The Last 48 Hours

The program officially ended over a week ago, but 7 of us went down to Benin for a week, primarily motivated by a desire to see the ocean. We stayed in a fishing town called Grand Popo and enjoyed a week of salt-filled, humid air. Everything in Benin was different, from the goats that were not tall and lanky but fat and short to the climate that was lush and green rather than dry and dusty to the dominance of voodoo and Christianity over Islam. Being in Benin was relaxing, but of course traveling overland in Africa was a bit stressful, especially getting back from Benin to Niamey. If you look on a map you'll see that the coast of Benin is a long way from Niamey. Our flight to the states leaves tonight at midnight, so we had about 48 hours from leaving Grand Popo to get to Niger for our flight and of course things didn't go smoothly. 

Hour 48- We were waiting at our hotel in Grand Popo for the 2 taxis we'd hired to come pick us up and bring us to Cotonou to catch our bus to Niamey. We had left 4 hours in case things went wrong to make the 1.5 hour drive to the bus station. The taxis didn't show, so we had to start asking "friends" we'd made during our week in Grand Popo to try and find us a bus. 

Hour 47.5- About 3 men are making calls and searching for some form of transportation. Everyone seems optimistic and says "il n'a pas du probleme" but I was getting nervous. 

Hour 47- A "bus" arrives. The bus turns out to be a car the size of my subaru outback, but we squished in all seven of us plus two guides who want to come along for the ride and help out. 

Hour 46.5- On the road to Cotonou and our car brakes down momentarily. We pull over and the driver gets out, opens the hood, and luckily does something that fixes things and we're on our way again. 

Hour 45.5- We enter Cotonou, a bustling city that is way more intimidating than Niamey, and it turns out our driver doesn't know where to bus station is. I call the bus station worker who I had reserved tickets with and he chats with the driver and two beninoise guides who are with us. Our bus is leaving in an hour and they say "il n'a pas du probleme"- we'll make it. 

Hour 45.25- Car breaks down again and we pull over where we pay a women to pour gas into our tank with a funnel as our driver yet again fixes the engine. 

Hour 45- Lawali gets a call on the cell phone and it's Omar, who works for the bus company Air transport telling us we just drove by the station. Apparently even at night it's obvious when there is a car full of anasaras. We do a u-turn and make it to the bus station one hour before it leaves. 

Hour 44.5- A fight breaks out at the bus station next to where we are standing and we all almost get pushed into a wall. We flee the room and everyone laughs at our apparent fear. Everyone else seems calm and barely react. 

Hour 44- Bus leaves, miraculously on time. 

Over the course of the next 22 hours the bus was stalled because another bus had broken down in the road and we couldn't pass it. We stopped at multiple bus stations for pee breaks in latrines without holes, something that occurs often and that I still haven't quite figured out. We stopped at a military checkpoint, which involves a string blocking the road, that took over an hour  since earlier that day a bus had been caught trafficking drugs. Eventually, 22 hours later, we rolled into Niamey and took a taxi back to the welcoming CFCA. 

After a much needed sleep, today I've been enjoying my last day in Niamey. I got my last egg sandwich and said goodbye to my host family. I'm about to make one last run to the musee to say goodbye to the artisans. At midnight, we will board a plane for the beginning of the next long trip, this one should be about 21 hours, but after traveling to and from Benin, Air France sounds luxurious; all the free, cold water I want, free food, wine, soda, movies, air-conditioning, toilets, and no bumps that will leave my arm bruised from hitting the window repeatedly. I'm still sad to be leaving Niamey, but the Benin trip was a nice transition that allowed us to relax, reflect, and also yearn for the ease and security of the states. I'm sure ill yearn for adventure as soon as I get home, but after four months, I think I'm ready for some comfort for a little while. I hope everyone is doing well and that everyone has enjoyed the blog. I will see you all in the States. To kala tonton. 

