Send Me On My Way

2011-02-08T10:09:00.003-05:00

I'm not supposed to be sitting in Ohio right now....not for another nine months. Really not for another year at least, because despite being tired of the sand and sun, I probably would have extended my service in Niger. Unfortunately, it was not meant to be. On January 12, PCVs in Niger each received a phone call telling us to pack our bags and say goodbye. Because of a recent kidnapping in Niamey, security concerns lead to PC Niger suspending its program and removing all volunteers. I left my village early the next morning and we were flown out of the country late that night to our transition conference site in Morocco. I still feel numb.

It had been such a great week too. I had just finished helping move in seven new volunteers to their sites and was happy to be back in my village working on the garden project and planning my brother's upcoming trip to visit me. The past few months had been challenging. I had been feeling homesick and stressed out but that week things were falling back into place. I was content again and feeling excited about the possibilities in the next few months. Another volunteer and I were working on organizing a regional girls education conference and I had just finished the proposal for it. The kidnapping that had happened earlier that week was of course on my mind, but I can't say I was expecting that phone call. I'm not normally one to think, "that will never happen to me" but I think I did genuinely think that, with all PC had been through in Niger, being evacuated would simply not happen. I understand the decision and I know it was the right one to make. It's just not fair.

After hearing our options on transfers during a whirlwind week in Morocco, it became clear that I didn't have many choices. I also decided that frantically jumping to another country wasn't really what I was prepared to do. I love adventure, I loved the excitement of Peace Corps but I was simply not ready to do it all over again. I missed my friends in Niger. I missed my village. I missed everything and it was hitting me like a ton of bricks that week - hitting all of us. I couldn't go into another country and start over. I couldn't get over the fact that I wouldn't be going back to Niger.

So, after bumming around Morocco for a couple weeks, I am back in America. Jobless, homeless, and not sure what is next but incredibly grateful for the past year and a half. Everyday was incredible. There are some people who are really good at making everyday count. I wasn't one of them before I came to Niger. I realize now, that you never know about tomorrow. But you have today and you had better make it count. Peace Corps was an amazing journey. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I suppose the only thing left to say is thank you to all of the amazing people that I had the privilege to share this time with. My community in Niger deserves a thousand thanks. They were my family, my friends, and the most genuine people I have ever met. I will never forget them and hope to go back some day. My Peace Corps family too was the best partner to have. Despite whatever bureaucratic downsides there may be to Peace Corps as an organization, I loved the staff and volunteers I worked with in Niger. They are dedicated and compassionate people.

When I said goodbye to Ousmane, who directs the program I was working under, he pointed to the space above his office door where someone had painted the phrase It's a small world after all. "Don't forget that," he said as we shook hands, "It's not goodbye, you know". I looked up and was reassured that this wasn't the last time I would be in Niger. I hope he is right, because flying back across the ocean...the world felt pretty big.

~Fatouma

Garden Update

2011-01-16T13:54:00.003-05:00

January 12, 2011

Well, I suppose not everything we do can be successful, or maybe we just have to start redefining success. My primary school garden project was chugging along nicely this fall. The fence was built and we were ready to begin planting. Things went a little not-according-to-plan, but that is fairly normal for Niger. Instead of calling in our town’s Agriculture Agent to help with the garden prep and planting, my school director decided we would just begin....that maybe wasn’t such a good idea. So, the students began clearing their garden plots and things still seemed okay. Then, I discovered that instead of purchasing seeds for the project, my director wanted to buy seedlings. Ok, but that definitely wasn’t what we budgeted for.....but we made it work and planted them (still no Agriculture Agent visit...). Not surprisingly, not much survived and we now have a very nicely fenced in....pile of dirt. The trees we planted are still alive, so that’s a plus.

Watching this project spiral downward made me realize several things. First, my school director has a bit of an ego and is more concerned with having a garden that looks good than having one that teaches something. Secondly, he doesn’t actually listen to me. And it’s not a language thing. I talk; he understands; he ignores. That’s how it goes. Thirdly, no wonder international development is such a miserable cluster @$#% of bumfuddledness! I can’t even get tomatoes to grow at a primary school and the UN thinks it’s going to reach all of those Millennium Development Goals?

So, it was a crappy fall. But I think maybe I fell into the same trap my director was in. I was so concerned about producing a successful project to put on paper and send back to Washington that I didn’t stop to realize the good things that were in fact happening. So the veggies died. It happens. But, none of the kids really seemed that concerned that they wouldn’t be able to go sell produce at market and make a profit. From the beginning, they were more excited to run outside and play in the dirt with each other. Maybe that doesn’t look as nice on paper, but for kids here, an hour of having fun with each other is a big deal. Kids here, especially girls, haul water, run errands; serve as manual laborers, babysitters, caretakers, and shopkeepers. This fall, for a couple of hours a week, they could just be kids. When I looked at the photos of one of the days we planted seedlings I realized that all of the students were smiling; and so were the teachers, even the director....well, I might have seen a smirk. I almost laughed out loud as I imagined typing up my project evaluation and having nothing to say other than, “we had fun”. Maybe at the end of a day, when there’s nothing else you can do, having fun with something is a big success in itself.

My school director has been busy working with the local elections that took place this week. When they are over though, he says he wants to meet. He says the kids can each contribute a little money and we can buy new seedlings to plant....this time with the help of our Agriculture Agent. I resisted the urge to scream “I told you so” and nodded my head instead. He said, “We’re not tired, Fati”.

I am still amazed at this place’s ability to make me laugh, cry; get irrationally angry; turn cynical, then hopeful; and make me fall in love with it all over again......all in the span of a day.

~ Fatouma

"To Plant a Garden is to Believe in the Future"

2010-11-10T11:09:00.006-05:00

Happy fall everyone! I know back home the leaves are changing, there's a chill in the air, and the pumpkin spice lattes have started(damn...one more year!) Here in Niger, it's also cooling off. The harvest is in and we are getting ready for Tabaski later in November. It is also the start of gardening season and I'm very excited to report that my village's school garden project is actually underway! This week while hosting some brand new PC trainees, the community built the fence to enclose the garden and we are planning to start planting next week. I spent most of the time standing around asking questions and trying to be usefull. I have learned that while I may have the skills to fund a project, I have no idea how to build a fence or plant a garden. This week I realized that my village will take it from here, and that's how it should be so I'm feeling pretty good. Check out the pics and below is some more information on the project. Thank you Thank you Thank you to friends and family who donated to this project. Stay tuned for more updates!

Primary School Garden Project (funded through PCPP)

Gardening provides supplemental income and food for students. Initiating a school garden in the village would reach children early on and educate them on the importance of off season gardening. They will acquire the skills to establish their own gardens later on and gain knowledge of healthy eating habits. The community in turn will benefit from an increase in produce selection as students will be selling their goods at market once a week. Because the village is located off the main road to Niamey, it often does not benefit from the same produce variety despite its close proximity to the capital.

Students will also gain valuable skills in income generation and collaborative work through the proposed project. The garden requires students to work in teams to achieve success. The student government ministers will develop their leadership skills and the other students will learn to work with a group of their peers. In participating in the selling of their garden produce, students will practice their math skills in the market and learn the basics of income generating activities as they sell their goods to make a profit.

The community will benefit from the school garden as well. The village's small market will gain a boost of produce variety. As students share their acquired knowledge with their friends and families, the community is more likely to garden themselves or purchase school produce to supplement their diets. The school will continue its close relationship with the community and allow the students and COGES to solicit help to sustain the garden past its first year. The sustainability of the project is favorable as most of the material items and labor needed each year is already coming from the community. The planning of a seed caisse will ensure that the school is able to continue the garden without a partnership contribution. The school director is committed to making the project an annual, sustainable part of the school and will ensure that students remain engaged in the program.

2010-09-20T12:29:00.001-04:00

September 11, 2010

I have lived in Niger over a year now – a country that is certainly over ninety percent Muslim. In this past year, I’ve listened to BBC in my mud brick house, surrounded by tiny kids and sheep, as much of the western world continues its childish crusade against Islam. I listened as Switzerland banned the construction of minarets and France restricted women from wearing hijabs. What’s more, I listened to people actually try to come up with practical reasons to justify these new laws. When an American pastor announced his plans to burn Korans on the anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, I thought for an instant that surely I was tuning into some other world’s news. Quickly I remembered that even my country has been swallowed up in the mess we live in today. I am tired of people being hateful towards each other. I’m exhausted with it. The events that happened nine years ago on this day have nothing to do with Islam. They were carried out by hatred – hatred that ever since, my country seems to be trying to match.
One of Peace Corps’ goals is to create better understanding among Americans of other cultures. I feel that, as an American living in a Muslim country, I should share my experience and talk about this religion that surrounds me everyday. However, the events of the past month have made me realize that much of my country does not care to know. Much of my country seems content to wallow in their own prejudices and anger. I mean, would you care to know? Do you care to know that on September 10th I rushed back to my village (having been working at our training site) to celebrate Eid al–Fitr with people who, despite not having enough to eat themselves dished out lunch to me with generosity that would never be matched in America? Would any of you like to know that despite a severe food crisis, political uncertainty, the peak of malaria season, with daily farm work to be done, my village and most of the country fasted for the holy month of Ramadan? They went without food or water from sunrise to sunset everyday for a month to be closer to God and practice discipline and humility…… Makes giving up soda for Lent seem a little ridiculous, eh? Would anyone at home care to know that PCVs frequently work with local Imams to educate their communities on the importance of girls’ education and population control? Would you like to hear that I think it is ten times easier to be a non-Muslim in this country than I imagine it’d be as a Muslim in America?
My friend recently finished her Peace Corps service and returned home to Ohio with her fiancé who is Muslim. One of his first experiences in America was probably hearing about our plan to burn holy books and protest the building of a community center in NYC, just because it was housing a mosk. I am ashamed that a man whose country has shown me so much kindness, generosity, and acceptance will not receive the same from mine. But I don’t really think most of you want to know that. I mean, if I told you all these things; if I made you understand the beauty of where I live, you would have to feel something. You would have a face to put with Islam and would have to set aside the images of burning buildings, and hijacked planes. It is easier to be angry. Haven’t I just exemplified that in this post? My friends here would tell me to have patience. They are better people than me. They deserve better. I don’t have patience and I am as angry as those on the other end of the spectrum.
I would consider myself a spiritual person but not particularly religious. Islam, like any other faith, can be beautiful; it can save; it can give strength to those in need; and it can be destructive. An episode aired just after 9/11/01 of the West Wing in which one of the characters says, “Al Qaeda is to Islam as the KKK is to Christianity.” It is the only voice of reason I remember from that time – a tv show written by a probably drugged up Aaron Sorkin. Even my own father yelled out that day that we had been attacked and were at war. He was correct, but we were not attacked by Islam and the war we are fighting is against the hatred rooted deep inside each of us…..and we’re losing. Of course you could say that there is equal hatred and misunderstanding on all sides and that is true. But there are enough people yelling about that and we cannot solve the world’s problems by pointing fingers outward. Americans in particular need to start looking inward and fight against our own ignorance and arrogance.
Since last November, I have lived with the possibility that if a regional terrorist group, AQIM gets much bolder in West Africa, Peace Corps Niger may very well pick up and leave. That means being in my village one day and being yanked away the next with no real notice. So, for those who would like to have burn-a-Koran-day and whatnot, keep in mind that your hatred puts me and other PCVs around the world at risk. Not to mention that it is a ridiculously ignorant and bigoted thing to do or support (and your silence equals support!). Maybe we should stop focusing on the destruction of things and work on creating something. You do nothing for the world if you burn a book.

I thought my country was moving forward, but today it seems we are as far behind as ever.

~ Fatouma
(The name of the Prophet Muhammad’s favorite daughter – his only one to bare children, and therefore often thought of as the mother of all Muslims - and a popular name for first born daughters here…quite a name to live up to!)

All you need is Mud!

2010-08-31T04:02:00.000-04:00

August 16, 2010

Every woman I know in my village, even from wealthy families, cooks meals over an open fire. The gas stove top I have in my house is, as far as I know, the only one in my town. Most people throw a pot on top of three rocks, fire underneath, and call it a stove. We were trained by PC on building something called an improved cook stove out of mud and I’ve spent the past several months working on teaching women to make them in our village. It has been both rewarding and frustrating, and has, as always been accompanied by some funny stories.

