The Latest

Thank you to everyone who's written to make sure I'm okay- I am okay, really. I will be in Niger for one more week before flying to Morocco and, eventually, to Oregon. It's an earlier take-off than I'd had in mind, but given everything that's gone on here recently it is an acceptable compromise. I'll take two weeks in Morocco, why not?

And, because I promised to include more information about "the situation", here goes. To the best of my knowledge: two weeks ago there was an attempted kidnapping of Americans in Tahoua, which is the capital of my region and a few hours north of my home. There have been a series of attempted and/or successful kidnappings of Europeans in and around Niger/Mali over the last year; most (if not all) of these are presumed to be the acts of an Al Quaeda group based in Mali. Because of the proximity and boldness of the Tahoua attempt, and because it appeared to target Americans, Peace Corps withdrew immediately from the region.

And that's why I had to leave my village early. I've spent the last two weeks trying to be useful (or, alternately, sitting in an absolute daze) in Konni, Niamey, and the training site at Hamdallaye, and will tackle my end-of-service paperwork next week before embarking on my last-minute trip to Morocco.

I have managed to talk with my family and friends in my village every day; we all appear to be (mostly) over the huge bummer of my sudden departure and are just happy to be able to hear each other's voices. They're wrapping up the harvest and preparing for the biggest holiday of the year-- Tabaski, which will happen tomorrow. Obviously I won't be able to partake in the festivities with them this time, but I will celebrate here in Niamey with city-Nigerien friends. What will we do? Be thankful for each other, dress up, visit and greet many people, slaughter a sheep, and eat lots and lots of meat for two days. Barka da Salla!

Below are a few pictures from my last days in the village.

Above are Rahido, Alkasum, Idi, and Wan Mano filling a granary with newly-harvested bundles of millet. The average family will eat approximately one bundle's worth of millet a day. This year, in our area, a family is lucky to get 150 bundles out of their fields. After the bundles run out, they will rely on money sent home from sons and husbands on work exodus to purchase bags of millet from the market.

Two days before I left, a truck pulled up at 7:30 in the morning with our twenty-five gorgeous new school desks!! That was so exciting. In this picture you can see Chaibou, the school director, and Isseuf, the man who arranged the construction and delivery of the desks.

Here is the inside of the new classroom, with new desks in place. In this picture are Narba, Balkissa, Rabi, Malim, Chaibou, and Isseuf. Balkissa, Rabi, and Malim are teachers for the youngest students; Chaibou will teach the two oldest grades in this new building.

There are so many more pictures that I wanted to take before leaving. I guess those will have to wait.

Faces I've come to love

Our end-of-service conference is over, and now we're heading back for one last month in our villages. I thought now would be a good time to show you some of the American faces that I've come to love while living here. All of these folks came to Niger together in January 2008, and will be heading home next month. Impossible, but true.

With Krista, a fellow fistula translator who's hoping to extend her service in Kenya, and Jen, who built a giant garden and taught people how to golf. She also made the difficult 2 day trek/walk out to my village TWICE.

This is Laura, a fellow volunteer-trainer who cracks me up and kicks my butt with her "dance workouts". Laura built a well in her village and organized a camp for young girls.

The one and only John, my closest Peace Corps friend and neighbor. John made being here easy. His work included the creation of a grain/fertilizer bank, a goat project, and the maintenance of an enormous tree plantation. He also made me the world's sweetest birthday presents (have you heard of "Backpack Boyfriend"? Yeah, that's right, he made a boyfriend doll for me to carry around in my backpack.)

Kathleen and Justin- two kindred spirits who did some really amazing work up north. They started a farmer's co-op , created a school garden, did a goat project, and made waves in challenging traditional gender roles in Niger. There is nothing these two people can't do. And they're MARRIED! Watch out world.

Meet Alex, a fellow Oregonian who got more work done in compromised circumstances than any of the rest of us who had it easy. A sample of his work: gardens, maps, health care for a girl with polio, tree planting, and just generally being resilient and creative. We went to high school AND college together but didn't know it. Alex also made it out to visit and wowed us all with his already-advanced Hausa (he learned Zarma in training).

With Kathleen and Laura. Don't we look clean?

A lot of catching up to do

I'm in Niamey to start the bureaucratic crunch that signifies the imminent end of my Peace Corps service in December, and I've been thinking about the work I've done here. We're supposed to find ways to "quantify our experience" that will help us "sell ourselves" to the work force in the US. I will do it, for the sake of my supervisors here who need the numbers, but dammit, I am resisting in my heart.