Etakas

A Dust Storm

Last night, after writing my blog about how I'll miss the constant excitement of Niger, something new and unexpected happened again. I was sleeping soundly when I woke up the the dreaded realization that the ceiling fan was slowing down and the electricity had gone out, for the third time that day. Then, there was a sudden gust of incredibly strong wind that slammed my doors and windows closed. The wind picked up even more and all that could be heard was it howling and slamming everything around the CFCA. I couldn't sleep, so I got up to see what was going on. The wind was pushing so hard against my door that for a few seconds I couldn't get it open. Finally I opened it and walked outside where the wind was knocking everything over and nearly blew me off balance. I felt like I was in a scene from some horror movie. When I got downstairs, Saraki, the RA, was up too. She said that it was a dust storm. As soon as she said this, I noticed how the air really was full with dust, even more than usual and it was caking my eyelids and making it difficult to keep my eyes open. Most of the CFCA woke up and came outside. We all just stood as the wind whipped around us and actually provided some relief from the heat. Had I not known it was a dust storm, I would've thought that a tornado or hurricane was rolling in. I wish it had been daylight, because then I would've been able to see the cloud of dust as it billowed towards us, instead we just had to feel it around us. After about 20 minutes, the electricity turned back on and the wind died down and we could go back to sleep. It was pretty crazy and all seemed like some weird dream this morning. 

What I'll Miss From Niger

I can't believe it, but we are almost into our last week in Niger. The program officially ends on the 14th and we're in the process of taking finals and getting ready for the "soiree culturelle" in which we will humiliate ourselves in front of everyone we know or have worked with in Niger by performing the drumming and dancing we've learned. I won't be back home until the 23rd since I'm traveling to Benin, after the program ends, to see the refreshing ocean. However, my time in Niger is running out. While I'm excited to go home and see friends and family, and not be constantly dehydrated and sweaty, I'm sad to be leaving this country behind. I figured I would just write some of the things I think i will most miss from Niger. 

1) The ability to wear absurd colors and patterns on my clothing. Here, every day is like dress up day in first grade. I'll miss wearing Nigerien outfits, watching the boys walk around with turbans and bubus, and having it be cool to wear things so flashy that they would be used to make clown attire in the states. For example, one girl has an outfit made out of a fabric that is bright yellow, orange, blue and covered in ducks. Here, there's nothing out of the ordinary about and everyone says she looks great. 

2) Being somewhere that animist traditions are still valued, believed, and followed, despite the fact that everyone will tell you they are a fully committed Muslim. Coming from an incredible rational, scientific evidence based background, it has been great to just be around people that believe in the supernatural. Animism doesn't criticize personal behavior or try to convert in the way of Christianity or Islam and it therefore makes me less uncomfortable to take part in. Going to the feticheur, seeing griots at weddings, going to a possession ceremony, and hearing explanations of everyday occurrences through the eyes of a belief system that was so foreign to me before coming has been fascinating and fun. 

3) The absurdity of daily life. Never really knowing what is going to happen makes everyday and every exit from home a potential adventure. While sometimes it was definitely frustrating to have things not go according to plan and tiring to be in a place where I wasn't quite sure how things worked, I'll miss the hilarity of living in Niger. Whether it's having a taxi cab driver pull over and take a 10  minute tea break while you're waiting in the car, getting a popped tire on a moto and seeing your supervisor try to refill it with a bicycle pump, getting stuck in traffic because a herd of cattle is crossing the street, having a friend's friend, who I just met, hear it's my birthday and whip out a fully wrapped present from under his dashboard to hand to me, or having the post office worker bring out my mutilated package and say sorry, we have rats and they have eaten your package, something slightly odd is always happening and I'll miss that. 

4) Nigerien hospitality. While getting food forced down my throat wherever I go has at times been a challenge, Nigerien's openness, friendliness, and desire to take care of visitors, friends, and family has been very nice. Whenever I've entered a home, marriage ceremony, possession ceremony, office, or any new situation with new people, I have been welcomed enthusiastically even though I am a complete stranger. It's always awkward to walk into a room where you don't speak the local language, don't fully understand what's going on, and look so different from everyone around you that the whole room stares. However, I've learned to embrace those moments, smile, and try to communicate as best I can without any embarrassment by the laughter that usually follows. When I've shown up to new places, usually brought by someone who then abandons me to socialize, no one has ever questioned my being there, they have offered me food, a seat, water, and sometimes a small child to hold. This no questions asked hospitality is a nice break from life at home and the fact that Nigeriens don't seem to think these interactions are in any way awkward has allowed me to enter social situations that I normally wouldn't.  

