cross the border into Togo, and the second week of our vacation will commence. Until then, au revoir.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Isolation and Vacation
Hello all. Apologies for the inexcusable lack of posts lately. I've been back in village hiding from the terrorists. Would you know it, the village hasn't gotten around to installing wireless yet. Lazy is what I say. Though maybe they need the electricity and the running water before they start worrying about checking their email.
I never introduced the restrictions, and for that I apologize. I actually lost the sheet that spelled them all out. What it basically comes down to is that I have to maintain as low a profile as possible. That means, to the American embassy, that I cannot leave my village more than once a month. I can go to market because it is only a kilometer away. I cannot go to any of the other villages along the road, or go to see my friends at the French government site. I'm not allowed to go north or west of the paved road, which is unfortunate because it means I cannot explore the mesas looming over my village, and I will have to find new fields come rainy season. (But I have been cleared if I farm with my villagers, which could be fun. I might take that into consideration.) Only Nigerien staff members can visit my site, and only if they take a bush taxi. No American government vehicles are allowed to go up my road. This includes diplomatic missions, Peace Corps, and USAID. In addition, no Volunteer is allowed to visit, and the two younger Volunteers, my closest neighbors were both forced to relocate villages in the Dosso region. So I am now 120km away from anyone, not allowed to go anywhere, nor allowed to see any other Americans for weeks at a time. It's just me, my village, and my villagers.
So how's it been? Surprisingly, not as bad as I had thought. My integration has skyrocketed. Indeed, it had no choice but to get better as I never see anyone else. I only speak English when my family calls or when I talk to myself (which happens disturbingly often these days. I really hope my villagers don't think I'm schizo or possessed by spirits or something). My Zarma has gotten pretty strong. I'm confident in it, and I've begun relearning French. This is a bit harder because the African accent tends to chew all the words together.
I've also started real work in village. My gardens all died while I was away because my gardener friend didn't bother to water them. I guess he thought I wasn't coming back. But I've been working with my women's group to improve their large garden, and I have also started work on a school garden. By July, I'll be teaching small children gardening, health, and nutrition. I don't know why they allowed me near children, but it's pretty hard to warp minds in a different language. Rainy season will be busy, what with the women's garden project, the school garden, and my fields.
But for now, it's hot season. It hasn't been too bad, but the seasonal calendar basically eliminates any work for an agriculture Volunteer at this point in time. If my gardens hadn't died I could still have tomatoes and peppers, but there's no use crying over dead plants. I've not been doing a whole lot. I occasionally take morning walks around Damana, but it's getting too hot for much activity. I had one run-in with heat stress which basically shut down my body's internal thermostat. Not too fun. So I've just been chillin' in the shade, visiting my friends, and chatting. I've started playing soccer with the teachers and older students in the evening. You want a workout, try playing football/soccer with anyone in a developing country. They're so freaking good. Playing in the desert is about like snorting sand, but you get used to it. Anytime a large chunk of cow sh*t can change the outcome of the game, well you know you're bound to have fun.
And now I'm in Niamey because I'm going on vacation in three days. I'm so excited. This is my first vacation. I've been in village for over a year now. (!) My how time flies. Three of us are going down to Benin, Togo, and Ghana, with a return trip through Burkina Faso. We'll escape the Nigerien heat, as all these countries are cooler because of the coast. We'll also be in the mountains, on the beach, in Ghana's lake district, Togo's coffee country, and Benin's voodoo regions. All this and slave history to boot. Don't you wish you could come along?
Well that's about all I have the patience for right now. Hope everyone out there is safe and happy. Until next time.
Sterling
I never introduced the restrictions, and for that I apologize. I actually lost the sheet that spelled them all out. What it basically comes down to is that I have to maintain as low a profile as possible. That means, to the American embassy, that I cannot leave my village more than once a month. I can go to market because it is only a kilometer away. I cannot go to any of the other villages along the road, or go to see my friends at the French government site. I'm not allowed to go north or west of the paved road, which is unfortunate because it means I cannot explore the mesas looming over my village, and I will have to find new fields come rainy season. (But I have been cleared if I farm with my villagers, which could be fun. I might take that into consideration.) Only Nigerien staff members can visit my site, and only if they take a bush taxi. No American government vehicles are allowed to go up my road. This includes diplomatic missions, Peace Corps, and USAID. In addition, no Volunteer is allowed to visit, and the two younger Volunteers, my closest neighbors were both forced to relocate villages in the Dosso region. So I am now 120km away from anyone, not allowed to go anywhere, nor allowed to see any other Americans for weeks at a time. It's just me, my village, and my villagers.