I do like to share with YOU guys what I do, because you don't ask for Anticipated Outcomes and Number of Participants and Percentage of Participants Who Benefitted and blahhhhhhhhh. Since it has been awhile since I filled you in---

The classroom! Green doors! I'll get more pictures on here, with kids, because the kids are the whole point, asap.

School has started, at last, even though a lot of the kids are still spending their days in the fields to bring in the last of the harvest. We haven't opened the new classroom yet, for two reasons- one is that the headmaster is insisting that he arrange a ceremony to appreciate all of the donors (that's YOU!), and he hasn't been able to find a date that all of the officials in the region can attend. (And I really hope that he never does, because I don't want a ceremony. But I'll do it, for him, because he says it's important. "This is Niger," he said, "and in Niger we have ceremonies".) So, okay. The second reason is that I've asked the contractor to return and do some more work on the doors, which were installed funkily and need some work. That should be cleared up by the time I get back next week!

Here is Habi, holding her daughter Samsiya, on the day they were released from the hospital in Illela. Habi's husband Shaibou is sitting on the left.

You know how it can be hard to write about something that you really care about? I feel that way right now but I'm still gonna get this out-- Word has been out for a long time in my village that I am available to connect mothers of severely malnourished babies with treatment centers in our region. You guys have heard about that work from the blog- you know about Habi and Samsiya, and the others. In the last couple of months, mothers started to bring their babies to me, just to look and see if I could tell if they were okay. Other mothers who I'd visit and advise to seek help were likewise much quicker to go get it- just a couple of weeks ago I ran into one such woman, Jemila, on her way to a feeding center south of us Tajae- she told me she'd been going weekly ever since I encouraged her to take her son there. I didn't even know she'd started going, and when I saw her son I didn't recognize the kid! That was really cool.

I started to realize that maybe, somehow, the stigma about severe, life-threatening malnutrition ("tamowa" in Hausa) is starting to change in my village. Instead of feeling intense shame and staying home, mothers seem to be taking action and getting themselves and their babies to the clinics. And it seems to help if someone is there to give them an extra push, encouragement, and basic information about what they can expect. I have filled that role for some women, and it's been, I think I can say, the most important thing I have done in my time in Niger.

Last month I talked with several women's leaders in the village to figure out a way to transfer the responsibilities that I've taken on to others, so that there is always someone to provide that supportive role to mothers. Narba and Ana, the main women's leaders, presented a plan to the larger community- about 200 women- and picked four women from the village (two from the east side and two from the west- they're so on it) to act as what I refer to in my head as The Baby Patrol.

The women- A'I Mano, Haja Kalau, Rabi Masali, and Salamu Anza- have the following responsibilities: to know what severe malnutrition looks like, to be on the lookout for it in their neighborhoods, to be available to mothers who want to show their babies to someone in private, to provide accurate information about the local services available for tamowa, and to accompany women to local clinics to get services and/or referrals from the nurses there. I met with the Baby Patrollers last week to go over some basic information, and arranged for a nurse from a neighboring village to come down and give them a training about how to recognize severe malnutrition. I think he'll come in November...

So, that's what I've been up to. That and trying to get ready to come home to my other home, in Oregon. It's going to happen soon, and as much as I love home, leaving Niger is going to SUCK. But this post is long enough already, so I'll save that conversation for later. Or for never, or for Just in My Head.



Shaibou and Habi, each with Samsiya

For the curious and concerned parents of Peace Corps trainees in Niger!

First of all, your daughters/sons/friends are fine, albeit probably exhausted by everything that's happened in the weeks since training started. Right now, they are busybusybusy in their 2nd week of learning how to live and work in Niger. They probably miss home, but are so distracted by the difference of Here from There that they don't have any brain space to worry about it as much as you might think. Instead, they're wishing they could tell you all about it, and are writing letters to you by lamplight, letters that probably won't get to you for awhile... I'll try to fill that gap, the month-long gap between when they left home and when you'll hear from them again, by telling you about what they're doing. I hope it helps to put your minds at ease!

