Recap. Apparently the solar charger does not currently charge the laptop. Jam. So much happening, safe to say more than ever?, bad time to be behind on updates. Will refer to my notes from the pocket notebook...
from the le 9 janvier
"tired. on feet a lot. ok to rest some today? some big days coming up with brick making". I asked my contact if people rested on Sun. He said they rest on Fri, the day everyone (all men) pray together at the mosque for the 1400h prayer (allula, wala?). Jam.
"house looking great...except two most important things- wall painted and rug down. will feel good when those things done". Dreading having to move stuff out, sweep floor, paint, move stuff back in. Not sure exactly how to do it. Torn about whether I should ask about/ hold out for some clay/ brick material to patch small holes in wall before putting blackboard paint down so as to have a perfectly smooth surface. Not sure if this is letting me procrasintate on it.
Walked around in morning with the guy who came to the supervisors conference. We went to the small ville less than 1k from my ville...the one I am not sure why it is it's own ville.
"uncomfortable- 3 people (4?) asked me for gifts, money. partl nervous people will see my expensive cereal, dried fruit, pasta. I have so much wealth in the house it would blow their mind! Is that part of it? Feeling guilty for recognizing that? How little do these people really have? Do they have nothing? Want more? Who can blame them? I blow through my snack 2x as fast- shouldn't they ask for a little something? So this is poverty? Or is it? Flies on the baby's face. Dust everywhere. It's dusty yea...hate being asked for stuff...because it reminds us how much we have? Feel guilty like I'm doing something wrong- is it because I have so much more then them? So much to lose if they take it?"
walking around, guys building a house, and two women asked me for money or stuff. It irritates me some. The guys asked for some money to buy coffee. I said I didn't bring money. I brought my hands so I could work with them. They quickly said no, no, no. Of course, I do have tens of mil sitting in my house. Woman asks for my phone. I say if I give her my phone, how will my contact call me. I joke that he will end of calling her. He talks to her, I think explaining about Peace Corps some maybe. I want to get away from her and get distracted by kids so I can't catch what he says. I notice at some point my contact has a ten mil bill in his pocket.
Two deaf people in the ville. Again, seems a bridge too far. There doesn't seem to be an "official" sign language. People motion and point and...maybe the point gets across. The other day one guy was with us some in the gardens. He has a garden. So one way or another they are taken care of.
One boy has spit drooling out of his mouth. Dawns on me he must be mentally challenged. I watch him interact and this makes sense. Kids just kind of are deferentially polite some...don't pay too much attention to him unless he engages them directly.
So much dust! Cannot see the river from my windio (concession)! Crazy. No sandstorms yet.
In afternoon, I watch the kids study the Koran. The teachers, my contact one of them, write in ink on basically wood cutting boards. And the kids sit and recite it over and over until they can recite the whole passage from memory. I try to ask if the kids start from the begigining and memorize the whole thing or if they just do more or less random segments, but I don't think I articulate the question properly. I'm not sure. Just on Sunday? No every day, from like 1400-1600ish maybe? In between those prayers, in between school ending for lunch and picking up again in afternoon before dinner...still not exactly sure on that school sched. I think I could come and study Zarma while they study the Koran. Or, when I get a copy of the Koran, I could read it here, they would prob like that. I wonder if the kids are learning to THINK, or just memorizing to memorize. Are they learning Arabic or just memorizing passages? I see signs and confirm that sometimes (how often?) they burn millet stalks so the kids can study by firelight at night...same as in Cochetamu (sp bambata). Again, I can't help but wonder at the appropriation of millet stalks (I learned the word- kwaadi).Boys and girls split when studying Koran. One girls comes up, I ask if she is the only one. My contact says know, and I think motions to the other side of the wall... are there actually "bobo" girls over there? I cannot see.
"hard to keep focused (if it even is the focus) on project- helping them. PST- focus is language. Now on getting bearings, culture, and integration, blending into well oiled wheel of community"
Erosion looks to be a big issue. During the rainy season, water cuts gullies from the river towards the kwaara. The water runs from the higher ground around the ville towards the river. While it makes the topography interesting, at some points, these sometimes big chasms are literally METERS from the edge of town. Some rock-in-wire stuff were put in, but not sure if its helping. Can't get a straight answer from villagers about HOW quickly the erosion is happeneing. At least it seems to be a clear need. Of course, I know nothing about erosion, but... kaala sooru (like, have patience). I note they should mark where the erosion is now, so they can measure it's progress.
