So, in few weeks, a new training class will arrive in Niger and begin their training. I remember it was this time last year I was back in America, preparing to come. And, I started madly searching the Internet to read other volunteers' blogs, trying to learn everything I could. With that in mind, I've decided to post a few words of wisdom for those of you who might be preparing to come (the rest of you can just ignore this):
1. Don't worry about language. You will have plenty of time to learn what you need to know during training. I came in not knowing a word of Zarma/having never studied French and I did fine.
2. If your looking to get more specific advice about packing, etc. check out the facebook group (Peace Corps Niger July 2010) your peers have started. My fellow PCVs and I posted a list of things you may want or not want to bring. You are also more than welcome to send me a message on facebook. For privacy reasons, I don't want to give out my email here or to tell you my full name, but I am a member of the facebook group. I have my head in a bucket in my profile picture.
3. Seriously feel free to send me or any of the other volunteers questions you have. We are all super excited for you to come and really enjoy helping you make the transition into your new life.
4. Don't bring a lot of clothes. You can buy used clothes and Nigerien clothes here. Bring snacks instead. SERIOUSLY BRING SNACKS. Pre-service training is hard because you are living with a homestay family and don't cook for yourself. It is during this period I experienced my most intense food cravings.
5. Enjoy your time in the States before you leave. Don't bother trying to do a bunch of research before you get here. It's better to come in without a ton of expectations. They will teach you everything you need to know during training.
6. Bring one or two outfits that will make you feel really American. Trust me, after months of being hot and sweaty all the time, you will relish the chance to get cleaned up.
7. Remember that training is nothing like your actual service. Some people really hate training and love being in their village. I loved both. So just remember to have patience and if you are having a hard time, really try to stick it out until you've been in your village for a few months to be sure you are getting a real taste of what the Peace Corps is.
8. Remember to be very polite, patient, and kind with yourself when learning new things.
9. Have your parents/your friends send you a package two weeks before you leave. It will get there during the first two weeks of your training, when you most need a pick-me-up.
10. Keep in mind that the first two weeks of training were the longest two in my entire Peace Corps Service. Once you get going, time really flies!
That's the basics... again, check out the facebook group and feel free to contact any of us for advice! Enjoy your time with your family and have a safe trip over!
Be well,
Katie
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Life in May and June
June 8, 2010
Well folks, it’s been a busy month since my return from Spain and third move. Work is starting to pick up, and I’ve been so busy I had to cut back on my napping by nearly 30%. More importantly, I have begun to feel deeply happy with my life here. The truth is, since last November when I was moved from Gotheye, I haven’t really managed to get my footing until now.
Looking over my past entries, I realize it may seem like I haven’t had more than a handful of bad days since leaving the United States. Unfortunately, this constant optimism is all a product of what I call my cheerleader syndrome: I refuse to label anything in my life as a problem until it is in the past, leading me to overlook, not mention, ignore, repress, minimize, reframe, euphonize, or flat out deny all the less-fun details of my life.
Over the past months, moving sites has presented me with lots of challenges. More recently, my housing situation and the closing of the mayor’s office (until they hold elections next March) brought my frustrations with my site to an almost intolerable level. I haven’t had any true I-want-to-go-back-to-America-drink-mochas-and-forget-Africa-exists moments, but I have had a lot of hard days—days during which I have felt completely useless. And, feelings of uselessness are like kryptonite to my ego; they absolutely undo me.
But things are looking up! Not only am I healthy and busy with work, I also have managed to renounce all my site-envy—a terrible affliction that caused me to sigh longingly whenever I heard about all the great projects my peers were doing. It also caused me to lie awake many nights questioning the wisdom of the Peace Corps staff in placing me in my current village. (When I moved, my boss told me in so many words, this was the only site available for my sector and language group.) Amidst the whole housing fiasco, it even occurred to me to lobby for a site change—something that should not be done lightly. I’m not going to go into detail about my site complaints, mostly because they are complex and not fun for me to write about. Let me just say that in general, as a Masters International student, I don’t feel like my current village offers enough technical development work, which I spent a year training for in Seattle.
