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

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.

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

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.

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.

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!

The first month at post... eek

Hi friends! Guess what? I'm officially a Peace Corps Volunteer! I'm all done with training, and therefore fluent in Hausa and I understand this culture perfectly. That was sarcasm, in case you didn't catch it. Tomorrow I'll be getting installed, which means that I'll actually begin my service and live in my village for two years, in sha Allah. For the first month, we aren't allowed to leave our village to come into the regional capitol, which means I won't be online for quite some time. But feel free to write me letters because those I can get and will appreciate them oh so much! A few weeks ago, when I was still a lowly Peace Corps Trainee, I went to my village and stayed for a total of two nights to get a feel for what service will be like. I have to say, I may be the luckiest volunteer in country. My village is awesome. The people are positively wonderful. There are plenty of patient people who are willing to help me out with Hausa and laugh with me when I pretend to understand more than I do. My CSI, which is the health center in the village, is high class. The doctor loves having me there to help, and there is always plenty of work to do. And this may not sound to exciting to you back in America, but because I'm so close to Nigeria my food supply is epically more diverse than most Nigerien (that's Niger, not Nigeria) villages. I can get fried chicken! I know, big deal right? But really, it is. Don't take your American chicken for granted, friends. I'm also very excited at the prospect of working with Fulani people who have smaller villages surrounding my new home. Fulani people are herders and speak Fulanci (or Fufulde, depending on who you ask.)
I've been offered the chance to learn Fulanci, and possibly teach a group of men in a surrounding village (a Nigerien suburb, if you will) English in return. I'm so excited to not only learn Hausa (and hopefully French, in sha Allah) but possibly Fulanci as well and work so closely with various ethnic groups within Niger. But before I get too far ahead of myself, let's remember that I have to get through month one first. It'll be hard, and I'm pretty nervous, but I'm also excited that after so much hype I'm really starting. Imagine being dropped off in a village where you look and think differently than everyone else there. Crazy, right? But this is the best kind of nervous to be. And I'm sure I'll have some ridiculous stories for y'all after my month away. Meanwhile, you're thoughts and prayers and maybe even some letters thrown in there are appreciated oh so greatly! As always, thanks for reading and I'll let you know how this crazy whim I had turns out…