"saw mirror first time since Wed. face of PCV? look good. tan lines around vortex."
Feel very good at night again. Perhaps sit in my hammock so see the stars some before going to bed. Text friends. Write. Perhaps on this night the dust accluded the stars.
I think again about people asking me for things. A harsh lesson in priviledge. As a white, male, American, I come to Niger and I am afforded all sorts of privildge. "white people show up and they assume we're rich, brought presents, can do anything". What do we think when WE see in America black people from other countries? Do we ask them for presents? I would like to think that priviledge and...power are geograhically relative. That as a white person in the extreme minority now, this experience approximates the experience of minorities in America. But, it dawns on me for sure now, this is unfortunately for our consciences NOT true. As a white person, even in the minority, I am honesetly a kind of king. I may be in a minority. But the power dynamic is still swung heavily in my favor. Sometimes not, but overall yes. Later, I think I comment how I can do anything. People let me observe their work. For example at the clinic later in the week, I just pop in and sit in on consultations. A black visitor from Niger comes to America with a well respected program, wants to learn about American medicine. Can he stroll into the local clinic and observe? How does HIPPA (sp? what does it stand for again?) feel about that? I honestly don't know, but I know it is not the same. Maybe ESPECIALLY in Niger, where I am told they respect their guests of any dumi very much...white, male, Americans have a double whammy of privildge. To be white in Africa is not the same as being black in America, I must conclude. Trite for some perhaps, but an important lesson for me I think.
le 10 janvier
Morning activity: making bricks!! Make bricks from like 1000 to like 1300 or something. They collect clay. I see them closer to the river swinging...pick-axes? or something into the cliff to fell clay (kinda looks some dangerous the way overhangs are created...). Then they add millet chaff (Zarma chaff = du). Then they add water. They mix in the water my jumping and dancing on the pile in barefeet. This is how you mix the stuff to make cookstoves some too. At least there is no manure is this. First thing I do, I jump in on this, hoping to gain some instant credibility. People are not sure, I think, that I am serious about actually working. They mix it with their feet, with the shovel, add more water, etc. When it is deemed right they shovel some onto a open sack, and it is carried and dropped in kinda lines. Then, someone takes the mixture and puts it into a mold. Some more to the mold, but that's basically it. I end up making the brick mold. It's actually way harder than I thought. One is bent over or squatting/ kneeling on ground. The stuff is heavy to move around. And picking up the mold off of the clay is actually real hard. It kinda sticks some. I work for a few hours. I make 40-45 bricks. People wander in and out. They are impressed some at the annassaras work. I think again this is classic Peace Corps. Just working with the people.
I really like the kid who is kinda organizing the project. He looks in his mid teens, so maybe he is early twenties or older. He is real strong, real cut. He moves fast, works hard. Great smile, good attitude. I think we should be friends. Also like one of the kids from rabbit hunting. Also a guy by where we made bricks. Asked a lot of sincerely inquisitive questions about the US. I note these people I like.
I stress about when to leave. I think it's really important to see the whole job through. You get one perspective by popping in and out of things for an hour or so here and there, but you gain an entirely different perspective by sticking it out the whole bloody time...you get to see the full cycle of the work. I want to have lunch. I am so tired. Can I last till the prayer call before 1400h? I don't know. I am soon beyond tired adn settle into the exhausted work more, not terribly foreign, but haven't been there in a while since running has been mad lax. They tell me to take a break. At some point I do. I say I'm going to head home, they say stay for lunch. I worry about the food. Here we go...village food. How sick will I be? I hesitantly drink some of their milk porridge. Is it true the cow's here have TB? Later someone comments it won't give me stomach distress? We'll see I say.
Had looked at pics with people again yesteday maybe. Had thought about reading the posters from home, the notes from my stage. Decide against it. It seems these things oddly work in reverse. They should empower me, but they just make me sad. I am many times better off not looking at them when "in the field". Explain to kids how mom is crying in the pics the day I left and this makes me sad that I made my fam sad by abandoning them. See some great pics of mom, dad, me, girls smiling and I am reminded I am forming no new memories. Look at the notes from my stage and am reminded how we are apart, how all the hard work that earned such nice words has passed, cannot be dwelt on, and the hardest work is still to come.
