Thursday, January 6, 2011
Oh, yeah, I did meet that camel
I neglected to mention in my prior post that I did, in fact, ask my neighbor to meet their camel. It was perhaps one of the top three moments of my service thus far, I'm not kidding. This particular family has a little shago/small shack of a store around the corner from my house and are pretty well-educated. I think the dad is a Hadji and has three or four wives. Their boys, remarkably and defying science, really, are identical despite different mom-age. I really like all the kids (as they are super polite to me - what a concept! and are old enough to have an intelligent conversation) and explained that since I dearly love animals, I NEED to meet their camel. I was introduced and got to pet her (!) before she tried to gnaw on my hand. I felt like a 4 year old at a petting zoo; it was fantastic.
Three months at post = done!
Apologies galore for the lack of blogging the past three months. As I’ve mentioned, internet in this country, like a lot of things, is fickle and requires much patience. I’ve really gotten into the letter-writing, too, and obviously that‘s much more personal.. I alone might keep USPS in business.
Anyway, we’ve just finished our first three months at post (a major milestone, so three cheers for us!) and are back in the regional capital waiting out a standfast (local elections this weekend, so for security we are to remain in one place) then will proceed onward to Niamey for a month of training. A month, that is, to learn how exactly to structure and fund projects in our villages. I am ridiculously excited. Giddy, you might even say. I’m beginning to really enjoy my village and am positively thrilled to actually start doing something other than sitting and chatting with people (which is valuable in and of itself but for me, a busybody, gets kind of old after a while).
After three months of chatting, I’ve come up with a few project ideas I want to propose to the head honchos of the village: an additional pump (as there are currently six pumps servicing the water needs of 12,000 people), a goat loan/microfinance project with some women’s groups (they’re given a goat to sell in the market, then they invest the profits on another goat or in lending to each other), and a business club for middle school students (in which they would take a small product to the marketplace and invest the profits). My friend Issaka (who started a masters’ program in development economics in Ghana and is a teacher at the middle school) wants to help with the microfinance projects, and we can communicate relatively easily and makes me tea, in addition to being awesome, I might just let him. Bwa ha ha!
I’ve somehow become a bit of a defacto education volunteer. Actually, I think most of my village believes I’m a teacher at the middle school, as I almost exclusively hang out with those teachers and with the director (who is also under the impression that he is my supervisor, which, for now at least, I find endearing). My real supervisor is kind of a one-man local government office, so he is always cavorting around on his motorcycle to the regional capital and to other government offices. He doesn‘t really cavort, but I really like the word, so just go with it. I see more of his wife and kids than I do of him, certainly.
Today was a particularly good day. One of those days when I say, “man, this is the best job in the entire world. How did I get so lucky?” I woke up before alarm/cell phone went off, mostly because I had gone to bed circa 8:00 as the electricity had gone out again (thank you, Nigeria), and made myself some couscous and a sweet potato (seasoned with Emeril’s Original Essence, thanks to my parents and their spice-laden care package. I was getting tired of Herbes de Provence.). I trotted off to the middle school and observed two PE classes (while reminding myself I needed to sit on the bench and not jump up and participate. I felt like a soccer mom to some of the my neighbor kids, and it was terrifying.). More boot camp than anything, the two classes also served as pseudo-tryouts for the girls’ soccer team that will play in the Zinder region Peace Corps tournament. That’s correct: the girls actually get to play for once. While I’m away at IST the coach (a dead ringer for Topher Grace from That 70s Show, if Topher Grace were not Caucasian) will hopefully whip them into shape (a la that movie Ladybugs with Rodney Dangerfield). He did confess he’s worried because “the girls haven’t ever played before and those girls in larger towns start to play in primary school.” To which I said, “amma, zasu ba kokari et ce sera bon.” In my typical mix of Hausa and French, “but, they will give effort and it will be good!” Which is pretty much a motto you might choose for life in Niger.
