Starting Over

Sarah and me going to the fistula clinic in the capital

Horns honking, bright lights, and greetings in French. Living in the capital is much different than living in a village. I work on a computer everyday. I have to dodge traffic as I cross the street (paved streets, I might add). Mind you, some things are the same: children yelling "anasara," or "white person," and women selling fari masa, donut-like sweets, and rice and beans on the streets. But the nightsky has become a bit of a disappointment, and I am no longer greeted by people that know me. No more "Ina kwana, Baraka?" as I step outside my door in the fresh still morning.

There are very few familiar faces. At times, the city feels lonely and cold. Yet, the breath of vitality and pace stir up inside of me a zest for my work and my life. Since coming only a week ago, I have been to several concerts. I have danced with a traveling African dance troop. I have met interesting people such as an Australian photojournalist who has traveled the world and opened a restuarant in Niamey. I have eaten a croque-monsieur at a Lebanese-owned sandwich shop. I bought a pair of jeans at the grand-marche for only two dollars. Obviously, life is different. I am getting to taste a new flavor of Niger, figuratively and quite literally.

I've realized how within a country, there are so many cultures, layers of society, and often when we travel, we only get to see one layer, and even then there's more to it. Even in America, I have never lived in a rural area. I have no concept of everyday life for farmers in Northeastern Colorado.

So, here it is. A chance to see it all. Now, in my third location since starting Peace Corps, I can once again compare/contrast the nuances of the cultural layers. From Tama, a socially conservative, isolated village to Guecheme, a more developed community rooted deeply in animism, and now, Niamey, where I am trying to learn some Zarma (spoken more in this region than Hausa) and settling down once again amidst the hustle and bustle.

Saying Goodbye to my Village

Salaamatou, a witch doctor, and my friend

Moving to the City

After a year in my second village, I am picking up and moving again...this time to the capital. I will be living in a house with a stove, toilet and ceiling fans, a plush life for a Peace Corps volunteer. It will be quite a change transitioning from watching quiet sunsets and writing in my journal everyday to hearing honking taxis and the hustle and bustle of the grand marche. But with change comes opportunity for growth and new adventures, so here's hoping for a smooth ride for the last nine months of my service. My new address is:

Kathryn Evans, PCV
Corps de la Paix
B.P.10537
Niamey, Niger
West Africa

Photos

Traditional Wrestling in my village

Peace Corps Dinner

Host Family (Village Chief and his two wives)

My cat, Zirga, and me

My farming hat

Hair experiment

Fulani celebration with hyena

View from my house

As the Sun Sets

As the sun sets amidst the Baobob tree silhouettes,
the sky becomes ablaze with an orange sorbet glow.
Smoke curls from fires cooking nighttime meals emitting a salty smell into the air.
Bats navigate the sky searching for a fruit tree where they can perch for the night.
As dark swallows the light, mosquitoes emerge along with a plethora of crawling creatures who will skulk away at sunrise.
The trees shimmer drinking in their last sips of the day's light.
Leaves flutter like ballerinas, dancing in the gentle winds.
A chorus of frogs begin to croak, crickets chirp, the call to prayer resounds in the town.
The sounds envelop the ears.
As day melts into night, there lies a sweet peace, one that softens the soul, enlivens the spirit, and puts breath into the body.

Ramadan

On August 11th, Muslims started fasting for Ramadan. From sunrise to sunset, they do not eat, drink or even swallow their own spit. Without much thought, I decided it would be a rich cross- cultural endeavor to fast with my villagers. So, I commenced fasting the following day. I thought that day was never going to end. My stomach felt like it was going to collapse and my mouth felt parched like a desert wind. I tried to occupy myself by sweeping my house, doing several sudoku puzzles and reading. Finally at 7:10p.m. I broke fast with my host family. "Barka da sha ruwa!" they greeted me (meaning "Greetings on drinking water"). Then, one of the women handed me a cup of tea, followed quickly by juice, then water and lastly a porridge millet drink. I already felt full, and we hadn't even eaten. So, then I took a few deep breaths before eating. Spinach and peanut butter. Then bread and meat. Rice and sauce. Pineapple. I have never eaten better in Niger. I could barely walk to my house after the meal.

