Friday, October 31, 2008

The Polio Safari

You heard me correctly, I went on a polio safari. First of all, let me tell you about the skirts these women wear. They're closest to sarongs, but not, because it's Niger. I don't know how they do it all the time. I wear them (they're called pagnes) everyday, and I still end up having to readjust everytime I get a chance. But I'm getting ahead of myself. One of my friends in the village invited me to come along with her to the bush (the little bitty villages surrouning my village) and help with a massive polio vaccination campaign. So I said, "Heck yes!" My neighbors and friends all objected, saying, "Baraka! You'll be hungry! There's no food in the bush!" or "Are you sure you can walk that much?" My response was always to brush off their concerns because I'm oh so strong. Kind of. So, come the morning of polio safari, I jumped into the back of the pickup truck (which I almost fell out of, that was entertaining) and we drove off into the bush to do our thing. I of course had to wear my safari hat, because I don't enjoy sunburns. Reason number one why it was a safari. When my group of three got off the truck to venture into the bush, I was following my friend who invited me, a woman. Here's where the pagne thing comes in. I was struggling to keep up with her, because I still can't quite walk in pagnes. Was gracefully gliding along, as I was tripping over anything and everything holding on to the pagne because the wind was blowing it open. I don't know what she was doing differently, but she had no problems whatsoever. I felt like that little rabbit on Robin Hood with the raggy teddy bear who says, "Wait for me! Wait for me!" But I truged on. They pointed out everything along the way, "Look, Baraka! A tree! Look, Baraka! Peanut plants! Look Baraka! A snake trail! Look, Baraka! Thorns!" Reason number two why it felt like a safari. The topper was when the man who was accompanying us on this venture ran into a feild and grabed me some peanuts to munch on along the way, just to ensure that I didn't get hungry. Safari indeed. We proceeded to spend all day finding the random villages, compounds, and hamlets in the bush and vaccinating the children in said homes for polio, which is, by the way, far from erradicated. It was hard work (despite the fact that they pamper me) and one of my most rewarding experiences thus far because I had a chance to see the different lifestyles of those living so close to me in what we would consider isolation. I met wonderful people, freaked out a lot of kids because I'm white, and had a chance to bond with the friends I've been making in my village so far. Polio safari was well worth it.

Monday, October 20, 2008

This is a long one. Brace yourself.

Month One in the bush is over! Obviously, seeing as I stayed a month in an African village, there are some crazy stories that try as I might, I can’t tell well enough to give you the full experience of what it’s really like. But dag nab it, I’m going to try! If you don’t feel like reading the next 5 or so pages of random stories about life in a village, then you should know that I love my village and, although it was hard, have really enjoyed this past month. So if you have the effort (that’s a Niger thing to say) enjoy the stories and if you really want send me a letter! Ok, thanks friends!

Day 2 (The One With the Ax)
There are many noteworthy tales thus far, and it’s true, it’s only been two days. From today, two stories in particular stand out. As I was walking back to my hut, set on enjoying a nice relaxing read in English because I’d been greeting people and being social in Hausa all morning, I was summoned by a group of men sitting on mats. One man pulled up a mat for me and I sat as he said, “Sit and learn Hausa.” So I sat, and proceeded to point at EVERYTHING around, telling me the names of the objects and making sure I wrote everything down. The writing was a challenge in itself because they didn’t give me enough time to decipher what they were saying, then try to spell it, before they moved on to the next object. Pretty soon they had to import words for me to learn, so one man in particular would run over to neighboring stands and grab new objects for me. By this time there were about ten men and thirty children forming an ever-shrinking circle around me. My new friend would come back with certain types of grain, baskets, bowls, and other things from the market and raise them above all the surrounding heads, pushing his way through the crowd, all the while saying, “Baraka! Mi ne ne?” (Baraka, what is this?) After about twenty minutes of this, my new friend had yet to tire of me learning Hausa. God bless him. My favorite moment was went, amidst me trying to learn a language where I’m learning “basket” and “bottle,” my new friend lifted an ax above the heads and began charging at me screaming, “MI NE NE?!?!” I jumped about sixteen feet in the air and the mere fact that I was startled to see an ax about to impale my face provided endless entertainment. This is but one example of how wonderful the people in my village are, I just love them. They stop at nothing, even what would be a potential felony in the states, to help me learn Hausa.
My other favorite moment of the day was when, just as I started to feel a bit lonely, two of my villagers came by and brought me chai tea and grilled corn on the cob. We had discussed earlier that I liked chai, but couldn’t drink any at the time because it was during the day and during Ramadan there is no food or drink consumed during daylight. So well after everyone had broken fast he brought over the shot glass of chai, covered in serane wrap. It was so thoughtful. He then proceeded to smash a multitude of bugs on my porch in a way that they were still visible (and therefore not always dead) and tell me the names of all of them. Oh Niger.