A special shout out to my friend Sarah, currently braving the blizzards of Minnesota. I got a letter from her today asking about my cooking situation. Well, Monson, I have a propane stove (probably one of a few, if not the only one, in my village) inside, and thus get to avoid the trauma of cooking on an open fire. It appears to work well for me, as a PC staff member told me just today that I’ve gained weight. To be fair, this is a cultural thing: it’s good to be fat here, but given this is a cultural exchange, did my best to explain to her (without bursting into tears) that this is not something we want and/or say in America. And then left the room to cry. It kind of amazes me that a) of all the fears I had of PC service, gaining weight was #1 - and still is and b) that I continue to be body-imaged obsessed even when removed from American culture (for the most part) and given the myriad of other issues that I could feasibly choose to obsess over (people in my village dying from malaria, lack of decent healthcare, lack of educational opportunities, etc.). So in case you ever doubted it, old demons die hard. To answer another of Monson’s questions: a typical meal for me right now (during cold season) is couscous and garbanzo beans or couscous and sweet potatoes. I usually just steam both and throw some seasoning and call it a meal. But a typical Nigerien meal is tuwo and sauce (which is pounded millet made into a paste and covered in sauce). Some volunteers like it, but I don’t care for the texture, and I’m not a person for whom texture is normally an issue. Of course sometimes I receive rice and beans (the spiciest I’ve ever had) from my friend Jerou, and it is a meal to look forward to! I’m nervous for hot season, as my fellow PCV Cindy tells me that in a few months, it’s basically mangoes and water for meals. She said, “but when you are sweating from places you didn’t know you had, you don’t really want to eat.” And, another piece of wisdom, “you really can’t feel the difference between 110 and 130.” Fantastic!
On a happier note, I’ve been reading semi-voraciously, which is what happens when you have at least four hours a day to sit and read (not complaining). Just finished a couple of guilty pleasure reads by Emily Giffin, which were truly awful; if she could get published then I’m pretty sure I could, too. Right now I’m reading Assassination Vacation by This American Life’s Sarah Vowell (thank you for sending it, Am!). I’ve been trying to keep up on (useful) information with National Geographics. Just read this amazing article on Jane Goodall and her 50 years at the Gombe Research Center in Tanzania. New hero!
I should probably wrap it up; I need to type my report summary (in French, not Hausa, because I pleaded with my supervisor) and get all my duckies in a row for IST. Anyway, thank you all for staying in touch. I had my first small bout of homesickness the other day (which is remarkable seeing as I’ve been here for six months), but it quickly passed. I’ve never doubted this is where I need to be - what else could you ask for in a new year!
Anyway, we’ve just finished our first three months at post (a major milestone, so three cheers for us!) and are back in the regional capital waiting out a standfast (local elections this weekend, so for security we are to remain in one place) then will proceed onward to Niamey for a month of training. A month, that is, to learn how exactly to structure and fund projects in our villages. I am ridiculously excited. Giddy, you might even say. I’m beginning to really enjoy my village and am positively thrilled to actually start doing something other than sitting and chatting with people (which is valuable in and of itself but for me, a busybody, gets kind of old after a while).
After three months of chatting, I’ve come up with a few project ideas I want to propose to the head honchos of the village: an additional pump (as there are currently six pumps servicing the water needs of 12,000 people), a goat loan/microfinance project with some women’s groups (they’re given a goat to sell in the market, then they invest the profits on another goat or in lending to each other), and a business club for middle school students (in which they would take a small product to the marketplace and invest the profits). My friend Issaka (who started a masters’ program in development economics in Ghana and is a teacher at the middle school) wants to help with the microfinance projects, and we can communicate relatively easily and makes me tea, in addition to being awesome, I might just let him. Bwa ha ha!
I’ve somehow become a bit of a defacto education volunteer. Actually, I think most of my village believes I’m a teacher at the middle school, as I almost exclusively hang out with those teachers and with the director (who is also under the impression that he is my supervisor, which, for now at least, I find endearing). My real supervisor is kind of a one-man local government office, so he is always cavorting around on his motorcycle to the regional capital and to other government offices. He doesn‘t really cavort, but I really like the word, so just go with it. I see more of his wife and kids than I do of him, certainly.
