Friday, June 12, 2009
Muhammadu
I loved kids in the states. I had a blast playing with them and I think I was pretty darn good at it. Apparently I lost all those abilities sometime during the flight here because I’m awful with the kids in my village. I like to blame the fact that I’m not as fluent as I’d like to be in Hausa, but let just face the facts, shall we? Really, I don’t have the patience anymore. It’s much different in a village; kids aren’t restricted in any way. So as the neighborhood kids are whiling away their lazy afternoons, why shouldn’t they bang on the door to the white girl’s concession and yell mean things at her? Unfortunately, I’d probably do the same thing if I were in their shoes, when they wear shoes. I’ve become much more selective about which kids I’ll play with for the sake of my sanity. The terrorizers aren’t on the list of my favorite parts of Nigerien life. Except one. I don’t know what it is about little Muhammadu, but man o man he cracks me up. Picture your most eccentric friend (most likely someone involved in theatre) and multiply that personality by 10 and cram it into the body of a 3 year old kid and you’ve got Muhammadu. A favorite past time of his is to follow me around during my journeys about the village to greet people. It’s very rare to see adults interacting with kids in this culture, unless the child is too young to take care of itself and is tied permanently to the back of the mother. Usually it ends in the child getting threatened or hit for being a disrespectful nuisance. So for a kid to be following an adult around by himself is very bold. Muhammadu will march along with me rambling on in Hausa that I can barely understand about his dad’s motorcycle. Villagers often think I stole a child from one of the bigger cities. I tell them that no, this is in fact my son. His father is in the house cooking. (That always gets a great response; “Oh Baraka, you’re so silly! Men don’t cook!”) I’ve stopped letting kids into my concession (again for the sake of sanity) but Muhammadu seems to think this rule shouldn’t apply to him. He tromps on in and sits down next to me until I carry him outside and lock my door, where he sits and shouts rude obscenities about my mother, sorry mom! And still he’s my favorite. When I was painting a map in my school, I had problems with village kids shouting at me and coming into the classroom to steal chalk while I was working. As usual, Muhammadu followed me to work one day and sat down in the desks. I figured I’d put him to work as my personal guard, thinking that no self-respecting 10 year old child would be shooed away by a 3 year old. To my surprise it worked! In between spontaneous dance parties and A+ attempts at breaking my ipod, Muhammadu successfully scared away packs of kids 3 times his age. I did have to turn away from my work every 4 seconds to stop him from going through my purse, but I was thankful for his help. Plus, every time I’d turn around to tell him, “No Muhammadu, that’s not ok!” he looked up at me with the most innocent face imaginable and responded, “No, not ok!” before going right back to what he was doing as soon as I turned back to work. That’s just funny. It’s one of those situations where the thing that bothers you most turns out to be the best part of your day. Or at least gives you a good laugh.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Random Facts of Life and Lies
I love my villagers. They are absolutely hilarious. There are times when I don’t know what in the world is going on and Hausa is so hard that I was to cry, but when my friends in the village joke around with me and I actually know what it is they’re saying, life is good. Have you ever tried using sarcasm with a non-American who doesn’t understand what you’re doing? Put yourself in that person’s shoes and imagine everyone around you using sarcasm. That’s what some of my conversations feel like because people lie about everything. “No, it’s not lying Baraka, we’re playing!” Right. I’m finding more and more people who speak English, especially at my health center. All of a sudden a friend who I’ve been struggling to speak with in Hausa for 6 months will strike up a conversation in English. The doctor often tells me, “I don’t speak English,” then will proceed to explain the logistics of a national polio eradication campaign in Niger. “Only that, that’s all I know how to say.” Oh yes, how could I forget. English 101: Good morning, my name is, this is the tentative route for community volunteers to distribute vaccinations. Then there are the people who speak Broka English at me- which is the street lingo English of Nigeria that travels up into Niger a bit. People don’t understand why it would take me so long to figure out that when they ask, “I be no be so?” they mean, “Do you agree?” Rather than assuming there is a slight linguistic difference between Broka and Gramma (broken English and grammatically correct English) they say, “Baraka, I thought you spoke English!” as if the fault is my own. The more I learn Broka the funnier it gets. But I digress. I was talking about people lying. It’s not just adults. There are three little boys who come hang out with me sometimes at night and love to shout at me that there is a “SNAKE!” or a “SCORPION!” in my yard. When I quickly realized that this was rarely true, they moved on to bigger and better lies. “I just got back from America!” “Oh really, did you greet my family for me?” “Yes. They say hi.” “What was your favorite part?” “The girls, of course!” Evert night as they leave, they yell, “Ok, bye bye girlfriend!” “I’m not your girlfriend!” “Ok, bye bye girlfriend…” and so on. It’s hilarious. Now that I’ve realized just how much Nigeriens joke around, life is getting less confusing and much more entertaining.
