Shucking Peanuts

I shucked peanuts for four hours today. I can’t remember the last time I spent so much time on something so simple. I also can’t remember the last time I lived in a country that shuts down between the zahi or “hot” hours between 12 and 4 pm so perhaps there is some method to my peanut shucking madness.

One of my neighbors gave me a large sack of peanuts, a typical act of Nigerien generosity. Despite my profound love peanut butter, candied peanuts, roasted peanuts, salted peanuts, peanut curry, peanut cookies and everything else tantalizingly peanutty, I really don’t like raw peanuts. To eat the soft, pinkish nut seems traitorous to the glory of a nut that it could one day become.

Sitting on my kitchen table I eyed a large bottle of roasted peanuts I’d purchased in Maradi, the “big” city near my village. Thanks to my new habit of emotional eating and the flurry of emotions that accompany life in Niger, my huge bottle of peanuts was almost empty. It had cost me two mile, or the equivalent of a week’s worth of rice and beans, should I choose to live off such. I got excited. Not only was I going to make something unappetizing delicious, I was also going to save money! This was almost like my first development project—I was going to cost-effectively develop peanuts!

Despite the suffocating heat, I ripped open the large plastic bag and commenced shucking peanuts with a new found domesticity that made me feel like Martha Stuart, pre-jail that is. But, unfortunately, these were not your run of the mill, ball-park peanuts. Unlike their baseball game brothers, these peanuts did not crack open at the simple press of a thumb. In fact, even when I wielded my almighty garlic press, a few still remained resolutely shelled.

I told myself that this was Peace Corps, not Posh Corps. If I’d wanted an easy life I would have never agreed to come to what is quite possibly the poorest, hottest and dustiest country in the world. So I spent three and a half hours, fighting to change the nature of my peanuts. Like most nature versus mankind quarrels, mankind won but the prize wasn’t quite what was desired.

It was like I’d cut down a tropical rainforest only to find that the price of timber had plummeted. To be a bit less obtuse, roasting did not work. I put them in a skillet and turned up the gas. Then, when they started to burn I added water which left me with slightly burnt, slightly boiled peanuts that tasted a lot like their raw counterparts.

Despite the frustration, it was a rather entertaining way to spend four hours of my life. Oh la vie aux Niger…

Sandcastles

It was about one a.m. on a Friday night when I lay awake, staring intently at the small piece of my roof that was making its way down my wall and onto my thinly cemented floor. Outside the wind slammed my tin door open, shut and then open again as rain pounded against the ground, turning my front yard into what can only be described as “gooey.”

I live in a sandcastle. Technically, my two rooms are made of mud, millet and manure but “sandcastle” seems to explain a whole lot more. Like why hundreds of children are forever trying to come into my sandbox (read: “yard”) and play with all the sand toys (read: “everything I own”) and appropiate them as their own. Like why everything I cook in the sandcastle is well-spiced with sand, no matter how much I clean. Like why sometimes, I just go into that sandcastle and pray that some big wave (read: “the world”) doesn’t wash me away.

My roof wasn’t the only thing that fell apart this week. First my body gave way, decorating my cement toilet with everything I’d eaten for the past couple days. Next, my faith in Nigerien men erodedwhen an older, married man who I thought was my friend hit on me and tried to show me porn in front of his entire family. Finally, my heart fell apart with the news that a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer had unexpectedly passed away, due to unknown causes. I, along with my 29 training classmates, rushed to the capitol city for the funeral service, hardly believing that such a strong, healthy 26 year-old could suddenly die. We recieved counseling and comforted each other to the best of our abilities, becoming even closer as we realized just how precious each of our lives are.

It is far too easy to destroy a sandcastle. At the same time, it is possible to rebuild, though it will never be quite the same. My body, at least for now, is fixed. My faith in Nigerien men will surely heal in time. My roof, inshallah (“God Willing”) will be fixed soon. My heart, well, Stephanie Chance, you’ll always be there, a guardian of my newly rebuilt sandcastle.