First, some informative tidbits(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cook_stove) from a presentation I recently did on cook stoves for other PCVs...
- Half the world's population of nearly six billion people prepare their food and heat their homes with coal and the traditional biomass fuels of dung, crop residues, wood and charcoal on variations of cook stoves
- “Developing countries consume little energy compared to developed nations; however, over 50% of the energy that they do use goes into cooking food.”
- “The average rural family spends 20% or more of its income purchasing wood or charcoal for cooking. Living in the city provides no refuge either as the urban poor frequently spend a significant portion of their income on the purchase of wood or charcoal.”
- Since the energy crisis of the 1970s, there has been increased attention on improving models by NGOs and governments in developing countries
A good definition for what we mean when we say improved cook stove is...
- “A stove that needs far less biomass to cook the same amount of food than a traditional one and consequently produces also far less smoke than a traditional stove.” (Improved Cooking Stoves for Developing Countries, Johannes V. Owsianowski)
- Improved cook stoves can result in around 35% fuel savings, greatly improving efficiency

I spend most nights sitting with friends as they prepare dinner over traditional stoves and have observed what a pain in the ass they are to deal with. That’s really the only way to describe it. Here are some of the things one has to deal with.....
- using lots of fire wood while most of the heat escapes and doesn’t even make it to what you are cooking
- smoke going everywhere, often right into your face
- the open fire is affected by winds, which can be a huge issue in Niger, where strong winds and sand storms are common
- the pot isn’t stable and can fall or spill what you’re cooking
- fire is open and close to kids, putting them at risk for burns, or setting the cook’s skirt on fire

Last fall a friend’s entire concession caught on fire when no one was home. They think it was most likely caused by the wind tossing up hot coals from the morning’s cooking fire, which lay out in the open.

The demand for fire wood to use as fuel is rapidly influencing Niger’s environment. There is a lot of buzz about desertification and deforestation and erosion, etc. And it’s all correct. To be brief, Niger is using up more trees than it plants. And with a high population growth rate, the demand for fuel will not be decreasing anytime soon. So, can a cook stove made from three rocks and some mud really do anything to change this? Well, probably not; at least not on its own. But maybe some cook stoves, some tree planting, and a whole lot of education combined and we might just have a solution. This is just my part of the puzzle.

So, the improved cook stove was developed in the 70s to help with all of the issues mentioned above. There are a lot of different models made for different needs and fuels. I’ve been working with a simple design that’s a sedentary, mud constructed wood burning stove. The idea is pretty simple- enclose the pot in think mud walls to hold the heat in and protect the fire, thereby using less fuel and preventing homes and small children from catching on fire. The stove is easy to make and best of all, totally free. And while Niger is lacking in many things – food, infrastructure, rainfall, a government – there is no shortage of mud. No joke, 90% of my village is made of it. The stove offers the following benefits...
- less $$ and time spent on acquiring fire wood
- smoke is channeled through specific windows in the stove
- pot is stable and doesn’t spill
- fire not as vulnerable to wind
- safer for kids and cooks alike because the fire is enclosed
- more heat = faster cooking = more time for cooks

My village now has around twenty mud cook stoves, including one I built for myself that can double as a dutch oven (more about that later). Women in my village have been very enthusiastic about the stoves, though somewhat less enthusiastic when I try to explain that they in fact need to learn to make them. Sometimes it’s clear that someone wants one just to say that the American made them a stove. But others are interested in learning about them and really utilizing them for their benefits. I have been working one on one to build most of them. Most women end up wanting two stoves, as each one will only fit one size pot. Each meal is usually prepared with two pots, one for hawru and one for sauce.

I attempted to do a training at my Mairie one morning and invited several women from around town....one of whom actually showed up. On my way home, two people asked when I was coming to build stoves for them. That was a bad day. It is also hard for some women to use the new stove. A lot of them say that the fire isn’t going because they can’t see it – a point that has to be discussed at great lengths. And sometimes the fire does go out but you can’t see it because of the mud walls. This is a particular pain that I’ve experienced on my own cook stove. But on the whole, I’ve enjoyed working on them mainly because it is something that creates an immediate effect in women’s lives. Thus far, the benefits seem to outweigh the negative issues.

I’m taking a bit of a cook stove siesta as it’s rainy season – not the best time to work with mud....or do anything for that matter, because everyone is in the farms all day!

~Fatouma

The M part of MCD volunteer.....

2010-08-31T03:48:00.000-04:00

August 9, 2010

I recently heard a BBC radio report on a new law passed in Liberia making it compulsory to register for a birth certificate within a certain period of time following a birth. The country is trying to improve its public record system and is using the law as a basis for new awareness campaigns to register all of its citizens. I mention this because at the time, I had just finished a project in my village along these same lines. Like Liberia, Niger’s public record system is a bit....lacking. Systems of birth, death, and marriage certificates are pretty automatic in the States; I doubt we even give them much thought. Here, it is not such a given. Most births and deaths take place in homes, making it difficult to keep records of them. A wedding ceremony is complete when the Marabout says so, not when the two parties fill out a piece of paper. Furthermore, institutions like the Mairie that are in charge of such records are not well known in their communities, and some are not even functioning. The result is that most people do not know their exact birthday and many communes do not have accurate records of their populations. My commune is particularly bad with death and marriage records. I think we received something like ten marriage registrations for all of 2009....which is hilarious because I think I’ve been to more than ten weddings in my time here.

And why, you say, in the midst of a food crisis and military coup worry about public records? My short answer would be, because you have to start somewhere. But really, they are an important aspect of community development. On an individual level, you need a birth certificate to attend school, get a driver’s permit, a national identity card, and visas or passports. Death and marriage certificates provide valuable evidence for inheritance rights as well as tax obligations. As for the community level, public records help the government know and understand population demographics which come in handy when say, an NGO rolls up and says, “We want to build a school, how many students are in so-and-so village.” Or when there are emergencies such as food shortages (hey, sound familiar?!) and aid agencies need to know how many people they need to feed in a given area. Oh snap, not such a bad project after all.

So, during June and July, I and my counterpart, Abdou organized a campaign to educate our commune on the importance of these public records and the processes for going about getting them. Abdou is our commune’s Etat-civil and is in charge of maintaining birth, death, marriage, and tax records for the entire commune. That’s one guy for 33 villages, adding up to around 20,000 people. Of course, that’s using his records, meaning it’s probably more. Abdou brought up the project idea himself when we were discussing sensibilisations that I could possibly help with in the community. I helped arrange a small amount of funding for us to cover transportation costs, but Abdou designed the campaign and saw it through. I consider the project to be a success already because of what he got out of it. I think he was so excited to actually see an idea of his being planned and then carried out. His confidence got a well needed boost and when we finished he was smiling straight for almost a week. He is now back to his normal, moody self ....but it’s Ramadan now, so I’ll give him a break. He says there has already been an increase in the registrations he’s receiving. We’ll be able to see at the end of the year if there really was an increase from previous years.

It was nice to work on something directly with the Mairie, where I spend a lot of time but don’t necessarily feel like I do a lot for. The whole challenge of creating a reliable public infrastructure is an incredibly slow process, one that I know I won’t see move much in my two years here. I consider our campaign a success but have no idea if it will help improve things in the long run, seeing as something like this requires not only the cooperation of the public, but the reliability of government institutions like the Mairie, which is pretty much always up in the air. New local elections are currently scheduled for November 27. Stay tuned....

~Fatouma

But I thought money didn't matter!

2010-06-11T11:54:00.000-04:00

The cultural differences between my villagers and I are numerous and complicated. They could probably fill a book, maybe several. Having been in Niger almost a year, I have forgotten about some, or rather learned to accept them, but still struggle with many on a daily basis. My life at home was quite opposite that of my village now, and not just in terms of amenities. I actually think very little of electricity or indoor plumbing; though I still miss cheese a lot. Before coming to Niger I lived in my own little apartment with my own jobs, schedules, possessions and agendas. While my friends and I would probably be quick to insist on the presence of community in our lives, I see now that it was largely absent, or perhaps just different. Community was something we could enter and exit as we felt necessary. We could visit the local farmers’ market, see a show at a neighborhood bar, talk to interesting strangers on the bus if we so chose, and in general interact with our surroundings as needed before returning home to our individual comforts. My neighbors and I always said hello in the hallways, held the door for each other in the laundry room, but I don’t remember any of their names.

Ah, those were the days I suppose. Community is important in America and relationships with others are valued, but we do not come close to communal living that surrounds me now in Africa. My house is considered open to anyone, my belongings up for grabs if not being used, and a brief good morning to the neighbors is not acceptable. Eating alone is avoided, parenting becomes the responsibility of anyone older than said kid, and you best believe everyone is all up in people’s business. It is easy in America to romanticize communal living, picturing tiny villages where everyone gets along and works together. Likewise, as an American living in Niger, it is easy to think, holy crap I want my studio apartment back with a deadbolt and my dvd collection. Like most things, our two cultures both have their good and bad sides. The best we can do is try to understand each other.

While struggling with these various cultural barriers, another volunteer recommended a book to me called African Friends and Money Matters and it helped to put into words a lot of the differences in daily life that seem so frustrating to deal with here. The book focuses on the different ways Africans and Westerners view money and friendship. There were several moments while reading when I said to myself, "Yes! That’s exactly what I’ve been dealing with!"

Some of the points I though important to share as they come into play in my life and work here everyday. As far as money goes, there are very different attitudes towards it in my village versus how we would think of it at home. The author explains that for many Africans, saving money is not really an option. It is meant to be spent and if you can’t spend it, someone else can and that’s that. This is true of many goods, not just cash. Stocking up, saving money or goods is not really done. I notice this with food especially. My villagers buy sauce ingredients as needed from small shops nearby, usually in pre-portioned amounts. For example, you don’t buy a can of tomato paste. The shop owner buys the can, then individually wraps spoonfuls of it into little plastic bags and sells those. When my neighbors are making dinner, they send a kid (or sometimes me) to buy the ingredients for that meal; a single serving of oil, tomato paste, peppers, etc. One day my coworker was buying a little bag of sugar to put in our tea and I asked why he didn’t just buy a whole kilo in the market. I had recently purchased one and it was far less expensive than paying for a little bag with the equivalent of a spoonful of sugar each day. He dismissed the idea as impossible. Where would he get the money for that? I didn’t understand at all. He was spending more money buying so many smaller portions. It made no sense! The book I read spoke directly to these spending habits. Buying more than is needed at any one time is rare because there will inevitably be someone to come along needing that item and you would be obligated to give it to them. If my coworker bought a kilo of sugar to put in his tea every morning, anyone else that needed sugar and happened to be passing by would probably ask for some. Case in point, when my neighbors found out I had an oatmeal can full of sugar, I got frequent requests whenever sugar was needed. In short, Costco should not look into expanding to Africa. Stick to the West where it makes sense to buy a twenty gallon tub of peanut butter.

So how do you get rid of a large sum of money you ask? No, not a bank account, that’s rarely done. The book points out that many people will invest it slowly in their homes by purchasing a plot of land a slowly building their property up. This made me laugh because indeed, there are half finished homes all around my village and everywhere else I’ve been in Niger. The same was true when I was in Ghana as well.

One of my favorite things summarized in the book was the observation that Africans are hospitable, Westerners are charitable. I thought this summed things up pretty well. The author makes the point that Africans will feed and shelter a guest even at an inconvenience to them and this has certainly been my experience here. I am always offered something to eat or drink if I visit someone’s house and I frequently see guests arrive from out of town and allowed to stay as long as they’d like with no complaint. Westerners on the other had are more likely to show their generosity by giving to a charity or contributing to a community project in a more anonymous way. It is common to see Nigeriens giving to beggers on the street, whereas in America, we prefer not to, figuring that donating money to a homeless shelter or soup kitchen will do more good in the long run than giving a dollar to the bum on the subway. I don’t know if one is better than the other. I guess our preference simply has more of a long term outlook versus the shorter term here.

Some other points made by the book that I have noticed in my village here are quoted below. Sorry to laundry list these but they have or will I'm sure all come out in other posts in more depth.

"Africans are very sensitive and alert to the needs of others and are quite ready to share their resources"
"Being involved financially and materially with friends and relatives is a very important element of social interaction"
"Many people buy meals at canteens set up on many street corners, outside of factory gates, and at other convenient locations" (even if it is more expensive)
"Africans readily share space and things but are possessive of knowledge" (This is a really important point I think and I’ll be writing a post about it just as soon as I can)
"People who have many possessions or a surplus of money are prejudged to be selfish egoists who are insensible to the needs of others"
"Africans do not budget for special events; rather, they spend as much money and other resources as they can marshal for each one" (This is why every naming ceremony and wedding I go to, I am bombarded for requests for money donations to help cover the costs)
"Friendships and other relationships are built and maintained with gifts" (This is exhausting!!!!!)
"Compliments are frequently given indirectly in the form of requests for gifts or loans and are often formulated as questions" (So, when my friend says she wants my bra, she really just thinks it’s nifty?)
"Africans find security in ambiguous arrangements, plans, and speech" (this makes this particular American want to bang her head against a wall at times)
"The value of a development project is not to be measured by its long-term success" (try explaining monitoring and evaluation procedures to your Nigerien counterpart)
"The response “No” to a request for money, a loan, or a material object is understood as an insult, indifference to need, a lack of respect, or a sign of rejection of the petitioner" (I’ve gotten into trouble with this one before. It requires some creative responses to requests.)
"Change is frequently a problem in business transactions" (We all know the lady at the bank here that will give you small bills and it’s a good day in Niger if you’ve got a change purse full of small coins!)