Oh Dancing. Oh Man.
I’ve been called many things in my time; physically graceful isn’t one of them. Unfortunately, “good dancer” has also managed to escape my list of attributes. People talk a lot about dancing here, but aside from the kids not many people actually do it. Most people are too embarrassed. I’m always hopeful to see the women dance at weddings, but generally disappointed, as weddings consist of men sitting and talking outside and women sitting and talking inside- all wearing fancy clothes. I’ve long since stopped hoping to see dancing at weddings, which is apparently the key to getting what I want. As I was chatting and eating with some friends at a wedding celebration (day 1 of the 3 day party,) I noticed the women on the other side of the concession get up and start dancing to the fuzzy radio music. I turned to the woman next to me and said, “Oh, I’m happy to see them dancing!” She responded with, “What? You want to dance? BARAKA WANTS TO DANCE! EVERYONE LOOK! BARAKA IS GOING TO DANCE!” Oh crap. I was dragged to a “dance floor” by a woman named Baraka, who shares no other similarity with me besides the name. I watched her dancing with a baby strapped to her back and a full bowl of hot sauce on her head with out spilling a drop and still managed to look awesome doing it. She started out slow with basically just stepping to the beat, which I managed, then (at the delight of all watching) threw in all sorts of crazy moves. I’m sure the laughter I was bombarded with didn’t do justice to how ridiculous I looked. Then came the time to teach the uncoordinated American how to move her hips like an African woman. Oh friends, it was atrocious. But I had a blast and they loved it. I still get comments along the lines of, “Hey Baraka, remember that time you danced? That was hilarious!” Luckily for me, people here really appreciate effort over the quality of the outcome. And they appreciate a good laugh.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Training. Eck.
Alright guys, I’m finally ready to start doing some real projects…kind of. I just got back from my In Service Training, where all the volunteers learn how to actually go ahead with projects. I’m so happy to begin more formalized work than our vague assignments of “integration” and “learning Hausa.” Step one is trying to figure out what exactly my community needs; step two is finding people who think my ideas brilliant enough to pay for them. I’ve been out of my village for a month for this training, so it’ll be crazy to go back. I have to get back into my Baraka (that’s my name in Niger) mode and out of my American Kelsey way of living. I’m most nervous about Hausa; hopefully I haven’t forgotten everything I’ve learned thus far. My first project I’ll start up is part of a bigger campaign called Marketing Social. I’ll organize 2 groups of women to listen to a radio broadcast once a week about HIV/AIDS and woman’s rights and lead a discussion group about the issues raised in the radio plays. First I have to find a good Nigerien counterpart to help me because there’s no way I can do it on my own. I also would like to paint a world map, a map of Africa, and a map of Niger on one of the walls of my school. This is a fairly common project among volunteers round these parts. I want to find a way to implement a peer education group to teach about HIV/AIDS and how the surrounding countries affect the AIDS population in Niger. As of now, Niger has a very low population of people living with HIV/AIDS, but it is growing. Part of this is because of men going into other countries to find work, contracting the virus, and coming back to Niger where it spreads. In towns close to boarders like mine, this is especially dangerous. Enter my peer education group and map of Africa. I’d like to find a way to show where AIDS is more prevalent and how it is spreading and teach prevention techniques to High School students before they go off to these surrounding countries to find work. I’m also in the process of planning a tourney with one of my friends in a village close to mine about the importance of family planning. We’ll be traveling around to the villages in the bush on an ox cart performing skits, showing videos, and teaching about why it’s important not to have 10 children when you can’t afford to feed, medicate, and educate them. As of now, these are just ideas that I’ll be sure to keep writing about when they come into fruition. Until then, it’s back to the same old same old of village life in Niger. Lots of reading, trying to talk to all my friends in Hausa, and desperately trying to learn guitar so I can finally claim that I’m a rockstar. Speaking of rockstars, be on the lookout for Ben Ruttenburg, because soon enough the whole world will know what a rockstar he is. Thanks for reading, enjoy British 2009! (Any excuse to speak in a crappy accent, right?)T
Monday, December 29, 2008
Merry Multicultural Holiday Season!