That feeling I’m not using all my skills/training hasn’t changed, but I realized recently I am satisfied with my site. I know everyone in the community and have carved out a little niche in its daily activities. More importantly, I love the people and want to help them anyway I can. I may not be able to conduct award-winning research while here, but (for now) it really feels like home.
On the other hand, I’ve also notice my sudden upswing coincides perfectly with the beginning of rainy season and the end of 110+ degree weather…perhaps these things are related… Anyway, enough of all my psychobabble, let me tell you about what I’ve been doing.
History Lessons and Global Youth Service Week
I mentioned in my last entry I was awarded funding for my first project, a tree-planting at my village’s primary school. I’d had the idea of planting trees at the school for a while, ever since the director told me he was interested in forestry. When I heard money was available for Global Youth Service week, I was able to slap together a proposal in time to get a chunk of the money. (The whole project only required about six USD, which is funny to me, because the proposal I wrote was three pages long…two dollars a page I guess.)
I planned the whole thing out, got the director’s promise of cooperation, and (after a disproportionate amount of trouble) was able to arrange the transport of 30 seedlings from Dosso to my village.
The day of the planting, I arrived at the school to discover the students mid-lesson. I offered to wait in the schoolyard for the session to finish, but the primary school director who was teaching the class (also my French tutor) graciously offered to let me sit in on the rest of the lesson. After directing me to a chair in the back of the room, he resumed his lecture about the history of Niger.
The lesson was in French, so I didn’t immediately understand what they were talking about. But, (as a credit to the director’s language instruction) I was able to pick out the words, “l’esclavage et le travail forcé” (slavery and forced labor). Uh, oh… I know how this story goes…
To help the children understand the topic, the director frequently translated a phrase or two into Zarma. Needless to say, the word “anasara” came up often enough.
I, of course, was the only white person in a 37-kilometer radius. The kids, incredulous at what they were hearing, began whipping around in their seats too look at me. “Hamsatou did WHAT?!” I imagined them asking themselves. And, as the lecture continued they kept sneaking glances as if they might catch me trying to load up one of their classmates and cart him away. The director himself, aware of what was causing the disruption, kept looking at me too.
Thoroughly embarrassed and uncomfortable, I attempted clarify the situation. Yes, I am white. No, I did not participate in the decades of human trafficking that befell West Africa. I wanted to explain to the kids this was all a long time ago and (in my mind) morally indefensible. Instead, my mouth just flapped open and closed a couple times.
The worst part: I was there for the tree planting! After the lesson finished, I marched the kids outside and told them to start digging holes. I almost died when the director brought me a chair to oversee (forgive my diction) the project and did not allow me to help.
Honestly, I’m sure the kids forgot their history lesson amidst the excitement and chaos that accompanies any break from routine. More importantly, the tree planting was successful. As of four days ago, all thirty trees were still alive…
Home Life
It’s all good news: I have moved into my new house AND have a latrine AND have a shade hanger. I am living with the guy who sells tea and coffee, his two wives, and their eight children (almost all of which are between the ages of three and seven). Needless to say, the place is a bit noisy. BUT, for the first time, I really feel like I am a part of a family. We eat every meal together (which means I am eating millet porridge and sauce three meals a day). I am also becoming good friends with both of the landlord’s wives. Best of all, I don’t have to deal with Hama’s mother any more, who (among other offenses) once made me drink a bowl of soapy water to cure my stomach ache.
Speaking of Hama, things have been slightly awkward since I moved out. I didn’t realize how intense small town politics could be. Turns out the almost the entire town has taken sides in the feud. Most people, after hearing I had moved out, wanted every dirty detail of what happened. No matter how diplomatic I tried to be, the conversation inevitable devolved into, “Hama is a bad person” or “Hama has ruined his name.” A few others have scolded me for not behaving better while living there, as if the entire situation was my fault. My strategy has been to minimize the drama and downplay the trouble I had while living there. I’ve even visited Hama and his mother a couple times to make it clear I wasn’t holding a grudge. (One of my friends in the village told me everyone was really shocked I did this. “A Zarma would never have gone back there,” she told me.)
Anyway, I am happy with my new house, and am so much a part of the family, I’ve even become a bit of a baby-sitter.