While reading this was helpful in understanding my village’s perspective on money and friendship, I found myself getting increasingly depressed while reading it. It was not in the way it was summing up Africans to the Western eye, but rather how I was realizing how they were seeing me. I love the people I live and work with and I want them to like me too. But how can we build meaningful relationships if I’m simply thought of as a rich, anti-social, selfish girl with nothing to offer? Furthurmore, it is really a luxury for me to be able to pick up a book and have a culture explained to me but how does that work for my illiterate friends here who only have my actions and explanations to learn from. It creates quite a lot of pressure. On a good day I can embrace where I am living and gently show my side of things but not everyday is a good one and I’m sure a lot of the time I seen quite strange to people here.

It rained the afternoon before leaving my village and coming in to write this post and I was flipping through a book of quotes that someone sent me from home. I was struck by one that said this:

“If you want trust, trust others.
If you want respect, respect others.
If you want help, help others. If you want
Love and peace in your life, give them away.
If you want great friends, be one.
That’s how it works.”
-Dan Zadra

As volunteers, we arrive here wondering a thousand things about this crazy foreign place; do people laugh the same, do they work the same, do they make friends, play with their kids, feel sad the same? I think in a broad sense, yes they do. And I also think that despite our differences we all have great capacity for good. Whether in my single person apartment in DC or in my shared mud brick concession in Niger, I have found that people are pretty damn cool. The culture thing just makes it harder to share it with one another. So, that’s the job we should all be working on I suppose.

- Fatouma

Again, the book is called African Friends and Money Matters by David Maranz

Food Security

2010-06-11T03:26:00.000-04:00

In addition to a military coup and the sketchy terrorist activities of AQIM, Niger has also been in the news lately for food security issues.

So, here's the deal. Last year's rainy season was sporadic and ended up screwing over most of the country's farmers. Production of Niger's main crops of millet and sorghum came out 30% lower than the previous year(and it's not like there was a lot to go around in the first place). Likewise, the cowpea(bean) crops dropped by 37%. According to the UN, around 2.6 million people will need food assistance this year(meaning now) and another 5.1 million are facing the risk of food insecurity. Just to put this in perspective, Niger's population is somewhere around 13 million, so this is a pretty significant portion of the population.

It isn't just the bad harvest that is causing food insecurity in Niger. Herders are finding less and less viable grazing land, meaning a loss of livestock. Also, world food prices are still very high, which does not bode well for a poor nation like Niger. So, there is less food and what is there is more expensive.

There is some hope in that the government has been a lot more open about the problem than in the 2005 food crisis here. They have been vocal in asking and arranging for food assistance, especially in the areas of Maradi, Zinder, and Tahoua where some villages got no harvest at all. There are some saying that food aid is making it out and some saying it isn't. We'll see at the end of the day how things pan out.

My region experienced shortages but is lucky in the fact that my village and many nearby benefit from rice farming. The rice paddies are irrigated from the Niger River and not dependent on the rains. My villagers who farm rice get two harvests a year, one falling just a couple weeks ago which will provide a lot of help to families getting through the upcoming hungry season, as it's referred to. Our mayor's office received a large amount of sorghum from the government that was distributed throughout my commune. The grain will be sold at a subsidized price by village chiefs, though I'm skeptical as to how many families can actually afford it. My region is certainly lucky and I would encourage people to read other volunteers' blogs for different perspectives because there is a lot of variation. For example, I talked to one volunteer in Zinder who said the situation in her village was far more serious. She was hearing about deaths every day because the lack of food. My village is starting a more typical hungry season. Families are trying to conserve the grains they have. My market produce is down to onions and.....onions. I definitely see it affect a lot of the kids around me. Americans are very used to seeing pictures of bloated-belly kids in Africa. It's strange when one's sitting in your lap but I find I almost don't have time to dwell on it. Chances are, he's trying to grab my glasses or clap my hands or pull my hair.

Last week my village got two nights in a row of rain, which was exciting both for the farmers and my heat rash! I went with my friend, his two wives, two sisters, and kids in tow to his field to plant millet. For some reason I thought it would be more elaborate but as it turns out, it really is just dig a whole, dump in some seeds and hope things grow. I kept thinking that it was one thing if I messed up my dad's vegetable garden. It would just mean an extra trip to the grocery store. It was entirely another if I screwed up Hamidou's crop of millet. He assured me I was planting correctly and I proceeded to do several rows, getting the worst sunburn of my life and the satisfaction of knowing I helped do something with the family that has fed me almost every night I've been in Niger.

-Fatouma

Le 13 Mai

2010-06-11T03:02:00.000-04:00

In addition to ridiculous levels of beauracracy and rubber stamps, Nigeriens love a good fete. May 13th was National Women’s Day here in Niger. The most important part of this holiday seemed to be the special fabric that is made each year to commemorate the day. I heard about its debut weeks before the date and was talked into buying some by my neighbors, their kids, and the teachers at the school. I came home with my 13 Mai zara and handed it to my friend Safea, noting that there was an extra meter in there for her/my baby to which she smiled and giggled.
What kind of comple do you want? She asked.
I don’t know Safi, whatever you wanna make.

I am sort of over the whole getting pretty clothes made thing, at least until it cools off enough for me to feel like wearing clothing is even a practical habit to even be in.

Later that night, Safea’s daughter Halimatou and I reminded her dad, Hamidou that he should buy her the new zara before time is up. All the students are supposed to wear it for the 13th. Hammidou laughed when I said I bought one for Assamaou, the baby.
She doesn’t go anywhere, why’d you buy one for her?
He then proceeded to explain what the 13 May holiday was about. It included some long thing about democracy and being like America and actually didn’t really mention women at all. He looked at the fabric and explained that the print was depicting a machine that takes the millet off the stalk so that women don’t have to pound or shake it off.
Yes, I can see that, I said annoyed. The thing that frustrates me about Hammidou is that I frequently find myself needing to remind him that I am in fact, not an idiot.
I pointed to the fabric and said I thought that this was to celebrate women and girls in Niger.

Hammidou, le 13 Mai, when you come home, you should say to Safea and Rahinna, thank you, I’m gratefull. Then you should tell Halimatou that she should study a lot and go all the way to university and some day she can be president!

Hammidou began laughing and flung the fabric playfully in my face……so I guess that’s not what he plans on doing that day.
Ah Fatouma, he replied, you should take Halima to America to study. And you should buy a sheep for us to have on the 13 Mai.
If god agrees, I replied.

Well the day finally arrived and for some odd reason I thought the primary school's program I was invited to, which was supposed to start at 3 pm, would actually start then. Around 5:30 everyone showed up. Pretty good stuff - the students sang and performed skits about girls education and women in Niger. Then around sunset the band started up a pretty amusing dance party. I shook my bum from the sidelines mostly because I was exhausted....having showed up at 3 in the afternoon! I promised next year there would be more dancing from Fati. I headed home knowing that my good friend Rahinna was still hard at work making dinner and didn't get to come celebrate the day that was supposed to be for her.

Exploring Niger

2010-04-29T02:40:00.000-04:00

I finally branched out of western Niger and made a trip to the Maradi region this past week. It was really great to see some other parts of the country and the sweaty bus ride was worth it. I am finally able to understand some of what is being said around me in Zarma so it was like a trip back in time to suddenly find myself surrounded by Hausa speakers. I found that while a lot of Nigeriens in Zarma-land speak some Hausa, especially in the areas around the capital, this does not work both ways. Aside from the occasional fofo, there were few individuals I could talk with out east. It's odd to be in a country with so many language divides. As PCVs we are always overwhelmed with the challenge of communication but I hadn't given much thought to the fact that even many Nigeriens must feel this way, living in a country with a half dozen active languages. I suppose French is supposed to be the glue bringing everyone together but that doesn't mean much outside of the small educated class here. I wonder what effect, if any this must have on Niger's development. America is often sited as a country of immigrants coming from all different kinds of backgrounds. I wonder where we would be today if everyone had kept their native languages instead of integrating into English.

Also noted about Maradi.....the mud bricks are bright red, the cows have huge (slightly terrifying) horns, and there is way more scarification than in my little corner of Zarma-land. On the other hand, there are still plenty of mangoes, bush taxis that might break down if you look at them wrong, and great people. I got to visit several PCVs and see some great work. I went to an artisinal center for handicapped kids, saw some amazing school murals, and learned to make charcoal from millet stalk - taking some back to my village to see if they're interested.

Other big news- while I was away, it rained in many parts of my region and I think my village! The mango rains are here, which means rainy season is on its way. On my bus ride back I saw lots of people starting to prepare their fields for planting. Hope the timing works out this year. Niger needs a good farming season to make up for last year's poor harvest in many regions.

~Fatouma

Miss you all....

2010-04-29T02:35:00.000-04:00

April 20, 2010

What sucks about being in Niger is not the fact that it was 115 degrees today. It is not that there are often rocks mixed in with my rice and millet. It is not the constant sweating or the language barriers. It is not that projects seem to get stuck down in the sand like my bike tires as I’m trying to make it to the paved road. The thing that sucks about being in Niger is that while I love the people here and the friends I’ve made, there are people at home who are, well, still there. Everyone that I knew and loved before all of this started are thousands of miles away, separated by a continent and ocean….and now apparently clouds of volcanic ash! And their lives are continuing on in good and bad ways and it’s not fair at times. I don’t mean that in a selfish way, or at least not completely selfish. Everyone was sort of frozen in place in my head when I left and the past few months have shown that in fact, life goes on with or without my presence. It is difficult to hear about friends going through difficult times, even more so when the news often comes in letters several weeks after the fact. And then of course, any response I may have is terribly late in coming and therefore somehow less genuine.

I have had great support from everyone I know through all of this and am told a lot that what I am doing is great and important. I don’t know about all of that. I would venture to say that most things are relative and me trying to start a school garden in Niger is no more or less important than me giving a friend a hug after a bad day. The thing is that at the moment I have no choice but to focus on the garden and some days I am irrationally angry at not being able to choose the hug. Suffice to say, I miss my friends and family and I’d give up a hundred bags of cold water on market day to see them.

I think what I should probably keep in mind is that I have such limited time with the people I love here in Niger that it’s okay to not have a choice but to be here with them. When I think about having to say goodbye to my friends in my village, it is almost as overwhelming as when I had to leave everyone at home. As annoying as that emotional rollercoaster may be, it is a good thing because it means leaving everyone behind was worth it. I will also say this…I take comfort in the fact that my friends and family at home are quite amazing people and will get through whatever the next two years throw at them, even without a hug from me. And when 2011 comes, I will buy everyone a Graeter’s chocolate soda with chocolate ice cream and a cheese coney with my resettlement allowance. Chocolate and greasy chilli will surely make up for my absence.

~Emily

I don't wanna get bitter but.....

2010-04-29T02:27:00.000-04:00

April 14, 2010

I was feeling guilty the other night for not keeping my friend Rahinna company while she made dinner in quite some time. I wandered over and found the big pot of rice sitting idly and no sign of a sauce pot going. I asked where Rahinna was and the only response was, she left…..ok, to where? I heard her co-wife and another woman discussing it but unfortunately my Zarma is not sharp enough to pick up quickly spoken gossip and so I was left in the dark. Dinner was finished by the second wife and finally while eating a neighbor explained, Rahinna and Hammidou got in an argument and she went to her family’s house. Yikes, a fight resulting in the dramatic halt to our dinner of delicious rice and leaf sauce?!

A couple of days later Rahinna came to say hello to some friends of mine that were visiting. She was sporting some brand new swanky earrings, which I complemented her on and asked when she got them. She cracked a huge smile and just giggled, saying she bought them the previous day……so I think Rahinna may have won that round.

I still don’t know what happened, but I can’t help secretly cheering her on. Who knows, maybe her husband was in the right, but I’m not sure there is much room to complain when you are basically waited on hand and foot by two beautiful women every day. I realize that Nigerien men do work and there is a lot riding on their shoulders when their families’ livelihoods depend on whether or not your crops are planted at the right time and whatnot. But it seems that they get to sport this title of “family provider” like some sort of halo while women get no such recognition. And why does “providing for the family” always get associated with a monetary value and therefore usually get pinned on men like a badge of honor, even in America. I heard once that women in Niger work an average of eighteen hours a day. They get no money for this, but isn’t it providing for their families? The day Rahinna and her husband had an argument, how much sleep did she get? How many buckets of water did she haul? How long did she spend washing clothes, sweeping the house, pounding millet, preparing food, taking care of the kids? Not to mention that during farming season, she would be helping in the fields as well. And yet, no recognition. I’m not here to change the social structure in Niger. My job is not to start an uprising of angry housewives and blow the men down. But I wish I would hear Hammidou say thank you, just once, to one of his wives. If I could hear that it might make some of this seem okay. It’s been six months in village, another year and a half to go and I already know that I won’t hear it. And so sometimes when I’m sitting with Rahinna, watching her dish out rice or helping pound the dried peppers for sauce, I imagine us in the U.S……in my apartment ordering Chinese food or maybe working together and going to lunch. I think that whatever gender issues America is still griping with, the fact remains that I was brought up to expect a thank you. Maybe for Rahinna, a pair of earrings is enough, but I would want to hear it. Better yet, I would want some help!