Tabaski- and lots of dead rams
Sometimes we have the chance to watch movies here. It's quite a nice treat. Some of these movies take place in times like the 1800's. I used to see movies like that and marvel at all the things we have that they don't. Now I marvel at how much easier life was in the developed world in the 1800's than Niger in 2008. Then I read my bible, and think, "Yea, that's more like it!" Such was the case when I witnessed my first killing of the Tabaski lamb. Tabaski is a huge holiday that takes place 40 days after Ramadan to remember when God let Abraham off the hook from sacrificing his son and he sacrificed a bull instead. Bulls are hard to come by, but my village is pretty rich so most families "cut a ram" as they say. Tabaski is a 3 day event. Day one was me at my mayor's house helping prepare food. It was nice, kind of like a family Thanksgiving day. What was not nice was watching as they cut the ram. There was a lot of blood, and a lot of laughter that the white girl was afraid of the blood. Apparently my stomach is not as strong here as it was in the States, because it took every ounce of strength I had not to faint (again) and left me all shaken up and discombobulated for quite some time after. I told them I was afraid of raw meat so that my cooking duties were strictly confined to cutting things that never at any time breathed. The feast is great, and the mood is even greater. Besides the blood and guts (literally, guts, strung up all around to dry) it was a good day. Day 2 of Tabaski was a lot of me walking around greeting people, watching men skin and prepare the meat, and eating a lot of good food. It's amazing that with all the dead skinned rams hanging around the town, I never got desensitized to the sight or the smell. Luckily, no fainting. Day 3 was the ram head day. They save the head, then stick it in the fire and char it until it's black. So I saw a lot of burned ram's heads that day. Again, not a pleasant sight, but apparently it's quite the tasty dish. I thankfully didn't get a chance to try it. Throughout this entire event, people love to give "Barka da Salla," which is a present to celebrate. This present is a small bag of the meat that they cooked. So I got a whole hecka lot of ram meat, which has since become much less appetizing because of its prevalence and preparation process. So there ya go, happy Tabaski everyone!
Bridal shower... kind of...
When I first got here, sitting and talking with women was dreaded. Not that I have a problem with women in general, but they tend to be much less patient then the men when it comes to me learning Hausa. Now that I'm starting to hear more and more, I don't so much dread my time sitting with the women. In fact, it's starting to become a nice reprieve from conversations with men who ask absurd and random questions that aren't in any context and therefore confuse me. (Do you have cows in America? How big is Godzilla in real life? Can you make a prayer cap like this?) The women aren't ALWAYS asking me questions; they sometimes let me just sit with them. One of my favorite places to hang out is at my mayor's house. His wife and her sister are wonderful people and can usually make me laugh, which is of course greatly appreciated. Today I went over to find what can only be described as a backwards bridal shower taking place. We'll call it a rewohs ladrib. Anyway, the mayor's wife's sister, (did you follow that?) Ramatou, is getting married soon. She is out of town visiting family now. I walked in on many women oogling over 3 suitcases full of tacky jewelry, beauty products, shoes, and fabric for clothes. (I have to admit, the fake gold dollar store bling is starting to look real fancy to me. Watch out, I may just raid your little sister's Pretty Pretty Princess game to get myself dolled up when I get back.) The women informed me that these things were Ramatou's present from her future husband that she gets on the wedding day. Here in the land where chivalry came to die, it's refreshing to see customs like this that show a man can care about a woman. So the women who would have been giving gifts at an American bridal shower were going through all of the bride's new things before she even got to see them. They were opening the makeup kits and spraying the perfume and deciding which shoe/purse combination was best. (The answer is none. Imagine what you would wear to take funny pictures in the shoe department of Ross.) When they were done playing with all of Ramatou's new (now slightly used) things, they sat around and gossiped for a while then left. I found the whole thing entertaining, and perfectly indicative of the no-privacy village type life. Oh Niger.
Cooking, or more accurately, lack thereof.
For some reason, people seem very interested to know what kinds of things I eat. This seems odd to me, because food selection in Niger certainly leaves much to be desired. You have no idea how badly I want ice cream right now. Fortunately, being so close to Nigeria, I have a wide selection of fresh fruits and SLICED BREAD! That may not sound too exciting to you, but since being here the phrase "it's the best thing since sliced bread" has taken on a whole new meaning. The main food staple here is tuwo. This is made from millet, corn, or bean flour and water. It has the consistency of cream of wheat that's been left out for 3 days and has hardened. There are many different sauces to go with the tuwo, some are great and some are absolutely awful. I also have street food in my village, rice and beans or dan wake (which looks like a cheese curd but is made out of beans) are my favorites. Everything is covered in peanut oil and yaji, which is crushed peppers and gloriously hot. Theres also pasta with some strange almost tomato like sauce, tofu, and various fried miniture pancake like things made out of bean or millet powder. And because my village is the best one in this country, I can buy salad, sweet coconut bread, egg sandwiches or omlettes, and this crazy thing they make with ramen noodles that tastes like heaven. I realize this probably doesn't sound all too exciting to you, because you're in America and you can eat cheese burgers and burritos. But here in Niger, this much selection in a smaller village is a rare treat. Which is a good thing because I've entirely given up on cooking. I was hopeless as a cook in the States, but goodness friends, it's gotten worse! One of my goals when I came here was to learn how to cook. I've modified that to refrain from accidentally poisoning myself. My first mistake was that time I ate henna, which I already wrote about and therefore don't feel the need to repeat. Then there was the time I almost bought a bag full of Rambo (a freakishly strong insect killer) thinking it was flour. A woman at the market came running towards me saying, "That's not flour! Don't eat that!" because she understood when I asked the vendor "How much is this bag of flour?" Close call, but I think someone upstairs must like me (thank God- really) because I survived. You'd think I would stop after that, right? Oh no. I attempted to make granola in the Zinder transit house, and set fire to the kitchen. Thus far I've set fire to a kitchen for each decade I've been alive. I'm on a roll. I'm not sure how I managed it this time. I put my granola in the oven and five minutes later the room was full of smoke (you couldn't even see through it) because the oven had caught on fire because I'm a disaster magnet. So now I boil water for oatmeal in the mornings (and I don't fail too much at that) and eat street food or tuwo with friends for lunch and dinner. The end.