Training takes place for ten weeks in and around the town of Hamdallaye, which is about an hour's drive north of Niamey, Niger's capital city. All of the trainees-- they're not considered volunteers until they complete all of their training-- spent their first 2 nights in Niger at the central training center in Hamdallaye, a comfortable hilltop compound equipped with electricity, running water, and a whole staff of cooks, laundry men, gardeners, and official trainers. The entire staff is marvelously competent-- energetic, understanding, patient, and eager to help Americans find their way in Niger. I have never worked with such a compassionate and effective leader as Tondi, who manages all of the training activities.

On their 3rd day here, each of the trainees went home with a host family, where they will live for the next two months. You'll hear a lot about this from the trainees themselves, so I won't insert too much of my own picture in this, aside from saying that this was a good, strong shock to my system. During the day, trainees attend language, cross-culture, health, and technical training sessions. In the evening they are home, playing with kids, practicing their French/Hausa/Zarma, and eating whatever it is that their host mothers have cooked up that day.

At some point in the next month, the trainees will be able to call home (yay!!), an event that everyone here looks forward to SO much. You'll get an email from the PC office in Niamey giving you more details on this! By the time of the phone call, your trainee should know where in Niger she'll be posted, and she'll be close to starting her service as a volunteer.

I'm sure it's hard for you all at home, being out of the loop and not knowing what the heck happened to your people. But rest assured, they're in great hands. There's no place most of us would rather be right now than Niger.

Sweet homecoming (Part 2)

1/14/09
So, yeah it's pretty sweet to be back. The stress of dividing up gifts and handing out treats (which is expected of any returned traveler, not just me) was outweighed by the pleasure in people's faces when they received them. Thank you--you know who you are--for helping me pick out all of the kids' clothes, candy, bracelets, flashlights, beads, lotion, pencils, everything. I've seen more delighted, surprised faces in the last two days than in a whole decade of birthdays. And I tell you, for folks who don't have a mirror to see themselves in, getting a photo of themselves is one of the most exciting and beguiling things imaginable. It's hard for me to know what it must be like; many people seem to recognize themselves in photos only by their clothes. I guess that's how it is if you haven't had many opportunities to see yourself.

The guys--those who are still here are probably a tenth of the normal number; the rest are on work exode--are especially into talking about the snow and coldness right now. (One of the times I called Ayuba while I was in Oregon was during a huge snowstorm, and he was super interested). They also want to know all about Obama, how long it takes me to get home, and whether or not I'll take them with me next time.

The gals are all preoccupied with whether or not I got married while I was home. Apparently many of them are convinced that was my primary objective of the trip--and to be fair, I had joked about it a couple of times. It's been too bad to disappoint them with my ongoing unmarried status, but I have comforted them somewhat with photos of my guy friends (all of whom are "hot!" according to 100% of poll-takers.)



These village men were happy to give advice before I left ("Teach your parents Hausa!"), and even happier to see me return.

Sweet homecoming (Part 1)

Moussa, driving the Land Rover

January 18, 20009
I've been back in the village for just 2 1/2 days and it already feels like I never left. In the days before arriving here: on the plane, in Niamey, then Konni, my head was a jumble of people and places. Parents, family, brothers, friends, dogs...Oregon, Wisconsin, Ohio...as I got closer and closer to this home, another crowd started mingling with that ever-present smorgasbord of America. Enter Niger: adoptive parents x 50, adoptive family x 100, brothers and sisters x 500, friends ('cause everyone here is your friend) x 40 gazillion. I spent a few days feeling pretty homesick, but gradually the loving hum of my village got louder and louder, and finally I arrived. The "welcome back" process has been like no other, a constant barrage of "How's your family? How are your parents? Your dad? Your mom? Your little brother? Your older brother? Eliza? Anika? Lucy? Their moms? (They've taken a special fond interest in my little-girl relatives; I explained "Fairy God Belayer" and it came across like I'm a child-crazy witch.) People I hardly know at all--some whom I've never talked with, much less recognize--are coming up to welcome me back. It is really, really cool.

One of my favorite moments of my whole time here was when Moussa drove me up to my house. You can hear cars from quite a way off, and there are seldom any around, ever, so people in town knew that someone was coming. They also all recognize Moussa's car-- a standard white Land Rover--so they knew it was me coming. Driving through the village was like being in a parade: a one-car parade, with throngs of kids shouting my name, and adults leaping out of courtyards to wave and join in the bustle. I wanted to throw candy, it was so festive.