Perhaps I am being unfair to men here but frankly, I don’t have much to go off of. Men are largely absent from my day to day life in village. There are the men I work with and they are great. I am great friends with my counterpart at the Mayor’s office and I like working with the school directors. But when I go home or am wandering around town, men are largely absent. They funnel in and out of concessions; they eat, drink tea, chat, and wander on to the next meeting spot. It was so odd when I went to visit a fellow male volunteer and spent the evening with him and his friends. We walked around to three different homes and were served full meals at each. The young men rarely even acknowledged their mothers or wives who were serving us. It felt odd to be on the other side. I sat at one house and watched a lady stirring her pot of corn-flour-porridge while the guys goofed off and paid no attention to her work. I thought about how in my own village I would be sitting with that woman, probably paying little attention to the men who may have gathered to eat. There is such a separation.

It’s a shame really because I think I have benefitted from the men in my life in so many ways. Whether it be male friends, family members, co-workers, or whomever. It’s no wonder that gender roles are so strict and resistant to change here. There is never a blending of the sexes to even bring up the idea of change within the society. Young girls (and boys for that matter) see all of this unfold and so who can blame them for continuing the cycle. I watch Hammidou play with his son in the evening, usually while I’m holding his youngest daughter, who is about five months old. I know I hold her more than he does and I wonder at what point she’ll realize who he even is. His son is totally cute and of course deserves some quality dad time, but I never see the same attention allotted to his daughters, of which there are three. I don’t doubt that he loves them and wants them to be happy like any other father. I mostly just feel sad for them because I couldn’t imagine growing up without my dad. Of course, kids everywhere experience that but I was lucky enough to have that relationship and it has contributed so much to who I am today. I wonder if men here invested just a bit more time in their daughters, what effect it might have…..perhaps one the fathers may not be too excited about. I try to focus on the positive – Hammidou wants his daughters to do well in school and even asked me one day if I thought it was a good idea if they took karate lessons (apparently there’s a guy in my village who teaches it….strange I know). Still, I think it is a daily challenge to shout down the resentment I feel towards men in this society and try to accept the things I can't change.

~Fatouma

Projects!

2010-04-11T14:21:00.000-04:00

April 7, 2010

Here’s a look at what projects I am working on in village…..

Community Meetings on birth, death, and marriage certificates
It’s not the most glamorous of projects, but this will educate people on the importance of and process for obtaining these types of public records. I don’t think we would even think twice about it in the U.S. When you’re born, you get a birth certificate, when you marry, etc. Here, it is a different story. Most births take place at home and few people realize the need to register their marriage, or the death of a loved one. I’m excited about doing this project because I will get to see all of the villages in my area and work one on one with my main counterpart, Abdou. He is responsible for organizing all of these records for the commune, which involves hours of tediously hand writing copies for the local and national government. It’s largely his project and I am happy to be helping out with the logistical aspects and tagging along to practice my Zarma.

Work at Local Middle School (CEG)
I started out with an English Club and pen pal project here. Both are coming along slowly, though most weeks I want to pull my hair out. As it turns out, teenagers in Niger kick our butts just as much as in America….
I am also working with the Director and Parent-Teacher Federation President to get a proposal going to build four metal framed shade hangars to use as classrooms. The school currently has one classroom building and is using wood hangars to house four additional classes. They are too small – the teachers can’t even stand up all the way inside them – and they have to be replaced every year. The metal framed structures will be much sturdier and remove the need to keep building the wood frames……take that desertification. I’m not sure if this one will actually work out. It’s a big project and I’m not all that excited about it, mostly because the budgeting process is making me want to crawl into a hole and hide. 17 months left to get it done.

Primary School Garden
I was not looking forward to this when my school director brought it up but now am totally excited. We are hoping to start with a tree planting before the end of the school year (maybe) and then start the garden next fall. It should be a fun time. The students will all learn about gardening and participate in maintaining it. If all goes well, they’ll sell the produce that grows and be able to host an end of the school year fete as well as buy supplies for the next year’s garden. It’s a great opportunity to teach nutrition and environmental education and I’m hoping to link it up with an eco-club next school year. Now if I could just find the stupid fencing to keep the goats out….

Building Improved Cookstoves (aka playing with mud....)
Women in Niger cook over open fires, often using just three stones to prop up their cooking pot. Not only do they lose a lot of heat with this method, thereby using more firewood, the fires are dangerous and frankly, annoying – lots of smoke, skirts catching on fire, kids falling in, etc. I know this because I sit with my two friends in village every night as they make our dinner. The mud cookstove creates an enclosed space that the pot sits on top of. It uses less firewood and is safer to use. I built my first two (after a super fun demo during training) for my friend Rahinna. They came out okay for a first try but since then, I've gotten progressively better. It is a fun project to work on as it doesn't involve me writing out a budget or pulling my hair out worrying about logistics. The materials are free and the results directly affect women's daily lives. It's a good day's work if I get one done. I am working on organizing a training for about twenty women so they will be able to show others how to build them. This will be great if it succeeds as I'm a little tired of everyone and their mother coming up to me asking, Fati when are you building my cookstove? It's been a lot of fun and I can now make really good mud.... a skill I will be sure to put on my resume.

Those are the main things for now. I'd like to gradually move on to working more with my town's women groups, hopefully plan a young girls' conference, and do some work with a local trade school. If all of this gets done, I am totally badass and deserve any job I want upon my return to the western world. If some of it gets done, which is a little more realistic, I'll be happy and still pretty badass. If none of it works out(entirely possible) I've lost nothing and gained some great friends and hopefully my village won't hate me.....

This is why we should celebrate secretary’s day….

2010-03-13T01:31:00.000-05:00

March 3, 2010

Our Mayor's office has a secretary name Rabi who has to be one of the coolest ladies I know. Not only does Rabi work at the office, she often prepares food for the us, takes care of her husband and two kids, and does all of this while smelling and looking like she just walked out of a Nigerien fashion magazine. Rabi comes in about two or three days a week to help with the administrative junk at the Mairie. She lives at the trade school near our town where her husband is the treasurer. When I first came here, she was very pregnant and then had her baby and was on maternity leave for a couple months. Having her back has been such a treat. I love the guys that I work with but it’s nice to have a woman at the Mairie. My town has a female mayor who is great but is only here about once a week and I don’t work a lot directly with her. When Rabi comes, we share my desk and often eat lunch together. I hadn’t realized how much I miss the company of female colleagues. I have some great female friends here but they often don’t know what exactly it is I do here or even why I go the Mairie or schools to work. Similarly, the men I work with don’t think about the fact that I have to go home and get water, wash my clothes, sweep my concession, and do all the other activities women do every day. Rabi understands both worlds. When our town was down to two working water pumps one week, the Mairie staff looked at me with blank stares when I brought it up. I had to explain that it is in fact quite stressful when there are two water pumps for five thousand people and neither of them is really near your house. When I told Rabi, her jaw dropped and a steady rant of Hausa (she’s originally from the eastern part of Niger, but speaks Zarma and French fluently) poured out. I didn’t have to say anything else and it was such a comfort to know that someone at work knew what the hell I was talking about.

I have tremendous respect for her for being such a calm and patient working mom. I guess that title is a little different here though. Most moms in the states are caught up in daycares, carpools, and babysitters. When I say Rabi comes to the office, what I mean is, Rabi, her son Yassin and her new baby Amira come to the office. Often her teenage niece comes along to help with the baby. I was pondering the other day what exactly would happen at my previous jobs if a woman simply popped out a breast to feed her baby while typing up a budget at the computer. Rabi does it with such ease and no one here pays it any mind. It seems kind of ridiculous now that at home, such topics are the subjects of anything from newspaper articles to lawsuits, to congressional hearings. Every other week there is some piece on the news about working moms, blah blah blah, and how to balance this and that. It seems like we might be over thinking things just a tad bit, at least according to Rabi’s work style; get things done, and if you have to take a break every now and then to breast feed or take a nap on the porch, well then so be it. Men can take smoke breaks, tea breaks, prayer breaks, and I don’t even know what breaks, so what’s the difference?

~Fatouma

A long day at the office…

2010-03-13T01:19:00.000-05:00

February 27, 2010

My plan upon returning from IST was to spend less time at the Mairie. That has thus far not worked out, but has made for some fun stories. The past week, I’ve felt like I have a regular 9-5 job, and let me just say you all at home should be damn glad you have air conditioning because a pool of sweat collecting on your desk is not pleasant. I’ve been working on writing out my work activities in French (a doozie) and helping out with a lot of birth certificate nonsense. Niger has certainly jumped into the bureaucratic black hole bandwagon despite such issues as lack of electricity and clean water. There may be food shortages and a political crisis, but by gosh, we’ve got some nifty stamps and color coded folders. And I thought I saw a lot of paper wasted at home, but my Mairie is certainly keeping up with the tree killing. Maybe it's not fair to say this but I really think less developed countries are just as responsible for taking care of the planet as wealthier ones. Easier said than done, I know but we gotta start somewhere.

So I had typed up some birth certificate stuff and printed it out, about ten pages and one of the guys there took it upon himself to read and correct my work. I was cool with that, seeing as I don’t particularly care for this individual and would rather he keep busy with something than bother me. He came back very determined and concerned because apparently, there was a rogue “s” attached to the work heure that shouldn’t have been there. He took great care in explaining how this was not correct, a fact that I could deduce even with my limited French, and saying we should change it and reprint them all. I, in turn, took great care in explaining that said rogue “s” was part of the template I was working on and not something I myself had typed. In fact, this small typo was probably present on every copy printed out since who knows when and was not limited to these ten pages. Therefore, I suggested that we fix the template and seeing as I had not saved a copy of each of the ten sheets, I was sure as hell not going to rewrite them all because of one letter. The problem was, that was somehow lost in Zarma and he just kept showing me the “s” and talking about how it shouldn’t be there…..and after about five minutes of that, I was ready to punch him in the face. But instead of that, and instead of screaming what was really in my head (Your country doesn’t have a president anymore and you’re worried about a f------ S!!!!!! Seriously?!), I dug up some more of the patience that everyone keeps telling me to have here and suggested we ask the Mayor who thankfully agreed with me. Yeah, I’m usually into the little details too, but come on. The great thing about Nigeriens is that after something like this happens and he was found to be on the losing end of an argument, everything is quickly water under the bridge. Ni ga cim, to madalla he said, and then proceeded to jump into telling me about his dream of marrying a fifteen year old…..which he does merely to push my buttons, and it works every time. In my country, I say, you go to jail for that, and you’ll have a lot more problems than a misplaced s.

A silly day at the office. Good thing there is tea being made, lizards running across my feet, and kids playing in the conference room. Otherwise it would be a bit dull….

~Fatouma

This one time when I was in Niger, there was a coup d’etat….

2010-02-22T03:19:00.000-05:00

February 19, 2010

Yeah, that sounds a lot cooler than it was....Keeping with our strict policy of political neutrality, I will lay out what happened where I was yesterday, when a military coup took place in Niger, outing President Tandja and supposedly making way for a new wave of democracy. That morning I was trying to work on a proposal to send in a few days later but spent much of my time drinking tea with Abdou and practicing counting with the Guardien’s kids at the Mairie. Lunch time rolled around and I went home to eat with my neighbor Safea. It’s getting to be hot season and the idea of standing in my house cooking a meal is absolutely terrifying, so I’ve pretty much become a permanent fixture at Safea’s place.

As I lay down at home determined to take a short nap, even with the neighbors kids standing over me, asking “Fati, where’s your cat? Are you going to sleep?” I heard news that something was up in Niamey. As the afternoon progressed we found out through text messages and BBC that the military had staged a coup at the Presidential Palace in Niamey where Tandja was meeting with cabinet members. By that evening it was reported that the take over was successful and the President had been removed from power (I don’t know if there’s like a sticker or something he has to take off or what….). Everyone was carrying around their small radios that evening listening for any more news. The national station started looping the same generic, marching-band-patriotic-song over and over. I’m not sure if it was a rendition of the national anthem or just something someone found on a random cassette. Televisions in town however were still tuned to the big wrestling tournaments that are taking place right now in Zinder – sort of like if there was a political crisis the day of the Superbowl, what would we be watching?