Projects
Work is good. In fact, for the first time I really feel like I’m actually doing work. This was surprising because, after joining Peace Corps, I had begun to feel like a bit of a grown infant. What I mean to say is, upon my arrival in Niger, I was asked to relearn everything I thought I knew. As a PCV in a country like Niger—one that is so different from the United States—you essentially have to start from scratch. I had to learn to eat, poop, talk, dress, bathe, launder, socialize, cook and maintain my personal hygiene all over again. I have been so stunted in my ability to communicate, function, and just exist for so long, I was very surprised to discover I am actually capable of doing real work here.
My big moment of success came when I was able to organize and conduct two separate meetings for my villagers. (I held two meetings one for the men and one for the women in the community because women won’t talk openly when men are around.) I wanted to discuss what they think the needs, challenges, and resources of the community are. I got the support of the village chief, got permission to use the community center, told people when and where it was, AND PEOPLE ACTUALLY CAME. A lot of people actually came. What’s more, I was able to conduct the meeting IN ZARMA. Granted, my counterpart had to re-explain a few points, but I still left feeling very empowered.
At the meetings, the number-one concern my villagers expressed was the need for a new clinic. As I mentioned, the clinic my villagers are using now is rather small. It’s really just an extra room in the community center. Thus, there is no place for a person to rest if they fall seriously ill or need to give birth, unless they take the seven-kilometer trip to the next village via donkey cart.
Near the primary school there is a half-finished building, which was supposed to be made into a new clinic, but the contractor either stole or lost (I’m not clear on this point) the money to finish the project. So, it’s been sitting there for at least half a decade, not being use. Well, that’s a lie. In an ironic twist, my villagers have been using the structure as a pubic toilet, rather than using the actual latrines built by an NGO (which are mere yards away). There was a very exciting week, during which time I thought I would be able to find funding to finish the clinic for my villages before the Nigerien government refused to grant me permission to fix it. I was, however, more than welcome to build a completely new clinic, if I felt so inclined.
Besides the meeting and the tree planting, I’ve also organized a demonstration to show women how to build more fuel-efficient cookstoves out of mud, started an English club to help the middle school students practice their language over the summer, found two girls to apply for the Young Girls’ Scholarship, and have plans for many other in the works. I also got the chance to go to Zinder for a three-day, All-Volunteer Conference, where I got to see my peers showcase the projects they’ve done. It was very inspiring.
The only other thing worth mentioning is, with the beginning of the rain, hungry season is now in full swing. The harvest from last year is dwindling and my villagers have only just started planting. It will be at least a few months before they will be able to harvest again. The effects of this annual food shortage are noticeable in my village, but not as clearly as it is for my peers out east. I have seen the kids in my concession plead with their mothers for more food (even after meals). I have watched the kids fight over the food they do get. I have noticed the two women in my concession skipping meals, or barely eating at dinner. (In spite of all this, they still insist on including me in at least two meals a day, so I have started buying groceries to keep from being a burden.)
But like I said, comparatively, this isn’t that bad. Another member of my training class told me everyday someone in her village dies. I’m pretty sure this is not all straight up starvation, but rather just sick people being made sicker by malnutrition.
The country director rightly warned me to keep an eye on my friends and myself during this time of year. “Watching others struggle to feed themselves, while you receive a generous monthly allowance is probably the hardest part of your service,” she advised.
Well folks, it’s been a busy month since my return from Spain and third move. Work is starting to pick up, and I’ve been so busy I had to cut back on my napping by nearly 30%. More importantly, I have begun to feel deeply happy with my life here. The truth is, since last November when I was moved from Gotheye, I haven’t really managed to get my footing until now.
Looking over my past entries, I realize it may seem like I haven’t had more than a handful of bad days since leaving the United States. Unfortunately, this constant optimism is all a product of what I call my cheerleader syndrome: I refuse to label anything in my life as a problem until it is in the past, leading me to overlook, not mention, ignore, repress, minimize, reframe, euphonize, or flat out deny all the less-fun details of my life.
Over the past months, moving sites has presented me with lots of challenges. More recently, my housing situation and the closing of the mayor’s office (until they hold elections next March) brought my frustrations with my site to an almost intolerable level. I haven’t had any true I-want-to-go-back-to-America-drink-mochas-and-forget-Africa-exists moments, but I have had a lot of hard days—days during which I have felt completely useless. And, feelings of uselessness are like kryptonite to my ego; they absolutely undo me.
