Yesh. It’s been a while. Sorry. Here’s what you missed. In June I visited Zinder for a three-day all volunteer conference, which included “prom” and “open mic night,” at which I convinced my training class to perform “Season of Sun,” a parody of the Broadway classic “Seasons of Love.” (Lyrics available upon request.)
In July my mother and sister came to Niger to visit. I’ll let their account of the trip speak for itself (they may or may not have promised to write a little blurb for the blog…), but I will say through all the delays, lost baggage, mosquitoes, heat, mystery rashes, squat toilets, potholed-bus rides, snakes, marriage proposals and breakdowns (both mechanical and emotional) they were both total troopers.
My Mom and Sister Waiting for a Car to my Village
(we only waited three or four hours)
As for village life, you haven’t missed much…and by much, I mean anything at all. Rainy season is the MOST BORING SEASON for an anasara in Niger. Besides the nice weather, rainy season is totally lame. All my villagers are busy subsisting, a.k.a. working in the fields. Consequently, the actual village is abandon during the day, leaving me the choice of going to the fields or entertaining myself.
Other reasons why rainy season is lame: With the storms, the chances of your house/latrine/shade hanger collapsing increase by a million percent. Roof leaks are as inevitable as they are destructive. Also there are infinitely more bugs (one of which I pulled out of my nose the other day…Lord only knows how long that’s been up there). So, except for the additional element of excitement a downpour can bring to traveling in an open-back truck with things like your laptop and ipod, rainy season = my second least favorite of Niger’s three seasons. (Hot season is my least favorite and cold season—my third least favorite.)
I managed to keep myself busy, in spite of the rain by reading smutty novels and painting maps for the local primary school. See pictures…
I also seized this rare moment of downtime to reflect on my service in Niger—I’ve been here a year after all. I ask myself, why did I come here? Was it for the food or the weather? Oh yes, to help the women and children of Niger! (In my opinion, most men can help themselves. And they do…usually to more tea.) But the women and children…that’s where the real development potential is! (I’m narrating this paragraph sarcastically in my head, but I really believe that last sentence.) Anyway, it’s true. At least part of the reason I joined the Peace Corps was to help out the global community. Since coming here…I have definitely gained some insight on this subject and so I decided to write a whole blog entry re: the women and children of Niger.
The Women of Niger
Not a day goes by I don’t thank Allah I wasn’t born a Nigerien woman. I’m a tough, sassy lady, but I honestly don’t think I could hack it. Before I describe the average Nigerien woman’s day for you, I would like to highlight the different manifestations of her lower social status.
My Sister with Her New Friends
Other disadvantages: Unless women are old or widowed they generally are not allowed to go to the market. (This may sound like a small thing, but going to market is a big deal. It’s the only time entire communities are brought together and able to social on a regular basis. Thus it serves as the venue for a lot of political and social discourse.) Young, married women also aren’t allowed to go to parties or other community events, unless they have their husbands’ permission. Actually, aside from going to the well, the fields, and occasionally the town’s shop—women are expected to be home all the time. It is considered disreputable for a woman to wander about town chatting with people/visiting her friends. Usually, only very educated or unmarried women work outside of the home. This means that, unless a woman finds a way to earn her own money by selling things, her husband controls all of the family finances. In general, women are 100% dependent on their fathers and husbands—who are legally allowed to beat them, as long as it’s not in the face. If a woman should ask for a divorce, the man automatically gets custody of the children. (Divorce is possible for a woman, though more difficult for women than men to arrange.) The smaller things bother me more, for example, women eat only after their husbands and kids are fed, and usually a less-delicious version of the meal, aren’t allowed to interact with men outside their family, can’t shake hands with men (even as working professionals), are expected to stay at home, have babies, take care of the children, cook, and serve their husbands. And Nigerien men wonder why I won’t marry them…
My Sister and Me in my Village, Pulling Water at the Well
Women Going to the Well
The condition is most often correctable with surgery, and there are centers in Niger that will perform the operation for free if the woman is able to travel there. But most women to not know about these centers or that their condition is fixable. Money can present another barrier. More often than seeking help, the woman is shut away.