Anyway, once my neighbor, Hamidou returned from his job in Niamey, we were all pretty relaxed. Abdou and I had agreed that afternoon that the fighting was probably over because it was too hot out! I spent the evening visiting my friend Rahinna, who had apparently been really sick ever since I went to IST. She is recovering nicely now at her family’s house in another part of town and I was relieved to see her up and about. Dinner time was spent listening to the radio (yep, still that same song) and chatting about which of the neighborhood kids should become President. I sang You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away to Assamaou before she fell asleep in my lap (seriously, I might have to take that baby to America). Side note – singing songs is great here because I always forget the lyrics but can still keep going; no one knows what I’m saying anyway.

So, as you can see, not a particularly eventful day outside of the political realm. The most memorable thing for me will be that in addition to a fun day in ville, the day Tandja was thrown out of power was also the day I got pink eye for the first time. And that, boys and girls, is why you should not touch your eyes after playing with a bunch of kids who may or may not have been playing with poop earlier. Because then you wake up and try to open your left eye and think, jam bombatta.

~ Fatouma

A very clean three weeks

2010-02-16T00:21:00.000-05:00

I haven't been writing lately because I've been in a training for the past three weeks, but here's a little update before I head home to village.

In-service training was a great time and I did learn a few things. Mostly, I was able to narrow down my project ideas and come up with a manageable list to start with. We had some good technical sessions and got the run down on funding sources we might be able to tap into. I spent a good portion of sessions trying to wrap my brain around just how fast all of this is going to happen. I can't believe I have been here seven months! While it was great to catch up with everyone, I found myself missing my village like crazy. I hadn't thought that would happen because when I left I was definitely ready for a break, but it felt so detached being at our training site and I began to realize how great my home is here. I was able to go back to visit on the weekends and say hello to people, but it is hard to explain to everyone exactly why I disappeared for three weeks.

The most interesting part of IST was the two days we hosted our Nigerien counterparts. I brought Abdou, the only guy that comes to the Mairie on any kind of regular basis. He is our town's Etat-Civil and is in charge of public record keeping and helping with some tax stuff. I was pretty nervous about how he would react to everything but I think he enjoyed himself and liked getting to know the other counterparts who came. The two days were packed with trainings and by the end I think we all needed a nap. Abdou had sort of a dazed and confused look about him for much of it, which is sort of how I feel all the time so I guess we bonded over that.

I'm excited to get back to drinking tea, eating hawru, and hanging out but I'm also really pumped to have stuff to work on. I'm going to continue some work I've been doing with my middle school - pen pals and English Club. My Mayor's office is excited to get started on a series of community meetings to educate people on the importance of birth/death/marriage records and tax payments (not the most exciting thing since sliced bread but it's important). We'll see how much I can get started in the next couple of months.

I will of course redeem myself for not posting any fun stories soon. I'm going to disappear for a bit but will work on some posts of interest. Hey, any requests? I think my mom is the only one who reads this so I'm sure she will let me know. Hot season is starting, language is coming along, my hair is way too long, Assamaou is smiling and baby talking, and I continue to look around and pinch myself just to make sure this is all still real. One of our recent sessions was led by a woman who was celebrating twenty five years working in Niger. I think seven months ago I would have said she was crazy, but now I'm not so sure....or maybe I'm just crazy too. I'm nervous to go back to ville but I have a stupid grin on my face as I think about dinner tonight with Safea, Rahinna, and all of my Nigerien grandmothers. And it's been my experience that stupid, uncontrollable grins are always to be trusted. It's been a great start of service and the past few weeks have been a great time - wearing jeans, swimming and watching football. I even ate strawberries! And they were absolutely perfect. Now, it's time to go home. See you in a month or two.

~ Fatouma

So speak to all
Of the things you are sure
And if you love this land
Hold it in the palm of your hand
'Cause the way that it shines
May just dwindle with time
With the changes it might confront

-Xavier Rudd

Have Patience Damnit!

2010-01-24T02:18:00.000-05:00

January 20, 2010

Dear Mr. President,

Big congratulations on your first year in office! I was in DC on inauguration day – eating pancakes and drinking mimosas, pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. A year later I’m in Niger eating millet and drinking bissap (which by the way would be awesome with champagne). I’m sure you’ll agree that both of our lives changed a bit in the past twelve months. I’ve been following your work as best I can from over here, or rather following others’ commentary about your work. Pardon my language Sir, but you’ve kind of been getting a good ass-whooping if you ask me. I guess the whole Hope-Change-Believe thing was supposed to manifest itself immediately after your hand came off of Lincoln’s Bible and result in a new utopian world where we all hold hands and bask in the glory of our collective awesomeness. I think CNN failed to understand that you had such ridiculously practical ideas in mind, like governing. In the midst of hearing about your undeserved Nobel Peace Prize and the passing of such trivial things as national healthcare reform by your government, I was sent a great list that you should check out if you need a little pick-me-up. http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=388x8753
It seems to me that you’ve been quite busy this past year. You’ll have to forgive us all as we were used to the previous eight years of Texas vacations and the eight years before that of oval office blowjobs, so the notion of a President actually working is lost on most of us. I think you deserve a big Fonda Kokari Mr. President. Keep up the good work. Though you really should stop making fun of DC just because we can’t handle a little snow storm. Also, find someone to punch in the face for losing that Senate seat in Mass. Reading your list made me think a list of my own accomplishments in my six months as a Peace Corps Volunteer might be a good way to combat the bitchy media that lurks in my head, saying in a high pitched panicky voice, you’re not doing anything! Here it goes…..

Learned enough Zarma to understand that everyone is either asking me why I’m not married or if they can have something of mine
Made skillet bread
Plucked and cleaned chickens, squeezed and cleaned sheep insides
Made some small administrative improvements to my Mayor’s office
Learned how to properly tie a zara (skirt), or at least I’m not getting told it’s wrong anymore
Subjected myself to being decorated with henna on a number of occasions
Didn’t have my New Years Eve ruined by a boy, as was usually the case at home
Attempted to make ko-ko
Started afterschool English Club at local middle school
Got a cat….then got another one and actually kept it alive
Pounded millet
Only got GI microbes once
Planted seeds in local community garden
Started pen pal group with middle school here and U.S. students
Wrote posts for this terribly self-aggrandizing blog
Didn’t get evacuated despite weird security hiccup
Mastered eating with my hands
Wrote out birth certificates at the Mairie until my hand hurt like hell
Held a baby that was less than an hour old...then got peed on
Celebrated Ramadan and Tabaski
Received numerous marriage proposals
Had dreams and sent text messages in another language
Taught kids Miss Mary Mack and hopscotch
Stopped waking up with a feeling of dread in my gut (Have you gotten to that one yet?)
Learned to carry things on my head

Ok, so your list may have been slightly more productive.

It seems to me that in an age of instant gratification we are all losing patience that would serve us well in today’s difficult times. You are after all the first President with a Blackberry! I think we assume this comes with the ability to pass laws, end economic crises, and further international diplomacy with the same speed you can update your Facebook status with. Similarly, it is easy for Nigeriens to think that I can dig into my pocket and pull out the world for them. My current surroundings are a harsh reminder that neither is the case. Nor do I think it should be. Despite technology and all the fun things it can do for use, wouldn’t you agree that to really get something done requires a lot of commitment and hard work? There is no magic button and sometimes it takes six months….or even a year to get the footing you need to get going. Have patience, Mr. President. That’s what I’m trying to do. I look forward to seeing both our lists grow in the upcoming months and years.

Sincerely,Fatouma

No Lines at this Starbucks

2010-01-24T01:55:00.001-05:00

January 18, 2010

A lot of people ask what exactly it is I do at work….excellent question. Sometimes things are bustling; people coming and going. I help type things or fill out birth certificates. I’ll chat with everyone about projects we want to do or challenges they are facing or I might read the People magazine that found its way to me via your wonderful care packages. Some days it is just Abdou and I practicing Zarma or occasionally staring off into space. I usually leave around lunch time and rarely come back in the afternoon. It’s more interesting and productive to spend the rest of the day roaming around town and chatting with villagers.

Whatever the case may be, there is always the constant task of drinking tea. If you’ve been to Niger or the surrounding countries, chances are you’ve had a few sips….or liters. Tea making is an activity performed by men because I guess when all you do is sit around, you need something to pass the time. This isn’t putting the kettle on the stove and tossing in a bag of Earl Grey. Tea leaves are added to a small tea pot and heated over charcoal. Once heated, sugar is added (enough to bake a small cake) and the concoction is mixed by pouring the tea from pot to cup and back again in an elaborate fashion that no American barista could top. Whomever is drinking will take an espresso-size shot and pass it on. This is performed for three rounds, each being a little different. The first is the strongest, usually bitter like an actual espresso (or I just tell myself that). The second is sweeter and milder. The third is light and sometimes features the addition of mint leaves for a nice finish. Going through the process of making and drinking the three rounds can take quite a bit of time. So if you’re wondering what I do at work – that about covers it.

I’ve come to find my favorite tea spots around town. Sure, it’s all pretty much the same but just like there’s that one guy at the Starbucks on 13th and U Street in DC that somehow makes his vanilla latte better than all the others, so it is that N’Dounga has its tea experts. I am partial to Abdou’s mix because he is particularly talented in the creation of foam. I thought I could get a good froth going but this guy is good, and does it all without the use of a thousand dollar espresso machine at his disposal. I explained to him what a cappuccino is and we agreed he would get lots of money in America as a barista.

What an adjustment it’s going to be to have to go back to the office coffee pot. I know PC is supposed to be self-sacrificing and hard but in the hot beverage department, I’m getting spoiled.

~ Fatouma

6 months

2010-01-24T01:40:00.000-05:00

January 14, 2010

I’ve been marking the months off with a black marker on my front door – kind of like when we were little and mom would chart our height on the pantry wall – 2010 brought with it my sixth month here. I guess in many ways it doesn’t feel that long. Or maybe so much has happened in those months that it actually feels longer. Regardless, six months and I can barely understand Zarma, have yet to really accomplish anything, and wonder most days if our current little security situation will give me the time I need to adjust the aforementioned hurdles. On the bright side, my hair has stopped falling out from my anti-malaria drugs and I’ve only gotten sick once!

A friend from home recently asked me, “What will you miss most about Niger when you come home”. Six months in, home seems so far away. I’ve certainly thought about the adjustments I’ll have to make and the inevitable reverse culture shock that awaits me. But as far as missing things goes, I still can’t get home out of my head long enough to reflect on it. But what an interesting question. I’ve been thinking about it off and on ever since and I think that aside from all the people I will have to leave behind here, the thing I’ll miss most about Niger is easy – hitchhiking....

You wanna go somewhere, you go stand on the side of the road and wait for a car going the same direction as you are. Maybe it will be a bush taxi that will have a specific destination and price, but more often than not, it’s someone who has an extra seat and figures someone should sit in it. The bush taxies normally don’t leave the paved road to travel down to my village and while it’s only a few kilometers away, I don’t think I’ve ever had to walk it all. There is always a car, truck, or donkey cart passing by that will gladly stop and let me on. I often get rides with my mayor in and out of town and her car is always full of people by the time we get down the street. There’s an idea to meet constituents – have elected officials give their voters a lift to where they’re going! There aren’t a lot of cars here so every one of them is utilized. Not only do you get where you’re going but you’ll inevitably meet some interesting people.

I doubt I'll be able to convince enough people at home to jump on the bush-taxi-hitchhiking band wagon so I'll have to leave it behind. But man, I'm gonna miss it.....

also there are these sugary coconut balls that this one lady makes in my market. I might have to fill a suitcase with them to take back.

~Fatouma

If it’s the end of the world as we know it, then I do indeed feel fine

2010-01-24T01:36:00.000-05:00

January 6, 2010

My favorite care package items that have come my way have to be the magazines and news articles from these past few months. I spend the couple days after receiving them glued to the pages of Time Magazine, Rolling Stone, and yes, People. Being in a bit of a black hole as far as the latest and greatest comings and goings of America go makes reading these things incredibly informative. For example, I had no idea that there is now Almond-Vanilla flavored shredded wheat. It’s sad to miss such new and exciting things as triple layered Trident gum. And what is the deal with hammer-pants making a comeback? I hope that phase has passed by the time I’m back home.