But things are looking up! Not only am I healthy and busy with work, I also have managed to renounce all my site-envy—a terrible affliction that caused me to sigh longingly whenever I heard about all the great projects my peers were doing. It also caused me to lie awake many nights questioning the wisdom of the Peace Corps staff in placing me in my current village. (When I moved, my boss told me in so many words, this was the only site available for my sector and language group.) Amidst the whole housing fiasco, it even occurred to me to lobby for a site change—something that should not be done lightly. I’m not going to go into detail about my site complaints, mostly because they are complex and not fun for me to write about. Let me just say that in general, as a Masters International student, I don’t feel like my current village offers enough technical development work, which I spent a year training for in Seattle.
That feeling I’m not using all my skills/training hasn’t changed, but I realized recently I am satisfied with my site. I know everyone in the community and have carved out a little niche in its daily activities. More importantly, I love the people and want to help them anyway I can. I may not be able to conduct award-winning research while here, but (for now) it really feels like home.
On the other hand, I’ve also notice my sudden upswing coincides perfectly with the beginning of rainy season and the end of 110+ degree weather…perhaps these things are related… Anyway, enough of all my psychobabble, let me tell you about what I’ve been doing.
History Lessons and Global Youth Service Week
I mentioned in my last entry I was awarded funding for my first project, a tree-planting at my village’s primary school. I’d had the idea of planting trees at the school for a while, ever since the director told me he was interested in forestry. When I heard money was available for Global Youth Service week, I was able to slap together a proposal in time to get a chunk of the money. (The whole project only required about six USD, which is funny to me, because the proposal I wrote was three pages long…two dollars a page I guess.)
I planned the whole thing out, got the director’s promise of cooperation, and (after a disproportionate amount of trouble) was able to arrange the transport of 30 seedlings from Dosso to my village.
The day of the planting, I arrived at the school to discover the students mid-lesson. I offered to wait in the schoolyard for the session to finish, but the primary school director who was teaching the class (also my French tutor) graciously offered to let me sit in on the rest of the lesson. After directing me to a chair in the back of the room, he resumed his lecture about the history of Niger.
The lesson was in French, so I didn’t immediately understand what they were talking about. But, (as a credit to the director’s language instruction) I was able to pick out the words, “l’esclavage et le travail forcé” (slavery and forced labor). Uh, oh… I know how this story goes…
To help the children understand the topic, the director frequently translated a phrase or two into Zarma. Needless to say, the word “anasara” came up often enough.
I, of course, was the only white person in a 37-kilometer radius. The kids, incredulous at what they were hearing, began whipping around in their seats too look at me. “Hamsatou did WHAT?!” I imagined them asking themselves. And, as the lecture continued they kept sneaking glances as if they might catch me trying to load up one of their classmates and cart him away. The director himself, aware of what was causing the disruption, kept looking at me too.
Thoroughly embarrassed and uncomfortable, I attempted clarify the situation. Yes, I am white. No, I did not participate in the decades of human trafficking that befell West Africa. I wanted to explain to the kids this was all a long time ago and (in my mind) morally indefensible. Instead, my mouth just flapped open and closed a couple times.
The worst part: I was there for the tree planting! After the lesson finished, I marched the kids outside and told them to start digging holes. I almost died when the director brought me a chair to oversee (forgive my diction) the project and did not allow me to help.
Honestly, I’m sure the kids forgot their history lesson amidst the excitement and chaos that accompanies any break from routine. More importantly, the tree planting was successful. As of four days ago, all thirty trees were still alive…
Home Life
It’s all good news: I have moved into my new house AND have a latrine AND have a shade hanger. I am living with the guy who sells tea and coffee, his two wives, and their eight children (almost all of which are between the ages of three and seven). Needless to say, the place is a bit noisy. BUT, for the first time, I really feel like I am a part of a family. We eat every meal together (which means I am eating millet porridge and sauce three meals a day). I am also becoming good friends with both of the landlord’s wives. Best of all, I don’t have to deal with Hama’s mother any more, who (among other offenses) once made me drink a bowl of soapy water to cure my stomach ache.
