December 22, 2009
I’ve only been in my new site for a week, but it’s everything I could have ever wanted from a rural, African village and more. It comes fully stocked with an array of poultry and livestock. The inhabitants are welcoming and excited to host. I have wonderful neighbors who have all but adopted me. The village chief comes and greets me every morning. I’ve been offered more food than I could ever eat. Not to mention, the kids are even generally well behaved. (A herd of at least twenty children follow my every step, but when I turn around and stare them down with my “crazy anasara eye,” they disburse. I made on little girl cry, just by looking at her.)
This new post, to be sure, is far more “bush” than my old one. Gotheye (my old post) had more than 7,000 people living, while my new village barely reaches 1,000. With the larger population came a number of luxuries I never fully appreciated before. First, electricity. Electricity vastly improves one’s quality of life. Consider the following: electric fans, cell phone charging, lights (being able to see which bugs are in your house at night), refrigeration, cold water, dairy products, cold soda, unlimited laptop time (including my weekly movie night).
Second, commerce… In Gotheye I could get just about anything I need any day of the week. There was always some kind of produce for sale, and I could buy dinner from street vendors every night. Gotheye’s weekly market was huge, taking up an area of roughly four football fields. My new town…has a market…at which…things are sold…but beyond fried dough and old nails, there isn’t much there. The whole affair could easily fit inside my father’s living room—which I admit is a big living room, but the comparison holds. When it’s not market day, there is essentially nothing for sale. I couldn’t even buy phone credit until I walked the four kilometers to the neighboring town’s market. Some women sell things (like fried dough) out of the houses, but this new post has only two real shops—which are usually closed.
Third, transportation. I now have a bike! But my regional capital is 37 kilometers away, so I’m not bold enough to try and bike there yet. Cars do go from my town into the big city, but they only leave on certain days, early in the morning. Otherwise, only motorcycles are available, which I’m not allowed to ride. (After seeing some accidents here, I think that’s a good rule. Thank you Peace Corps.)
Forth…a functioning mayors office? Similar to Gotheye, at my new post I am supposed to work with the mayor’s to develop the municipality. However, after my first visit to the mayor’s office here, I can see there is going to be very little similar about my work. Yes, it’s true the staff at the Gotheye office spent a great deal of time making coffee and playing solitaire. But they came to work! There were (two) computers and a broken photocopier and functional chairs and desks and a filing cabinet and tables and electricity and people. My new mayor’s office has a much more…abandon feel to it. Now, this is no one’s fault. The new commune I am working for just doesn’t have the money to pay office staff—so many positions are unfilled and the work goes undone. Needless to say, however, the kinds of projects I was envisioning have changed a great deal.
Fifth, a large social scene—not that I expect to go out dancing a lot, but in a month or so, I expect I will know everyone in my village. They all already know me. The tricky part about living in a small village is collectively they all vividly remember the past volunteers. Really, they just remember one volunteer, Nadia. Nadia was an agriculture volunteer who was here years and years ago, but my villagers still confuse me with her. Even after establishing the fact I am in fact a different person, everyone gets really confused when I deviate from the path Nadia beat. They want to know if I’m going to plant peanuts and a garden. They want to know why I don’t go running every morning, why I don’t wear pants, why my boyfriend hasn’t come to visit, why I don’t have a cat, why I don’t ride my bike to Dosso, why I don’t know how to make the millet porridge they eat every night—all because Nadia knew it or did it or said it. Of course the next volunteer will have to deal with an endless stream of questions about Hamsatou (me). It’s just the nature of the beast.
But, even without all the luxury (as I said before) I couldn’t be happier with my new post. My days are always busy and filled with laughter. My days in Gotheye were always busy, but with such a big town, there was no way I would ever get to know everyone. Here, I feel like I am really becoming a part of something. Here are some of my favorite things about my new post:
1. The little neighbor kid who does a face plant before eating a mouthful of dirt.
2. The chorus of donkeys that howl like dogs every morning.
3. They mayor’s eight-year-old kid who has taken it upon himself to be my personal tour guide.
4. My huge, super fancy shade hanger.
5. The fact that I am always invited to someone’s house for dinner.
6. The fact that my villagers love my guitar, and love to hear me play it.
7. The old woman who scares the children away from my concession every time they try and spy on me.
8. The water pump less than 100 yards from my house (I get to carry my own water now).
9. The plethora of shrubbery and trees.
10. The ten old women who insist I call them, “Mom.”
Even better, my villagers give me all sorts of treats as I wander from house to house to chat.
The extra three months of language practice I got while in Gotheye have made it noticeable easier to communicate. I have only been accused of not speaking Zarma once or twice and am able to understand what’s going on around me. One thing I have discovered in my discussions is that most people have no idea why I am here. They remember Nadia vividly, but when I ask if they remember the work she did…things get foggy. “Oh yes, she planted a garden,” is a response I get a lot. Consequently, I’ve devoted a lot of conversation to self-promotion. I make lots of awkward, long-winded speeches try to emphasize I have come to work for the village, but I will need their help to accomplish anything. People nod faithfully and tell me they understand, but the next day I will hear them tell their friends I’ve come to learn Zarma or plant a garden.
At the very least, the next two years will be interesting.
Right now I am sitting in the Dosso hostel, listening to Christmas music and eating cookie for lunch. Considering it’s about 100 degrees out, it doesn’t really feel like Christmas. Nevertheless, it seems some holiday spirit has even managed to reach the desert. After leaving my phone in a cab, the driver brought it back to me rather than selling it. It sounds small, but for Niger it was pretty remarkable. So…I wish you all a happy Soliti-Christma-Hana-Kwanzaka. May your days be as jolly as a well fed eight-year-old and as bright as the African sun.