Day 3 (The One Where SHE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND)
My adventure today was during the morning whilst greeting people. I try to greet about a fourth of my village at a time, because it is too big to attempt to greet everyone everyday. There is a road that runs through Dan Barto, and a distinct class difference on the other side of the road. The huts are shabbier, and more densely inhabited, and the satellite dishes that dapple my side of the tracks are less prevalent. But golly, they’ve got spirit! The kids were running around with me shouting, “Baraka! Wannan gida!” (Baraka! This house!) then would lead me through a maze of uninhabited huts and bushes until we found people. Mind you, the greetings consist of walking into people’s concessions and proceeded to spew out a litany of “How is your…” (you fill in the blank,) then me standing awkwardly as they look at me and smile. Greeting people is huge in this culture, and I’m happy to do it because it makes my village happy, but saying the same thing over and over for two hours gets old. I started to add “Suna na Baraka,” (my name is Baraka) and my entourage of children would then scream “SUNANTA BARAKA!” (HER NAME IS BARAKA!) Same applied when I added “Zani zamna nan shekara biyu,” (I will live here for two years) “ZATA ZAMNA NAN SHEKARA BIYU!” And of course, after my brilliant display of language skills, people assume that I actually speak Hausa, so they would speak fast enough to make my mind spin. This would cause me to admit “Ban gane ba,” (I don’t understand) which is and always will be followed by “Ba ta gane ba,” (she doesn’t understand) by the adult with whom I was speaking, and in this case “BA TA GANE BA!!” rang out from the choir of African sidekicks I had managed to attain. Just in case you couldn’t hear out in California, Kelsey doesn’t understand. That about sums up what’s going on here, I don’t understand. Good news is, I’m beginning to figure it out and finding a lot more value in the cliché phrase about life’s meaning/ joys existing in the journey and not the destination. So my friends, I leave you with these pearls of wisdom: “Life’s a garden. Dig it.”

Day 10 (The One Where Kelsey Fainted)
Here in Niger, I’ve been assigned to the health sector. This past week I’ve been going to my health center every day to visit. Today, I situated myself with the midwives. I’d been there for a while when one woman called me over to watch what was going on in the near-by room. It’s important to note that in this culture women never show pain, and crying is one of the biggest shames. Child-birth is silent, they don’t so much as whimper. That being said, I didn’t know the woman in the room next to me was giving birth, until I came and saw a new baby, and all that comes with a new baby. I don’t often get grossed out by gore, but the miracle of life really does a number on me. I watched as the midwives did their post birthing thing, and about three minutes later woke up lying on the ground coming to the realization that I’d fainted. A woman just silently and drug-freely gave birth and I fainted at the sight of the aftermath. I’m sure it did loads to help my credibility as a health volunteer. I woke up to the women calling, “Baraka! Get up!” and we laughed for the next hour about how no one (myself included) really knows why my first time fainting was because of a baby. The appropriate response to this experience would be (affectionately): Oh Niger.

Day 11 (The One Where Kelsey Didn’t Faint)
Just to clear the air, I thought I should let you know that I went back to my health center and faced the music. And by music, I mean outright laughter and mockery because I fainted, which, granted, was darn funny and I was laughing with them. I was greeted with, “Baraka! Go inside and see! Someone’s giving birth! Go look! Are you scared?” So I went inside and saw, and managed to watch the entire process without fainting. Sure, they made me sit in a chair as a precaution, but still a success nonetheless! Moral of the story: I conquered by fear. Like Batman, although the bats still terrify me.