While there are probably many more little things that I'll miss but won't really realize till I get home, these are some things that right now I'm scared to lose. Of course Niger isn't perfect and I've been here long enough to stop romanticizing it in the way I often do  when I visit countries for shorter periods of time. There are plenty of things I'm looking forward to returning to in the States, mainly food, family/friends, understanding how it is appropriate to act and not having to always watch myself in fear of offending someone and misrepresenting Americans, and of course not being so hot. Still, it will be really difficult to go back to the excesses of the world's richest country after living in one of the world's poorest. It will be hard to be in a place where most people don't care, or really know about, this country that I now value so much. This will especially be difficult after seeing the way Nigeriens embrace America, love Obama, and often seem to know and care almost more about our politics than the their own. I can only predict so much how things will go when I get home, but I'm sure it will be a mix of many different thoughts and emotions. I'm already in the process of trying to come back here after graduation, so at least I'm not leaving Niger with no hope of coming back. Good luck to everyone else who is grappling with coming home from study abroad. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone back in the States this summer. 

Etakas/Emily

Nigerien Transportation

The other day I saw a cow on top of a bush taxi. I'm not sure how they managed to get a full grown cow, with horns, on the roof, bush taxis are about the size and shape of minivans, but it was there, sitting patiently on the side of the road, waiting for the driver to take it away to some unknown destination. I'm always surprised and oddly impressed with the way nigeriens transport goods, livestock, and people. To start, the motto seems to be that there is always room for more. You may think there is no more space for you in that bush taxi, but I've never been denied a ride. As long as you're willing to sit on someone's lap, we've fit about 8 students into normal taxis that are smaller than most american cars. When there isn't room on the inside of a vehicle, it is always possible to ride on the outside. I've seen men sitting nonchalantly on a couch, on top of about 8 feet of grains bags, on top of a pickup truck, barreling down the road at 50 miles per hour. Motorcycles are not built for two, but for however many can hang on, and sticking a toddler in front near the handle bars is perfectly acceptable. I think one of my favorite motorcycle transport use scenes was when I saw two men driving through Niamey on a moto with a giant queen size mattress balancing on their heads. 

Livestock transport is equally, if not more, creative. Live goats get strapped onto the top of cars, the backs of motos, and even the handle bars of bicycles. One time, I got into the back of a bush taxi and I kept thinking I heard a sheep baaing, but there was no sheep in site, so I figured I was just hearing things. However, I kept hearing the noise, and then I finally realized that their was a sheep stuffed underneath my seat.

Seeing that cow on top of a bush taxi was one of the more impressive examples of cow transport that I've seen, but I also often see multiple cows sitting down, squished together, in the back of a pick-up truck. I think the most I saw was 8 cows at one time. I have no idea how the get them all into the pickup truck, sitting down, and calm enough to not gorge someone with their horns. 

Just like there is always more room in vehicles, there is always more life and use that can be gotten out of cars, trucks, and motos. Vehicles that would have been long thrown into the junkyards at home are puttering along and helping their owners make a living. When I was in a bush taxi in Konni, and was fortunate to be sitting in the more spacious front seat next to the driver, I looked over and realized that in all the spots where the dials on speed, motor condition, gas level, etc would be on the dashboard, there were just empty plastic circles. The dashboard was completely blank. No one could know our speed or gas level, but it didn't matter, we continued along, carrying a cargo of about 30 people in the back. Also, in the states, we are overly concerned with having 4 wheel drive vehicles for off-roading. Most of Niamey's roads are unpaved, but the little taxis seem to do just fine navigating them. It may be bumpy, but in the end I've always gotten to my destination. Additionally who cares about a few scratches on your car. Driving in Niamey is essentially like playing a game of bumper cars. Sometimes you stop at a red light, whoever is quicker passes through the one lane opening, and if someone rear-ends you or knocks off you side mirror, you just move on, because, as the nigeriens say, everyday about everything; "Il n'a pas du probleme". 

The last thing that is added to the mix of the hectic, but exciting world of nigerien transportation are the donkey carts and the camels. Even in the capital city of Niamey, cars share the road with donkey carts and camels. Sometimes, your taxi gets stuck behind a donkey pulling water and you just have to wait patiently until there is room to pass. On the side of the road there are camels either being walked and carrying mats in from the bush or being ridden, and somehow controlled, by men who sit relaxed on top as they ride along side the the zooming cars, motos, and buses. 

When safety consciousness and regulation are thrown out the window, figuring out transportation is a whole different ball-game. It's sometimes scary, usually funny, and always surprising to get from point A to point B. 