So how's it been? Surprisingly, not as bad as I had thought. My integration has skyrocketed. Indeed, it had no choice but to get better as I never see anyone else. I only speak English when my family calls or when I talk to myself (which happens disturbingly often these days. I really hope my villagers don't think I'm schizo or possessed by spirits or something). My Zarma has gotten pretty strong. I'm confident in it, and I've begun relearning French. This is a bit harder because the African accent tends to chew all the words together.
I've also started real work in village. My gardens all died while I was away because my gardener friend didn't bother to water them. I guess he thought I wasn't coming back. But I've been working with my women's group to improve their large garden, and I have also started work on a school garden. By July, I'll be teaching small children gardening, health, and nutrition. I don't know why they allowed me near children, but it's pretty hard to warp minds in a different language. Rainy season will be busy, what with the women's garden project, the school garden, and my fields.
But for now, it's hot season. It hasn't been too bad, but the seasonal calendar basically eliminates any work for an agriculture Volunteer at this point in time. If my gardens hadn't died I could still have tomatoes and peppers, but there's no use crying over dead plants. I've not been doing a whole lot. I occasionally take morning walks around Damana, but it's getting too hot for much activity. I had one run-in with heat stress which basically shut down my body's internal thermostat. Not too fun. So I've just been chillin' in the shade, visiting my friends, and chatting. I've started playing soccer with the teachers and older students in the evening. You want a workout, try playing football/soccer with anyone in a developing country. They're so freaking good. Playing in the desert is about like snorting sand, but you get used to it. Anytime a large chunk of cow sh*t can change the outcome of the game, well you know you're bound to have fun.
And now I'm in Niamey because I'm going on vacation in three days. I'm so excited. This is my first vacation. I've been in village for over a year now. (!) My how time flies. Three of us are going down to Benin, Togo, and Ghana, with a return trip through Burkina Faso. We'll escape the Nigerien heat, as all these countries are cooler because of the coast. We'll also be in the mountains, on the beach, in Ghana's lake district, Togo's coffee country, and Benin's voodoo regions. All this and slave history to boot. Don't you wish you could come along?
Well that's about all I have the patience for right now. Hope everyone out there is safe and happy. Until next time.
Sterling
Monday, March 2, 2009
Terrorism and a New Life (2)
Alright class, has everyone done their assigned reading? Good, I'll be able to continue then.
The end of January, I received a text from our Regional Representative, the Volunteer liason between the bureau and the other Volunteers in Tillaberi region. She said the entire region north of Niamey was on standfast. This means we cannot leave our villages or travel around our clusters. Wherever we happen to be when standfast occurs, be it in our village or another Volunteers, that's where we have to stay. It was a let down because I had planned to come into Niamey to attend a friend's concert, but since I couldn't go, I didn't mind a few extra days at post. Four days later, I was walking out my door when I heard my phone ringing.
"That's strange, who could be calling me?" I picked up my phone: "Mary Abrahms" (our country director). "Oh this cannot be good." (Is it ever a good thing when your boss calls you unexpectedly?)
She told me that because of recent incidents (which I still did not have any definite idea about as no news reports were covering the kidnappings), she was consolidating the Tillaberi and Baleyara clusters. What that means is that the office considered staying in our posts too dangerous and we would have to come into our regional capital (in this case, Niamey) for an unknown amount of time. Now, this is a huge step to take for a country director, and an event I didn't think I would ever really witness. We have three steps in our emergency action plan in Peace Corps: standfast, consolidation, and evacuation. We were suddenly one step away from leaving country. Mary told me to pack for at least 10 - 14 days in Niamey, perhaps longer, to say good bye to my neighbors and explain where I was going. This was big, but at the time I did not know how much this would change my service.