Day 16 (The One With The Women)
Cultural lesson of the day- sweeping one’s concession is huge here. Not only does it look nice and show that a person cares about their home, but it’s also sanitary. My concession, however, is HUGE so I’ve been putting off sweeping until I could find someone to help me. Which is probably why I’ve seen three scorpions and a chariot spider (rumor has it that scorpions ride on their backs, they’re that big) thus far. So anyway, I go about my daily business sans woe about the fact that I should really sweep out my concession. Part of my daily business is going to the health center and “talking” with the women. I never really know what they are saying, so it’s a lot of nodding and saying, “O.K, O.K.” and showing them my ear piercings because four in one ear is astonishing. UP until today, I’ve kind of understood that the more elderly of my female friends would be coming over to sweep my concession. But I never got a date or a conformation that I understood, so it brushed it aside (sweeping pun intended.) Until today. I was sitting with a group of my friends enjoying the shots of crazy strong chai tea that the men here are so fond of, when a group of (no joke) at least thirty women came to my concession door, brooms in hand. And by brooms I mean bundles of sticks they use to sweep with. They took over my yard, sweeping all the debris into piles and pulling weeds. When I tried to help, they shooed me away. So I went inside to grab my camera and document the sight, and was met with cheers of, “Hoto! Hoto!” (Photo) Because there were so many women, they were soon finished and headed off to their respective huts to finish the long day of work every Nigerien woman has before her. This is but one example of the community support one may be expected to receive when dropped off clueless in an African village, and one of the reasons why this place is really growing on me.

Day 22 (The One With The Fist Pump)
I’m realizing how ridiculous life in Niger really is. It’s the little things that happen that cause me to think, “Oh Niger,” that don’t translate well into stories. But I’m still going to try. Today as I was walking around the village greeting people, I came upon a group of men gathered around a mosque. One man came up to me and asked, “Are you Chinese?” “No, I’m American.” Seeing as they love Americans here, he proceeded to fist pump the air, exclaiming, “America Power! America Power!” So, that was odd. As I was continuing my greetings, I came across a hut with an older lady making the closest thing Niger has to doughnuts, fari masa. She asked me, “Baraka, do you eat?” “Yes, I eat.” This was followed by one of those cackles that starts high and and lingers there fore a moment before it trickles down, descending past audibility. After the laughter (which of course attracted some friends) she gave me some fari masa to eat, which I did. This was followed by more laughter. The cycle continued for a while like so; “Thank you, it tastes good but I’m full.” “(Laugh) She thinks it tastes good! (Laugh) Eat more! (Laugh)” “Ok, one more.” “(Laugh) She’s eating! (Laugh) Eat more!” And so on. I realized I was greeting people today that my village has begun to accept me as a semi-permanent resident. Most people address me as Baraka instead of White-Girl, which is quite an improvement from the quizzical stares of day one. All this is to say, again, that I may have the best post in Niger.

Day 23 (WELCOME TO AFRICA!)
During the first month of our service, we aren’t allowed to go into the regional hostels or visit other volunteers because we need that time to attempt integration. But I’m lucky enough to have a market town shared by four other volunteers, so I get to see some of the friends I made during training every Friday. You’ve probably figured out by now that I love my village, but it’s great to have a little bit of time to be around people who speak English and give my brain a bit of a break. Today was one of those market days, and it just so happened that I laughed more today than ever in my entire life. The market is huge, it’s hard to find everything we need, it’s packed full of people and it’s usually a pretty stressful two hours spent shopping. Today’s stress level was significantly lowered due to my lack of common sense. Here’s the story, and brace yourself because it’s a dumb one. Most of you, my friends and family who knew me in America, know that I can’t cook well to save my life. One of my goals while in Africa is to try to change that. So last week I bought some of the dried green leaves in market, thinking I could try them in different recopies and spice things up. When I used them in a white sauce I made for pasta, it didn’t change the taste at all but it made the sauce turn orange. When I relayed the story to a friend today, she suggested that it was probably henna that I ate. Sure enough, when I asked an old lady what that leaf that she was selling was, she said, “Henna!” “You don’t eat that, right?” “No, you put it on your feet.” Dandy. When we were sitting down on the road after market and recounting my stupidity over cold Mt. Dews, (a rare treat) one of my friends mentioned that she would love a picture of her sitting with Africans in the background. So, despite her embarrassed objections, we called over some of the kids on the road to join her in a picture. They didn’t quite understand, so an enthusiastic Nigerien passer-by offered his assistance. He rounded up all the nearby kids explaining to them that we wanted to take a picture, as my friend sat, embarrassed, in the center and we laughed hysterically. Our Nigerien passer-by exclaimed (in English) “WELCOME TO AFRICA!” in a sing-songy voice over and over again and stood front and center, open armed and smiling as we took the picture. He said (again in English) “Another episode!” which we took to mean take another picture. We of course willingly obliged, at the horror of my o-so-embarrassed friend. I spent the next solid twenty minutes laughing, which makes for a good day. Welcome to Africa indeed.