Googling It

Finding answers to life’s daily questions never used to be a problem. As a former I-phone owner and a firm believer in Google, all of my ponderings could usually be solved in the split second it takes the google search engine to crawl the web. Now, however, I live in Niger, a landlocked country where wi-fi is as foreign as the ocean.

For the past three months, instead of googling my questions, I’ve been writing them down. Now that Pre-Service Training has ended, we have a few days in the Peace Corps hostel before being dropped off in our respective villages. Along with running water and electricity, the hostel also has wi-fi, or at least most of the time it has wi-fi. So world, and, perhaps future Niger PCVs if you’re reading this, here are the answers to my biggest questions in this country.

1) Is Niger the hottest country in the world?

Answer: No. Although many of us may beg to differ, Niger is only the 5th hottest country in the world, after Kuwait, Iraq, Saudia Arabia and Chad.

2) What country are cockroaches native to and why do they live in my latrine?

Answer: Unfortunately there are 4,500 species of cockroaches, the biggest ones live in the tropics (read “my bathroom”). One study found that cockroaches use two criteria to determine their home: how dark it is and how many other cockroaches there are there AND female cockroach can produce 300-400 offspring in her lifetime (aka the number of cockroaches in my bathroom will only increase). BUT I might have to try putting some stale beer in the bottom of glass jar to attract and then kill the roaches. Too bad beer is so hard to come by in this country…

3) Can garlic actually help prevent parasites or is that a hippy Peace Corps dream?

Answer: YES IT CAN! Eating raw garlic, pineapple, carrots and sweet potatoes can all help keep your digestive system on track. This is VERY good to know since Niger has the highest rate of intestinal infections of any Peace Corps country. Go us.

4) What is West African Vodun (Voo-doo)?

Answer: Wikipedia doesn’t seem to think it exists in Niger, contrary to stories of many Niger PCVs have told of crazy ceremonies with witch doctors and voo-doo magic. Nevertheless, vodun as it is traditionally practiced centers around spirits and other divine elements that govern the Earth. They believe that the spirits of the dead live side by side with the world of the living. All creation is considered divine, which is why mudane objects such as dried animal parts are sold in markets all over Niger as medicine.

5) Do probiotics actually work?

Answer: Some of them. The “good bugs” or “active cultures” of yogurt can now be found everywhere on pharmacy shelves but they’re not created equal. For Niger, where the main problem is diarrhea,the best strain to take is S. cerevisiae boulardii.

6) How can I make a solar oven?

Answer (with a little help from a friend with fast internet):It sounds like it doesn’t take much. Although I’m probably going to have to wait until I get to my village to see what is available but I’m excited to put this sun to good use!

• http://www.greenjoyment.com/solar-ovens-are-for-more-than-just-cooking-find-out-where-and-how
  • A somewhat shallow overview of different projects worldwide: big ones in China, projects Kenya, ovens out of aluminum cans, women using them in Darfur, etc.
• http://www.manytracks.com/Homesteading/SolarOven.htm
  • Testimony from a happy long-timer solar oven user, and instructions on how to make one: inner box, outer box, door, reflectors, stand… looks a little complex/materials-intensive, but thorough and durable.
• http://poweredbysolarpanels.com/how-to-make-a-solar-oven/
  • Looks like a good site on the basics.
  • “It is a simple task to make a solar oven but it requires several hours and a considerable amount of material. Panel cookers are easier to make but do not work nearly as well, and while parabolic cookers work best of all, they require good workshop skills to make one. “
• http://solarcooking.wikia.com/wiki/Haiti
  • Tons of info on different models, companies offering solar ovens in Haiti.
• http://solarcooking.wikia.com/wiki/CooKit
  • This wiki is packed with info.  The link copied here is about a kit you can buy for $25, just cardboard and aluminum, it looks like.  Maybe good to prompt ideas, but I imagine you want a durable design, no?

