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.”

Thinking about the Purpose of the Peace Corps

8/15/10

A happy consequence of having nothing scheduled to do for three days has been that I’ve been able to read a lot. One of the most interesting things I’ve read has been a book by a former Peace Corps Country Director, John Bullington, recounting vignettes of PC Niger Volunteers from 2000-2006.

I’ve been fascinated by his explanation of why the Peace Corps exists and the purpose that it serves it Niger. I’ve done enough reading on the Peace Corps website to understand that the organization was created by John F. Kennedy in 1961 to inspire young Americans to consider public service—modeled along the lines of the famous quote “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” It was pronounced an expression of American generosity and idealism and upholds those ideals to this time. But, at the time, it was also an instrument of the Cold War—a soft power tool to win the “hearts and minds” of people in countries beginning to emerge from colonialism.

 The three goals of the Peace Corps have remained the same since its creation; first, to provided skilled Americans to work with local people at the grassroots level; second, to promote a better understanding of America by people in the countries served; and lastly, to promote a better American understanding of other countries.

 Initially, I’d was surprised to find that two of the three goals focused on cultural exchange. It seemed, and to some extent still seems, like the U.S. government is financing a prolonged study abroad program. While I’m a huge proponent of cultural exchange, I wondered how such a program could be justified in Congress, particularly amidst huge budget deficits.

 Bullington, a conservative, explained how his philosophy of “compassionate conservatism” not only supports the Peace Corps but calls for additional resources for it. Peace Corps costs relatively little, about $265 million annually (far less than the $800 billion doled out to the military) because the agency relies on volunteerism. The Peace Corps has benefited from its bipartisan support, with both President Obama and former President Bush pushing for the agency’s expansion.

Peace Corps plays a particularly interesting role in Niger. The country has a lot going against it: explosive population growth, rampant desertification, a severe geographic disadvantage (landlocked and 2/3 desert), political instability, skewed gender norms and widespread disease. By all macro social and economic indicators, the fifty years that the Peace Corps has been in Niger has done little. Peace Corps Volunteers are not NGOs; we can’t fix roads or build hospitals.

At the end of our two years,very few of us will ever be able to point to a magnificent building somewhere in a Nigerien village and say “I did that.” And yet, as Bullington argues, our “most important legacy are people who think and act differently, not buildings and machines.” It’s supposed to be a hand-up, not a hand-out. I’m hoping that by the end of my two years I will have helped in such a way that my village will think that they’ve done it themselves.

I am connected again!

After a month of essentially no communication with the outside world, I now have a cell phone and more regular access to email. It was very exciting to receive my first call, it felt so strange to be talking to my mom in California who had just woken up while I was sitting inside my millet hut at night, 8 hours ahead, hiding from the rain. My number is 011-227-984-21665 and apparently its pretty cheap to call from Skype.

Also thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has written me letters. They make my day everytime and I have lots of time to write back! Just in case I haven’t bugged you with this yet, my address is:

Lisa Curtis, PCV/Corps de La Paix/B.P. 10537/Niamey, Niger

Love and Sand from Niger,

Lisa

Finding Little America in Niger

We’ve now officially been here a month and decided to celebrate by going into Niamey, the capital city, for the day. We’d spent the past month hearing about the infamous American Recreational Center where there is free wifi, creamy chocolate milkshakes, cheeseburgers and even a pool! After a cramped bus ride, a pit stop at the anasara (foreigner) grocery store we’ve arrived at Little America! Of course, its not all we hoped and dreamed for. The wifi isn’t working, they’re out of cheeseburgers and everything is far too expensive for our meager Peace Corps salaries but its still different from the constant heat and beans and rice that we’ve become accustomed to. Happy Sunday everyone!

Health Problems…

8/3/10

I spent the past two days huddled over a toilet, praying that I’d be able to make the pathetically short journey between my new porcelain throne and my infirmary bed. Ashley, my hutmate, and I got sick at almost exactly the same time. I had barely seen her off onto the Peace Corps RV when I found myself with an 103 fever and an absurd desire to sleep in the pit latrine because then I won’t have to move to go to the bathroom. Thankfully, Tondi, the director of PC Pre-Service Training, came once again to our house and picked me up before I resorted to sleeping with the roaches.

Tondi drove us to the Peace Corps Bureau in Niamey where we did every sort of test possible and finally determined that both of us had amoebas, a type of parasite. They put us on so many pills, I felt like I needed one of those pill kits that every grandparent in the U.S. seems to own.

I found myself thinking about my baby host sister who had been showing the same sort of symptoms that Ashley and I had. She definitely wasn’t getting the type of care and medications we were getting. My imagination went a bit ahead of me and I imagined us coming back to find her dead, the inequality in our health care having taken her life.

Thankfully, she was fine and feeling much better by the time we got back. But it definitely made me think about the drastic differences in health care according to ones nationality and money. I remember reading about Paul Farmer, a doctor who has opened up hospitals in Haiti and Rwanda with the idea that good health is a basic human right that shouldn’t be subject to financial constraints. I can better understand where he’s coming from. I don’t know what I would have done if she had died…

Top Five Nigerien Discoveries

1.      Peanut M & M’s Don’t Melt!

I only half-believed the packing list that said peanut M & M’s are the only kind of chocolate that can survive the Nigerien heat but its true, none of them melted! After a few days of rice and millet they tasted AMAZING, even though I accidentally burst open the bag into the sand. The accident resulted in a pinata like scramble as all of my seven host siblings jostled for the brightly colored candy.

 2.      Knees are Worse than Breasts

Yesterday I was reprimanded for wearing a skirt that didn’t fully cover my knees when I sat down. I almost laughed when, at lunch, my host mom pulled out her breast to suckle my baby sister and sort of left it hanging out for the remainder of the meal. There are very different cultural norms regarding nudity here….

 3.      Call it Exfoliation

In order to placate the part of myself that wants to scream every time the wind blows sand into my hair/bed/feet/soap, I’ve decided to think of my daily grit as exfoliation. Some people pay big money for this in the states right?

 4.       Heat: The New Boyfriend Replacement?

I no longer need anyone to keep me warm at night since I am ALWAYS sweating underneath my mosquito net. This is probably a good thing since my training class is 80% female. 

 5.       The World is a Better Place When You Laugh

Despite Niger’s status as the poorest non-conflict country in the world, I’ve never heard so much laughter. It isn’t so much that life is funny (although my attempts at Hausa certainly are) but more that people here really know how to enjoy the little things.