Merry Christmas!
I love team Zinder. Niger is not the ideal place for one to spend the holiday season, but we've been able to spread Christmas cheer because the other Peace Corps Volunteers here are amazing. My first Christmas experience was in my market town. 3 of my friends who share the same market town and I had a family Christmas dinner, sang Christmas songs, and watched that old Christmas classic Return to Witch Mountain. We decorated Kira's house (she's our central hub seeing as she lives there) and attempted to make cookies for the occasion. I burned them, surprise surprise. We had 2 guitars and a book of carols and I can't tell you how much fun I had singing. We opened Christmas packages, took silly pictures, and ate our family dinner and burnt cookies. Then we decided to spread the Christmas joy, so we went around to a few people we knew in the city and sang them Silent Night (the edgy version, it was in 4) and Oh Little Town of Bethlehem because that is my favorite Christmas song this year. They loved it, and we were so full of Christmas love that of course we loved it too. My favorite reaction was when Mati's friends all started booty dancing to Silent Night, the edgy version. That's a sight I won't soon forget. Amazing. And this was all a week before Christmas! For Christmas day, I came into Zinder to celebrate with everyone. We had secret santas and a white elephant gift exchange as an excuse to get presents. In the morning we went to a big field and played football and soccer. It was so much fun to run around and make a fool out of myself because I have no coordination. The comradery was epic. We all signed up to make a dish for our Christmas dinner. I'm not allowed to use the oven because of that whole blowing it up thing, so I helped by chopping lots of veggies for the lasagna. We had our white elephant gift exchange and ate our fantastic meal in good company. We even lit candles! Fancy, right? After dinner my friends from my market town and I sang a special Niger version of Twelve Days of Christmas for the group and proceeded to sing Christmas carols with everyone. Although it's impossible not to feel a little homesick during the holiday season, it was a very merry Christmas here and I'm incredibly thankful for the people I have here to brighten my day.
Sometimes we have the chance to watch movies here. It's quite a nice treat. Some of these movies take place in times like the 1800's. I used to see movies like that and marvel at all the things we have that they don't. Now I marvel at how much easier life was in the developed world in the 1800's than Niger in 2008. Then I read my bible, and think, "Yea, that's more like it!" Such was the case when I witnessed my first killing of the Tabaski lamb. Tabaski is a huge holiday that takes place 40 days after Ramadan to remember when God let Abraham off the hook from sacrificing his son and he sacrificed a bull instead. Bulls are hard to come by, but my village is pretty rich so most families "cut a ram" as they say. Tabaski is a 3 day event. Day one was me at my mayor's house helping prepare food. It was nice, kind of like a family Thanksgiving day. What was not nice was watching as they cut the ram. There was a lot of blood, and a lot of laughter that the white girl was afraid of the blood. Apparently my stomach is not as strong here as it was in the States, because it took every ounce of strength I had not to faint (again) and left me all shaken up and discombobulated for quite some time after. I told them I was afraid of raw meat so that my cooking duties were strictly confined to cutting things that never at any time breathed. The feast is great, and the mood is even greater. Besides the blood and guts (literally, guts, strung up all around to dry) it was a good day. Day 2 of Tabaski was a lot of me walking around greeting people, watching men skin and prepare the meat, and eating a lot of good food. It's amazing that with all the dead skinned rams hanging around the town, I never got desensitized to the sight or the smell. Luckily, no fainting. Day 3 was the ram head day. They save the head, then stick it in the fire and char it until it's black. So I saw a lot of burned ram's heads that day. Again, not a pleasant sight, but apparently it's quite the tasty dish. I thankfully didn't get a chance to try it. Throughout this entire event, people love to give "Barka da Salla," which is a present to celebrate. This present is a small bag of the meat that they cooked. So I got a whole hecka lot of ram meat, which has since become much less appetizing because of its prevalence and preparation process. So there ya go, happy Tabaski everyone!
