A rollercoaster ride

First off, apologies for the lack of an accompanying picture to the last post. Bandwidth in Niger is, delicately put, not up to the American standard. I ran out of patience waiting for it to load as I sat on the floor of my regional hostel under a ceiling fan, feeling I could just have easily been in Havana in 1954.
So I moved in to my village on September 28th, and while I teared up as my supervisor Ousmane shook my hand (when I really wanted a hug, but you know, cultural norms here don't really allow for a dude to hug a dudette), I began the newest portion of this grand adventure with gusto.
My village is gorgeous, my friends, at least right now, when the millet is high, the leaves are green, and the hills take on a nice shade of purple and blue when the light hits them just right. I love the baobab trees with their ENORMOUS white, almost birch tree (in texture)-like trunks. After meeting my counterpart at the mayor's office, I decided to take a walk for an hour or so and greet people, soon accumulating no less than 50 children trailing behind me, shouting the name of the volunteer who I am replacing. No, no, children. I'm not Zahara (she went back to America!), I'm Roukkeya. And you will like me and not laugh at my Hausa.
I tried to set up my house a little bit and then the next day, as has become my routine, I went to the mayor's office for a few hours in the morning to sit and greet people and make friends (or try). No one does much of anything from 12-5, so I have taken to making lunch and reading during the pseudo-siesta. To say it's a different lifestyle's the understatement of the century, but if you think about it, it makes sense. Why is there such a need to rush around? Why not take some time to have tea on a mat with your neighbor?
Last Sunday I went to see my closest PC neighbor, Mark (aka Omar), and we spent the afternoon at his village's market. Another volunteer (a fellow KU alum) joined us, too. So great to see other Americans after a few days by ourselves! The highlight of the day was eating egg sandwiches on a bench on the side of the road and by some divine intervention, finding a Diet Pepsi. Heavenly, I tell you, but really after four or five days in the intense heat without the possibility of refrigeration, ANYTHING cold will suffice.
Anyway, it's been a humbling couple of days - between my neighbor (and, at least for now, my go-to lady)'s youngest, already very fragile son falling ill with malaria to the death of a dear fellow volunteer (from "natural causes," although no one knows what that means for a 26 year old). All of us from the July 2010 stage are gathered now in Niamey for Steph's memorial service. We'll return to our villages in a few days. I commented to my friend Annette (and fellow member of Team Zinder, as Steph was) on our 15 hour bus ride yesterday that every day here is pretty fragile, and until now, even though we see evidence of it every day, it hasn't quite hit home. The challenges of life in Niger (the absolute poverty and all that includes - disease, malnutrition, desperation) can easily overwhelm a person. But there is also so much that is lovely and worth celebrating. And that, as best we can, is what we need to hold on to. Making every day count is what it's all about.
Toodleloo!