Dear First-World Inhabitants,
Thank you so much for all the positive feedback regarding the I-fell-in-my-latrine-leading-to-new-insight-into-the-nature-of-forgivness story. I was surprised how many people told me they read it/enjoyed it, leading them to examine and subsequently forgive various people and television networks in their life.
There is one person who apparently has not found the time to flip open his laptop, update his twitter, check my ramblings, and find new forgiveness…Hama…my landlord. Yeah, he’s still pretty upset about that ol’ bag of rice. (Seyni the PA/driver for Peace Corps confirmed the entire feud started because the mayor wouldn’t sell Hama some subsidized rice. The mayor wanted to save the cheaper rice for especially poor families. Hama took it personally, and BAM! Feud.)
Two days before I left to come into Dosso, Hama showed up at my house to tell me he had not received the past three months rent and if he did not get it in the next three days, he was going to make the mayor find me a new house. I let the Seyni the Peace Corps driver know, and convinced Hama to wait to throw me out until I got back from Dosso (since I was convinced Seyni would be able to sort everything out before then, and I wouldn’t have to move.) Hama agreed, but showed up the next day to inform me he didn’t even want the money, he just wanted his house back.
This is my house...
For me, this whole situation is a “jam bambata” (an enormous darn). First of all, I really don’t want to move. I don’t like moving. Secondly, preparing a new house will not be a quick thing. Can we all recall how long it took to get my latrine squared away? Thirdly, (and perhaps the most painful aspect of this whole conflict) every time Hama decides he is upset about not getting paid, he spends at least 45 minutes lecturing me about the situation. I’m not sure why, but this always makes me extremely uncomfortable. Part of it may be because he is speaking ill of my boss. Part of it may be that he keeps saying the same things over and over again. The last time he came to talk about the situation, he smacked the six-year-old-girl I was looking at pictures with and told her to go away. (I REALLY don’t like it when people hurt each other.) I guess, mostly, it just brings out a very negative, angry side of Hama, and makes me feel very insecure in my village. No one wants to think about being homeless.
After coming into Dosso and talking to Seyni, the PA, I feel much better about the situation. Seyni says he talked to the mayor and there aren’t any other houses in the community available for rent, thus, I have two options. First, he could have a big meeting with everyone in my village (the mayor, Hama, the chef of the village, the mayor staff, and me), and arrange for Hama to receive a year’s rent in advance. Option two, the mayor has offered to build me a new house. (Keep in mind he was the one responsible for the construction of my faulty latrine. Pause for reaction.) Yes, option one, please.
Allah willing, the situation will work out. I trust Seyni to arrange for me to stay in my current house. As he pointed out, it is in a great location, with good neighbors, and it has a brand-spanking-new latrine. It’s a good place for me.
The Bustling Mayor's Office
Next topic… the coup d’état…
I AM STILL ALIVE. I HAVE NOT BEEN SWEPT UP IN A SURGE OF REVOLUTIONARY VIOLENCE. Whew.
Here’s what it was like for me…Around one o’clock (has anyone ever paused to notice how silly the word o’clock is?) I arrived home after attending a meeting about community cereal/grain banks to discover the following text message on my phone: All PCVs standfasted (we aren’t allowed to leave our village) until further notice due to military action in Niamey. I just shrugged it off and went about my day.
That evening, I was playing my guitar in my yard when Hama’s mother appeared. After greeting me she scowled and stabbed the air with her finger to draw my attention to our neighbor’s radio. I’ve gotten pretty good at tuning out the grating static and Hausa songs, so I hadn’t even notice the marching band music that had been playing.
“Do you hear this music?” she asked me. “This music means there’s been a coup.”
I was very surprised to hear the French word “coup” come out of her mouth, since this old woman doesn’t even know what “merci” means. My second thought was, she can’t possibly know there’s been a coup just because that music is playing. Then it occurred to me, this woman is perhaps sixty years old, which means she’s been around for all five of the coups in the past 50 years. She may not speak French, but she probably does know what music they play on the radio when a dictator’s been overthrown.
Upset by the realization of what was happening a mere 120 km away, I texted my dear friend Will: MY NEIGHBOR SAYS THERE’S BEEN A COUP! Will, in his reply, asked me what else “military action in Niamey” could possibly mean.
After confirming there had in fact been a coup. I decided to walk around my neighborhood to see how people were reacting, but after leaving my yard, not a thing seemed out of place. A bunch of my neighbors were standing around shaking their heads at the situation. Just as, another night, they might stand around and shake their head at so-and-so who fought with his wife or at the price of millet in the market.
For obvious reason, I am not supposed to comment on Nigerien politics to host country nationals. Peace Corps is an apolitical organization that will not withdraw from a country, as other aid organizations might, on the basis of a country’s democratic policies. My villagers could see that I was a little shaken by the whole thing, and one of them asked something along the lines of, “This happens all the time, why are you so worried about it?” I told them this never happens in the United States, leaders always stepped down when they are supposed to. The group blinked at me skeptically, clearly thinking I was making up outrageous stories again…like the time I told them little animals live in their water and make them sick, or that gnawing on sugarcane all day will make their teeth turn black. Crazy old Hamsatou…always good for a laugh.