Bridal shower... kind of...
When I first got here, sitting and talking with women was dreaded. Not that I have a problem with women in general, but they tend to be much less patient then the men when it comes to me learning Hausa. Now that I'm starting to hear more and more, I don't so much dread my time sitting with the women. In fact, it's starting to become a nice reprieve from conversations with men who ask absurd and random questions that aren't in any context and therefore confuse me. (Do you have cows in America? How big is Godzilla in real life? Can you make a prayer cap like this?) The women aren't ALWAYS asking me questions; they sometimes let me just sit with them. One of my favorite places to hang out is at my mayor's house. His wife and her sister are wonderful people and can usually make me laugh, which is of course greatly appreciated. Today I went over to find what can only be described as a backwards bridal shower taking place. We'll call it a rewohs ladrib. Anyway, the mayor's wife's sister, (did you follow that?) Ramatou, is getting married soon. She is out of town visiting family now. I walked in on many women oogling over 3 suitcases full of tacky jewelry, beauty products, shoes, and fabric for clothes. (I have to admit, the fake gold dollar store bling is starting to look real fancy to me. Watch out, I may just raid your little sister's Pretty Pretty Princess game to get myself dolled up when I get back.) The women informed me that these things were Ramatou's present from her future husband that she gets on the wedding day. Here in the land where chivalry came to die, it's refreshing to see customs like this that show a man can care about a woman. So the women who would have been giving gifts at an American bridal shower were going through all of the bride's new things before she even got to see them. They were opening the makeup kits and spraying the perfume and deciding which shoe/purse combination was best. (The answer is none. Imagine what you would wear to take funny pictures in the shoe department of Ross.) When they were done playing with all of Ramatou's new (now slightly used) things, they sat around and gossiped for a while then left. I found the whole thing entertaining, and perfectly indicative of the no-privacy village type life. Oh Niger.
Cooking, or more accurately, lack thereof.
For some reason, people seem very interested to know what kinds of things I eat. This seems odd to me, because food selection in Niger certainly leaves much to be desired. You have no idea how badly I want ice cream right now. Fortunately, being so close to Nigeria, I have a wide selection of fresh fruits and SLICED BREAD! That may not sound too exciting to you, but since being here the phrase "it's the best thing since sliced bread" has taken on a whole new meaning. The main food staple here is tuwo. This is made from millet, corn, or bean flour and water. It has the consistency of cream of wheat that's been left out for 3 days and has hardened. There are many different sauces to go with the tuwo, some are great and some are absolutely awful. I also have street food in my village, rice and beans or dan wake (which looks like a cheese curd but is made out of beans) are my favorites. Everything is covered in peanut oil and yaji, which is crushed peppers and gloriously hot. Theres also pasta with some strange almost tomato like sauce, tofu, and various fried miniture pancake like things made out of bean or millet powder. And because my village is the best one in this country, I can buy salad, sweet coconut bread, egg sandwiches or omlettes, and this crazy thing they make with ramen noodles that tastes like heaven. I realize this probably doesn't sound all too exciting to you, because you're in America and you can eat cheese burgers and burritos. But here in Niger, this much selection in a smaller village is a rare treat. Which is a good thing because I've entirely given up on cooking. I was hopeless as a cook in the States, but goodness friends, it's gotten worse! One of my goals when I came here was to learn how to cook. I've modified that to refrain from accidentally poisoning myself. My first mistake was that time I ate henna, which I already wrote about and therefore don't feel the need to repeat. Then there was the time I almost bought a bag full of Rambo (a freakishly strong insect killer) thinking it was flour. A woman at the market came running towards me saying, "That's not flour! Don't eat that!" because she understood when I asked the vendor "How much is this bag of flour?" Close call, but I think someone upstairs must like me (thank God- really) because I survived. You'd think I would stop after that, right? Oh no. I attempted to make granola in the Zinder transit house, and set fire to the kitchen. Thus far I've set fire to a kitchen for each decade I've been alive. I'm on a roll. I'm not sure how I managed it this time. I put my granola in the oven and five minutes later the room was full of smoke (you couldn't even see through it) because the oven had caught on fire because I'm a disaster magnet. So now I boil water for oatmeal in the mornings (and I don't fail too much at that) and eat street food or tuwo with friends for lunch and dinner. The end.
Merry Christmas!