Each morning since then, I have awoken at 5 to the towncrier drumming and chanting to wake people to prepare and eat breakfast prior to the first call to prayer. Drowsiness and darkness and a lack of appetite discourage me from preparing real sustenance, so I shovel a couple of spoonfuls of peanut butter in my mouth, wash it down with a glass of water and return to bed. Some days of fasting are harder then others. Bright sunshine brings sweat and thirst. But rain and clouds give me respite and make the thirst much more bearable. I try to rest for the hottest hours in the mid-afternoon. This replensishes me just enough to maintain a friendly disposition. Otherwise, crabiness lurks around 5p.m. and all it takes is one annoying youngster chasing me on the street for me to start yelling....well, this has only actually happened a couple of times.

To my surprise, the most challenging aspect of Ramadan has not been thirst, hunger or exhaustion, but rather answering the brigade of questions. "Are you becoming a Muslim? Do you pray? Do you pray at the mosque? Will you continue fasting after you return to America? Does your family know you fast?" As I said, I hadn't put much forethought into participating in Ramadan, so their questions caught me a little off guard and made me really ponder why I am fasting and what I can learn from it. More than anything, I have appreciated the commradery with my villagers and breaking fast with my host family has brought us closer together. They greet me on my efforts and I have a little more understanding of their committment to Islam. Ramadan has reminded me that food, water, health and family are, regardless of creed and beliefs, true blessings and things that should never be taken for granted in America, Niger or anywhere in the world.

Girl's Conference

In ten days, six volunteers (myself included), traveled to five villages to lead a young girl's conference for selected middle school students. Despite rain, rats and raging ants, the conferences were a success. Each of us presented different subjects to the girls with the overall objective of encouraging the girls to continue their studies and to set aspirations for their futures. Through mediums of theater, music, games, lectures, demonstrations and guest speakers from the respective communities, the girls were engaged and active in discussing women's issues and in forming bonds with each other. My personal favorite was playing duck duck goose, or as we called it, "kaza kaza zabo" (meaning "chicken chicken guinea fowl"). The girls sprung up from the ground after hearing "zabo" and ran with gusto and speed, even in their long skirts. Personally, I had trouble running with the same brisk agility in my skirt.

We split the day up into four sessions: self-esteem/peer support, study skills, health and role models/future goals. The girls started the day discussing characteristics of an ideal Nigerien woman: smart, patient, fat, obedient and caring were among the most popular adjectives. Then, the girls acted out skits with prompts that we had given them representing challenges that girls face while trying to continue their studies. From early marriage to housework, the girls discussed solutions toward alleviating these cultural obstacles.

For my session, I discussed health issues such as nutrition, hygiene and family planning. With Niger having the highest fertility rate in the world (on average, a woman has 7 children), I focused most of my session on family planning, a concept that evokes shame amongst some conservative Muslims. I asked the girls how many children they wanted. One girl replied "bakwai" (seven), so I put seven "babies" (water balloons) in her arms. Another said three, so she got three. Then, the race began. An obstacle course representing life, in which I had the girls run while carrying(caring for) their balloon "babies." The girl with seven babies struggled and dropped three along the way, while her peer who had three easily finished ahead. I asked the girl who chose to have seven babies if she still wanted seven children. She shook her head no and gave a little smile, acknowledging the difficulty of caring for seven babies.

After the health session, women from the village talked to the girls about the importance of schooling, working and being independent. One was a perfume vendor, there were also teachers and nurses, and one woman who taught women how to sew goods to sell. I got chills listening to the women speak with such passion and poise. They are role models in their communities and reflect the start of a shift for women to become financially and socially independent. They will act as role models for these young girls long after each volunteer leaves his/her village. I will carry their stories with me for the rest of my life and be grateful for my opportunities and choices as a woman.

After the women spoke, we gave each of the girls certificates and thanked them for attending. The opportunity to interact with these smart, passionate girls inspired me. I hope that, in exchange, each of them took away something from the day. Even though I will never really know the impact we truly had, I take solace in knowing that if even one out of the 122 girls felt inspired in some way the way I did, the effort was well worth it.