I said goodbye to my neighbors. I gave the key to my house to my maigari and said, "Well, I have to go to Niamey, they're afraid we're all going to get kidnapped by bandits. Haha!" He said, "No one's going to kidnap you, you don't have any money."
It was a big joke at the time, but I couldn't have known then was that I would join ten other PCVs in a meeting with the Country Director, in which she would outline the severity of the situation in Niger. The two separate kidnappings were most likely linked. The American Embassy had initiated a travel ban on the Tillaberi and Filingue roads. To put this in perspective, the only other travel ban in country is in the area around Agadez, where the Tuareg ethnic group has been in rebellion against the government for increased autonomy for nearly two years now. Our Country Director explained that she had classified information from the French, Nigerien, American, and Malian authorities which she couldn't share with us, but that the kidnappings seemed to target Westerners. The area we inhabit is basically lawless. The Nigerien government just doesn't have the resources to adequately monitor the vast swathes of mostly unoccupied desert and scrubland. In the past 7 years, other kidnappings have occurred, including a grouop of 32 European tourists in 2003 and an Austrian couple in 2007 who were ransomed for $10 million. Additionally she told us that bandits had actually robbed an entire town a few years ago, rolling in with guns on open back trucks and escaping before any gendarmes could be mobilized to help. The situation did not look good, and Mary posed a possibility that none of us expected: new villages in a different region. There was no guarantee we'd be able to return to our villages, or ever see our villagers again.
We were encouraged to travel out east. In the past five weeks I have visited every Peace Corps region in Niger. I've been to Dosso, Konni, Tahoua, Maradi, and Zinder. I've visited Volunteers from my stage that I hadn't seen in months. It was great to travel around and see almost the entire country, but the more I traveled, the more I just wanted to go home, my home, on the Baleyara road, the place I had made my own over ten months. My area is amazing because it mixes four of the major ethnic groups in Niger: the Zarma, Fulani, Bella Tuareg, and Hausas. The area is so liberal and progressive compared to every other place I went, and in every village I visited, I noticed that many other villages had so much more NGO work than my area. I felt like if I had to leave that I would be abandoning my friends and my adoptive family. I couldn't do it. I couldn't imagine myself living anywhere else, and I would do anything to go back.
After three weeks out of our villages, Mary called us all together again and gave us three options. We could go back to our villages, with several restrictions, which I will enumerate later. We could move to a new village in a new region and basically start over again. The final option was to leave country, to take interrupted service with the hope that the situation would calm down and we'd be able to return to our villages. Five Volunteers in their first year of service decided to move to the Dosso region and take new villages. The six of us in our second year all decided to stay under restrictions that make us completely isolated and independent and nearly incapable of initiating projects that required any outside intervention.
I've decided to return back to village. It's going to be a very different, very difficult service, but I couldn't abandon my village. I came to Niger to do two years in one village, to learn and to grow from my friends and neighbors, and I could not give up on that. I'll post the restrictions soon. They're pretty tough. I can't fully communicate how stressful, emotional, and crazy this past month has been. Even Volunteers in Niger can barely comprehend what we eleven had to go through. Imagine that you were forcibly evicted from your community without a chance to say goodbye. That's only one of the issues tied up in this entire situation. God willing, I'll go back to village tomorrow. After that I will not be able to post on this blog very often. I think I'll be mailing blog entries to my dad to post on this blog. Anyone worried, I'm confident I'll be perfectly safe in my village. Like I said, there are a lot of emotions tied up in this decision to return, but I have to believe I've made the right decision, and I have to follow through with it.
The end of January, I received a text from our Regional Representative, the Volunteer liason between the bureau and the other Volunteers in Tillaberi region. She said the entire region north of Niamey was on standfast. This means we cannot leave our villages or travel around our clusters. Wherever we happen to be when standfast occurs, be it in our village or another Volunteers, that's where we have to stay. It was a let down because I had planned to come into Niamey to attend a friend's concert, but since I couldn't go, I didn't mind a few extra days at post. Four days later, I was walking out my door when I heard my phone ringing.
"That's strange, who could be calling me?" I picked up my phone: "Mary Abrahms" (our country director). "Oh this cannot be good." (Is it ever a good thing when your boss calls you unexpectedly?)