Saying Goodbye

As the sun began to set and the heat finally reached a bearable level, Ashley and I walked down into the village to say goodbye to our host family. For the past week we’d been living up at the Peace Corps training site–a small slice of America with electricity, running water, English and wide variety of fruits and vegetables. But somehow we’d missed the village life and both of us felt nostalgic as we walked into the family compound. Our host mom was there and quickly gestured us into chairs under the shade hangar, insisting on sitting on the mat so that we could both have chairs.

Despite the cows, chickens and sheep the compound was unusually quiet; six of the seven children were out in the fields. We played with Naomi, the baby, while we waited for the rest of the family to come home. She had just learned to walk when we first arrived and now was entering the stage of picking up everything she saw. There are a LOT of things for Nigerien babies to pick up: knives, manure, vegetables drying on the mat. We tried to help our host mom by holding Naomi in our laps, admiring her huge brown eyes and secretly wishing we could take her to our respective villages with us.

Finally the rest of the family came home and we gave them all sweaty hugs. We inspected the improved cook stove that we’d helped them make a few days before and found that they’d finished it and had been using it–our first “development” project had been a success! But perhaps the biggest “success” came at the end of our visit when we said our final goodbyes. We hugged all of the kids and even got a hug from our host dad before turning to say goodbye to our mom. She wouldn’t look at us and started walking away, turning towards the corner as if she was going to start sweeping. We followed her and found that her face was full of tears, she was that sad to see us go. While it sounds strange to say that making our host mom cry was a “success,” both Ashley and I were close to tears ourselves as we realized how much of a part of the family we’d become.

The Peace Corps has three goals: two focused on cultural exchange and one focused on projects. While it had been exciting to see that our stove was aiding our family by lowering the amount of wood they needed to use, knowing that we’d really integrated into a Nigerien family felt like the greatest accomplishment.

Remembering Why I’m Here

I almost didn’t sign it. I read through the Peace Corps oath, almost laughing at the military-like language of “defending the U.S. constitution” and then stopped smiling almost as soon as I’d started. I was not in a smiling mood. I haven’t slept much in the past two days. For what should be an exciting time—the time when I become a real Peace Corps Volunteer and all the festivities that surround that moment—this week has been surprisingly horrible.

First there was the issue of my sister. We’d chatted about her visiting for Christmas and I’d casually asked a few of the training staff if that would be allowed. I knew that we are supposed to spend the first three months in our village, focusing on integration but I thought that as long as I was in my village having a visitor one week before the three months were over shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve never spent Christmas without my family and I was dreading the thought of celebrating without at least one family member. None of the training staff, including the Country Director, told me that her visiting violated any of the rules although they told me I needed final confirmation from my supervisor.

While I was waiting for a final confirmation, my sister found a cheap flight and went ahead and booked it. Then all hell broke lose. My supervisor told me it was against the rules and that he didn’t have the power to do anything about it. I went to the Country Director, the same woman who only a week earlier had bent one of the rules to allow another one of the trainees to go home for her sister’s wedding during the three month immersion period, but she said the same thing.

I made every argument I could—my sister speaks French, this would give me even more of an incentive to integrate in order to show her around, Christmas is a really important holiday for my family etc. My sister kept texting me every time she thought of a new reason and I kept an ongoing list of arguments in my head but none of the Peace Corps staff listened. Instead they just kept referring to “the rule;” an argument that made me only too aware of why many people complain that the Peace Corps is too bureaucratic.

Adding onto the stress was the fact that I had somehow become in charge of getting thank-you presents for all the Peace Corps staff and ended up having to individually approach people to help get the cards done and to beg them to pay me back.

Lastly, because its Niger, no stressful situation would be complete without some gastric problems. I’m not exactly sure what I have but whatever it is has kept me going to the bathroom with fluids coming out of both ends.