And that was it. A couple of times I heard teachers or mayoral staff refer to the situation as a cause for uncertainty if X official would come out to visit or if Y meeting would happen.
The most alarming part of the whole situation was the speed at which people in America found out about it. Before going to bed that evening I had calculated it would take two or three days for Tanja’s retirement to appear in first-world news: one day until people would find out about it, one day for them to write the story, and then to print it…if it was ever printed at all—the greater world does not seem to concerned with the political happenings of this landlocked, unpopulated, even-the-chickens-look-poor country.
But no…mere hours later, I was awoken by a call from my father’s ladyfriend, Terry. “YOURDADHEARDTHEIR’SBEENACOUPINNIGER!AREYOUSAFEFROMTHERIOTINGMOBSANDCANNONFIRE?” she asked me. And of course, I received a slew of very concerned emails and facebook comments.
Everything is fine. The average Nigerien is apathetic to politics and way too busy surviving to care who is in power (my opinion). The central government has almost no presence in their day-to-day lives. Also, I’m pretty sure there aren’t enough guns in the country to have any real fighting. Peace Corps has been in Niger for almost 50 years, for all five of the past coups, and has never had to evacuate. We were release from the stand-fast order after a few days, and the whole thing honestly has not at all affected me. The kidnappings last November were much more stressful, scary, threatening, etc. But now I get to say I survived a third-world coup d’état.
Spider in my house eating an entire cricket.
So…what else have I been up to?
I’ve started taking French lessons. The director of the primary school said he could teach me everything in three months, and has generously been tutoring me for an hour almost six nights a week. (I’m a little concerned because someone told me, in spite of the fact he already has two wives, he would like to marry me.) The lessons are going very well. The whole idea of studying makes me feel like I’m being productive. I REALLY enjoy learning new languages, though the difference between American and Nigerien teaching styles is painfully obvious.
Seydou, the director, writes sentences on the board and has me read them over and over. When I try and string the words together to forge my own comments and questions, he blinks in confusion and then asks me to repeat the phrase he’s written on the board again. Anytime I lower my eyes to take notes he sighs with exasperation, “Hamsatou! Hamsatou! Regarde!” He also spend a lot of time trying to explain things to me in English, which leads to grammatical treasures like, “This word wants you are saying when you feel very, very fine, when there is a lot, a lot of happy.” (Please note, Microsoft Word has no qualms with that sentence.)
My big, amazing project idea—to fix the fence around the community garden—has had some interesting developments. A community garden is a can be a wonderful impetus for development. First of all, women are usually the gardeners, so building a garden helps them to develop agricultural skills. It also helps the women to generate income, because they often sell their produce. Which in turn, helps the village’s market develop, as there are more products for sale. Also, a community garden affects the overall health of the village, because it introduces some variety to their diet.
A fence, however, is key. Without a good fence, animals and children will come through and eat everything. My village has a garden with TWELVE wells and a HUGE mango grove, but unfortunately the NGO-provided fence fell over some year ago and no one has fixed it. THUS, I had the brilliant idea of organizing the community to FIX the FENCE. If I do one thing in the next two year (I told myself), I’m going to fix that fence!
So after much conversation with various village authorities, I met with the man in charge of the garden, Hassan. Hassan listened to my proposal and told me he loved the idea. He also invited me to a meeting next week, when the NGO planning to replace the fence and buy the town a motorized water pump would be in town. So…my work here is done…
Other news:
I have gone almost four weeks without getting severe diarrhea!!
I adopted a kitten, which I have named “Gatsby.” I’m going to think of a Nigerien name for him too, because I want my villagers to be able to say his name. Maybe Habibou. I get two names, after all, why shouldn’t he…
When I go back to village, I am going to start work with the director of the middle school to start English tutoring sessions. I’m super excited…
And FINALLY, I am going to Spain in a few weeks! It is a last minute trip, but everything just fell into place. My friend Susannah, who I met while studying abroad in Argentina, is living in Santander, Spain, teaching English. She invited me to come visit during her April break. When I found cheap-ish ticket, I said to myself, “Hamsatou, ni ma koy.” Also my dad wrote me an all caps email in red font reminding me to carpe diem. So, I’m going! I leave in three weeks!!
I’ve woken up every morning since I bought the ticket thinking about the various foods I will eat when I get there. Here are some highlights: cheese, apples, cheese, coffee, yogurt, cake.
So, that is all for now. I will try and update you upon my return from Spain. Be well, everyone!
Irkoy ma cabe cere, may Allah show us each other,
Katie,
Tour of My House
Me, after I took the braids out.