And then, the kicker--we pulled up by my house and I spied Narba across the crowd She was all wrapped in her red shawl, carrying a bowl of sweet potatoes on her head. I got out and pushed through everybody to reach her, and she gave me a hug. A real hug. I may not have mentioned this before--villagers don't hug; I've never seen a single hug this whole time. Never, not in sad times or happy times, ever. But Narba gave me one!

I cried, obviously.

Konni hostel

Konni volunteers, at least some of them

Net-covered beds at the Konni hostel

Volunteers in my region come in to the Konni hostel once a month or so to pick up mail, write grants on the computer there, check Peace Corps email addresses, and of course, to catch up on one another. Sometimes there are workshops at the hostel. Hopefully, budget cuts won't eliminate the hostels...they are on the chopping block.

Contemplating the turkey, sadly, at the Konni hostel, Thanksgiving, 2008

Just a little later...big dinner prepared by PCVs on Thanksgiving, 2008, at the Konni hostel. There are a bunch of great new volunteers in the area.

Out of propane

Haoua, frying millet pancakes (masa) over a typical cooking fire

I ran out of propane for my little stove, so for a week now I've been cooking over a "fire," which has been entirely enjoyable and amusing, if also frustrating at times. Frankly, the privilege/ease/and also expense of cooking with propane eliminates a significant job that all other women slave over daily, and by not sharing in their labor, I have missed out on a very accessible means of exchange. So, although I have lamented the loss of such a sweat-free cooking apparatus, it has felt right and valuable to spend this week considering things that the other women have to consider all the time: do I have enough wood, is it dry enough, why the heck isn't the fire starting, and how the hell can it not be dry enough in the hottest country on the planet?

Nuances of joy in this hot, harsh place

I am on the left, Meaghan on the right; her village is nearby; I sewed the dress I'm wearing!

8/7/08
I think it's safe to say that I've entered a new stage in my time here, socially, emotionally, and work-wise. And in a very "aren't we all connected" way, this shift has lined up quite naturally with the change of seasons. It's hard to put a finger on it exactly; it's much bigger than a finger! But I can try to explain it. My first six months here were spent starry-eyed, taking-it-all-in, bombarded by the newness and the impossibility of it all. Now, gradually, I am accepting the realities, the possibilities. And with that acceptance, the realization that this is my life-- not a movie, not an article out of National Geographic, not a vacation,or a foreign exchange program done for credit--come so many little knots to untangle. Life is complicated! Life is astounding! It is more than being perpetually high on adventure. As if one could ever forget. I was so dizzy with the high of being here that I had nearly forgotten what it was like to have a bad day. Such luck!

But let me stay on track--back to this shift, this process of realization--I feel more grounded now, more human I guess you would say, with a wider range of emotions. More real. I do have bad days, and they suck, but I see how important that is. I'm at a point where my relationships here are more complex than they were three months ago. My language skills are catching up, and inevitably this double-whammy reveals a whole new array of possibilities: conversations, disagreements, confusions, questions, expressions...whereas before, these things were simpler, and although it was frustrating, it was not so complicated.

Now. Knowing people better and understanding more of what is going on, I am suddenly aware of the bizarre and involved politics and dramas of my village. No more parading around, blissfully ignorant, riding the high of an adventurer in a new and exciting land! No! Now, I can listen and whisper, I can step on thorns both real and figurative, I can appreciate the nuances of joy that decorate the lives of people making it in this hot, harsh place. Do you see what I am trying to describe? Things have changed and it is hard, but it's the right thing; it's good.

Adjusting

Chameleon in Konni

7/15/08
Well, a week has passed since the beginning of the Mosquito Wars. I am still peppered in itchy welts, but my attitude has improved. Plus, most of my new bites I got in a neighboring village, which somehow makes them easier to deal with. I had four really busy days in a row--lots of walking to and from new villages, lots of interactions with new people. Two months ago, any one of my recent escapades would have wiped me out completely, but now I see that I'm more able/adjusted. It no longer takes quite as much effort and concentration to make it through a day. Not to say that a day here was particularly grueling, but the sheer difference of this place left me physically and emotionally drained on a daily basis for the first several months. And today, sure, my legs are pretty tired, but I'm no worse for the wear...wait, is that how that saying goes...I don't even know! You get the picture.