I love team Zinder. Niger is not the ideal place for one to spend the holiday season, but we've been able to spread Christmas cheer because the other Peace Corps Volunteers here are amazing. My first Christmas experience was in my market town. 3 of my friends who share the same market town and I had a family Christmas dinner, sang Christmas songs, and watched that old Christmas classic Return to Witch Mountain. We decorated Kira's house (she's our central hub seeing as she lives there) and attempted to make cookies for the occasion. I burned them, surprise surprise. We had 2 guitars and a book of carols and I can't tell you how much fun I had singing. We opened Christmas packages, took silly pictures, and ate our family dinner and burnt cookies. Then we decided to spread the Christmas joy, so we went around to a few people we knew in the city and sang them Silent Night (the edgy version, it was in 4) and Oh Little Town of Bethlehem because that is my favorite Christmas song this year. They loved it, and we were so full of Christmas love that of course we loved it too. My favorite reaction was when Mati's friends all started booty dancing to Silent Night, the edgy version. That's a sight I won't soon forget. Amazing. And this was all a week before Christmas! For Christmas day, I came into Zinder to celebrate with everyone. We had secret santas and a white elephant gift exchange as an excuse to get presents. In the morning we went to a big field and played football and soccer. It was so much fun to run around and make a fool out of myself because I have no coordination. The comradery was epic. We all signed up to make a dish for our Christmas dinner. I'm not allowed to use the oven because of that whole blowing it up thing, so I helped by chopping lots of veggies for the lasagna. We had our white elephant gift exchange and ate our fantastic meal in good company. We even lit candles! Fancy, right? After dinner my friends from my market town and I sang a special Niger version of Twelve Days of Christmas for the group and proceeded to sing Christmas carols with everyone. Although it's impossible not to feel a little homesick during the holiday season, it was a very merry Christmas here and I'm incredibly thankful for the people I have here to brighten my day.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Care Packages!
This is Kelsey's mom. She was unable to finish her blog and asked me to pass on one more thing when we talked this morning. (She sound great, by the way and enjoyed spending Thanksgiving with other volunteers in Zinder - even with a turkey dinner - of course, they had to kill it to cook it.............)
She wanted to let everyone know that she loves the letters and pictures, emails and facebook messages. If anyone would like to send a care package it is really appreciated and these would be some suggestions. I send the priority mail flat rate boxes. It takes about a month and she does have to pay a little to "pick them up".
Coffee
peanut m&ms - these are the only candy that does not melt
any boxes of meals, like Pad Thai
dvds - newer movies
pictures!!
parmesan cheese
homemade cookies
oreos
crystal light packets to put in water bottles
cookies, brownies, muffin mixes
foil bags of meat (chicken, tuna)
beef jerkey
salsa
travel games
books that you liked
flip flops
good smelling lotion or body wash
inexpensive shirts
letters! they make her day
Thanks to all of you for your prayers, letters, interest in the blog
This is Kelsey's mom. She was unable to finish her blog and asked me to pass on one more thing when we talked this morning. (She sound great, by the way and enjoyed spending Thanksgiving with other volunteers in Zinder - even with a turkey dinner - of course, they had to kill it to cook it.............)
She wanted to let everyone know that she loves the letters and pictures, emails and facebook messages. If anyone would like to send a care package it is really appreciated and these would be some suggestions. I send the priority mail flat rate boxes. It takes about a month and she does have to pay a little to "pick them up".
Coffee
peanut m&ms - these are the only candy that does not melt
any boxes of meals, like Pad Thai
dvds - newer movies
pictures!!
parmesan cheese
homemade cookies
oreos
crystal light packets to put in water bottles
cookies, brownies, muffin mixes
foil bags of meat (chicken, tuna)
beef jerkey
salsa
travel games
books that you liked
flip flops
good smelling lotion or body wash
inexpensive shirts
letters! they make her day
Thanks to all of you for your prayers, letters, interest in the blog
Thursday, November 27, 2008
A trifecta of new stuff!
OBAMA DAY!