As for older women who can sustain a pregnancy, they still face a gambit of other medical risks that women in developed countries usually don’t worry about. First of all, most women give birth at home, in their mud huts over a plastic tarp. It’s very dangerous, and Niger has the highest maternal mortality rate in the world. Most villages do have a mid-wife, but these old women are rarely formally trained, and most often just show up to cut the umbilical cord. Also, women have very little control over how many kids they do have. First of all, it is not possible for a man to rape his wife, which is to say that a woman legally cannot say no to her husband. The pill is available at the clinic in my village (so I assume most places), but it is not really socially acceptable for women to take it (and trust me, everyone in the village will know that you are, no matter how you try to hide it.) Plus, as kids serve as a kind of status symbol in Niger, the way parking spaces in your garage do in America—the more you have the better you are doing. Thus, a lot of women do want to have a lot of kids. But, I swear, most first-time mothers I talk to are terrified to give birth, and fear is not something any Nigerien normally expresses.
Nigerien women are also at high risk for contracting HIV and other STDs. During cold season, most men travel to the coast to find work. While they do bring back money and presents, they also often bring back venereal disease. Like birth control, condoms have a social stigma attached to them. And, if you are using them, the whole village will know—mostly because there is no waste disposal system, trash just lies around until the kids play with it or it decomposes. Consequently, most men refuse to wear them…and women do not have the right/ability to insist upon it.
I know, this is all very depressing, and I don’t have much to say to brighten the entry. One thing that is clear, however, is I make myself more miserable than the women thinking about how miserable Nigerien women are. They still laugh and have fun, and I really don’t think they comprehend what a disadvantage they have…
So, what do women do all day? It changes for each season, but here is a rough, average schedule:
Early Morning: Wake up at dawn. Begin pounding millet for the day. Sweep concession. Wake children. Go to the well to carry water for the day. (For an average family, this may entail five or six trips.) Prepare breakfast. Serve children/men. Eat breakfast.
Mid-Morning: Pound more millet. During rainy season, go to work in the fields. During cold season, go to cultivate the garden. Weave mats for sale. Collect ingredients for sauce. Do laundry.
Mid-Day: Prepare lunch. Weave mats. Rest.
Afternoon: Separate the millet from the chaff. Go to the well, again. Sweep the concession. Feed livestock.
Late Afternoon: Pound millet for dinner. Buy ingredients for dinner’s sauce. Begin cooking dinner.
Evening: Serve dinner to kids and husband. Bathe kids. Set up beds. Put children to bed.
Late Evening: Go to sleep.
Men do work very hard during planting season, but most days they get to rest all afternoon/evening. Also, during cold and hot seasons, the men that don’t go on exodus mostly just sit around and drink tea.
Ramadan just made things worse for the ladies. A lot of men postponed projects and just rested through the afternoon, but women can’t deviate from their schedule. In spite of heat and exhaustion, women were still out pounding millet and carrying water. Also, something that can make fasting more difficult for women is the fact they are almost always either breastfeeding or pregnant. Of course, according to the Koran, women who are pregnant or breastfeeding are excused from fasting; it’s not healthy for the mother and certainly not good for the baby. But if the women do not fast during the month of Ramadan, they have to make up the time at a later point. This is an okay idea in theory, but think about the fact that Nigerien women are on average pregnant once a year. This means that if I woman followed the rules and didn’t fast while pregnant or breastfeeding, but the time she was done birthing children she may have as many as ten months of Ramadan debt to make up. Plus, who wants to be the only one fasting?
Men Going to the Mosque in my Village
Fati and Her Baby, Braham
Fati, Pounding Millet
The Children of Niger
One element of rural African life I’m reasonably confident holds constant throughout the continent is kids. Wherever you go, whatever you do, there will be a small mob of children shadowing your every step. They stare. They ask questions. They giggle. They yell. They harass. They try to sell things. They throw things. They ask for money. It’s easy enough to understand what causes this phenomenon. First of all, as a stranger and a Caucasian, I am somewhat of a spectacle—that’s understood. Secondly, there are A LOT of effing kids in Africa—especially in Niger, which has the highest birth rate in the world! On average, every woman gives birth to 7.68 children in her life. Also consider: 49.6% of the population is under the age of 14. (Thank you CIA World Fact Book.)