Beginning a project: women's grain bank

Millet

Photo by Andy, the HoboTraveler

8/10/08
Following a series of meetings in May and July, the village women decided that a grain bank is their hearts' desire, and they asked me to make it happen.* SO: slowly but surely, I've been figuring out what a grain bank is, how it works, and how to procure all the bits and pieces to make it successful. I still have more questions than answers, but I'm hopeful that eventually everything will fall into place. The basics of a GB look like this: an entity of people (in this case, 212 women) obtain a whole bunch of grain (in this case millet), either through their own purchasing power, donated grain or money, or a combo of both (in this case, it'll be a combo). The grain is ideally purchased right after harvest time, when prices are lowest, and then it's stored for much of the year until people's personal stores run out. At that time, the grain is sold out at a higher price than its original purchase, but lower than the current market price (which is often twice the price than that after harvest, so lots of room for profit). The aim of the whole thing is twofold:
1. To increase food security by selling grain at lower costs during the hunger season.
2. To turn a profit for the bank and its members. Profits can be divided among the original investors (the women), or put towards a communally beneficial project (our neighboring village used last year's profits to fund women's literacy classes for 4 months). Or, along with the rest of the sales money, it can be used to re-stock the bank when grain prices are low again.

That is my very rudimentary understanding of the mechanics-- it seems rather straightforward, but I can't help but wonder if there's a lot of room for confusion. I have a few (actually a lot) of questions: mainly, what is the best way for a group of illiterate women to keep accurate records of sales/investments/purchase/profit? I believe it can be done, but I don't know how. There are a couple of literate women in the group, but I am not sure what their actual level of literacy is. The village women are vehemently opposed to admitting any men into the deal, and I wouldn't dream of arguing this point. It is very important to them! They say that the men will 'cinye' all of their money (eat it up!). I suspect that one of the village men (most of whom have at least a few years of schooling and can read at a basic level) might really benefit the accounting/record-keeping aspect of the bank, but I am willing to suspend any doubt and trust the women to give it a run sans-man. Certainly this has been done before, right? Somewhere? I know that grain banks are a common project that PCVs work on in many countries, but I've been surprised at how little information I can find that explains strategies for making them really great. Perhaps it is my American perspective that places so much value on organization and transparent record keeping, and maybe that's simply not the most important thing here. But I worry about the longer-term sustainability of the bank if, for example, not enough money is reinvested to restock it, or if profits aren't distributed evenly, etc.

I hope that a lot of my questions will be addressed, and with luck answered, soon...here's why...upon informing Moussa (the PC Konni region project manager/driver/heaven-sent development agent who gives me little bags of frozen tamarind juice when I visit his family in Konni) about the bank project, he laid out a few steps for me to follow. First, hold a few more meetings with the women to choose 12 representatives to make up the official 'board' of the bank. Then, take those names (and some cash) to the commune's mayor's office (kind of like the governor of an area the size of your average county in the US), to obtain an official Certificate for the bank. Having a board and a certificate somehow legitimizes the bank and puts it on the map (although honestly we did nothing to merit 'Certification' besides gather on a Friday afternoon and shout out the names of the 12 oldest and most influential ladies in town.) The board thing makes sense, of course, even if the picking of the women seemed more political than practical. Next step- organize and hold a training on grain bank management-- YES! So true! Sooo important! And this is the step that we're on right now.

*Do you want an update on this grain bank project?

A cabbage, and more

5/12/08
On Tuesday I left the village at 6:30AM on my new stallion, a brand spanking new red and white Trek bicycle. We handled the 22K to Illela in style; it took two hours! Lots of bumps, a few sandy patches, and thankfully, no close calls with trucks overflowing with people en route to market. John joined me where the road passes his village; we arrived in high style, and spent the day rehydrating, eating street food, and buying "groceries" for the week. For me: a cabbage, two mangoes, carrots, dates, two eggplants, and a little pile of sweet potatoes. I didn't expect to have so many veggies this time of year; it was such a relief. I strapped my wares on the back of my bike and bumped my way back home over the hills. I arrived in my village just before sunset to a crowd of kids. "Samsiye, you came back!" So happy.

Home alone

4/28/30 (Later in the afternoon)

I have been spending more and more time out with people as I become accustomed to life here. It would be cool to have charted the actual hours spent at home alone from when I arrived to now...it would look like this:


It's easier to be out and about when you know the people you are with, when you understand what they're saying, when you know what's expected of you, and when you know you can go home and rest and nobody will be mad.