All this is to say that when it was time to sign the Peace Corps oath, I wasn’t exactly in the best of moods. So I didn’t. I left the oath on the table and went for a walk in the village. It was exactly what I needed: children calling my name, women gossiping at the pump before placing huge buckets of water on top of their heads, a young boy sitting under a tree scratching letters of the alphabet into the dirt for his four young siblings. I remembered why I had come. I didn’t come to be part of the Peace Corps bureaucracy or to be perfectly healthy all the time; I came for them. I came to understand Nigerien culture, to help them better understand mine, to make new Nigerien friends and, at the end of the day, to feel like I was doing my part to make this world a better place. That’s what I signed up for.

Ready to Go

The other day we played Spades, a card game, instead of holding our French class. Our professor was sick and all of us were exhausted from the heat so cards seemed like a nice alternative to the intricacies of French verbs. I went “nil” which in Spades, means that I couldn’t get any points—quite a risky venture. I just barely pulled it off, my hands shaking towards the end. Then I realized that I hadn’t felt that exhilarated in at least a week. That’s when I knew that I’m ready for Pre-Service Training to end.

While for the most part I’ve greatly enjoyed the classes, activities and company of my fellow volunteers, the summer camp-like atmosphere is starting to get boring. Whereas being dropped off alone in an entirely new village used to seem daunting, its starting to sound like the ultimate test of independence.

In college I defined myself by my activities, I was the “environment girl,” a “chronic overachiever” who was always in the college newsletter for one fancy internship or another. High school I was considerably less active and tended to define myself by my friends. In middle school I was always being defined by my peers as being from a certain neighborhood and dressing in a certain way. Before then I’m not really sure I had much self-awareness.

Now I’m Laila, a strangely pale anasara or “foreigner”  living in a Nigerien village, pretending to be Nigerien but, of course, could never actually fit in completely. When everything familiar—language, clothes, friends, family, culture—is gone I’m left with me.

I’m not really sure who Laila is yet. With an incredibly flexible work schedule and job description, how is Laila going to fill her day? It’s going to be an interesting two years figuring that out…

A Strange September

 For as long as I can remember, the beginning of September has signified a flurry of activity; new classes to prepare for, back-to-school clothing sales to blow summer wages on and a last attempt at a family vacation before the hustle and bustle of elementary/middle/high school or college tear the five of us apart.

There is a part of me that still believes this is simply a study abroad program, that any day now I’ll hop on a plane back to Walla Walla and perhaps mention that one summer I spent in Niger as an aside in a politics class. But then another part of me answers back, telling that first part that “honey, this is no vacation and you certainly ain’t going back to America any time soon.” Then, a third part begins to wonder if perhaps all that malaria medication is having an adverse affect on my brain as I’m imagining parts of my body talking to each other in strange Southern accents.

Despite the possible brain damage, my first two months in Niger have been incredible and I’m rather looking forward to the next twenty-five. While I’ve lost at least ten pounds due to a few bouts with parasites, I’ve gained far more than the hundreds of mosquito bites on my legs can attest to.

Patience, for one. Patience is not merely a virtue in Niger but a national slogan that is utilized in the form of Sai Hankuri (“Have Patience”) anytime a bus breaks down, the electricity stops working or the participants refuse to show up to an important community meeting.

Sai Hanukuri is closely followed by Inshallah (“God Willing”) which is the proper response to questions regarding if the bus will be fixed, the electricity start working or the women show up. It’s a sense of fatalism that frustrated me until I realized that in a country with as much poverty and as little infrastructure as Niger, God really is the only person who can make things happen.

Babu laihi is easily my favorite, a phrase meaning “No Worries” that is usually followed by a wide smile. It’s the response of my Hausa teacher when she stays up late into the night, helping me unravel the seemingly endless number of personal pronouns in Niger’s most widely spoken language. It’s the reply of my host mother when she spends hours over a hot fire to cook my favorite lunch of sweet potato fries. Babu laihi was also the response of a woman on the street who, after hearing I was on a search for peanut butter, reached into her bag, pulled out a fat sack of peanutty deliciousness and then refused to accept the coins I offered her.