Etakas

The First Rain

Yesterday was the hottest day yet in Niger. It was around 115, which it has reached already, but the air was stale and it no longer gets cooler in the night, so the day felt much more stifling. The nigeriens have started complaining about the heat, so I know that it actually is hot and that I'm allowed to admit to myself that I am incredibly physically uncomfortable. It's kind of like in the bitter days of winter at home when the first thing everyone says to each other is a complaint about the frigid weather. Here, instead of complaints about the cold, it's complaints about the heat. When you enter a class, get in a cab, or walk into a store, someone will say, "akwai zahi", which is hausa for "it's hot" and I always shake my head and agree as the sweat pouring down my face proves that yes, it is hot. The best way to describe the heat is to imagine living in a sauna. Then imagine that when the wind blows it's not refreshing but rather feels like a blow drier is being aimed directly at your face. That's about how hot season in Niger feels. To sleep, we wrap ourselves in a pagne and take a shower then walk directly to bed without drying off. The pagne usually stays wet long enough to allow you to fall asleep. Hopefully a power outage doesn't happen in the middle of the night, leaving you without a fan and without hope of a restful night of sleep. 

Last night, however, came a welcome surprise that I never thought I would experience while in Niger. During the day, there were a few scattered clouds in the sky, which provided a little more shade than the usual bright blue, cloudless skies of Niamey, but I didn't think anything of it. At night, a couple of us ventured out to an air-conditioned bar to seek some refuge. As we left the CFCA, the air felt different and the wind was blowing a cooler breeze, turning the leaves on the trees upside down. At home, I would assume these signs to be that of a rainstorm, but here I was afraid that would be too good to be true. Then, just as I thought it was impossible, there was lightning and all of us jumped with excitement at the possibility that rain might actually happen. Still, no drops fell, and the tension in the air remained. We got to the bar and I kept running outside to check if it had started raining, but nothing happened. A couple hours after the lightning, I started to think my wish wouldn't come true. Around 1130, I decided to go home and attempt to sleep. I got a taxi and was about half way home when all of a sudden it looked like someone had dropped a bucket of water on the taxi's windshield. Just like that, it was pouring rain in Niamey. Everyone outside ran for cover and the taxi driver and other passenger immediately started rolling up their windows. I, on the other hand, was squealing with delight and yelling, "C'est bonne! Il pleut! C'est bonne" and sticking my head out the window to catch some of the raindrops on my head. The taxi driver just laughed at me and shook his head, asking if this was the first rain I'd seen in Niger. Finally I got dropped off at our road, luckily before the rain stopped, and, concerned for the fate of my hand-made leather sandals, I took them off and ran barefoot through the rain on the dirt road to the CFCA. It was night, but if any Nigeriens had seen me, I'm sure they would have thought I was insane. I was planning to wake anyone up who was sleeping, but the rain had already woken up everyone, and even Betoje, sick with malaria, was outside enjoying the storm. All of the nigerien staff and friends were hiding for cover, but all of us anasaras were loving the shower. 

The rain poured for about 20 glorious minutes, and then, as quickly as it started, the rain stopped. Unfortunately, the rain brought some humidity to the air, but it was still refreshing. Today, the air smelled damp and the dust that normally fills the air was slightly matted down on the ground from last night's storm. I don't think I've ever gone 3 months before without rain or at least some form of precipitation. To be able to experience the relief of Niger's first rain of the year was very cool and made myself, and everyone around me, in much higher spirits. 

Etakas

Konni pictures

baby camels near the peace corp volunteer's village














one of the grain storage structures













a cow coming back from being herded by fulanis during the day infront of the pcv's home












some women on one of the roads to the gardens













camels at the watering hole.