The best-worst article by far that I’ve been sent was Time’s cover story on this past decade. What a doozie – apparently the first ten years of the 21st century were so abysmal that it’s a wonder we aren’t all curled up in fetal positions crying our eyes out. I agree – it’s a sad sad world when the average yearly income in the U.S. drops from $52,000 to $50,000. Sorry to pull the I-live-in-Niger-guilty-power-trip but c’mon, really? I guess a lot of people do indeed have legitimate gripes about this past decade but I think my own generation of Americans had better suck it up and get on with things. Were the last ten years really that bad for us? We must have had a few good milestones. I graduated college. I got my first apartment. I voted for a President that actually won. Yo, I learned to drive a stick shift! What did you do? Sure, it was scary and crazy, and we were thrown out into a lousy job market and dismal economy and told that terrorists were now waiting for us around every corner and the planet is melting and most other countries don’t much care for us anymore, but c’mon we’ve had some fun times. We got the iphone! Life can’t be that bad when there’s an application that allows a dancing guinea pig on your screen to repeat back whatever you say in a cute-high-pitched-cuddly-rodent-voice. And we have the one huge advantage that the majority of Time magazine’s readers don’t; the time and energy to turn things around. So let’s not get our panties in a knot just yet. The baby girl that was born my first month in village is getting bigger and learning to smile. If she can make it then I figure the rest of us will be alright too.

~ Fatouma

Dreaming of a White Christmas, but Enjoying a Sandy One

2009-12-28T04:02:00.000-05:00

December 28, 2009

I hope everyone has enjoyed a safe and joyful holiday season. Be well and have fun in the New Year. This year was my first away from my family’s couch in Ohio. I happened to get sick just in time for Christmas and then my phone connection to the States just happened to not work that day, so it was a bit of a doozy. For the first time since being here I really sat down and said to myself, “Get me out of here”. Of course that has passed now, as have the GI microbes.

Still, it is no easy task to continuously confront the idea of not seeing your loved ones for two years. This thought process can quickly spiral into a black hole of oh-no-everyone-will-forget-me-and-my-friends-will-change-and-they'll-bulldoze-that-favorite-restaurant-and-I'll-never-get-a-job-or-into-grad-school-and-all-the-exboyfriends-will-be-happily-married-and-living-in-condos-which-will-be-worth-seven-figures-because-the-market-will-suddenly-explode-again-and-my-parents-will-be-older-than-I-remember-and-my-dog-will-die-and-I-won't-know-any-new-music-and-my-brother-will-resent-me-really-everyone-will-resent-me-because-I'll-come-back-bitter-and-changed-and-with-nothing-to-show-for-it-other-than-permanent-sandal-tan-lines-on-my-feet!

The good thing is that my fear of airplanes out weighs all of that, which means I always hang in here long enough to soak in another experience and inevitably fall deeper in love with this place. So today I am putting on more sunblock and getting in the bush taxi to go home where my cat and twenty-two more months are waiting for me.

See you all in 2010.

~Fatouma

Yummy in my tummy

2009-12-28T04:01:00.000-05:00

December 21, 2009

The subject of endless questions I’m getting from those of you at home is, “what’s the food like????” Food in Niger is limited largely by the climate and money. Not a lot grows here and not a lot of people have the resources to buy what doesn’t. Millet, sorghum, corn, and rice (in my region) are the major crops and make up the bulk of people’s diet. These fine ingredients make up what we fondly refer to as hawru in Zarma. Pounded into flour, mixed with water, heated and covered in sauce: my dinner every night. Depending on the time of year, one can find tomatoes, squash, sweet potatoes, yams, cassava, peppers, eggplant, coconut, and beans. I am eagerly awaiting mango season! Oranges occasionally make it to my market, as do eggs – those are always exciting days. Standard sauce ingredients include dried okra and dried leaves, usually from the baobab tree. The magic ingredient that no Nigerien is ever without is of course, Maggi cubes!

My diet in village is certainly a far cry from my favorite Lean Cuisines and granola bars, but it’s not as scary as you might imagine. There is peanut butter available everywhere and I make a lot of garlic-tomato sauce concoctions when I do get up the motivation to cook. Back home I could do a couple dinners a week of actually cooking for myself. The same remains true here. Instead of the endless number of restaurants DC has to offer, my new town has a long list of friendly neighbors eager to put a plate in front of me, fatten me up, and say that the anasara ate at their house. In other words, stop worrying moms! I’m eating!

That having been said, when I return States-side, I want a huge spinach salad(Red Wine Vinaigrette), a Dr. Pepper, and a giant block of American cheese – not the fancy kind, the super-orange-plastic-wrapped- grocery-store-brand will do just fine. Also, a Hershey bar….or two. And a good beer.

~ Fatouma

Four Hiijays and a Buuyan

2009-12-27T11:56:00.000-05:00

December 16, 2009

I’ve gotten a lot of requests to hear about Nigerien weddings and this past month I’ve been to quite a few, so here it goes. A wedding in Niger (hiijay) is quite the affair. The ceremony is normally held in the late afternoon; though there is cooking and celebrating taking place all day. The men and older women gather at the Mosk to take part in the wedding prayer. The bride isn’t actually present for any of this. She is at home getting pretty and I suppose mentally prepared for her new life. When my neighbor Gambi got married I paid her a visit after the ceremony. She was drinking tea, resting, and laughing with her girl friends. She seemed happy I guess, though a little nervous. Normally only the elder women attend the ceremony – it is mainly a male event – but I’ve been allowed to come and see the action, sitting off to the side with the other women. We chat about weddings in America and how they are different. I tell them that the bride wears a white dress and actually attends the ceremony. They usually conclude that either I will find a husband here and marry, or they will all come to my wedding in America – as long as I send an airplane big enough for everyone. They ask if I’ll wear a white dress and then laugh when I make a sour face and say no.

There isn’t all that much to tell about the ceremony. The men hand out kola nuts and dates and the Marabout (alfaga) leads everyone in a prayer to bless the marriage. Like most weddings, everyone shuffles around and makes it through so they can get to the real party. After the ceremony everyone makes their way back to the hosting family’s house. For my neighbor’s wedding, I got the privilege of carting back the bags of kola nuts and dates, balanced on my head. They are carefully divided up among the women who take them home as gifts. There is a lot of food, usually goat or sheep meat and sometimes sodas, popcorn, peanuts or yogurt, depending on what the family can afford.

I traveled a few days ago to a wedding in another village with my Mayor and her family. We brought quite the bridal shower – new bed and end tables, a chest of drawers, dishes, pots, sheets. I wanted to jump in the back of the accompanying pickup truck with everyone, but my Mayor laughed and pointed to her car where a seat was free. Bummed at first, I was quickly grateful to be safely inside the little red Toyota, as the road quickly turned from smooth and paved to bumpy and hmmmm-where-exactly-is-the-road-ish. Once we arrived everyone I met immediately told me I should go rest. I love that Nigerien weddings include nap time! The Mayor and I enjoyed a snack of spaghetti with oily tomato sauce and then settled down to rest for the afternoon. I had been nervous about traveling with her – are we supposed to discuss work? Niger? Can I ask her about the upcoming local elections and what the hell is going on or is that a no-no? Maybe she likes sports – excited about the 2010 World Cup? Her kids? It would have been a more relaxing journey there if I had known all we had to do was eat and sleep. I laid down in the back room of our host’s mud brick house and couldn’t help but laugh out loud a bit. I thought, “I am spending this fine Sunday napping with an elected official in a random village in Niger.” Moments like that pop up every now and then that make me relish in the complete hilarity of my new life here. What were you doing on Sunday, December 13?

While guests are eating and visiting with each other into the evening, the bride is getting ready to come to her new home. There is usually a huge procession and a big commotion when she finally arrives, whether it’s from another town or just down the street. She’ll arrive draped in cloth and be escorted into the house that has usually been decorated with new fabric, flooring, bedding, and dishes (the usual stuff on any bridal registry). By now, it’s nighttime and the party is in full swing. While there isn’t an open bar, it is quite the party with all the dancing and mingling one might expect at a wedding reception. I missed this part of the wedding with the Mayor’s family as we had to drive back before dark, but got to attend one in my own village with my two of my neighbors. We put on our fancy clothes and headed over after dinner. There was a circle of women taking turns dancing, most of whom were also carting a baby on their backs. When the bride arrived everyone rushed into the house after her. You know when the circus clowns all pile into the VW bug? It was kind of like that, only a bunch of hyped up ladies cramming into a mud brick house. Rahinna was able to see all the action, but my friend Sipti and I were stuck in the back.

“What’s going on?” I asked.
“They’re kissing!” she yelled, “But we can’t see anything!”

Wow, I thought, I didn’t know that was part of the deal. I’m kind of bummed I missed it as I’ve never seen Nigerien men and women exchange anything more than awkward glances at each other. So, apparently, there is a you-may-kiss-the-bride moment in Niger as well. Bummed at missing the action, we made our way back home, laughing at the dancing we saw and all the commotion.

Not as fun as a wedding, and infinitely more awkward, is a Nigerien funeral. Last week one of the village chiefs passed away. I had met him a handful of times and always stopped in to say hello when I passed through that part of town. He was at that age where you can’t help but say, damn, you’re old! Almost blind and deaf, I never saw him move from the same corner of his house. One of my neighbors, Kaydia is his daughter and so I heard pretty quickly of the death. I made my way through town to their compound, having spent the previous ten minutes studying the proper condolence phrases that I always end up forgetting by the time I get to one of these things. I arrived and sat with some of the family outside the little house where I for some reason kept expecting to hear his voice come from.

Bodies are buried pretty quickly here and I think it’s a male dominated activity. For several days after, the family accepts visitors who pay their respects, sometimes bringing food. People stream in and out offering condolences. I have never seen anyone cry at these events. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen Nigeriens cry at any time. Kaydia was visibly sad but still not particularly emotional. I consider her a friend but found it incredibly difficult trying to be supportive in a different language with the added emotionally void atmosphere.

Despite all the crazy differences to note, events like these only remind me of how similar we all are. Language, food, dances, incomes, atmospheres all change. But people are still people.

~Fatouma

~Fatouma

Hammidou and the Rice Fields

2009-12-27T11:55:00.000-05:00

I was very excited when my PC bicycle finally arrived for me a few days after T-giving. Despite having to ride through sand dune conditions every now and then, it is great to be able to exercise a bit. Contrary to everyone’s expectations I am not wasting away in Africa. In fact, my diet of starch, starch, and a dash of starch has helped me fatten up quite nicely. Anyway, the bicycle was a good addition. When it arrived, my neighbor Hammidou was excited that now I could come see his rice field (palar). Rice fields are, by the way, completely fascinating and beautiful. They are prevalent along the Niger River and are an important livelihood for people in my commune.

So, I on my bike, and Hammidou riding oh-so slowly on his motorcycle went out along the dirt path to the fields. I like taking trips out to those areas during the day just to see what everyone is doing. It’s nice to see friends and neighbors and see what they’re working on. We arrived at Hammidou’s field and took a short break – he casually smoked a cigarette and I chugged some water and tried to get my legs to stop throbbing. After a rather unsuccessful jump over the irrigation ditch (yeah, there’s another scar), we arrived at our destination. I’m not an agriculture volunteer, but my time here has made me appreciate farming in a whole new way. I eat dinner every night with Hammidou’s two wives (Rahinna and Safea) and so it was really quite special to see where our meals are coming from. Despite any snide remarks I make about Nigerien food, I eat without complaint here because I know my family has worked their asses off to get what’s sitting in the bowl in front of me.

To get to Hammidou’s field, we pass through a small village outside of town, literally called “the fishermen’s place”. I was invited to come back for a boat ride sometime so the next week I and another volunteer rode back out, Hammidou leading the procession, and hopped into a wooden canoe that miraculously didn’t sink immediately. Our boat ride introduced us to gorgeous lily pads, a broken windmill, eatable water plants, fish traps, and the impressive strength of our ten year old tour guide who had to paddle us through it all. It was a beautiful trip.

~Fatouma

Tabaski!!!!

2009-12-27T11:53:00.000-05:00

About two months after the end of Ramadan, Tabaski or cimsi in Zarma is celebrated. The deal is that back in the day, God told Ibrahim that he should sacrifice his son, Ishmael. Dude agreed and God was so impressed with his devotion that he gave Ibrahim a sheep to sacrifice instead (much to Ishmael’s relief, I assume). Hence, on the tenth day of the last month of the Arab calendar, we pray and eat sheep. Cool beans.

My first Cimsi here was definitely one to be remembered and was almost like the Thanksgiving that I was missing at home in that I ate until I couldn’t get up. I was talked into coming out for the morning prayer party which took place just outside of town in a field big enough to hold everyone. The Chef de Canton (local big-wig) was there in a bad-ass golden turban and I looked pretty nice myself. I was shoved into the crowd of women and awkwardly fumbled around with the whole kneel – head to ground – stand up- sit-down mess that took place. It was not unlike every other religious event I’ve attended. I’ve always felt weird in churches. Standing in the middle of a millet field praising Allah was oddly similar to that Christmas Eve mass I went to with such-and-such boyfriend’s family. I couldn’t bring myself to go up and get communion just like I couldn’t quite bring myself to utter the few Arabic phrases my neighbors had taught me. If I did, I would surely be found out as a fake and lightning would come down from high atop the whatever and zap me into oblivion. It was even worse when everyone seemed so pleased that I had even showed up. The new question of the week revolves around when I will start praying everyday and when am I going to get around to marrying a nice Muslim boy. I’ve decided that while my spirituality may be quite fluid and adaptable, my fear of religious commitment is not. I will therefore continue my family’s tradition of showing up for the big holidays and quietly slacking off with all the other religious obligations. Alas, despite all of my villagers’ best intentions and hard work, I remain a hopeless agnostic without a doctrine to call home.