So even though this September marks the official end of my formal education, I’m sure to learn quite a bit from this country over the next two years.

What I May or May Not Be Doing for the Next Two Years

9/3/2010

 “Do you know what you’re actually going to be doing yet?” I read in the letter from one of my closest friends.

It’s a valid question bu one that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully answer. Oh sure, there’s easy replies for the relatives and my mother’s friends who inquire at the grocery store: I’m a  Municipal and Community Development Volunteer in Niger working in a mayor’s office to help improve local governance.

 But there’s just a few little tidbits left out of that resume line. Last February, there was a military coup, and the entire government, including the newly elected mayors, were thrown out of office. They were replaced by “Administrative Delegates” selected by the military government who will presumably be kicked out of office once the next local elections are held in October. And yet if the mayors weren’t incredibly transient, there would still be the ever-present problem of a lack of funding, of personnel and often of willpower to fulfill local governance duties.

I like my mayor. I met him yesterday, at the Peace Corps Supervisors Conference where all of us attempted at our newly acquired language skills to find out the resources and needs of our respective villages. My Hausa has a long way to go before full comprehension but I gathered that Safo, my village, has a hospital, a community garden, a women’s group with a goat micro-finance project and an elementary school—all of which provide possibilities for collaboration.

 Although Habibou, my mayor, is certainly nice, he also seems to have the idea that he should treat me as I were one of his daughters. He told me to report to the Mayor’s Office every morning, upon which he will tell me what to do and where to go in the village. He’s also decided that I will need someone (presumably a man) to accompany on my walks and that I shouldn’t walk too much or I’ll tire my weak, womanly body. Okay so maybe he didn’t say that last part but that was the impression I got…

 Keeping all this in mind, I write back:

“I’m going to spend the next two years figuring out how to successfully integrate into an entirely new community without compromising my sense of independence but while still behaving in a culturally appropriate manner and taking part in community-directed projects that provide my villagers with  tools to improve their own lives. Sound like a lot? I hope so because I’ve got two years and you know how I hate being bored!”

A Day in the Life During Language Immersion

8/28/10

 The four of us sleep in one room, side by side on our thin mattresses, our mosquito nets collectively forming a yellow cloud that hovers over our sweating bodies. At four A.M., we’re unwilling roused from our slumber by the high-pitched cajoling of a young boy yelling “Fwanke da MI-ya.” He’s selling the Nigerien equivalent of donuts and is doing it at such an ungodly hour because it’s Ramadan and 98 percent of Niger cannot eat once the faintest hint of light has trickled into the sky.

 We groan, mumbling cusses at him in a language he will likely never understand and fall back asleep. I wake up before the other three girls and somehow manage to escape from the maze of mosquito nets and step outside into the mud that the nightly rains have bequeathed upon my yard. I used to curse the rain for making us sleep inside and for staining my sandal-clad feet a permanent brown. Now I know better than to deride the lifeline of the hand to mouth, agriculturally-based economy of Niger.

 I shove my weight against my front door, grunting until it pushes open on broken hinges. I run. Down the muddy streets I sprint, dodging cow turds, chickens, goats and even the occasional child who decided to play in the early morning mud. I’m free—finally alone after almost two weeks of constant togetherness as the four of us Peace Corps Trainees attempt to master Hausa, the most widely spoken language in Niger, with the help of one incredibly patient teacher. I run faster.

 I pass women clad in bright African prints, many of them wearing hijabs that leave only their faces visible under the pink, yellow or blue folds of the cloth. They remind me of brilliantly-colored butterflies until I catch a glimpse of the towering bundles of wood and millet atop their heads and realize that Nigerien woman are anything but butterflies.

 The rains have been good this year and the fields I pass are full of flourishing millet, peanuts, squash and beans. Last year the crops failed and Niger found itself once again begging for international food aid. There’s a vicious cycle of droughts and desertification here in the world’s poorest non-conflict country but you’d never know it from smiles and laughter that fill the muddy streets.