Speaking of Hama, things have been slightly awkward since I moved out. I didn’t realize how intense small town politics could be. Turns out the almost the entire town has taken sides in the feud. Most people, after hearing I had moved out, wanted every dirty detail of what happened. No matter how diplomatic I tried to be, the conversation inevitable devolved into, “Hama is a bad person” or “Hama has ruined his name.” A few others have scolded me for not behaving better while living there, as if the entire situation was my fault. My strategy has been to minimize the drama and downplay the trouble I had while living there. I’ve even visited Hama and his mother a couple times to make it clear I wasn’t holding a grudge. (One of my friends in the village told me everyone was really shocked I did this. “A Zarma would never have gone back there,” she told me.)
Anyway, I am happy with my new house, and am so much a part of the family, I’ve even become a bit of a baby-sitter.
Projects
Work is good. In fact, for the first time I really feel like I’m actually doing work. This was surprising because, after joining Peace Corps, I had begun to feel like a bit of a grown infant. What I mean to say is, upon my arrival in Niger, I was asked to relearn everything I thought I knew. As a PCV in a country like Niger—one that is so different from the United States—you essentially have to start from scratch. I had to learn to eat, poop, talk, dress, bathe, launder, socialize, cook and maintain my personal hygiene all over again. I have been so stunted in my ability to communicate, function, and just exist for so long, I was very surprised to discover I am actually capable of doing real work here.
My big moment of success came when I was able to organize and conduct two separate meetings for my villagers. (I held two meetings one for the men and one for the women in the community because women won’t talk openly when men are around.) I wanted to discuss what they think the needs, challenges, and resources of the community are. I got the support of the village chief, got permission to use the community center, told people when and where it was, AND PEOPLE ACTUALLY CAME. A lot of people actually came. What’s more, I was able to conduct the meeting IN ZARMA. Granted, my counterpart had to re-explain a few points, but I still left feeling very empowered.
At the meetings, the number-one concern my villagers expressed was the need for a new clinic. As I mentioned, the clinic my villagers are using now is rather small. It’s really just an extra room in the community center. Thus, there is no place for a person to rest if they fall seriously ill or need to give birth, unless they take the seven-kilometer trip to the next village via donkey cart.
Near the primary school there is a half-finished building, which was supposed to be made into a new clinic, but the contractor either stole or lost (I’m not clear on this point) the money to finish the project. So, it’s been sitting there for at least half a decade, not being use. Well, that’s a lie. In an ironic twist, my villagers have been using the structure as a pubic toilet, rather than using the actual latrines built by an NGO (which are mere yards away). There was a very exciting week, during which time I thought I would be able to find funding to finish the clinic for my villages before the Nigerien government refused to grant me permission to fix it. I was, however, more than welcome to build a completely new clinic, if I felt so inclined.
Besides the meeting and the tree planting, I’ve also organized a demonstration to show women how to build more fuel-efficient cookstoves out of mud, started an English club to help the middle school students practice their language over the summer, found two girls to apply for the Young Girls’ Scholarship, and have plans for many other in the works. I also got the chance to go to Zinder for a three-day, All-Volunteer Conference, where I got to see my peers showcase the projects they’ve done. It was very inspiring.
The only other thing worth mentioning is, with the beginning of the rain, hungry season is now in full swing. The harvest from last year is dwindling and my villagers have only just started planting. It will be at least a few months before they will be able to harvest again. The effects of this annual food shortage are noticeable in my village, but not as clearly as it is for my peers out east. I have seen the kids in my concession plead with their mothers for more food (even after meals). I have watched the kids fight over the food they do get. I have noticed the two women in my concession skipping meals, or barely eating at dinner. (In spite of all this, they still insist on including me in at least two meals a day, so I have started buying groceries to keep from being a burden.)
But like I said, comparatively, this isn’t that bad. Another member of my training class told me everyday someone in her village dies. I’m pretty sure this is not all straight up starvation, but rather just sick people being made sicker by malnutrition.
The country director rightly warned me to keep an eye on my friends and myself during this time of year. “Watching others struggle to feed themselves, while you receive a generous monthly allowance is probably the hardest part of your service,” she advised.
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