Now, let me preface the follow rant by saying I believe all Allah’s (and God’s) children are beautiful, priceless gifts from Heaven. To be clear, I am pro-the existence of children. That being said, I also think the Nigerien children are little terrorists. No, I don’t mean that they use violence to achieve political aims (nor am I making some sly reference to AQIM). By terrorists, I mean they (sometimes) strike hot, electric, gut-wrenching panic and fear into the hearts of Peace Corps volunteers—not to mention debilitating frustration and unholy anger.
Actually, in my village, the kids are pretty good. They say funny things and make me laugh. They help me carry things. Perhaps most importantly, they are sufficiently afraid of me, and thus I am able to scare them off if the situation calls for it. Though…they do throw rocks and a few nights ago a mob of them woke me up by screaming in my ear… (Warning: do not wake a sleeping Katie).
The Kids in my Village Fixing my Concession so it Will Drain
This kind of treatment is very dehumanizing, and can bring out the worst in a volunteer. For example, a fellow volunteer told me a story about an especially bad experience. One morning, my volunteer friend was having a slow morning and trying to enjoy some quiet time, but the kids kept climbing over the high walls of her concession. In spite of her obvious agitation, they kept peeking over the walls to yell at her, giggling when she told them to go away, throwing things, and yelling insults. She told them to go away. She tried laughing with them, then yelling at them, and finally chasing them with a stick, but they just laughed and kept coming back…until FINALLY, my dear friend totally lost it. She exited her concession, stick in hand, and proceeded unfurl upon these children a mixture of the most profane Hausa and English one could imagine. Her irate verbiage only barely eclipsed her spasms of anger and very clear intent to injure. Now, one would hope under such duress, the kids would have enough respect to show the appropriate amount of fear and run away, but once more they just laughed. This display was so infuriating to my friend that she began to yell louder and swing at the kids with her stick. In laymen speak, she totally lost her shit. Finally, the commotion forced mourners from nearby funeral to come break up the scene…not exactly the brightest moment in my friend’s service.
It actually doesn’t sound so bad as I type it up, but trust me kids know how to bring you down to their level. What is most unfortunate is that since kids are always disciplined with violence, they usually don’t recognize/understand/respect other forms of punishment, like American-favorite time out. This puts volunteers in a bit of a bind when it comes to establishing ourselves as authority figures—unless you are prepared to hit a kid (which most of us are not) they are unlikely to mind you.
In the face of all this frustration, poor behavior and violence, some volunteers rescind on their I-will-never-hit-a-child pledge. (Though I should mention I only know one volunteer who actually hit kids, and I think she did it just once.) Others develop extra-tough skin and divine patience. An even smaller minority may make it though their two years of service and still profess a love for kids—namely, my friend Sara. But I think most of us just walk away from this experience with a lot less sympathy for and a little bit more terrified awe of Nigerien children. Years from now when we see those just-75-cents-a-day-will-buy-this-kid-with-flies-in-his-eyes-shoes commercials, we will think to ourselves, I knew that kid, and he was an asshole.
For those who do suffer breakdowns and lose their patience, please do not judge. I consider myself a pretty dedicated pacifist: I don’t like violent movies, I am anti-war, I don’t kill bugs, I do not intend to ever hit my own children, and don’t like it when other people hit theirs…but even I have been driven to full-on, detailed fantasies about how great it would be to smack a kid with my flip-flop. (Sometimes I don’t even feel guilty after such mental digressions.) I don’t ruminate over these temporary shifts in my disposition. Mostly, I just write it off as a consequence of watching Nigerien parents constantly beat or threaten to beat their kids.
Now, like I said, I am pro-children existing. In general, I like kids. And when you look at the conditions these kids grow up in you begin to see what causes all this outrageous behavior. As I mentioned before, they’ve been hit by the parents their whole lives. It is the same in schools. Though many teachers, administrators and government officials denounce it, corporal punishment essentially ubiquitous in Nigerien public schools. Does violence make them more aggressive and unruly? Perhaps. I’ve seen toddlers chase each other with machetes. What’s more, Nigerien children have a very unstructured childhood, especially compared to children in the West. From day one, American babies face an onslaught of stimulation and structure. This is not the case in Niger. Let me ‘splain:
The old adage, “it takes a village to raise a child,” makes most of us picture an African village. But (ironically) in Niger, it feels more like: “it takes a village to neglect a child.” Besides the times when kids are working in the fields or going to school (however infrequently), they are pretty much on their own. They are safe in the confines of the village (no one lets the kids do anything too dangerous or stupid), but they are only minimally supervised—certainly nothing up to snuff with American baby-sitting standards.