"so much dust"
Feeling so great in P.M. I think this was the day in the afternoon that I finally swept out the place, but the blackboard paint up, got stuff moved back in. I'm like mostly set up! Again, the terror is in the anticipation. Just get it done and the work goes. The paint smells terrible, an oil base. I hope the table holds me. I put up all three cans, it covers a third of the wall? Will need 7 more acns. 15-20 mil. Well worth it...right? I'm willing to splurge to have a bloody blackboard in my room. Gives me great excitment. Mad props to...whoever sent the material thing to cover my mouth. use it to paint to limit inhaling toxic fumes more than needed.
"feel I am living the PC life. I am PCV. Excelled at all points up until now. Everything that has needed to happen has happened. Now nervous about "real" work to come. The true test, ya?"
So I am a PCV. I completed the application process. They said learn FR. I learned some FR. They said learn Zarma. I learned Zarma. I am at my site, I am observing, I am learning, and I working with people. I am doing it. Again feels this creates so much expectations and pressure for the "real" work. I am excelling...can I keep it up?
I am lying in my hammock, writing this in my journal. About how this is kind of it. The house set up. I am here. I am doing it. I am a PCV. Now it begins for real. Feeling good. Get a text from a friend in Maradi. Something like "two more FR people found dead in bush in Tillaberi. be careful.". Wtfuck? A separate incident from the kidnapping, etc. a few days before? I live in the bush in Tillaberi. Where? Up towards Mali, where we would expect something like this to happen? Where the terrorists from the few days prior were chased down? South of Niamey? This would be VERY unsettling. I read the text and my stomach drops. She doesn't have any more info. I text other friends in our region. No one knows. I am suddenly very scared. For real. The danger is now real. "in the bush in Tillaberi". My friend says she will sleep with her machete. I think about sleeping with a knife. Run through scenarios. Escape best option. Should I pack an escape bag? Really? Am I going to pack an escape bag? Wonder if I should sleep inside? You can see through the millet stalks and "door" to my bed very easily. But inside, there is only one way in and one way out. I'd be trapped. I get ready for bed. Not as fun being outside under the stars any more. Will keep phone on. Lying down. Hear a car. A car? There are no cars in my ville? Jesus, really? I look through the kwaadi. No one. Shadows only dance. I retreat to the bathroom, so I cannot be seen so easily. Jesus, I'm hiding in the latrine. So THIS is Africa... I come to my senses. Danger only in my mind for now. Lie back down. Soon, texts come in. A friend had checked with the security guy. He knew nothing of the incident. A text from the friend in Maradi: oops, something got lost in translation. Not a new incident. Same one as few days prior. Sorry. Serious? "Danger" passed...of at least perception of danger lessoned. But night ruined. How quickly we go from feeling safe to essentially fearing for our lives. I do not sleep as well.
le 11 janvier
Hands will not come clean from brick making. Soo sore. Suprisingly to me, it's my legs, hamstrings/ adductors the most. From squatting. Shorter run. I must be running 10 min miles feels like.
I realize this is cold season. I need to acclimate better before it's 130. I wear my chords and a winter had. Feeling very Nigerien. People ask why I don't have a coat (you don't feel cold?) and I can now site my winter hat and heavy pants. It's true, the mornings have been cold. I would run in long sleeves in addition to long pants, but can't find the shirt I want.
I am afraid to use some stuff. The awesome towel Aunt Jayne sent for example. The "gone running" long sleeve shirt I brought along for such cool morning runs. Worried it will "break" too soon. want to save tricks. Two bloody years. I will have bought new stuff, ya? But those are my thoughts.
Today, elections. I look forward to a "rest" day of just observing, sitting. No kilometer hikes. No making bricks. Voting takes place at school. I mill about, some uncomfortable to just plop in. I shake someone hand. He asks if I am a new volunteer. He was at the swear in. Did he hear me speak? Oh, that was me? That's great. I ask if I can observe. He says sure. Offers me a seat. Tells everyone I'm the new volunteer, maybe he mentions I'm the one who gave the Zarma speech, and that I'm going to watch, tali si no. Privilidge.