But wait, after all that, we haven’t even gotten to the fun part! After returning home, my neighbor Rahinna and I began cooking some awesome pasta and sauce. I contributed my own version of spaghetti marinara – add some hot pepper and a couple scoops of peanut butter and it’s an odd Nigerien-Italian blend not to be scoffed at. It seemed to go over better than my post-Ramadan party dishes and has made Rahinna a little more at ease when I say I’m cooking for myself today. This would also be the time when the men get down to the dirty-wonderful business of Tabaski BBQ. My neighbors went with both sheep and goat meat…..there was a lot of blood. The meat is propped up alongside a huge fire to slow cook all day. Fortunately, such tidbits as the heart and testicles are quickly cooked up for a mid-afternoon snack. MMMMMM!

Oh, but wait, this only gets us until around early afternoon, at which point Rahinna says I should come with her to the river to clean out all the sheeps’ guts that have been collected in a giant bowl resembling some crazy horror movie clip. Of course, I couldn’t say no. (Note to self – work on saying no to people) I had convinced myself that if I was going to enjoy the awesome barbeque that was to come, it was necessary that I see every step to it. I had to stare at the pools of blood, see the heads stacked up, and watch the hides carefully torn from the muscle. I had to go to the river with Rahinna and watch her squeeze shit out of sheep’s’ intestines. And yes, after an hour of just watching, I had to join in the fun. Because it is simply not enough that I am living in the poorest, hottest country on the planet, a thousand miles from everyone I love to satisfy my masochistic tendencies. It is absolutely necessary that I squat in the shallow river waters for two hours helping Rahinna go through what must be miles of rubbery poop-filled organs. I thought about my first Thanksgiving away from home when we thought it was gross to have to pull out the plastic bag of turkey guts from the birds’ bum. Doesn’t seem so bad now.

However, the dirty truth is that it was also some of the most fun I’ve had here. There were lots of women sitting around performing the same grueling tasks but at the same time laughing and chatting with each other. As vomit-inducing as it was, I smiled the whole time. Even when the inevitable intestinal explosion came as Rahinna pulled just a little too hard and a nice big glob landed on my forehead. I looked over and saw she had gotten a good sized blob on her chest.

“Well, Fonda goy!” (Thanks!), I said, and we both nearly fell over laughing. It was the first time I had successfully been sarcastic in Zarma.

My reward for all of this was awaiting me when we returned. Rahinna’s husband handed me a giant leg of meat. A hundred percent intestine-free Deeeeeelicious! Don’t worry, I washed my hands first…..a few times in fact.

All said and done, it was a great holiday.

~Fatouma

Can you imagine? Fifty people walkin in singin a verse of alice's restaurant?!?

2009-11-26T02:17:00.000-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving!

I would love to share some exciting stories about pounding millet, starting work at my local middle school, and helping with local gardening projects.....but unfortunately I have spent the past two weeks in Niamey because of a security issue that resulted in us all being consolidated to our regional capitals. I am finally allowed to return to my village, though other volunteers in Niger were not so lucky and my heart goes out to them. It is frustrating to think that I will spend all this time building relationships and starting projects only to be yanked away without a chance to even say goodbye. This has been the experience of many pcvs in the past week and they are amazing people for pulling through it.

The situation has made me revisit my reasons for being here and I've come to the conclusion that this is where I belong, for as much time as I'm allowed here. I owe it to myself and my village to stick it out. Besides, I hear the job market still sucks back home so why would I turn down two years of guaranteed employment and benefits! For real - I went to the dentist yesterday and didn't spend a penny! Seriously speaking though, the past couple weeks have made me even more eager to soak up every experience I can here and work as much as possible. There are things that are out of my control here and so I am going to focus on what I can do with my community.

The Thanksgiving Day parades and games will be starting soon and I'm sorry to be missing them this year but I have a lot to be thankful for. I have the most amazing family and friends both at home and here in Niger. While we're at it, I am also totally thankful for laptanda pie, jelly beans, letters from home, and mosquito nets. Let the holiday season begin....it's going to be a good one!

~Fatouma

Party on Fati, Party on Safi

2009-11-03T04:48:00.001-05:00

October 30, 2009

As a waitress in DC I saw many special occasions celebrated, including my fair share of baptisms. Usually those would involve a nice Sunday brunch with mimosas, coffee cake, frilly dresses, and pastels all around. Usually the mother or sister or whatever random relative was planning said event would bombard me with concerns that the center pieces clashed with the décor or that the AC was too high or too low. These shifts usually ended in me cramming leftover coffee cake into my mouth and reluctantly sweeping up syrup covered crayons from the floor. The babies for whom these celebrations were planned generally slept through the entire thing.

This week my neighbors hosted Niger’s equivalent to the obligatory new-baby-party for Safea’s new little girl. A caabe, or naming ceremony is always planned for seven days after a baby’s birth. Safea’s husband handed out dates and candy as invitations the day before the event. I was told very firmly that I would not be going to the office that day – party time takes precedent! The cooking started the night before the ceremony and I was treated to an application of henna to the bottom of my feet. It’s very popular here and I don’t really get the appeal, but oh well, it’s something fun to do. Caabe morning I awoke and watched the set up of chairs and mats in our concession. Wearing my Niger-best I greeted the guests who trickled in and tried to figure out what exactly was going on. The actually ceremony consisted of a prayer and some general sing-song preaching. Somewhere in all of that the baby’s name was given though I didn’t catch it at the time. Safea and the new baby remained inside their house through all of this. The whole thing lasted about five minutes and then the men trickled off to eat a hearty breakfast of fish and bread while the ladies began the huge task of cooking what can best be described in my opinion as a butt-load of food. Oh yeah, the men also kill a sheep for the celebration, though I missed that part and can’t say I’m that disappointed. I think I was eating some dates.

While there were no mimosas, we did start out with a giant pot full of kooko, a hot millet beverage that is quite tasty. After downing some of that I brought Safea a couple bars of soap I had picked up in Niamey for her. Soap is a common gift for these events, not a diaper genie. A mid-morning snack was served and I made the rounds chatting with various neighbors and out-of-towners. It was much like any party mingling you might do except at this one I didn’t really understand what anyone was saying. Everyone enjoyed the fact that I was dressed Zarma-style so that made up for any conversation gaps that might have occurred. Lunch was rice with pumpkin sauce and sheep meat – all quite delicious, though brunch it was not. I miss pancakes.

Around mid-afternoon, the festivities began to slow and I spent some time sitting with the new baby, whose name by the way is Assamaou (I have no idea if that’s spelled correctly). I was told to take her to our neighbor’s house where her grandmother proceeded to shave her head, which is done on this day as well. I thought it was such a shame – she had such a full head of hair and coming from a background of bald babies, I’m always amazed when they arrive in the world with anything more than peach fuzz.

So, as you can see, definitely not the same affairs….or maybe they are. The general concept is the same – gather your family and friends around, eat a bunch of food, and enjoy the cute newborn that is sleeping through the whole thing. Ours tend to have booze and maple syrup; here there are millet and kola nuts.

~ Fatouma

What’s in a Name?

2009-11-03T04:45:00.000-05:00

October 27, 2009

I realize my friends and family at home still think “Emily is in Niger” but for these past few months, I have been thinking “Fatouma is in Niger”. I see the practicality in changing my name here – no one can say Emily. Fati as a nickname has a nice ring to it, though I still prefer Em. I realized the other day that I had gone several days without thinking about my American name and I wondered what, if anything that meant. Had I somehow lost my past identity? The next morning I made some of the coffee my mom sent me and danced around my house to Vampire Weekend. Then I dropped my phone at the mayor’s office and broke the screen…. So no, I am very much the same person, just transplanted to a totally new environment with a new name.

As I walk through the streets of my town, I hear voices calling out “Fofo Fati!” This is a welcome change that has taken place in the past few weeks from “Anasara!”, the token name given to westerners. Just as often as Fati or Fatouma though, I hear “Fofo Sukoy-Baaba-Ize!” which labels me the child of the old man I live next door to. [Baaba means father] I refer to him as my father here and his first wife as my mother. Similarly, most of the people around me at some point during the day will be referred to as the child/brother/grandson/mother/etc. of someone else. Sometimes these nicknames or labels seem to replace an individual’s name altogether. Other names, like my neighbor Kaydiya(Rainy season) are named after times of the year in which they were born or the circumstances of their birth. This isn’t really a new concept for me and I think you could even draw parallels to naming habits in the U.S. However, here in Niger it is interesting to see how names are quite fluid. At home, I would never answer to “Rick’s daughter” or “First born”. I don’t think it would even occur to me to use those words to describe myself. I would say I am a young woman named Emily. I would say I like this and that, I dislike that and this, etc. I would describe myself as an individual. What I’m getting at (rather poorly perhaps) is that I have observed that the concept of an individual is very different here.

Niger is certainly a communal culture – I guess the famous “It takes a village to raise a child” quote gives a hint as to what I mean. Kids call pretty much any adult near them mom and dad. Saying someone is your little brother or sister could mean any number of relations. I know this because going by the little brother statement alone, my mayor has about forty of them. It could mean cousin, in-law, etc. I feel like the method of naming people here draws them further into the community. Our idea of the individual must even seem lonely to Nigeriens. Here I am, a single young woman with no attachments, no links to offer. Emily is all by her lonesome (of course that’s not true, but you know what I mean). Fatouma, Sukoy Baaba Ize however, is attached. She has a family and we instantly know who they all are with the mention of her name. I guess this practice might seem sort of impersonal at first, but I think it’s not that at all. It’s a constant reminder that you are part of a community, that you have roots. Perhaps I should start ending my letters with Emily, daughter of Rick and Stacy.

On a side note, it is funny when people ask if I will still be called Fatouma when I return to America. No, I usually reply, Fatouma will stay in Niger. But it’s nice to know I have a place to call home here.

~ Fatouma

Time is on my side….. I think

2009-11-03T04:41:00.000-05:00

October 23, 2009

Americans seem to have developed an obsession with time that permeates everything we do, whether we realize it or not. We go to work at a certain time; take lunch at a certain time; there are clocks in every room; the train will come in 3 minutes, another in 7; so-and-so was born at 4:57; class starts at 8:10; you are 5 minutes late, no 10 minutes late! It goes on and on and I am no different. Some may brag that they have escaped this obsession or risen above it but I have embraced my culture’s neurosis. I hate tardiness – it drives me nuts. I never understood why people showed up late to work or a meeting. I myself am an early arriver – one of those slightly crazy people that always show up early for fear that the unknown delay will occur.

Even long term time is carefully monitored. Ages, grade levels, years of college completed, years of work experience, etc. Every other day seems to be the anniversary of something that happened ten, twenty, one hundred years ago (seventy-five is also a popular one). Birthdays, graduations, weddings, divorces, and deaths – they are all carefully assigned their mark in time, stitched on t-shirts, cards, photos, etc. I doubt there is a single person in the U.S. who doesn’t know how old they are. And how many fights are started because someone’s spouse forgets their wedding anniversary? Time! It’s our torrid affair. We’d probably be better off without it but how are we supposed to let go?

Here in Niger, nothing in the last two paragraphs exists. In settling down in my new home I am learning to accept the fact that time as I know it is gone. Sure, people have watches and now even more so what with cell phones gaining in popularity. Public records do exist for births, deaths, marriages, but the actual time and date of things has very little meaning. People ask me for the time not so much because they have somewhere to be but more for the novelty of knowing what hour it is. A few examples of time in Niger…..

- When I ask when something is happening and get the answer “now”, that could mean anytime in the next three hours or so, if at all.

- Times of the day are referred to by either the early morning, early afternoon, late afternoon, or evening call to prayer. So saying something will happen in the early afternoon could mean anytime from around 1:30 to 4:00 pm…… and usually stuff planned for this time doesn’t end up happening at all because everyone gets too hot and decides to rest instead.
- I was recently told that a meeting of my community’s fishermen was to take place at 10 am sharp! It started around 2 pm.
- Every plan made is followed by “Nda Irkoy ba” or “In sha Allah”, meaning If God wills it. A lot of times he doesn’t….
- Birthdays are not celebrated and most people don’t know exactly how old they are. Record keeping seems to be improving here but a lot of people’s birth cards still have totally random dates on them.
- Public transportation leaves when it’s full. Don’t even try to get a time on that one.
- Most people follow the lunar calendar used in Islam, which is pretty fluid in itself so holidays always fall on different dates. What’s the point of keeping track of them if they’re just going to change, eh?