She told me that because of recent incidents (which I still did not have any definite idea about as no news reports were covering the kidnappings), she was consolidating the Tillaberi and Baleyara clusters. What that means is that the office considered staying in our posts too dangerous and we would have to come into our regional capital (in this case, Niamey) for an unknown amount of time. Now, this is a huge step to take for a country director, and an event I didn't think I would ever really witness. We have three steps in our emergency action plan in Peace Corps: standfast, consolidation, and evacuation. We were suddenly one step away from leaving country. Mary told me to pack for at least 10 - 14 days in Niamey, perhaps longer, to say good bye to my neighbors and explain where I was going. This was big, but at the time I did not know how much this would change my service.
I said goodbye to my neighbors. I gave the key to my house to my maigari and said, "Well, I have to go to Niamey, they're afraid we're all going to get kidnapped by bandits. Haha!" He said, "No one's going to kidnap you, you don't have any money."
It was a big joke at the time, but I couldn't have known then was that I would join ten other PCVs in a meeting with the Country Director, in which she would outline the severity of the situation in Niger. The two separate kidnappings were most likely linked. The American Embassy had initiated a travel ban on the Tillaberi and Filingue roads. To put this in perspective, the only other travel ban in country is in the area around Agadez, where the Tuareg ethnic group has been in rebellion against the government for increased autonomy for nearly two years now. Our Country Director explained that she had classified information from the French, Nigerien, American, and Malian authorities which she couldn't share with us, but that the kidnappings seemed to target Westerners. The area we inhabit is basically lawless. The Nigerien government just doesn't have the resources to adequately monitor the vast swathes of mostly unoccupied desert and scrubland. In the past 7 years, other kidnappings have occurred, including a grouop of 32 European tourists in 2003 and an Austrian couple in 2007 who were ransomed for $10 million. Additionally she told us that bandits had actually robbed an entire town a few years ago, rolling in with guns on open back trucks and escaping before any gendarmes could be mobilized to help. The situation did not look good, and Mary posed a possibility that none of us expected: new villages in a different region. There was no guarantee we'd be able to return to our villages, or ever see our villagers again.
We were encouraged to travel out east. In the past five weeks I have visited every Peace Corps region in Niger. I've been to Dosso, Konni, Tahoua, Maradi, and Zinder. I've visited Volunteers from my stage that I hadn't seen in months. It was great to travel around and see almost the entire country, but the more I traveled, the more I just wanted to go home, my home, on the Baleyara road, the place I had made my own over ten months. My area is amazing because it mixes four of the major ethnic groups in Niger: the Zarma, Fulani, Bella Tuareg, and Hausas. The area is so liberal and progressive compared to every other place I went, and in every village I visited, I noticed that many other villages had so much more NGO work than my area. I felt like if I had to leave that I would be abandoning my friends and my adoptive family. I couldn't do it. I couldn't imagine myself living anywhere else, and I would do anything to go back.
After three weeks out of our villages, Mary called us all together again and gave us three options. We could go back to our villages, with several restrictions, which I will enumerate later. We could move to a new village in a new region and basically start over again. The final option was to leave country, to take interrupted service with the hope that the situation would calm down and we'd be able to return to our villages. Five Volunteers in their first year of service decided to move to the Dosso region and take new villages. The six of us in our second year all decided to stay under restrictions that make us completely isolated and independent and nearly incapable of initiating projects that required any outside intervention.
I've decided to return back to village. It's going to be a very different, very difficult service, but I couldn't abandon my village. I came to Niger to do two years in one village, to learn and to grow from my friends and neighbors, and I could not give up on that. I'll post the restrictions soon. They're pretty tough. I can't fully communicate how stressful, emotional, and crazy this past month has been. Even Volunteers in Niger can barely comprehend what we eleven had to go through. Imagine that you were forcibly evicted from your community without a chance to say goodbye. That's only one of the issues tied up in this entire situation. God willing, I'll go back to village tomorrow. After that I will not be able to post on this blog very often. I think I'll be mailing blog entries to my dad to post on this blog. Anyone worried, I'm confident I'll be perfectly safe in my village. Like I said, there are a lot of emotions tied up in this decision to return, but I have to believe I've made the right decision, and I have to follow through with it.
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