A young guy sits next to me. My age maybe. I ask him many questions. Text my friend also watching elections in his ville. I put together pretty well I think what is going on. Kind of. People come in. The must have a voting card they get in the city 20+k away that says they can vote. They show it to a guy. He checks their name on the list. They move to the next table. This first vote is for the Say "municipal" elections. Each candidate for conseignair (sp bambata) has a little slip of paper on the table. The person takes one of each. Goes behind a screen, either woven dala or cardboard. They put one slip of paper in an envelope. Seal it. They discard the rest into a plastic bag. The come out. They put the envelope in a plastic bin. They go to another guy with a list. This vote for the Tillberi region. There name is checked. They repeat. Then, to show they have voted, they dip their left thumb in ink. Done. Often, if not always, it seems there is some confusion. Instead of a line, the stations are set up (both on the official poster hung and in the room itself) in a zigzag.
I think, watching democracy in action, how we take voting for granted in America. I don't give much at all about voting in America, but here it interests me greatly. A sophmorish perspective for sure. My "teacher" tells me just about everyone here votes. I explain not so (case in point, me) in America. I wonder if violence will mar the elections. Am I safe watching the voting like so? I dunno, but I like being in on the action. Later, I tell people I watched the elections. I learned how it works some. I say, I will observe learn what they do. Today, they vote. So today, I watch. I learn. They agree, nodding their heads. I think this is good.
I worry again about when to leave. It's monotomous, but want lunch. Hungry. Is lunch coming? Never entirely sure. Worry again about dirty food or dirty hands. I am unsure, but I walk around, my contact says "you going home?" I take the excuse, say I will come back. Home, want to repack some. Be 100% settled. I am interrupted by kids going rabbit hunting. Damn. I go with them. They are here. Don't want to lose cred. Very bitter about dispution in my "sched". My legs are so tired. I can't even keep up with these like 10 yr old kids going up and down the mesas. I am looking more closely, but I know how my legs feel, they could easily drop me. Worry I should have stayed at voting. Important to see start to finish. Worry about stuff left on floor. Wanted to be set up. How will I make up that time? Always unsure, second guessing what I'm doing. "Feel I should see, do so much...want affirmation I'm doing right". Time chasing rabbits totally ruined by my inner dialogue. Need to learn to more easily shut it off. Ashamed when kids come in to have all my stuff out, my food trunk open. Damnit. They see my wealth.
Finally go back to voting at 1700. Voting to end aat 1800. Not sure if people have eaten, but everything is as it was, except everyone is mad tired. It's a long day to be sitting. I try to settle back in, but feel so guily. I got to leave. I didn't sit with them through it. I think about Ramadan. I feel my cred is destroyed by not watching the vote ALL day...how will I feel when the entire village, except me, is fasting. Problem for later. "Should have stayed. Should have brought them food...not on it. Just so much to/ could be done".
I note some people don't know what they're doing. They don't know democracy, inter....wait, I didn't know what I was doing either. If they don't vote, they don't know. First vote for these people in a while? So they don't know the protocol. I don't either. Don't want to read too much into it. I wonder how much the people know about the candidates. People can LEARN anything. They can learn to vote.
Finally, it is six and the voting ends. I want to watch them count. Each party has a rep to obseve the count. The sun is setting. The room getting dark. By the end, they are relying on cell phone flashlights to write down the tallies. An "election" lamp is floating around, but alas, no batteries. They put the carboard on the floor. Dump the envelopes. A dozen men squatting over papers on the floor. Darkness coming. I want to take a picture of this democracy in action. But then, the ballots are a sea of blue. Interestingly one sided...my friend said a candidate came to his ville and literally gave the town money. I asked someone here if candidates came, did something for town. He says maybe 2 came. I try to understand if the person who visits gets all the votes, but I'm not exactly sure what is going on. What IS clear is that the election, at least at this level, is most certainly "fair" in the sense that people can vote anonymously, the count is correct and double checked. But, it seems people in the villes don't know anything about the candidates or the issues. A candidate comes, he talks to people. Maybe he gives out t-shirts, maybe money (heard both from volunteers) and who are these people going to vote for? "Fair", yes. Informed, no.