Nigerien babies are carried on their mother’s backs while she works, or left to sit around the concession, supervised by older kids (and by older, I mean like seven). When they stop breastfeeding they will follow their mothers when she ventures somewhere as far as the fields, but otherwise are left to entertain themselves. Nigerien mothers obviously love and value their children. They are cared for, but considering the mothers’ schedules, it makes sense that kids are pretty much left to their own devices. until they are old enough to start working and caring for younger kids themselves. One of my friends once commented, “In Niger, there is hardly any time from when a kid is carried on someone’s back to the time when she is expected to carry someone on her back.”
The treatment of Nigerien children is rough, but witnessing it has also made me realize Americans are WAY over protective of their kids. We don’t realize how durable children really are. We baby proof everything, demarcate boundaries for our children to play it, and have millions of safety regulations for anything involving kids. Parenting books regarding child safety are infinite. Kids are constantly supervised, not allowed certain toys, and rushed to the doctor at the slightest hint of an illness. I read an article in a magazine my dad sent me recently shunning the children’s classic Good Night Moon for depicting a fireplace without a protective gate. Yikes.
In constrast…Everyday, I see Nigerien woman do things to their kids that make me think, if this were America that mother would be scolded or reported to social services. For example, mothers often pick their children up by the arm, let their toddlers chew on mirror shards, or leave a baby within ten feet of a cookfire. Kids also fall off of a lot of things here. For example, napping babies off of beds. There are no cribs in my village. (Now also seems like a good time to mention Nigerien children don’t have toys, except the ones they construct for themselves out of trash.)
Obviously, this difference in the way children are treated stems from a divergent view of what children are. American children are prodigies. They have personalities and interests, which are cultivated throughout year and years of education. They are little adults, given responsibility and choices. They are urged from day one to reach their fullest potential. They are little name-bearers, groomed to carry a family tradition into the next generation. In Niger, children are not entitled to fun or even school. Kids are little workers. Girls, especially, almost never get to just play. I’ve had families tell me point blank the reason they have so many kids is to help work. They also serve as a bit of a status symbol—the more you have the wealthier and more stable your family. “If a family has a baby each year, you know they are happy and doing well for themselves,” a woman in my village told me.
I blame neither American nor Nigerien mothers for these two extremes. It’s the culture you live in. An American mother of two once told me, “From the moment you get pregnant all you hear about (in America) are the endless ways you can screw up your kid.” So…we try to mitigate every possible risk.
In Niger, the mother is only raising her kids the way she was raised. The kids may be a bit malnourished, bruised, or ill, but mom’s doing the best she can and most often just trying to get through the day. In rural villages women don’t have the time/resources to be sure her child is always supervise, and therefore not exposed to unnecessary risks. (I met a kid in Gotheye, whose brother, while playing, accidentally pushed him into his mother’s cook fire, giving the child third-degree burns from his hips to his ankles.) Everyone in Niger bears scars from previous, serious injuries. Besides physical threats, women don’t often know about simple sanitation practices could prevent diarrheal disease, which is the number one killer of children in third-world countries.
Unfortunately, it seems to be a self-defeating cycle. An article in X issue of The Economist, publicized new research that shows countries with lighter disease burdens tend to have a higher average IQ. While correlation does not imply causation, it makes sense children who are constantly fighting off various diseases do not develop as quickly or as fully—especially when you hear that 75% of a toddler’s energy goes to maintaining brain function. It was a really interesting article…you should check it out.
In the end, my point is this: Kids may be little assholes from time to time, but when you understand what they are up against, it’s hard not to have sympathy. Not only that, but supporting them seems to be a huge key to development. (Don’t even get me started on middle-school-aged girls going to school and how much that will better her life and the life of her children.) So…I guess I’m back to feeling bad when I see those just-75-cents-a-day-will-buy-this-kid-with-flies-on-her-face-shoes commercials.
Mariama and Her Nephew
Possibly the best blog post I have ever read in my life. I plan to share it, hope you don't mind. Thanks for being amazing, Bruce :)
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