Today was a particularly good day. One of those days when I say, “man, this is the best job in the entire world. How did I get so lucky?” I woke up before alarm/cell phone went off, mostly because I had gone to bed circa 8:00 as the electricity had gone out again (thank you, Nigeria), and made myself some couscous and a sweet potato (seasoned with Emeril’s Original Essence, thanks to my parents and their spice-laden care package. I was getting tired of Herbes de Provence.). I trotted off to the middle school and observed two PE classes (while reminding myself I needed to sit on the bench and not jump up and participate. I felt like a soccer mom to some of the my neighbor kids, and it was terrifying.). More boot camp than anything, the two classes also served as pseudo-tryouts for the girls’ soccer team that will play in the Zinder region Peace Corps tournament. That’s correct: the girls actually get to play for once. While I’m away at IST the coach (a dead ringer for Topher Grace from That 70s Show, if Topher Grace were not Caucasian) will hopefully whip them into shape (a la that movie Ladybugs with Rodney Dangerfield). He did confess he’s worried because “the girls haven’t ever played before and those girls in larger towns start to play in primary school.” To which I said, “amma, zasu ba kokari et ce sera bon.” In my typical mix of Hausa and French, “but, they will give effort and it will be good!” Which is pretty much a motto you might choose for life in Niger.
A special shout out to my friend Sarah, currently braving the blizzards of Minnesota. I got a letter from her today asking about my cooking situation. Well, Monson, I have a propane stove (probably one of a few, if not the only one, in my village) inside, and thus get to avoid the trauma of cooking on an open fire. It appears to work well for me, as a PC staff member told me just today that I’ve gained weight. To be fair, this is a cultural thing: it’s good to be fat here, but given this is a cultural exchange, did my best to explain to her (without bursting into tears) that this is not something we want and/or say in America. And then left the room to cry. It kind of amazes me that a) of all the fears I had of PC service, gaining weight was #1 - and still is and b) that I continue to be body-imaged obsessed even when removed from American culture (for the most part) and given the myriad of other issues that I could feasibly choose to obsess over (people in my village dying from malaria, lack of decent healthcare, lack of educational opportunities, etc.). So in case you ever doubted it, old demons die hard. To answer another of Monson’s questions: a typical meal for me right now (during cold season) is couscous and garbanzo beans or couscous and sweet potatoes. I usually just steam both and throw some seasoning and call it a meal. But a typical Nigerien meal is tuwo and sauce (which is pounded millet made into a paste and covered in sauce). Some volunteers like it, but I don’t care for the texture, and I’m not a person for whom texture is normally an issue. Of course sometimes I receive rice and beans (the spiciest I’ve ever had) from my friend Jerou, and it is a meal to look forward to! I’m nervous for hot season, as my fellow PCV Cindy tells me that in a few months, it’s basically mangoes and water for meals. She said, “but when you are sweating from places you didn’t know you had, you don’t really want to eat.” And, another piece of wisdom, “you really can’t feel the difference between 110 and 130.” Fantastic!
On a happier note, I’ve been reading semi-voraciously, which is what happens when you have at least four hours a day to sit and read (not complaining). Just finished a couple of guilty pleasure reads by Emily Giffin, which were truly awful; if she could get published then I’m pretty sure I could, too. Right now I’m reading Assassination Vacation by This American Life’s Sarah Vowell (thank you for sending it, Am!). I’ve been trying to keep up on (useful) information with National Geographics. Just read this amazing article on Jane Goodall and her 50 years at the Gombe Research Center in Tanzania. New hero!
I should probably wrap it up; I need to type my report summary (in French, not Hausa, because I pleaded with my supervisor) and get all my duckies in a row for IST. Anyway, thank you all for staying in touch. I had my first small bout of homesickness the other day (which is remarkable seeing as I’ve been here for six months), but it quickly passed. I’ve never doubted this is where I need to be - what else could you ask for in a new year!
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