After talking to people in the States post election, I feel a tinge of regret about not being able to celebrate with everyone. But, being in Africa for this historical event has been rewarding. Don’t worry, I won’t get too political on you but I do want to tell you about my election experiences here. I was able to watch the elections in my market village with all the volunteers in my sub-region. The announcement was made at 5 in the morning here, so we stayed up all night watching CNN election coverage in the house of our dear friend Issuf who agreed to let the Americans crash there literally all night. As it drew nearer and nearer to the end, the excitement was building. Not surprisingly, most people in the Peace Corps are democratic Obama supporters, and many people in our villages are Obama supporters because, “He’s black like us!” or “His dad is from Africa!” However there are those people who pay special attention to the news and have formed legitimate political opinions about these elections. And it’s in these people that hope has begun to spark. I often talk about the joy of Nigeriens; it seems that they are always finding reasons to laugh and smile in situations I find stressful or difficult. But there isn’t much hope here. People have grown accustomed to a hard life, and because they don’t have any bit of hope that things will ever change, things don’t change. As it was announced that Obama had won the election, us Americans were all screaming and crying and hugging and having a jolly good time. I was watching Issuf, and although he doesn’t speak much English and doesn’t fully grasp the historical significance of the first black president, his face slowly lit up with comprehension. He was completely ignoring the chaos we created around him, eyes glued to the TV and slowly raised arm to the fist pump they are so fond of here, saying “Yes!” quietly to himself over and over again. That’s an image I can never forget. Similar reactions awaited me when I returned to my village that morning. Everyone who knew was congratulating me on our election. I had the chance to explain to some of my villagers a quote from his acceptance speech, that I wrote down on a paper that I forgot to bring with me, but it was something about our stories being singular but our future is the same... In my poor Hausa, the best explanation I could come up with was, “It means that even though everyone is different and we have different lives, we all have one hope for a beautiful world.” No matter what your political opinions are or how you voted, no one can deny the beauty of hope sparked in a place previously deemed hopeless. I’m not so naïve to think that Obama will save the world, but to see the American dream affecting the world in a positive way reminds me why I’m here serving my country that I love in this capacity. So, no matter what your personal political opinions, thank you to everyone from Niger, and don’t underestimate our ability to positively affect the world!
My Movie Theatre
I’ve discovered something glorious in my village. It’s a movie theatre. Not quite like the ones in America, seeing as we don’t have electricity or developed buildings in my village, but it’s kind of similar. Because I don’t have electricity, I usually hit the sack pretty early. One can only read by kerosene lantern for so long, you know? And usually at this point in the day my brain is fried from thinking in Hausa all day and I’d love to just curl up on my couch and watch Lord of the Rings. I can’t do that, but I found a pretty cool alternative. I’ve always heard my villagers hooting and hollering at night, and the loud rumble of some indistinct movie playing in the distance, but never actually figured out where it was coming from. Until now. Turns out, after prayer, the men and boys in my village gather at my friend Sani’s house to watch some of the greatest contributions to cinematic art of our time. The TV is powered, like everything else, by a generator. We all gather sitting on mats or our shoes in his yard while people are yelling out, “Buy sugar cane!” or “Buy sesame cakes!” I’ve yet to see a movie in Hausa, and most people don’t understand French, so the language is far from imperative to the whole experience. Their reactions are always lively and absolutely hilarious. It’s like a rowdy sports bar watching WWF, if the people in the sports bar were buying bags of water instead of beer. I love hearing “Ohhh!” every time something exciting happens, cheering and clapping when the protagonist prevails, and the speculations of the plot; “He doesn’t have kindness, she pissed that guy off…” My favorite movie was (like a lot of Nigerien pop culture) from India. I don’t even know what language it was in, and the screen was too blurry to read the English subtitles, but I definitely caught parts of the plot. There was a long lost brother who was found to fight these bad guys who wanted to kill their mom and the kids in the village, and had some girl hostage. But never fear, the brothers overcame the inevitable differences resulting from their separation and destroyed the bad guys again and again, in synchronized, symmetrical fight scenes that so poignantly reinforced their fraternal bond. Did I mention it’s a musical? I spent most of the movie laughing at both it’s ridiculousness and the reactions of my villagers. It’s a good time. Who needs popcorn and comfortable chairs and air conditioning? We’ve got style!
Guess what? I made friends!
There are a lot of wonderful people in my village. There are a lot of different groups I can go sit with and talk with and hang out with, and they are all different enough that I get something unique out of every relationship I’ve made thus far. My comfort zone, my serenity tree if you will, is under the tree right by my house. My friend/ go to guy Hammisu fixes radios in the shade, and there’s usually a group of his friends hanging around doing pretty much nothing. So we sit and make chai tea (nothing like Starbucks, I’ll be all confused when I get back and the chai tastes good and doesn’t come in a shot glass) or play huit Americain, which is the greatest card game of all time. These guys are hilarious. They joke around and tease each other and say mean things that I’m finally beginning to understand. It’s a very comfortable environment and they always put me in a good mood. There’s really no point to this entry, besides to sing the praises of my friends who I really wish you could all meet. The end.