Day 26 (The One With The Music)
I work with some amazing people. The people who work at my health hut have a lot of “effort” as we say here. One of these amazing people is a man named Rabayo. He insists on me sitting and greeting/talking with the women because he knows how much they appreciate it. The conversations always include an attempt to convert me to Islam, laughing because I’m afraid to give birth, and an offer for me to take one of their babies because I’m afraid to birth one of my own. But back to Rabayo. He tells me that I have to come in everyday to see the women. At first I didn’t know how to respond to this, but I realize now that it is Hausa sarcasm and his way of telling me that my work is appreciated. Today, he informed me that we were going to see the pond/lake where the fish come from, (“Come. We are going to the place of water.”) This turned into a walking tour of two villages close by, and by close by I mean 4K away. I was prompted to greet everyone we passed because, “We feel happy that you have arrived.” The amazing thing is that in both villages I saw people who knew me from the Health Center and were excited that I had come to visit their village. It was very uplifting, and eased my brain of doubts about the progress I’ve made this month. After two cold sodas and sweet cantaloupe (it pays to be close to Nigeria) we headed back to my village and Rabayo promised to show me around the surrounding villages in the near future. Here’s where part two of my fabulous day begins. I played guitar and sang for my friends who work at the radio station behind my house, and although I was told I sing like Celine Dion (…) I was thrilled to be able to share music with my friends. After a mini lessonon English (which they hear very well.) I returned to my concession to play for the kids in the village. They danced and danced to me repeating “Me and Julio” in attempt to perfect the strumming pattern and even began making up a song to it, although the only word I understood was Baraka, which is my name. I asked them to sing me a song from Niger, and was answered by a chorus of children serenading me with Nigerien folk music. It was one of those moments when you know you’ve found happy place. They wanted me to sing a song from America without guitar, so answered by singing “Home on the Range,” which they later attempted and butchered in the loveliest way. It was the intro to the African Children’s Choir I dreamed about before coming here, and a perfect way for me to get to share music.

Day 27 (The One With The Shoes)
This has nothing to do with today, but I’m taking this opportunity to tell you y’all about the shoes I bought in the market, because they make me laugh. They’re bright blue flip flops and the design is brightly multi-colored. Where my toes go, it says “Cherish Animae.” At the bridge of my feet is a picture of two koalas that look very surprised/confused about something. At the heel it says “Sloth Sloth.” Random. I really can’t translate the full glory of the shoes into words, but I wanted to share because they make me laugh and brighted my day. The end.

Day 29 (The One With The Snakes On A Plane)
This is simply to let you know that I’ve made it through my first month officially! I came back today, saw my friends at the hostel and we all got the chance to talk about our first months in and compare stories and watch Snakes On A Plane, which is even funnier after a month in an African village. We also made a game called Mary Poppins Baseball, where I spit chewed sugar cane at my friend and he hits it with a broom. Let me tell you, the Nigeriens get a kick out of that one. So, thanks for reading and hopefully I’ll be able to update the blog again and maybe next time it won’t be so freakishly long, I hope you all have a wonderful day!