Konni

This past week we stayed with peace corps volunteers in Konni. Konni is an 8 hour drive east of Niamey, located about 7km from the Nigeria border. Konni is the base for one of the peace corps regions, so there is a hostel there that peace corps volunteers can stay at. We stayed at the hostel for one night before heading out to villages with pcvs. For my village stay, I was with an agriculture volunteer, Jessica, in Tonga, with a population of 250. The village depended upon agriculture for their livelihoods and grew millet and sorghum in the surrounding fields. Most villagers also possessed some livestock, mainly cows, donkeys, and goats, that were used as security in case the crops failed. All throughout the village were clay grain storage buildings that look like giant ceramic bowls I made in elementary school art class. Unfortunately, at this time of year many of the storage units were empty and it was the beginning of what my pcv called "hunger season." It's towards the end of the dry season and most of the crops are gone. Many of the village men move to Ghana or Nigeria during this season to look for work and extra money. One of the projects that agriculture volunteers work on is obtaining shallow wells for gardens during dry season. There are a few gardens already near Tonga and I visited one during my stay. The gardens was like a little oasis in the dry, sandy brushland. They were green, cooler, and provided much needed produce like tomatoes, carrots, and cabbage. Ideally, by building more wells for these types of gardens, the men will be able to stay and work on them during dry season and the villagers will have supplemental, and more nutritious, food. Now in the village, 95% of what is eaten is either sorghum or millet. I had the unfortunate opportunity to try some of this food and it was by far one of the most unappetizing things I've eaten yet. Tuwo is basically sorghum ground up with water into a purply mush and covered in a slimy, spicy sauce. You can't bite down too hard, because little bits of sand get into the sorghum as it is pounded. It is also pounded right next to the livestock area, where animals have been doing their business all day. You just have to ignore all of the things your parents and teachers ever told you about sanitation and hope for the best. The tuwo honestly didn't taste as bad as it looked, but that wasn't really saying much. Still, I was glad I tried it since that it what most Nigeriens live on all year.

The few days I stayed in Tonga were incredibly relaxing and slow paced. I milked a cow for the first time. Here, the female cows have horns. I didn't realize that we cut off our female cows horns in the states until coming here. I played with baby animals (goats, dogs, and cows) and as usual the nigeriens laughed at the strange love the white people have for animals. I played with lots of human babies as well and watched as they ran around naked and were given free rein to climb wood piles, throw rocks, and get into some vicious little fist fights. Unlike many volunteers, my pcv didn't pay someone to pull her water and she did it herself everyday. I helped her out and pulled water up from the well and then carried it precariously on my head back to her compound. I'm always impressed with the physical strength and toughness of nigerien women. Pulling water is a workout and then carrying it on your head left my neck and back sore after only 3 days. We also only had to pull water for two and we only had to make about a minute with the water. Most women pull many more buckets and carry it much longer distances. Of course, the men don't help at all with this.
One of the most interesting things we did was hang out with some of the tuaregs who lived nearby Tonga. We went on a walk and came upon the tuareg camp, where, in typical nigerien hospitality, we were invited in, given a seat, offered food, and made tea. I've spent time with tuaregs in Niamey, but they are all tuaregs who have given up the nomadic lifestyle. The tuaregs near Tonga were just settled in Tonga for the dry season, with their herds of camels, goats, and cows. Once the rainy season starts, they will pack up their campground and head north to the Agadez region. During the dry season, when there are fewer crops, there is little tension between the Tuareg herders and the Hausa farmers, but once the rains fall and the crops are laid, tensions rise over land use and apparently ever year there is a murder between the two groups. Although with my low-level hausa I couldn't understand most of what was said, I was happy to just sit and observe the camp set up and the Tuaregs. There is such a relaxing vibe when with tuaregs and there is much more equality between men and women in their culture. They don't practice polygamy and women are much more respected.
The peace corps village stay was much less challenging than I had expected. Although there was no electricity and therefore no fans, it felt much cooler than in Niamey, where the heat gets trapped. I was told it hit 120 during our days in the village, but it just really didn't feel that bad. The mornings are cooler and it dropped low enough at night for me to use a sheet while sleeping outside. Between 12 and 4, you just don't move and sit under and tree. Having no electricity just meant going to bed early and waking up earlier than I would normally. Additionally the moon was so bright that it was easy to see most things going on outside. Latrines I'm already used to since we have to use them all the time here and the pcv latrines are much nicer than most since each volunteer has their own, personal one and they get much less use than say the horrific latrines we use at bus stops. I thought I might spend a few days in the village and think twice about joining the peace corps, but instead this experience actually made me a lot more excited about the prospect of joining. It's definitely a challenging experience, especially here in Niger, but it's also such an amazing opportunity and adventure. Now, we're back in Niamey and are entering our last month in Niger. It freaks me out that we're in the last part, but luckily a few of us are going on a week long trip to Benin at the end, so I'll be sure to get in at least one more adventure.
Etakas