After talking to people in the States post election, I feel a tinge of regret about not being able to celebrate with everyone. But, being in Africa for this historical event has been rewarding. Don’t worry, I won’t get too political on you but I do want to tell you about my election experiences here. I was able to watch the elections in my market village with all the volunteers in my sub-region. The announcement was made at 5 in the morning here, so we stayed up all night watching CNN election coverage in the house of our dear friend Issuf who agreed to let the Americans crash there literally all night. As it drew nearer and nearer to the end, the excitement was building. Not surprisingly, most people in the Peace Corps are democratic Obama supporters, and many people in our villages are Obama supporters because, “He’s black like us!” or “His dad is from Africa!” However there are those people who pay special attention to the news and have formed legitimate political opinions about these elections. And it’s in these people that hope has begun to spark. I often talk about the joy of Nigeriens; it seems that they are always finding reasons to laugh and smile in situations I find stressful or difficult. But there isn’t much hope here. People have grown accustomed to a hard life, and because they don’t have any bit of hope that things will ever change, things don’t change. As it was announced that Obama had won the election, us Americans were all screaming and crying and hugging and having a jolly good time. I was watching Issuf, and although he doesn’t speak much English and doesn’t fully grasp the historical significance of the first black president, his face slowly lit up with comprehension. He was completely ignoring the chaos we created around him, eyes glued to the TV and slowly raised arm to the fist pump they are so fond of here, saying “Yes!” quietly to himself over and over again. That’s an image I can never forget. Similar reactions awaited me when I returned to my village that morning. Everyone who knew was congratulating me on our election. I had the chance to explain to some of my villagers a quote from his acceptance speech, that I wrote down on a paper that I forgot to bring with me, but it was something about our stories being singular but our future is the same... In my poor Hausa, the best explanation I could come up with was, “It means that even though everyone is different and we have different lives, we all have one hope for a beautiful world.” No matter what your political opinions are or how you voted, no one can deny the beauty of hope sparked in a place previously deemed hopeless. I’m not so naïve to think that Obama will save the world, but to see the American dream affecting the world in a positive way reminds me why I’m here serving my country that I love in this capacity. So, no matter what your personal political opinions, thank you to everyone from Niger, and don’t underestimate our ability to positively affect the world!
My Movie Theatre
I’ve discovered something glorious in my village. It’s a movie theatre. Not quite like the ones in America, seeing as we don’t have electricity or developed buildings in my village, but it’s kind of similar. Because I don’t have electricity, I usually hit the sack pretty early. One can only read by kerosene lantern for so long, you know? And usually at this point in the day my brain is fried from thinking in Hausa all day and I’d love to just curl up on my couch and watch Lord of the Rings. I can’t do that, but I found a pretty cool alternative. I’ve always heard my villagers hooting and hollering at night, and the loud rumble of some indistinct movie playing in the distance, but never actually figured out where it was coming from. Until now. Turns out, after prayer, the men and boys in my village gather at my friend Sani’s house to watch some of the greatest contributions to cinematic art of our time. The TV is powered, like everything else, by a generator. We all gather sitting on mats or our shoes in his yard while people are yelling out, “Buy sugar cane!” or “Buy sesame cakes!” I’ve yet to see a movie in Hausa, and most people don’t understand French, so the language is far from imperative to the whole experience. Their reactions are always lively and absolutely hilarious. It’s like a rowdy sports bar watching WWF, if the people in the sports bar were buying bags of water instead of beer. I love hearing “Ohhh!” every time something exciting happens, cheering and clapping when the protagonist prevails, and the speculations of the plot; “He doesn’t have kindness, she pissed that guy off…” My favorite movie was (like a lot of Nigerien pop culture) from India. I don’t even know what language it was in, and the screen was too blurry to read the English subtitles, but I definitely caught parts of the plot. There was a long lost brother who was found to fight these bad guys who wanted to kill their mom and the kids in the village, and had some girl hostage. But never fear, the brothers overcame the inevitable differences resulting from their separation and destroyed the bad guys again and again, in synchronized, symmetrical fight scenes that so poignantly reinforced their fraternal bond. Did I mention it’s a musical? I spent most of the movie laughing at both it’s ridiculousness and the reactions of my villagers. It’s a good time. Who needs popcorn and comfortable chairs and air conditioning? We’ve got style!
Guess what? I made friends!
There are a lot of wonderful people in my village. There are a lot of different groups I can go sit with and talk with and hang out with, and they are all different enough that I get something unique out of every relationship I’ve made thus far. My comfort zone, my serenity tree if you will, is under the tree right by my house. My friend/ go to guy Hammisu fixes radios in the shade, and there’s usually a group of his friends hanging around doing pretty much nothing. So we sit and make chai tea (nothing like Starbucks, I’ll be all confused when I get back and the chai tastes good and doesn’t come in a shot glass) or play huit Americain, which is the greatest card game of all time. These guys are hilarious. They joke around and tease each other and say mean things that I’m finally beginning to understand. It’s a very comfortable environment and they always put me in a good mood. There’s really no point to this entry, besides to sing the praises of my friends who I really wish you could all meet. The end.
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