I suppose this is presented very cynically and that wasn’t really my intention. I think both of these worlds have some sort of method to their madness. It has been difficult for me to grasp time here though because I want things to happen when they are supposed to happen. I like having a schedule and knowing what is next. I don’t get that here and I am slowly learning to let go. I would encourage everyone at home to do the same. I’m not suggesting you sit on your ass and show up three hours late to work and say, Emily said I should try out Nigerien life. That’s the judgmental hurdle we have to jump over. We will inevitably want to say that because there is no massive scheduling machine in place, no one is doing anything. That is simply not true. Work is done; it just isn’t being constantly monitored by time. Ni faham?

I can honestly say that the most rewarding and interesting conversations I’ve had with people here have happened while I was supposedly waiting for something or someone.

~ Fatouma

Election Day

2009-11-03T04:40:00.000-05:00

October 20, 2009

I suppose the big news for this day was the National Assembly elections here in Niger as well as its suspension from ECOWAS and threats of sanctions to come. I saw some of the election activity but for the most part stayed home to avoid conversations that would most likely make me feel awkward. Everyone asked me if I was going to vote and I had to keep explaining that I’m not Nigerien and couldn’t vote here. I told everyone I vote in America, but that was somehow not a sufficient answer. “But you’re in Niger now. You should vote here,” was the response. Several times I gave up and just said, I don’t have a voting card. That worked like a charm. Of course, if you don’t have a voting card how could you possibly go to vote?!

The big news in my world for this day came that night when my neighbor finally had her baby. She had been looking like she was about to pop for over a month. I was completely baffled though when it happened. I usually eat dinner with her and her co-wife each night so I was a little concerned when she said she was sick and wasn’t going to eat. I had my suspicions but as she seemed to just be sleeping over by her house I finished dinner and went to bed early. A couple hours later there was a knock on my door and I walked over to find a brand spankin’ new baby girl. I hadn’t heard a thing – no commotion, no crowd, no screaming or cursing the world. I sat there and watched them wash the newborn (I guess first baths are important everywhere) thinking, just a few hours ago this woman was carrying buckets of water from the pump and cooking for her family. Now she’s sitting calmly having just given birth. I don’t know what else to say. Women here never cease to amaze me. Barka nda hayyan! Next week there will be a baby naming ceremony where she’ll be given her name. All of the neighbors have been strolling by to say their congratulations. They also usually comment on what an ugly baby it is – It is considered bad luck to say things we would normally say like, what a beautiful baby, etc.

I guess I shouldn’t have called my cat cute for a while longer because the other event of Election Day was my kitten’s death. I’m not sure what happened. He stopped eating and went downhill quickly. I shed some tears and felt in general like I suck at life. How am I supposed to do anything successful here when I can’t even keep a cat alive? That was my general attitude. Although, holding a totally ugly baby for a while certainly makes things better! Life moves on….

~ Fatouma

The first month….

2009-11-03T04:33:00.001-05:00

Sept. 11 – October 14, 2009

My first month at post was an overall good time. I smiled often and only cried occasionally. The offices in the mayor’s office now have signs for each employee and we have a contact list for everyone (all with minimal number of typos). I have convinced the ten year old who fetches my water to let me carry a bucket on my own but I am still only allowed to pound millet for about ten seconds before I’m told that I should rest. I was given a kitten by my neighbor, taken across the Niger River in a canoe, and attended two weddings and a baby naming ceremony. Not bad for a month’s work in Niger I suppose.

My first week in village corresponded with the end of Ramadan celebration. I was talked into buying two chickens for the special day and was then treated to a showing of how to kill and pluck them. These were not exactly skills I was hoping to acquire at this point in my life, but it was nonetheless interesting. My neighbors were astounded to discover that Americans don’t use Maggi cubes, but that we do in fact know how to sweep and wash clothes. Cultural exchanges like this are pretty much how I spend my days. I spend some time each day at my Mayor’s office, which is an imposing looking building just in front of our health center. Only one of the staff members is there every day. He is a patient person with a good work ethic. I get the feeling he is very frustrated with things here and doesn’t like the fact that nothing really seems to get done when and how it’s supposed to. The others funnel in and out in a schedule that I have yet to understand. My suggestion to write down when everyone comes to the office was not really embraced. In Niger, if someone comes, they come. If not, maybe they’ll come tomorrow. Why have schedules that will inevitably be broken? I’m grateful for the Mairie. It is a place I can go for a bit each day to chat or study.

Aside from clean clothes and personal hygiene, I have sacrificed most of my privacy this past month. My house is splat in the middle of several families so there are rarely times when I am actually alone. I’ve been grateful for all the attention as it takes my mind off of being homesick, which at times is an over whelming feeling. It’s funny that when I was sitting in an office in DC I wanted to crawl out of my skin and now I fantasize about a nine to five routine. The grass is always greener….

It is insanely stressful and exhausting to go through each day not understanding what is going on and not being able to communicate your thoughts effectively. That having been said, my job for the past month has essentially been exploring my town, and that is pretty fun – it has felt oddly like summers when I was a little kid and we would venture off in search of new, undiscovered corners of the neighborhood. Those days usually ended with ice cream and episodes of the Simpsons, so no doubt, some things have changed. In the course of my roaming (ok, I also actually did read our Commune Development Plan, but it’s more fun to think of it like a scavenger hunt) I’ve discovered a lot about my community’s assets and gotten some random but promising project ideas that I will hopefully be able to flush out in the next few months. For now though, most of my work consists of chatting with people about America and Niger, drinking tea, sweating, and figuring out who is who.

The end of my first month at post corresponded with Global Hand washing Day (yeah, apparently it’s for real). I helped a fellow volunteer paint hand washing messages on the latrine doors of one of his commune’s primary schools. While we were painting French phrases that neither of us understood and attempting to draw pictures of soap and water, all of the kids bypassed the latrines entirely, preferring the nearby millet field for a bathroom trip. There was some singing and each class performed a skit….all in hopeful anticipation of getting one of the gumballs that accompanied us that day.

They say you only have one first month and they say it’s the hardest…whoever they are. I think mine went fairly well and I’m excited for month number two.

~ Fatouma

“Send me on my way…”

2009-11-03T04:31:00.000-05:00

July 9 – Sept 10, 2009

I have gone back and forth on this whole sharing the next two years of my life with cyberspace but decided that if everyone else gets to rant on the web about life in a third world country, well then I wanna play too. Seriously speaking though, modern technology is an awesome thing. The PC country director recently told me that when she was a volunteer in Niger she spoke to her family all of once in her whole two years. I’m now upset when my weekly phone calls don’t go through or when the internet is too slow in Niamey. My life is very different here and yet there isn’t really anywhere one can hide these days.

So, I’ve started this blog for the obvious reason of sharing my two year experience as a Municipal and Community Development Volunteer with Peace Corps Niger. As you might imagine, my life is all sorts of hilarious and I’m looking forward to telling you about it. It should be said that I do not possess any sort of authority on Peace Corps activities, development theory (unless you count reading the same essays every undergrad in International Relations reads), or even Niger for that matter. In other words, this space is for my opinions, my struggles and hopefully my successes. It is not to be quoted in your term paper or used as a point of reference for your development proposal. And please, if you are a soon to be volunteer in Niger, take even this firsthand account with a grain of salt. Don’t waltz into country with, “so-and-so said on their blog that blah blah blah.” It’s your own experience and it will be different for each person. The things I love, you will hate and vice versa.

To. Bissmillahi….

I arrived in Niger on July 11, 2009. It was hot and sunny and the only thing I remember of the ride from the airport is the piles and piles of black plastic bags that littered the road out of Niamey. I received my invitation to serve in this country a little over a month prior to getting on the plane. I had been jumping through PC loops for a year, but it was still a complete shock when I found myself dismantling my entire life in four short weeks to come here. Working and living in DC was particularly amusing because it is swarming with RPCVs and they all have their own little tidbits of advice. I quickly discovered that PC Niger has some pretty badass street credit, which was terrifying before I left and now quite funny to think about. Here is a quick summary of my badass existence since touching down in what is supposedly one of the hottest and poorest places on earth……

I and about thirty other bright eyed, bushy tailed do-gooders spend nine weeks doing the following: attend language classes like they’re a full time job; listen to briefings on what to do if you think you have malaria or if your bush taxi tumbles off the road; make small talk with our host families in a language we don’t understand; sweat; eat millet in everyone form you can think of; more language classes; listen to presentations on technical work we may or may not actually get to do; and then there is always more sweating and millet. I have laughed a lot and only teared up a couple times (and once was watching a Will Smith movie so that doesn’t count). Assuming I am Peace Corps worthy, I will be sworn in as an official volunteer on September 10, 2009 and will finally move permanently to my village.

Enough about me then, let’s talk about Niger. I am typing this in a mud brick hut with a thatch roof during a late evening rain storm. We are in full swing rainy season and it is amazing. The skies open up every couple of days and if the timing is right, it makes for great sleeping weather. My host father is a farmer like everyone else in the village that is my home for training. The millet he farms has grown from just at my ankles when I arrived to well over my head now. It has been amazing to watch. From what I hear, there is still concern that this season will lead to another food crisis because the rains were slow in coming and no one is sure if the staple crops will be enough. I tried to ask my host dad about this but the general answer is that we should all pray for a good harvest. I guess there isn’t much else to do.

The only things that consistently pop up about Niger seem to revolve around their infamous categorization a few years back as the poorest country in the world (I think they’ve since moved up) and the place that allegedly sold uranium to terrorists. I understand why some of my friends looked at me like I was either the craziest or dumbest person they knew when I told them I was coming here. Information about poverty and international controversy can be found elsewhere on the web. I won’t bother repeating it. What I would like to comment on are a few things I’ve noticed about Niger that I didn’t see in the news…..

Nigeriens are some of the most patient and kind individuals I have ever met.
Yes, it is hot, but after a while your body thinks 85 degrees is a little chilly, so everything is relative.
I’m not sure what there are more of here, kids or goats……probably kids (this actually is in the news I think – Niger has one of the largest youth populations in the world)
Children constantly scream and ask for things, which can drive a person nuts. Then one of them grabs your hand and smiles and you forget what you were mad at.
The hot sun will not in fact kill the bed bugs in your mattress; no matter how many times PC tells you it will. And those fuckers don’t mess around.
Islam is both a beautiful and frustrating religion, much like all the other ones.
Bush taxis leave when they leave and stop when they stop.
Toads will not turn into princes, even though they share your bathroom with you every night.
As frustrating as life gets, there is enough kindness in my host mother’s eyes to make up for a thousand disappointments.
Patience is much more rewarding here than at home.

So, I’ve been here two months. I’ve learned how to ask for food and the bathroom. I’ve studied Niger’s government and culture. I’ve got my swear-in traditional outfit ready and I can pack away a half pot of bush food. I guess I’m good to go…….. do what, I’m not exactly sure.

I was placed in Zarma-land for whatever reason and have enjoyed learning about my new home. Zarma is a fun language to learn. There is a word for the skin that forms on top of your milk, but no word for the color brown. Figure that one out. The stars are called the children of the moon and “hambagar” means “maybe”. The Songhai / Zarma ethnic group is mostly prevalent in western Niger. It is the second largest group next to the Hausa, which stretch across the country and into Nigeria (If you haven’t figured out that Niger and Nigeria are different countries, please go spend some time on Wikipedia. For serious.)

I will be opening a new PC post in the commune of N’Dounga in the Tillaberi region of Niger. The closest thing I can think of to compare a commune to is a county in the U.S. but it is still very different. I have a brand spankin’ new concrete house with two rooms and a lovely high walled front yard concession. My local supervisor is my town’s mayor, one of Niger’s few female mayors and a great lady thus far. Our supervisors were all asked to provide a list of where we should focus our work in our first year of service. I got the following:

1) Assist with organizing work at the mayor’s office
2) Sensibilize (I don’t think this is a real word in English, but it makes sense in French) the population on important issues (Civics, income generation, cleanliness of public areas, etc.)
3) Organize community groups

So you are all my witnesses, along with the 5,000 people in my village….and I suppose 20,000 in my commune. We’ll see where we are in a year.

As I depart for my first few months at post I’m more concerned with working on my language skills and meeting people. I plan on trying to do some very small projects at my mayor’s office and possibly see if help is needed with the start of school, which will happen in October. Not huge aspirations, but I don’t know anything about what my community needs. That will take quite some time and a lot of slow moving conversations. I’ve already realized that a good day here is very different from home and usually involves a little more simplicity.

The next two years are going to be a wild ride. Please fasten your seatbelts (it’s Peace Corps policy).

-Fatouma