 I return to the house and hide behind a blue and pink curtain to splash cold water over myself in an attempt to feel clean. Our teacher, Konate, enters the yard with a loud Salamu alaikum, Arabic for “Peace be with you.” We answer Alaikum salam “And also with you” and begin our daily Hausa lessons.

 Sometimes we go on field trips, navigating the crowded streets while uttering constant greetings. Sunnana Laila I tell the thirty children forming a parade behind us, giving them my new Hausa name of Laila. Sannu da aiki I say to a man in the process of cutting out the innards of a goat splayed across a mat. Barka da zuwa I tell one of the town’s V.I.P.s as he wizzes past us on his motorcycle.

 We return to the house tired but exhilarated by our new-found ability to communicate and excited to prepare dinner. We fry sweet potatoes and try to make burgers out of lentils, laughing at our attempt to create something American amidst a world so foreign.

Terrorist Season Comes Early

8/14/2010

We weren’t supposed to be here, sitting around in our athletic shorts and t-shirts, alternately playing volleyball and eating pizza prepared by the Peace Corps chefs. Many of us had been looking forward to this weekend since we’d first arrived; it was supposed to be the weekend we would visit the village where we will be spending the next two years.

 I was particularly excited about my assignment to Safo, a small village of 2,000 people located only 7k outside Maradi, the second largest city in Niger. Safo is in one of the most fertile regions in Niger and is close to a lake, a forest and a river—all aspects of nature uncommon in the Sahel Desert. Coupled with Safo’s proximity to Nigeria, I should be able to purchase fruits and vegetables almost all year long.

Unfortunately, after packing our bags and preparing ourselves for the 4 am departure, my fellow Peace Corps Trainees and I were informed that we would  not be departing as expected. Apparently, U.S. intelligence had heard plans of a terrorist to take place somewhere in West Africa and the entire Peace Corps Niger had been told to “standfast.”

 For the thirty-three of us living with our host families in two villages outside of Niamey, “standing fast” meant an indefinitely long stay at the Peace Corps training site, a place we fondly refer to as  “Little America.” Normally, the two days we spend a week at Little America are exciting; it’s a break from the incessant attention of curious children and the constant oil/MSG rich foods served to us by our host mothers. But, today, even pizza can’t shake the feeling of frustration that we’re supposed to be in our new homes.

Sadly, terrorist threats aren’t uncommon in Niger. Last November, a Frenchman was kidnapped by a terrorist group—purportedly with links to al-Quaeda—and an entire Peace Corps training class was relocated to Madagascar. In 2000 an Islamist protest of immodest dress at an international fashion show  destroyed alcohol serving restaurants in both Niamey and Maradi. While the government quickly arrested several of the Islamist leaders and the majority of Muslims in Niger are far from fanatic, there is still a potential for violence in such an impoverished and deeply religious country, although maybe not as high a potential as one might think.

 Poverty and religion don’t cause terrorism; Osama bin Laden and most of his lieutenants were wealthy while Niger, a highly Islamic country where the standard of living has been steadily declining for three decades, prides itself in its record of religious toleration.

Islam is a part of people’s daily lives here in a way that Christianity used to be in the West but no longer is for the majority. It’s fascinating to see the generosity that Islam promotes—the alms giving, the fast during Ramadan to feel the pain of those without food/water and the way that Nigerien women will always make more food than needed just in case someone in need should stop by. It’s definitely a different side of Islam than the fundamentalism portrayed in Western media.

So as strange as it sounds to tell my parents on the phone that I’m eating pizza in a summer-camp-like atmosphere due to a terrorist threat, I’m not worried. Niger is a peaceful country and  Peace Corps Niger takes no chances with our safety, perhaps even erring on the side of over-protection. So common are the “standfast” orders that, upon hearing of the news, a Peace Corps Volunteer who has been here a year simply remarked, “Wow, terrorist season came early this year.”