Books

For a good book list on Niger and the Peace Corps experience, check this out. From this list I (mom, here) have read Riding the Demon, and if you don't want to know just how scary African bush taxis can be, then you shouldn't read this book. (Author Peter Chilson has written other works rooted in his PC Niger past, and I think they are a little scary too.) Also sitting on my desk is the novel Still Waters in Niger, which was a New York Times Notable Book in 1999, and I am hoping that it will be good.
John and I both really liked Nine Hills to Nambonkaha by Sarah Erdman, and although it takes place in the Ivory Coast, not Niger, it was a very well-written representation of the Peace Corps experience in West Africa. A neighbor (thank you Peggy!) recently loaned us Monique and the Mango Rains by Kris Holloway, which is a wonderful chronicle of a very special relationship between a PCV and her mid-wife colleague, Monique, in Mali.

Transitioned

Cholesteric Phase Transition of the First Order (what you get when you type "transition" into Google images)

4/15/08
So today is Tuesday, and it has been exactly four weeks since I moved in. Somewhere along the way I think that I transitioned from feeling "Whoa, this is what my life is going to be like" to "Hey, this is my life!" Things feel more comfortable; it's nice to come home after an interaction, and instead of feeling extremely giddy and hyped-up about the incredibility of it all, I feel calm, glad, understood. The giddiness of being here is still frequent, all the time, almost; but it is tempered by a developing sense of competency. I can see the opportunities to be very content, productive, involved. That is important, just to know that they are there. People have so much going on: they are really tireless in their work, and I am enjoying this chance to join them.

Care package ideas & tips

A can of sausages

Honey mustard

Chelsea And Jessica in the Konni hostel

Rad Care Package Ideas (updated 10/23/09)

Dried fruit
Dried veggies
Dried eggs
Nuts, trail mix, anything crunchy
Jerky (SlimJims are good, too; take'em out of their box & tuck into corners of the care pkg)
Cereal (Cheerios, Chex, Granola, Grape Nuts...)
Ketchup
Spices, sauce mixes (see below), soy sauce, Thai boxed foods, Indian spices, HOT SAUCE
A big thing of seasoned salt (we salt our food, then sweat it all out)
Mustard, honey mustard!
Parmesan cheese (or other nonrefrigerated cheese)
Cheeses like they sell at Xmas, which don't need refrigeration
Packaged tuna (or cans, which can be re-used here)
Packaged chicken
Real bacon bits
Packaged meat in general (although I'd caution about the waste thing-- the tuna packages don't burn very well, so they're a bit troublesome to dispose of...)
Dried faux-meat (This stuff is surprisingly good)
Coffee (a BIG one with coffee drinkers-- you can't get it here. just nescafe)
Things to flavor water (powdered drinks) CrystalLight individ packets fit in corners of pkg
Emergen-cee (immunity boosting supplement)
Underwear (cotton)
Anti-itch products (Aveeno, cortisone, anything for heat rash/bug bites)
Batteries (AAAs power most headlamps)
Wind-up flashlight that doesn't use batteries is a good gift
Magazines w/news of pop culture in US (trashy zines we would never usually read)
Children's picture books
Movies (all hostels have dvd players)
Music (some folks have laptops and can transfer songs on to others' iPods for them)
Peanut m&ms (regular m&ms are great too)
'Just add water' cookie mixes (I've personally never heard of this, but someone here swears by them)
Peat pellets for starting seeds
Seeds that will grow in a hot climate (tomato, eggplant, collards, cucumber, beans, peppers, melons: seeds can be hard to find in Niger, and quite expensive)
Memory card for camera (of course you have to know what model the camera is. An extra card is nice b/c it makes it possible to take some video footage, and maybe even send it home)
US stamps that can be put on letters that are mailed by people coming back

Don't worry about the "import taxes" that you may have read about on some blogs, quoting erroneous information about ridiculous amounts of money that volunteers might have to pay when claiming their packages. The duty I have had to pay has never amounted to more than the equivalent of 2 US dollars. Sooo worth it.