Kids have been outside all day. Adults swat them away with kwaadi. Things seem to be getting more frantic as the counting progresses. Kids popping in. Forget when it hits me, but they want to little ballots. The little slips of paper. After the first count is done, someone throws the papers outside and the kids go crazy. Picking them up. They try to invade the room in small scirmishes. Second vote done. We are shoed by a VERY tired guy who seemed to be kinda in charge. I walk away a little. See someone through up ballots. Kids go CRAZy collecting them. Maybe this happens again. Just crazy. They're just bloody colored slips of paper.
Random notes: losing pullup callauses again. Can't find a bloody place to do pullups. This really bothers me. It's very easy to see the body getting weaker.
Stopped by doc office to say hi yesterday. Have yet to spend any real time there. The doctor was in the room with a stethescope with a patient. "Oh yea, health is my role. Does this make me excited? I don't know so much going on. Love the gardens, brick making. Voting raises issues of government. Health. Feel not qualified for anything so what's the difference. Really like doctor though..."
I learn an organization did a census of elible voters. So some work already done. Maybe.
Uncomfortable at night again. Day, the threat seems noexistant. At night, wild scenarios run thorugh my head.
le 12 janvier
Plan for day to observe clinic. Will have been here for one week today. Feel if I can observe clinic, I will have had a wildly successful week. Hit most things.
"am I homesick? that goddamn despair feeling..." that is often with me when I wake up. I recognize it as same when I got invitation. Fear about work ahead, about leaving home, about all the unknowns. Same from lang immersion. Anxiety about not feeling well, not maximizing work time with so much work to be done. Worry about not getting to type up blog. Worry abotu not recording properly these expeiences. Of not remembering all there is to remember. Without blog to type, I feel I record less? SO much to absorb I don't write long enough at night. The "gap" in my blog notes I worked so hard to prevent here, at maybe the MOST crucial time. My first few days in ville. Though, I did miss the first week of PST. Maybe it is ok...Maybe I am writing too much? Need to just let it go and just experience. Process it later. I don't know.
Get to clinic. "Clinic. Numbers- population census. Ok. Disease surveillance. Ok. I can make a contribution here. Do they need this? Erosion? All the other ideas? So much doubt and uncertainty."
Fuck. Doctor not there. Went to Say again. Another wrench in my "sched". Roll with it...how? Should I observe school today, come back later or tomorrow? Sage femme there. I will need to build rapport with her too. I sit in "waiting area". She comes out, I greet her. Not sure what to say. She pulls in a few patients. I sit. Finally, I approach and ask if I can watch. Some awkward moments while I feel this out. Finally, I settle in. Ok, good. Observing clinic. Hell, I've never shadowed a doctor in America. Priviledge. I just sit in on consulations, etc.
I am enjoying observing the sage femme (what is a sage femme...like a midwife who has had schooling. this woman may be a nurse? the doctor may be a nurse. I rarely know. Whoever is THERE is doctor for the day, they have to do everything anyway so functionally one's background doesn't matter). She is very nice. She asks if I understand stuff. I ask questions. Rusty on some of the health vocab. So much more to learn. It's easy to phase out and not catch anything, but if I dial in, I can understand what is being said to varying degrees. I feel important.
And around this time one week ago, I arrived at my site.
RECAP OF WEEK ONE
I have...
- starting day 2 or 3, greeted magarie every morning to start day (after my stuff) and walked around town some. Then, walked around or sat with people in that like 4-7 block for some period of time (not all of it). Everyone, I think, has seen me. It seems they all know my name.
- set up my home, as much as possible. This is a huge boost to me. This, and establishing some kind of schedule helps me feel like I'm clicking.
- hunted rabbits. Eaten a squirrel thing.
- visited the gardens. Observed and helped with some garden work
- visited one of the other smaller villages (twice actually) and met with and talked to magarie
- made bricks
- observed the elections
- observed the clinic
- played with the kids some (but less after first day or so. will have to look into this)
- blown through a dispropotionate amount of food
I have not...
- gone to a market yet
- left my ville (i.e. traveled alone. I will not this later)
- done laundry
I noted several times something like "don't forget how hard it is". Because, I look at what I did the first week, and I think I did real well. Several people said they were bored in ville. This blows my mind. Some people spending most of time in clinic. I didn't get to clinic for a week. So much of community to see. I feel integrating into the daily fabric, whatever that is, paramount now. There will be time to do the "work" later. But, I don't want to forget all the mental energy and ups and down, all the times of doubt. But, I did it. Again, I am a PCV. I did the first week, and I think I did it well.
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