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.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
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.
Terrorism and a New Life
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
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
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.
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