Several volunteers collaborated to make the above list; it might be of special interest to families and friends of new volunteers. I (mom) added the dried eggs because eggs are hard to find where J lives, and they are such good protein for a great price (80 eggs for $10). Other big hits in the packages I have sent include the small items that she used to like to "borrow" from my desk: glue, tape, pencil sharpener, paper. I sent an inflatable beach ball world globe (cheap from eBay), a children's French picture dictionary (Usborne), a Unicef children's book with great photos (Children Just Like Me), books with farm animals, a Hausa dictionary, a book of n. hemisphere star constellations, and a map of Niger. Jelly bellies survived the hot trip, as did an outdoor thermometer. Graham cracker and Oreo pie crusts (plus instant pudding mix) were a nice surprise; acidophilus was an early request. Knorr's Pesto sauce, taco seasoning, soy sauce, and Indian sauce mixes made the trip. ( I found soy sauce in a plastic bottle, but anything that might break or leak should be put in a sturdy zip lock baggie.) And what a great place to which I can happily send stacks of National Geographic.

Cheapest way to send a package: get a Flat Rate box free from the post office: there are 2 sizes that you can send for $41.95; there is a larger size costing $53.95. They can weigh up to 20 pounds. No such thing as "surface mail" anymore. Be sure to get the right customs form for it, declaring things in a general, uninteresting way, "school supplies" for example, so that it will be unlikely to be tampered with.

How long does it take to get a package to Niger? To Peace Corps Niamey addresses it seems to take a bit longer than to some of the outlying regions. It takes, on average, 3 weeks for a package to get to Konni. Then the volunteer has to pick it up. Allow one month.

Things NOT to send: peanut butter, rice, elbow macaroni, anything made out of millet. No sunscreen (provided by PC)

Care packages are really really really appreciated by PC Niger volunteers. Thank you to those of you who have sent packages!!

Sunday mornings

I decided to designate Sunday mornings as my own time for observing the Spiritual Side of Things, so I have that time to myself without interruption. I gave it a test run last week; it was kind of hard, actually, because my normal mentality is that I should get out of my concession, but I think that having time free of social obligations will ultimately be very good. This week I used it to read Mary Oliver poems, write part of this letter, write my own poetry, and do my version of yoga. My villagers seem very happy that I do this; I wonder if they wondered when I pray.

A tough week

4/11/08
This week, namely the last five days, has probably been the toughest so far. And truthfully it has not been that "bad" by any means. On the contrary. I've had so many more positive interactions and discoveries, and even some mini-achievements in Hausa. What do I mean when I say tough...maybe what I mean is that I am feeling a lot of things and when they're blended together they put me in uncharted emotional territory. Much (most?) of what I'm feeling I have never felt before, so upon reflection, it has been a "tough" week. Not like something rotten, but something really chewy, that you have to really gnaw on before you figure out exactly what it is you're tasting. There, that's it! Do you understand?

One of the highlights of this week: Two of the school teachers and I have informally established a "Teach Jessica Hausa" meeting time in the afternoons, after the 4 PM prayer. We sit on chairs in the shade, and I ask them questions; they are so eager to help, it's really nice. Yesterday I was pooped though, and I got frustrated because I could not explain my question well enough, and we kept going in circles....AAAHHH...I could tell I was going to cry, so I had to leave...but I got it together (yay!) and went back a few minutes later. We never did figure out the answer to my question...but... c'est la vie.

Morning circuit

Teen girls visiting Jessica's compound, in the shade of the hangar

4/6/08
I have a common "circuit" that I walk most mornings. I visit a few women at their homes almost every day, people I feel particularly drawn to for one reason or another. There is Fati and her daughter Sahara, both of whom I adore. I came across them by chance the first time I visited the village in February; I had walked to the edge of the village and was trying to meet as many people as I could handle. As soon as I walked into their compound and saw them, I knew we would be friends. Fati is probably in her 40s; Sahara is in her teens, and they find it hilarious and wonderful that I am here. No matter what, I know I can go there and and smile with them. I also visit Karima, because she seems like a sort of powerful matriarch-type person; she sells goro nuts (kola nuts to you?) .

To provide a little context to all of this: under Islamic law a man can have up to four wives. I believe most, if not all, men in my village have two or more wives. During day time, most women (ages17+) are within the family compound, working. Each woman has her own hut for her and her kids. Younger girls and teen girls leave frequently throughout the day to get water-you'll always see them coming and going-but for the most part you won't see women hanging out in public spaces. In the hottest part of the day, the women do congregate with their friends in the shade for a few hours, but really they are without much "free time."

On TV!

This footage, a little blurry, was taken at the Peace Corps swearing-in ceremony in Niamey, March 15, 2008, and broadcast on Nigerien TV. It is about a minute and a half long, and towards the end there is an interview with Jessica, speaking her newly-acquired language, Hausa.